The hand clutching the crystal glass shook all the more. Her face had paled too.
“If you would excuse me.” Allan put down his own glass.
“Oh good,” Stephen said offhandedly to Gerard as Allan left. “His mind is all consumed with his new wife. It is a good sign, isn’t it?”
Allan didn’t have the time to rise to the bait of such a taunt. He had to see his wife at once.
As he halted just a couple of feet from his wife, he saw indeed that Frederica was ill at ease. She was as pale as ice and couldn’t meet the gaze of the man before her.
Allan looked at the man, recognizing him from events where they had been introduced in passing.
Lord Wetherington.
“Frederica?” Allan declared, moving to her side. “Shall we share that dance now? The one you promised me earlier?” he said, forcing the matter. He offered his hand to Frederica, but she didn’t take it right away.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Frederica blinked, numbly.
What dance?
Allan had not asked her for a dance. He had not spoken of his intent to reserve a dance at all.
“Your wife looks rather startled by the idea of dancing with you, Lord Padleigh,” Lord Wetherington laughed loudly. “Perhaps she has changed her mind already about you?”
Frederica felt the fear pass over her again, as if a chill had fallen on the room. It was the same fearful sensation which had greeted her when she had first seen Lord Wetherington approaching her.
She had tried to believe these last few days that he couldn’t be in London at all, that she had not bumped into him because he was far away somewhere. Yet she had been wrong. Just as she had been wrong about the hope that his letters meant nothing.
The first thing he had asked her on his approach was if she had received his letters.
Allan pushed his hand more firmly toward Frederica. She reached out and took it as swiftly as she could.
“A dance would be lovely, yes, please,” she said.
“If you would excuse us, Lord Wetherington.” Lord Padleigh inclined his head toward Lord Wetherington. “I must claim my wife from you now.”
Lord Wetherington’s cool eyes washed over Frederica. She felt a lurch in her stomach — a fearful one that curled her gut. The way he looked at her reminded her too much of that night in her parents’ library.
She didn’t doubt that if she left the ballroom at any point this evening to visit the privy or go outside for some fresh air, he would follow her.
He makes me sick.
“Before you part, at least let me give you both my sincere congratulations.” Lord Wetherington bowed deeply. He affected such a good look of poise and well wishes that Frederica’s jaw slackened. “You are indeed a fortunate man, Lord Padleigh. A fine woman you have for a wife.”
His eyes swept over Frederica, and she gripped Allan’s hand a little harder.
“I know how lucky I am,” Allan said, his voice deep and abrupt. She looked at him in surprise. There appeared to be a muscle ticking in his jaw, a stiffening which betrayed just how ill at ease he was too. “Freddie?” he whispered to her, leading her away.
Something warm spread through her at hearing that nickname again. It was something intimate that only they shared.
They moved to the side of the room. Rather than Allan escorting her toward the dance floor, he chose a quiet corner, half hidden behind a burning candelabra.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice somewhat firm.
“I’m fine now,” she whispered.
“You looked… well, frightened.”
