The thought came unbidden, and he closed his eyes and shook his head, muttering a curse under his breath.
“Are you thinking about me?”
Well, that puts a damper on the thought.Robert opened his eyes and put a look of pure adoration on his face as he turned toward the speaker, the love of his life, Lady Lydia Rowbotham. “I am, my dear. I assure you.” He bent his head toward her, his voice a seductive stage whisper. “Wicked thoughts not suited for the ballroom.”
Several heads turned as she giggled, tapping him playfully with her dance card. “You can begin with this.”
He took the card and scanned the dances, some of which had already been claimed. He looked up at her from beneath half-lidded eyes. “One? Or two?” He leaned a bit closer. “Dare we three?”
She tugged at the card, but he refused to release it. “Since there is no formal agreement between us, you would never be so scandalous, sir. I know you better.”
The retort on his tongue stayed there. Instead, he added his name to the cotillion—better to keep an eye on Beth—then he hesitated over the waltz, which tonight was the last dance before supper commenced at one. Beth had agreed to leave before the meal, allowing him more time to get to the gambling hell. So he added his name to the dance before the waltz, a quadrille.
When he looked up, Lydia gave him a distinct moue of disappointment. “No waltz?”
Robert produced his brightest, cockiest grin. “And court scandal twice in one night? My lady, such taunts on your part astound me.”
The resulting giggle made his spine twitch, but he offered her his elbow. “Mademoiselle, the cotillion awaits our expertise.”
Lydia took his arm. “I must admit I was surprised to see you. Pleasantly. I had been most disappointed to receive your note. I am glad you changed your mind.”
“I decided that some things are indeed important.”Like my sister. Or my mother’s wishes.“After all, it is always a pleasure to be at your side, if only for two dances. I see in my absence the other pursuers of your charms wasted no time.”
“Was I to sit idle while you ignored me?”
He put his hand over hers. “My dear, I would never presume that a woman as loving and charming as you would ever be idle. Why do you think I have pursued you so persistently? I know with absolute certainty how lucky I am and how quickly I could be replaced.”
A small furrow developed between her brows as they took up their positions with the other dancers. Her eyes narrowed somewhat, but Robert intentionally widened his own while keeping his face relaxed, his lips turning up slightly at the corners. It was the same look of reassurance he often gave errant gamblers on Campion’s floor—just before the guards ejected them.
The music began with a flourish that discouraged any response, and Robert followed through the steps with ease, his rapt gaze leaving Lydia’s face only twice, both times to glance at Beth, whose look of adoration aimed at Aldermaston reassured him that the marquess continued to behave like a gentleman. Robert may have refined the ability to hide his emotions from those around him, but his siblings—especially Beth—had never acquired the aptitude. If Aldermaston misbehaved, Beth’s face would reveal the indiscretion immediately.
Lady Lydia, however, still had that furrow between her brows, and her expression had turned studious as she stared at him through every step of the dance. Lydia Rowbotham might be lacking in compassion and consideration, but one thing she did not lack was intelligence. She remained one of the smarter women Robert had met over the past few weeks, which had provided him hope they could make a reasonable Society marriage, even though they did not care for each other. They could, at least, understand each other.
As the music ended, Robert bowed and offered his arm to Lydia, who took it and leaned close as they left the dance floor, resuming the previous conversation. “Do you doubt my fealty, sir?”
“I cannot doubt what I do not expect.”
Lydia stopped, yanking her hand away, her eyes dark with irritation. “You think I am faithless?”
Robert reached for her hand, gripping it tightly, raising it. As his lips brushed over the knuckles lightly, he kept his voice low. “I think you are your father’s daughter, my lady. I have passed all your tests to prove myself to your family. As we are now close to an agreement, I do not think it serves either of us to pretend our match is more than it is. Your father wants something from me. I want something from you. We will form a solid foundation for our children and a proper Society marriage.”
Lydia glowered as she pulled her hand away. “I will speak to my father about this.”
“You will find he agrees with me.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Now. You have other partners waiting. I will see you at the quadrille.” Robert stepped back, bowed, and pivoted on one foot to stride away from her. He needed fresh air—and a lot of it.
He sought it on the Marsden’s terrace, a narrow stretch of marble that extended only a few yards from the ballroom’s rear doors. He moved as far away from the lights as possible, seeking refuge on the far side of an oversized evergreen bush in a pot. He braced his arms against the thick stone railing and inhaled deeply. He had thought his miniscule confrontation with his future bride would have provided a sense of relief, a clearing of the air so that he could be less lapdog and more future son-in-law to a duke. Instead, Robert felt as if he had just exposed a weak flank, which now lay open for attack. In only a few words, he might have destroyed weeks of careful planning and groveling.
Maybe Mother is right. Maybe I am not suited for a political marriage. This is exhausting.Every encounter with Lydia Rowbotham drained him to his very marrow. Unlike his Robbie Green persona—which came as easily to him as walking the paths of Hyde Park—the congenial and pliant role he’d played to win over Lydia and her family made him tense and miserable. Perhaps it was time to drop the façade, come what may.
He sensed rather than heard the gentle presence that moved in beside him. He also could smell her perfume, a light floral that matched her sweet personality. She leaned against his arm, at least half her weight pressing against him.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he mumbled.
Beth sighed. “I’m not alone, dolt. I’m with my big brother.”
“I mean you should be inside with Aldermaston.”
“This was actually his idea.”
