Page 26 of To Steal a Kiss

Nate opened his mouth, no doubt with some stinging reply on his tongue, but the marquess just quelled him with a look.

“Miss Dowding,” he said, still staring at Nate, daring him to speak. “Am I to understand you have refused both offers of marriage?”

Oh, no. Matilda’s heart plummeted. The wretched man must have followed her and heard it all.

“Y-Yes,” Alice stammered, whatever bravery had fuelled her moment’s ago dissolving in Montagu’s presence.

Matilda couldn’t blame her. For a moment, she hoped the marquess would bully Alice into accepting one of them, but he didn’t. He just nodded his understanding.

“And you realise you will be ruined, when word of this gets out?” He turned to give Bindley a look which made the man blanch. “And it will get out. Our loquacious friend here will see to that.”

Alice nodded and Matilda pulled her into her arms. The girl was ashen now, trembling, and Matilda hugged her tight.

“I’m here, love,” she said, for all the good it would do. “I won’t leave you.”

“You won’t like being ruined, Miss Dowding,” Montagu continued, the words hard and unvarnished. “You’ll be talked about, laughed at, disparaged. Acquaintances will cut you; friends will no longer be available when you call. I’m afraid you do not have the force of character to withstand that in the manner Miss Hunt does. It will crush you.”

“Any friend that would cut her is no friend worth having,” Matilda said, wanting to cover Alice’s ears to save her from the cruel words, and shake her too, to make her understand it was true, all of it. She knew that to her cost.

“A pretty enough sentiment,” Montagu replied, unmoved. “But it won’t change the outcome, as you well know, Mademoiselle la Chasseuse.”

Matilda flinched at the sound of one of the names people whispered behind her back. The Huntress, or Mademoiselle la Chasseuse.

“Shut your mouth, you bastard,” Nate growled, looking as if he was on the verge of committing murder. “You did that. You.”

“No,” Montagu said, utterly emotionless. “You did that, and you did this. I merely deal with the consequences.” He turned his back on Nate and gave Alice his attention. “I imagine you have reasons for your decision. This one at least,” he said, inclining his head to regard Bindley with an expression of mild distaste, “needs no explanation. However, bearing in mind you came here alone with Mr Hunt….”

Alice blushed scarlet. The colour was so intense Matilda could feel the heat of it against her as she held Alice in her arms.

“That’s enough,” Matilda said angrily. “Do you have a point to make, or are you simply enjoying playing with our lives? We’re not here for your amusement, you know.”

Montagu turned his attention to Matilda, and she suppressed a shiver. “Well, if you were, I’d be bound to say you’re making a lamentable job of it, as I am far from amused. And yes, there is a point.”

“Then get to it,” she snapped, unnerved as always by the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes were almost silver in this light, the pale irises rimmed in black. She’d never seen eyes like his before, so cold and unmoved by everything, yet capable of instilling fear with such ferocity. His hair, such a startling blond, looked white against the shadows, giving him an inhuman, unearthly beauty. Like some mythical creature drawn from the shadows.

“The point is that your friend here is reacting with emotion. She is not troubling to think the matter through. A foolish trait, but far from unusual. Therefore, I suggest both gentlemen hold their tongues and give the lady the space of three weeks to consider their suits. During this time, no one in this room will breathe a word of the events of this night.”

Matilda stared at the marquess in shock. Had… had he actually done something to help?

It seemed so unlikely that she kept considering the matter from all angles, certain he must have some ulterior motive, but she could find nothing.

“Why the d-devil should I hold my tongue?” Bindley objected, standing a little taller now, as if he believed the marquess could stop Nate from tearing him limb from limb, the bloody fool.

The marquess’ presence had surprised Nate into inaction the first time, but Matilda doubted it would work a second.

Bindley looked rather less sanguine as the marquess turned on him.

“Edgar Bindley,” Montagu said, his lip curling a little as though it sullied him to even speak the name. “The youngest son of the Earl of Ulceby. Ah, yes, you’re hoping to marry for money. Though even Miss Dowding’s dowry won’t stem the tide, will it? Not for long. Are you hoping her father will keep bailing you out?” He snorted, such a contemptuous sound that Bindley flushed a dull red. “The earl is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy,” he said, taking a step closer to Bindley who physically recoiled, as if in proximity to something venomous and liable to strike. He wasn’t wrong. “I need only breathe in his direction,” Montagu said, his voice so soft the words were chilling, “and he’ll take such a fall there will be no coming back from it. Not for any of you.”

“Y-You’re threatening me,” Bindley said, aghast, but the marquess just regarded him with an implacable expression.

“I never threaten,” he said simply. He turned back to Matilda and met her eyes, inclining his head just a little. “Miss Hunt. I bid you a good evening.”

Matilda watched, stunned and quite beyond speech as the marquess left as silently as he’d arrived.

Chapter 9