‘You are lucky. They are beautiful high-steppers.’ This from one of the men.
‘Yes, they are perfect. I much enjoyed it.’
‘But to let you drive them…’
‘You are so brave. Did you ask him?’
‘No, he offered. But he knew I was dying to.’
‘Oho! Did he propose?’
Again, she managed to laugh, narrowing her eyes. ‘Ah, that would be telling…’
‘Ooh, I would love to be a duchess.’
‘Yes, but not with him as my duke. He terrifies me.’
‘Still, I would not mind being addressed as Your Grace.’
‘Yes, but can you imagine having to confess to him you have overspent your pin money?’ There was laughter.
‘He’s so rich, he wouldn’t even notice.’
‘I am sure he would—and slay you with a single look.’
Everyone laughed again and Alice, with a shrewd glance at Marguerite’s face, changed the subject. ‘Well, I would prefer Charles to kiss me. I miss not having him here.’
‘Yes, Charles. Another of Marguerite’s admirers.’
‘Has Charles kissed you, Marguerite?’
Marguerite laughed, more easily this time, and pointed to her cheek. ‘Yes, here.’
‘Well, I would not mind kissing you there.’ This from Felix Crampton, who had managed to sit next to her this time. Sherose and, putting a hand on his shoulder, bent quickly and kissed his cheek.
‘There, I will kiss you goodnight. I am going to bed.’
Felix looked up at her, surprised but delighted, a wide smile on his face. He made as if to rise, but she pressed his shoulder.
‘Don’t get up, I am leaving now. I find I am exhausted.’
A parting shot, from one of the girls. ‘From driving those horses, I can imagine.’
She smiled and said, ‘We have also been playing games all afternoon. Good night, all.’
She threw Alice a grateful glance and turned to go. As she walked to the door, she quickly looked towards the other tables; Argyle was still playing as she left the room. She hoped he had not heard them gossip about him.
* * *
Argyle had seen her leave. He’d felt her glance at him and had forced himself not to look in her direction. From the meaningful glances her friends gave him, he knew there was talk about him—talk he could do without. Nevertheless, he had to fight the urge to rise from the card table and follow her. Playing cards with people who did not interest him had been excruciating after the afternoon drive, the kiss, and the dinner with his leg touching hers. He had hardly eaten anything but drunk too much wine, which was now sitting on his stomach, making him nauseous.
Or perhaps what was making him nauseous was his obsession with Marguerite. Had he come any closer to being able to persuade her to change her mind about marrying him? He was not sure—she was keeping him on his toes with her surprising changes of tone. He was burning with the desire to run up the stairs, knock on her door and have it out with her, here and now. He would kiss her until she melted. But no—her maid was bound to be with her, and that would lead to gossip in the servants’ hall. He could not in all propriety force her hand in such a clumsy way. He sighed inwardly and asked his partner to repeat what she had just said—his mind was not on the game.
Chapter 11
Alone in her bedchamber, after she had sent her maid to bed, Marguerite felt restless; sleep eluded her, although she was tired. Perhaps it was the wine she had drunk that had made her excitable—again, more than she was used to. Argyle’s proximity, the touch of his leg against hers, his lack of conversation, had made her reach for her glass more often than usual. She paced the room and slipped behind the heavy curtain to stand for a while gazing at the moonlit garden and thinking of the way he had smiled at her as he had never done before; and of the current flowing between them as they sat on the curricle seat, their shoulders touching; and of the kiss.
The kiss…it made her feel hot all over. Before that ball some time ago, she had not known you could kiss like that. Argyle had run his tongue along the edges of her teeth…and then—and then the curricle had moved, before she could try doing the same. Next time…but there must not be a next time, therewould notbe a next time, because otherwise she would soon be a duchess, with a multitude of faceless footmen and an arrogant and aloof husband.
