Chapter Nine
“Lord Stefan Ettori and Lord Remigius Ettori!” the steward shouted, still barely audible, despite his booming, in the overwhelming din of Lady Vienni’s crowded ballroom.
I hardly had time to wince at the sound of my horrid first name, or at the almost equally horrid sound of my new last name, before we were proceeding down the broad expanse of carpeted stairs and the steward had moved on to announcing the next guests.
My heeled shoes sank silently into the plush velvet underfoot.
I wished I could sink all the way through it and disappear, suddenly transfixed with terror like a rabbit coming face to face with a pack of… well, sharks.
So many eyes. All of them belonged to people far more predatory than I could ever be, ready to devour me amidst the seething expanse of gold and silver and bright satins, of feathered headdresses tipped back with their wearers’ laughter, of whirling dancers and their flurry of spinning silk and brocade…
Lord Stefan kept moving, and I stumbled with him, only my death grip on his elbow keeping me upright.
How had I thought I might enjoy this if I gave it a chance? Sweet Ennolu, I’d drown in my own nervous sweat before I even found the wine, let alone had the chance to spill any.
A few people had turned their heads to gawk at us as we were announced, but there were more as we moved down into the throng, far too many more, clustering about us and greeting Lord Stefan with pleasure at his return from abroad, or with barely veiled suggestions that he’d returned from abroad in disgrace, or with congratulations on our marriage that were accompanied by more or less tactfully expressed malicious curiosity about its suddenness.
“My consort, Lord Remigius,” Lord Stefan said, again and again, and I shook hands with yet another gentleman, and then immediately bowed over the elegant bejeweled wrist of a lady whose name I hadn’t even heard, let alone remembered.
All of them wore some kind of scent: rose and gardenia, amber and cedar, all mingled with the fumes of the wine and liquor they were drinking. My head swam.
“Didn’t take you for the marrying kind, Lord Stefan!
” said the next man, and I shook his hand too, still clinging to my husband with my left.
A few minutes ago, he’d moved as if to detach from me, and I’d dug my fingers into his arm with all the strength of years of manual labor in a garden.
He hadn’t stood a chance unless he wanted to wrestle me in the middle of the ball.
I might despise him, but I’d be damned if I’d let go of the only person in the room whose name I could be certain of.
I bowed to the next comer, who smirked at me from behind a cravat even more lush with lace than anything I’d seen my fop of a husband wear.
“Well, well, you sly dog, where’d you find this lovely little thing?
” he asked, the words obviously for Lord Stefan, but the leer very clearly directed below my neck.
He lifted his eyes after a long and awkward moment, bending down and taking my hand in his.
“I beg you shall permit me to call upon you later this week, and if I find that Lord Stefan isn’t keeping you sufficiently entertained, sweeting, I shall do my—”
“Damn me, Lord Griset, if I don’t keep him sufficiently entertained, you’ll risk putting him into a stupor,” Lord Stefan said, cutting across Lord Griset’s over-cultured simper with his own drawl.
Somehow, he didn’t need to raise his voice.
He simply made himself heard. “We haven’t set a day yet for callers, in any case.
” His voice dropped to a lower, harder register.
“And I see no immediately compelling reason why we would, what?”
I watched in fascination as Lord Griset’s face went brick-red around the edges, leaving lighter mauve spots on his cheeks where he’d applied his rouge in a thick, opaque layer. “You offend me,” he choked. “As if this—this little carrot could possibly tempt me. You offend me, sir!”
If I’d had a glass of wine in my hand that I could’ve drained, I might have been able to keep quiet.
Although I might have been as likely to fling it at Lord Griset’s head, because “this little carrot” pushed my already quivering nerves into a screaming vibration.
Ironically, given the stimulus, a flash of crimson red washed through my vision.
Everyone around us had sucked in an anticipatory breath, leaving a bubble of quiet into which I snarled, “His offensiveness requires effort, my lord. I congratulate you on how naturally you manage a feat he must work hard to achieve.”
Beside me, Lord Stefan went unnaturally still.
