The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,65
rumors of her parties are legendary.”
“‘Legendary’ is a key word, I believe. She has an eye for drama and an appetite for titillating people, but she herself is always perfectly composed. If she indulged in hysterics or public love affairs, perhaps she would no longer be received — but morality applies to titled, wealthy widows differently than it does to the rest of us. I believe she could walk stark naked into Almack’s and still not be cut — it’s hard to cut someone that self-contained. The ton knows they care more for her than she cares for them, after all.”
No one could go to Almack’s nude, not even Ellie, but he lost a few seconds considering it. Prudence’s quick grin said she guessed his preoccupation. Nick cleared his throat. “Then is she always as she was at her masquerade? Aloof?”
“You won’t catch me spreading tales about her,” Prudence warned. “But I will say that, in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her display any emotion stronger than amusement or vague disapproval in public.”
“And in private?”
“Did I not just say I won’t spread tales?”
Nick shrugged. “I had to ask.”
“Why did you have to ask?”
Her eyes were expectant, her posture even more so. She leaned forward as though she needed to be as close as possible to whatever words he might share. The answer mattered to her, for some reason he couldn’t fathom — unless she really cared to know what Nick’s intentions were toward Ellie?
He wasn’t above playing on that sentiment. “I find Lady Folkestone most…intriguing. You’ll forgive me for wanting to know more about her preferences.”
Prudence looked at Ellie again, pausing as she collected her thoughts. “I cannot help you there, my lord. Whatever Lady Folkestone’s preferences might be, she’s remarkably skilled at not sharing them.”
His Ellie, the one he had loved, had always shared her preferences. She had wanted to seize everything, so eager to go to London and see something beyond the small estate where her father kept her cloistered. She had never been able to hide her desires, or her fears, from him — which is why he had believed her when she said she preferred his cousin to him.
But when had she gotten so good at masking herself? And what did she really, truly want? The previous night had shown him that she was still capable of desire — if she unleashed that desire, where would she go and what might she choose?
Would she choose him? Or would she choose to escape him again?
The clock chimed the hour. Midnight. A footman entered the room, on the cue Nick had given him, and handed Ellie a note on a silver salver. Nick watched as she flipped the note open. Her eyes scanned the lines. If she felt anything when she had finished, her emotions didn’t reach her face. She looked up, unerringly, to Nick, betraying only the briefest hint of a scowl as she folded the note again. Then she dismissed the footman and turned back to Salford as though nothing had happened — as though she hadn’t just read the note Nick had arranged for her to receive, in which he said what he expected of her that night.
He turned back to Prudence. “I do believe you are correct, Miss Etchingham. Lady Folkestone is a puzzle.”
But she hadn’t always been. And tonight he would have another go at deciphering her — whether she wished it or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ellie had fought hard to control her blush when she read the note that Nick had sent her. She must have succeeded — Salford had said nothing about it. He merely continued discussing her antiquities collection with her as though receiving a note at midnight didn’t merit any curiosity whatsoever.
Or perhaps he was merely polite. Far more polite than Nick. Only a devil would make this arrangement, let alone send the note he had sent. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with someone like Salford? Someone kind, with a sharp mind, who might take care of her?
But Ellie didn’t want a protector. Perhaps she didn’t deserve one, either. Perhaps she deserved an inescapable adversary, a dark king to match the woman she had remade herself into.
Stop being dramatic. The party had dissolved five minutes after she received the note, when she had abruptly sent everyone off to bed. And now, after twenty minutes spent pacing in her room, she had come back downstairs to follow her orders. She took a breath and pushed open