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“I don’t believe I’ve met the Regent,” Marta returned. “Can you point him out to me?”
Duke Remington arched his brow. “I assumed everyone knew who he was. One of the more important men in the surrounding area.”
“Yes, but you must remember: I’ve only just arrived,” Marta said.
“I’ll allow you a pass, then,” the Duke said. “He’s just there, dancing with that particularly beautiful blonde. Not as beautiful as you are, of course…”
Marta found them immediately. The blonde looked surly, her eyebrows a bit too high, and her smile pinched and cruel.
“I suppose that’s his wife,” Marta said.
“In fact, she is,” the Duke said. “A strange thing, in fact. Ordinarily, he plots and schemes his way to dancing with as many women who aren’t his wife as possible.”
Marta’s stomach flipped. “I suppose that’s the way of powerful men.”
“You speak as though you have a real handle on the qualities of powerful men,” Duke Remington said.
“A woman who dances with the likes of you had better comprehend what she’s getting herself into, don’t you think?” Marta said.
Although she danced on dangerous ground, the Duke seemed to appreciate her cleverness. When he finished his raucous laughter, he said, “Tell me, Marta. What on earth do you see in that wretched Baldwin Terrence?”
Marta was surprised. She hadn’t assumed that the Duke had taken any notice in her whereabouts, who she spoke with, what she did. She cut her eyes over his shoulder to see that Baldwin was in the midst of a heavy conversation with Ewan. Did they really never run out of anything to talk about?
“Why are you so curious about my relation to Baldwin Terrence?” Marta asked.
Again, the Duke laughed. “You’re always keen to be clever, rather than respond to my questions. I suppose I respect that. I see something of myself in you.”
Marta didn’t perceive this to be any sort of compliment, although she flashed a bright smile in response. Her heart hammered with distrust.
“Baldwin Terrence is only a dear friend of my cousin Ewan,” she said. “They’ve been friends for years. In fact, I first met Baldwin when I was just a girl. Twelve years old, I believe.”
This seemed to loosen the Duke a bit. “So you wouldn’t say you spend any time with him purposefully.”
“It seems that the majority of my life thus far this year has been without purpose,” Marta said. “My arrival to England, in and of itself, was due to my mother’s wishes.”
“You’re a bit of a pawn. Allowing everyone else to move you about,” the Duke said.
Marta arched her brow, feeling dangerous, powerful. “I suppose you believe yourself to be one of those playing the game.”
The Duke laughed as the song came to a close. Marta’s hands lowered to her sides. The Duke swept his hand to her lower back once more and guided her towards the far side of the crowd. It felt rather ominous that he hadn’t yet answered what she’d said, as though this was an affirmation of her deepest fears.
When they reached the corner of the room, the Regent and his surly, blonde wife awaited them. Introductions were made. Immediately, the Regent said, “I’ve made up my mind, Miss Schnitzler. You and I will dance together before the evening is finished.” At this, his wife’s eyes cast out towards the far end of the room. Marta had the strangest suspicion that both the Regent and his wife had lustful eyes for others and perhaps no real love for one another. In any case, his wife didn’t seem to care at all that the Regent had just pledged to dance with her.
“I’m not quite finished with her,” the Duke said. His finger traced down her arm and towards her hand. As the Regent said something else to his wife, the Duke’s lips dropped towards Marta’s ear. “You’re the softest thing I’ve ever touched.”
Marta detested this. She lurched a bit to the side, yet ensured her face remained stoic so that she didn’t show just how much she’d just grown to resent this man. Still, she knew this wasn’t a world she was entirely accustomed to.
“I wish to show you something else, Marta,” the Duke said. It was clear, now, that the Regent and his wife had long-since forgotten them. The Duke pressed his hand at her lower back once more and guided her towards a dark hallway, just beside the corner in which they stood.
Marta understood the weight of this request. She understood what men like Lewis Remington did in dark corners, regardless of their title or wealth or family name. It was the same everywhere. She smiled wide and stalled. “I would love to see whatever it is you have hidden back there, My Lord, but I really must return to my cousin. You see, he’s had a bit of a time recently. Troubles with a woman.”
The Duke arched his brow. “Troubles with a woman? Ewan Thompson? I find that difficult to believe.”
“And yet, it’s true. I tell you this in deep confidence. You mustn’t spread it around,” Marta said, her voice low.
“Already, you’re lending me precious information about your family! This alone puts me in good spirits, lovely Marta,” the Duke said, his voice boisterous. “I will come to find you shortly. Don’t dally with your cousin for long.”
Marta escaped his grip, her heart fluttering with panic. She swept out from the corner, swiped past the Regent and his wife, and tumbled towards the drink table. She knew she’d narrowly avoided some sort of wretched situation—the Duke’s hand across her breasts, perhaps—and wanted to knock back a glass of berry wine or four before proceeding. When she reached the table, she drank the glass far too quickly with her eyes closed. When she tapped the glass back down before her for a refill, she found herself face-to-face with Baldwin Terrence.
