Chapter 13 #4
Her next partner was the duke which gave her an opportunity to regain her external composure.
A further glass of champagne seemed to help drive back her inner demons.
She danced with the Duke of Devonshire and the Duke of York.
In fact, she thought, it was quite beneath her dignity now to dance with anyone lower than a duke, except a marquess, she supposed.
This made her giggle, and the Duke of York pinched her cheek approvingly.
She drank more champagne and found she could partner her husband again without a care in the world.
Next she came down in the world with a bump. The marquess presented her to her next partner, a mere commoner.
“Mr. Nicholas Delaney,” the marquess said, “and his wife, Eleanor. Two of my closest friends.”
Two? thought Beth suspiciously, viewing the handsome woman. But something magical between Nicholas and Eleanor Delaney defused suspicion. Even when the marquess led Mrs. Delaney away to join a set, laughing at something she had said, Beth could not feel jealous.
Though Nicholas Delaney was not as handsome as the marquess, she could see how a woman could love him. His rather unruly dusky gold hair and his lean, tanned cheeks might be unfashionable, but they were remarkably attractive. There was also a disarming warmth in his sherry brown eyes.
As he led her onto the floor, he said, “I consider this quite barbarous, you know.”
Beth looked at him in alarm. Had the marquess told him the basis for this marriage?
His brow quirked at her alarm. “Such a performance over a marriage,” he explained. “Eleanor and I were married very quietly. I’m afraid after all this you’ll need your honeymoon more as a repairing lease than a holiday.”
A holiday? Beth had never thought of that impending nightmare, the honeymoon—when the marquess would finally have her in his solitary power—as any kind of pleasure.
She realized she had no idea whether they were to stay here or go back to Belcraven.
Surely the latter. “It will be pleasant to be in the country,” she said.
“Yes. Eleanor and I intend to spend most of our time at our place in Somerset.”
In another time and place Beth felt as if she could have had a real conversation with this man, but at the moment all she seemed able to produce were banalities. “We were at Belcraven until recently.”
He laughed. “Red Oaks certainly isn’t anything like Belcraven. That isn’t the country. It’s a town within walls.”
Beth was startled into a chuckle. “You have it exactly. I would much rather live in a small house.”
“So much easier to manage. When you return to Town you must come and visit us. We have a small house in Lauriston Street.” He grinned at her. “We’re very informal.”
She grinned back. “That sounds wonderful.”
He must have a magic touch. He had broken through her constraint and for a moment she felt normal, ordinary, sane. But then they were caught up in the vigorous country dance and there was little farther opportunity for discussion.
Afterwards, when he rejoined his wife, Nicholas Delaney said, “We should have befriended her sooner.”
“Why?” asked Eleanor.
“She’s terrified and feels very alone.”
Eleanor looked at the bride who was standing with her husband and his parents, smiling and appearing reasonably happy. But she didn’t doubt Nicholas’s judgment; he had a gift for it. “Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.
“No, but it’s … treacherous. I think you, of all women, could have helped Elizabeth. But it’s too late now.”
“You think they should never have married.”
She said it as a statement, but he shook his head. “I think they’ll suit marvelously well if they give themselves a chance.” He smiled at his wife and raised her hand for a kiss. “We know better than most how easy it is to dice with a chance of heaven. And nearly lose.”
She smiled at him, wishing as she always did that they were alone. They needed no one else, except Arabel. “Can’t you say something to Lucien?” she asked.
“I have, though I didn’t understand how serious it is. There’s nothing more to be done now. He’s as keyed up as she is.”
Eleanor looked at the handsome marquess.
He, too, looked merely the proud and happy groom but here, because she knew him, she could see the artifice as well as Nicholas.
The sparkling brilliance that made him look like a glittering gem was his response to tension and trouble.
And it was dangerous. She looked her concern at her husband, an infinitely fascinating man but one who had never terrified her.
He shook his head. “He’s beyond a soothing lecture. We can only hope his natural kindness wins out over his arrogant bloody-mindedness. And, I suppose, that he’s read the books I gave him.”
A waltz struck up and he led her toward the floor. “Books?” Eleanor queried in amazement. “Lucien?”
He tutted. “I do have a few volumes other than erotic texts.”
“Of use to a man on his wedding night?” she queried naughtily.
They took their position for the waltz. “If you remember our wedding night,” he said, “you will admit that a manual of clever moves would have been irrelevant.”
Eleanor knew what he meant. Frightened by a series of strange events and by dim memories of a drugged rape, what she had needed, and found, was sensitivity and kindness.
“Are there books to teach magic of the heart?” she asked.
The music started and they began the twirling dance. “The Bible?” he suggested with a slight smile. “The Koran. The Veda. The Abhidhamma Pitaka. The Bhagavad-Gita….”
“You are trying to make me feel my ignorance,” she said without rancor. “But I can at least guess that they are all books of religion. Are you saying you gave these to Lucien?”
“I wish I had thought of it,” he said with a laugh. “In fact, I gave him Mary Wollstonecraft.”
“You expect them to spend tonight debating the rights of women?” she asked skeptically.
“I think it would be a very good thing,” he replied.
“But having a mind above this prurient interest in other people’s beds…
.” He drew her slowly closer, until they were joined together in a way that was quite improper.
Fortunately by then he had also migrated them out of the room into a quiet corridor.
Eleanor was ready for his lips when he kissed her.
She could feel the familiar aching melting, the longing for home, for Nicholas.
She clung to him. “I’m trying to imagine,” she whispered when the kiss ended, “what it would have been like if it had been like this on our wedding night. This hunger. And the knowledge that it would soon be satisfied to the full.”
One sensitive finger played knowingly at the base of her skull, sending a shudder through her.
“I wonder if a wedding night is ever like that,” he said.
“A knowledgeable wedding night seems to be a contradiction in terms.” He sighed.
“As I said to Elizabeth, this is a barbarous affair. I think it’s time to leave.
I have no wish to watch the victims led to the sacrificial stone. ”
“I will be pleased to be home. I would be pleased to be returning to Somerset.” It was a strong hint.
As they descended the grand staircase he said, “So would I. But I think we have to look into this matter of Deveril. I may have forsworn petty revenge, but I don’t like seeing him at such high water. I’d rather see him in the mud.”
“So would I,” she said, remembering the horrible man who had tried to buy her, then ruin her into marriage. “But he’s a dangerous man, Nicholas.”
“So am I,” said Nicholas Delaney calmly.