The Earl Steals a Heart
Susan feltas if she was going to be sick to her stomach.
As if watching Lord Seabury dance with someone else wasn’t painful enough, the Count D’Asti materialised at Susan’s elbow like a malicious phantom come to torment her with his presence.
“I am delighted to see you here, Miss Wingfield.” His smooth, accented voice dripped with charm as thick as honey.
“I wish I could say the same of you, Lord D’Asti, but alas, deceit is not in my nature.”
Susan spoke the words low enough that only the Count and her family could hear, and forced a tight smile, which turned to a wince when Georgiana gave her a vicious elbow to the ribs.
Lady Eugenia, who stood a couple of steps back and to Susan’s right because she’d been conversing with Edward, pressed a gloved hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, which she gracefully covered with a cough.
“I will thank you to behave yourself tonight, sister,” Georgiana hissed through clenched teeth, even as she smiled and greeted the Count with a polite curtsey.
The Count D’Asti bowed to each of the three women before him in turn, the picture of politeness, charm, and good humour. Susan steeled herself against that charm, even as she returned his gesture with the requisite curtsey.
Edward had pulled Susan aside before they left the house and taken a few minutes to speak with her before they made the short carriage ride to Lady Walcot’s townhouse for the Ball. He’d warned her that word of her supposed engagement to the Count D’Asti was spreading like wildfire, though he hadn’t managed to pinpoint the source of the rumours yet. He’d also warned Susan about the Count’s declaration that he would do his best to win Susan’s hand fairly, like any other suitor.
Susan had actually laughed aloud at the very idea of it, but Edward had only grown more serious. He’d told Susan that he understood her feelings regarding the Count D’Asti, that he didn’t blame her for not wanting to marry the man, and that he only had one thing to ask of her. The words he’d spoken played over again in her mind.
Please don’t make a scene if the Count D’Asti tries to court you as any other suitor would. I am not asking you to accept his suit, or to encourage him in any way, but please don’t do anything which might give London’s vicious gossipmongers any reason to speak ill of you, for if they do, any rumours which come of it may affect our sisters’ marriage prospects — both yours and mine, mind you.
That thought was the only thing which aided Susan in tamping down her desire to humiliate the Count D’Asti into leaving her alone, never to return. No matter how deeply she detested the idea of suffering through his attempts at courting her, she would never jeopardize Eliza’s chances at finding a suitable match, nor Edward’s sisters’ chances, either. She wondered when the Duke and Duchess of Thistlewayte would be arriving with Lady Matilda and Lady Octavia.
Keeping the other girls’ prospects and marriageability in mind was all that kept Susan from storming out and demanding that the carriage return her to Billington House immediately when the Count D’Asti motioned at her dance card.
“May I have the next dance, Miss Wingfield?”
Susan curtsied and gave a jerky nod.
“Of course you may.”
* * *
Marco might have been amusedby Miss Wingfield’s stiff demeanour and sharp tongue if not for the dire state of his finances. Once, he would have found the challenge of courting her and winning her over to be a delightful undertaking. However, now was not the time to tame a shrew, of that much Marco was certain. He was acutely aware of the way she went absolutely rigid when he captured the dance card which dangled from her wrist in his fingers and deftly scrawled his name on the line for the next dance.
Smiling broadly, Marco remained close to Miss Wingfield despite her obvious perturbation at his presence. He kept his practiced smile in place even as a sinking feeling overtook him as Miss Wingfield’s piercing gaze followed Lord Seabury’s every step as he strode off the dance floor, fleeing the ballroom entirely.
Lady Eugenia moved, then, shifting so that she, too, could watch Lord Seabury’s retreat. Marco found himself utterly arrested by her graceful movement, by her marble-white skin, by the delicate arching of her neck, by the way her golden hair glowed with the radiance of the sun in the candlelit ballroom. She reminded him of an Easter lily, he realised.
Marco forcibly dragged his gaze back to Miss Wingfield. The two women were a study in contrasts, dark and light, night and day, ice and fire. For just one selfish moment, the Count D’Asti allowed himself to wish that the rumour which had tangled Miss Wingfield’s fate with his own had been about Lady Eugenia instead.
He shook his head, as if to shake off the errant thought. Fate had already presented him with a tolerable and relatively easy solution to his debts in the supposed betrothal with Miss Wingfield. It would be unwise to allow himself to be distracted by Lady Eugenia, no matter how beautiful she might be.
The musicians struck a chord to announce the next dance set and Marco extended his hand to Miss Wingfield. Her gloved fingers barely brushed his, as if that small amount of contact pained her.
“Why are you so determined to detest me, Miss Wingfield?”
His question was a low murmur, smooth and lilting and genuinely curious.
Susan held up a hand and shook her head.
“Since I promised Georgiana and Edward that I would behave myself tonight, I am going to decline to answer that question, Lord D’Asti.”
Marco chuckled, shaking his head. In another life, he thought they might have made excellent friends. Her quick wit and sharp tongue made him laugh, even as he wished not to be on the receiving end of them.
As they faced each other on the dance floor, Marco surveyed his supposed bride-to-be. She was beautiful, to be sure. But was she really the kind of woman he wanted to marry? He bit the inside of his cheek as they fell into the movements of the dance.
Miss Wingfield knew her own mind, and — from what he had seen of her thus far — was a fiercely stubborn creature with a fiery temper. She would question and challenge him at every turn, a prospect that he certainly did not savour. Miss Wingfield would not be inclined to make anything easy for him, neither in their courtship, nor in their marriage after, he was certain.
Nevertheless, the letter he’d received from his debtors had been very clear. He was to pay up, and soon, or they were going to ruin his family’s legacy. As little as Marco had cared in the past, having been far too busy enjoying his life as a rake, he could not allow the Bianchi family name to fall to complete and utter ruin because he was irresponsible.
Against his will, Marco’s gaze gravitated back to Lady Eugenia, who stood at the edge of the dance floor, talking to Lady Billington and two other young ladies whose features were so similar to hers that he guessed they must be her sisters. Lady Eugenia’s beauty was nothing short of arresting.
Certainly, the rumour about Miss Wingfield being promised to me since birth is convenient, and I fully intend to take advantage of it, but if another answer were to present itself…
Marco shook his head, as if to shake away that foolhardy inclination. Despite her obvious reluctance, Miss Wingfield was the safe bet, and Marco desperately needed a win to turn his circumstances around.
* * *