It wasn’t as if he cared, precisely. Being left alone, after all, was his dearest wish, but Violette had worked so hard on this event and it was supposed to be his apology to her for all he had put her through, after all. The least he could do was try and act like… well, if not like he was enjoying it, then at least as if he wouldn’t rather stick pins in his eyes than endure another minute of it. Even if it were true.
With depressing predictability, he felt his eyes follow the infuriating Miss Holbrook across the dance floor. Merely because he had decided he must keep an eye on her, though. If Miss Holbrook were going to try and snare Nibley, and he felt certain after her admission the other night that this was the case, this was likely her last and best chance.
She was currently dancing with Lord Lancaster, the handsome young man obviously going out of his way to be agreeable to her. No doubt that the fool was hoping for her to put in a word with the divine Lucretia. He felt a stab of annoyance on her behalf. Edward might not interact with his fellow guests, but that wasn’t to say he was deaf, dumb, and blind. He had seen the nauseating displays of gallantry towards Miss Lucretia, and the resigned, accepting expression in Miss Holbrook’s eyes.
Surprisingly, she never seemed the least bit resentful towards her lovely half-sister. Rather, she seemed to accept it with a private smile of amusement. In a rare moment of generosity, he wished that there were a single man here with an ounce of wit and judgement who could see that she was every bit as lovely as Lucretia, only ... in a rather less obvious way.
You had to really look at Belinda Holbrook to notice the fact that she was really rather ... well, extraordinary. But nobody really looked at her, no one looked at her at all, not when she was always standing in the shadow of her sister’s dazzling beauty.
But that wasn’t to say the wretch wasn’t up to something, because he was damned sure she was.
The dance at an end, she returned to her sister, and there was something in the slightly jittery, haunted look in her eyes that made him utterly certain. She had something in mind, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.
It wasn’t that he wished her ill; he hoped she did catch herself a wealthy husband. Good Lord, with the amount of simpering misses he’d endured having shoved in his face since he gained his title, he could hardly begrudge someone who genuinely needed to make a good match for survival’s sake. But that didn’t mean he would sacrifice poor Nibley at her altar.
Despite himself, he imagined the two of them together, and experienced such a rush of anger that he felt quite off balance. But that was simply because it was such a ridiculously ill-conceived match, he reasoned, searching for solid ground. Yes, that was all. Miss Holbrook was too strong-minded, a force of nature, that one. She’d organise poor old Nibley until he had to ask how to tie his own cravat, and she’d no doubt tell him, too! He smothered a laugh, coughing as someone threw him a puzzled look.
No, no, that would never do. Miss Holbrook needed a firm hand and a man with the focus and determination to bring her in line. With those words an intriguing image of his own firm hand full of an ample portion of Miss Holbrook flitted into his mind. A rush of desire and a flush of heat swept over him, so intense that he made his way out of the ballroom with haste, searching for a little peace and quiet to calm his wayward thoughts.
What the devil had gotten into him?
Once he had time to think about it, he realised that he had not been with a woman for, good Lord, it must be well over two years! No wonder he was crawling out of his own skin. Strange that he should be overwhelmed by such feelings with such suddenness, though, after years without so much as a thought in that direction. Why on earth his libido should awaken and go into overdrive for the stubborn and outspoken Miss Holbrook, though, he had no clue. If he was truthful, however, he had to admit to a strong desire to see that no-nonsense, practical young woman flushed and flustered and at the mercy of her own passions.
Despite himself, he smothered a grin at the idea. Yes, he would like to see that.
No. No. No!
He would not!
Good Lord. Whatever was he thinking?
With his thoughts in such a holy tangle, he almost didn’t notice the footman heading back into the ballroom bearing a note. Wouldn’t have noticed at all, if the fellow hadn’t looked so furtive. Like maybe he’d been paid to be discreet. Following the chap back into the ballroom, he watched with growing concern as the fellow sidled up to Lord Nibley, whispered in his ear, and passed him the note.
Waiting until the footman had retreated, Edward strode up to a puzzled-looking Nibley and snatched the note from his hands.
“I say!” Percy exclaimed, looking startled and really quite annoyed. “What the devil are you about, Eddie? That’s mine!”
“Oh, no, it isn’t,” Edward growled, and with such fury that he surprised even himself. Though he wasn’t angry at Nibley. At least he oughtn’t be. But he felt rather that perhaps he was.
Nibley seemed to agree as he backed away a little.
Edward swallowed, and prayed that the note wasn’t, in fact, perfectly innocuous.
Or perhaps that it was?
“It was delivered by mistake, Percy. Please forgive me,” he said, praying the man would leave it at that.
Nibley frowned at him, and damn it, why did the fellow have to choose this particular moment to grow a backbone?
“But it’s got my name on it!” he objected, trying to reach for the note. Edward tucked it into his waistcoat and gave Nibley a hard stare. It must have been an effective one, as the fellow paled.
“It was a mistake,” Edward repeated, each word spoken in a precise, clipped tone.
Percy swallowed and nodded. “A m-mistake. Understood.”
Edward let out a sigh of relief and grinned at Percy, slapping his shoulder. “There’s a good fellow.”
Percy stumbled and looked even more horrified, so Edward left him before things got any more awkward.
Rushing once more away from the ballroom, he paused in a quiet corner to rip the missive open. He refused to notice that his hands didn’t seem entirely steady.
Lord Nibley,
Please forgive me for writing to you in such a shocking manner, but I find I have no option. I am in the most dreadful fix and can think of no one else in whom I might confide.
I know it is most irregular, but please, would you meet me in the library as soon as you are able? I beg that you might be able to aid me in this moment of difficulty.
Miss Holbrook.