Marquess of Malice (Lords of Scandal 2)

“My mother has already accepted the invitation. Unless you want to explain the situation, I suggest we attend.” Diana’s voice rising with each word. “Besides, I’ll not leave my fate to men I barely know and don’t trust.” Then her voice dropped. “And who run an illicit club for fun.”

Darlington’s spine snapped straight. “We run the club for profit.”

“The gambling and women are just bonuses?” Diana fired back.

“Enough,” Minnie said stepping between them. “My aunt will likely take them regardless, Tag, because it’s an excellent opportunity socially. Our choices are to go with them or send them alone.”

Darlington made a noise of dissent deep in his throat. But Malice, his hand still firmly on her rib cage, spoke, his voice reverberating through her. “I’ll go too. And, we’ll bring the Earl of Exmouth as well. It’s difficult for anyone to cause trouble when he’s around.”

Diana tsked. “Difficult, perhaps. But not impossible. I’ve managed it.”

Cordelia pressed her lips together. Then she touched her hand to Malice’s, the one still holding her close. Why did she like his touch so much? For a brief moment she wondered where the most trouble lay. Was it at the ball with the countess or right here with a man who’d offered her a suitable match? Her heart thudded in her chest at his touch. She was in grave danger, indeed.

Chapter Four

Malice stood against the wall of the packed ball room contemplating how he’d landed himself in such a place. He knew the exact circumstances, of course. What was shadowy was the why of it. How had he come to agree to attend, not only a ball, but one of the largest events to precede the season?

He hated such affairs. Give him hard-talking men with stiff drinks any day. There was truth in those men. But this, it was one big falsehood. From the clothes, that were meant to create a certain image, to the perfume, right down to the false laughter that filled the air, these balls were about how one appeared. Not who they really were.

His father had been a master of this sort of deception. On the outside, they’d seemed the perfect, loving father and son. All a lie.

Just in front of him. Cordelia stood with her sisters, her dress a lovely shade of pink that complimented the creaminess of her skin. Her hair was more loosely tied back, softer, with wisps about her face. But her glasses, they were still firmly on, and reminded him that she, unlike so many around him, was just herself. There was no pretension, no fiction. Just Cordelia.

Grace and Diana stood on either side of her filling their dance cards as Cordelia smiled politely.

An anger he hadn’t felt in ages bubbled inside him like a festering wound. How did no one see her? Really see what an honest and good woman she was? How attractive inside and out?

In a moment of sheer insanity, he pushed off the wall and stalked toward her. “Lady Cordelia,” he rumbled.

She jumped a bit, that sweet little tongue poking out to do a quick pass over her lip. “Yes, Lord Malicorn?”

“May I have a dance please?” He hated dancing. It was so intimate. First there was the touching. And then the eye contact. But worst of all, was how two people began to move as one, understanding passing between them. In other words, the act was full of the emotion he never wanted to feel. But somehow, he couldn’t stand back and watch her be passed over, either. Even worse was the idea of someone asking. His blood boiled at the thought of another man waltzing with her in the ballroom.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Did you have a particular dance in mind?”

“This one,” he answered, taking her hand and threading it through his elbow to pull her out on the floor.

Her fingers rested delicately on his arm. Mistakenly, he glanced over and caught a hint of cleavage out of the top her wide-necked gown. His body clenched and he drew in a deep breath.

“My lord,” she said moving closer so her hip brushed his.

His damn cock jumped to attention. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Cordelia was always meant to be the bride he didn’t give a wit about. Now he worried for her feelings, while his insides were hectic with attraction. When had that happened? He blamed that damn little tongue.

As if she’d read his mind, the thing darted out, her fingers digging more deeply into his arm. “Thank you for asking me to dance.”

“There is no need,” he replied.

She touched his other arm. “You and I both know that there is a need.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve gone back and forth, in my mind, about whether I made the right decision saying no to you. Perhaps yours is my only offer. Maybe I’m just not the sort of woman who gets love and romance.”

Bile rose in his throat along with words of protest. He swallowed them down. He’d wanted to disagree and tell her that she should hold out for a man who saw how special she was. But he clenched his teeth. He’d never make her feel that way, he didn’t want to or know how.

What he should do, was ask her to marry him again. In this moment of weakness, she’d likely say yes. Then he’d have what he’d wanted from the start. But somehow, he couldn’t subject her to emotional manipulation, either. She’d been the summer breeze of honest fresh air this ball had desperately required.

What he’d be taking away from her…

“Do you know what I admire about you?” he asked.

She looked over to him, her gaze wary. “I couldn’t say.”