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“I dare say I’m not jealous,” Baldwin said. “Only surprised that you can stand her for longer than five minutes.”
“That was a rather swift dance, to be sure,” Ewan continued. “Anyway. While dancing, I spotted the Duke speaking with the Regent. Their eyes were directed toward the pair of you, and they looked rather menacing.”
Marta so yearned to roll her eyes back in her skull.
“I’ve just asked her if she wants us to hustle her out of here, without another word,” Baldwin said, his eyes shining.
“As much as I love the idea of it, I feel that it would be a disservice to your mother,” Marta added.
“Admittedly, it may destroy her,” Ewan said. “She speaks about it incessantly, even when you’re not around. My father knows the intricacies of your love life, regardless of if he wants to or not.”
Marta laughed, grateful to have the two of them there beside her as a sort of calm in the storm. Together, they drank the rest of the glasses of wine and gossiped about the surrounding crowd, almost as though they were alone in the room. They hardly bothered with anyone else for the next half-hour. Throughout, Marta genuinely considered embarking into the night once more. After all, it seemed they’d stayed at the party a decent amount of time; she’d danced with the Duke exactly once, which was reasonable, and furthermore, she felt exhausted already after two and a half glasses of wine.
But of course, she should have known better than to pray for that kind of ease. Moments later, Duke Remington appeared before the three of them and interjected himself, even though Ewan was telling a joke. The Duke cleared his throat and recited, “You’re always acting as the jester, aren’t you, dear Ewan?”
All three faces smeared into frowns. Marta crossed her arms over her chest and blinked up at the Duke, who seemed to grow less and less handsome as the minutes progressed.
“Marta. Could I borrow you for a moment?” the Duke said. This time, his voice boomed out across the crowd and caused several faces to spin towards them.
It was clear that if Marta didn’t go with the Duke, he was prepared to make some sort of scene. The conversation in the little groups around them completely died. Baldwin’s eyes again bore through her. But what was she to do? She was a newcomer, a nearly-foreigner, there at the strange estate of the Regent. She forced her best and most beautiful smile and stepped towards the Duke. “Whatever is the trouble?” she asked.
Suddenly, a song swung up from the orchestra. Seconds later, she was again wrapped in the Duke’s arms and whisked about the dance floor. Her feet struggled to keep time, as anxiety flung itself through her, making her heart bump harder, wilder. Still, the Duke hadn’t said what he’d apparently taken her away to say. It seemed he wanted to put her through some kind of panicked silence.
“The suspense is killing me,” Marta said finally, her smile still wide, yet hurting her cheeks with its falseness.
“I suppose I assumed you’d understand why I took you away from them,” the Duke said. His voice was formidable, like a brick wall formed between them.
“I’ve told you before. Ewan is my cousin, and his friend Baldwin is nothing more than…”
“Don’t lie to me,” the Duke countered. “I spotted you there with Baldwin long before Ewan arrived.”
“It’s only a party, My Lord,” Marta returned. “I make polite conversation. It’s what we do in Austria. I assumed it’s also something of a tradition here, as well.”
“Don’t spite me,” the Duke said. His grip on her back tightened, then loosened again. He swallowed and added, “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t mean to be so ... Well. I just cannot imagine a world in which you’d rather spend any of your time with the likes of Baldwin Terrence rather than myself.”
The jealousy disgusted Marta. She hardly knew this man, and already, he seemed to have decided to spout some sort of ownership over her. It was too recent after her horrible love-triangle back in Austria; she felt far too damaged to put up with the likes of it.
“He disapproves of the Regent, Marta,” the Duke continued, as though anything he said might alter the course of her mind. “He’s straight-laced and dull, and he has nothing of interest to bring to any table.”
“You forbid me to speak to him, then?” Marta asked. She clucked her tongue, almost pleased that she’d discovered such a wretched hole in the Duke’s plot to have her.
“Perhaps. Yes. It’s nothing against you, darling; only that I feel you don’t recognise what’s good for you in this English world. You’re a foreigner. But you don’t have to be, not for long.”
“And I thought something you appreciated most about me was the fact that I knew nothing of this world?” Marta returned. “But what good am I to you if I have no real interest in this lacklustre world of traditions?”
On cue, the music subsided. In the corner, the men in the orchestra shifted on their chairs, seemingly growing impatient and uncomfortable. Marta dropped her hand from his sweaty one and curtsied plainly. “Thank you again for the dance, My Lord,” she offered cooly. “Terribly sorry if it wasn’t English enough for you.”
Marta scampered off the dance floor, eager to find Ewan and Baldwin once more. But as she raced, the crowd around her dispersed and grew quiet once more. By the time she reached the edge of the crowd, she realised that the Duke had decided to chase after her. The moment she turned back, the Duke nearly stumbled into her. His eyes were delirious-looking, as though he’d had far too much to drink. This time, he leered at her and moved his lips rather close to hers, so that she could inhale the stench of something strong--perhaps Scotch.
“Get away from me,” Marta hissed, just loud enough for him to hear her.
His eyes glittered ominously.
“You’re disgusting to me. I don’t wish to see you again. Ever.”
But this wasn’t the sort of response the Duke was accustomed to. Suddenly, enraged, he reached out and grabbed her elbow hard, so that his thumb and first finger created immediate bruises. Marta cried out and tugged hard, attempting to run towards the door. She hadn’t a clue what she might do in the wake of her run. Grab a random horse? Escape into the night?
“Please. Just let me go. We don’t have to discuss this anymore. It can just be…”
