Marcus stepped through the door. Eyes wide, she turned to her hostess.
“You invited Lord Crispin?” she whispered.
“ ’Course I invited him. You are betrothed to him. Can’t very well throw a party for you and neglect to include your fiancée, can I?”
“But everyone will imagine this is an engagement party.”
“Daresay they will.” The dowager’s pinpoint eyes stared fixedly beneath yards of purple tulle wrapped into a turban. “You cannot have it both ways, my dear.”
Tavy could not respond. She hadn’t given Marcus a moment’s thought for this evening, only that Ben would come and she could slake her thirst on the sight of him. And, of course, tell him her news.
“It is not what you think,” she finally managed to utter as Constance appeared in the doorway. Heads turned her way, as always. She took Marcus’s arm and they approached.
“You’ve said that before,” Lady Fitzwarren murmured, “but I’ve yet to see evidence to prove it.”
“Good evening, ladies.” Marcus made an elegant leg.
“How lovely you are this evening, Octavia.” Constance smiled fondly. “And you, Valerie. And what a marvelous house you have, Lady Fitzwarren.” She looked about the chamber, furnished entirely in the Egyptian style. “This is quite nice, all the gold and red. And the austere white foyer with columns like a Greek temple. I hear that each chamber in your house is done up in a different style.”
“Yes, yes. I have been enormously diverted redecorating this year. The second parlor is my favorite. Sumerian ziggurat, don’t you know.”
Constance clapped her gloved hands. “Oh, may I see it?”
“ ’Course, my dear. Valerie, do join us and allow these lovebirds a moment’s private conversation.”
Valerie’s dark gaze flashed between Tavy and Marcus, then to the door.
“You know how I adore your fabulous house, Mellicent. But I see Lord Doreé just arriving and I must have a word with him before others gobble him up. He goes about in society so infrequently, everyone is always especially keen to have his attention when he is present.” With a bright smile she moved toward the door.
Tavy forced herself not to stare in Valerie’s direction. The dowager and Constance walked away and Marcus stepped closer. Tavy halted herself from widening the distance between them.
“I hadn’t the opportunity to speak with you before. I was quite busy at Leadenhall Street today. But you will be glad to know the announcement will appear in the journals in four days. Would you prefer to be married here in town or the country?”
Tavy struggled to breathe. It seemed all too real, and now imminent.
“I haven’t given it a thought, truly, Marcus. I am sorry.”
“Do so now. I am eager for the date.” He smiled, nothing of the impatient lover in his look. But they stood in a chamber full of people. He could not very well express his desires in such a way. Although, according to Lady Fitzwarren, Ben had.
She could not resist. She cast her gaze to the doorway. He stood amongst a small group, Valerie at his side. The others laughed at something the viscountess said, he smiled, then looked across the chamber at Tavy.
Her insides seemed to collapse, heating and compressing as though he touched her. He returned his attention to the others and she dragged hers again to Marcus.
The baron’s mouth was a line.
“Yes, Marcus. I will consider—”
“I told you not to encourage him, Octavia.”
Her nerves stilled, a metallic flavor beneath her tongue. “Encourage?”
“You do not ask me which man?”
“You have only ever once given me such an order, Marcus. I cannot very well mistake it.”
“I will not have my wife entertaining the company of other men.”
Tavy could not reply. Marcus’s accusatory look and her own duplicity turned her stomach. She deserved disapproval. Where had she gone? She’d told Lady Fitzwarren she was through with pretense, but that seemed to be all she knew now, and it rested poorly in her soul.
“Marcus, I cannot speak with you again tonight. I would not say anything either of us would like. But tomorrow I hope you will call.”
“I will. Early.” He grasped one of her hands. Tavy allowed it. No one would remark upon it. The announcement had not yet appeared in the journals, but gossip had assured that most present knew of their betrothal. “But do not leave it like this tonight. I beg your pardon for saying such a foolish thing.” A spark of unease lit his gaze, but it was ill situated there. He was unaccustomed to begging.
She drew away and moved to a group of other guests.
For the next hour she barely knew of what she spoke, barely heard the violin trio Lady Fitzwarren had engaged for the occasion or the applause or her hostess’s invitation for guests to enjoy refreshments in the adjoining chamber. Her preoccupation with avoiding her false fiancée and seeking opportunity to discharge her duty paralyzed her with tension. As the drawing room emptied and Ben came to her side by the pianoforte, she could hardly look at him.
He stood close but not remarkably so, hands clasped behind his back.
“I cannot do this.” Her palms were damp. “I cannot lie like this. It turns me inside out.”
“I am sorry for it.”
“But I started it all, didn’t I? I have no one to blame but myself for going to your house that day and asking for help. Nothing but”—another lie—“my foolish curiosity.” She had only wished to see him again. To know him once more.
“Rather, your desire to help him.”
The air went out of her. “The blackmailer’s name is Sheeble. He is demanding that Marcus sign a document that will allow illegal cargo to leave port without detection by authorities.”
The last of the guests left the drawing room. Only a footman remained at the doors to the foyer. Merry conversation emanated from the dining chamber. Tavy’s elbow nudged a glass upon the piano, the pungent aroma of its contents lifting to her. She took up the glass and drank the liquid in a gulp, coughing on the fumes.
“It won’t help,” Ben said softly. “Believe me.”
Her gaze snapped up. His eyes were so dark, so beautiful and intense despite their indolent dip. She could fall into them and never have the will to climb out again.
So she must not accidentally trip.
“It’s best that I be the judge of that.” She set down the glass with a jittering clack. A single black brow upon his handsome face rose. She pursed her lips and his gaze went to them. “Do not look at my mouth.”
“I cannot seem to prevent myself from doing so.”
“It makes me think things I should not.”
“I would like quite a lot to hear what things in particular.”
“I daresay you can imagine.”
“I daresay. Still, hearing them upon your tongue would please me.” From the brightness of his eyes, it seemed as though it would please him a great deal.
“It would put me to the blush. In any case, we should not be having this conversation.”
“Perhaps not here. And your blush is very becoming. Everywhere it appears.”
Tavy’s breaths came fast. “I do not think this is—”
He covered her hand still gripping the glass, peeled her fingers loose, and her skin seemed to melt to his. Her entire body. She ought to have worn gloves tonight. She ought to have worn a whole suit of armor, for heaven’s sake.