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“No, I assure you,” she said in haste, but knew she was sporting a betraying colour. She saw his lifted eyebrow, and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Well, perhaps a little. Did I miss something of importance?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whose point of view we are considering.” He hailed a passing waiter. “Some wine, Lady Mary?”
“Water, if you please.”
He took a glass from the proffered tray, and handed it to her. “Lemonade, I think.”
She thanked him. “You were saying—what I had missed?”
“Ah, yes. You did not respond to my request.”
“Oh? Forgive me. What was the request?”
He grinned. “That you honour me with an answer in the affirmative.”
Maidie eyed him. “Don’t say you made me an offer, and I did not hear you!”
Wiveliscombe gave his merry laugh. “You did not hear me, and I certainly made you an offer—of a sort.”
The last phrase caught Maidie’s attention. She recalled what Delagarde had said of this man, that he was unlikely to marry anyone. What, then, had he offered? Before she could think of alternatives, the plan sprang full-blown into her mind. Here was a perfect solution to both her difficulties. She could confound Delagarde—if she had read him aright—and also save him from the machinations of Eustace and Adela. Moreover, she need not hold Wiveliscombe to it. A discreet interval, to allow her to look about for someone else, and she would cry off. Forgetting she had been reared to detest duplicity, she gave her suitor a bright smile.
“Very well then, Mr Wiveliscombe, I shall give you what you ask. Yes, I will marry you.”
If she had not determined on using him, Maidie would at once have retracted. Taken aback, Wiveliscombe stared at her with a blank expression. Maidie hardened her heart. Let it be a lesson to him to be more careful in future.
But her reluctant suitor regained his poise in a moment. He smiled, and raised her hand to his lips, saying with all his usual grace, “You have made me the happiest of men. But—er—should I not first obtain Delagarde’s good wishes?”
A dangerous light entered Maidie’s eye. She had not thought of that. Of course he must suppose there was that obstacle—hoped, no doubt, Delagarde would refuse him. The whole black-hearted scheme of the Viscount’s now burst in upon her. Why had she not believed it at once? Was it not proof enough he had acted without her knowledge or consent to prevent her suitors from approaching her direct? Only she so much disliked Adela and Eustace, she had not wanted to believe it.
“You need have no fear. There will be no opposition from that quarter. I shall tell Delagarde myself—and immediately.”
On the word, she turned from him, and her eyes searched the throng for the Viscount’s figure. She caught sight of him, in the act of passing through the ballroom door, and hurried off after him. She caught him up in the corridor outside.
“Delagarde, I need a word with you.”
He looked at her with a frown in his eyes. There was no trace of the pretended amorousness he had displayed to her on the balcony. Of course there was not. Why would there be? He could hope for nothing from her in this public place.
“Certainly,” he said, and led the way back through the ballroom, to the far end, and into a small antechamber.
He left the door to the small room ajar, and turned to her. She appeared to be labouring under suppressed emotion. He had himself well in hand, determined not to indulge in a repetition of the idiotic passion which had attacked him earlier. He spoke curtly. “What is it?”
Maidie lifted her chin. She was glad to find her unruly emotions were tightly in her control. The harder he looked at her, the easier this was.
“I wished to tell you that you may consider yourself discharged of your duties towards me.”
Delagarde’s brows snapped together, and a sliver of emotion shot through him. If this was what he instantly suspected—!
“Go on.”
“I am betrothed,” Maidie announced in a ringing tone.
A jolt struck at his chest. He drew his breath in sharply, and the dark eyes blazed. “The devil you are! To whom, may I ask?”
Maidie’s heart jarred uncontrollably as his eyes took fire. But she rallied, stiffening, and fairly threw the name at him. “Wiveliscombe!”
