She huffed out a sigh, and her gaze darted to his. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Your Grace?”
Did he? It was nonsense, surely. What he’d felt when he met Mellicent at Brighton was a pleasant distraction from his depressive mood. He’d convinced himself of that during his exile at Haverstock Hall. Hadn’t he? He had thought himself in love once. But his love had not been returned. Gene hadn’t given thought to Barbara in years. Not since she married Massey. “I don’t believe so. Do you?”
“Oh yes, I do. Definitely.” Her eyes widened, and her pretty mouth dropped slightly. He’d disappointed her. What a dull dog he was.
He enjoyed looking at her. Her softly rounded chin had a mischievous dimple. He was sorry powder had disguised her freckles. He imagined releasing her luxurious red hair from its pins to fall over her shoulders, scattering flowers. She looked like a flower herself. One of his Aunt Philomena’s prized roses.
The musicians struck up, and he took her in his arms. With her narrow back beneath his hand, Gene was stunned to realize how much he wanted to believe in love at first sight.
Warning bells sounded in his head, only to be dismissed as he drew in her sweet perfume and listened to her tinkling laugh as she explained her theory. It was a lot of nonsense, he told himself, but he laughed with her. He supposed it had some merit. He recalled a few couples that might lay claim to it. His good friends were happy and settled. Nicholas, Marquess of Pennington, admitted to falling immediately for his duchess, Carrie, although he didn’t feel able to declare it or even admit it to himself for some months. Charles and Nellie, the Duke and Duchess of Shewsbury, danced past them with a smile of greeting. Their arranged marriage had a rocky beginning, but they were completely besotted with each other.
But then he recalled the disastrous unions and those of his friends who strayed into another’s arms. That was not for him. If he married, he would remain loyal to his wife, which only underlined how difficult marriage could be if it failed.
“You have become contemplative, Your Grace.” She raised her chin to observe him and stunned him when her enchanting eyes filled with concern. But he didn’t want sympathy. He wanted to draw her closer into his arms, to taste her lips. To allow her exuberance to bring hope into his life, and to offer her his strength and protection. Something he sensed she needed, although the reason for it remained unclear. “Is it a duty you must perform to dance with debutantes?”
Surprised by her perspicacity, he sought to deny it. “I can’t imagine a more pleasant duty if that were so.”
“I am glad you came to London.”
Put so simply and sincerely, she startled him. Debutantes were not ordinarily quite so…direct. Some were awestruck and said nothing at all, others attempted to flatter or flirt. Her honesty struck at his heart, and he feared Lady Mellicent could quickly get under his skin. “You are? Why?”
“Because you looked so sad when I saw you in Brighton.” She flushed. “But I didn’t know then, of course. I am most dreadfully sorry about your brother. Were you very close?”
“Yes, we were.”
The music stopped, and the dance ended. She took his arm and gazed up at him as they crossed the floor. “You seem a little better.”
“Can it be because I’ve danced with a lovely lady?” He felt sure it was. Could he get away with another dance without stirring gossip?
She smiled. “If that is so, then I am glad.”
He led her to where her mother sat talking to a gentleman, sternly reminding himself how wrong he was for marriage, how unfair to draw her into his world. Not in her first Season, with the world at her feet. She deserved so much more than he could offer her: a devoted lover and companion. Someone to make her laugh. It would be selfish and far too cruel.
Her hand stiffened on his arm, and he glanced down at her. She stared ahead at her mother and the gentleman he recognized. The baron, Alfred Pallthorpe. A man he’d taken an instant dislike to when they’d met last year. And apparently, Mellicent disliked him, too. Was he the reason for her distress? For distress, it clearly was. He could feel the tension build as they approached her mother.
He bowed to Pallthorpe, who eyed him coolly, and remained long enough to converse with Lady Abbersley. They discussed the last ball and the coming events when the hunting season began. Pallthorpe did not attempt to join in their conversation, his obsessive gaze on Mellicent.
Gene bowed and took his leave. As he walked away, he heard her mother say, “Lord Pallthorpe claims the supper dance, my dear.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Mellicent. She watched him. Was that a cry for help he saw in her eyes?
Not wishing to watch her dance with Pallthorpe, Gene left the ballroom for his club, Whites, in search of friends who might share a bottle of whiskey. Since Harry died, his sleep was often disturbed, and he’d taken to retiring close to dawn.
*
As Mellie dancedwith Pallthorpe, she tried to ignore his damp, gloved hand on the small of her back and his eyes always assessing her, while she constantly searched the crowded ballroom for the duke. When she failed to find him, her chest felt oddly hollow. There was no one she could talk to. She couldn’t confess her feelings for the duke to her sister, Vivian, who was too young to understand, and her brother would accuse her of being too dramatic. Her mother would say it was her tender nature, drawn to a man who suffered a terrible loss. But Mellie knew what it was. It was love at first sight. But although Chandos had listened patiently to her views, he didn’t believe in it. And he had gone and left her with Pallthorpe.
“Who do you search for, Lady Mellicent?” Pallthorpe asked, forcing her to gaze into his small hazel eyes, which reminded her of boiled sweets.
“Why, no one? I wonder what time the ball ends?” She widened her eyes. “How rude of me. I apologize, but I am most dreadfully tired. It’s because I’m not used to keeping such late hours.”
A fire lit his eyes. “You are not long in society, Lady Mellicent. You will grow accustomed to late nights. Your husband will insist on it, both at balls and at home.” His heated gaze was provocative. Mellie did not miss his meaning, and it made her slightly ill.
Her cheeks flushed. “I should hope the gentleman I choose to marry will be more considerate. I have seen the way you treat your horses, sir.”
“Horses need to learn who is their master.”
“But not wives.”