A Marquis for Mary (2 page)

He gritted his teeth at the question that was not a question. As she spun elegantly, he tried to find a response. “I have been much needed elsewhere,” he said.

She tilted her head. “That sounds very covert, my lord. More spying on terraces?”

He couldn’t help the smile that betrayed him, even though the subject she’d struck upon gave him so little pleasure. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you came out tonight,” she said as the music ended and she executed a slight curtsey. “It made an unbearable evening much more pleasant in the end.”

He hesitated, longing to reach out and place a hand on her arm again. Wanting to take her back out to the terrace and simply talk to her. Perhaps even steal a kiss.

But instead, he took a long step back and issued a stiff bow. “I’m pleased to be of service. Good night, Miss Quinn.”

Then he turned and all but ran from the ballroom, ran from her and the strange attraction between them that was immediate and dangerous. He didn’t look back even as he felt her stare on his retreating back with every step. And he didn’t breathe again until he was safe in the foyer, waiting for his carriage to be brought to take him home.

“That was so very strange,” he muttered as he watched his rig pull up to retrieve him. “And it must never again be repeated.”

Mary rested her head back against the carriage seat and her eyes fluttered shut. It had been a very long night, after all, and she could not wait to fall into her waiting bed. Not that she was certain sleep would come. She had a great deal on her mind, including the odd and interesting Lord Woodley, who had teased her, attracted her and then run from her not two hours before.

She felt her sister and brother-in-law watching her from across the carriage and opened one eye. Their arms were interlinked, as always, physical proof of their powerful love for each other. Even the birth of their first child—a daughter, Esmeralda—had not diminished their connection, but seem to make it bloom all the more beautifully. Despite all that, Crispin’s attention was now focused firmly and unwaveringly on Mary’s face.

She straightened. “What is it? You look very serious, Crispin, and you never look serious.”

Mary expected him to smile. He always indulged her cheeky teasing of him and was a good sport. But tonight his frown remained.

“It isn’t our father, is it?” she asked, her gaze flitting to her sister. “Gemma, he isn’t stealing me back yet! The Season isn’t over and I cannot—”

Gemma reached out across the distance between them and took her hand. “Mary, calm yourself. The bargain Crispin and Rafe made with our father to keep you in our care remains in place.”

Crispin’s expression softened. “I swear to you, Mary, I am working very hard to insure you remain with us permanently. I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to. You don’t need to worry yourself.”

Mary sagged in relief, though she couldn’t do anything
but
worry as her uncertain future loomed before her. “Well, if isn’t the less-than-illustrious Sir Oswald Quinn who makes you two look so upset, what is it? Did I do something wrong?”

Crispin seemed to struggle with words before he stammered, “I—we saw you dancing with Woodley tonight.”

Mary blinked. It was her brief exchange with the marquis that made Crispin look so serious? The same exchange that had been haunting her own mind since their dance?

“I—yes,” she said, still uncertain. Crispin had never seemed very interested in her dance partners beyond asking her if she had enjoyed herself at gatherings. “He is a marquis, you know.”

She didn’t know why she had added that fact about Woodley to the conversation. Title meant very little to her except that she knew her father wanted her to marry one. Even he couldn’t sneeze at a marquis, could he? Not that Woodley had shown any interest in her. Well, he
had
, but then he had darted away so abruptly…

She truly did not understand men.

“Yes,” Gemma said. “We know his rank.”

Mary wrinkled her brow. “You both look oddly serious about this. What is going on? I merely talked to the man on the terrace for a moment and then shared one sorry little dance with him. I hardly think that warrants these dour expressions.”

Gemma worried her lip, and she and Crispin exchanged another meaningful glance. Now Mary leaned in.

“What are you so worried about?” she demanded. “You are starting to frighten me!”

“I’m sorry, Mary.” Gemma looked genuinely distressed. “We aren’t trying to be frightening.”

“When you talked, did Woodley mention anything about me?” Crispin pressed.

Mary was still trying to work out where in the world these questions were coming from as she said, “No, but nor did I. Are you two acquainted?”

Crispin drew in a long breath. “In a way.”

His thin lips and pale face made her huff out a breath. “Goodness, this is ridiculous. What is wrong with the man that you two look as though I had gone off to St. Helena, brought Napoleon back with me and danced with
him
at the ball?”

Crispin turned his face, like he didn’t want her to see his expression. “There is nothing wrong with him, Mary.”

Mary was about to stomp her foot at his reticence when Gemma said, “No, nothing at all. I do not know the man very well, myself, but I have never had a poor interaction with him, nor heard anything untoward about his behavior. It isn’t that he is scandalous.”

Mary threw up her hands. Didn’t they know this wasn’t helping? It was only making her even more confused. “Then what is it? For you two have never taken such a strange and intense interest in my dancing with a man. A man, I would add, who left the ball because he apparently found my company so offensive. A man who I will likely never dance with, nor perhaps even see, again.”

She said the words and there was a strange disappointment that filled her. She had truly enjoyed the uncharacteristic banter she had felt comfortable sharing with Woodley. Although she had apparently frightened him away with her candor and her teasing, for those few moments she had felt so very comfortable.

