Connor Brunwood, the new Marquis of Rodridge and Henrietta’s Scottish husband, grinned at her, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled her into his arms, unimpressed by the hushed whispers his behaviour elicited from the rest of the guests in attendance. “If only ye had run off with me,” he teased her, utter devotion shining in his gaze. “However, I do remember ye were quite unwilling to even be civil with me.”
Tristan’s sister shrugged. “You deserved it. After all, you went behind my back to secure my hand in marriage.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Will ye never let me forget that?”
“Not likely,” she whispered, smiling up at him sweetly. “After all, where would be the fun in that?”
As Connor groaned, the rest of them broke out laughing, and Derek had to admit?at least to himself?that Tristan had been right. There were good people among the ton. Nothing was black and white. These people who stood here beside him that night were devoted and loyal friends.
Friends who made mistakes.
Friends who were led amiss.
Friends who did not always do the right thing.
And yet, when it mattered, they stood side by side and risked everything to save the other.
Glancing from Tristan to his golden-haired wife, Beth, as she leaned into him, his arm gently wrapped around her, Derek smiled. Everything had turned out the way it ought to have. Despite Derek’s own disbelief, his friend had found true love, the one woman who completed him.
“Anna, I admit I never thought I’d ever enjoy one of these events,” Henrietta stated, echoing Derek’s own thoughts, as she glanced from the Duchess of Cromwell to her brother. “A lot has changed in so little a time, and I truly wish we could stay longer.” A touch of sadness came to her eyes at the thought of their departure.
Only two weeks ago, she and her husband had raced to London, pushing their horses beyond their limits, in a desperate attempt to save Tristan’s life.
And they had.
It had been Henrietta’s dagger that had taken down their devious uncle in the nick of time.
Loyalty. Devotion. Derek thought. Traits so rare in today’s world.
“I wish that as well,” Beth said, looking at her new sister-in-law. From what Derek had observed, the two women had grown quite close in so short a time, forever linked by their love for Tristan. “Promise that we will see each other again soon.”
A deep smile came to Henrietta’s face as she nodded eagerly. “I would love it if you all would come visit us at Greyston Castle,” she said, glancing up at her husband, who nodded his head in agreement. “Maybe for Christmas. Connor says the Scottish hills look like a place out of a fairy tale when the snow begins to fall.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Beth beamed, turning eager eyes to her husband.
In answer, Tristan nodded, a large smile on his face. “We’ll be there. Nothing could keep us away.”
“Us as well,” Edmond chimed in, gently squeezing his wife’s hand as she smiled up at him. “However, I must warn you, Lady Etta is quite a handful, not unlike her mother,” that earned him a jab in the ribs from Anna, which he chose to ignore, “and will most likely turn everything topsy-turvy in Greyston Castle.”
Everyone laughed, and Henrietta assured the duke and duchess that their little daughter was more than welcome. After all, Christmastide was never as magical as when seen through the eyes of a child.
Before long, the three couples drifted away onto the dance floor, leaving Derek behind with a sense of accomplishment. After all, he had spent the past years watching over Tristan as his friend had fought the demons of his past. Now, finally, they had achieved victory, thus liberating Derek from his obligation. Finally, he would be able to return home.
Home?
It was a strange word, and admittedly, it did not yet apply to Huntington House. After all, he himself had barely set foot on the estate since being granted it after returning from the war. However, his family was there, and he had not seen them in a long time.
It was time for him to go home.
Maybe, it was home after all.
Watching his friends twirl around the dance floor to the notes of a waltz, Derek’s gaze fell on a familiar face, and his heart tightened in his chest.
Not since that night four months ago at the masked ball had he laid eyes on her. Occasionally, his thoughts had strayed to her, but he had been able to convince himself that her allure had been founded in his imagination.
A spur of the moment.
A short-lived infatuation.
Nothing more.
Oh, how wrong he had been!
Seeing her now, her dark green eyes aglow like the candles in the chandeliers above, he had to fight the urge to stride forward and sweep her into his arms. The muscles in his legs ached with the need to move, to cover the ground between them, but he would not let them. After all, it was not his heart that controlled him.
To allow so would be beyond foolish, and so he reminded himself that Lady Madeline would never deem him worthy of her presence, much less of her hand in marriage.
Marriage? He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from.
Unable to keep still, he ventured over to the refreshment table and procured himself a drink. However, as though he had no control over his eyes after all, his gaze immediately returned to the raven-haired beauty that haunted his dreams.
Her dark green eyes were fixed on the gentleman holding her in his arms, and her lips curled up into a seductive smile.
Derek cringed. The thought that Lady Madeline had finally made her choice and now eagerly awaited a marriage proposal twisted his insides painfully and sent red hot jealousy burning through his veins. And yet, he could not avert his gaze, willing the gentleman who held her to turn so that he could see with his own eyes to whom he did not measure up.
He needed to know.
Or this question would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Then, he could walk away for good.
A moment later, the heat in his veins turned to ice, freezing his heart and the breath in his lungs.
For the man who held Lady Madeline in his arms, the man who would see his marriage proposal accepted, the man to whom he could never measure up …
…was no other than Lord Townsend.
For long moments, all Derek felt was shock.
Empty.
Void.
Uncomprehending.
With his fingers clenched around the drink in his hand, he stared as Townsend led Lady Madeline off the dance floor, the way they were looking at each other saying more than a thousand words.
However, just as Townsend was about to offer her his arm, a matronly lady bustled between them, rather unceremoniously elbowing the ruffled lord out of the way, her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. Then she turned to Lady Madeline and spoke in hushed tones. In answer, Lady Madeline’s lips thinned, and her eyes grew hard. She shook her head, and then after casting another meaningful glance at Townsend, turned and walked away, vanishing through an arched doorway that led to the ladies’ powder room.
The white-haired lady turned a dark gaze on Townsend before she bustled away once more, leaving him uncharacteristically flustered as he straightened his cravat. Swallowing, his gaze swept over the large ballroom before it settled on the doorway through which Lady Madeline had left.
Understanding Townsend’s intention and before he had even formed a conscious thought, Derek suddenly found himself rounding a rather large group of ladies?most of whom gazed at Townsend longingly. Heading straight for the man he despised like no other, Derek dimly asked himself what he intended to accomplish when they suddenly collided, his drink soaking the man’s clothes.
Muttering a curse, Townsend stepped back, brushing a hand over the wet fabric, his eyes hard as he glared at Derek.
“I do apologise, my lord,” Derek mumbled, unable to keep the seething hatred from showing in his voice. “It would appear fortune does not smile on you tonight.”
For a moment, Townsend’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he tried to understand. “It is of little consequence,” he replied in a clipped voice that spoke of annoyance rather than hatred.