Chapter 2
Two
Nancy pinched her cheeks, inhaled deeply, and stepped up to the Marquess of Knoxley, an action that, judging by the sudden hush nearby, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her fellow guests.
Well, she’d expected as much. Most people gave the man a wide berth.
The perks of having a questionable reputation, she supposed.
The man could have been a god for his handsomeness.
He even had that dangerous aura that made young ladies flutter their fans.
This is it.
The moment she put action to words and moved on from her crush.
“Dull evening, is it not?”
His gaze swept to her, then dragged lazily down her figure before returning to her face. “I’m not in the market for what you’re looking for.” He averted his gaze once again.
Nancy cocked her head at the man. She ought to be insulted by the man’s assumption and rudeness. Instead, she laughed. “You don’t know what I’m looking for.”
His blue eyes drifted back to her.
She grinned at him.
“Marriage.”
That single response carried so much challenge that Nancy’s grin stretched wider. She couldn’t exactly say no. “Certainly in the future, yes, but not at this precise moment.”
She swore the man’s chest rose and fell dramatically even though not an inch of him moved, his gaze still steady on her.
“You must have a lot of ladies approaching you to sigh with such weariness,” Nancy teased.
“I didn’t sigh.”
“Your soul sighed, then. Not visibly, grant you, but I felt it in my bones.” She mock-shivered. “Positively eerie.”
The boredom lifted slightly to reveal a smidgeon of interest. “You assume a great deal about my soul, Lady Nancy. That can be hazardous.”
“I have always been a little careless where hazards are concerned,” Nancy replied lightly. “It is what makes an evening memorable.”
“Oh? And what does your beau have to say about that?”
Nancy blinked. “My beau?”
“Silverton.”
Surely he was jesting? “He is not my beau.”
“I must have been mistaken then,” he drawled, unbothered. “How do you aim to make this evening memorable? I take it you have something in mind?”
She did . . . not. Only by approaching Knoxley, she was turning the page. The content of that page, she hadn’t thought all that much about. A kiss, perhaps? To mark the occasion? “Unless you find the pillar riveting, you might consider a short walk.”
A grin broke across his face, so sudden, Nancy’s heart summersaulted. “A stroll, heh?” He pushed from the pillar. “Very well. Lead on.”
The wickedness of those last two words sent a thrill through her. She held out her arm to him. His gaze dropped before lifting to hers, arching a brow. Chuckling, he looped his arm with hers.
Nancy had no particular destination in mind until the French doors opening onto the terrace came into view and directed them there. Each step felt deliciously unreal, as though she were borrowing another woman’s courage for the evening.
“Tell me,” Knoxley said mildly as the reach the doors, “are you rebelling, Lady Nancy?”
She glanced at him. “Rebelling?”
“Do not get me wrong,” he went on, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m all for female rebellion. I simply like to know whether I am risking my life or merely my hide.”
She laughed under her breath as they stepped onto the terrace, blessedly unoccupied, the night unfolding wide and forgiving before them. Lanterns glowed low along the balustrade, and beyond it, the gardens sloped into shadow. “I am not rebelling, Knoxley. I am opening myself to new company.”
“With me?” His brows rose. “That sounds very much like rebellion.”
She laughed again. “Then perhaps I am.”
He slowed, turning to face her fully now. “And am I meant to assist in this rebellion?”
She tilted her head, considering him. “Are you inclined to?”
“That depends,” he said smoothly, “on the how and the where.”
She gestured vaguely at the terrace, the night, the quiet. “The where appears to be here. The how is still . . . under consideration.”
He stepped closer, leaning in until their noses almost touched. “Have you ever been kissed, Lady Nancy?”
What the devil was Nancy doing? Thinking?
Jeremy narrowed his eyes on where he caught a glimpse of her strolling arm in arm with the Marquess of Knoxley.
Of all men. Not that there was anything wrong with the marquess.
The man could be considered a good match.
He was in possession of a title and fortune, provided one looked past his character, which leaned toward an unfortunate fondness for indulgence.
Jeremy couldn’t look past it.
By Jove, he could not allow her to entangle herself in something she would later regret. What sort of friend would he be if he stood by and watched her invite consequences she did not yet see?
“Silverton!”
Jeremy turned to find Lord Hawthorne beaming at him, brandy in hand.
“You’re just the man I wished to see. Did you hear about—”
“Another time,” Jeremy interrupted, already angling his body away. “I have an urgent matter to see to, Hawthorne.”
What was Pippa thinking in letting Nancy court such risk? You didn’t care when Pippa decided to run free. Yes, well, Pippa had adopted a seize-the-moment philosophy after her mother’s death. A man could hardly argue with that.
“Silverton!” His progress was abruptly arrested when Lady Fansworth caught his sleeve. “You won’t believe what just occurred in the card room—”
“I don’t care at the moment, Lady Fansworth,” he said tightly, extracting his arm. “Please excuse me. I have an important matter that can’t wait.”
He marched off again, searching for the heads of Nancy and Knoxley again, frowning. Why did they seem closer than before?
“Silverton, a word—”
“Not now,” Jeremy snapped, the words escaping before he could restrain himself.
The gentleman opened his mouth again, but Jeremy passed him in a blink. He cursed when Nancy and Knoxley’s figures disappeared through a set of French doors.
Bloody hell.
The distance between him and the terrace doors stretched impossibly long, every idle interruption a deuced annoying delay.
Whatever Nancy was doing, she was doing it now.
Perhaps he should just leave her to her fun.
She was not a child. She had every right to enjoy her amusement without his supervision.
And Knoxley, for all Jeremy’s objections, was not some villain lurking in the shadows.
If Nancy was determined to engage in mischief, she could have chosen far worse.
Knoxley, at least, would not forget himself entirely.
Would he?
Jeremy slowed despite himself, doubt tugging at his stride. Perhaps this sudden urge to intervene had less to do with friendship and more with . . . what exactly? Or perhaps it had everything to do with it, and he was overthinking the matter entirely.
She hadn’t even seen fit to inform him of her plans.
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He slowed his pace.
Should he simply abandon this foolish impulse to play the chaperone? She had not asked for his concern, nor invited his intervention. He could still turn around. Melt back into the crowd. Let the evening run its course without his interference.
His feet did not obey.
He could not shake the image of her laughter, her bright expression, directed at a man who could never appreciate her worth. Knoxley’s reputation was not dangerous in the dramatic sense, but it was careless. And carelessness still had a way of leaving damage behind.
Nancy did not deserve to be just another scandal.
Jeremy’s jaw tightened. No. He would not forsake her to a whim she might later wish undone. If nothing else, he would ensure she came away unscathed.
That was what friends did.
They did not abandon each other to bad decisions. Jeremy resumed his course toward the terrace doors, urgency reclaiming his stride. He hoped he wasn’t too late.