Page 2 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
“The Marquess of Harley. Hadn’t you heard he’s currently in town?”
Evangeline drew in a sharp breath. She had not heard he was currently in Town; last she had heard, he was on the Continent, living a life of dissolution there. Could it be possible he’d discovered her father’s death?
“Yes,” Lord Mountsby said, reading her intake of fear as fear of the Marquess, not what his return would mean for the family. “If I may, I would strongly advise staying away from him. I’ve heard he’s got the devil of a temper if you excuse my language, and no good things come of young ladies tangling with him.”
The dance finally came to an end, and Evangeline curtsied opposite her partner. Before he could ask her anything else, or—heaven forbid—escort her anywhere else or place himself by her side all evening, she looked across to where her aunt stood, fan quivering in her hands.
“My aunt wishes to speak with me,” she said firmly. “Pray excuse me.”
“Why, yes, of course, but—” Evangeline didn’t wait to hear his garbled reason why they should remain together for the duration of the ball and fled. Emily appeared to have had a similar thought, and they arrived at their aunt’s side at a similar time.
“Did you hear?” Emily asked, her eyes wide. “The Marquess of Harley ishere.”
“Of course, I’ve heard,” Dorothea snapped, flicking her fan open and fanning her gleaming face. The heat of the ball combined with the unwanted presence of the Marquess had taken its toll. “AndI’ve seen. An unpleasant fellow.”
Evangeline glanced across to where the Marquess stood, surrounded by debutantes with cooing smiles and edged glances. His face was impassive as though he remained unaffected by all he saw. Still, he had a splendid chin and piercing eyes that, even from this distance, she saw were blue. “He does notappearunpleasant beyond the ordinary,” she ventured.
“A handsome face! What of it?” Dorothea’s fan fluttering increased. “Hisentirebody is covered in burns. They say he burned his own father alive. He is a cruel, hard man with no respect for his life or anyone else’s. As for the way he treats hisservants—I have heard such stories.”
Emily pursed her lips. “I don’t believe he is capable of such things,” she said. “Look, there, he is putting up with Miss Melton’s advances with remarkable poise.”
Miss Melton, who was determined to make a good match even if that meant intimidating a gentleman down the aisle, had abandoned fan fluttering for overtly nudging another young lady out of the way. She placed her hand on the Marquess’ arm and leaned in. Evangeline had the sneaking suspicion Miss Melton thought she was being alluring, but the overall effect of her green dress and pursed lips made her look like a frog.
As they watched, the Marquess removed his arm from her hand with enough speed it couldn’t have passed as polite, said something curt, and walked away before Miss Melton could respond.
“Well,” Emily amended, “hewasputting up with her advances admirably.”
“He is a brute.” Their aunt eyed them both sternly. “You are to dance with as many gentlemen as you can, but neither of you may dance with the Marquess.”
“Considering he does not appear to be in the mood for dancing, I hardly think that will be a problem,” Evangeline said dryly.
“What bad luck that he has returned at this time of all.” Dorothea pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her face, paying special attention to her top lip. “Well, I shall have to drive him away again. Come, Evangeline, Emily. We shall put a stop to this.” In full sail, Dorothea rose and crossed the ballroom to where other matrons of a certain, indeterminable age sat.
Evangeline, on the very outskirts of the conversation, half wishing she could avoid it altogether, toyed with the edge of her gloves and looked out across the ballroom, wishing there was but one man she might consider marrying. One would have thought it wouldn’t be too challenging, but either the selection here was particularly poor or her standards were too high.
Too fat. Too old. Too boring.
“…Gracious, how shocking! But I confess I’m unsurprised—did you hear that he seduced a noblewoman in Italy?”
“And dueled the husband,Iheard.”
Evangeline turned her attention back to the conversation. Miss Melton had also arrived and stood by her mother’s shoulder, lip curled.
“Ishouldn’t want anything to do with him,” she said in blind disregard of the fact that she had shortly before been attempting to entice him into dancing. “Atrociousmanners, and there’s something in his air I cannot like.”
“His disinclination to favor her,” Emily murmured, and Evangeline bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
“His household lives in fear of his vile temper,” another lady murmured. “My husband went to call on him the other day—to show respect, you know—and he said the butler near quivered in fear when the Marquess entered the room.”
“I have heard that, after he murdered his father, he became utterly unhinged,” their aunt said with grim satisfaction. “I hardly know what he is still doing in polite society—and if I were Lady Jersey, I would not allow him an Almack’s voucher.”
Emily leaned closer to Evangeline. “Can you believe such things of him?”
“Considering I know so little about the man, I can’t say for certain,” Evangeline whispered back. “But there must be some ground on which to base these accusations—and you saw the way he treated Miss Melton. I could easily believe him to be a murderer though itisso very shocking.”
Emily pursed her lips. Two years younger than Evangeline, at eighteen, she was the more forgiving of the two and the more inclined to think well of people. As older sisters were wont to do, Evangeline considered herself to be both more mature and worldly than her sister, though in fact she had only experienced one season more and had seen little more of the world than Emily.
“He does not look as though he could be so bad,” Emily said at last.
