A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(15)

Of all the assembled guests, which probably numbered close to fifty persons of consequence, she knew only Lady Russell and Mr. Needham, both of whom were too far away to offer her any moral support. To Mariah's dismay, they were seated at the opposite end of the table near the duke. While, as Lord Rochford's dinner partner, she was placed at the duchess's end of the table, leaving her feeling rather lost.

Mariah had first counted it a blessing when Lord Rochford had asked her to dance. He wasn't quite the foppish, preening peacock she'd imagined he would be. He was actually rather handsome with fair hair, leanly chiseled aristocratic features, and clear gray eyes that smiled in a mocking way. He was elegant, attentive, charming, an excellent dancer and exceptional conversationalist, yet the more they spoke, the less they had in common.

The earl was widely traveled and had a command of three languages. She had hardly ever left Derbyshire and spoke only one. He was mad for gaming and sporting events while she disapproved of extravagant wagers. He had several large estates but preferred to be in town. Except for short visits, Mariah preferred the country over the city. He was much enamored of Italian opera. She had never been to an opera house. Mariah once more wished that Lydia had been here. Her cousin would have made a perfect match for such a man.

At first, the earl had been both amiable and attentive, but midway through the meal, his eye contact with her had lessened, and his gaze swept languidly over the other guests. Eventually, he addressed more of his remarks to the Countess of Cumberbatch seated across the table, who, by her stream of titters and flirtatious remarks, seemed to have a great appreciation of his charms. He made a pejorative remark about one of the king's ministers that set the entire head of the table chortling. While others around her seemed enchanted by his wit, most of his remarks seemed to go completely over Mariah's head.

By the fifth cover of the seemingly endless courses that had begun with fish and ended with fruit, she realized that she could never marry such a man. They would live as total strangers. And that could never be enough for her. Once more, her thoughts strayed back to Mr. Needham.

She found herself darting glances down the far end of the table in search of his friendly and familiar face. Mr. Needham had asked her for one dance, then all but disappeared. Had his business taken him away, or had she just deluded herself that he could be interested in her? He'd barely looked in her direction the rest of the evening.

She could barely wait for the endless supper to be over so she could excuse herself, but there seemed no escape. Her throbbing head told her she'd drunk far too much wine. Her vision was beginning to blur, and the conversation had become a buzz in her ears. She desperately needed some fresh air. She hoped to God she wouldn't make a fool of herself when she rose from the table.

A footman entered with a message on a silver salver that he presented to the duke. He appeared to examine the seal with a frown. Without breaking it, he stood and made an excuse to his guests. He then nodded to Mr. Needham, who also rose. The two men departed the dining room together. Was it some urgent matter of state, or was it perhaps a message from Lord Marcus? If the latter, Mr. Needham would surely return soon and notify Lady Russell.

Once the last cover was removed, the ladies withdrew as a group to leave the men to their politics and drink. But rather than joining the duchess and her female guests in the drawing room, Mariah perceived the opportunity to slip away for some much-needed air. She'd felt smothered in the crowded dining room and so horribly out of place.

The first doors she encountered led outside onto a small terrace. Closing the door quietly behind her, she leaned out over the white marble balustrade and drew in a deep lungful of crisp night air. She shivered lightly. She considered going back inside to retrieve a shawl but feared she'd be seen by Lady Russell and drawn back into the party. It was chilly enough to give her gooseflesh, but she didn't care. If she had to sacrifice some comfort for a moment of privacy, so be it.

She was accustomed to seeking her moments of solitude in the night, after everyone had gone to their beds, often walking alone in her private garden on moonlit evenings. Tonight a full moon shone brightly, illuminating the gravel walks of the parterre gardens. She gazed up at the stars blinking in the vast blackness of the night. She hadn't had a particularly enjoyable time at the party, but the experience had surely been enlightening.

***

Seated down the table on the opposite side of Lady Mariah, Nick had the advantage of being able to watch the interplay between her and Lord Rochford. She had seemed distracted, picking at her food and taking frequent sips of wine. He'd noticed with irritation how solicitous Rochford was about seeing her glass refilled. Was he purposely plying her with wine? Surely the earl didn't seek to soften her for a seduction. Would Rochford stoop so low to ensure he ensnared the heiress? Nick didn't know the man well enough to say, but his protective instincts were on high alert. She had little experience of men, of that he was certain. It would be child's play for a man like Rochford to tarnish her reputation and force her hand into marriage.

Nick had promised himself he would stay close by and ensure that she got safely to her bed tonight, but then he'd been abruptly pulled away from supper, and by the time he'd returned to the dining room, the guests had dispersed.

Most of the women had sought the drawing room while a number of men lingered at table over bottles of port. He noted that Rochford was not among them. He immediately sought out Lady Russell, hoping Mariah would be with her, but found Marcus's mother paired with the duchess at the card table.