Page 40 of Make Mine a Marquess

Clarice jerked and repeatedly blinked. She appeared almost woozy.

After a moment of silence, Lord Willard called out, “Bravo!” Then the rest of the group clapped.

“Excellent demonstration, Mr. Hyland,” Willard said.

Hyland’s next two volunteers were not as exciting. The mesmerist attempted to mesmerize Willard’s friend, Jordan Malvern, who spoke of the cut of his coat and how he envied his friend’s luck at the gambling tables and with one of the actresses in the Drury Lane. Willard laughed along with Miles Roxborough. The older ladies in the group shook their heads in disapproval. Malvern grinned when he was “woken.” Clearly, Mr. Hyland had not succeeded. It was nothing like what had occurred with Clarice.

When Mr. Hyland turned his attention to Phoebe, a shiver of panic ran down her spine. She shook her head. “I don’t believe I would be entertaining or even close to successful a volunteer as the others.”

Hyland’s gaze was unnervingly focused upon her. “I disagree. It would be an honor to mesmerize a lady as lovely as you.” He held out his hand.

A lump lodged in Phoebe’s throat. She suddenly wholeheartedly believed in the mesmerist’s abilities. The dandy might not have been susceptible. God only knew how much liquor Malvern had consumed before joining the group, which could have caused his resistance.

As for herself, her biggest fear was revealing something about her past, about her indiscretion with a groomsman when she was sixteen. She wouldn’t risk it.

Couldn’t.

But Mr. Hyland was a formidable personality and would not take no for an answer. The small-statured man seemed to loom above her like a Goliath. “Come now. What would worry a young lady such as yourself?”

Fear froze her voice. She was going to faint or throw up, or both.

“She said no.”

Phoebe grew aware of his presence behind her. Strong. Powerful. Protective.

She didn’t have to turn to know the Marquess of Landon stood behind her chair. He’d moved stealthily, and she hadn’t even noticed he was no longer sitting beside his friend.

Rather than be annoyed at the marquess’s interference, a strong rush of gratitude flooded her. She knew he would not let anything happen to her.

Phoebe wasn’t the type of woman who’d ever needed…or wanted a protector. Yet, she was so grateful for him at that moment that she wanted to turn and fling herself into his arms.

Insanity.

She could see Mr. Hyland’s gaze flickering up to meet Landon’s gaze. “Very well, my lord.”

The mesmerist turned from Phoebe to look at the rest of the group. “Anyone else?” Hyland asked.

Across the table, Willard paid her no attention. She doubted he’d even noticed her distress; he barely glanced her way.

Lady Delmont eagerly raised her hand. “May I volunteer my husband?”

Lord Delmont turned to glower at his wife. “Pardon?”

She attempted to give him an innocent smile. “It’s all in good fun.”

“Then may I suggest you volunteer?”

The crowd burst into laughter at the couple.

“Are you all right?” Landon leaned down to whisper, his breath brushing her ear.

It took every ounce of resistance not to turn to him. To thank him. Her voice failed her, and she merely nodded.

“Are you certain? You’re still trembling.”

This time, she turned slightly to see his dark visage and whispered a lie that had nothing to do with the disturbing encounter with the mesmerist and everything to do with the man. “I promise. I’m fine.”

Chapter Eleven