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Chapter 4
Mary
In the dense crush of people attending the Richmonds’ ball, Mary’s short stature became an advantage.
Aunt Elizabeth had settled in for a good gossip with her friend, Lady Walsh, directing Thomas to promenade with Arabella and Mary, so they could look over this year’s gentlemen. While there were many returning possibilities, there were also many newcomers to the marriage mart, come in from the country or finally rising out of the shadows of London, bowing to the inevitability of finding a suitable bride.
While Thomas was certainly accomplished as a chaperone, he clearly thought Arabella was the likelier troublemaker, focusing most of his attention on her. When Lord Herschel trod on her flounce, tearing it, and Arabella turned to rip up at him, Thomas was there to stymy her—releasing Mary’s hold on his arm. It was that easy to slip behind the large frame of the gentleman standing just to the side of her and disappear into the crowd.
As short as she was, neither Arabella nor Thomas should be able to easily spot her once she was away from them, and therefore, they could not expect her to seethem. They would expect her to make her way back to Aunt Elizabeth, and she would… eventually.
First, though, Mary made her way up to the second floor, where there a gallery overlooked the ballroom. She was far from the only person looking down at the crowd, and she could certainly move about more freely. Half-hidden behind one of the columns, she was able to see everything and everyone below. It appeared Thomas and Arabella were now arguing, and she had to wonder if they had even noticed her absence. Reminding herself it was a boon they so easily forgot her, she kept looking for familiar faces.
Ah! There were Josie and Lily on the far side of the room, standing in a circle of admirers, perhaps… but no. She spotted Hartford talking with the French delegation. Seeking out her friends would have to wait. He was speaking with the French, and Evie had her suspicions of them.
There were quite a few pretty ladies in the group, and Mary had to push away the little claws of jealousy digging into her chest when Hartford smiled down at the dark-haired beauty he was speaking to. He had looked that way at Mary when he was bowing over her hand, and it hadn’t meant a thing.
Which wasgood, she reminded herself.
She needed to stop mooning over Hartford like a lovesick schoolgirl, just because he made her tingle and the skin on the back of her hand still felt warm from where his lips had pressed against her glove. While Mary was not a completely innocent young miss, thanks to Evie’s explanations since she actuallywasexperienced in such matters, Mary dismissed her body’s reaction as the result of having a practiced rake focus on her. Any other rake would likely have the same effect if another ever chose to target her with his attentions. Hartford was nothing special. He was…
Mary frowned.
He was moving away from the French delegation and heading to the doors to the garden. Alone. Had he arranged to meet with one of them in a quieter, more private space than the ballroom provided? Perhaps he had arranged an assignation… or perhaps there was a more nefarious purpose.
Rather than waiting to see who moved after him, Mary decided to hurry downstairs. She could dog his footsteps and see who came to meet him, which would be easier than trying to ascertain who—if anyone—followed him. Scurrying down the hall, she felt a little spurt of excitement flare in her chest.
Rex
The din of the ballroom and cloying perfume of the French ladies had begun to give him a headache. While the ladies were beautiful and flirtatious, happily hinting at their availability for adivertissement, an affair with a married lady was not his current aim. Lucas slipped away as well during the conversation, likely headed to the card tables.
Rex needed a moment to collect himself before he dragged his friend away from punting himself up the River Tick.
Moving steadily away from the house, seeking refuge in the high hedges of the garden pathways, Rex sighed with relief as the noise slowly quieted. The night air was cool against his skin, slowly clearing his lungs of the chaotic mix of scents that had clashed in the ballroom. The sensation that his cravat had created a noose around his neck slowly subsided, as did the headache that had been growing.
Tonballs were certainly not his preferred form of entertainment and his reason for attending only added to his discontent. Twitting Hood had been fun but hardly helpful.
Slowing his stride, taking the time to look at some of the flowers under the moonlight—and admitting to himself he was only doing so to delay his return to the ball—he became aware he was being followed. At first, he thought it might be one of the French ladies, looking for an assignation, but when he paused to examine a rose bush, so did his pursuer.
A lady hoping for a tryst would hardly be so shy, but he did detect a sweep of pale skirts when he turned his head back as if looking over his shoulder—verypale skirts. A debutante? Following a rake into a darkened garden? It was implausible, but very few ladies wore that pale of a hue during the Season.
Intrigued, Rex wandered on, turning a corner with a suitably thick rhododendron for him to hide behind, waiting for the lady so he could see who she was. Any debutante with the audacity to follow him into the garden piqued his interest. As long as she was not a title or fortune hunter… hell, perhaps even if she was. There was no rule saying a young lady searching for a title or fortune would not make an entertaining and enjoyable wife.
His eyebrows rose at the figure that appeared next to the rhododendron, hugging its branches as she looked about, trying to see where he had gone.
It was Miss Wilson—apparently, not as much a cipher as she had appeared next to her cousin. Perhaps he had been hasty in his judgment.
“Hello, there.” His voice was a low purr as he emerged from the shadows of the bush, looming over her from a mere foot away. Her eyes widening, she stepped back, but she did not run, her head tipping back to stare up at him. “Looking for someone?”
“I… ah…” She blinked. Rallied. Her chin came up with a stubborn feminine air. “Lord Hartford. I seem to have lost my way. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”
Rex took a step closer, tilting his head down. In the moonlight, it was hard to see whether she paled or blushed, but he saw the rising panic in her eyes. Despite that, she held her ground rather than retreating again, which only intrigued him more.
“Have you?” he asked, standing close enough the pale blue skirts of her dress brushed his shins.
“Have I...?” she repeated. She didn’t seem to be able to look away.
Rex leaned down, his lips moving closer and closer to hers, giving her ample time to run. Would she run, or would she let him kiss her?
