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“I sincerely hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss Fitzroy.”
“Oh, I doubt I shall, but at least there is champagne,” she said drily.
Marco found himself laughing in amazement at her audacity to say what she thought without prevaricating. “Then I hope every glass shall be sweet,” he smiled and turned to again bow to her mother. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Good evening, Mr. Alegria.”
Marco left them and went to rejoin his cousin, who was watching him with a smug smile on his face.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Giovanni said quietly, angling his body away from the watching crowdso his mouth could not be seen. “I have been fending off inquiries about your identity. Everyone wants to know about the gentleman who has dared to approach Miss Fitzroy.”
“She has quite a wit,” Marco deflected. “Unlike any other lady here, I daresay. In truth, I was not prepared to enjoy her company as much as I did.”
Marco knew that his words underplayed his feelings. The truth was, he had expected to feel indifferent towards the woman. He walked over there with a clear plan to heartlessly seduce her and destroy any hope she had of ever bearing an heir. Instead, he felt as if he had been utterly bewitched by her.
“She is also a rare beauty,” Giovanni said, keeping his voice low. “My wife has told me that she is surprisingly kind underneath her brusque nature.And she carries herself well, showing none of the embarrassment you might suppose a former kitchen maid would have.”
A kitchen maid. When Marco looked at Miss Alice Fitzroy, he saw nothing of her low past. Still, even if he did, Marco doubted it would make her less attractive to him. He harbored no disdain for the working class. The fact that she bore the skills of service did not make her less appealing. It perhaps enhanced her in his eyes because she would have a strong work ethic.
“Indeed not. She is quite self-assured,” Marco mused. “Delightfully flirtatious too.”He had not meant to say the last part aloud, but Giovanni’s eyebrows shot up at his words.
“Really?” Giovanni muttered thoughtfully, looking over at Miss Fitzroy and her mother. “I have never once heard the word 'flirtatious' applied to her.”
“Regardless, she seems to have the measure of thetonentirely,” Marco said, smiling despite himself. “Perhaps she has not flirted because she is well aware of what the gentlemen of society truly want from her."
“Perhaps. And I must tell you that you are the only man I have ever seen her smile for,” Giovanni said, grinning and nudging Marco in the ribs.
His words hit harder than his elbow. Marco felt a curl of unease in his stomach. If this was true, she had decided to open up to him. To perhaps judge him differently from the other gentlemen,just at the moment he was scheming against her.
“Perhaps because I did not treat her as merely a means to an end,” Marco suggested sharply, but his own words did nothing to quell his disquiet. After all, if he pursued Miss Fitzroy to ruin her, was he not treating her just as badly as the other gentlemen? Did Thomas’ death and righteous indignation justify his planned actions against her? Giovanni seemed to sense some of Marco's unease because he shot him a curious expression.
“Are you well, cousin?”
“I need a drink; please, excuse me,” Marco said, but he did not make his way to the table holding the refreshments. He found that the clamor of the ballroom was suddenly oppressive, pushing in on his thoughts in a way that made him almost dizzy. He quickly stepped out of the ballroom and into the quieter corridor. Almost immediately, he heard low whispers coming from the billiard room.
“…. Who should be so unlucky?”
“Not I, sir!”
“Are you a betting man, Thompson?”
Marco wondered if a little wager on billiards or cards might be just what he needed to settle his thoughts and get Miss Fitzroy’s beautiful countenance out of his head.
He stepped into the room and saw a group of gentlemen standing around the card table with arrogant smiles on their faces. He immediately noticed that amongst them were the bachelors who were reportedly seeking marriage this season, all eager young men with much to prove and heiresses to seduce. They did not seem to be playing any game. Still, as Marco drew closer, he saw that one of the gentlemen was Sir Reginald Hackman, an older man who was a close associate of the old Duke. The man had, in fact, sneered at Marco and issued vague verbal threats about his business in the past, no doubt on behalf of the Duke. Hackman was holding out a cap, and the other gentlemen were writing on the backs of playing cards.
“Now, gentlemen, we all know the rules, yes?” Hackman asked.
“These are high stakes indeed. A bachelordom is on the line!” Baron Thompson joked.
“Let us gamble for our freedom then. Whoever's name is on the drawn card shall be the sacrificial suitor,” Hackman said, holding out the cap.
“What is the drawing for?” Marco asked the young man next to him, a man he knew to be Colonel Branch.
“The dowry of the Ice Queen,” Colonel Branch whispered, dropping his card into the hat.
“The Ice Queen?” Marco asked.
“Why, the Bastard Heiress, of course!” Lord Fife declared loudly. Marco frowned. He felt sure he knew who they were discussing, but he had to be sure.
