Colin looked over to find a man of about his age, and similar height, although somewhat slighter in build. But then, few people were as unfashionably muscular as him. He was well aware of the fact that he looked more like a laborer than a nobleman. This guy, on the other hand, looked every inch the aristocrat, with his brown hair cut in fashionable waves and a sardonic smile playing on his face. And he appeared familiar.
“Excuse me?”
“Bringing two beautiful women into this den of predators.” He explained, tipping his glass toward the dance floor. “One would have been difficult enough to ward, but two?” he snorted. “I don’t envy you your task.”
“Are you saying you are not one of those predators?” Colin replied, narrowing his eyes. A memory nagged at his mind.
“Me? No. I should know better than to tangle with married women or innocents.” He said it easily enough, but Colin thought he detected a hint of bitterness under the blithe statement. As if that knowledge had come hard earned.
“Have we met before?” he asked, sounding rather brusque, but he was intrigued.
“I should think so, Hartfield.” The corner of the other man’s mouth hitched up in a half smile as he offered his hand. “Gabriel St. Michael, Earl of Brentworth now. We met at Eton under rather unfortunate circumstances, but I hope you won’t hold that against me.”
His eyes widened. Of course! He had never forgotten the friend who had stood up for him in one of the most humiliating moments of his life. But even though they had corresponded sporadically over the years, after leaving England, he had not seen him again until tonight.
“Gabriel! Of course. It’s been what, twenty years? How are you, old chap?” He said, clasping the other man’s hand in a firm handshake with genuine pleasure, despite the rather painful memories.
“Well enough. Not as well as you, apparently. I hear you are a newlywed man. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. How about you? Is there a Lady Brentworth?”
“Ah! No. I have not achieved that happy state.”
Colin snorted. “Well, as you have noticed, it is not without its tribulations.”
“Yes, but well worth it with the right lady, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.” Colin said, his eyes once again on his wife, who was dancing with some buffoon and smiling up at him.
Thankfully, at that moment, the music rose to a crescendo, and ended on a triumphal note. His wife's dance partner escorted her back to his side, and his sister arrived shortly after, her face flushed with excitement and the exertion of the dance. In contrast, Abigail looked serene.
“Brentworth, allow me to introduce my wife Abigail, Lady Hartfield, and my sister, Lady Elizabeth. Ladies, this is the Earl of Brentworth. A childhood friend.”
They exchanged polite greetings. Despite his genuine pleasure at encountering his friend, he couldn’t help a pang of something that looked like jealousy as he reflected on how the handsome Brentworth was a more fitting partner for Abby. If he had not interfered and married her before she rejoined society, she might have married a man like him.
The thought was depressing, but he couldn’t regret marrying Abigail, even if it had been a selfish act. Abigail was his.
“My lord,” she was saying to a smiling Gabriel. “You must come and dine with us sometime. Perhaps next week?”
“Oh, what a capital idea, Abigail.” his sister replied, simpering and making eyes at Gabriel. Elizabeth was going to be a proper handful. The man was twice her age. Good thing that Gabriel had shown no other emotion than polite regard for both Abigail and Elizabeth. Damn, but he was in for a rough time this season if he was going to assess each man and their intentions.
“I would be honored, Lady Hartfield.” Brentworth replied politely, and they parted ways with the promise to meet at White’s soon to share a drink and catch up.
The rest of the ball continued in the same vein, with both his sister and his wife in high demand as dance partners and him watching from the sidelines most of the time. Only once he had danced with Abigail. He could have asked other ladies to dance, he supposed. He knew he was being churlish by just standing by the side of the ballroom like a watchdog, but if he couldn’t dance with his wife, he damn well would not dance with any of the other ladies.
By the end of the night, as they drove home in the carriage, he was in a foul mood.
They were nearing the top of the stairs when Elizabeth said good night with a yawn and went to her rooms. It was late, well past midnight. Abigail had danced the entire night. She must be tired too. The polite, gentlemanly thing to do was to leave her alone tonight, let her sleep. But damn it all, he needed her.
After watching her dance with countless men tonight, he needed to assert his place as her husband. By her side. In her bed. He needed to possess her in the most primal of ways. At the entrance to her bedroom, instead of bidding her a polite good night, he pushed through the door and entered behind her.
