Page 4 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
Percy’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That would not reassure her as you well know.”
For the first time, Zachary looked at his friend. At thirty, Percy was four years his senior, but the two men had been close all of Zachary’s adult life. Despite their bickering, Zachary trusted Percy as he trusted no other and if Percy was telling him to do something…
He groaned.
“The young ladies already think I’m a monster,” he said, “and if they dare attempt to manipulate me into dancing with them again—”
“I’m not asking you to dance,” Percy said quickly. “Just make conversation. Remind them, for heaven’s sake, that you are a man, not a beast.”
Zachary drowned the last of his brandy and placed the tumbler on his table. “I cannot promise you that,” he said.
* * *
Evangeline disentangled herself from the latest gentleman to dance with her. The gentlemen had not been scarce his evening, despite her being in peach, but none had attracted her even remotely.
The purpose of marriage is not to be attached to one’s husband, she told herself, but the thought of sharing her life with a man whose wandering eyes were fixed so firmly on her chest—no, it was not to be borne.
“You have made admirable progress,” her aunt said by the punch bowl. “I estimate if you keep this up that you will have three offers of marriage by the end of the month.”
“Aunt—”
“I know this is not what you want,” Dorothea said, stroking her face in an unexpectedly tender gesture, “but it is for the best. Now the Marquess is back in society; we have even less time.”
“He and Papa were not—”
“No, they were not close, but he is still a distant cousin, and family often calls on family. You must be married before then.”
Evangeline prided herself on being cheerful. When their father’s things had been found at the top of the cliff, and it had been clear he had jumped, she had been the one to find relief that the truth was so easily concealable. She had been the one to comfort her sister and remain—if not positive, for that was a step too far even for her—hopeful that the future might hold some sunshine.
At the prospect of marrying one of the gentlemen in this room, she could see nothing but rainclouds in her future, no matter how far ahead she looked.Yet if she did not marry, she would be forced to live under the thumb of the Marquess, who stood scowling in the corner of the room, a glass in his hand. As she looked over at him, a slight, blond-haired man attempted to remove the glass. With a black scowl, the Marquess tossed its contents back.
Evangeline turned away. The rumors of his temper appeared to be true, and if he were to be their guardian, she could not be certain she would escape his wrath. Beyond that, she missed her father. He had been a kind man, prone to melancholy, of course—taking his life had been evidence of that—but they’d been close. He had taken her for walks through the gardens and pointed out the different birds. Bird watching had been a passion of his that she now shared.
The thought of the Marquess, with his temper and his propensity to drink and gamble, taking over her dear papa’s estate and sending it to ruin made her throat tighten. Emily was still dancing with a gentleman she recognized as being Mr. Trimly, the son of a Viscount, and her aunt had turned away to an acquaintance. For once, Evangeline was wholly alone though she was surrounded by people.
Nobody noticed as she slipped to the very edge of the room and the double doors that led out into the gardens. The air was cooler here, and it soothed her as she hurried down the gravel paths. Her frantic heart pounded as she escaped the noise and the light and finally found silence. Peace. Calm.
She was trapped. A husband she couldn’t love—or maybe even respect if today was repeated—or a cruel guardian who may never give her independence. Or worse, he might choose her husband for her. At least now she had the luxury of choice between whoever happened to ask for her hand. Evangeline’s head drooped. This was disastrous.
For the first time since the news of her father’s death, she closed her eyes and let a few tears slip through. Then a few more. Before she knew it, she was crying in the most unattractive manner. There were tears, great snotty gasps, and strangled sobs, as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and mourned the loss of the life she’d known and loved.
And the loss of her father, whom she’d also known and loved. The two were interconnected, splintering off from one another. Her father’s death meant her expected future had shattered, and as for the manner of his death…Oh, that was the worst part of all.
Evangeline was crying so hard, she didn’t notice the footsteps approaching from the house.
* * *
Zachary escaped the ballroom as a fox might flee chasing hounds—with both fear and surprisingly dexterity. He had consumed enough brandy by now that the world had taken on a rather distant sheen, but he nevertheless found his footing as he clambered out of the window and left the ruckus behind him.
He probably shouldn’t have taken such offense at that young lady—if ‘lady’ was an appropriate term for the girl who had come at him with such terrifying intention. Percy had been right that a multitude of sins could be forgiven if one was in possession of a title, but Zachary had never wished more that he didn’t have a title. Or anything, in fact, that brought him into the public eye, so he could be scorned and reviled.
Because, damn it, he should not have lost his temper.
The girl was an irritation—an extremely determined irritation who persisted in disregarding his dismissals—but not a threat as such. She may have decided she intended to dance with him, but that did not mean he was in any way obliged to dance with her. He ought not to have given her a public set-down about the sentiments of men who refused her advances.
Zachary wandered down the garden, past the statues and the hedges and the delicate, tinkling water features. The night air only illustrated how inebriated he was. Another mistake, but he’d failed to see how he could endure the night without it.
A sob caught his beleaguered attention. And another. A woman was crying. The sound caught him off guard, and he was momentarily frozen. Perhaps the thing to do was to back away. Beat a hasty retreat and leave the poor lady to whatever ailed her. And yet, Zachary didn’t move.