But it mattered little. Woodley apparently didn’t like her and she truly didn’t understand why Crispin and Gemma were so concerned about her dancing with him.

“It is true that you will likely not interact with him again,” Crispin said slowly. “After all, he rarely comes out into Society.”

“He may be returning,” Gemma said softly. “Even after…
everything
, he must be in want of a wife to carry on the title.”

Crispin’s lips thinned again. “That is true.”

Mary sighed heavily. “You are both very confusing and I am becoming upset with your odd behavior. Will you tell me what is going on?”

Gemma shook her head. “Nothing, dearest. We had some small anxiety that you had met Woodley, but if you say that the two of you did not suit, then any concerns we had are not to be dealt with. Now, did you see Lady Anne’s purple gown?”

Mary frowned. Gemma was trying to distract her with talk of dresses, even though she could read some lingering concerns in her sister’s stare. And though it should have made her think less of Woodley that her sister and brother-in-law had such hesitations about him, it made the already fascinating marquis even more interesting to her.

It was really too bad they would likely never meet again.

Edward shifted uncomfortably as he balanced his plate of little finger sandwiches in what suddenly felt like his huge hand. God, he had forgotten how awful these Society events were, whether a ball or a garden party like this one. When he first entered Society, he didn’t remember being so uncomfortable.

Of course, that had all been before. Before…everything.

“You look like you want to run.”

Edward jolted and turned to find his youngest sister Audrey had sidled up beside him. At twenty-four years of age, she was unmarried and their mother had insisted he escort her to a few events this Season. But everyone in the family knew that Audrey was actually chaperoning him, bringing him back into the Society he so wished to avoid.

He frowned. “Is running an option?”

“No, I am afraid not.” She let out a sigh. “But you cannot be unhappy, can you? You have a plate of cucumber sandwiches.”

He held the plate out. “Have them, Audrey.”

She took it with a laugh. “This
is
dire if you cannot eat. You have never had that affliction.”

His mouth turned down even further. “Once I did.”

His sister’s laughter faded. “Edward…oh, Edward, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “It isn’t your fault. I don’t want to be here and I am merely being maudlin.”

Audrey squeezed his arm gently. “Is there
anything
here to tempt you?”

He looked around and suddenly everything in the garden seemed to come to a screeching halt. There amongst the trimmed rose bushes was a far more interesting and beautiful flower. Miss Mary Quinn was standing with another lady, he didn’t know her name. Mary laughed as they talked, her animated face lit up with pleasure about whatever the subject of their interaction was.

He had not seen her for three days, not since his humiliating retreat after their dance. And yet she had been all he had thought about during that time. He had even awoken in his bed, sweating, his cock hard as steel and Mary Quinn’s name a moan on his lips.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“Edward?” Audrey repeated, dragging him from his thoughts.

He shook his head. Audrey and Mary would be of an age, he thought, and perhaps his sister knew the other woman. But he didn’t want to ask. In part because if he showed any interest in any woman, his family would pounce on that fact like a pack of ravenous dogs. Well-meaning dogs, yes, but dogs nonetheless. And in part because he dared not feed the odd desire he felt toward Mary. In fact, what he
should
do was turn around and walk in the other direction, not alert Mary to his presence.

But instead, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

“You know, I think I see a friend across the way,” he lied. “To keep you happy and to prove that I am not a hopeless hermit, I will go and speak to him. Excuse me.”

Audrey blinked up at him, her face lined with confusion. “Very well. I’ll see you later, Edward.”

He hardly heard her, so focused was he on the steps that separated him from Mary. Ten paces, fifteen paces…her friend smiled and left her, and now she was alone…twenty paces and he was here, stopping at her side. She started as she turned her face and noticed him, and then that fetching pink blush washed over her pale skin once more.

“Good afternoon, Miss Quinn,” he said with what he hoped wasn’t an awkward smile. It suddenly felt like a very awkward smile, indeed.

“My lord,” she said, dropping her gaze away from his. “I-I didn’t realize you were here today.”

“My mother insisted I chaperone my youngest sister, Audrey.” He motioned behind him, toward his sister.

Mary followed his gaze with wide eyes and then she darted her stare back to him. “You are Lady Audrey’s brother?”

He nodded. “I wondered if you two were acquainted. You must be of an age, I think.”

Mary smiled, the first smile she had gifted him with since his approach. “I only know her a little, I’m afraid, but I’ve always liked her.”

“Yet another thing we have in common, for I have always liked her, too,” he teased, but even as he said the words, he marveled at them. When had he last felt so
light
? He truly could not recall.

She laughed, filling the air around them with music and drawing attention from several of those close by. He felt their stares on him, felt their judgments, and his cravat suddenly seemed too tight.

“Are you well?” Mary asked, her laughter fading.

His eyes widened. “I—why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “You suddenly grew pale. You aren’t planning to run away again, are you?”

“The idea does appeal,” he admitted. “Though not away from you.” He cleared his throat. He was about to do something that he would likely regret. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

She didn’t respond, but instead suddenly shifted her focus to a spot behind him. He turned and followed her glance and found a fat, older, red-faced man toddling down the stairs toward the garden.