Chapter 2

CHAPTER2

“Did you enjoy Spain, Your Grace?”

Silas Arnold blinked at the young lady who had spoken, as she was nudged further forward by encouraging friends.

“Spain?” Silas asked, sipping his drink if only to give his hands something to do, for he had a terrible habit of cracking his knuckles when he was bored or anxious. At present, he was both.

“Yes, Your Grace. I heard you had spent much of the past year or so in Spain and have finally been returned to polite English society.” The young lady blushed. “Of course, it is a delight to have you back where you belong.”

Silas took another, longer sip. “I was not in Spain.”

“No?” The young lady cast a pointed glance back at her friends. “Then, where have you been for so long? Did you not hear about the drought?”

Silas arched an eyebrow. “Drought, miss?”

“A drought of eligible, charming gentlemen to dance with and to woo us,” the young lady replied shyly, as if she had been coerced into the joke.

He mustered a hollow laugh for the girl, not wanting her to feel too self-conscious. “Indeed, I had not heard. What a terrible blight upon our fair country. Yet, there seems to be an abundant harvest this evening, of both ladies and gentlemen alike. Yes, I do believe the ladies are exceptionally ripe tonight.”

A few of the ladies behind their pink-cheeked representation fanned themselves more furiously, for though he was not much of a flirt, he had exemplary timing when he did decide to tease.

Usually, he flirted to distract and divert, and it seemed to be working perfectly as the young lady opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, bowing his head.

With that, he headed toward the salvation of a familiar face, standing by the garden doors on the opposite side of the ballroom.

“Well, you look as charmed to be hosting this ball as I feel to be here,” Silas said coolly.

Edwin Bolt, the Duke of Bruxton, shook his head as if he had been in a trance. “Goodness, I am sorry. I was miles away. What did you say?”

“I said you do not seem to be enjoying yourself, though this is your ball. I believe you are supposed to look happy about it.” Silas sighed, grateful to be further away from the barely stifled whispers and coy looks and pressing questions that advanced relentlessly from the rest of the ballroom.

Here, with Edwin, he would be granted a reprieve, for though marriage had softened Edwin somewhat, he still terrified most of society with his icy demeanor and equally chilling reputation. Yet, guests always flocked to his—or, rather, his wife’s—events for that very reason: they could not resist their curiosity.

“My wife insisted on me remaining in the ballroom, though I had hoped to slip away to my study,” Edwin grumbled. “I would do absolutely anything for her, but these frivolous gatherings always threaten to test those bounds. Truthfully, I was under the impression that one did not have to attend these wretched things once one was married, but I suppose I forgot about the hosting expectations.”

Silas nodded. “How is the sweet duchess?”

“Radiant, glorious, a diamond that, all these years later, I still do not believe myself worthy of. She is around here somewhere, dazzling her guests.” Edwin smiled and elbowed Silas sharply in the ribs. “But what of you? Where is your mystery bride?”

Silas’s heart dropped. “Mystery bride?”

“Is that not why you went away? That is what Joanna said she had heard—that you had ventured abroad in pursuit of love, that you married a Frenchwoman and have not yet mustered the courage to introduce her to this gossiping rabble.”

Silas realized he had been wrong to think he could escape the rumors, even among his friends. Everyone was desperate to know about his year-long absence from society. What they did not know was that he was just as desperate to understand it.

“No mystery bride, I am afraid,” he said stiffly. “As for your dear wife, she should know better than to trust in gossip and rumor. Although, that is one of the less wild stories I have heard since I made my return to society, so I must thank her—or her informant—for that.”

Edwin pursed his lips, patting Silas on the shoulder. “I meant no offence, Silas. Of course, we should not listen to rumor. Joanna and I do know that, better than anyone.”

After all, for many years everyone had firmly believed that Edwin was responsible for killing his father and brother, and some still did. Silas had never been among those bloodthirsty believers, but nor had he ever pressed his friend for the truth.

To his mind, that was not the done thing between gentlemen. That was why he had respected Edwin’s desire to retreat from society for many years, corresponding only in letters, as a good friend would.

“But… if I may, why have you stayed away for so long?” Edwin prodded, breaking that gentlemanly code of understanding.

Silas pretended he had not heard. “How are your darling boys?”

“The most wonderful, exhausting menaces I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. They are bereft that they cannot join in the festivities this evening, while I wish I could exchange places with them,” Edwin replied, his eyes glazing over with an endearing sort of affection. Best of all, he was distracted from his vague interrogation.

Just then, they were interrupted by the wobbling jowls and brandy-soaked breath of Sir Lionel Foxcroft. “Your Grace,” he roared, clapping Silas on the arm, “how was my fair India, eh? Goodness, do I miss her. No country like her!”

“India?” Silas felt weary down to his bones, always the last to know where everyone else suspected he had been. It made him feel stupid.

