Page 3 of Not his Marchioness
She pressed her thumb and forefinger together as her thoughts raced. And then an idea came to her.
She smiled at her aunt. “You are right, Aunt Eugenia. I should attend the soirée. Please send my maid. I’ll get ready at once.”
The only way she could stop the arrangement before the ink dried on her father’s proposal was to cause a scandal. A scandal—no, aspectacleso large, so shameful, that even someone like Lord Emery wouldn’t want to marry her afterward.
And thanks to Evelyn, she had learned something about making such a spectacle.
Tonight would be the night to put all that knowledge to use.
CHAPTER 2
Rhys leaned against the wall, one leg casually crossed over the other, swirling the brandy in his glass. The amber liquid sloshed dangerously near the rim but never spilled. The tedium of the musical soirée threatened to lull him into sleep right there. Until Gideon Marsh approached, a plate ofhors d’oeuvresin hand.
“Here, let this occupy you for a while,” Gideon said, thrusting the plate toward him.
Rhys raised an eyebrow but obediently plucked a bite off the platter—a thinly baked piece of bread piled high with cheese and something green. He popped it into his mouth, trying to distinguish the flavors, but the cheese overpowered everything else. He winced and pushed the plate back, swallowing a hearty sip of brandy to chase it down.
“Pray take that out of my sight. That may be the most dreadful thing I’ve eaten recently.”
“Very well.” Gideon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now, are you enjoying yourself?” He wiggled his eyebrows in amusement.
“I would rather ride a horse through a densely wooded forest backward—with a blindfold—than endure another moment of this.” Rhys’s tone was dry as dust.
Gideon scoffed. “Oh, you’re positively theatrical. You’re a marquess now. This is what you’re made for—theatre, opera, fancy dinners, musical soirées.”
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into coming here,” Rhys muttered, shaking his head and downing the last of his brandy. “If you were a true friend, you’d have taken me to Teta’s or Vauxhall Gardens. But no, it must be here.”
“Indeed, it must. Lady Swanson is my godmother. You know this very well.”
“Yes, and I—” He paused as a murmur rippled through the room, punctuated by gasps and a swell of animated conversation.
Rhys turned his head just in time to see a young woman storm into the room.
She was a vision, for more reasons than one.
First, her dress. A shocking shade of red, as ripe and bold as a tomato, and decidedly out of fashion for the Season. But more than that, she had revealed it in an equally dramatic manner,shrugging off a silver and white pelisse that now lay abandoned behind her on the floor, as though she had just stepped out of her dressing chamber instead of into a grand ballroom.
She stood, her hands planted on her hips, her expression unreadable from Rhys’s vantage point. Her blonde hair swept around her shoulders as she turned left and right, clearly ensuring she had everyone’s undivided attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” she called, her voice rising above the strings of the quartet. “Forgive me for intruding on your evening—and forgive me, Lady Swanson—but I have an announcement. I promise it will not be long.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “This ought to be interesting.”
“You will thank me for bringing you yet,” Gideon muttered under his breath.
“I just may,” Rhys murmured. “A spectacle such as this—I haven’t seen one in some time.”
The lady continued, her cheeks flushed with determination. “My father, the Earl of Lowey, has in the past year decided to marry off my eldest sister to an octogenarian. Yes, a man old enough to be her great-grandfather. It was only through Providence that she escaped such a fate and instead married a truly remarkable gentleman.”
A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the crowd.
“And yet,” she said, “it seems my father has learned nothing from that debacle. He has now decided to marry me off as well, to a gentleman of his choosing: Lord Emery.”
Gideon turned toward Rhys, his face contorting with distaste. “Emery? The one rumored to have pushed his maid out the window?”
“Did he really?” Rhys asked, more intrigued now. “I hadn’t heard.”
“You hadn’t?” Gideon’s eyebrows flew up. “I’d have thought you’d know everything about the man who’s trying to knock you off your pedestal as the most talked-about lord in London.”
