Michael stiffened. Schooling his expression, he turned to face him. “Lord Grovington.”
The marquess’ lips pulled apart into what Michael assumed was meant to be a smile. “I had hoped to speak with you alone.”
“Is there a matter you wished to discuss, my lord?”
“No, nothing quite that serious,” the marquess said, waving a beefy hand in dismissal. “I only wished to have a conversation;you see. I was such close friends with the late duke so I do understand the toll his death may be taking on you.”
“Do you truly?”
“Quite so, Your Grace. He left such a legacy behind. I hope his business has retained its reputation?”
Michael took a measured sip of his whiskey, granting himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He had no desire to disclose any details of the matter to the marquess. Travelling all over London to gather information about his father’s wrongful conviction had been difficult enough. Adding managing the affairs of the dukedom and the shipping business had only made it more so. The last thing Michael intended to do was explain all of that to Lord Grovington, especially since he knew the marquess to be a rival in the industry.
“It has been trying,” he said at last. “But I have managed.”
“Managed, have you? That is quite admirable.”
“Yes, well, my father raised me to stand in his stead when the time came. It is only a pity that the time had to come so soon.”
“A pity, yes.” Lord Grovington took a slow sip as well. The silence deepened between them but Michael refused to be the first to break it. “I take it you have returned to London to partake in this year’s Season?”
“Only to support my sister.”
“Did she not debut last year? I would have expected your support then.”
Michael was able to recognise that the questioning was rather intentional. He just couldn’t figure out what the marquess’ aim was. So he had to give careful responses, neither denying nor confirming anything the marquess was insinuating.
“And since I was not present last year, I ensure that I was this time around,” he said at last.
“That is quite admirable, Your Grace. A remarkable trait in a gentleman such as yourself.”
Michael, not trusting the marquess’ intention, only nodded.
“Of course, it is a duke’s duty to marry and bear an heir,” Lord Grovington went on. “Someone to carry on the lineage. I’m sure you know that.”
“I am aware.”
“Marvelous. And advantageous matches are made all the time. After all, the right alliance can do wonders for rehabilitating one’s…reputation.”
There it was. Michael gritted his teeth, suppressing a grimace. The last thing he wished was to deal with the marquess’s attempts to match him with his daughter.
“That is certainly true, my lord,” he answered carefully. “And it is something I shall bear in mind when I do decide to marry. Which, I assure you, shall not be for some time to come.”
Lord Grovington’s listless smile finally fell, eyes hardening. “You should take care not to let the good ladies slip out of your grasp, Your Grace.”
“There will always be more.”
Lord Grovington didn’t like that response at all. The tension seeping into the air around them would have been enough to stifle him if he’d cared. But it didn’t matter to Michael what the marquess thought about him in this moment. The only thing he cared about was ensuring his plan was fulfilled, that he got the chance to taste sweet, sweet vengeance at last. Lord Grovington and Lady Isabella were the last of his worries.
Before any further words could pass between the two men, Lord Jones's voice resonated through the room. “Let us all make haste to the…” He trailed off, eyes rolling to the back of his head in obvious intoxication. Michael was almost certain that he would topple over. But then his eyes returned to its rightful place and he continued. “...to the drawing room.”
At long last! That was the only reason Michael hadn’t upped and left this dreaded ball already.
The men began to file out of the room, even those who had been in the middle of playing billiards. As he exited, Michael caught Lord Abney’s gaze, attempting to mask his unease at the viscount’s penetrating stare.
Everything else fell to the back of his mind as he made his way to the drawing room, led by the stumbling Lord Jones. He had a plan to carry out. It had nothing to do with the odd tingle of excitement he felt at the thought of seeing Lady Elaine again. He’d tortured himself with the sight of her across the table during dinner, so close yet so far, and had thought of a hundred different things he would like to say to her. Now was his chance.
His gaze fell immediately upon her as he stepped into the room. Not to his surprise, she’d pushed herself into the farthest corner she could find. Whatdidsurprise him, however, was that she was not alone.