Staring down Lord Griset as his mouth dropped open and he drew himself up to his full height—much less than Lord Stefan’s, but greater, as almost anyone could boast, than mine—was far easier than turning my head to see my husband’s expression, which probably translated to something like “I’m locking you in an attic for the rest of your life. ”
He jerked his elbow out from under my hand despite my hold on him; so much for my strength. And then his arm slipped under my jacket and wrapped tightly around my corseted waist, his hand on my hip.
Lord Stefan tugged me close, his grip like iron.
“As you can see, my darling consort’s temper matches his hair,” he said, with a laugh that sounded as pleasant as if he’d been making a gentle jest with a friend.
Everyone around us, except for Lord Griset, tittered nervously.
Lord Griset was chewing his lower lip purple.
“There’s a reason I’ve wanted to keep him home and all to myself,” he went on, in a tone so suggestive that the words might as well have been explicit.
“If you’ll excuse us, my little spitfire needs to be cooled with a glass of wine. ”
To my shock, Lord Griset simply stood there as my husband walked away, dragging me with him, his arm clamped so tightly around me that I’d have been bruised if not for the protection of my armor-like boned corset.
The others who’d gathered around us broke out into excited chatter, fans flipping open as they ducked behind them to whisper dramatically.
A few other ladies and gentlemen nearby craned their heads, trying to see what had caused the fuss, but Lord Stefan led me past them without even seeming to notice.
What I’d said replayed in my mind, and fear bloomed in the churning pit of my stomach and in the hot tension in the back of my neck—along with righteous indignation, because what did he expect, that I’d simply swallow being dismissed as an undesirable carrot?
A carrot! Of all the childish insults! And of course I’d bloody well tempted him, the damn liar—hadn’t he been proposing “entertaining” me in my husband’s absence a moment before?
Lord Stefan reached out and snagged a glass of sparkling wine from a passing servant’s tray of drinks, handed it to me, and paused long enough to nod and say a word to a gentleman nearby.
That gave me the chance to tip the glass up, recklessly draining every drop in one draught that went straight to my head.
I managed to set it down on the broad rim of a pot holding a large flowering tree as Lord Stefan led me out of the crush of the people watching the dancers and into the alcove partly shielded by the foliage.
I tried to pull away from him; he tugged me closer, spinning us so that we were face to face.
I stumbled, my heels getting the better of me, and he moved with me until I had my back flat against the wall, with him looming over me, surrounding me, his free hand leaning beside my head.
A small window up above let in a shaft of moonlight, limning his features in harsh lines.
Any attempt to escape would be futile. It reminded me horribly of being in my father-in-law’s study, with the whole court on the other side of a door and no hope of help from any one of them. I was completely at his mercy.
And then Lord Stefan bit his lip, hung down his head, and started to…could he be growling? Having a fit? Good gracious gods, he truly was mad, and…he shook his head and let out a distinct guffaw.
Laughing! The bastard had dragged me in here, terrified me and pinned me to a wall, so that he could laugh!
“Oh, fucking Ennolu,” he said at last, lifting his head.
He spoke low enough that no one could possibly have heard him even if they’d been trying to eavesdrop outside the deceptive privacy of our little corner of the ballroom, but I could still hear the quiver of amusement in his deep voice. “Look at me, Remigius.”
I stared fixedly at the spill of ivory lace between the high silk collar points of his jacket. I would not look at him, damn him! Had he been laughing at my pathetic attempt to put Lord Griset in his place?
I would ignore his mockery, just as I would ignore the hard wall of his body pressing into me, warmer than the stone behind me but just as solid, and I would not breathe in the faint spicy tartness of whatever scent permeated his clothing—or simply emanated from his skin.
Trying to arch away from the arm around my waist only pressed me against his…
oh, gods. Oh, sweet fucking gods. He didn’t seem to be erect, but the outline still felt like he’d stuffed one of the giant zucchinis we used to grow in the abbey garden into the front of his breeches.
A startled little whimper ripped out of my throat.
“Remigius,” he repeated, and this time it held a note of warning, the amusement gone.