Page 26 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

‘Refreshed, my dear?’ Lady Englemere asked, a mischievous smile directed at her sister.

Miss Wellingford didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Quite. Now you must rescue the lieutenant—who was just identified as a marquess by Lady Brockhaven in the refreshment room. I don’t know how she discovered the news and I don’t imagine it’s known by many others, but I expect he would appreciate not being subjected to a barrage of feminine attention, at least for one more evening.’

Lady Englemere immediately sobered. ‘Oh, dear! How annoying! I’m sure you’ll want to get settled in your new role before you even think of taking a wife! But Emma is right—once the ton learns of your elevation, there will be no escaping that attention. If you wish to be safe from feminine pursuit the rest of tonight, I recommend you adjourn to the card room.’

‘My thanks to you both,’ he said, bowing.

Charles strode off towards the masculine bastion of the card room, both relieved to escape further notice and annoyed that to do that, he had to give up his two dances with lovely Miss Emma.

As he hastened to that refuge, he thought about Miss Wellingford confirming again that she’d met no gentlemen in the ton who might tempt her into marriage—and her previous speculation that she might eventually have to wed a gentleman who would expect her to give up her own interests to become a conventional wife.

What a waste, he thought, to give herself to someone who would not appreciate her. Who might overlook her quick wit and the passions that ranged beyond housekeeping, the nursery, the stillroom or Society events.

Eventually she would have to marry; she could only so long delay the inevitable. Once again, the thought recurred that she would make him a good partner. Maybe they could help each other?

The stir of arousal produced at the thought of wedding her promised his senses would approve such a plan.

A sense of something like panic succeeded it. She would most likely be pressed into marriage soon…while he knew himself not yet ready for that commitment. A daunting mountain of problems must be solved and tasks mastered before he would feel truly at ease in the new role into which he’d been thrust. She deserved a husband in full command of his duties and responsibilities, secure in himself and his place, ready to devote to her the care and attention she deserved.

Still, he felt an instinctive and totally irrational revulsion at the idea of her wedding anyone. Anyone…who wasn’t him.

Would he want her to wait for him until he was ready?

Anxiety twisted in his chest. He had no sense of when he might be ready, save it would not be soon. Given that uncertainty, he had no right to ask anything of her.

Pushing away all the disturbing emotions, he told himself that, at present, he must concentrate on being the best friend he could be, helping her avoid suitors she disliked…and hoping she didn’t discover one she truly favoured. Until he had mastered the role looming before him, he must put away any thought of personal entanglements.

Not even entanglements with a lady who drew him as strongly as Miss Emma Wellingford.

Chapter Nine

Three nights later, Emma followed Englemere and her sister into the Croxton ballroom. With Sarah’s approval, she’d sent a note to Lieutenant Marsden, letting him know approximately when they would arrive, so they might meet.

Although by tonight, she would have to begin referring to him as Lord Richland. Nicky had told her he’d discovered when he visited his club that, in that mysterious way news trickled around the ton, the lieutenant’s elevation in rank was now generally known. The excuse with which she’d fobbed off Lady Brockhaven, that he wasn’t using the title because he hadn’t yet been formally presented in Parliament, would no longer work if everyone at the ball was referring to him by rank.

Lord Richland… Despite being aware of his new identity sooner than anyone else, it seemed odd to refer to him that way. Hard to think of him that way.

Because she’d grown so comfortable being with him as just a simple gentleman? A simple gentleman she might even consider wedding?

She’d have to steel herself to the fact that, even if he tempted her to consider marriage, she’d already rejected the idea of taking on the duties and responsibilities required of a nobleman’s wife. No matter how drawn to that nobleman she might be.

Besides, after Society recognised him tonight, the lieutenant she’d grown to care for would be transformed from engaging friend into the marquess she would probably see seldom, and only socially.

No wonder she entered the ballroom feeling so…dispirited.

She was likely to be the only female who would have that reaction to his elevation. Everyone else, eligible ladies in particular, would be thrilled to be presented to him as the marquess. Thus, despite how low Emma felt, she needed to gift him as quickly as possible with the list of ‘safe’ females she and Sarah had prepared.

The Wellingford ladies would do their best to shield him, but with news already circulating, he was likely to be mobbed as soon as he was spotted by well-wishers with whom he was already acquainted and marriage-hungry maidens eager to be presented.

Soon enough tonight, he would be swept away. With a stir of sadness, she acknowledged that their meeting immediately after arriving at the ball would likely be her last opportunity to spend some private time with him.

After greeting their hostess, she made for the small anteroom she’d described to him, where they might have a quick, private chat. Near the card room, it was a space where people generally didn’t congregate until later, when partygoers were ready to rest from the fatigue of dancing or the disappointment of having lost at cards.

She felt a stir of bittersweet anticipation as she entered—and a swell of mingled delight and sadness as she saw Richland standing as instructed in the dimness by the hearth, where he was unlikely to be spotted by anyone casually walking by.

She hurried over to join him in the half-light. ‘Good! You were able to follow my instructions.’

He bent to take her hand and kiss it, sending a thrill of sensation through her. ‘Yes. I must admit, I felt transported back to the Peninsula, sneaking off like one of Wellington’s riding officers going to gather intelligence from the partisans.’