Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Marco could not take his eyes off Miss Fitzroy’s face.
Her skin shone like pearls, almost unearthly in its paleness, yet it was speckled all over with the most charming freckles.
He longed to stare at them for hours, to see if he could find particular patterns within them, like gazing at the stars.
Still, he shook himself and endeavored to answer her question.
“My factory employs hundreds of workers, men, women, and children, all toiling and contributing to society.
An investment in my factory is not just an investment in the cloth that covers your bed or adorns your body.
" At this, he brushed his fingers against the top edge of her glove, barely touching her skin.
He relished the way she shivered at that little caress.
"Money spent on my business is money spent on everyone, Miss Fitzroy. "
He looked into her eyes then. The warm honey brown blending with flecks of golden fire.
He was reminded of a wild lynx he had seen in the southern mountains of Italy when he was a child.
Their ferocity, the leonine intensity, nearly took his breath away.
Before he could think of something else to say, the musicians played the final refrain.
She immediately stepped back, away from his touch, and curtseyed with all the propriety and grace of a lady born to be a princess.
“I see,” Miss Fitzroy said quietly. “I must indeed congratulate you, Mr. Alegria, on a most compelling proposal. I daresay I am almost disappointed it was not genuine."
Marco’s heart seemed to skip a beat at the implication. He found he could not tell if she was in jest or earnest, and he realized that was tantalizing. He shook his head with a chuckle and offered her his arm, which she took, her hand fitting firmly into his elbow.
“Alas, a ball is no place for business,” he said with a light laugh as he walked her back to her mother. Risking a moment of audacious flirtation, he added, “And a lady as lovely as yourself should be treated like a queen and not be forced to endure anything so mundane as talk of industry."
He felt her potent, animalistic gaze fall on him then. For a moment, he had the disquieting yet exciting feeling of being assessed, as if Miss Fitzroy was deciding if he were friend or foe, prey or predator. Then she looked away with a flick of her golden-red hair.
“And here I had such high hopes for you, Mr. Alegria. But even you could not resist slipping into the cliches of flirtation." She sighed with an air of mock irritation and shook her head solemnly. "How could I take such a proposal seriously when you so blatantly seek to flatter me?"
Marco grinned. He could not help but admire her ready wit, strong mind, and how every word he spoke seemed to slide right off her like water from a duck's back.
He imagined that she was used to dismissing compliments, unsure if any of them were ever genuine.
He was suddenly saddened that such an exquisite jewel of a lady had to doubt her own allure.
Society had made her unsure of her own merit, linking her so closely to her dowry. He felt an urgent need to change that.
“I am afraid, Miss Fitzroy, that you shall not find any proposal without flattery,” he said with forceful earnestness. “But I can assure you that every word of flattery you hear from me is entirely earned by you and you alone.”
She raised her eyebrows at his vehement words, and he wondered if she would brush the compliment away as any other young lady might do.
But she merely inclined her head as if she were indeed royalty and let go of his arm as they reached her waiting mother.
He felt an incredible sense of mournfulness.
He didn't understand how a lady he had just met could have roused such intense feelings inside of him.
“I do not believe you were properly introduced to my mother,” Alice said. “Mr. Alegria, allow me to present the Dowager Duchess Fitzroy.”
At Miss Fitzroy’s words, Marco felt a part of his brain reawaken that had been silent throughout their dance. Suddenly, all his reasons for seeking Miss Fitzroy out rushed back to him.
Thomas. The fire. Her father. His revenge.
But when he looked at her, Marco felt dismay building inside of him. His plan to seduce and ruin her suddenly seemed barbaric, but so did the notion of letting Thomas's murder go unpunished.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alegria,” the Dowager Duchess said. “I hope you enjoyed your dance with my daughter.”
“Indeed I did, Your Grace,” Marco said, bowing respectfully.
He needed to withdraw. Needed time to think, and every moment spent in Miss Fitzroy’s presence seemed to cloud his judgment as if she were a fairy maiden who had cast a spell upon him.
“But I am afraid I must now take my leave of you both and return to my cousin. "
“Thank you for a delightful dance, Mr. Alegria,” Alice said, smiling at him tightly.
