Unveiled (Turner #1)(88)
His thumb brushed the skin of her wrist, just beyond the edge of her glove. To anyone else, it would appear to be an accident. Margaret knew it was a caress. A promise.
“Margaret,” Lady Cosgrove was saying softly at her side. “I say, Margaret.”
Ash glanced at her. “And who is your friend?”
“Diana, Lady Cosgrove, may I present to you Mr. Ash Turner. Heir presumptive to the duchy of Parford. Mr. Turner, Lady Cosgrove.”
The woman tittered softly.
“Hmm.” Ash’s voice was a trifle wary. “Should I be dancing with Lady Cosgrove?” He met Margaret’s eyes as he spoke.
“Oh, please,” Lady Cosgrove breathed.
Well. If they were going to occasion gossip, it was best that they did it properly.
“No,” Margaret said distinctly. “You should not. Her husband would certainly not approve.”
A gasp sounded beside her.
“I should love, however, to introduce you to Lady Elaine.”
Lady Cosgrove gasped louder but recovered quickly. “Mr. Turner,” she said, reaching out for Ash’s cuff. “Do listen to me. I know that you may believe that Lady Margaret has your best interests at heart, as she is some kind of a relation, if only a distant one. But if you intend to be a duke, you must not let yourself be guided so easily, not by one such as her. Take my warning to heart: she’s using you to punish me, because I kept my distance from her these past months. You know that any woman of good sense and decency would have done the same.”
No, Margaret had never been like Lady Cosgrove. For one thing, she had never been so stupid. Ash’s smile grew darker, and he looked at the woman. “I knew the instant Margaret spoke that she intended to use me as a weapon. What you fail to understand is this: I am her weapon to use.”
Margaret’s lungs burned. So much for not occasioning gossip. But she couldn’t fault him. She couldn’t reprimand him. She couldn’t even stop her own smile from spilling out, stupidly, over her face, the truth writ large for anyone to see.
“And I asked her to direct me for that reason.” Ash looked back at Margaret. “I’ll be by to collect my waltz.”
ASH FINALLY HAD HER in his arms again, even if it was for something as innocuous as a waltz. His hand was on her waist; her fingers rested lightly on his shoulder. And even though they were surrounded by dozens of others, at least for the moment he could pretend they were alone.
Even though he’d been able to conjure up Margaret’s image in his mind these past months, the real thing was a thousand times better. He had one of her hands in his. Even through gloves, it was wonderful to hold her. He could smell the scent of roses on her. And when he leaned in, on a gliding turn, he could almost taste the sweetness of her breath.
Memory could not hold a candle to the reality of her. She set him ablaze. Her gaze flickered down demurely, and then she looked up at him, under the curtain of those lashes. Her lips curved, and his heart contracted. And then she spoke, so quietly that he leaned in to better make out her words.
“You mustn’t hold me quite so close,” Margaret said.
Hmph. Hardly a romantic sentiment. In fact, he’d thought that foot of distance between their bodies rather too much as it was.
He whirled her about and smiled at her. “And why must I not?”
“Because everyone is watching, and it’s not proper.”
Truly? He thought they’d discarded such trivial considerations long ago. Ash looked down into her eyes and shook his head. “Must we go through this again? I’m aware it’s not proper. It was highly improper for me to demand that Rawlings issue you an invitation. I’m sure that those who are overly interested in propriety would disapprove of the method I used to ask you to dance. Why should I care now? We can write our own rules.”
She turned her head, and the stones dangling from her ears swayed back and forth. “Actions have consequences.” Her voice was tremulous. “And maybe you don’t see them—maybe you are unaware of them. But just because you do not pay the price, does not mean I can ignore the cost.”
“Cost?” Ash looked over her shoulder at the crowds. “What cost? At the end of the day, we shall triumph.”
“The last time your day ended, Ash, and you triumphed, I was declared a bastard. I was stripped of my dowry by the court of Chancery. When you triumph, my brothers suffer. So don’t talk so cavalierly of what we shall do. There is no we. People will talk.”
“Let them talk,” Ash said dismissively. “What does it matter what they say?”
She let out a faint huff. “They’ll imagine that we fancy one another.”
He felt a smile curl his lip, and he let his hand slip down her waist, to rest against the base of her spine. “Then they’ll imagine the truth, won’t they? I fail to see the problem.”
She looked up at him. “But they’ll use it against my brothers. If popular sentiment has us caught up in romantic trysts, minds will immediately jump to matrimony. Those who wish to see my father’s bloodline continue in the dukedom might accept a continuation through the female line. This could materially harm my brothers’ chances.”
Margaret solemnly looked up at him as she spoke. Ash weighed his next words carefully. He didn’t want to offend her, and yet he could hardly countenance lying. “I still fail to see the problem. You may recall that I oppose your brothers’ suit in Parliament. I am trying to materially harm their prospects.”