Page 10 of Raked Away in September

“No one will care about the details,” he assured her with a wry smile. “Everyone is coming to gawk at us, not the flowers.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

Wilding shook his head. “It’s going to be a disaster. They’re going to eat the two of you alive. I hope you’re ready for it and won’t wilt completely, Tamsin.”

At that, Tamsin squared her shoulders, obviously insulted by her brother’s jab, as she well should be. This evening was going to be difficult enough without their allies lobbing shots at them, too. “They can gossip all they want. We are to be wed. This will all blow over as soon as they find something or someone else to talk about.”

Rowan caught her gaze and gave her a bolstering smile. He felt strangely proud of her for standing up to her brother, and some of the doubts swirling within him quieted. His betrothed was beautiful, kind, and brave. Marriages had certainly started with far less going for them than this. Simply liking each other was undoubtedly half the battle.

Lady Wilding, a lovely brunette, greeted them then, looking a bit harried. “Lord Haversham. Welcome to the family. I hope you’ll find everything to your liking tonight.”

“Lady Wilding,” he replied warmly, glad that she seemed far more welcoming than her husband. “You’ve done a fine job. Thank you for overseeing everything.”

“Of course.” She let her gaze linger on his face a moment longer, obviously sizing him up, then excused herself and hurried back over to give the servants a few last-minute instructions.

The first guests arrived shortly thereafter. At first, they came only as a trickle, but within the hour, the room swelled into a crushing sea of silk, and the cologne applied liberally to try to mask the odors beneath made him want to gag. The air grew warm, vibrating with the low, predatory hum of a hundred whispered conversations.

Every time a new group entered, their heads turned in unison toward the center of the room where Rowan and Tamsin held court, everyone scanning them for some sign of shame or a hint of the scandal that had brought them all here. No doubt they’d half expected to arrive and find Wilding forcing him to go through this evening’s formalities at gunpoint. He was certain that rumors of Nick challenging him to a duel had already spread far and wide. Servants did love to talk, after all.

In response, Rowan vowed to be even more attentive and adoring to Tamsin. He didn’t intend to add any more fuel to the fire.

The musicians played loudly, but the festive music only highlighted the tension. Rowan felt like a captive bug in a jar, stared at from every direction. Mothers shielded their daughters as he passed, and the men shared knowing smirks over the rims of their champagne flutes.

He adjusted his cuffs, feeling the weight of a hundred gazes. He wished he had some allies in this crowd, but there hadn’t been time to send for his best friend, Lysander Thorne, the Marquess of Ashford, or his sister Julia and her family, who were currently out of the city.

Beside him, Tamsin stood with her spine as straight as a soldier’s. She was playing her part perfectly, but Rowan could see the slight tremor in her fingers as she held her fan.

“Breathe, Tamsin,” he murmured, leaning down so his breath brushed her ear. “You look as though you are facing a firing squad rather than a group of bored aristocrats.”

“A firing squad might be less intimidating,” she whispered back, though she allowed herself a small, fleeting smile. “At least then I would know where the bullets are coming from.”

He settled his hand on the small of her back, surprised by how natural it felt to do so. “Stay close to me. Let me be the villain tonight. It’s a role I’ve rehearsed for years.”

She glanced up at him, a hint of confusion in those remarkable eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re being so kind. Are you certain you don’t want to run away now, while you still can?”

“I don’t want to run away from you,” he murmured, and he was surprised to realize it was true. With her at his side, he had the strange feeling that they were a team, a feeling he didn’t know if he’d ever felt before. He liked it.

Their gazes locked, but before she could reply, they were cornered by Lady Shrewsbury—one of the ton’s most terrifying matrons—and a small circle of her acolytes. The older woman’s eyes were sharp as needles.

“What a surprisingly sudden match, Haversham,” Lady Shrewsbury remarked, her voice carrying just far enough to make them the center of nearly everyone’s attention.

A few of the women behind her tittered. Rowan felt Tamsin stiffen, her breath hitching.

Rowan didn’t flinch. He would not allow these vultures to get to him. He allowed a slow, languid smile to spread across his face. “The heart is rarely a creature of logic, my lady,” he replied, his voice smooth and adoring. “I found myself captivated by Miss Tamsin’s spirit long before I found the opportunity to tell her so. If I hurried, it was only because I feared some other man might possess more sense than I and steal her away.”

He turned his gaze to Tamsin, and for a moment, the act felt disturbingly real. “Is that not right, my love?”

Tamsin played her part beautifully, offering a modest, glowing look that suggested they shared a world no one else could touch.

The group fell silent, neutralized by his sheer audacity. Lady Shrewsbury blinked, surprised by his sudden pivot to romantic devotion. He wondered what they’d been expecting. That he’d allow them to torment his future bride for sport? If so, they had no idea with whom they were dealing.

“Please excuse us,” he said, guiding Tamsin away from the older woman’s venom.

When the music swelled for the next set of dances, Rowan saw the fatigue in Tamsin’s eyes. “I think you’ve had enough for now,” he whispered. “Follow me.”

He navigated her through the side doors and into the quiet, humid sanctuary of the conservatory. The air here smelled of damp earth and blooming jasmine—a far cry from the heavy perfumes and beeswax of the ballroom.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tamsin said, leaning against a stone plinth holding a large potted fern. She looked smaller here, away from the glittering lights. “You made them look like fools, and they won’t soon forget it.”