Chapter Twenty-Three

Connie's debut was a veritable forest of beautifully dressed people, with aristocratic faces wherever one looked. Some were here to view the new Lady Markshall and speculate about what the newspaper gossip meant. Some of the guests were curious about Lord Markshall's sudden confession and conversion to the Whig party. Some were simply friends of her parents and eligible young people.

Pots of bright yellow and white narcissi, golden tulips, and mirrors with gilded frames that made the large room seem enormous and glittering. The champagne and ices were cold, and the elegance of the sugar castle unparalleled. Connie looked radiant in her gold dress and was dancing every dance.

In short, all things considered, it was going fabulously.

Emily ought to be basking in the heady satisfaction of a job well done, against the wishes of Lady X— and the bad luck of falling down a hole. Instead she'd been explaining to her bemused parents that the rumors about her husband's speech last night were true. She hadn't expected to have to mollify her parents about talk that Oscar was a better man than the world thought.

At Emily's insistence, her parents agreed to take a well-deserved break from active hosting after they'd received all the guests. After all, they'd done it. Connie was smiling. People were dancing. It was a success. Her father retired to the card room and her mother went to join the matrons.

Emily moved seamlessly through the crowd, introducing people and ensuring the wallflowers had dance partners. There were raised eyebrows and some whispers as she traversed the room, but they had a soft, confused edge rather than the hard line of condemnation. She paused at the edge of the dance floor.

"Do you dance?" Oscar appeared at her side.

"I'm the daughter of a duke." Her heart pattered. She never felt so alive as when he was near. "Do you?"

"I'm a rake." He smiled wryly. "It came with the training."

"Just after the lessons on sneaking up on women?" She observed him from the corner of her eye. She'd missed him last night. A part of her wished she could go to him. But that would mean giving up who she was. Or who she had striven to be.

"Naturally."

They were silent for a moment. The music of a reel provided a jolly backdrop to the tense feeling between them. She couldn't forget what happened at night. She couldn't feel comfortable with it, even as she couldn't stay away from pleasures more and more intoxicating and wrong. Wanting him so much was just yet another sign of her moral failings. He'd done terrible things, but so had she.

"Dance with me." It was half demand, but when Emily looked up at his face she saw supplication.

"Not too close." She couldn't be certain of controlling herself with him around. The one man in the world who knew and understood her. The person who knew her darkest secret and kept it close to him, next to his own black heart.

At her nod, they walked decorously to the dance floor. The music started up and she stepped into his arms. And as she'd expected, he pulled her too close for decorum and it warmed her. He was home and acceptance. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connie laughing with a man, fluttering her fan near her face.

"I said, not too close, Markshall." She couldn't manage to resist him appropriately if they were intimate. The Daily Letters piece yesterday had caused another flare of speculation in the ton.

"You have to be close." He wrapped his arm around her for the polka jump. His touch was warm. As he lifted her, her blood sprang too.

"It'll cause gossip. Any of these people could be Lady X—, looking to find a new outlet to write nasty things about us." He was seductive and charming and made her feel like the greatest treasure on earth. She'd thought that knowing he was a rogue would be like understanding the mechanism in a machine, that it would lose its magic. But it didn't. He was still able to incite all the same feelings in her.

"They could." Markshall set a sidelong glance to the crowd. He was looking at her while they danced, which was very much not the done thing, but Emily found she couldn't keep her eyes off him, any more than he could keep his gaze from her. "But I was thinking of something quite different."

Emily's mind filled in a thousand sensual thoughts of what he might be thinking of.

"Lady X— won't hurt us now," he added. "I've surpassed all possible gossip last night, my love."

"You're right." Her heart throbbed. He called her his love like it was nothing. "And there's nothing to comment on. A husband and wife dancing. A young lady at her first ball."

He lifted her around in the dance and her stomach lifted. Suddenly, there wasn't anything to fear. She didn't have to worry about her sister. Lady Connie was going to be a diamond of the first water and find an excellent husband. Oscar's confession had taken all the fire out of the newspaper accusations. Surely Lady X— would give up now.

When had she last felt this light and free? When she was a debutant, perhaps. Years ago, certainly. She'd been so hemmed in by her persona of the Perfect Lady and her spotless reputation, she'd forgotten what it was to laugh without censoring herself.

