Chapter Sixteen

The secret to a—well, if not happy , then quiet—marriage was, it transpired, avoidance. After the blazing argument Nathanial's pre-emptive move to the country had occasioned, they both contrived not to see each other.

And Theo, naturally, was very pleased at this turn of events. Extremely happy, in fact.

Unfortunately, this extremely felicitous state of affairs only lasted two weeks, until Theo attended Mrs Selfridge's ball. The ball was widely proclaimed to be one of the major events of the Season, and when Theo arrived with her mother and Annabelle, she felt as though everyone who was anyone was there.

Including, to her chagrin, Nathanial, who was standing beside his mother.

They had not spoken about their plans for the evening, or, indeed, any plans, so there was no good reason that she should feel as though she had been deceived. Yet, as she watched him, emotion swelling in her chest, she could not but feel as though this choice was a direct snub. Nathanial, as she well knew, actively avoided attending on his mother, and would rather have stayed home than escort his mother to a ball.

Yet here he was. Not even pretending to offer her any attention.

Which was, of course, fine. Theo turned her attention to the rest of the room in search of a distraction and found Sir Montague walking towards her. Her stomach jumped.

Annabelle clung to her arm. "Is that Sir Montague?" she asked in an oddly breathless voice. "He is extremely handsome, is he not?"

"You should not be noticing these things," she said severely. Sir Montague was not a proper companion for her sister. "And you should stay away from him."

Annabelle peered at her, raising an eyebrow. "Why? You have not done. And that is despite Mama saying he is a bad man."

"I think he is a bad man."

"That does not seem to have dissuaded you."

"I," Theo said through gritted teeth, "am a married woman, and before you ask, that makes things extremely different."

"He's coming." Annabelle gripped Theo's arm, and Theo had the sinking feeling that finally her sister had discovered a preference. She had fallen foul of Sir Montague's charm and dark eyes and way of making every lady he spoke to feel like the only one in the room. "Do you think he will ask you to dance?"

Theo didn't have time to answer before Sir Montague was upon them, bowing over first Theo's hand, then Annabelle's. "Duchess," he said. "Lady Annabelle. You both look radiant tonight."

Theo tried not to look too pleased, but she had been especially proud of her red gown, stitched with hundreds of tiny white roses. And Annabelle, dreamlike in pale blue with her blonde hair and blue eyes, was also looking her best .

"Thank you," Theo said, accepting the compliment so Annabelle would not have to. She contemplated dancing with Sir Montague, and decided she would when she had forgiven him for taking her to a masquerade. In short, after she had made him suffer a little.

His gaze met hers, not inconsiderable amusement in their depths, and he turned to Annabelle. "Lady Annabelle, would you do me the honour of granting me a dance?"

Theo's jaw dropped. If she had not been so sure it was firmly attached, she would have expected it to clatter against the floor. Sir Montague was asking her sister to dance?

Oh, this was the outside of enough. This was—

"Certainly, sir," Annabelle said, smiling shyly up at him.

Theo collected her jaw and tried to find something to say, but the dance was already forming, and with a wink, Sir Montague whisked her sister away.

Yes, this was bad. It was terrible . If Theo had thought herself half in love with him due to his eyes alone, she could only imagine what effect he was having on Annabelle. At the sight of Annabelle smiling up at him—and worse, Sir Montague smiling back—Theo set her jaw. To have them all there like this was unbearable.

With a pang, she wondered if this was how Nathanial felt when watching her dance with Sir Montague.

Not to be outdone, she immediately procured herself a partner, entering the dance and vying to be as close to Annabelle and Sir Montague as she could. It wasn't because she was jealous, she told herself. It was just that . . . Annabelle was her sister . And she was laughing, which was unlike her in the presence of a gentleman. Sir Montague wasn't flirting, precisely—Theo had seen enough of his flirting to know that—but he was being pleasant. Charming, even. And her sister, poor innocent Annabelle, was enjoying the dance far too much .

Theo hoped he would fall and break a leg. Or, better, become paralysed without any hope of walking again. Annabelle would be disappointed, no doubt, but she was eighteen. There was plenty of time to find a more suitable lover than Sir Montague.

