“Honestly, Li, can one expect anything less from a party of pirates, whores, and thieves?”
“I suppose not.” She grimaced. “Though thankfully this is a private party devoid of gossip rags.”
“Who said I didn’t invite the rags?”
“Jasper!” She smacked him with her fan. “You will ruin your poor wife’s reputation before she’s even?—”
“Elizabeth’s reputation was ruined the moment we wed. It is better this way. Let them know whom she married, and let her know who her husband is.”
“Yet you take offense when they snub you—as they’ll snub her now too.” She huffed. “There is a proper way to go about these things, yet time and again you choose the opposite.”
“I’ll not hide who I am.”
“No one is asking you to, Jasper, but?—”
“No.” He cut her short. “My father will acknowledge my existence.”
“But Jasper, the man will never?—”
Milton walked away from Li. She believed he was intentionally making things difficult for Elizabeth. What she didn’t understand was that heneededhis wife to succeed, to triumph in her role.
Everything he did was to prepare and protect her, because everything he’d long sought was at last within reach: title, wife, influence, heirs. He’d never be a duke, but he could run in dukes’ circles, use his wealth to thwart endeavors, access persons of importance in ways previously denied him.
Milton could and would make his sire sit up and notice, and then he’d make that man’s life a living hell. In the meantime, he was rich enough to throw himself a goddamn party, the sort of party befitting of a whoreson. The few toffs who’d deigned to accept his invitation would tell those who had declined just how filthy rich he was, rich enough to flaunt his illegitimacy in their faces.
Besides, even if he’d done every last thing right, put on the most proper wedding dinner and dance in all of London, they’d still have scoffed behind his back, tittered behind their fans. TheTonfound fault no matter how hard he strived to fit in. Why not give them what they already all assumed?
His wife would win them over. She’d add the poise he lacked. Elizabeth would put them in their place and shine where he did not.
She was crucial to his plans. He needed her like he needed air.
Dinner devolved quickly into dancing, only it was not the sort of dancing Elizabeth had been taught. This was peasant dancing at best, and at worst, drunken tromping about. Guests who were also musicians had struck up a jig, to which couples leapt and twirled about.
“Word of warning, my dear: prepare to be manhandled.” Madam Audrey had appeared at Elizabeth’s side. “It’s tradition amongst our folk for a man’s bride to be passed between his friends.”
“Passed?” Elizbeth was appalled. “Why, I’ve never heard tell of such custom as this, madam. I most certainly will not be?—”
But already she’d been nabbed, her mother-in-law’s parting smirk flashing. Elizabeth was suddenly tossed across the floor, spun silly in various men’s arms. A hand at her waist, a hand on her arse, she was flung this way and that, like a ragdoll. Pulled to men’s legs and tighter still to men’s chests, the speed of the jig increased the room’s shouts and stomps to an alarming, fevered pitch.
Until she fell into familiar hands.
Milton righted her in his grasp, snapped his fingers above his head, and the music changed at once to a slower, more sultry tune. It was no song she knew, but her husband’s sure feet led her in step.
The lyrics, however, were another matter.
“Sir,” she hissed. “This song is … Why, it’s?—”
“The Lusty Young Smith.” Milton chuckled. “’Tis played at all weddings.”
“Milton, no such song is played at all weddings.” Her cheeks scalded as the next verse rang out.
Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire,
And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so.
Quoth she, “What I get, I get out of the fire,
Then prithee, strike hard and redouble the blow.”
