A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess (In War and Love #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

An Irresistible Stitch

D iana moved through the crowd with the measured poise and the agility of a person who has developed the ability to navigate such events with grace and yet still go unnoticed. She needed a change in company, and Elizabeth seemed the ideal option.

But it seemed that her luck had abandoned her, since she could not locate her sister-in-law anywhere in the sea of beautiful dresses and dark coats. She was ready to give up and retreat to her favorite bay window in the drawing room. There, she could be away from the crowds, near the refreshments, and have an unobstructed view of the ballroom.

But then she saw Richard presenting with pride one of the books that Selina had donated to the auction in an empty area of the ballroom.

Ah, exactly the man I needed to see.

Her proper brother-in-law was the right person to ask about Elizabeth, since she could trust that the strict man would refrain from meaningless hints and senseless jokes.

“Diana.” Richard dutifully bowed to her. “Enjoying the evening?”

“I must congratulate both of you,” Diana complimented.

She meant it. Annoying or not, Selina had truly outdone herself, and her charity events had become a fixture in the ton’s calendar, marking the imminent start of the Season. And leave it to Selina to make it not just a social event but also a reminder that many were less fortunate than them.

Richard seemed to be proud of his wife as his eyes drifted toward her.

That look …

Diana felt that pang again, right between her heart and her abdomen, between her ribs.

Could be the corset .

She preferred to think that her corset finally decided to stab her rather than the alternative.

“Richard, have you seen Elizabeth?”

“If I am not mistaken, she went to the powder room. Is everything all right, dear? Anything I can help you with?”

Diana was ready to take her leave. Just a split moment, a fleeting tick in time. That was all it took.

Someone coughed behind her, and Richard looked over her shoulder. Way above her shoulder. Her instinct told her that in this refined ballroom, filled with proper muslin dresses and kid gloves, meticulously served sandwiches and cold refreshments, a predator was prowling. And yet she turned around.

It took all of her years of training and every inkling of acting skills she amassed to keep her jaw in a dignified position. Because right there stood the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on—which said a lot, since her brothers and brother-in-law were considered fetching.

Perhaps it was the ‘brother’ factor that dulled their appeal, compared to this man. But if she had to answer that, she would probably surmise that the way he towered over everyone in the room, the way his broad shoulders blocked her view, and the way his slightly tousled brown hair shone in the light made him more fetching.

Fetching? Isn’t even that too strong a word? What exactly is he supposed to fetch, after all?

Diana hastened to keep herself in check.

Her mind didn’t pay any heed to her troubles and focused on the highlight of the charity event, which was none other than those piercing baby-blue eyes that put to shame any other shade of azure.

“Crawford! You came!” Richard greeted in a cordial tone.

Crawford?

If someone were to come out of the blue and douse her in cold water, the effect would be nothing compared to what the mention of that name did to her.

So, this is the infamous rake.

“Well, Seymour.” The Marquess passed her by without even looking at her. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Diana was used to being ignored. In fact, she had honed the art of blending in the background for years. But something in her revolted at his open disregard. Even though the rational part of her brain rejoiced that the apex predator was fooled by her camouflage, Diana wished to be seen all of a sudden.

No. Leave. Now , she silently ordered herself.

“After all,” the Marquess continued, “you clearly hinted that it would mean the end of our friendship if I did not make an appearance, so why are you pretending to be surprised?”

Let’s take our leave!

Diana had enough self-dignity to not allow herself to be ignored so overtly. Her feet were mustering the courage to move, and her mind had already planned the best route to the powder room. But if the Marquess was ill-mannered, Richard lived and breathed propriety.

“Oh, Crawford, this is Lady Diana,” Richard offered with a wide smile.

Smile, bow, ‘My Lord’ him, and flee.

The moves came easily, as Diana was shrewd enough to avoid the man’s eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lord Crawford.” She bowed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Diana,” the Marquess said, his voice smooth and deep.

Diana wished that nature, in her infinite wisdom, had given the man a shrill, silly voice to balance everything out. Instead, he was gifted with a dark timbre such that not even a blind person was safe from him.

Sure that the indifferent Marquess had turned his attention somewhere else, she dared one look up, only to be met with his eyes, which lingered on her for a fraction too long.