A glance across the room told her that Nathanial was dancing with a pretty blonde, and had the audacity to smile at her.

There would be no more enjoyment for Theo tonight.

"You are charming," her partner told her, trying in vain to capture her attention.

"Oh hush," she told the poor boy.

The dance seemed to last an inordinately long time, far longer than she had ever spent dancing with Sir Montague, and when at last it was over, he was still unfortunately in possession of all his limbs.

"Thank you," she told young Lord Bailey, who lingered around her as though he hoped she might pay him some more heed. "I must speak with my sister."

He wilted, deflated, and Theo waited as Sir Montague procured some lemonade and Annabelle took her arm once more. "Theo!" she said with touching and na?ve enthusiasm. "Did you see me dancing? I declare I had so many compliments."

The prevailing fashion was for fair, and with her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Theo had to concede her sister looked extremely pretty. Usually, she wouldn't have minded—she'd have been happy, even—but today she wished Annabelle had been in terrible looks. Or better yet, stayed home.

The amusement reappeared in Sir Montague's eyes when he glanced at Theo. "She made a charming partner."

"Mama wishes to speak with you," Theo said pointedly to Annabelle. It was only partially true; once her mother saw Annabelle approaching, she would be more than happy to scold her for dancing with a known rake .

And Theo had a bone to pick with said rake.

Sir Montague looked as though he was enjoying himself immensely as Annabelle left and he took a sip of his drink. "Oh dear," he said, not sounding troubled in the slightest. "I appear to have upset you."

"Not at all," Theo said stiffly.

"I see. Perhaps you wish to dance, then?"

"You are mistaken." Theo glanced around in search of Nathanial, but he was nowhere to be seen. The girl he had been dancing with, however, was safely back with her friends. Theo felt a wave of unreasonable relief. "I am not in the mood to dance, and especially not with a man who favours my sister."

"Ah, so I have offended you?"

"She is my sister ," she hissed. "And we both know what kind of man you are."

The amusement drained from his face. "What man am I, then, Duchess?"

"Don't speak to me as though you are not aware of your reputation." She needed to slow her tongue, but the events of the past few weeks had worn her thin; she was a threadbare rug left in the sun, tired and worn. "You took me to the masquerade hoping that by showing me favour, I would show you favour in return."

His brows lowered over his eyes, which were so dark as to be almost black. "You mistake me," he said, so low she almost could not hear him. "It is not your favour I was hoping to encourage."

"Then what?"

"Can you not guess?"

"If that is the case, why dance with my sister?"

"I danced with your sister because I knew if I asked you, you would deny me. And I confess, I had hoped to make you jealous. Did I succeed, little mouse? "

Theo opened her mouth to tell him yes , but the words were trapped in her throat. "If you want my good opinion," she managed, "do not make my sister fall for you."

"Do you wish to be the only lady I seek?" His eyes were intense, boring into hers. "You have that honour, Duchess. You have had it since I first saw you, and if I have offended you, I sincerely apologise."

"I—" Theo had not expected sincerity, not from Sir Montague. Dimly, she was aware she ought to be blushing, but all she could do was stare at him, suspended in disbelief and the creeping awareness that he appeared to mean everything he was saying. "You cannot be serious."

"I have never been more so. Of everyone in the room, your opinion is the one that means the most to me."

"More so than your family?" All of whom, save Cassandra, were in this room.

"I have no family," he said, an odd, twisted smile on his mouth when she looked up in pity. "Does that surprise you? I suppose I must have had a mother once, but I don't remember her, and my father denounced me when I fled to the Continent. I believe he has died since. So unless you include my cousin Nathanial and his siblings, whom I think you'll agree would rather I were not related, I am adrift in the world."

In perhaps the strangest twist of the evening, Theo's heart ached for Sir Montague. There was something behind his words, a loneliness, that spoke right to her heart. She had a family, but she knew what it was like to feel alone in a room full of people.

"Perhaps if you found a wife," she suggested, "you might not be so lonely."

Good idea, Theo. Look how well that turned out for you .

