Page 3 of The Lady's Forbidden Marquess
Pere’s pulse jumped.She turned toward him, smiling.His gaze moved from Henley to her, then back, brow raised.
After a pause—no doubt protest—Henley made the introduction.
“Lord Ramsford, my sister, Lady Peregrine.”His gaze warned her.
A warning she decided to ignore.
“A pleasure, Lady Peregrine.”
She offered her hand; he kissed the air above it, warm brown eyes full of approval.“May I request a dance, if you haven’t already been spoken for?”
“I’d be honored, my lord.”She handed him her card.He chose the first dance of the evening—a reel.
“I’ll return shortly, my lady.”
“I’ll look forward to it, my lord.”She glanced down, then up through her lashes, just as she’d practiced.
“As will I.”He bowed and left.
Pere watched him go with a happy sigh.That had gone better than she’d hoped.Perhaps a little flirtation went further than she’d thought.She turned to Henley, who was staring as if she’d grown feathers.
“Who are you?”he asked flatly.“I… need something to drink.”He threw up his hands, looked at Anna, and left.
“That was odd,” Pere murmured.
“I’ve never seen you flirt like that.Impressive.Slightly disconcerting, but…” Anna leaned in, voice low.“Be careful.There’s flirtation, and then there’s invitation.”She paused.“One is safer than the other… because after invitation—” Her gaze darkened.“After invitation comes ruination.”
The word echoed in Pere’s mind.
Ruin.
Across the room, a tall figure in midnight blue paused mid-step, cane tapping once against the parquet.Lord Hawthorne’s storm-gray eyes narrowed on Ramsford’s retreating back, then flicked to Pere.A muscle jumped in his jaw.He turned away, but not before Pere caught the flicker of something dangerously close to recognition.
Chapter Two
“Ihave questions.”Gabriel Ashford, Marquess of Hawthorne, stated the words with a lazy tone as he sipped the warm orgeat, wincing at the flavor.
“You and me both, but mine are less questions and rather words I can’t say around the person in question.”Lord Allendale muttered then looked to Hawthorne.“That’s actually a lie; I’ve said all those words in front of my sister.More than once.”
Hawthorne chuckled slightly even as he nodded in the direction of the dancers in the middle of the ballroom.The lilting tune of a Scottish reel added light to the atmosphere.“It’s none of my affair,” he started, then frowned a little as he studied Ramsford’s expression as he danced with Lady Peregrine—Henley’s sister.“She does know his reputation?”
Henley gave a low grunt, then nodded.“It’s actually because of that reputation.”
Hawthorne paused, frowned again, and shot his gaze to Henley.“Pardon?”
“You heard correctly.”Henley glanced heavenward, mouthed what had to be a prayer, and selected another glass of wine.
Hawthorne had never known Lord Allendale to be overly fond of wine.His taking a second glass was proof enough that Henley didn’t approve of his sister’s decisions.Not that Hawthorne agreed either; rather foolish if anyone asked him—but so far no one had.
Henley continued, glaring at the dancers.“She has this blasted idea that a rogue would make the best husband, and she isn’t willing to sit on her laurels this season—not that she did last season.That was rather a different story.”Henley twisted his lips.
“It was your story.”Hawthorne gave a chuckle as he sipped his drink.
“Regardless…” Henley waved his hand.“She’s under the impression that this is being proactive.”His expression darkened as if he was reliving a bad memory.
Hawthorne watched in unabashed amusement as Henley drank the wine like it was a shot of whisky and not the good Scottish kind that needed to be savored.But one that must be endured.Henley was correct; this was one of the worst ideas Hawthorne had heard in recent history, and the fact that Lady Peregrine had come up with it, and was executing it, gave him pause.She was not the sort who would escape this type of situation unscathed.
No.He looked back toward her.Her mahogany hair up in some sort of confection and her eyes wide with innocence.He had the sinking suspicion that this was going to be single-handedly the worst disaster in London society since, well, her brother Henley.
