Page 60 of Not his Marchioness
Should he release her hand? Would that draw more attention? Why hadn’t she released his? In fact, he noted that her fingers were curled around his hand, holding on tight, as though she didn’t want him to let go no matter what.
It was a conundrum. When had he ended up in a situation like this, pondering whether to let go of a hand or not?
He was Rhys Ellingsworth, London’s number two rake, and he was wondering if he should let go of his wife’s hand and what sort of message it might convey to her.
Who was to say? They stayed as they were, and fortunately, after another minute or two, the music started, and they stepped onto the dance floor.
As they twirled, moved, and changed partners only to find one another again, Rhys could not take his eyes off her. There was something about her. Something special. And yet he knew that she still saw him as nothing but a convenience, as he should see her.
After all, she had barely listened to him when he first told her about the ball. She hadn’t even known when it would take place or what it was about. She had forgotten about the costume until he suggested it. It was clear that her mind was on her school and on a time when she could finally be free of him.
And yet here he was, thinking about her more than he should. Thinking about her with such intensity that he could have shattered a glass in his hand.
It was ridiculous.
“My Lord,” Charlotte said, drawing his attention. He blinked and looked at her. “I think your business partners are watching us.”
Rhys glanced over his shoulder and saw Lord Barley looking in their direction and smiling. He noted that several of his other business partners were also there, most watching them.
Well, their charade was working, that he knew. Perhaps the best he could do at this point was to keep up the pretense. Help her find a location for her school and ensure that all her plans were set. Then, once he knew that his standing was firmly cemented once more, they could go their separate ways.
They could pretend to quarrel in public. They could have the ballet mistresses and lady’s maids spread rumors about their romance and how it was slowly souring. Then, they could part ways—he in whatever direction he chose, and she in her preferred location. And that would be that.
They would have to see one another on occasion, of course, but they would have their freedom. That was what they had always wanted—freedom from each other’s company.
So why did his heart clench at the mere thought?
CHAPTER 23
It was happening again. Something within him was shifting. This time, Charlotte literally saw it on his face. The light in his eyes dimmed as he looked at his business partners and then back at her.
They had gotten along so wonderfully. They had laughed. They had jested for a brief period. She had even believed that something more might be growing between them, but now she saw the tension creep back into his shoulders as they danced.
What was wrong with him? Why did he always change so much? He was the most mercurial of men.
“It seems your business partners are enthralled with our performance.”
“Yes, we are rather good at it, aren’t we?” he said, a certain melancholy in his words.
“I thought perhaps later we could take a turn about the room, talk to a few more people like we did with the Duke of Windsor. I think it is quite helpful when it comes to making our story believable.”
“Our story. It is the most important thing after all, isn’t it?” he muttered bitterly.
“Well, it is why we—” She broke off, fighting the urge to snap.
“I think we have done quite enough,” he said. “I wanted them to see us dancing, and I wanted us to be seen together, and now they have. Windsor was thoroughly charmed by you, as well. You do not need to stay by my side for the rest of the evening if you do not wish to. Of course, we may take a turn about the room if you wish. But perhaps it’s not necessary.”
She waited, then their dance ended, and they walked off the dance floor.
“Is something the matter?” she asked. “You seem to have changed.”
“Changed?” He pulled his shoulders back and straightened to his full height. “I do not know what you mean. I have not changed in the least.”
“Right,” she uttered. “Well then, I shall go and get some refreshments.”
“Good.” He turned around. “I will see you at the door in about an hour.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command. There were a few things that bothered Charlotte as much as being ordered about.
