Langdon looked at Marlowe. “Minerva enjoys finding investment opportunities. Gambling with greater risks.”
The lady smiled brightly. “I am my father’s daughter.”
“And your father is...”
“Jack Dodger. Ah, there’s Rexton. I need to have a word with him as well.”
“After our dance,” the duke said and led her away.
Marlowe studied Langdon, had sensed the stillness coming over him as though preparing for a blow when Minerva had mentioned numbers. “What will you do when you receive her calculations?”
“Pretend to study them and then tell her they’re viable. She’s seldom wrong.”
“Did you forget that I offered to help you with numbers?”
“There are a lot of numbers in my life, Marlowe.”
“Still...” Averting her gaze, she saw Hollie standing nearby, staring at her. Beside him was a small woman, with black hair and unremarkablefeatures. So easy to be overlooked. Marlowe was glad, not because the lady offered no competition physically but because she knew that Hollie—so obsessed with beauty—truly loved the woman, had looked beneath the surface, something he rarely did.
She gave him a small smile, a subtle nod, striving to communicate that it was all right for him to give her a cut direct, to walk away without acknowledgment. His gaze shifted to her left, to where Langdon stood, and whatever he saw there had him escorting the lady toward them.
He stopped before her. “Marlowe, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“The duke and duchess were kind enough to invite me.”
“Of course they were.” He looked at Langdon, nodded as though coming to some conclusion. “Effie, darling, allow me to introduce Marlowe, a dear friend of Lord Langdon’s here.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Effie, blushing, said so quietly that Marlowe almost didn’t hear her over the din of the conversations surrounding them.
“I saw your announcement in theTimes. What a fortunate lady you are to hold Lord Hollingsworth’s heart. I wish you naught but happiness in the years to come.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Not at all. I don’t know him well, but I have on occasion seen the goodness in him.”
Effie smiled as though Marlowe had placed a crown on his head. The young woman turned her attention to Langdon. “I suppose Poppy is here.”
“I have yet to see her, but I do know she is coming. If you will both be kind enough to excuse us, I promised Marlowe this dance.” Langdon offered his arm and she wrapped hers around it, grateful when he led her away from one of the most awkward situations in her life.
As he guided her over the dance floor, Langdon wasn’t certain—that under similar circumstances—he could have exhibited the same grace that Marlowe had. Before the couple had come over, he’d been able to tell from Hollingsworth’s posture that he was considering ignoring her, or worse, giving her a cut direct. Langdon had managed to signal that if he did either of those things, there would be hell to pay.
He’d been able to promise Marlowe there wouldn’t be a repeat of the incident at the Dragons because he was well aware the tale of it had made the rounds, embellished here and there, growing to epic proportions until most realized she was under his protection and that he was damned serious about safeguarding her. She might not be pleased to realize that, but he would do all in his power to ensure she never suffered such an insult again.
How dare anyone judge her! How dare anyone not properly assess the worth of her!
A young woman taking care of her mother, striving to undo damage done by her father. Taking on burdens that weren’t hers to carry.
“He truly loves her,” Marlowe said. “Thank goodness, I don’t think Lady Effie knows about my role in his life.”
“Few do. The gossip focused on you, not him.”
“That’s the way of it, isn’t it? A woman puts a foot wrong, and everyone is aghast and eager to point fingers at her. A man, however, his transgressions are overlooked. A man of the nobility... if his misbehavior is bad enough, suddenly he is an initial, not a name. That’s the reason you can duel. You’re all forgiven. Although tonight might do some damage to your reputation. With the exception of Chadbourne, I believe every noble in Christendom must be here.”
“I suspect you’re correct. Are you glad you came?” he asked.
“So far, but you don’t have to watch over me. I’m certain a goodly number of ladies would like to dance with you.”
“But it is you, alone, with whom I wish to dance.”
