Page 42 of To Break the Rules

To Matilda’s consternation, Montagu did not ask her, but Lucia, to confirm this outrageous statement, and she knew she was sunk.

Lucia was miserable.

Oh, she was laughing and smiling, and anyone who didn’t know her would believe her in fine spirits, but there was something between her and Lord Cavendish, and she wanted to escape. Matilda could see it in her eyes.

Apparently, so could the marquess.

Lucia met Matilda’s eyes for a bare moment, her expression begging forgiveness, not that any was needed. A woman like Lucia did not dare contradict Montagu in public. It would cause a scene she could ill afford and who knew how he would take it.

“Indeed not, Lord Montagu,” Lucia said. “After all, it’s all arranged.

With the exception of the marquess himself, Matilda didn’t think she’d ever seen a bare-faced lie spoken with such ease. She wanted to be anywhere else but there when the devil at her side turned with a glint of amused challenge in his eyes.

“And you, Miss Hunt? Do you wish to change our arrangements?”

She swallowed, wondering why she wanted to laugh when she ought to be outraged.

“Far be it from me to upset well-laid plans,” she said, relieved to hear her voice was steady when everything inside her was turning somersaults. Turning away from the marquess, she looked at Mr Burton, giving him a warm smile to ease his disappointment—and to annoy the hell out of Montagu, if she were being honest. “Another time though, I hope, Mr Burton.”

He lifted his glass towards her. “You may count on it, Miss Hunt, and I hope we shall see you both there.”

“Of course,” Matilda agreed.

She avoided the glint of interest in Mrs Manning’s eyes. The woman was clearly in no doubt there was much going on between the interested parties, but Matilda was determined not to further illustrate the fact. They were saved from further scrutiny by the obvious tension emanating from the far end of the table.

The servants were clearing ready for the next course, and Matilda could see Lucia was watching Kitty with concern. Leaning forward a little to see past Mr Burton, she could see two high spots of colour on the girl’s face and a furious light in her eyes. From the smug and somewhat spiteful expression on Miss Craven’s face, and the irritation emanating from Mr Henshaw, something had been said.

“Oh, wait,” Miss Craven said, her sweet voice ringing about the table. “Perhaps you ought to leave the potatoes for Miss Connolly. Have you had enough, dear?”

Matilda sucked in a breath at the obvious insult to Kitty’s Irish heritage. Kitty’s cheeks flamed now, and Mr Henshaw threw his napkin down on the table top, looking as though he might wring Miss Craven’s lovely neck.

“Miss Craven.” Everyone froze, including the young lady herself as the marquess addressed her. “Are you attending the outing to Green Park?” he asked, his tone mild.

Everyone knew that those at the far end of the table had not been included among the exclusive company who had arranged the outing.

The young woman preened, blushing a little. “No, my lord, though I should like to above all things.”

“A pity,” Montagu murmured, and a shiver of anticipation rolled over the table as they realised where this was going. “Miss Connolly,” he said, now turning his icy gaze to Kitty. “I believe Miss Hunt and Miss de Feria would be charmed to add you to our party, if you would be interested?”

Kitty swallowed, staring at the marquess in alarm, but obviously aware of the great honour he’d just allowed her. “I-Indeed, my lord,” she stammered, wide-eyed with astonishment. “I… I would be very pleased to accept.”

Montagu nodded and gestured for a passing servant to top up his wine, and the moment was gone, replaced by the requisite murmurs of pleasure at the appearance of the next course.

Matilda turned to look at him, finding her mouth grow dry as he moved to meet her gaze.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Montagu frowned a little. “Miss Craven is a blessed nuisance,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Her determination to catch a title is only outweighed by her tedious belief that any man should fall into her arms at the first flutter of her eyelashes. I’ve been awaiting an opportunity to give her a set down that would teach her some manners without utterly ruining her. Your friend merely granted me the opportunity.”

She watched him for a moment, surprised he would not claim she owed him now for his act of kindness, which was not kindness at all, as he’d reminded her before. It was also on the tip of her tongue to make some acid comment about the care he’d taken in not ruining another female, but found she could not voice it, too in charity with him for having stepped in.

There was one thing, though, that needed saying.

“Much as I appreciate these sudden and uncharacteristic acts of kindness, I must warn you it changes nothing.”

Matilda found her heart picked up speed as their eyes met again. He raised his glass, taking a leisurely sip and regarding her over the rim. Lowering the glass, he twisted the stem between long, elegant fingers, and she found her eyes drawn to them.

“I could say the same,” he said at length.