Page 20 of The Marriage Wager

She laughed. “You are too smooth-tongued by half, sir.”

“You are unjust,” he responded, his eyes twinkling. “I have only spoken the truth to you.”

She cast him a cynical glance. “You forget, my lord, I know—from your own words—how much you are pursued. Can you expect me to believe that among all those girls, you would notice each and every one?”

“Not each and every one,” he replied. “Only you.”

Constance tried to suppress the warmth that flooded her at his words, but she could not. When he smiled at her like that, it made it difficult to remember that she needed to keep her head around him. Yet how could she not smile and flush when he said such things to her?

Forcing a certain tartness into her voice, she countered, “And all the ones with whom you try to dally in the library—do you remember all of them?”

“Ah.” He cast her a knowing glance. “I see that you are holding my sins against me. Please, believe me when I tell you that I do not, in fact, usually dally with young ladies—in the library or elsewhere.”

“Indeed?” She arched an eyebrow.

“No. The truth, Miss Woodley, is that there is something about you which makes me act…out of the ordinary.”

“I am not sure whether you are complimenting me or disparaging me,” she told him.

“’Tis no disparagement, I assure you.”

Constance could think of nothing to say. There was a warm look in his eyes that did strange things to her insides. It was difficult to be witty or aloof; all she wanted was to dance in his arms, to gaze into his eyes, to live in the moment and the music.

But all too soon the music was over. They whirled to a stop. There was the briefest of hesitations, then Leighton dropped his arms from her and stepped back. Constance drew a shaky breath, glancing away from him as she pulled herself back into the real world.

She took his arm, and he walked her back to where his sister stood waiting. As soon as they arrived, Sir Lucien asked Constance to dance and led her out to the floor. When they returned, Constance saw to her disappointment that Lord Leighton was no longer with Francesca.

However, she was far too busy for the rest of the evening to miss his presence. There were always a number of men dancing attendance upon Lady Haughston at any party, but tonight their number doubled. Francesca was besieged with young gentlemen seeking an introduction to her new companion, and she was happy to oblige. Before half the evening was over, Constance’s dance card was filled. She was certain that the reason for her sudden popularity lay in the fact that Lord Leighton and Sir Lucien had asked her to dance. There was nothing that established a woman’s desirability like the attention of other men.

Constance, however, was enjoying the evening far too much to quibble about the reasons behind it. As she danced and talked and flirted, she did not feel at all like a chaperone—or even like a spinster. She felt young and as attractive as her admirers were telling her, and she could not remember when she had enjoyed herself as much. It had been years, she thought. Since her father’s death, in fact.

While she could not accuse her aunt and uncle of cruelty or mistreatment, there was no love for her in their house; she was less a loved member of the family than a sort of high-class servant. Nor did she, frankly, enjoy their company. Her happiness came from small things—a walk in the spring, a visit with a friend in the village or an hour spent alone reading. It did not spark and fizzle as it did tonight, making her want to bubble over with laughter. She had not realized until now just how gray her world had become. She would, she thought, always be grateful to Francesca for this feeling, and she knew that, whatever happened, she had been right to join in Francesca’s scheme.

The only thing that marred her happiness was a moment when she glanced to the side and found a woman staring at her with an intense look of dislike. Startled, Constance stared back at her for a moment. The woman was tall and dark-haired, with very light blue eyes. Constance took her to be a few years younger than herself, and she would have been attractive if it had not been for the cold, disdainful expression on her face. She stood beside an older woman who looked so much an older version of her that Constance assumed they must be mother and daughter. The mother, as much as the daughter, was gazing at Constance with a venomous look.

Constance turned away, shocked and uncertain. She was sure that she did not know either woman. Indeed, she did not think she had ever even seen them before, though she supposed she might have come across them at some other party and not remembered them. But she could not imagine why the two would have taken such a dislike to her.

She turned to ask Francesca who they were, but Francesca was chatting with a young man, whom she promptly introduced to Constance. By the time he left, the women Constance had seen were no longer standing there. With a mental shrug, she dismissed the thought of them and took the floor with her next dance partner.

FRANCESCA SPENT MOST OF the evening watching Constance like a proud mother. She had asked Sir Lucien to dance with Constance, as Constance had suspected, but she was pleased to hear him say, after the dance was over, that her protégé was both pretty and charming.

“What are you about with this girl, anyway?” he went on, looking at Francesca shrewdly. “I know she is not one of those chits whose parents ask you to establish them. From what I have heard, she is a poor relation of that dreadful Woodley woman.”

“Why, Lucien, you wound me,” Francesca teased him. “Do you think me entirely mercenary?”

“My dear girl, I know you are not. You could have had your pick of a wealthy husband any time these last five years, and you have not snapped one up. But I cannot understand why you came to choose this girl. She is long past the age of coming out. I believe she is a veritable ape-leader.”

“She is younger than I, so let us not talk of age, sir. But if you must know, it is because of Rochford.”

“Rochford!” Lucien looked surprised. “What has he to do with it?”

“He challenged me.”

“Ah.” Lucien smiled faintly. “You could not, of course, fail to take up the glove with him.”

She cast him a dampening look. “A sapphire bracelet rides on my success, and I should rather like to have it.”

“I see.” He paused, then went on. “And what have you committed yourself to do?”