Page 80 of Not his Marchioness
How could he possibly explain?
And then he had come here and seen her with Emery, and jealousy had burst within him like a flame. None of it made sense. And now her coldness?
Whatever spark of hope had flickered within him was extinguished. He ought to be grateful.
Was he?
“Shall we dance?” he suggested, uncertain what else to do.
The waltz was about to begin, and though it might be perilous to dance in such a state of nerves, he could not endure standing idle, locked in this silent battle.
“Let us dance,” she said.
And thus they joined the other couples in the set.
“Lord Ravenscar, Lady Ravenscar,” the Duke of Windsor greeted, joining the line behind them with his wife. “How delightful, this is the sort of ball where husbands and wives may dance together!”
Rhys blinked. He had not realized it might be considered improper. At most events, gentlemen were expected to partner with unattached ladies, so that every young lady might have her chance to shine. Husbands seldom danced with their wives unless numbers were short. But looking around, he saw that it was exactly the case here.
He had not even considered propriety.
Hang propriety.
“Lovely, indeed,” Charlotte said graciously. “And you look absolutely beautiful, Your Grace,” she remarked to Windsor’s wife, who smiled.
“And you, Lady Ravenscar. Lady Woodhaven has told all and sundry about your school. What an interesting location, with such vivid history.”
“I hope that vivid history will attract a great many patrons,” Charlotte replied. “And the location is most advantageous.”
“I should say so,” the Duchess agreed. “I have already told Lady Woodhaven that we would gladly contribute to the purchase of the building.”
Charlotte beamed. “That is wonderful! I have had a great many ideas. We thought we could turn some of the rooms into bedchambers for teachers, so we might save on salaries, and perhaps attract tutors from elsewhere.”
“A splendid idea. The two of you are exactly what Society needs—young blood, with fresh ideas!” The Duchess turned to her husband. “Did I not tell you so?”
“You did,” the Duke said warmly. “And I am in full agreement, especially now that this young blood has fallen in line with what is expected of a gentleman.”
Rhys wanted to sneer. Indeed, his cheeks were already taut with the effort. But Charlotte placed her hand lightly on his arm and gave a small squeeze. That was all it took to snap him back to reality, to remind him why they were here and what they must accomplish.
He gave the Duke a brief nod. “Indeed.”
Fortunately, the crowd surged forward just then, as the master of ceremonies announced the dance. Within moments, they were on the dance floor.
Rhys turned to Charlotte. “Thank you.”
She shrugged. “I could not let you undo months of hard work, could I?”
“Of course not, especially when we are both so close to gaining exactly what we desire.”
“It went well, then? Your meeting?”
He nodded. “It did.”
As the music began, Rhys placed his hand on her back, feeling her warmth beneath his fingers. His mind flashed to the conservatory the night before, to the kiss that had felt like a release and a sentence. For he knew she would ever be a part of his life, his mind, his heart, his very soul—and nothing could change that.
They moved together in perfect step, as they had at the Swanson ball. Yet he knew there would be no kiss tonight. The air between them was too strange.
“So it went well,” she said, more firmly.
