How to Marry a Marble Marquis(51)
He somehow found himself at a table full of what he presumed were similarly jilted prospects. “Roth,” he barked at a familiar glowing face. “Good to see you out and about, your grace.”
“Stride, you’re the very last bachelor in London I would expect to see at an event like this.” The speaker was a laconic naga, one whose trials with his ex-wife had been thoroughly covered by the High Tea.
“I suppose none of us need to wonder why you’re here, Casselon.”
The viscount grinned, his fangs shining in the candlelight. “No, I suppose not. All of London has had a front-row seat. Rather like the exploits of your bedroom.”
Silas laughed, unable to argue. She was dancing with a minotaur, then an orc with a ridiculously outdated coat, chattering with a red-haired young woman against the far wall for a bit, and then somehow, in the minotaur’s arms again.
“Stride, you look positively green with envy. Don’t tell me you’re seriously here with your eye on someone.”
“Oh, I am, Warwick. I am going home engaged, and I am going to turn that Minotaur into the finest pair of leather boots if his hand slips any further. But first, I am going to get very slightly drunk.”
Eleanor
He was ruining all of her plans.
It should have been easy, snagging one of these enthusiastic, eager lords. The minotaur seemed especially keen, but she wasn’t sure if she could get over his bovine snout. The orc lord in attendance was thick with muscle and stately-looking, but also deadly dull, and rather than assessing her choices thoroughly with a cool head, the looming presence of Silas Stride kept pulling her attention. She didn’t know why he was here, but if he didn’t disappear rather quickly, she was going to find wherever it was he slept and push him into the lake.
“What do you ladies fancy doing tomorrow,” the rabbit-eared man asked gaily to the circle of giggling women around him. Silas was there, edging around the back end of the group, and she felt as if she were being circled.
“It will surely be a fine day to go riding, ladies.” That was from the orc. She tried to focus on the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his thighs and not the boringness of his conversation and his lack of witty repartee. She danced with him twice that evening, well spaced so as not to show that she was overly interested. Each time had felt as though she were trapped, sinking in the thick mud of the lowlands, and it was a relief when the music ended, freeing her. Do you want to be entertained? Or do you want to feed your family, you silly little fool!
“It’s been many years since I’ve been riding, my lord, but if you don’t mind a novice in tow, that sounds like a delightful way to spend the morning.”
“Miss Eastwick, I did not take you for such an enthusiastic horsewoman.” It was him, of course. Eleanor turned her dagger-like grin to Silas, hoping he noticed it was more of a grimace.
“I take it you don’t ride, my Lord?”
Instantly, his icy eyes brightened, and his treacherous mouth curled. Eleanor castigated herself the moment the words were out. The other monstrous men were a league below him. Unlike nearly every other lord she’d spoken with that evening, the Marquis of Basingstone was not one she could spar with and hope to walk away without feeling as though he had unfastened her to her very core.
“My dear Miss Eastwick, if having a beast between your thighs is your desire, I can think of a setting to which the two of us might adjourn that’s far worthier than a manure and mud-soaked field. I should be happy to provide you ample opportunity to play the horsewoman.”
Her face flamed as he leaned in closer, his whisper for ears alone.
“And besides, my dear, the stink of the stable is still on him, despite that wretched fragrance he’s attempted to use to cover it. He’s not interested in playing horsey the same way we have. I thought I’d already shown you that, but I’m happy to repeat the lesson at home.”
She hated that she wanted to laugh. No, we just hate him. She circled away putting distance between herself and his sharp blue eyes.
“I was thinking perhaps we could row on the lake, Miss Eastwick.” That was the minotaur. Unlike the orc, he had been a genial conversationalist. He had also been a genial conversationalist with every other woman in attendance, and she had a feeling he would continue to be a genial conversationalist with other women well after he finally found a bride. Do we care? As long as the girls are taken care of, who cares how far his hand wanders.
“He’s a regular attendee of these balls, little moth.” A hiss at her ear, Silas having found her again, the smell of him clouding her head. “I’m not sure why he’s not been able to seal the deal, but something keeps alerting the other young ladies. I would greatly prefer that you didn’t have to find out whatever that was when you are alone, and I’m certain the earl would agree. Besides, if you want to go rowing, I have a beautiful lake at Basingstone, and I’m told there are swans.”
She stamped her foot, noticing too late that the action was witnessed by the blue-glowing man and the countess. She didn’t care. He was lucky she wasn’t stomping on his face.
“Are you alright?” It was Penney, the girl from her floor, who preferred books to the idea of marriage, smiling in concern.
“I-I, yes, I’m fine. I’m just incredibly vexed at the moment.”