The waltz—of all the dances, this was the one dance she genuinely would not wish to dance with anyone at all. The intimacy of it had always struck her as overpowering. She had to turn him down, but before she could form a response, Eammon’s heavy presence loomed behind her.
“Excuse me, my lord,” he intoned sharply, having seized Lord Barron’s hand. “But my wife and I are about to dance the waltz. If you wish to engage in an intimate dance with a lady, I strongly urge you to find a wife of your own and not bother mine.” The words flowed from his lips like a series of harsh slaps, leaving Charity captivated. Was Eammon jealous? The thought had not previously occurred to her.
“Come, Charity,” he said, using that tone she despised. They proceeded to the line of dancers streaming onto the floor. Once they were positioned, he placed his hand on her waist. She felt the grip of his hand digging in, not unpleasantly, but rather in a manner both possessive and reassuring. He took her hand and gazed at her with eyes as steely as iron.
“I thought you claimed you did not wish to dance,” he remarked.
She blinked at him. “I asked you earlier, and you asserted that we could not because it was improper for husband and wife to dance together,” she stated. “If I might remind you, it is rather an antiquated way of thinking, especially at a private function.”
The music commenced, and he led her into the dance, tightening his grasp.
“That was before I witnessed your readiness to allow another man to dance with you this waltz,” he said evenly.
“I did not wish to dance the waltz with him,” she retorted. “I would have preferred to dance with you. You made it quite evident you did not desire to dance with me until you perceived another’s interest.”
He scoffed lightly as they twirled to the sound of the music. “I shall not have another man dancing with my wife without my knowledge. We must demonstrate to these people that you belong with me.”
“And you with me,” she replied, disliking the notion of being reduced to an object.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Everyone shall know that we belong to one another.” He raised an eyebrow. “This verbiage seems to suit you better.”
She nodded, indeed it did.
“Do you know to whom this gentleman is related?” she added.
He nodded. “I am well aware that Miles Farnsworth is Lord Markham’s cousin. They are thick as thieves.”
She inhaled sharply. “That is what I suspected, despite his attempts to convince me otherwise. He attempted to persuade me that they are not closely connected and that he disapproves of Lord Markham’s actions against me. He outright confessed that Markham was the one to spread the rumors about me at Stafford House.”
“Rumors?” he replied, tilting his head to one side. “I am unaware of this.”
“Before your arrival, all manner of horrid stories were shared regarding me. Lord Millie believed that the best way to extricate me from the arrangement my mother sought with Markham was to drive me into the arms of another suitor. She thought the most effective means to accomplish this was to have another man dance with me. No one would acquiesce until one of her friends divulged the reason.” She shuddered. “Scandalous tales were being spun about me that could have ruined me…”
“If I had not arrived and compelled you to marry me instead?” he asked, a slight smile resting on his lips. “Are you stating that I rescued you from more than one unfortunate fate?”
She loathed to admit it, yet it was true. “Yes, you did,” she conceded. “I believe our marriage was the only reason such stories did not find their way into the scandal sheets.”
“Well, yes. The only thing the scandal sheets revel in more than a scandal is a grand scandal. And our marriage, this tale we have spun and the fact it took place at a registry office, no less, was surely the grandest scandal of this season. You are most welcome.”
Why did he invoke such a storm of emotions within her? One moment she adored him, and the next, he was undeniably infuriating. She yearned to distance herself from him, yet simultaneously desired for him to hold her closer. Indeed, as they danced, she felt the muscles moving beneath his shirt in a manner that suggested what the rest of his form might feel like.
As she danced, she could not help but wish for him to draw her closer, so that she might rest her head against his chest and feel his body move against her. She looked up and saw the slight smirk still on his lips, pondering what those lips might feel like against hers.
But then, a moment later, all such thoughts dissipated, replaced by the general expectation he invariably inspired within her.
“Do you not think Lord Markham sent Lord Barron here because he was aware he could incite seeds of mistrust between us?”
“I do not doubt it,” he responded, casting a glance over his shoulder at Lord Barron, who stood with several gentlemen, currently preoccupied with a snuff box. “What did he say?”
“He implied that I possessed something that many gentlemen coveted, and I do not believe he referred to my accomplishments or my beauty,” she replied. “He hinted that you had gotten what many desired.”
The smile faded from Eammon’s lips, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“It is true; many sought your hand. But I am the one who claimed you. And whether you care for it or not, we are bound to one another. We shall ensure that it remains that way; should you find yourself alone again, men such as Markham will not hesitate to attempt to claim you.”
“But why?” she asked, perplexed.
He opened his lips, and for a fleeting moment, she believed he might divulge the full truth. Yet he closed his mouth again and leaned forward, so much so that their shoulders brushed against one another. She felt his breath rush across her skin, and then his voice whispered in her ear. “You need not worry. You are safe now with me.”
