Page 19 of To Break the Rules

Cavendish grinned at her, a wicked expression on a face that was harsher and far less refined than many of the men that surrounded them. It was a good face, Matilda thought. It was honest, if rather fierce.

“I suppose enormous wealth, staggering power, and those icy good looks might have something to do with it,” he mused, pursing his lips. “If they can overlook the fact he’s got as much warmth as the North Pole. They must need to sit on hot bricks after—”

“My lord!” Matilda spluttered, torn between hysterics and shock that he would speak so.

“I would like to believe you are about to take the man to task for maligning me, but I suppose that is too much to ask.”

Matilda froze as the dry comment chased away any amusement she might have felt, and the sting of awareness seared her. She dared to turn, to find the marquess at her side, resplendent in his evening clothes, the harsh black and white ideally suited to the severity of his handsome face and the white blond of his hair.

“Montagu,” Lord Cavendish said, showing a lot of teeth as he smiled and looking quite unrepentant. “We were just discussing your prowess with—”

“Indeed, we were not!” Matilda interrupted, flushing so hard she felt the burn of it all over.

“Oh?” Montagu said, lifting an eyebrow at her. “Are you quite certain? You seem inordinately interested in my activities. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve discussed my, er… capabilities, would it, Miss Hunt?”

Matilda’s hands itched with the desire to slap him, but she forced herself to remain calm, not to show her embarrassment or her discomfort.

“Indeed not, my lord,” she said, pushing the words past gritted teeth. “And I’m afraid my comments were no less flattering than Lord Cavendish’s. If you remember?”

Matilda glared at the marquess and found herself thoroughly discomposed at the glint in his eyes. Damn him, he was enjoying this!

“Well, after insulting me so, the least you can do to make amends is dance with me.”

The words were so unexpected that Matilda gave a startled laugh. “You cannot be serious,” she said, staring at him. “I’m not going to dance with you.”

She stilled as Montagu leaned in and murmured in her ear. “Running scared, Miss Hunt?”

Though she knew all too well it was what he intended, her spine stiffened with indignation. She could not back down from a challenge, despite knowing it was a bad idea. Not because she was scared, for she wasn’t. Not of him. Tension thrummed under her skin, the sensation implying that wasn’t entirely true. Not that she feared he would lay hands on her against her will, or anything of that nature. She knew he believed in the rules of society, in how a gentleman should act, and laying hands on an unwilling woman would appal him. He’d proved that much by rescuing Alice. No. It wasn’t his style at all.

He wanted her to want him.

It was this game he liked, cat and mouse, and he certainly believed himself the cat.

Well, Matilda was no mouse, and she had claws of her own. The realisation dawned on her slowly, she liked the game too. It soothed her ego a little to know how much he wanted her, and that she had the power to keep saying no.

He was watching her, a glittering look in his eyes that told her he knew he’d won this round.

“Come, Miss Hunt, let us set tongues wagging,” he said, the words softer now, sliding under her skin as he reached out his hand to her. Matilda’s mouth was suddenly dry, but the dancers were gathering on the floor and… she placed her hand in his.

***

Silas watched, bemused as Miss Hunt allowed the marquess to lead her onto the dance floor. What was going on between them?

He’d meant what he said; it was clear the ton based the story of Matilda’s ruination on nothing but a series of unforeseen and unhappy events. There had been no affair, no scandal. That the marquess wanted her, however, that was blatant. It was also surprising.

Silas took an interest in the affairs of powerful men—such information was always useful— and the marquess was circumspect. There had been a series of willing widows, to his knowledge. The affairs had been discreetly managed and the only reason things weren’t kept a secret was because the women themselves wanted the information known. To be Montagu’s lover was a powerful position to hold, and one they’d flaunt if it wouldn’t mean the man himself would dispense with them at once. He’d never yet shown a public interest in any woman and, to be fair, it was only one dance.

Yet, Silas suspected, it would not be the last.

He looked up as St Clair joined him, and they watched Miss Hunt and Montagu circle the room.

“A dazzling couple,” the earl commented.

It was true. You would be hard pressed to find such a handsome pair anywhere.

“Why haven’t you offered for her?” Silas asked, suddenly curious.

St Clair’s eyebrows rose. “For Miss Hunt?” He shrugged and shook his head. “I like her well enough, but I have no desire to marry her.”