“Lady Diana is Selina’s youngest sister,” Richard continued.

“I do not recall meeting you at the wedding, My Lady,” the Marquess said with a mischievous smirk.

Is that code for “I catalog all the women I meet?”

Diana was ready to strike back by stating the fact that she, too, barely remembered him. But Richard spoke first.

“No surprise there. Diana has the reputation of being the jilted wallflower.”

Seriously?

Richard remained oblivious to the gaffe he made even after they both looked at him pointedly. Diana had a more sinister intent, thinking how long it would take Selina to forgive her for making her a widow. As for the Marquess, he seemed quite amused by the mention of that dreaded nickname.

“The jilted wallflower?” he repeated, his lips curling into a faintly amused smile. “Such an undeserved reputation.”

Diana’s back stiffened, heat rushing to her cheeks. The man had said but a few words, but she could hear the provocation in the way he bent those words in his mouth.

He was making fun of her and wasn’t even trying to hide it.

The man could be robbing you before your very eyes, and still, he would have women falling at his feet.

Diana knew exactly where his arrogant confidence came from.

“Each has to deal with the gossip that follows them, My Lord,” Diana deadpanned.

There! You know I am a jilted wallflower, I know you are a rake .

She smiled in triumph.

But then she realized that she had kicked the hornet’s nest. It was obvious from his chuckle and the way he dipped his chin to regard her with a hungry look.

“Forgive me, Lady Diana. I meant no offense. It is rare to encounter someone whose reputation is both so intriguing and unwarranted.”

Diana did something she had never done to a stranger before, something that no dignified lady of the ton did. She glared at him.

“I am sure that you wished that reputations were always unwarranted,” she countered.

For once, Richard read the room correctly. “Uhm, perhaps we?—”

The Marquess ignored him. “I do. Especially when yours is a complete lie.”

“A lie, My Lord? What a thorough disregard for the ton.”

“To what other assumption must I reach when my own eyes tell me that I am not in the presence of a wallflower, let alone a jilted one?”

“Is brandy still your—” Richard tried once more.

“It seems to me that you have developed a fast way to put labels on women, Lord Crawford. I wonder how one comes to possess such an insight?”

“Like I said, Diana, Elizabeth is—” Richard’s attempts to change the topic were failing miserably.

“I see that my reputation precedes me,” the Marquess murmured.

“I trust that it’s as exaggerated as most gossip?” Diana asked.

“Not exaggerated,” the Marquess corrected. “But incomplete. Gossip, after all, rarely captures the full picture. For instance, it says nothing about your sharp tongue.”

“Should we just…?” Richard was almost pale with mortification.

“I do tend to reserve my sharp tongue for occasions such as these,” Diana said with a smile. “After all, most gossip is embroidered with embellishments.”

“Not embroidered,” the Marquess countered. “Merely stitched together with threads of truth. Though I suspect you prefer working with finer materials.”

“Indeed,” Diana replied, her tone sharpening. “I work with precision, My Lord, ensuring that every stitch is purposeful and secure. I find it prevents one from becoming tangled in careless threads.”

Did I just say that?

Diana was torn between feeling proud and feeling worried. This heated banter did something to her body that no amount of needlework or reading could ever offer. And the heat became almost unbearable, since that pang that worried her before had coiled in her belly when his smile widened and his eyes roamed over her body.

“Careless threads often weave the most interesting patterns, Lady Diana.”

Richard coughed nervously. “Now, let’s not?—”

“Interesting, yes,” Diana relented smoothly, ignoring his interruption. “But what use do I have of them if they were to unravel at the first pull?”

It could have been her idea, but she was sure that the striking man soaring over her like a bird of prey was looking for the loose threads of her soul to unravel her. She could almost feel his eyes caressing her, the heated conversation adding a deep growl to his breath that was the most dangerous sound she had ever heard.

“You know what?” Richard huffed. “I am going to grab a much-needed brandy.”

He walked away from them, appalled that they remained silent, caught up in a staring match, even though good manners demanded that they both acknowledge that their host left.

Diana gathered all her ‘little sister’ energy—the grit it took to survive under three older siblings. She could immediately tell that the Marquess was an only child.

