Page 6 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
“Thatmuch is evident,” she said tartly. “You would not be here if you had not drunk too much.”
“And yet, I cannot find it within myself to regret it, for now I am here with you.”
“You are too drunk to make such claims.”
“I would beg to differ.” He closed his eyes to the view from the stars. “I may be drunk, but you are no figment of my imagination, and I find speaking with you easier than I have found speaking with anyone in a long time.”
“A tragic statement,” she said, a strange note to her voice, “and yet… for at least today’s ball, I suppose I could say the same. Although I will attribute that in a large part to my unfortunate partners.”
“If you have no wish to dance, my advice to you would be not to.” He lay back on the grass as the world slowly spun around him. “There are other ways of attracting men if that is your goal.”
“Oh, and I suppose you would know all about it?” she demanded. “Do these methods of attracting men take place in a ballroom or some other establishment I should not be allowed to step foot in?”
He chuckled. When she was angry, she had a rather delightful rasp to her voice. “I merely meant you could engage them in conversation,” he said. “Although now you put me in mind of it—”
“I have no wish to know,” she said hurriedly. “Pray do not tell me anything more you might know about suchestablishments.”
“Very well.”
They lapsed into silence. Zachary stared at the faint haze from where the moon was hiding behind its clouds. In truth, he hardly knew why he was here. Redemption, he supposed, though that was an odd thing to think when he had done so little to be worthy of redemption.
Perhaps this was all a mistake. Returning to London had done nothing so far except remind him of why he had left in the first place.
Perhaps he should leave. At yet… something about the girl and the openness that lay in the darkness between them made him want to stay.
ChapterThree
Of all things, Evangeline hadn’t expected a man to approach her. Particularly not a drunken man. Andparticularlynot a drunken man who had stretched himself out on the grass as though he belonged there—as though the world was his for the taking if only he wished to take it.
“I have a question,” he said, almost lazily, as though the question was intriguing, but he cared little for the answer. “Are you being forced into marriage because you feel it’s the only choice left to you or because someone else is forcing your hand?”
“What does it matter to you?” she returned and was rewarded by another chuckle. Whatever anger he had experienced was now totally gone, replaced by gentle amusement. Part of her wondered ifshecould be the cause, but that was ludicrous. He had stumbled across her crying. Drunk or not, she could not have expectedthatto be a circumstance to amuse him unless he was especially cruel, and she did not think him cruel.
“My mother has similar wishes for me,” he said.
“You forget your position as a gentleman allows you rather more freedom in that direction,” she said, unable to hold back her bitterness. “You maychoosewhether to marry.”
“So, someone elseisforcing your hand.”
“My situation forces my hand.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes until fireworks bloomed on her eyelids. “As for you—you come here drunk and frustrated because people don’t like you but accept you have some of the blame.”
“If I were sober, I might be offended,” he said, a slightly harder note in his voice.
Anonymity had made her brave, but she had gotten carried away. Her fists clenched. “You promised me I might say how I feel without consequence.”
“Then let me inform you that the primary source of the dislike is something beyond my control,” he said, the hardness in his voice not abating. “I may dislike the opinion society has of me, but I cannot change it.”
Evangeline looked across at the man lying on the grass so close to her. He had made, as he had promised, very little attempt to discover her identity, and although he was very clearly extremely drunk, his faculties remained unimpaired. He was more shadow than man here, and although they had agreed not to discover each other’s identity, she found herself wonderingwhohad come here in this way. Certainly, no one she had danced with. No one indeed whose voice she recognized—it was low and surprisingly smooth though he slurred the odd word.
As though he sensed her study, he turned. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt the weight of his stare.
“Have you yet discovered who I am?” he asked, a mocking note to his voice.
“No. Do you know who I am?”
“I do not, little mouse.” He sat up. “Although I confess now to being curious.”
“You were not before?”
