The Marquis At Midnight by Kate Harper Page B

that was both disturbing and exciting. She
did not want to be excited. Not by this man. He was responsible for her situation
in the world; a woman alone, a widow, childless and
heartbroken.
    Yes Grace, remember the heartbroken part.
The Marquis of Morvyn broke your heart.
    That was as may be, but it did not stop
Morvyn from pursuing whatever devilment had taken hold of him. The
dance turned into a series of words, fired like balls of lead every
time the opportunity to converse came around, usually when they
were circling each other before rejoining the line.
    ‘Lady Pemberton, I wish to speak with
you.’
    ‘Indeed, sir? I cannot imagine about
what.’
    ‘That is what I wish to discuss.’
    ‘I am sorry, I am not available.’
    ‘But I have not mentioned a time.’
    ‘Any time, sir.’
    And they broke apart again.
    Several minutes later…
    ‘I do not understand why you are making this
difficult.’
    ‘Really? And yet you do not strike me as a
man who is obtuse.’
    ‘Lady Pemberton, may I please pay a call on
you tomorrow?’
    ‘Certainly not! I never receive
callers.’
    ‘You do not receive callers? Good God!’
    And once again, they parted.
    If it were anyone else, Grace would have
found the entire situation amusing, these low voiced conversations,
uttered, for the most part, with the mask of civility in place.
Under the circumstances, however, it was anything but. She did not
know what Morvyn was about, but she did know there were a dozen
reasons why she did not wish to spend more time with him than was
strictly necessary. Some were obvious, but it was the unexpected
one that ambushed her, taking her by surprise while leaving her
doubting her own good sense.
    For Grace had discovered that dancing with
the marquis, even when his arm was not holding her close, had an
extraordinary effect on her body. It was like being heated from the
inside, her earlier flush translating to the rest of her skin, so
that every part of her was suddenly sensitized. And his touch made
her tingle. Tingle! How was that even possible?
    ‘Lady Pemberton, you are a most exasperating
woman!’
    ‘I am surprised you wish to call on me
then.’
    He was silent at that, for several long
moments, then, ‘Nobody is more surprised than me, but I do. In
fact, I must.’
    How fortunate it was that the dance finished
shortly after, the men bowing low, the women dropping into a deep
curtsey. Standing, she met Morvyn’s eyes before turning away
abruptly, forcing him to move quickly to at least keep up the
appearance of escorting her from the floor.
    ‘I need to return to Hester,’ she told him
abruptly, knowing full well she sounded ridiculous. Hester was only
a few feet away, arm through her husband’s, laughing at something
he’d said, her face alight with all the happiness it had been
missing in the last few weeks.
    ‘Certainly.’
    Early as it was, Grace knew she wished to
leave. It seemed to be the only way that she could ensure no more
unexpected meetings with the marquis. His presence was a bane, once
again chasing her home, but she was suddenly tired of the noise and
the nonsense.
    Catching up with her host and hostess, who
were acting as if they had not been alternately fighting or
freezing each other out for the past week, Grace gave a strained
smile, conscious of Morvyn at her back.
    ‘I was wondering. As Porter is here now,
perhaps you might go home with him, Hester? I’m feeling very tired.
I think I would like to leave.’
    Hester looked at her with
swift concern. ‘Oh, poor Grace. But certainly you must not go by
yourself. I will accompany you,’ she shot her husband an arch look,
‘and perhaps you will accompany me ?’
    Porter smiled at her. ‘It would be my
pleasure.’
    Relief flooded through Grace, but it seemed
she was not to be rid of the persistent marquis, for he followed
them as they collected cloaks, a silent, ominous dark cloud
trailing behind her.
    Drat the man, Grace thought crossly. Why
won’t he go