Chapter 19
Willow wanted to be elsewhere. Say, beneath the sheets of her husband’s bed. Like she had been the entire night. And morning. And afternoon. At this particular moment, even the library seemed like a splendid idea for a change of location. The cloakroom would also do. Even the linen closet was not entirely off limits. In truth, anywhere in Ambrose’s arms would do.
Instead, they were attending a masked ball. Whose she had failed to notice. Her mind was all misty and fuzzy, and Willow had breezed past their host and hostess almost as if in a dream. An airy nod had been her response when Ambrose had excused himself to converse with Lord Avanley, leaving her with Poppy, who moments after accepted a dance from a masked gentleman.
Willow snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman, aware a silly grin featured on her face. The bubbly texture and sweetness of the drink was just the thing to accompany her delighted mood. In fact, she hardly glanced at the tall young man who approached her, a wolfish smile planted on his mostly obscured face.
When she continued to feel the weight of his gaze on her, Willow looked up from her champagne flute, her gaze flicking over his silver mask. It covered everything from his hairline to his upper lip. He wore a black top hat over his hair. Did she know him?
“Can I help you, sir?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Are you the Duchess of St. Ives?”
The corners of her lips lifted. “That depends.”
His smile spread. “On?”
“What precisely do you want with the duchess?”
“To better our acquaintance, of course.”
His voice. It was familiar.
“You must not have met the duchess’s husband then,” Willow murmured. For then he would know Ambrose would not tolerate a gentleman bettering anything with his wife. Her eyes traveled back to where Poppy was dancing with a nameless lord.
“Oh, I’ve met the scurrilous beast.”
“Oh?” Willow turned to him, suspicion blossoming. “Then surely you would not be so wicked as to approach his wife without a proper introduction?”
He held a hand over his heart. “Ah, but we have been introduced, my lady.”
Recognition dawned.
“Lord Jonathan?”
He laughed. “Do you not just love masked balls? They are so fun.” He offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn about the room?”
“Happily,” she replied, placing the tip of her fingers on his sleeve. Willow’s mind worked furiously. Now was the perfect time to bridge the subject of Holly and Lord Jonathan’s intentions towards Ambrose’s decree. If she could dissuade him from the marriage, it would be much easier to convince Ambrose to let the matter go.
“I must admit,” he began. “I am beyond pleased my brother married a woman equally as stubborn. I do believe you are good for him.”
A shiver shot down Willow’s spine.
“I’m thrilled you think so. I’m also quite amazed you’re not more concerned with your brother’s plans to auction you off. That does not bother you?”
“Ah, yes. Must say, never thought I’d be the victim of an arranged marriage.”
Willow scowled. “I cannot believe how blasé you are on the matter.”
Lord Jonathan cast a teasing grin her way. “Two women against my brother? If I am not concerned, my dear, it’s because I am certain you will change my brother’s cast-iron mind.”
“And you imagine that is wise?”
He winked at her. “I have lofty expectations.”
