The Matter of a Marquess - Jess Michaels Page 0,46
fingers with hers. She looked at the intertwined digits, she felt the love for him that she’d never lost, no matter the circumstances, and she nodded.
“It was everything I ever dreamed and more,” she agreed. “And I needed you so much tonight. I-I’ve needed you so many nights.”
He had been flexing his fingers in and out between hers, and now he stopped. She felt him stiffen a little beneath her, and she looked up to find him watching her intently. “You needed me tonight because you were upset.”
She frowned as she thought about the horrible encounter with Lord Sweeting on the terrace. His cruelty and judgment, which mirrored all of Society at present.
“Yes, I was upset,” she whispered, and wished her voice didn’t break.
He slid a finger beneath her chin, searching her expression with a frown. “You are still upset. Despite everything, you’re thrown right back there. What happened?”
She sighed. “That viscount you were talking to before we danced?”
His jaw set. “Yes. Sweeting, you said his name was, since I didn’t care enough to recall it.”
“Well, he came onto the terrace behind me after you and I parted,” she admitted. “And he was…vulgar.”
Nicholas’s nostrils flared, rather like Roseford’s had done on the terrace a few hours before. She saw their similarities then, the connection of their tenuous brotherhood. “That scoundrel. What did he say?”
“He essentially called me a whore and tried to kiss me,” she said, summing up the encounter with as much efficiency as possible. She certainly didn’t want to relive it.
“What?” Nicholas sat up a bit straighter and stared at her in shocked horror. “He said that, he did that, and after all his talk to me about—”
He cut himself off but it was too late. Her assumption about Sweeting’s discussion with Nicholas had clearly been correct. “Warning you off me, was he?” she said. “Telling you what a scandal I’ve become and how I will take the shine off your diamond if you’re trying to be given the title of marquess?”
He frowned, but the truth was written all over that handsome face. Of course that was exactly what had been said. Worse, it was true. She knew the ways of that world, better than Nicholas did, even if he’d been raised on its edges. She knew how quickly a man could be cut down to size if he associated himself with the wrong company. A woman cut down even harder and faster.
“I’ll have words with him, consequences be damned,” Nicholas muttered.
She shook her head. “Don’t, Nicholas. He could impact your future in ways you can’t even imagine. His isn’t a high title, no, but he has some influence in the inner circle of the prince. Besides, your brother handled it.”
“Morgan?” Nicholas asked. “I’d wager that was an earful of swearing and threats.”
“No, not Morgan. Roseford,” she said softly. “The duke was incredibly kind. Incredibly protective. He tossed Sweeting out of the party.”
Nicholas stared off away from her for the first time, his gaze moving to the fire across the room. “Then I suppose I owe Roseford…my brother…a debt of gratitude.”
“No, I do.”
His gaze returned to her and he sighed. There was frustration to the sound, though she didn’t completely understand why. She wasn’t his, no matter what they’d shared tonight.
“You seem resigned to the fact that men like Sweeting will do what they do,” Nicholas said.
She shrugged. “Because that is the truth. I’ve known it all my life, it will only be worse now because of—”
She cut herself off abruptly. God, why had she brought that up? She didn’t want to talk to Nicholas about what had happened at the Cat’s Companion. He didn’t need to be brought into her personal drama, not now when he was so close to his dream.
“Worse now because you were spotted at a brothel,” he said, drawing forward the very topic she didn’t want to discuss.
She shifted and tucked the sheets higher around her breasts. As if covering her body could also cover something more, something deeper. Foolish. This man had already seen it all, touched it all. Covering it was just a game now.
His expression darkened. “If you want to hide from me, we both know you are expert at it. But I admit I’m curious about the truth. Do you want to tell me what brought you there?”
Despite the harshness when he’d begun, his voice turned gentle as he asked the question. It felt entirely lacking in judgment. She found herself wanting to tell him the truth. He had