Page 65 of The Countess Caper

“You are entirely too good for him, I am sure,” Lord Kensington said to Tessa.

She nearly snorted. Roarke did snort.

“Is this why you declined my invitation to join us for your birthday? Not that I blame you one bit, of course.”

“That, and when was the last time I wanted to sit in a circle of aristocrats toasting me on my bloody birthday?” Roarke said.

Lady Kensington nudged her husband with her elbow. “I told you.”

“You are resplendent with wisdom and wit, my sweet.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you are full of—”

“Lady Kensington!” he interrupted with false scandalized outrage. “You are a marchioness.” When she rolled her eyes again, he turned to Roarke. The cat was now thoroughly asleep and purring inside his waistcoat. “Your mother was delightful, Dartmoor, but she did like to stir up trouble.” He winked at Tessa, clearly knowing about Roarke’s oath to his mother. “I hope you do too.”

“Does she ever,” Roarke muttered.

“Hey!” She wasn’t sure why she was protesting. He wasn’t wrong.

“Let’s get you settled,” Lady Kensington said, rubbing her hands together. “Before the other guests return and ruin the surprise. You have a lady’s maid?”

Tessa shook her head. She hadn’t needed a lady’s maid since The Incident. Never mind the disappearance of her dowry.

Lady Kensington waved that away. “Never mind. I’ll send you Francesca. She is brilliant, and it will make everyone else green with jealousy. Puce, even. I can’t wait.”

Tessa followed her up the grand staircase. The portraits hanging in ornate gilded frames were all of cats. Lady Kensington followed her gaze and shrugged. “Sometimes we have to choose our own family.”

Tessa smiled for the first time, a true smile. She thought of a run-down manor house, broken emu statues, splinters in the fingers, women hiding inside the walls. “I think that’s lovely.”

Lady Kensington smiled back. “Anything you need for the ball tonight, you will let me know. Your presence here will quite make this party the event of the Season. Leave it to Francesca. You shall make an entrance.”

Tessa could not think of anything she wanted less.

Chapter Nineteen

“The Earl of Dartmoor, and the Countess of Dartmoor.”

The announcement rang through the exquisitely decorated ballroom. She’d never seen so many candles. They were lovely and smelled of honey, and afforded very few shadows for Tessa to hide in. There were flowers everywhere, in every shade of yellow: roses, chrysanthemums, dahlias. Marble benches carved with more blossoms sat in alcoves created by potted lemon trees. Ropes of ivy crisscrossed from the ceiling, creating the feel of a secret bower instead of a cold, cavernous ballroom. The footmen circling with trays of champagne and wine wore gold masks. It was lavish and luxurious, but also cheerful, just like the Kensingtons themselves.

Once upon a time, Tessa would have loved this. She would have felt excitement instead of apprehension. She would have been welcomed.

She tensed, reminding herself that this was for Magpie House. This was for Holly, whose brother-in-law was trying to murder her. For Marigold, who had been thrown out of the vicarage by a father who preached forgiveness. For Bryony, who would not speak of her past.

For Deirdre.

This was a small thing compared to that.

“Don’t you dare run,” Roarke muttered, closing his hand over her fingers on his arm as if he knew she was seconds from pulling away. He wore a dark gray coat and a simple cravat and looked more handsome than anyone else in the room with their perfect pomaded hair and silk waistcoats. “If I have to do this, so do you.”

“This was your idea!”

“To protect you.”

“You could just buy me a sword.”

He smiled at her comment, muttered under her breath.

She was being ungrateful. Cowardly.