Page 22 of A Match of Misfortune

“Lord Harlow.” Nash appeared out of nowhere and set a heavy hand on Lord Harlow’s shoulder. Lord Rothsburg stepped up behind him with an apologetic look aimed at his wife. “It has been far too long.”

Lord Harlow’s shifting expression confirmed it had not been long enough. “Mr. Markham. I’d heard you had returned from India.”

“I have. And I must say, it is good to be home for a time.”

Lord Harlow did not look at all interested to hear more, and he glanced back at Cecily, his hand lifting from his side. “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse⁠—”

“I must offer you my felicitations on your inheritance,” Nash said, causing Lord Harlow to lower his hand again. “If anyone deserves a place among the aristocracy, it is you. Indeed, after we first met at Eton and Rothsburg told me that your father was not titled, I was shocked.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lord Rothsburg for apparent verification, and his cousin gave a hesitant nod. “Honestly, you have always had such a … commanding presence about you.”

Cecily was confident Nash did not intend it as a compliment.

“Hear! Hear!” Lord Weaton, however, clearly took Nash’s comments as genuine. “It is a most well-deserved inheritance.”

Lord Harlow glanced between them. “Thank you both. I appreciate your sentiments. Now if you’ll excuse me, I had hoped to⁠—”

“And to become an earl,” Nash continued, shaking his head. “Might I ask where your estate is located?”

“Mr. Markham.” Bridget placed a coaxing hand on his arm. “I believe this conversation could wait until after the next set. Couples are beginning to congregate along the edges of the dance floor for the Quadrille.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. I did not realize the set was nearly at an end. I’m certain Miss Bradshaw is eager to dance the next.”

Bridget gave a nod. “I believe she is.”

“Very well.” Nash turned away from Lord Weaton and Lord Harlow and lifted his hand to Cecily. “Shall we, then?”

Cecily stared at his outstretched hand, completely confounded that he would not have realized what Bridget had been implying—that she was to dance with Lord Harlow, not him. “I—” What should she say? The last person she wished to partner with was Nash Markham, but it was not as though Lord Harlow had already asked her. Could she refuse Nash for an invitation that had not yet been offered? She glanced at Bridget as to what to do, but Bridget looked as perplexed by the odd turn of events, as did her husband behind her.

Nash’s hand did not falter at Cecily’s prolonged hesitation. “My mother will be most pleased to hear I led you out on your first dance of the evening.”

Without Lord Harlow’s intervention, Cecily had no choice but to accept Nash’s hand. It would take a great deal of effort to hold her tongue and not tell Nash Markham exactly what she thought of his unwelcome interruption and her current opinion of him.

Chapter Seven

Nash guided Cecily to the edge of the dance floor. She dropped her hand from his arm as they waited for the music to end. His intervention certainly hadn’t been the wisest move considering he did, in actuality, hope to remedy his relationship with Featherbottom. But that was before he’d witnessed the man’s appraising gaze trail down Cecily’s figure while her attention had been on his companion. “You are welcome for that.”

“For what, exactly? Preventing me from dancing with Lord Harlow?”

“Precisely.”

Cecily’s head whipped toward him, realization dawning in her expression. “You knew he intended to ask me to dance.” Her brown eyes darkened. “You are utterly⁠—”

Nash’s smirk halted her words. “Go on, do not stop on my account.”

Cecily glanced away from him, her jaw taut.

He stepped closer to ensure no one heard what he wished to say, but he nearly forgot his words when her floral fragrance overwhelmed his senses. She smelled divine. Almost as divine as she looked this evening in her rose-colored gown that so perfectly matched the hint of pink in her cheeks. His gaze dropped to her delicate gold necklace, and the way it settled just above her collarbone. How he longed to run his fingers beneath it, along the curvature of her neck. To feel her smooth skin against his and to … No! He had to get ahold of himself. Those were not appropriate thoughts when it came to Cecily Bradshaw. He simply needed to warn her about the man she had so plainly been fawning over before he’d come to her rescue. “He is a louse and an interloper, Miss Bradshaw.”

Cecily scoffed, keeping her gaze forward. “It would seem the very nature of a title precludes one from being an interloper, so I cannot help but wonder at your real reason for such an assertion.”

The accusation hit hard. “You think I’m jealous of a coxcomb like Lucian Featherbottom?”

Speaking the man’s given name aloud caused her to finally glance over at Nash. That certainly caught her attention.

“I do not jest,” he said. “That is truly his name.”

“And why should it matter what his name is?” She lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s a … fine name.”

Cecily was defending the man now?