Page 41 of Make Mine a Marquess

As soon as the mesmerist picked up his black bag, while other guests were still clapping and praising Mr. Hyland’s abilities, Phoebe fled to her bedchamber.

Heart pounding, she shut the door and leaned against the wood. The anticipated evening had ended up being a kind of torture.

Landon had come to her aid.

Not her betrothed.

She sagged against the doorframe and wiped away the sheen of perspiration upon her brow. She was shaky and sweaty. She rarely perspired. What on earth was wrong with her?

A low knock at the door made Phoebe jump.

Her racing mind churned with excuses to send her mother away. A headache. The first day of her menses. Exhaustion.

Her hands trembled as she opened the door to find Landon standing in the hall.

“My lord?”

“I wanted to be certain you’re feeling better. That man upset you.”

The look on his face made her pulse quicken. He was far too observant. Of her. She attempted to deny it. “I was just caught off guard.”

“Don’t lie. At least not to me. I can tell.” His powerful, fathomless gaze held hers, and her already racing heart fluttered.

Yet a touch of annoyance began to overtake her anxiousness. She’d grown adept at hiding her true feelings, whether from her family or from others, but this man, this returned marquess, could tell. How?

Was it worth denying? He’d helped her tonight. The least she could do was be honest.

Somewhat honest.

She glanced from left to right in the hall. He was standing outside her door, clearly visible, and they risked being observed.

“You’re right,” she said. “I was upset.”

“You don’t like to lose control,” he observed.

It wasn’t the loss of control that she feared. Rather, she had been petrified that she would slip and confess her past sins.

He leaned toward her. “The truth is I didn’t like seeing you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Distressed.”

A strange feeling took over, almost surreal. Looking into his dark, compelling eyes, the panic she’d felt not long ago seemed far, far away. It was as if he had more power than the mesmerist and an invisible web of attraction built between them. She wanted to confess all her secrets. Here was a man who’d suffered his own tragedy. A man who might, just might, understand.

Dangerous. If ever there were a risk to herself, it had to be this man.

“I prefer to be in charge of my own faculties,” she said. “Not some strange mesmerist who was hired by my betrothed to entertain guests.”

Landon’s response was the slight arch of his right brow. “And here I was thinking the same thing.” He leaned against the doorframe, his large body full of power, his lips curved upward in a devastatingly handsome smile. “But there is another reason I’m here.”

Her heart did another thump. “Oh?” Did he want to kiss her? And why did that prospect not frighten her more?

“I suspect the mesmerist’s assistant drugged the wine with a small doze of opium, enough to cause hallucinations. Not everyone’s wine. But Miss Clarice’s. And I suspect yours. The man is a fraud and I told him never to come back.”

Oh, my God. Whatever she’d thought he would say, it was definitely not that. Looking back, the assistant had shooed away a footman to refill wine goblets. She thought the mesmerist didn’t want the footman’s distraction. “I only took a small sip of wine after his assistant refilled my glass.”

His brow furrowed and he pushed away from the door. “Is your heart racing?”