Page 14 of Tempting the Marquess

“Oh no, wait, perhaps I just didn’t see them. If you say you sent some, I believe you!” she finished, her face lightingup.

“How very reassuring. Trustworthy as the day is long, that’s me,” William replied in a tone so horribly “jolly old uncle” hearty it made him queasy. “Now, are you hungry? We should get to the cake before Lady Westleigh finishes itall.”

“I’d lovesome.”

Tucking Lady Samantha’s arm through his, desperately trying to ignore the inviting warmth of her skin and the light floral scent far more alluring than any perfume would ever be, he led her toward the refreshment table. All the time wishing he’d never re-met this beautiful, bashful, and rather interesting young woman, who might well be helping to spin a web of pureevil.

* * *

Lord Standish was so kind.Had bought her flowers. And yet he was very hard to understand.

Nibbling at a thin slice of fruitcake—because if she indulged in the other treats on the refreshment table, her gown would actually split down the front—Samantha pondered the physical perfection standing besideher.

He was so proper. Polite and attentive. Occasionally made comments that caused her to laugh out loud and the room to stop and stare. And yet an almost visible cloak of tension had settled around his shoulders, something that made her want to step forward and wrap her arms around him. But that would be another mistake, and twenty was far too young to have made as many as she had. Besides, if she got too close, the inferno that occasionally flashed in his eyes, that heat whenever she rested her hand on his sleeve, or danced with him, or brushed against him in any way, might burn her alive.

Especially now, when there were so many people around. And not elderly matrons with poor eyesight and worse hearing, or discreet secret-keepers. If she were to say something here, to ask him a personal question to try and get to know him a little better, all the gossips in London would fall on her like wolves on meat scraps.

Oh God. She was officially turning Bedlamite. Or perhaps it was just this ghastly drawing room, which would give her purple-and-orange-tinged nightmares for eternity. This assault on the eyes was not even something her mother dared; she at least restricted herself to gowns.

“It’s definitely an acquired taste, isn’tit?”

Startled, Samantha looked up at Lord Standish. Was she so very easy to read? “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, mylord.”

“Oh dear,” he said, his lips twitching. “You aren’t going to break my heart and admit to a fondness for the décor combination, areyou?”

“In truth,” she said archly, resolutely ignoring the effect of that damned dimple when he smiled, “I don’t feel the room is vibrant enough. To really bring out the magnificence of the orange and purple, Lady Havenhurst should have added some splashes of jonquil or Pomona green. And there is a criminal lack of dyed feathers.”

“Good God,” said Caroline, coming to stand beside her. “Lord Standish, we must extract Sam from this place at once. She is actually crumbling as we watch. I am concerned she may commandeer the refreshment table and start pelting Lady Havenhurst and friends with raisin pastries, in which case, I would be forced to help her. The cake sacrifice would be worthit. ”

The marquess tilted his head. “The way I hear it, Lady Westleigh, you are far more lethal with a slipper heel than an object in hand. But Lady Samantha is an unknown quantity. What deadly talents might she possess?”

I throw knives with astounding accuracy, my lord. “I would have thought that was patently obvious after last night, Lord Standish.”

“Oh?” said Caroline, her green eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What happened last night?”

“After attempting to flatten him in a hallway, I then moved my regime of terror to a higher level and mauled his instep during the waltz.”

“Pfft. The mauling of insteps is a sanctioned weapon in a lady’s arsenal.”

“He hadn’t done anything wrong,” Samantha stage-whispered.

For one odd moment, Lord Standish’s smile seemed to freeze. Then he laughed. “There is no gentleman on earth entirely innocent, Lady Samantha. But, Lady Westleigh, back to your original point, I do believe we must escort your charge away from this place. And I should chide you on bringing her here so early in the Season. I thought ladies new to London saved this pleasure forlast.”

“Well, usually Mary and her cronies have some light entertainment to share, but unfortunately, Esther Hartley twisted her ankle on a rogue step and was unable to sing or play the piano here this afternoon.”

“Who is Esther Hartley?” said Samantha, as the three of them moved toward the drawing room door and freedom. But the other two remained silent on the topic until they had made their farewells to a rather annoyed-looking Mary Havenhurst.

“I suspect she is a government operative,” said Caroline, when they were outside on the footpath waiting for the Westleigh carriage to be brought around. “When Mary isn’t holding court they gather suspected criminals, bring them here to the orange and purple dungeon, and have Esther play pianoforte and sing. Remarkably effective and bloodless way to gain confessions. I believe the record for longest resistance is five minutes. Hardy soul, that one. But even he broke down and wept, promising to reveal everything he knew if they would only make it stop and allow him the paradise of rats and moldy bread at Newgate.”

Lord Standish cleared his throat. “Esther is, ah, not thatbad.”

The giggle Samantha had been suppressing at Caroline’s story died in her throat. Who was Esther Hartley to Lord Standish? Were they friends? Lovers? Damnation. The woman was probably beautiful. Well bred, delightful parents, and slender…

Caroline snorted. “Poppycock. We keep her and George apart, because together they would begin the musical apocalypse with their rendition of two barn cats getting their tails caught in a water wheel.”

“’Tis true, Lady Westleigh, your brother’s singing voice would make a statueweep…”

The two of them continued to banter back and forth, but Samantha couldn’t concentrate on a single word. So, this was jealousy. And a more pathetic example would be impossible to imagine. How on earth could she feel so proprietary toward the marquess? Good grief, she had no claim on Lord Standish whatsoever, and after nothing more than a few conversations and the worst waltz in history thanks to her two left feet, she wanted to scratch the eyes out of a young woman she’d never evenmet.