He set down his punch and swept her onto the dance floor without another word. She expected him to be a good dancer, light-footed and graceful. He was better than good; he was divine. His build had seemed so slender, almost willowy. Yet this close, with their bodies braced together at every turn, he was stronger and more solid than she’d imagined.
“What, precisely, are you doing at a gathering for mostly impressionable young people, sir?” she demanded.
“I was invited. A gentleman who is willing to dance is always a prized commodity—and no doubt I’d make some sweet young thing a suitable husband.”
“You?”
“Why not? I’m generally considered a sensible, reliable man. And even you must acknowledge: I turn heads wherever I go.”
She wasn’t about to acknowledge that, even though she saw, out of the periphery of her spinning vision, young women gawking at them—at him. “Are you not living in dire poverty?”
“Do I look it?”
She had to admit he didn’t. His clothes, if anything, were on the extravagant side. “Impressionable young women have less impressionable mamas who are better informed about your pennilessness. And even if some foolish matron thinks you’ll do for a son-in-law, why would you want to do it? Isn’t it a bit like going to a symphonic concert when you are deaf?”
“No, more like taking someone who prefers music hall to a symphonic concert. It’s not my cup of tea. But should all the music halls in England burn down, and I’m desperate for music, I will make do with a symphonic concert.”
Meaning he was quite capable of going to bed with a woman. Somehow she managed not to step on his toes while the significance of his words sank in.
“And since you demand absolute discretion from me, a married man is less likely to be suspect, no?”
“I should dearly pity the young woman on whom you choose to spring this deception,” she said severely.
“Now that is harsh, Miss Bessler.”
“No more than you deserve.”
“I believe I deserve better from you, but that’s a different topic altogether.” He wheeled her out of the way of an inept couple careening around the ballroom. “Do you think there is not one grown-up, sophisticated young lady in all of London who would find marriage to me an acceptable bargain?”
“What is in the bargain for her, other than your penury and your certain-to-come philandering?”
“I’ve been to quite a few symphonic concerts on both sides of the Channel, for one thing, so I’m well at ease with…symphonic concerts. I’ll be a suitably attentive husband, as I’ve no ambition that would keep me at the Palace of Westminster six months out of the year. And she would be the only woman for me—my heart, my anchor, my day, and my night.”
He spoke with an unwavering gaze and a sardonic smile, all the while steering a perfectly elliptical path around the ballroom.
Her heart beat fast, and not from the dancing. “What of music hall?”
“What’s a little music hall in a marriage with much mutual affection and a great deal of symphonic concerts?”
She heated in places that should never heat for him. Valiantly she ignored the sensations. “Why have you been to so many symphonic concerts when your natural inclination is for music hall?”
“Convenience. Availability. Acquired taste. Who knows?” He shrugged with one shoulder. “And who cares?”
“I do,” she said tightly. “The last thing I want is a promiscuous man who goes on a boudoir rampage while hungering for what a woman cannot give him.”
“But you and I will not be attending symphonic concerts together anytime soon, will we, Miss Bessler?” He gave her a look that was as arch as any she’d ever doled out to cloddish suitors. “And as long as my wife is well pleasured and happy, I can’t think why you would have cause to complain.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “You are a very trying man, Mr. Marsden.”
“You are a very prejudiced woman, Miss Bessler.”
“You’ve earned my prejudice, Mr. Marsden.”
“True enough. Allow me to apologize. I never meant to distress you in any way and I’m sorry that I did.” He looked into her eyes. “Forgive me.”
She did step on his toes this time—his apology was even more unexpected than his offer of friendship had been. The music came to an end. He let go of her, offered her his arm, and walked her back to the periphery of the ballroom.
She eyed him, not sure how much she could believe of his sincerity.
“Marsden, haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve kept yourself out of trouble, I hope?”
Lizzy froze. Henry. She hadn’t thought of him since she’d stepped onto the ballroom floor with Mr. Marsden.
“Henry, how do you do?” Mr. Marsden smiled most pleasantly. “And how do you do, Mrs. Franklin? You are more beautiful every time I see you.”
“Mr. Marsden, you are too much,” Sweet Young Thing protested—sweetly.
“No indeed. What I am is too trite. I’m sure Henry finds new and original ways to immortalize your beauty with every passing day.”
Sweet Young Thing giggled in delight and placed her hand on Henry’s arm. “Mr. Marsden, you’ll embarrass Henry.”