He took the money.
Chapter Eighteen
The wealthy and the titled merely irritated Nora most days. Waiting for the count’s dinner to commence, her skin crawled and her shoulders tightened to bands of steel under the furtive stares of well-polished luminaries.Have I grown another head?
Victor Filiberto bowed over her hand while his eyes roamed over the rest of her.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said in English.Perhaps he means it. Perhaps he thinks I wasted Isabella’s inheritance on this gown.His leering eyes gave away little.
She believed she did look rather well in the shockingly expensive, deep blue silk Jamie had insisted she buy. She squeezed her eyes shut. She thought the finery inappropriate, and she didn’t like the baron slobbering over her hand.
Jamie’s palm came to rest on the small of her back. Any feelings of safety the gesture might have brought warred with other less familiar emotions. The sudden sharp memory of his kiss sent sensation dancing along already frayed nerves, spreading liquid warmth through her middle to pool in places that brought a blush to her face.
“My betrothed does look particularly lovely tonight,” Jamie said through narrow lips. The word “betrothed” sounded unbearably intimate when he said it, as if it were true.
“You make a happy couple,” Victor responded. No warmth reached his eyes. “When is the wedding?”
“We have no date,” Nora rushed in breathlessly. “There has been little time.”
“You will, of course, keep us informed,” he replied and, with a nod at Jamie, moved off to greet other guests gathered in the anteroom. Jamie followed him with his eyes and then resumed scanning the room.
Nora expelled a breath. “I don’t like him,” she whispered.
“Good,” Jamie replied, reaching to shake the hand of a man who introduced himself with a minor title. Jamie translated introductions, small talk, and then, “When is your wedding?”
She answered as she had to Victor. When the man moved on, she asked in undertone, “Why do they keep asking that?”
“A politeness when addressing a betrothed couple,” he replied. “Wouldn’t you ask the same?”
Nora nodded, smiling at a woman who now spoke to Jamie in Italian. More small talk. The woman moved on.
“Or,” Jamie said smoothly without looking at her, “they wish to ascertain if your betrothal is real.”
Nora choked.
“Smile,mia cara,” he said.
What little comfort she had mustered failed her. She managed a weak smile. Head high, she struggled to respond to niceties.Why did I let Jamie convince me to perpetrate this sham betrothal?She prayed for another way to cement her claims to Isabella. No ideas came.
When the old wolf himself stood in front of her, she leaned into the support of Jamie’s arm.
“Good that you could join us, Mrs. Haley,” the Count di Castellimonte said in English. She curtsied deeply and rose to an assessing look on the old man’s face. “We wondered whether mourning would keep you away.”
I knew it.This, all of this—the dress, the dinner—is inappropriate.Her heart sank. The small pat of reassurance she felt on her back kept her knees from doing the same.The count invited me. Why should he disapprove?
“Some might say otherwise, but your good news changes things, of course,” he went on. If Castellimonte declared her dress appropriate, it was.
“The modesty of your dress does you credit,” he continued. “It is appropriate for a betrothed woman to attend a simple family dinner, even one mourning a loss.”
Simple family dinner? There must be fifty people here dressed in outfits that would feed a family in the village back home for months.
Nora tried to control her breathing.
“We are pleased to have you and your betrothed join us,” the count said with every appearance of sincerity. If he decided her presence was appropriate, then it was.
She replied with her wobbly smile. Jamie gave her back a discreet push.
“We’re honored to be here, Count,” he replied when Nora remained mute.