Her next jump in the polka was a little higher. Then a little higher still. Exuberance filled her. Markshall must have noticed, as by the time the dance ended they were grinning at each other.

Their happiness drew some curious looks. But Emily didn't care. As they retired back to the side of the room, Oscar's hand still on her waist, Oscar dipped his head to her ear.

"Your sister isn't as concerned about Lady X— as you are." He nodded over to the left.

She turned to see Lord Florint bowed low over Connie's hand and left a very lingering kiss.

Her mind took a moment to make the connection then cold raced down her spine. All of her happiness flowed away. She made an incoherent sound of dissent as she stared helplessly at Connie, who laughed and colored at something Lord Florint said.

"He has a fiancée already," Oscar clarified grimly.

"Miss Dalwood." Connie would have ample opportunity to select a husband. Why was she pursuing a man already taken?

"Lord Florint was persuaded to propose to Miss Dalwood after they'd been caught together in an orangery. Miss Dalwood's position is precarious enough as it is, after almost a year of engagement."

Connie took Florint's proffered hand, and they moved towards the French doors and discreetly out onto the terrace.

"I have to go and save her." Whether she meant Miss Dalwood or Connie, she couldn't say. She moved to follow, but Markshall caught her arm.

"Leave her." His mouth twisted. "She's got to make her own mistakes, and so has he. You can't save someone from themselves, Emily."

There were already murmurs behind fans amongst the ladies and knowing smirks on the faces of some of the men. It was not done to disappear outside with a man, especially not at one's own debut ball. And especially not with another lady's intended. Connie would be labeled a flirt and a man stealer. Her parents would be disappointed in both their daughters.

A sob of frustration rose in Emily's throat. She wrenched her hand from Oscar and quit the room via the same French doors Connie had departed through.

The air was cool on her heated face, but she still burned. She scanned up and down the terrace, but Connie wasn't there.

Throwing herself forward, her thighs knocked into the balustrade overlooking the garden. In the dark, she couldn't see anything but shadows. The scent of narcissi cloyed at her nose.

This was inconceivable. After everything. After James' betrayal with another woman, after years of neat behavior and stifling her impulses with fern collecting. After protecting her reputation like a delicate egg her little sister was ruining herself with another woman's fiancé. Emily wanted to wring Connie's neck. Preferably before her parents realized what was happening.

"Hush." Markshall's arms wrapped around her front, his chest pressing to her back. "It's all right."

She hadn't even realized she was growling, like some threatened feral dog. Her hands tightened into fists. "I'm going to kill her."

"No, you're not."

Not from lack of wanting to. She loved Connie, but dammit, how could she do this?

"You're angry right now, but all this will be a storm in a teacup."

Her chest tightened. "I hate her." She'd find Miss Dalwood and help her take her revenge against Lord Florint and Lady Connie.

"No. You don't."

Oh God. Her anger drained away, leaving a shell of brittle horror. This was her violent temper. This was what she'd held in check for days and years, for fear of what it would do. Of what she was capable of.

"Let me go," she ground out.

Markshall was holding her like she was a wild animal he was cautiously taming. "Are you calm?" He stroked his hand up her arm to her shoulder.

"I am bloody calm."

His hand continued its path to her neck, then gently into her hair. Her neck felt so rusty it might break if she moved. He pressed his fingers into the muscles in the back of her neck.

And when she tilted her head into his touch her head neither splintered nor broke. He was mollifying her, and it was working. Her ire had melted away.

Laughter sounded behind them.

"Connie." They turned together to see Lord Florint and Connie strolling up the steps towards them.

Lord Florint and Oscar exchanged nods of greeting.

"Sister." Connie's tone soured.

"Let's rejoin the party now you've had some air, properly chaperoned by a married couple." Emily strained her lips into a bright smile, but it was foreign to her. Her Perfect Lady act felt like a bristly coating on her skin. "I'm sure you're now feeling as refreshed as I am. It was rather warm, but mother will be wondering where you are. We'll talk about this tomorrow," she added in an undertone as Connie passed.

Connie tilted her chin but didn't respond.

Following Connie in, Emily realized she'd lost control of her emotions and her polite manner, and nothing horrific had transpired. Almost as if the fa?ade she'd built was unnecessary.