"Of course, my love." Harteford stood and raised his glass. "To Mr. Kent, who is a boon to his profession and our guest of honor. We salute you."
"Hear, hear," the rest of the guests echoed.
Silently, Marianne sipped her wine, her eyes on Kent's flushed face.
"You do me a great honor, my lord," he said, clearly discomfited.
Taking pity on him, Marianne redirected the flow of conversation to Percy, who was seated next to Miss Sparkler. "So, my dear, how are the plans for the wedding coming along?"
Percy's blue eyes danced at her fiancé across the table. "Um, too slowly?"
Marianne stifled a smile. The hungry look on Hunt's face clearly had nothing to do with the delectable quail in truffle sauce placed in front of him. Goodness, but the fellow looked ready to leap across the silverware and gobble Percy up in one bite.
"Nonsense." This came from Percy's mama, whose eyes glinted behind her steel spectacles. "Three months is the absolute minimum required to properly prepare for a wedding. Why, we have invitations to send out, a banquet to prepare for, not to mention your trousseau."
"I don't think Mr. Hunt cares too much what I wear, do you, sir?" Percy said playfully.
Hunt gulped his wine. "You look beautiful in anything, Miss Fines," he said, shooting an uneasy glance at his future mama-in-law. "Anything at all."
Or better yet, innothingat all. Amused, Marianne interpreted the expression on the man's face. Despite his fierce and rough-around-the-edges appearance, Gavin Hunt was a man hopelessly besotted with his intended. And Percy deserved no less.
Satisfied that her protégée was well settled, Marianne cut into the succulent bird.
Kent cleared his throat. "If I may," he said, "I think we must not overlook Lady Draven's role in all of this."
She froze, her fork inches from her lips. "My role? Whatever do you mean?"
"'Twas thanks to you that Black came to our assistance. Without your intervention, our task would have been a great deal more difficult," he said, his expression inscrutable.
"Yes, Marianne, you are a heroine," Helena said, smiling.
"And the very best of mentors," Percy chimed in.
Surrounded by beaming faces, Marianne squirmed at being put on the spot. After Draven's death, she'd entered thetonwith the sole goal of finding Rosie. Her looks, wealth, and cutting wit had quickly made her a favorite of the fast set—jaded sophisticates who made a sport of insults and verbal sparring. Then Marianne had met up with Helena again, and her childhood friend had introduced her to a different circle. One filled with people who were impossibly...sincere, brimming with goodwill. The very opposite of her own nature.
Though they welcomed her, she oft felt like an imposter within this group. Like a shiny apple rotted at the core, hiding amongst a pile of perfect fruit. To her mortification, her cheeks grew warm in response to the other guests' admiration.
Setting down her utensil, she said lightly, "As I said, everyone has their strengths. I was happy to make use of mine."
"By the by, how did you convince Black to listen to our case, my lady?" Kent inquired.
The question seemed innocuous enough, yet the penetrating quality to the policeman's gaze put her on guard. His pupils darkened, his amber irises bright as lanterns in comparison. The hairs rose on her neck as she—one who prided herself on self-possession—felt suddenly as transparent as glass.
She could ill afford disclosing her bargain with Black. If Kent began digging around in her affairs, he could bring all that she'd worked for tumbling down around her. He'd compromise Rosie's safety—and that Marianne would never allow.
"I have my methods," she said with drawling insouciance. "I believe you may be acquainted with some of them."
As Kent turned red, Marianne could almost hear the simultaneous swish of eyebrows going up around the table. She could imagine the questions popping into the other guests' heads. Well, better that they wonder about a peccadillo between her and the policeman than about her true secrets.
"This is no laughing matter, my lady. Though you were lucky enough to escape unscathed, your actions could have led to unthinkable consequences," Kent said stiffly. He paused, his countenance keen despite its high color. "I doubt a woman as clever as you would take such a risk... unless you had confidence in your ability to negotiate the situation. I wonder, Lady Draven, what gives you such self-assurance in dealing with cutthroats?"
Because my husband was one. Because I've dealt with cutthroats all my life, though they might be disguised as gentlemen. And because one of them has my daughter.
Beneath her diamond necklace, Marianne's skin slickened with perspiration. Kent saw too much—was getting too close. Fear and anticipation pulsed in her blood as she tried to summon a pithy response. She was saved from doing so by their hostess.
"I commend you, Mr. Kent, for your concern over Lady Draven's well-being," Helena said gently. "As a policeman, you must see tragedies happen every day. We can only be grateful that Lady Draven's brave actions did not result in injury to her person."
Kent looked as though he might say something else—likely argue with the use of the wordbrave—but he gave a brusque nod instead. His gaze remained fixed on Marianne. Feeling the thrum of panic, she reacted with venom. The surest way to shake him off.
