Page 9 of To Steal a Kiss

There was a spectacular silence and Alice felt all the tiny hairs over her body raise as the atmosphere prickled with tension.

“What, then?” he said, and for the first time that ice cold demeanour seemed just a little shaken, a subtle thread of irritation discernible in his question.

“You could have helped me,” Matilda said, the fury in her voice hot enough to singe every painting in the room, and even blistering enough to melt a little of the marquess’ froideur and expose a glimmer of white-hot anger. “You could have silenced those men, refuted what had happened. If you’re as powerful as you believe, you could at least have stood up for me, mitigated my shame, but you did not. You stood back and did nothing, said nothing. Someday, you’ll pay for that. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How naïve you are,” he said, that cold, disdainful voice making Alice’s skin crawl. “If I’d done any of the things you suggest it would have been far worse for you. It would have indicated I cared. It would have suggested a sense of guilt, of duty. Now, at least, you have some who believe the truth of you. If I’d have given any such defence—as you pretend you wanted me to—they’d have been certain we were lovers.”

“I doubt it,” Matilda spat back at him. “I doubt anyone believes you capable of such a physical human act. I could believe you pay your mistresses to tell tales of your prowess for there’s nothing in you that could actually ever feel anything. Are you frigid, my lord?” she asked, a deliberately mocking tone to the question. “I wouldn’t have a problem believing it. Touching another must disgust you. After all, you might have to show a little emotion. All those stories about you, about your lovers and your skill….” Matilda made a disparaging sound. “I don’t believe them.”

“Oh, you believe them,” he said, the words barely audible as he took one step closer and then paused. “And you’re lying to yourself and me with this martyr act. If I’d offered for you that night, you’d have accepted without a second thought. I saw the look in your eyes when you discovered us alone together, dying father or no, and it wasn’t fear or loathing.”

“My God,” Matilda whispered, breathing hard as she stared at him. “I don’t believe a more despicable man ever walked this earth. I wish you joy of your name and your power and your fortune, but I know you’ll never find it. Does every bite of food taste like ash? Does every day stretching out before you fill an endless landscape devoid of colour or hope?” Alice watched as Matilda stared at him and then nodded. “It does, doesn’t it?” she said, the words surprised, as if a revelation had been given her. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t despise you. I pity you, and, for your information. I’m not alone. I have friends. Lots of them, and one of them is right here.”

Matilda turned to Alice and gave her a warm smile. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from her confrontation, but she seemed calm now, serene. She held her hand out to Alice.

“Come along, dear,” she said, almost grinning. “We’ll find somewhere else for our little chat. The marquess wishes to be alone.” Matilda looked back at him and Alice followed her gaze. “I’d like to grant him that wish,” Matilda continued. “I suspect it’s one he’ll live with all his life.”

With all the dignity and bearing of an empress, Matilda turned her back on the marquess and strode away.

Alice glanced back once more, at a man with a face that might have been chiselled from granite for all the warmth it held. He was tall and lean, broad shouldered, grey eyed, and utterly cold. Alice shivered and turned away, hurrying after Matilda and out of his toxic presence.

Chapter 4

Alice! I heard a rumour you’re to complete your dare at the Ransom ball. I’m so cross I couldn’t come. Did you do it? Was it dreadfully romantic? Tell me everything!

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Bonnie Campbell to Miss Alice Dowding.

14th June 1814. The Ransoms’ Ball, London.

Once they were out of sight of the marquess, Matilda hitched her skirts and ran, leaving Alice to scurry in her wake. They found a quiet room, the furniture ghostly with Holland covers, and Matilda closed the door behind them. She leant on it, her hands flat against the wood, and breathed hard. Then, to Alice’s astonishment, she burst into tears.

Her shoulders shook and she trembled all over, clutching her arms about her chest as if she’d never be warm again.

“Matilda!” Alice exclaimed, hurrying to her. Putting her arms about her, she guided her to a shrouded arm chair and sat her down. Kneeling before her, Alice took her hands, chaffing each one to bring warmth back to her as they felt like ice.

“Matilda Hunt,” Alice said, her voice stern and full of fierce pride in her friend. “That was, without a doubt, the most magnificent, impressive, glorious thing I’ve ever had the privilege to witness.”

Matilda gave a little hiccoughing laugh and attempted to wipe her eyes on her sleeve.

“Here,” Alice said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket.

“Thank you,” Matilda said, her voice thick. “I’m not sure I feel very magnificent. I feel small and stupid and frightened. My God, Alice, he’s a marquess. What if he retaliates? Whatever was I thinking?”

“You weren’t thinking, you reacted,” Alice said, staring at her in wonder. “I never react, Tilda. I only ever think. I think and think and think about all the things I want to say, the things I want to do, and I never actually do or say, anything.” She squeezed Matilda’s hands, staring up at her. “He deserved it. He deserved everything you said to him, the odious, appalling man, and I was never prouder. Heavens, when you said you’d rather be in the position you are a thousand times over than marry a man more dead than alive… did you see his face? It was like you’d struck him.”

Matilda nodded, blinking back tears. “I saw,” she whispered.

“Weren’t you frightened?” Alice asked, so envious of Matilda’s courage she was desperate to emulate it, to know her secret.

“Terrified,” Matilda admitted with a wan smile. “I thought I might be sick at any moment. You’ll never know how hard it was to stand there and face him. I wanted to run away, I wanted to cry, but I was damned if I’d let him see that. He’s ruined me enough. I’d not give him the satisfaction.”

Alice stared at her, stunned and intrigued. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

She could see the truth in Matilda’s face. Now they were alone, her eyes were shining with fear and misery, but she hadn’t shown it to the marquess. Somehow, she’d forced those feelings down, out of sight, and gathered her courage. Could Alice do that? In some small way, could she push her fears somewhere out of sight? At least for a little while?

“What time am I supposed to be on that balcony?” Alice asked, her voice wavering only a little.