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CHAPTER ONE
The loud throb of conversation within the tightly packed ballroom was deafening. Amidst the din of glasses chinking and high-pitched laughter people did their best to mingle. But Lord Campton’s ball was a crush. It was impossible for people to circulate, but they didn’t care. They had received one of the coveted invitations to attend the ball and were delighted to be among the honoured masses. It didn’t matter that so many people were present the ballroom floor wasn’t even visible through the kaleidoscope of shifting colours of the women’s ballgowns. Of every colour they clashed and blended, interspersed by men in dark evening dress. Somewhere in the back of the room, the discordant noise of the orchestra tuning their instruments warned that the musicians were ready to begin their temporary distraction and restore order.
Somewhere in the melee, Morgan Rothersham was trying to pick a path to the large bank of French doors lining the far side of his ballroom. They remained closed because he didn’t want the guests to spill out onto the balcony but he could use them to get out of the place for a while. With one eye on freedom, Morgan nodded and smiled at the people he passed. He smiled so much that his face felt as if it was going to break and his neck hurt from all the nodding acknowledgements that he gave to people. Several wanted to stop and talk, but he carefully kept away from them. Nothing was going to delay his escape.
To his grim delight he collided with his sister, Mariette. She turned to smile at him. ‘Oh, it is you,’ she muttered, her smile dying.
‘Yes, it is me,’ Morgan growled. Grabbing her by the elbow before she could disappear into the crowd, Morgan leaned down. ‘Just what in the Devil’s name do you think you are playing at? How many people did you invite?’
Mariette refrained from answering for a few moments by nodding at the people around them she knew. Morgan tightened his hold on her, drawing her somewhat worried gaze to his hand.
Good. I hope you are worried because I am going to give you a warning you will not forget when this is all over.
With that promise firmly tucked in the back of his mind, Morgan squinted malevolently at his younger sibling. ‘I told you no more than a hundred. This is dangerous, Mariette,’ Morgan hissed.
Mariette flicked an uncomfortable look at the people closest to them. When she spoke, she pasted a smile on her face and raised her voice. ‘It’s a wonderful turnout, isn’t it?’ Her smile dimmed when she saw the angry glare on her brother’s face.
‘I don’t know half of these people,’ he grumbled. ‘Just what in the Hell do you think you are doing?’
Mariette blinked at him. ‘How can this be dangerous?’ Her smile returned as a thought popped into her head that she appeared to find highly amusing. ‘Starting to feel a little hunted, are we? Is it dangerous to your bachelorhood? Are you worried that you might get caught in a compromising position with one of these delightful young women?’
‘No, that is not it,’ Morgan snapped with an angry glare. ‘We have so many people in this house that the staff cannot get around with the trays. Sir Snor-a-lot Smedley has already knocked a candelabra over twice and about set fire to the curtains. God only knows what is going on upstairs. I have positioned Denton by the base of the main staircase to try to keep everyone down here but I think I will have to give him grandfather’s sword to fight off the hoards. Boris is now refusing to even answer the bloody door and looks about to weep. God knows where half of the footmen have gone. Just what in the Hell were you thinking? You do know this is my home, don’t you?’
When he became aware of several people listening to what he was saying, Morgan glared warningly at them and unceremoniously yanked Mariette with him as he forced a path through the crowd to the adjoining door. Shoving it open, he slammed to a stop when he saw that the room was also was packed full of strangers, all availing themselves of his finest brandy.
‘This is my study, damn it,’ Morgan growled. Cursing fluidly, Morgan dragged Mariette back out of the room and around the perimeter of the ballroom.
‘Morgan, we have guests,’ Mariette protested when it was evident Morgan was going to drag her out of the ballroom.
‘Yes, we do. That is the bloody point,’ Morgan snapped without bothering to stop.
He tugged her across the hallway and into the library and cursed again when he discovered that it had been turned into a makeshift gambling den. Various tables around the library had been converted into card tables upon which were large piles of money. The hushed silence of the library, in stark contrast to the rest of his house, was interrupted by several warnings to ‘shush’ and angry glares when they stumbled inside.
‘Can I remind you all that this is my house? There is no gambling allowed,’ Morgan protested. He was prevented from ordering everyone to leave by Mariette, who yanked him back out of the room and closed the door.
‘That’s my library,’ Morgan growled as if Mariette didn’t already know.
‘They aren’t doing any harm,’ Mariette sniffed. ‘God, you really must relax a little. Why don’t you have some brandy?’
‘Because half of the scoundrels in my study have already drunk it,’ Morgan snarled.
With a muttered curse, Morgan dragged Mariette down the hallway to the servant’s quarters. Staff were running this way and that as trays were prepared to take to the guests. Even so, there was a little more breathing room and a dark, relatively secluded corner that Morgan made good use of. Shoving Mariette into it he rounded on her.
‘This is the very last time you are going to turn this house into chaos like this, do you hear me? I don’t care who half of those people are but you are not going to invite them here again.’ He checked off the fingers of one hand. ‘You are not going to have any more balls, routs, or musicals in my house. No more dinner parties for acquaintances, house parties, hunting parties, or gatherings of any kind. Do you understand me?’
Mariette placed her hands on her hips and glared at him only to realise that she was wrinkling her dress. Brushing it back out she huffed a sigh. ‘Well, I am not going to stay out here and live in isolation,’ she snapped. ‘You need to socialise. You won’t find a wife if you don’t
get out there and make it clear to them that you are available.’
‘But I am not available,’ Morgan snarled. ‘If I choose to take a wife I shall damned well go out and find one without interference from you. This is my home, and while I did agree for you to have the ball, I told you that there should be no more than a hundred guests, Mariette. That is one hundred, not two or three or four, but one. My house is so full someone could die in the middle of the ballroom and nobody would notice.’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ Mariette scoffed.