The more unrestrained smiles she had given him during their dance seemed to have retreated.
Marco was struck by the urge to bring them out again.
To make her laugh and see her face split with humor.
“I fear you have ensured that every proposal and attempt at flattery I receive from now on will seem subpar. "
“I hope I have set a standard worthy of you, Miss Fitzroy,” Marco said, charmed by her candor.
“I doubt any other gentleman could outshine you,” Alice said.
Her words were flattering, but her tone was devoid of the softness and flirtatious manner he expected from ladies of the ton.
If she was flirting with him, she was doing it in such an astonishingly forthright way that it was actually delightful.
Marco tried to settle the feelings inside him, overwhelming intrigue balanced with his rage at her father.
Shocking himself out of his musings by the reminder, he bowed formally and tried to avoid her gaze.
“I sincerely hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss Fitzroy.”
“Oh, I doubt I shall, but at least there is champagne,” she said drily.
Marco found himself laughing in amazement at her audacity to say what she thought without prevaricating. “Then I hope every glass shall be sweet,” he smiled and turned to again bow to her mother. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Good evening, Mr. Alegria.”
Marco left them and went to rejoin his cousin, who was watching him with a smug smile on his face.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Giovanni said quietly, angling his body away from the watching crowd so his mouth could not be seen. “I have been fending off inquiries about your identity. Everyone wants to know about the gentleman who has dared to approach Miss Fitzroy.”
“She has quite a wit,” Marco deflected. “Unlike any other lady here, I daresay. In truth, I was not prepared to enjoy her company as much as I did.”
Marco knew that his words underplayed his feelings.
The truth was, he had expected to feel indifferent towards the woman.
He walked over there with a clear plan to heartlessly seduce her and destroy any hope she had of ever bearing an heir.
Instead, he felt as if he had been utterly bewitched by her.
“She is also a rare beauty,” Giovanni said, keeping his voice low. “My wife has told me that she is surprisingly kind underneath her brusque nature. And she carries herself well, showing none of the embarrassment you might suppose a former kitchen maid would have.”
A kitchen maid. When Marco looked at Miss Alice Fitzroy, he saw nothing of her low past. Still, even if he did, Marco doubted it would make her less attractive to him.
He harbored no disdain for the working class.
The fact that she bore the skills of service did not make her less appealing.
It perhaps enhanced her in his eyes because she would have a strong work ethic.
“Indeed not. She is quite self-assured,” Marco mused. “Delightfully flirtatious too.” He had not meant to say the last part aloud, but Giovanni’s eyebrows shot up at his words.
“Really?” Giovanni muttered thoughtfully, looking over at Miss Fitzroy and her mother. “I have never once heard the word 'flirtatious' applied to her.”
“Regardless, she seems to have the measure of the ton entirely,” Marco said, smiling despite himself. “Perhaps she has not flirted because she is well aware of what the gentlemen of society truly want from her."
“Perhaps. And I must tell you that you are the only man I have ever seen her smile for,” Giovanni said, grinning and nudging Marco in the ribs.
His words hit harder than his elbow. Marco felt a curl of unease in his stomach. If this was true, she had decided to open up to him. To perhaps judge him differently from the other gentlemen, just at the moment he was scheming against her.
“Perhaps because I did not treat her as merely a means to an end,” Marco suggested sharply, but his own words did nothing to quell his disquiet.
After all, if he pursued Miss Fitzroy to ruin her, was he not treating her just as badly as the other gentlemen?
Did Thomas’ death and righteous indignation justify his planned actions against her?
Giovanni seemed to sense some of Marco's unease because he shot him a curious expression.
“Are you well, cousin?”
“I need a drink; please, excuse me,” Marco said, but he did not make his way to the table holding the refreshments.
He found that the clamor of the ballroom was suddenly oppressive, pushing in on his thoughts in a way that made him almost dizzy.
He quickly stepped out of the ballroom and into the quieter corridor.
Almost immediately, he heard low whispers coming from the billiard room.
“…. Who should be so unlucky?”
“Not I, sir!”
“Are you a betting man, Thompson?”
Marco wondered if a little wager on billiards or cards might be just what he needed to settle his thoughts and get Miss Fitzroy’s beautiful countenance out of his head.