“Your dear old mother said you’d been up to some business there,” Sir Lionel continued to bellow, having suffered some ear damage during one war or another that he refused to acknowledge. “You must’ve been wandering around with a bloody parasol, like a dainty lady—not a lick of color on you anywhere! You’re as pale as cheese! When I came back, I was the color of this parquet!”

Silas cleared his throat. “My business endeavors ensured I spent most of my days indoors,” he said, deciding that if his mother had spread that rumor, it might be the best one to stick to. “My associates would not hear of me setting foot outside, though I longed to. I wandered during the evenings instead. A beautiful country, indeed.”

It was a far more believable story than one or two he had already heard that night. One lady had insisted that he had had a leg taken off by a bear, before farmers had sewn it back on and brought him back to health. This, despite him having two perfectly good legs and there being a distinct lack of bears in Britain.

Another lady had whispered that he had been shot in the head during a forbidden duel, had lost all memory of who he was, and had only just recovered his memories. Once again, ignoring the fact that there was barely a scar upon him, much less the healed hole of a pistol ball.

The true story, however, was not so creative, but equally unpleasant. And the more people attempted to remind him of his absence from society, the more those lost months weighed down upon him. Memories he wished he could forget.

“What?” Sir Lionel barked, squinting. “What did you say?”

Silas was about to repeat what he said, when something far more interesting caught his eye. A vision in dusky lilac, with skin like cream, and flushed in the plump apples of her cheeks.

Raven dark hair stood in stark contrast, coiled on top of her head in an elaborate style, studded with delicate flowers the same color as her gown. Her eyes were a crystalline blue, and they darted anxiously as she stood in the ballroom doorway, as if bracing herself for something unpleasant.

You…

He blinked a few times, just to be sure. She had not been quite so refined the last time he had set eyes upon her, but the desire to indulge in a second look had been the same. Indeed, he could not decide if he preferred this version—scrubbed smooth, not a hair out of place, nor a wrinkle in her gown—or if he preferred the wild creature who had knocked into him four days ago. Her cheeks had been flushed then, too.

“You should not touch me, sir,” she had told him. “You will be ruined if you are seen with me, though I… I thank you for not letting me fall.”

That had amused him, when he had considered it afterward; that she should be worried about her reputation staining his, and not the other way around.

“Oh goodness,” Edwin muttered under his breath. “Excuse me, Silas. I fear I must find Joanna.”

Silas halted his friend. “What has you looking so concerned, all of a sudden?”

“Lady Emma is not supposed to be here tonight,” Edwin replied quietly, though Sir Lionel had no hope of hearing anyway.

“Lady Emma…” Silas eyed the beautiful woman, enjoying the way her name sounded on his tongue, the way it softly pressed his lips together like a kiss.

Edwin groaned. “Really, I must go.”

“Not until you unveil the mystery, my good man,” Silas insisted, his curiosity piqued. “Why should such a delightful young lady cause you such abrupt distress? Was she not invited? Is it something scandalous?”

He knew he was being somewhat hypocritical, but he could not help it. Indeed, his curiosity continued to blossom as he watched the guests begin to turn their gossip on Lady Emma, whispering behind their fans, casting sour glances, pointing rudely, muttering unkind things at a volume that she could clearly hear. Yet, she held herself upright, her chin raised, her shoulders back with a defiance that fascinated him, and not merely because of the effect her posture had upon her exemplary bosom.

Lady Emma had been graced with the most divine curves he had ever beheld. Curves he had not had time to notice when she had slammed into him the other day, though his hands remembered the softness of her skin and the catch of her breath as he had held her steady.

“Why are you so interested?” Edwin asked, his eyes narrowing.

Silas chuckled darkly. “Did you not hear—I am in search of an eligible bride.”

It was not entirely true. He had to find an eligible bride, yes, but he didn’t want to. He was certainly not in search, but married people always wanted their friends to be married too, so he figured it might be his best chance of finding out more about the radiant, defiant Lady Emma.

A tiny white lie that his mother would have applauded vigorously, believing that he might, at last, be about to do what she had been pestering him to do since his return.

Edwin’s expression clouded over. “It is not in my nature to be unkind or damning about any young lady, Silas, but… stay away from that one.”

“Why?” Silas cast his friend a pointed look.

“Because if you are looking for an eligible bride, you should know that she has run away from the altar twice—the last time exceedingly recently,” Edwin whispered. “She is the very opposite of eligible. Now, if you will excuse me. My wife will know how to contend with this matter.”

He hurried off, leaving Silas alone with Sir Lionel crowing in his ear about the beauty of India, telling tall tales about being mauled by a tiger. But Silas was not listening, his gaze was fixed on Lady Emma.

A wry grin curved his lips. On the contrary, Edwin, I believe she is exactly what I need.