“I came upon your party quite accidentally. I heard your spirited defense of my character and could not tear myself away.”
The teasing strummed her like a bad guitarist. “If you’d been caught, it wouldn’t reflect well on your status as my husband.” Without realizing it, she poked him in the chest to emphasize her point.
He caught her gloved hand and didn’t let go when she tugged.
“Madam, you have made certain I don’t know what my true status is.”
He leaned over her now, his voice a deep rumble. She could feel his breath on her face, and the broad outline of his body seemed to cast a shadow over her. They were in full view of anyone in the garden, but Lord Blackthorne behaved as if they were alone.
She found her voice. “Lord Blackthorne, I have been honest with you about everything. And if your pride is causing you to have doubts—”
“Mypride? Madam, it is becoming clearer every day that I am not the only one who’s proud in this marriage.”
“It’s not a true marriage,” she said between gritted teeth, still trying to pull free.
But he didn’t allow it.
“No? It was a marriage when you wanted access to your money.”
“I know!” She felt confused and guilty and flustered. “But now—I don’t know what I want.”
Her breathing was erratic, and to her surprise, his gaze suddenly dipped to her breasts. For a just moment, she could have sworn his dark eyes actually smoldered with heat. He let her go, and she took two fast paces away.
“So what do we do?” he asked.
He spoke as if he’d never allowed her the briefest glimpse of ... something.
“For right now, you meet our guests.”
“Perhaps you should take my arm. I am a wounded soldier of the queen.”
She rolled her eyes at his repetition of her own words. When she would have walked past, he stuck out his elbow, almost catching her in the chest.
“My lord!” she fumed.
“Yes, I am. Please take my arm and help me inside. I am feeling the need for some feminine sympathy, and I’m not finding it out here.” He added the last with a touch of humor in his voice.
She pressed her lips together and slid her arm through his, waiting as he adjusted his cane to the other hand. She only realized she’d become cold in the shade of the ancient castle when his body seemed so very hot near hers.
Together, they walked through the glass doors. Penelope smiled, casting sidelong glances at the other ladies for their reactions. Mrs. Webster had her lorgnette closely affixed to her eye again, and Cecilia wondered if it was Lord Blackthorne’s turn to feel as inspected as horseflesh. Lady Stafford just smiled and looked him over, a bit of surprise shown, then hidden away. Miss Jenyns blushed and lowered her face to sip at her tea.
“Lord Blackthorne,” Cecilia said, “allow me to introduce my dear friends, Lady Stafford, Mrs. Webster, and Miss Jenyns.”
He bowed, then sat in a chair across from their little group. Cecilia felt she had no choice but to take the chair at his side. He seemed so very masculine, his hands dwarfing the teacup he accepted from her.
“I fear I know little of your ancestry, my lord,” Mrs. Webster said, peering at him now through her lense. “What part of England do you hail from?”
“Buckinghamshire, Mrs. Webster.”
“And your family?” she prodded again.
“My mother still resides in our country seat, along with my unmarried brother.”
“And you never came to London for the Season?”
“No, madam, and neither has my brother.”
“Eligible bachelors, connected to a title, ignoring Society?” Lady Stafford mused, her eyes glinting with humor. “How very rare.”
