Chapter 25 #2
The truth was that he would much rather have Margaret somewhere private, away from the noise and the staring eyes, where he could appreciate her beautiful costume without having to pretend that he was not captivated by it.
He wanted to know whether the pearls felt cool against her skin when he touched them, whether the blue-green silk was as soft as it appeared, and whether she would laugh if he told her that she looked more like a goddess than any woman had a right to look.
Such thoughts were dangerously close to becoming distractions, and Pierce had never tolerated distractions well. Unfortunately, Margaret had become the greatest distraction of his life, and there was little he could do about it except endure the evening and remind himself that duty called.
Just then the Samson approached and greeted them. Pierce inclined his head.
"Thank you for inviting us," Margaret said. Then her direction turned to their daughter. "And of course to you as well, Lady Samson."
"Your Grace, I hope you will save a dance for me," Lady Samson said.
"Dear, do not be so overzealous. Apologies, Your Grace," her mother said.
Pierce sensed Margaret stiffen at his side.
Was that jealousy?
"You have very fine costumes, Lord Samson," she said.
"Thank you, and yours are very delightful as well," Margaret said.
However, Pierce noticed that Margaret continued to keep a dubious eye on Lady Samson. He understood the tension far more than he should.
"We were just about to get some refreshment," he said.
"Of course. I hope you enjoy the spread we have laid out," Lord Samson said, then the family walked away to greet other guests.
Pierce led Margaret toward the refreshment table.
A masked woman approached them then, and Pierce immediately prepared himself for another tedious social introduction, only for Margaret to brighten.
"Iris," she declared with a laugh, her tone warm with recognition.
The masked lady frowned beneath her elaborate disguise. "How did you know?" she demanded, and Margaret laughed again, pointing towards the mask. "Because you are wearing an Iris mask."
The woman stared at her for a heartbeat before laughing herself, and Pierce realized that Margaret's sister had apparently chosen the most obvious disguise imaginable.
Iris dropped into a graceful curtsey. "Your Grace," she said, and Pierce reciprocated with a polite inclination of his head. "Lady Iris."
She immediately turned towards Margaret and said, "I must introduce you to Lady Everton. She has the most spectacular costume, and I know you will adore it."
Margaret glanced at Pierce as though seeking permission despite knowing perfectly well that she did not require it.
Pierce nodded. "Go. I will get some refreshments."
Margaret smiled before allowing Iris to lead her away, and Pierce watched them disappear into the crowd with a peculiar reluctance that irritated him considerably.
He made his way towards the refreshments and accepted a glass of brandy from a passing servant.
He had barely taken a sip when Nathaniel appeared at his side wearing a mask that matched his green eyes so precisely that it seemed designed to draw attention to them.
Against his dark hair, the color was particularly striking, and Pierce immediately wondered whether Nathaniel had spent an unreasonable amount of time choosing it.
"You look miserable," Nathaniel observed cheerfully, taking a glass for himself. "I was beginning to worry the evening might actually be enjoyable."
Pierce gave him a flat look. "I am not miserable."
Nathaniel lifted his glass. "Naturally. You merely look as though you are contemplating the murder of everyone in the room."
Pierce took another drink. "That is different."
Nathaniel laughed and asked, "How was your latest journey south?"
Pierce's expression grew more serious. "Promising. I am waiting to hear whether a lead proves useful."
Nathaniel nodded, pleased. "Good. I am glad you have found something." He then glanced towards the dancers with renewed enthusiasm. "Now, enough of serious matters. I intend to dance with at least ten debutantes tonight."
Pierce stared at him. "Only ten?"
Nathaniel grinned. "I am attempting restraint."
Pierce almost smiled despite himself. "That will be a first."
Nathaniel began pointing out various young ladies he intended to pursue, offering elaborate assessments of their gowns, masks, and apparent willingness to tolerate his conversation, but Pierce found himself listening only half-heartedly.
His attention had returned to Margaret. Across the ballroom, he saw her standing with Iris and Lady Everton, and at that precise moment a gentleman approached her with a polite bow.
Pierce's jaw tightened when the man extended his hand and asked his wife for a dance.
How dare he?
Nathaniel followed his gaze and immediately understood. His grin widened. "Do not look so murderous, Ravenfield. They have no idea she is your wife beneath that disguise."
Pierce watched the gentleman standing before Margaret and narrowed his eyes. "That may be true," he replied, taking another measured sip of brandy. "Or they know exactly who she is."
Nathaniel laughed beneath his mask. "You cannot seriously believe every man in London has memorized the Duchess of Ravenfield's silhouette. Though I admit, it’s quite a memorable silhouette."
"I do not care what they know," Pierce said, setting down his glass. His gaze remained fixed upon Margaret, whose smile was entirely too charming for the comfort of his temper. "I ought to return immediately and make my claim. Then they will keep their filthy hands off Margaret."
Nathaniel nearly choked on his brandy. "Your claim?" he repeated, clearly delighted. "Good God, Pierce. She is your wife, not a parcel of land."
Pierce finally looked at him, completely unamused.
Nathaniel only laughed harder. "You are seething with jealousy."
"I am not jealous," Pierce said with perfect certainty, even as his eyes returned to the gentleman beside Margaret.
Nathaniel followed his gaze and shook his head. "Of course not. You are merely deeply concerned about the safety of every gentleman within five feet of your wife."
Pierce's mouth tightened. "Precisely."
Nathaniel laughed again. "You are jealous."
Pierce finished his brandy and set down the glass with deliberate calm. "If you repeat that word once more, I shall make certain you spend the rest of the evening not capable of at all."
Nathaniel's grin became positively wicked. "There, you see? Jealous."
Pierce ignored him, already moving through the crowd towards Margaret, because whatever Nathaniel chose to call it, Pierce knew one thing with absolute certainty: he did not like another man's attention resting upon his wife. Not in the slightest