Marquesses at the Masquerade(68)
“Miss, I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s almost three, and the rain has stopped.”
“Oh heavens, I’ve lost all knowledge of time. I must go. My uncle!” Annalise gathered her things. “But think of the pleasure he will have in berating me.”
She affected her uncle’s tone as Mrs. Bailey helped her slip on her coat. “Annalise, you are late because you attended a lecture. See what happens when you attempt to think?”
Exmore seized her naked wrist. Somewhere in the conversation, she had unconsciously drawn off her gloves. A jolt of strange electricity ran over her skin. “There’s a chemistry lecture next week,” he said. “Please attend. You can ignore me all week, pretend I’m a homely insect that you should smash under your foot, anything to appease your vile uncle, but… but come to the chemistry lecture.”
“I don’t know. What if people—”
“It promises many colorful explosions.”
She chuckled. “Oh, things being blown up is so very tempting. But—”
“You can sit on one side of the room and I on the other. When you see me, feign outrage and loudly announce that you would have never attended had you known I would be present. Once our fierce animosity is established, we can slip away afterwards and hide in our favorite tea shop.”
She tried to object, but his imploring eyes melted her words away. “Very well. But promise to be as fascinating as you’ve been today.”
“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing your expectations of me.”
She laughed as she picked up her portfolio and headed for the door. There, she stopped, turned, and walked back to him
A smile dawned on his face that caused her heart to rise.
“Did you forget something?” he asked.
She carefully cracked the portfolio and drew out her illustration. “Yes, I forgot to give you this.” She set it on the table and hurried away, pretending not to hear his objections.
She met Mrs. Bailey outside the door of the tea shop.
“I don’t care what your uncle and them at his home say,” Mrs. Bailey said. “I know people. I can peer into their hearts. And this talk of the marquess being a cruel rake is pure rubbish. He is a good man. Good like my departed Edward, please his loving soul.”
Chapter Nine
* * *
A game began between Exmore and Annalise: the ignore-each-other game. He left his house every night to search for her. Sometimes, he found her at the opera or theater, where their gazes might accidentally meet to share in a laugh or make an unspoken sarcastic remark. Just being in the room with her, the light in her eyes, the benign brush of their arms, gave him peace. Her presence moored him. While she orbited his world, the days no longer stretched before him like an endless ocean. The gray sameness that characterized his days lifted. He felt like he was returning to himself, the old demons fleeing.
The day before the chemistry lecture, he headed to his club with his correspondences and a journal. He had a quickness to his mind and step. His former vitality was slowly returning with more sleep, less brandy, and less time at gambling tables. Yet, his good mood dampened when he strolled into the club’s morning room to find Colonel Lewiston and Wallis Hume sharing a table.
Wallis hailed him. “Ahh, the man I desired to see. Come, come sit. We have a pressing matter to discuss.” He gestured to a passing servant. “More tea, please.”
Exmore glanced about the crowded room. All the tables and chairs were occupied with men smoking and reading papers or discussing the day’s politics. He was trapped.
“Sit, my good man,” Wallis urged him, oblivious to the invisible current of animosity between Lewiston and Exmore. “You are looking quite well. You must have taken my advice.”
“Err, yes,” Exmore agreed, remaining standing. He didn’t remember Wallis’s advice. People had been trying to offer Exmore their so-called wise words since Cassandra’s death. Exmore conveniently forgot all the inane counsel.
“Who is she?”
Exmore blinked. “Pardon?”
“The lady,” Wallis prompted. “Remember, I told you to find a good lady. So, who is she? I’m an old man who rarely gets out to parties, and unfortunately, I hear the gossip days after everyone else. You must tell me.”
Lewiston tilted his head and studied Exmore. His pale silvery eyes reminded him of cold, stark, snow-laden landscapes.
“No one,” Exmore muttered. “I have found no one.”
“Sit down.” Wallis patted the armrest of the empty chair beside him. “We must discuss Patrick.”
Exmore sank into the empty chair. Lewiston shifted in his. One of them would have to go soon.
“I have heard very troubling reports, indeed,” Wallis said. “I understand that brazen girl Miss Annalise Van Der Keer has been in London for a few weeks now and is making her way into some of the finest homes. It was relayed to me only hours ago that she would be attending Lord Warrington’s ball this evening. Lord Warrington! The Prince Regent shall be there. To think he would be sharing a room with that… fiendish woman. Oh, had I known sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”
This was what Wallis needed to speak about? Exmore looked down to where his hands had balled into fists. He spread his fingers as a servant arrived with more tea. He could feel Lewiston’s blue-flame eyes on him. He hated being so close to the man. Although they rarely spoke, Lewiston possessed a silent smugness in his power over Exmore.