Page 78 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
He arched his brows at her. “What did you expect?”My most precious treasure is currently residing here.
A second later, he frowned. “Although I’m less than impressed that you’ve already spotted them. I had instructed them to not be obvious.”
She chuckled. “Not obvious, but we don’t usually have that many street sweepers on this street.”
“Ah. I see.”
Smiling, he strolled with her into the drawing room, into the warmth and relaxed ambiance of a—relatively speaking—simple family dinner.
Immediately the dessert course was dispensed with, they all rose and, with Demon, Drago escorted Meg and Flick to the Grosjean house in Albemarle Street. Toby waved them off, saying he’d meet them at Hamilton House later.
Lady Grosjean’s soirée—a highly select affair—and the Hamilton House ball were the events Drago’s and Meg’s mothers had decreed to be the must-attend events for Drago and Meg that evening.
While no one imagined any attack would occur within the refined confines of the haut ton’s drawing rooms and ballrooms, Drago was grateful that several Cynster males were circulating among the crowd in Lady Grosjean’s drawing room. Although they all disguised the focus of their attention, their gazes constantly touched on Meg.
Just checking.
Of course, with the announcement of their wedding, which had appeared in theGazettethat morning, there were many, even among that select crowd, who wished to remind Drago and Meg and their parents—Drago’s mother and Warley had arrived ten minutes after Drago and Meg—of their existence.
Everyone who was anyone wanted an invitation to what was shaping to be the wedding of the Season, and that wasn’t solely due to the prominence of their families. Their unexpected union coupled with their equally unforeseen rush to the altar had captured imaginations in ton circles, presently devoid of any other scandal over which to whisper.
After parting from a pair of older matrons who had been insistently probing as to the reason for Meg and Drago’s “tying the knot in such a rush” and having witnessed Drago perform the remarkable feat of, successfully yet without giving offence, explaining to said matrons that inquiries such as theirs were, in fact, the principal reason, Meg murmured to her husband-to-be, “I stand in awe. That was nothing short of amazing.”
His easy smile curving his lips, Drago inclined his head. “I’m delighted that my well-known dislike of the drawing rooms and their customary inhabitants can be put to such good use in our very worthy cause.”
“Color me amazed that you pulled it off.” She sighed. “I almost wish we could tell people the truth so they would stop speculating.”
“Sadly, informing them of the truth won’t stop their imaginations. Indeed, I suspect that learning the truth would only inflame them.”
She huffed. “You’re probably right.”
“No probably about it,” he murmured and steered her to the next couple waiting to waylay them.
Meg smiled and played the role assigned to her. In truth, it required little effort; engaging with the ton was all but second nature.
But while she smiled and chatted and, with Drago, batted aside any too-intrusive questions, she was constantly aware of just how close to her he now remained and of the aura of protectiveness that emanated from him, a defensive cloud that enveloped her.
She was aware of the others, too—Denton and several of her cousins, male and female—circulating like satellites about them, yet as, in Drago’s library, the combined families had agreed that it would serve no one should the ton at large learn of the situation, all their guards were self-effacingly discreet.
She would have predicted that she would find such protectiveness cloying and irritating, but curiously, when she examined her feelings, she discovered she found the attentiveness and protectiveness reassuring. Indeed, at least in Drago’s case, she found his absolute focus on her rather revealing. Encouragement and more bloomed in her breast when she dwelled on what, beneath all else, was driving his reaction.
Finally, with her parents, and with his mother and uncle and others following, she and Drago left the soirée and traveled on to Hamilton House.
The ball was in full swing when they arrived. Despite that, their appearance in the ballroom’s doorway caused a fractional pause in conversations, and a ripple of interest flowed through the crowd.
What followed was much the same as what they’d weathered at the soirée.
“Only,” Drago murmured, resettling her arm in his, “in a much more tightly packed arena.”
As the ball would qualify as a “crush,” that was certainly true. They had to weave their way through the crowd and managed to advance by only a few feet at a time. She glimpsed several “guards” drifting through the crowd around them.
At one point, Drago lowered his head and murmured, “George, Harry, and Thomas are here as well.” Drago’s eyes danced. “We should be especially grateful that they’ve braved even a ball such as this to lend their aid.”
Meg grinned and nodded. “Will we ever live it down if one of them is unexpectedly snared while assisting us?”
Drago chuckled and raised his head. “It has to happen sometime.”
They forged on, making little headway through the crowd, many of whom could barely wait to approach them. Nevertheless, by dint of constant practice, their ability to deflect over-inquisitive queries and dance around the subject of the guest list for the wedding only grew, and by the time the musicians finally returned to play a waltz and they could escape to the dance floor, they were both smiling in quiet triumph.
