NICK WAS SIPPING a glass of Madeira in the grand ballroom with a cluster of men when his gaze transfixed on the staircase. Lady Mariah was so transformed that he wondered if she were really an angel descending in a cloud of ivory silk. Suddenly aware of his senseless gaping, Nick swallowed his drink and set down his glass. He'd prepared to make straight for her side until Rochford stalled him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Needham, is that the Morehaven heiress?" Rochford asked, brows raised in interest.
"Yes. That is Lady Mariah," Nick replied stiffly, biting back the retort "she's not for you" that surged to the tip of his tongue.
"Not my preferred type,” Rochford remarked blandly after a thorough inspection that made Nick wonder if he was mentally undressing her. "But I suppose she is tolerable. Excuse me, gentlemen," he announced with a smile, "it appears I have some personal business to attend."
Nick watched dumbly as Rochford wasted no time in locating the duchess to present him to Lady Mariah. Moments later, as the musicians struck up the first dance, a Handel minuet, the earl led her out to the floor. Standing back from the crowd and mentally kicking himself, Nick watched the dancers moving in perfect synchrony across the floor. Why had he allowed Rochford to move in on her when he could easily have had her first dance? Envy, fierce and sharp, stabbed him as his gaze tracked the pair performing the intricate steps. He despised that the tall, fair, handsome earl and the tiny brunette baroness made such a striking couple.
"Have you any news about Marcus and Lydia?" Lady Russell appeared at his side in a soft swish of midnight-blue silk. "I am sick with worry, Needham."
"My lady, the duke sent some men out to check the post roads, but if it would set your mind at ease, I will also ride out to look for them."
"No, Needham. I would not have you risk yourself over the histrionics of a fretful mother. My son is a man grown, so I must suffice with saying a prayer for his and Lydia's safety and follow it with a sleeping tonic."
"Perhaps that would be best, my lady," he agreed, once more distracted by the dancers.
Rochford had made his interest known to all, but Nick was having a harder time gauging hers. Every look and smile she offered the earl twisted his insides. Had she set her cap for him, or was she merely being polite? Did it matter? Why should he care? He'd never reacted this way over a woman before. His rational mind told him he was being ridiculous, that she was out of reach, but logic did nothing to relieve his growing jealousy.
"Why, my dear Needham," Lady Russell tapped his shoulder with her fan, "do you also aspire to the hand of our little heiress?"
"Why would you suggest such a thing, my lady?" he asked, wondering if anyone else had noticed his unusual behavior.
"Come now, Needham, don't play coy. You've watched her like a hawk since she arrived in this ballroom," the countess answered with her usual candor.
"I assure you I don't entertain any such fantasies, but would it even matter if I did?"
"She is of an age to wed, and Rochford is the ideal candidate for a lady of her rank—titled, handsome, cultured, witty, and influential." She ticked off his unquestionably superior attributes. "He is everything a woman of her station should desire."
"Should?" Something about that particular word choice struck him as odd.
"She is a hopeless romantic, Needham." Lady Russell shook her head with a sigh. "The poor child dreams of a love match."
"You don't think Rochford would treat her well?" Nick asked, inclining his head to the couple, who had just finished the set with the requisite curtsy and bow.
"I daresay he would treat her as a countess," she replied blandly.
"And what precisely does that mean?"
"The meaning is highly subjective," Lady Russell replied. "Suffice to say she wouldn't want for anything."
"No. I am certain she wouldn't," he agreed. "But she won't be happy with him."
"Oh?" She arched a brow. "And just how would you presume to ascertain such a thing on such short acquaintance with her?"
"Simple, my lady. She has been raised in the country and has no experience of courts and courtiers. She is not accustomed to the kind of life he leads, and he is not a man who would make any great effort to accommodate her. Rochford will wed her, bed her, and then go on his merry way."
"And you would have it differently?"
He replied bitterly, "As nobody with nothing, it doesn't matter how I would have it."
"Indeed?" She smiled. "Escort me to supper later, Needham."
"Don't you already have a companion, my lady?"