Finally! A victory. Diana allowed herself a private smile when the Marquess looked away.

She was ready to take her hard-earned winnings and flee while she was still ahead. But his retreat was temporary, merely a strategic scope of their place so he could draw nearer.

His proximity caught her unawares and unprepared. It was the first time someone not related to her invaded her personal space. And though he didn’t touch her, his scent enveloped her.

Sandalwood … Why do I care how he smells?

She immediately panicked.

“Now that we’ve lost our chaperone, shall we dispense with the pleasantries?” he asked.

“I thought we already had,” Diana replied, her voice steady despite the inexplicable heat rising within her.

The list of the ‘most dangerous sounds’ shifted the moment he laughed. That crystal, deep laughter rivaled his growl when coupled with a look that was the exact opposite of mirth.

How could he make laughter so… so… so…

Diana was not ready to utter the word.

“And to think that people dare to call you a jilted wallflower. People can be blind and ignorant sometimes.”

“It seems that particular detail of my identity intrigues you.”

Oh, no.

The moment she uttered the word ‘intrigue,’ his blue eyes darkened.

The Marquess straightened, dwarfing her with his immense height. He looked down at her, blinking slowly, with that playful smirk on his plump lips.

And that, ladies and gentlemen of the ton, is what ‘intrigue’ looks like.

“I pity those who underestimate you and call you a jilted wallflower, My Lady.” He leaned in, his eyes straying to her lips.

Diana suddenly developed empathy toward innocent, little bunnies cornered by hungry wolves. Once more, panic came over her, dread and something deeper that she wanted— needed to push away because this was too confusing, too puzzling, and too intoxicating at the same time. Desperate, she racked her brain for the few straws that could save her from falling into an abyss.

“What can I say?” She feigned poise. “Better to be called a jilted wallflower than a rake, My Lord.”

What?

Diana heard the words come out of her mouth, and she wished she could grab them, put them back where they dared exit, and swallow them along with her treacherous tongue. She would be content to be called the mute jilted wallflower from that day onward.

But it was too late. The words reached his perfectly shaped ears.

You are a lady, Diana. Behave like one.

“I am sorry, My Lord,” she said somberly. “That was way out of line. I made a grave mistake.”

Instead of putting an end to their dangerous banter, accepting her apology, and leaving to choke on brandy with Richard, the infuriating man took another step toward her.

His massive body trapped her as she retreated and her legs hit the table laden with the precious books. She knew she should push him back, for propriety’s sake, but her instincts told her that touching him was a bad idea.

“You must allow me to correct you, My Lady,” he said, his voice lower now, almost intimate.

“Must I?” she asked dryly, though her pulse quickened at his tone.

As he leaned closer, his voice dropped to a whisper, and her stomach tightened. It should have been fear that gripped her, but it was something else altogether.

“Your biggest mistake tonight was not that slip of the tongue, Lady Diana. Which I had coming, if I am being honest.”

“Was it not?”

“No, My Lady.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “Your biggest mistake was drawing the attention of a man like me.”

Attention?

Diana’s senses were rendered useless by his words. And speaking of attention, she was worried that even there, hidden behind ridiculously big urns, among the book stands that no one came to see, they were risking exposure. She looked around, dreading and hoping at the same time to find a reason to remind him of decorum. Unfortunately, there was none.

She had no time to think about it anymore. He leaned impossibly close, his body pressing against hers. His eyes drifted to her parted lips, lingering there long enough to ignite a warmth in her chest that spread downward, leaving her both breathless and bristling with awareness.

It was so intense that Diana felt she was drowning in the blue of his eyes, trapped by him. It only lasted an eternity of a moment before he stepped back, making her feel cold all of a sudden.

“Have a great evening, My Lady.” He bowed, turned around, and left her standing there.

What was…? Did he really…?

Diana was rooted to the spot, caught between anger and frustration, curiosity and interest.

“Did I miss something?” Richard was back with a glass of brandy and lemonade for her.

She grabbed the lemonade to wet her parched throat. Her training helped her regain her composure quickly, but her fingers tightened around the crystal glass.

“You missed nothing of consequence,” she lied.