Page 66 of The Countess Caper

And that would not do.

Francesca had spent an hour brushing her hair and plaiting it into a complicated fairy crown, decorated with emerald pins to match her gown. Embroidery trailed along the hem, the neckline, and the edge of her yellow gloves. Francesca had been encouraging, suggesting a carefree smile to combat her nerves. Do not let them see you, Francesca said. Only your shield. They don’t deserve the real you.

Tessa shoved down the anxiety and lifted her chin. Let them choke on Punch Bowl Ophelia. Let them drown. She’d watch with a smile.

“There she is,” Roarke murmured appreciatively.

It went straight to her thighs. Which was also distracting.

They stepped forward, into the blazing light of all of those candles.

It started as a ripple, a glance of curiosity, then recognition. Whispers swelled, crashed around them. Tessa could hear “punch bowl,” “Tewksbury,” “disgrace.”

It didn’t bother her nearly as much as she had thought it would.

Roarke straightened to his full and considerable height, glaring down his nose at anyone who glanced their way. Threat emanated from him.

It was rather effective.

The whispering guests froze. Wondered if they should move away.

Tessa only wanted to move closer.

“You’re going to make Lord Falsingham cry,” she said.

“Good,” Roarke replied without an ounce of contrition. “I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

Tessa softened. “You’re going to have to get used to that.”

“Like hell.”

“You can’t make them tolerate me.”

“Watch me.”

Lord and Lady Kensington joined them immediately, signaling to the entire gathering that they were honored guests. The gossipmongers faltered.

Tessa knew it wouldn’t last, but she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed it. Just a little. Especially when Lady Dunham recoiled as though she had just bitten into one of the lemon trees. She was the first to ostracize Tessa, to turn her back and sniff, though they had been friends since they were girls. Tessa had turned to poison overnight.

And now she smiled. Because she did not regret it, and the fear she had carried in the back of her mind about this very moment disintegrated. She had Roarke at her side. A house full of friends waiting for her. A purpose. A marchioness who loved cats and her novel-stealing husband greeting her with warm and welcoming smiles.

“Let us be the first to offer our congratulations to the happily wedded couple,” Lord Kensington said. Loudly. The man could project. He would not have been out of place on the stage. And he was obviously enjoying the drama. When he clapped, the others had no choice but to clap along.

“Easy, Kensington,” Roarke said.

“Not a chance.” Lord Kensington bowed over Tessa’s hand with a wink. “Lady Dartmoor, would you do me the honor of the first dance?

Opening a ball on the arm of the host who was also a marquess was a badge of acceptance that was fought over. Talked about. Remembered. It wouldn’t stop the snide comments, of course. Not all of them. But they would have to whisper. Carefully. Tessa wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. She thought she might prefer the brutal truth over candied smiles.

“Kensington,” Roarke said, a soft warning.

“Don’t fret, old man,” Kensington returned. “Dance with my wife. She’s pretty enough to distract from your glowering, ugly face.”

“Darling, stop teasing him,” Lady Kensington said. “You know how he feels about dancing.”

Roarke looked at Tessa, then at the crowd gathered like vultures. He cursed under his breath before bowing. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Kensington.”

“That was for you,” Lord Kensington said in Tessa’s ear as he led her onto the floor. “I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I approve.”