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It was a thrill, to be in a new place, a new ballroom. To be at a party with different people.
And to actually be part of it, rather than standing on the fringes. It had not been long ago that she had been at her brother’s house party and got herself ruined. And she did wonder how her reception might be.
It turned out, there was no need for worry. Briggs was ushered immediately into a group of men, and Beatrice was summarily captured by their wives.
‘I did not think that he would ever marry,’ said a woman who was introduced to Beatrice as Lady Smythe.
‘No, assuredly not,’ said Lady Hannibal. ‘He had confirmed bachelor neatly stamped across him.’
‘Well. Circumstances...’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the Viscountess Roxbury. ‘We heard all about the circumstances.’
And Beatrice awaited the judgement.
‘Clever girl,’ the Viscountess said. ‘It was the only way one could ever snag him. To catch him in such a fashion, particularly when he holds your brother in such esteem.’
And she had the feeling that she had been talked about, at length by this group of women, as she suddenly realised that the banter that went around the circle felt a bit rehearsed.
Still, she did not get the sense that they wished her ill, nor that they disliked her, only that they were fascinated by her.
‘Well, I... I have known Briggs for a very long time.’ She realised that she had referred to him by his rather familiar nickname, and that she ought not to have done so. Not in this group. ‘The Duke of Brigham,’ she said. ‘His Grace. I have known him for quite some time. And he is a man I hold in great regard.’
‘How can one not hold a man whose riding breeches fit him so in high regard?’ said Lady Smythe with a curve to her lips.
Beatrice felt a rash of possessiveness. She did not appreciate the lady leering over her husband.
Particularly as Beatrice herself had not seen him out of his breeches.
The idea sent a slam of indignation and something else through her, and it made her feel warm all over.
Still, she found a way to keep her smile pasted on her face, and then, mercifully, the topic of conversation turned to other gossip, and Beatrice found she quite enjoyed it. She felt very much a part of this group in a way she had never much felt a part of anything.
It was a strange sort of revelation. She had not realised how much she wanted this. An evening of feeling enchanted. Of feeling... Normal.
They did not know that her and Briggs’s marriage was not what it seemed.
They were treating her like a married woman. Like someone for whom the mysteries of the universe had been unveiled.
They were treating her like an equal, and not like a poor, sickly thing.
And then it was time for a waltz, and Briggs turned, his dark eyes connecting with hers as he closed the distance between them. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ he said to her new friends. ‘I owe my wife a dance.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘More than one.’
A tremor went through her body, as he took her to the dance floor, and brought her into his arms. He had said he owed her a dance, but there was a promise beneath the words that felt heavy. That made her stomach go tight.
It was a lively dance, and she could not help but laugh, in part because she had forced him to partake.
And soon, he was laughing also. They spun and twirled across the floor, and she delighted in what a strong grip he had. And what a wonderful partner he was.
Oh, he was wonderful.
She studied the lines of his face, that square jaw, those dark eyes with long dark lashes.
And his mouth. She had tasted that mouth. Had shared intimacies with him only three days earlier that she had never even imagined, much less shared with anyone else.
And he’d felt hers.
But suddenly, she had the thought. That there were other women here who had tasted him. Who had perhaps experienced greater intimacies with him than she had done.
