Page 40 of How to Best a Marquess

Olivia rubbed her chin. “Do you blame them? He is a marquess and a most eligible bachelor.”

A group of women had wandered closer to where they stood. No doubt to get a better look at Hugh.

“Deveril is quite handsome,” a tall brunette said as she fanned herself.

“His last mistress was an actress.”

“No. It was a dressmaker to the actress,” a fair-haired woman countered.

“Perhaps it was both.”

High-pitched tittering sounded behind fluttering fans. It put Ellie’s nerves on end.

“He must wed someday,” the fair-haired woman said wistfully.

“You already have a husband,” the brunette pointed out.

“He’s hard of hearing.”

“At least he’s hard somewhere. Unlike mine,” a third woman said.

More coarse laughter.

Something about the third woman’s lilting voice caught Ellie’s attention. The hair on her nape stood on end, as if in warning.

It can’t be.

Ellie shifted to see Isabelle, Lady Fabry, standing with the group of ladies.

Ellie’s throat seemed to close up, and her breasts rose and fell as her breath became labored. The years hadn’t changed Isabelle’s looks. She remained a vivid brunette with a voluptuous figure. She’d married a man thirty years her senior who was hard of hearing and carried a thick quizzing glass that dangled from his waistcoat. From what Ellie had heard, the woman hadn’t changed much in personality, either. Fortunately, Isabelle hadn’t noticed her. She was too busy mocking her elderly husband and staring at Hugh.

Ellie had attended previous society functions where Isabelle had also been in attendance, but Ellie had been careful to avoid her. This time was different. This was the first time that Hugh was present.

Isabelle left her friends and headed straight for Hugh. Ellie watched, and the world seemed to fade, seemed to recede in her mind as if the years melted away and she was observing a scene from her past unfold right before her. A scene she’d desperately tried to forget and failed to over the course of five long years.

Isabelle glided forward and halted before the Marquess of Deveril. Her painted lips curled in a coy smile, and she curtsied, her breasts nearly spilling from her scandalously low-cut bodice. He bowed and greeted her.

Ellie turned away, unwilling to watch, unwilling to have the tiny tears in her heart rip open further. Her headache slid to the base of her skull, increased in intensity, and began to pound in a rhythm that matched her heart. “I don’t feel well,” she blurted out. “I believe a walk in the gardens is what I need.”

Olivia looked at her with pity, her brow creasing in concern. “Shall I accompany you?”

Her sister must have seen, must know, but Ellie didn’t want to speak of it. The urge to flee was too powerful. Shame for her reaction at the mere the sight of the pair together was enough to make her want to run and hide. Her sister’s pity was almost as unbearable.

Had she not learned anything?

“No. Please. Solitude is what I require,” she choked out.

So far, Hugh hadn’t seen her. If she was fortunate, she could slip into the gardens, find a stone bench, and rest until he grew bored, or an hour passed and he left the garden party.

Or until Isabelle insisted upon his escort during the conservatory tour. Her elderly husband wouldn’t even notice her absence and was probably inside Lady Emberly’s home napping in the drawing room.

She slipped away to follow a path into the meticulously manicured gardens. It was cooler here, beneath the canopy of towering trees, and Ellie let out a held-in breath. Soon the sound of running water drew her, and she strolled toward a fountain and a pond filled with tiny, colorful fish. Several minutes passed as she watched exotic blue, yellow, and orange fish dart beneath the smooth rocks that lined the bottom of a man-made pond. She spotted a stone bench sheltered by an ancient oak and sat. A cool breeze tickled tendrils of hair that had escaped her nape. Several minutes passed as she watched the fish and pushed thoughts of Hugh and Isabelle from her mind. Her headache was still present but had subsided to a distant ache.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

She froze at the sound of the familiar masculine voice.

Hugh appeared from around a tree to stand by her bench. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him—dark hair, chiseled features, wide, sensual mouth, and captivating green eyes. It took every ounce of willpower not to jump to her feet and seek the sanctuary of the gardens. She wouldn’t act the coward.