Margaret McPhee - Wicked in the Regency Ballroom - The Wicked Earl / Untouched Mistress

It did not matter that they were in the famous assembly rooms. It did not matter that the night was chilled, or that the air within the dance rooms was stuffy and hot. It did not even matter when one of the ladies patronesses gave permission for Madeline to waltz with Lord Farquharson, or when his fingers lingered about her waist, or when he gazed with such promise into her face. Madeline saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. And by being so, Madeline’s shell could do what it had to do.

‘Madeline, Mrs Barrington has promised me the recipe for a wonderful lotion that clarifies the skin and removes any blemish or shadow. It will do wonders for your complexion, my dear.’

Madeline sat, like she had done on every other occasion since learning of her betrothal to Lord Farquharson, and said nothing.

Colonel Barclay materialised as if from nowhere. ‘My dear Mrs Langley, may I introduce a good friend of mine, Viscount Varington. He has been admiring you and your daughters from across the room for some time now. I have taken pity on the poor man and decided to put him out of his misery by bringing him here for a word from your sweet lips.’

The tall, dark and extremely handsome Lord Varington swooped down to press a kiss to Angelina’s hand. ‘Miss Langley,’ he uttered in a sensuously deep voice. ‘Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, at last.’ And delivered her a look of dangerous appreciation.

Angelina smiled and glanced up at him through downcast lashes.

‘I can see from where Miss Langley gets her golden beauty.’ He touched his lips to Mrs Langley’s hand.

Mrs Langley tittered. ‘La, you flatter me too much, sir.’

‘Not at all,’ said Lord Varington, his pale blue eyes bold and appraising. ‘Is it possible that Miss Langley is free for this next dance? A most improbable hope, but …’

Angelina scanned down her dance card, knowing full well that Mr Jamison’s name was scrawled against the dance in question, and indeed that every successive dance had been claimed. Her eyes flickered up to the hard, handsome face waiting above them.

Lord Varington smiled in just the way that he knew to be most effective, showing his precisely chiselled features to perfection. He cast a smouldering gaze at Angelina.

Angelina opened her mouth to explain that she could not in truth dance with him.

But Mrs Langley was there first. ‘How fortuitous your timing is, my lord. It seems that Mr Jamison is unwell and is unable to stand up with Angelina as he promised. She, therefore, is free to dance with you, my lord.’

‘I can breathe again,’ murmured Lord Varington dramatically, and took Angelina’s hand into his with exaggerated tenderness.

‘Oh, my!’ exclaimed Mrs Langley and fanned herself vigorously as Angelina disappeared off on to the floor in Lord Varington’s strong muscular arms.

It was only then that she noticed that Madeline was missing.

Lucien tucked Madeline’s hand into the crook of his arm and continued walking through Almack’s marbled vestibule.

‘My lord, what is wrong? The note the girl brought said that you needed to speak with me urgently.’ Madeline felt his pale blue eyes pierce a crack in the shell that she had so carefully constructed.

‘And so I do, Miss Langley, but not here.’ He scanned the entrance hall around them, indicating the few bodies passing in chatter. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘Dangerous?’ Madeline’s voice faltered, the crack growing exponentially wider. ‘I don’t understand—’

Lord Tregellas stopped behind one of the large Ionic pillars and gently pulled her closer. ‘Miss Langley,’ he interrupted, ‘do you trust me?’

‘Yes.’ The shell shattered to smithereens. ‘Of course I do.’ Logic deemed that she should not, instinct ensured that she did.

A strange expression flitted across his face and then was gone. ‘Then come with me.’

For the first time in two weeks Madeline felt her heart leap free of the ice that encased it. Surely she had misheard him? She looked into his eyes and what she saw there kicked her pulse to a canter.

‘Miss Langley.’ His voice was rich and mellow. ‘We do not have much time. If you wish to escape Farquharson, come with me.’

Come with me . It was the dream that she dare not allow herself to dream. Lord Tregellas had saved her before. Perhaps he could save her now. But even in the thinking Madeline knew it was impossible. No one could save her, not even Tregellas. Foolish hope would only lead to more heartache. Slowly she shook her head. ‘I cannot.’

His hands rested on her upper arms. ‘Do you desire to marry him?’ His voice had a harsh edge to it.

‘No!’ she whispered. Now that her shell was broken she felt every breath of air, suffered the pain from which she had sought to hide. ‘You know that I do not.’

His voice lost something of its harshness. ‘Then why have you accepted him?’

She could not tell him. Not here, not like this, not when she knew that in three more weeks she would be Lord Farquharson’s wife. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘Too long for here?’

‘Yes.’ She felt the brush of his thumb against her bare skin between the puff of her sleeve and the start of her long gloves. It was warm and reassuring.

‘There are other places,’ he said.

Temptation beckoned. Lord Tregellas was more of a man than she ever could have dreamt of. She blushed to think that he could show her any interest … and that she actually welcomed it. Were she to be seen leaving Almack’s in the company of the Wicked Earl, she would be ruined. Strangely, the prospect of her own ruination in that manner did not seem such a terrible atrocity. Life with Lord Farquharson seemed far worse. But what Lord Tregellas was suggesting would not only ruin her, but also her family and that was something she could not allow. She shook her head again. ‘No.’

‘I mean only to help you. You should know something of Lord Farquharson’s history before you take your wedding vows. You said that you trusted me. Then give me half an hour of your time, nothing more, to let me tell you of Farquharson’s past and of a way you may evade him.’

Madeline bit at her lip and remained unconvinced. It would be wrong of her to go with him. She had her family to think about.

It was as if the Earl read her mind. ‘He’s a danger not only to you, but to your sister and your parents, too. And you need not be concerned that our departure together shall be noticed. I assure you it will not.’

‘My family are truly in danger?’ His gaze held her transfixed. He was a stranger, a man reputed by all London to be wicked. She should not believe him. But inexplicably Madeline knew that she did.

‘Yes.’ He released his hold upon her, stepping back to increase the space between them. ‘We’re running out of time, Miss Langley. Do you come with me, or not?’

A sliver of tension stretched between them. Pale ice blue merged with warm amber. Madeline looked a moment longer. It seemed so right. Reputations could be wrong. There was nothing of Lord Farquharson in the man that faced her. Lord Tregellas would not hurt her. ‘Half an hour?’ she said.

‘Half an hour,’ he affirmed and reached his hand for hers.

The interior of the Tregellas closed carriage was dark, only the occasional street light illuminated the dimness.

Lucien could see the stark whiteness of Madeline Langley’s face against the black backdrop. Huge eyes, darkly smudged beneath, and cheeks that were too thin. He doubted that the girl had slept or eaten since the announcement of her betrothal. Guilt stuck in his throat. He swallowed it down. He had done what he could to save Miss Langley. He need have no remorse. Or so he told himself. But telling and believing were two different things. ‘It’s not much further now.’