Kieran stiffened. “If you refer to the Comtesse de Pontrevault, I should point out that she is a connection of mine.”
Somewhat sulkily, his partner begged his pardon. They reached the end of the ballroom, where a small orchestra played in an arched alcove. Negotiating the turn to dance back up the room, a flash of jeweled buttons and white satin caught hisattention. The unmistakable back of Diantha’s gown flared out gently as she whirled in the arms of the man he had come to dislike already.
He broke in on Solange’s flow of inconsequential gossip. “Who is this Emerson?”
A look of annoyance crossed her face. “A compatriot of yours, although assuredly not of our class. He owns a factory of some kind and is nearly as wealthy as your new father-in-law. I believe he bought his title a few years ago.” She shrugged, clearly tired of the conversation, and they finished the waltz.
After obtaining champagne for the marquise and himself, he turned her over to her next dance partner with a sense of relief and went in search of Diantha. He found her engaged in an animated conversation with the factory owner and tamped down an unexpected flash of anger.
Forcing a smile to his lips, he strolled forward and begged to be introduced. As she made the two men known to each other, he sized up the other man.
Only a few inches shorter than he, Emerson possessed the rangy quality of a lean wolf. Kieran put his age somewhere in his late thirties, judging by the sandy hair going to gray and the faintly lined forehead. Although dressed in an impeccably tailored evening suit, the other man betrayed his background as soon as he opened his mouth, for he spoke with an unapologetic Yorkshire accent.
“Harry Emerson, North Riding Shipyards.” He held out his hand. Despite Kieran’s hostility, he admired the man’s lack of pretentiousness and held out his own. As they shook hands, he realized Emerson was assessing him closely, too. “I’ve built afew steamers for Quinn over the years, known Diantha since she was a girl.” He turned his head to watch the marquise dance past before regarding Kieran with cool green eyes. “I’m sure your lordship knows what a lucky man you are to have married her.”
His temper flared again but he replied smoothly. “Indeed I do, Sir Harry. In fact, I came over to ask her ladyship if she cared to dance.” He did not exactly lie, for he had expected to dance at least once with her. In the first place it was only proper, and also he had noticed during their engagement that while she was a graceful dancer, men often overlooked her.
This did not appear to be the case this evening. In the friendliest manner possible, she smiled and informed him that while one waltz remained open for him, the rest of her dance card was filled.
“In fact, here comes my partner now.” Handing her champagne glass to Kieran, she held out her fingers to the comtesse’s grandson. “Roch, your timing is perfect. The introduction is just starting.” As the first strains of the next tune played, she strolled onto the floor.
He could not take his gaze off her satin-covered derriere for several seconds. Looking around, his lips pressed together. Several other men in the room eyed her backside just as appreciatively.
While he did not precisely spend the rest of the evening dancing attendance on his wife, he did stay in her vicinity as best he could. By the time he claimed his waltz he had experienced a considerable sense of ill-usage.
“Why didn’t you save me the supper dance?” He frowned down at her as soon as the music started.
“You had apparently already asked the Marquise de Tourelle. Why are you in such a pet?” The diamonds in her aigrette flashed as she tipped her head back to look at him.
Like a burr under his skin, the justice of her reply only served to irritate him further. He had spent the supper interval watching her dining with Sir Harry, who had, in his opinion, hovered unnecessarily close when not waiting on her.
When he taxed her with this, she sighed. “You are exaggerating the case. While he is undeniably charming, and enjoys female company, his heart is unattainable.” Her face saddened. “He buried it when his wife died years ago.”
“You have treated him with particular favor all evening.” Even to his own ears, the accusation sounded petty, for Diantha had not passed the bounds of propriety.
She raised her eyebrows. “Why not? There was a plan afoot to marry me to him at one time. That’s why we came to London in the first place last year.”
The sprightly music of the orchestra filled the silence between them as he grappled with this bombshell. It had never occurred to him that she might have had another suitor.
As they twirled in silence, he noticed the fragrance from the rose in her hair and the fine texture of her skin in the light from the chandeliers.
Remembering the night before their wedding when he had discovered her in her father’s library, he wondered if she had only given him an excusefor her drunkenness. When the music came to an end, he could only think to bow.
Not until the carriage drove them back to the Avenue Montaigne in the small hours of the morning did he dare to ask her the question that weighed on his heart.
“Do you regret not marrying Sir Harry?” He stared straight ahead.
She paused before replying. “It wasn’t really a matter of regret. It was much the same as our own engagement. Mama and Papa simply informed me I would be married, and to whom.” No trace of self-pity entered her voice. “You came along before anything had been decided for certain between Papa and Sir Harry.”
“That must have been difficult for you, being passed around like a refreshment tray.” He reached over to take her hand.
A breath of laughter sounded beside him. “An apt, if lowering, description.” She rallied a little. “But as I said, his heart would never be mine.”
“Is that important?” He blurted out the question before he realized what he had said. Of course, she would consider it important; all young girls had romantic notions.
“I thought so when I was a girl, but that’s not very practical, is it?” She withdrew her hand. “A woman must make her marriage satisfactory, I suppose.”
Kieran took a deep breath. “Would you have preferred Emerson over me?” He did not understand why he attached so much importance to her answer, but his shoulders tensed as though waiting for a physical blow.
