18
Richard sat in the coach as it rumbled through the darkened streets of London, its wheels clattering softly against the cobblestones. He was wedged between his mother and the window, but his attention was far from the passing scenery. Opposite him sat Miss Theodosia and Olivia, their skirts pressed close together in the narrow confines of the carriage. Every so often, as the coach jostled over a rut or turned a corner, his knee would bump against Miss Theodosia’s. Each accidental touch sent a ripple of awareness through him that he tried—and failed—to ignore.
Olivia shifted in her seat and glanced towards him with a look of trepidation. “I do hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake by coming tonight.”
“You haven’t,” Richard rushed to assure her. “I dare anyone to say something unkind in my presence.”
Olivia gave a dry laugh. “Oh, they won’t say it to your face. They’ll whisper it behind their fans, all the while smiling sweetly to me.”
Miss Theodosia offered Olivia a reassuring smile. “If at anytime you wish to leave, say the word. I’m here for you, not the ballroom.”
Olivia’s gaze softened. “But this is your first ball in Town. I want you to enjoy it. Perhaps even dance with an eligible gentleman or two.”
Miss Theodosia flushed and looked down at her gloved hands. “I should not assume to be so bold.”
At that, Lady Wilton nudged her son with her elbow and gave him a look that required no words.
Suppressing a sigh, Richard cleared his throat. “I was rather hoping you might save me a dance this evening.”
Miss Theodosia’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but you needn’t offer me pity.”
“Pity?” he repeated, the word tasting foul. “That isn’t what this is. I asked because I would like to dance with you.”
She regarded him carefully, as if weighing his words. “Very well. I shall consider it, then.”
He raised a brow. “You do realize I am a marquess. Most young ladies would be thrilled for the honor.”
Olivia snorted. “Good heavens, do you ever hear yourself speak?”
“It’s merely the truth,” Richard said, puffing his chest out in exaggerated pride. “I am, after all, quite the eligible bachelor.”
“Also incredibly humble,” Olivia muttered.
Miss Theodosia gave a soft laugh behind her gloved hand. “She isn’t wrong.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “Et tu, Miss Theodosia?”
The coach slowed, then stopped in front of Lord Warwicke’s grand townhouse, ablaze with lights. Richard stepped out first after the footman placed the steps down. He assisted his mother and sister, but when it came time to help Miss Theodosia, he held her hand a moment longer than propriety allowed. Her skin, even through her glove, felt warm against his palm, and it was with great reluctance that he let go.
He stepped back and admired Miss Theodosia. She wore a silver gown that shimmered like moonlight, and her dark hair was swept into an elegant arrangement with soft curls framing her face. She was, quite simply, radiant. He knew she would turn heads tonight—even without a noble pedigree to bolster her status.
And part of him hated that. Hated the vulnerability of it.
He offered his arm to his mother and sister, and they made their way up the steps and into thecrushof the ballroom. A crystal chandelier hung high above their heads, its many facets scattering light like fire across the chalked dance floor underfoot. The room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the best and worst of theton, and Richard felt his jaw tighten at the sheer press of bodies and over-loud laughter.
A voice behind him drew his attention.
“Just pretend we aren’t packed in here like cattle,” Miss Theodosia said lightly.
He turned his head, grateful for her levity. “It’s far too crowded for my tastes.”
“But you’re here to support your family,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
He nodded, glancing around only to find a half-dozen young women eyeing him like a prized bull, their eyelashes fluttering. Subtlety was clearly out of fashion.
They reached the rear of the ballroom and Lady Wilton slipped her hand off his arm. “Excuse me, I see someone I must speak to.”
Richard patted Olivia’s hand where it rested on his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders tense.
