The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen Page B

silk gardenias are perfect.”
    Brigitte began to tuck the flowers into Charity’s hair. “Superb,” Lord Southmore said. “Now, I recommend — “
    “Emeralds,” a sharp voice came from the doorway.
    Charity turned to find her husband entering the room, a muscle clenching in his jaw. She trembled at his steely expression, but raised her chin and held his gaze.
    Lord Southmore rose and bowed. “St Malin. You are just in time for the gown.”
    “So I see,” Robert said through his teeth.
    Charity hurried behind the painted screen. She slipped off the wrap. Brigitte helped her step into the gown, then her deft fingers worked at the hooks.
    Brigitte smoothed a silk ruffle. “There, my lady.” Charity stepped out to face the two men.
    “Perfect. I was right about the color enhancing your eyes,” Lord Southmore said, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t you say, St Malin?”
    Robert’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t answer. He opened a velvet box. She expected the diamonds, but he drew from it an exquisite emerald necklace. The deep green stones, set in a bed of diamonds, looked like pretty spring flowers. He tossed the box to the maid and clasped the necklace around Charity’s throat.
    Charity felt his fingers at the nape of her neck. She anxiously watched his face in the mirror. He looked as if he would prefer to throttle her rather than adorn her with jewels. She would not allow him to spoil the evening.
    “Thank you, St Malin.” The use of his title felt strange on her tongue, and she saw by the surprise in his eyes that she’d scored a hit. “Another beautiful necklace. I declare you spoil me.” She turned to Lord Southmore. “And my thanks to you, my lord, for your skillful artistry.”
    Lord Southmore bowed. “A pleasure.”
    She took her cloak and gloves from Brigitte. “Shall we go, gentlemen?” The tension in the carriage was thick enough to cut with a knife, and little was said beyond inanities. Charity sat beside Robert, but he held his body away from her and gazed out the window.
    Lord Southmore on the other hand looked entirely relaxed and smiled at her.
    Charity found herself comparing the two men as they approached the ballroom. Robert’s shoulders were squarer and his was the more powerful build. Southmore was lankier. Robert had a kind of smoldering intensity he kept under guard. Southmore was cool. He treated life and women lightly, she suspected.
    The orchestra tuned their instruments in the balcony overlooking the ballroom as they were announced. When the music began, Robert partnered Charity in a minuet, surrounded by ladies and their partners like jewels in their colorful finery. Over their heads, sparkling chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with frolicking cherubs.
    When the dance ended, Charity made an effort to lighten the atmosphere. She curtsied low and fluttered her fan like a merry lady. “Thank you, my lord. You dance divinely.”
    He glowered at her. “Don’t do that, Charity.”
    Crushed, she widened her eyes. “Do what? Don’t curtsey?”
    “Don’t cheapen yourself by acting the flirt.”
    She looked at him open-mouthed, struggling to understand him. “All the women here act that way.”
    “Not you. It doesn’t suit you.”
    Robert bowed and excused himself. She sadly watched him walk towards the gaming tables. She obviously was not what he wanted and could never be.
    Robert settled himself at a faro table and tried to concentrate. He had been mean again and had no right. His adult life up to now had been ordered and without conflict, he’d carefully seen to it. But now he struggled with see-sawing emotions quite out of his control, and he had no idea how to come to grips with them. How could he explain to Charity that he had come to value her naturalness and her honesty? He didn’t wish to see her turn into a jade whose falsehoods tripped from the tongue? Was it inevitable in this company that she would? He couldn’t bear to