“Are they always like this?” he asked instead, returning his gaze to the throng of guests in a vain attempt to distract himself.
“And worse,” Anna muttered, her arms crossing over her chest as if to defend herself from the bombardment of gossip. “It is lucky I am wearing this mask, or the stares would be rather more hostile.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Why is that?”
“They think I killed my husband,” she answered flatly.
A memory of his conversation with Colin the other morning returned to Jeremy. The Marquess had alluded to something of that nature, and of a reputation that had a way of clinging to a woman.
“Did ye?” he asked, playing ignorant.
She laughed dryly. “I am afraid I cannot tell you that.”
“That doesn’t sound like something an innocent lass would say.”
She turned her beautiful hazel eyes up to meet his gaze. “Perhaps, I want you to think me capable of anything, especially where my freedom is threatened.”
Jeremy gave a small nod and kept to himself what he had already heard from Colin: that a physician long ago confirmed that Anna had no part in her husband’s death. The man had suffered from a weak heart, like his predecessors. Nothing more.
“I did notice the books ye were reading,” he remarked instead, struggling to hide the smirk that wanted to curve his lips. “Ye have a taste for the dramatic. If ye wanted to do away with me, ye could just poison me drink.”
To emphasize his point, he took a glass from a passing tray and sipped, mostly to conceal his amusement. Did she really believe anyone would think she was capable of killing a man? She certainly had fire in her, but no real violence. In fact, she was pretty much like Sprightly, nudging his leg in indignation, comforted by a little attention.
“What?” she spluttered. “I would… I would never!”
“I thought ye said ye were capable of anything?” he teased, enjoying the way her lips parted in shock.
She turned her face away, her arms folded across her chest. “You are very annoying,sir.Very annoying indeed.”
“Because I saw right through yer ruse? Come now, where’s yer sense of competition? Ye should be telling me all the ways yewouldkill me, after all of yer reading about the Romans.” His gaze lingered on the smooth skin at the nape of her neck, his fingertips longing to caress her there, his lips urging him to lower his head and kiss that sensitive spot.
She puffed out a breath. “No, I should not, because it is not funny. None of this is funny.”
He was about to tell her that, actually, he found the conversation surprisingly entertaining, when a figure blundered in. A man in a Tudor costume, with an alarming codpiece and all, staggered straight into Anna, almost knocking her off her feet.
Jeremy acted impulsively, his arm rushing out to pull Anna close and shield her from the drunken lout. It was only a second later that he realized what the other guests might think, prompting him to create some polite distance between them once he saw she had regained her balance.
“Are ye well?” he asked.
Anna nodded, dropping her gaze to make sure that her costume was as it should be. “No harm done.”
“Aye, not yet.” Jeremy glowered at the man who had knocked into her. “Ye! Apologize to the lass.”
The man swayed where he stood and lifted up a simple black mask. “Apologize for what?” he slurred. “Who do you think you are, talking to King Henry the Eighth like that? I ought to have you beheaded.”
Jeremy took a step forward and loomed over the smaller man. “Ye could have injured her. Apologize, or I will make it so ye’ll be needing that codpiece, to make up for what I have cut off.”
The man’s eyes widened to the whites, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.
“It is quite all right,” Anna said in a rush, putting an arm between the two men. “This is my cousin, Benedict. A pleasant fellow, as you can see. Nevertheless, I would not have you… hurt him in such a public event.”
Jeremy’s lip curled. “Ye’re fortunate ye’re related to the lass, else ye’d be on the floor right now.”
But it seemed that Benedict was the kind of man who did not know when to relent, as he puffed out his embroidered chest and held his chin high.
“You should not concern yourself with family matters,” Benedict spat, as he turned a leering grin on Anna. “Have you finally found someone new to marry, dear cousin? Goodness, I hope it is not this mannerless wretch. He cannot even speak properly!”
Irritation burned hot in Jeremy’s chest, his hands tightening into fists until the pain from the burn on his palm pulsed, all to stop himself from punching the man halfway across the ballroom. He wanted to, fiercely, but he had to think of Beatrice, Sophie, and Anna. If he caused a ruckus, society would not forget easily.
