would do. Our offspring will not be vapid buffoons but ladies and gentlemen with keen wit and shrewdness.”
As simply as that, her fate was decided as if she had no say in the matter. “Unfortunately, you will never do for me.”
She tried once again to remove her chin from his grasp, but he held firm, and his eyes flashed a warning that made her freeze.
“How odd that you believe yourself to have a choice. The matter has already been agreed with your father.”
He dipped his head, and her heart roared. Her first kiss would not be with this cretin. As his mouth made to brush hers, she wilted against him as if weakened.
She’d show him what a woman with keen wit could do.
Maryann felt the start of surprise run through his body, then he smiled, carnally and evidently pleased. He shifted, clearly meaning to cradle her closer to his body, and she lifted her leg swift and sure between his, just as her brother had taught her.
A choking sound slipped from his mouth, and he released her as if he had been burned. She had not brought him to his knees, but the corded muscles of his throat were on stark display, his eyes glittering with his ire. “I would not marry a dishonorable bounder who would keep a mistress with his wife, while bedding servants in his household and others.”
She would have laughed at his slack-jawed expression if she were not so frightened and out of sorts. Maryann spun and hurried along the hallway to the ball, only to falter as his words reached her.
“I also like spirited. I am even more determined to have you, Lady Maryann, the pleasure I shall take in teaching you your place.” His sigh echoed with licentiousness and pleasure at whatever he imagined.
Swallowing her revulsion, she made her way down the hallway and back to the ballroom. Before, she hadn’t been certain how to extricate herself from this ridiculous union but now, she knew. That lady’s room the marquess had surreptitiously climbed from would be confirmed as hers. Even if there was no truth in that statement.
Every prudent consideration of her position and her parents’ expectations must be set aside. Misguided or not, this was happening.
She would ruin herself and let the chips land wherever they may.
The only question that needed answering was, how do I let the polite world know that Nicolas St. Ives, Marquess Rothbury slipped from my room?
Chapter Four
Nicolas was appalled at the rather astonishing degree to which he was aware of Lady Maryann. He decided it was because of that small curve to her lush, pretty mouth, the color of pink rosebuds. Her smile was alarmingly beautiful, and that sweet slant commanded his attention for several moments. It seemed mischievous…and naughtiness was never a thing associated with a reputed wallflower.
Her head was dipped in close conversation with a young lady he recognized as Lady Ophelia, a stunning creature who, for reasons beyond most gentlemen’s comprehension, remained unwed. Nicolas was uncertain if her unmarried state had to do with Devlin Byrne, a man known in London’s underworld for his ruthless shrewdness and also that he was possessive/protective of a certain songbird with a mysterious identity.
Nicolas suspected he might be one of only a few men in society to know the truth of her dual identity, which he had only discovered by chance. He had done nothing with the information. Devlin Byrne was not an enemy, and Nicolas suspected the fastest way to turn such a man into one would be to do anything that might threaten Lady Ophelia. Yet the lady seemed unaware that she had a protector in a man so dangerous and feared.
“Is it the ravishing Lady Ophelia who has you staring so raptly?” David, the Earl of Marsh, drawled as he came up beside Nicolas. “By God, she is rather fetching, isn’t she? There is even a rumor that her father has increased her dowry to fifty thousand pounds, yet no one is offering.”
Nicolas made no comment to that, but he kept the ladies in his line of vision as they made their way to the refreshment table.
“Is it her you are staring at?” David asked, resting his elbows on the balustrade and peering down to the crowded ballroom.
“No.”
“Really?” A bored murmur. “Then who?”
The creature beside her, who had dared make a list with his name on it. Allow St. Ives to ruin me. Why in God’s name that provocative wish had been haunting his thoughts was