Sir Montague looked down at her with an odd expression in his eyes. The mockery was gone. "Ah, but for that, I would have to marry for love. "

"It is not"—she struggled to get the words out—"so very difficult."

"And yet, nevertheless, unlikely. Something great would have to induce me into matrimony. Excuse me, Duchess." With a slight bow, he left, moving towards the card room and not stopping to greet anyone on his way.

Theo barely had time to watch him leave before Nathanial accosted her, one hand on her arm, fingers a little too tight. "Don't pine too obviously," he said, something hard in his voice. "Someone might notice."

Theo blinked and tried to pull her arm free. "I am not pining, Nathanial. Let me go."

"The next dance is about to begin. Come."

If she pulled away now, there would be talk—even more talk—and Theo could not bear that. But nothing could stop her glare as he led her to where other couples were forming. "You could have asked me."

"And given you a chance to refuse?"

Theo's head ached. Her heart ached. Nothing about this evening had gone right.

Nathanial's brow pinched, and the hand around hers tightened. "Are you all right?"

"We don't have to do this," she said wearily. "Put aside your concern, Nate. I know you do not mean it."

His jaw worked and she looked away before she could see anything more in his face. "Fear not," he said, something cold in his voice. "This is the only dance I will solicit your hand for."

Theo tried to be glad, she really did. But she was tired and all she wanted, all she had ever wanted, was Nathanial's good opinion. And, with his hand warm on her arm, their bodies close like this, it was impossible not to remember the last time they had been this close.

For a moment, she was tempted to tell him that she had been the one in the garden, to give voice to this last secret that haunted the space between them. For a moment, she wanted to use this final moment of physical intimacy to break down the last barriers they had erected around themselves.

But to do so would be to bare her heart, and she could not face his disappointment. Or worse, his horror.

"It pains me I must ask this," Nathanial said, "but for the sake of onlookers, I feel a smile might be appropriate."

If Theo forced a smile now, she might burst into tears. She pressed her mouth more firmly together and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. "Is it not enough that I am dancing with you?"

"If it were, I would not have asked." He paused for a beat, and when she did not look or smile, added, "You accepted the role of Duchess when we married, and this is what it entails."

"And you promised to do everything in your power to make me happy. Instead, you—" Now she truly was going to cry. She turned her face away, blindly staring at the wall. Nathanial stopped, leading her to one side, but he did not let go.

"I am trying to protect you," he said, taking her chin and turning her face back to his. "Sir Montague is not entertaining you because he holds you in affection. He's using you to hurt me."

Theo thought this night might be the worst of her entire life. "I am all astonishment," she said, forcing the words out past a throat that closed around them. "I thought for him to be able to hurt you, you would have to care about me."

The look that leapt into his eyes made her stomach clench. "You are my wife."

"A mistake," she said thickly. "As I'm sure you will agree by now."

His arms tightened around her. "By God, Theo, mistake or not, you are still married to me, and you will not forget it."

"I hate you."

"I'm gratified to hear I have inspired such strong emotions. "

If they were not in a ballroom, she would have pulled away long ago, and fled. Nathanial would not have been able to see how deeply he could wound her, and she would have had space to vent her emotions. Instead, as he pulled her back into the dance, tears shimmered across her eyes, though none fell, and she did not dare look at him again. His arms held her close, and occasionally she thought she felt his thumb swipe across her arm, or her back, or occasionally her hand, as though he could not help himself.

As though, despite how much he clearly despised her, he hated to see her distress almost as much as she hated letting him see.

"The dance is almost over," he said after several long minutes of their silence. "Before you escape, I will kiss your hand."

Theo shook her head, feeling the tears wash across her eyes and threaten to break down her cheeks. "You do not need to. That is a—an archaic formality."

"Nevertheless, I will do so." His eyes were so very dark tonight; the grey of the moon shrouded in clouds. "After all, we are in love."

A single tear broke free and Theo scrubbed it away, hating Nathanial for hurting her; hating herself for caring. When the dance ended, Nathanial took that same hand in both of his, fingers warm, thumb soothing as he brought her knuckles to his lips. When he released her, a frown lowering his brows, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Theo cupped her hand against her chest and fled, leaving him standing motionless in the centre of the room.