He knew the stone had significant monetary value, but that was not what made it so unique, so special, so desperately important. This lovely jewel had once hung around her neck, close to her warm, delicate flesh. It had rested upon the pulse at her throat, had felt the beat of life as it coursed through her body.
And now the diamond belonged to him.
It had been difficult to slip out of the house last night, but he had been determined to get away, so he was successful. He had gone to the theater knowing she would be in attendance with the duke, as always, by her side.
He had purposely selected a seat in that pit the afforded him a perfect, unobstructed view of the duke’s private box. Yet this clever plan teetered on the brink of disaster when the marquess arrived. The last person he’d ever expected to see was her husband.
For an instant he thought she might have altered her plans, but then she entered the box, a look of surprise on her lovely face. He could almost forgive her, for it seemed she had no knowledge the marquess would be at the theater. But as the performance began, they took seats side by side, far too close for his liking.
His eyes never glanced at the stage. They remained trained on her, watching her every move. His excitement climbed when the candles were lit to signal the start of intermission, knowing he might have a chance to brush against her in the crowd.
But to his great consternation, she never left the box! Even worse, she moved herself to a provocative position behind the marquess and began touching her husband’s shoulders, rubbing them suggestively, as if they were alone. He had been incensed by this wanton behavior.
It reminded him of the improper kiss she had shared with the marquess at the racecourse. That had also angered him greatly. He had destroyed her parasol that afternoon, shredding it in frustration as a warning that she was stepping beyond what he would allow.
Clearly another message was needed. The sudden, uncontrolled riot had been the opportunity of a lifetime. He had spied her just as the throng threatened to swallow her within its depths. Throwing himself into the fray, he was able to move forward. With supreme effort and tremendous force of will, he somehow managed to make his way to her side.
Once positioned behind her, his hands slipped around her throat, caressing that long white neck, anticipating the moment of utter joy and completion that would come when he applied the pressure that would end her life.
However, the pulsing excitement that sang through his blood ruined his concentration. He was shoved and pushed by the unruly mob and could not retain his balance. She fell to her knees when he unintentionally knocked into her. His hands reached down to hold onto his prize, but his fingers became tangled in the links of her necklace.
She had screamed and struggled, trying to hold herself upright. Her strength was exceptional for a woman, her determination even more so. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he remembered her fighting valiantly to survive. He knew in that instant he could not kill her then, for there would be no time to savor the event, to enjoy each moment of her violent death.
Lady Meredith, it appeared, was truly the perfect victim. He would be foolish to rush such a rare find. So he pulled back just as the marquess burst through the crowd and lifted her to safety. But he had taken a memento to remind him of the glorious moment—a diamond from her necklace.
A sharp knock at the door sent him cowering into a corner. “You are wanted below stairs. Better hurry.”
“I shall be along in a moment.” He pursed his lips into a thin line, loath to leave the privacy of his chamber and the visions of his fantasy. But he knew he must.
In a small show of defiance, he lifted the diamond to the light and examined it one last time. Then, carefully, reverently, he wrapped it back in the linen handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. Though he had devised the perfect hiding place, he decided that it was too valuable to leave in his room. If someone found it, he would be in grave trouble, for he could not explain how it came to be in his possession.
Yet more importantly, he needed to keep it close to his person, needed to feel the hard edges of the stone against his flesh. It was a stark reminder that Lady Meredith now belonged to him.
And soon she would know it, too.
Eighteen
Lord Linny’s masquerade ball was indeed the crush of the Season, with all who attended agreeing it was a resounding success. Surprisingly, the Marquess of Dardington was among those who voiced a favorable opinion of the event.
Though he privately thought the sight of Meredith in her Roman gown was worth surviving any social occasion of theton, Trevor actually managed to enjoy himself that night.
He had also succeeded in doing what no other man of society had managed, except for his father, the duke—Trevor had danced with the beautiful Marchioness of Dardington.
She had smiled with delight when he presented himself to her, bowing elegantly and asking for the honor of the next dance. Tapping her finger to the side of her cheek, she had feigned indecision, claiming she was uncertain if she knew the identity of the man behind the black domino.
He had allowed her the jest, then swept her up in his arms before she could say another word. The lavish mirrored ballroom, filled with bouquets of white, red and yellow roses, was the perfect setting for this magical night that hinted at endless possibilities.
Though he had not planned it, Trevor was pleased to discover their dance was a waltz. Just to tease her, the marquess held his wife at the distance that was perfectly correct for the dance. She frowned at him in puzzlement, trying several times to close the gap between them, but he would not allow it.
For Trevor knew such intimate nearness might heat his body to an embarrassing level of arousal. In the crush of the ballroom, other dancers spun past them, but for Trevor it felt as if no one else was there but the two of them. He escorted Meredith into supper at midnight, and they sat cozily together at a corner table, conversing, laughing and sampling delicious morsels of food from each other’s plates.
Meredith’s brother Jason interrupted them, asking with a polite, pleading note in his voice if he and his dinner partner could join them. Jason had certainly gotten into the spirit of the evening. He was dressed as a pirate, complete with a jaunty eye patch. An impressive-looking crescent saber was tucked into a wide red sash tied about his waist.
His companion, Miss Elizabeth Sainthill, was garbed as a shepherdess. The white ruffles surrounding the sides of her poke bonnet framed her face artfully, and the satin ribbon tied beneath her chin perfectly matched the shade of her eyes. Seated beside Meredith, Trevor could not help but notice Miss Elizabeth looked sweet, innocent, and impossibly young.
“I am sorry to intrude, but I have at last managed to slip away from Elizabeth’s sister, Harriet,” Jason whispered to Trevor as he took a seat. “Yet I could not indulge in sequestering my lovely Elizabeth at a private table without any sort of chaperon. It would be highly improper.”
“I understand,” Trevor replied, though he had a difficult time imagining himself in the role of acceptable chaperon.
