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He watched her eyes slide toward Aidan. The man leaned against a wide column, looking bored and faintly disgusted.
"I know," she whispered. "It's only that I'm lonely. I've been lonely a long time." When she looked back to him, her face softened to tender sorrow. "Can't you understand that, Mr. Bertrand?" Her hand touched his, and she tried to hold it, but Jude eased his away.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
Jude saw the circles under her eves and the paleness of her skin, and he wasn't as angry as he might've been. "If you want a man to look at you that way, you want love, Patience, not the comfort of someone in your bed."
"Of course." Her elegant neck bowed.
"Tell me you're not in love with Aidan."
"No. Not him."
The hair at his nape prickled in warning. "You're not saying—"
"Do you love her?"' she interrupted. "Miss York? She seems very young."
"She's an exceptional woman, and she'll be my wife. And that is all I intend to say to you about her."
"I understand. I apologize. Truly, I do. You're a good man."
He stood when she rose, and she walked calmly away, despite the tears swimming in her eyes. Christ. Did she believe herself in love with him? It seemed impossible. Yes, she'd pursued him in London, but he'd never even spent a moment alone with her.
Still troubled by the miserable solitude in her eyes, Jude watched her make her way across the room to the door beyond. From a distance she looked as cool and regal as ever. Up close she'd never looked so sad.
He knew that most of the ton wouldn't believe a woman as beautiful as Patience Wcllingsly could be lonely. But Jude wasn't fooled. His mother's profession was made up almost entirely of incomparable beauties who had never truly been loved.
In fact, in a different time, with a different family, Marissa could easily have been on of those women, betrayed by her own lovely wildness.
The song that Filled the room began to draw to a close, and Jude glanced toward the dancers to find that Marissa was leaving the floor on the arm of yet one more adorable pup.
She smiled up at the boy, both her hands wrapped around one of his arms. But when she looked in Jude's direction, her smile became a vicious glare.
Marissa was angry, and there was only one reason for that. She'd seen him talking with Patience.
Good. If he had to watch her dance and flirt with a thousand young gentlemen, she could face the truth that he was hardly undesirable himself.
Over the past weeks, he hadn't felt jealous. Not when she danced, not even when she stared at men's legs as if they were ham hocks laid out for her feasting. He hadn't felt jealous, because he'd known that, given time, he could turn Marissa's head in ways she wouldn't expect. He'd meant to tease her to the point of madness, draw out her natural lusts until she thought of no one but him. He'd meant to show her that looking at pretty boys was good fun, but the serious business of lovemaking was best left to men.
But now ... now he was out of time. He'd rushed his seduction. Marissa had dismissed him. And he had no idea how to proceed.
Hell and damnation. He was stuck with dancing.
He watched Marissa stroll stiff-necked through the crowd of fashionable folk and knew he had no choice on the dancing. Any interaction would now be on her terms, not his. And he refused to give up on whatever small chance he might have of turning this false betrothal into a genuine marriage.
Marissa approached her brother and stole the glass of brandy from his hand. Her eyes cut toward Jude before sliding away.
Oh, yes. She was angry, and that cheered Jude immensely, but not so much that he forgot his mission. When he spotted her best friend hurrying by, he stepped into her path and offered a bow. "Miss Samuel."
"Oh! Mr. Bertrand!"
Her lashes fluttered nervously, and she blushed as she did each time he spoke to her. Miss Samuel was shy and soft-spoken, and he was beginning to understand Marissa's worry that she would not find a husband. She was pretty enough, but between her brazen cousin and the vivacious Miss York, Miss Samuel faded into the woodwork.
"Might I trouble you for a dance later?"
She stammered out an answer that seemed to be a yes, and Jude stepped out of her way to give her the chance to escape. Then he approached Marissa.
"I believe the waltz is next," he murmured. She stiffened and said nothing, and Aidan offered him a taunting smile.
