Page 1 of Redemption of a Marquess

Chapter One

Valan Grey, the 6th Earl of Edmonds, the Marquess of Northington, sipped wine and watched the brown-haired beauty waltz with Mr. Evans, a peacock amid a glittering barnyard of hens. Evans had twice stepped on her toes, yet her smile hadn’t faltered. Valan slowed his stroll and spared a glance for the other wolf, almost a pup, that prowled near the open balcony doors. A breeze ruffled the young man’s styled blond locks. The youth of today relied far too much on well-made coats and coiffured hair in an effort to catch a lady’s attention. Any man of worth understood that what lay beneath the coat mattered far more to a lady of taste. He returned his attention to the beauty. Her partner turned to the music. Valan winced. Evans’ step was off by half a beat.

Between pale satin dresses, the swirl of the beauty’s emerald velvet skirt molded around her firm buttocks before she was lost from view in the sea of dancers. Had Lady Peddington suggested the dress? The beauty certainly stood out amongst the demure pastels that flared on the dance floor. She was older than the others who attended the Midnight Ball. Perfect. Tomorrow, he would send a letter of thanks to Honoria for her invitation to the soiree. She had a knack for knowing just the right lady for a gentleman.

Above the music and murmur of guests, a female gasp was followed by a man’s curse. Valan glanced left, toward the small commotion, but a half-closed curtain hid the man and woman in the alcove. He shifted his gaze back to the dance floor. A blur in the corner of his eye registered an instant too late, and a woman collided with him. Wine sloshed over the rim of his glass and onto his crisply pressed, ivory silk waistcoat. He seized the lady’s wrist to stop her fall.

Valan glanced down at the now ruined waistcoat, then met the young woman’s wide-eyed gaze. “I assume you learned enough etiquette at Lady Peddington’s to know that it’s bad manners to collide with guests. Or is this your way of gaining an introduction?”

Her brown eyes flicked to the wine-stained waistcoat then back to his face. The fear in her gaze flashed into annoyance. “I do not want an introduction.”

“Where is that bitch?” A large man lunged past the alcove curtain, half limping.

Valan deftly sidestepped him, pulling the young woman with him. Viscount Hesston stumbled two paces, narrowly missing two ladies. They cast him frowns and hurried past as he whirled.

He came up short when his gaze met Valan’s. “What the devil are you doing here, Northington? Didn’t think this sort of place was one of your usual haunts.” The music ended and the last words were overloud in the absence of the orchestra. The viscount’s eyes narrowed on the young woman. “Looking for another victim, little pigeon?” He grabbed for her.

Valan tugged her out of her assailant’s reach. “This ‘little pigeon’ is otherwise engaged.”

The man’s face contorted in rage. “She is mine. I’ve spent the evening with her. She owes me.”

Valan glanced where he’d last seen the beauty on the dance floor. Gone. No doubt, claimed by the young wolf. With a sigh, he returned his attention to Hesston. “Ownership is a matter of perspective. As she has ruined a very expensive waistcoat, I believe she owes me.”

She tugged in an effort to break free. Valan held tight and nodded at a passing waiter.

“My claim supersedes yours,” Hesston said as the waiter stopped beside them.

Valan set his wine glass on the waiter’s tray.

“I d-do no’ belong to either of y-you,” the girl said.

The waiter frowned. Valan ignored him and turned curious eyes on her. “Where are you from, child?”

“That is none of your c-concern,” she said.

“Perhaps not,” he replied, “but indulge me.”

She shook her head.

“Would you rather go with this man?” He nodded at Hesston, whose face reddened.

“She is mine,” the viscount growled.

“Patience,” Valan said. “She may choose to go with you, in which case I will not interfere.”

“You have no right to interfere, at all,” Hesston snapped.

Valan turned cold eyes on him. “Even you can wait sixty seconds.” He looked at the girl and lifted a brow in question.

She glanced at Hesston, then looked back at him and shook her head. “N-nae.”

“There you have it,” he said. “Even at Lady Peddington’s Midnight Ball, a lady is free to choose her companions.”

Hesston cast a disgruntled look at her. “Dumb bitch,” he muttered.

She lifted her chin. “I would rather be dumb than cruel.”

The remark earned her a disdainful look from a woman strolling by on the arm of a man.