Read Online When the Marquess Met His Match by Laura Lee Guhrke - An American Heiress in London 01 - When the Marquess Met His Match - Free Book Online Page B
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could only watch as Trubridge kissed Rosalie’s gloved hand. As he let it go, he gestured to the door with his hat. “I was just on my way out. May I walk you down and see you and your mother safely to your carriage?”
“Of course,” she answered, and took his offered arm.
“An escort is hardly necessary,” Belinda pointed out in desperation as she followed them toward the door. “The carriage is sure to be right outside.”
Again, she was ignored.
“Good day, Lady Featherstone,” Trubridge said, looking over his shoulder to give her a parting smile as he ushered Rosalie out of the drawing room.
In that moment, Belinda was shocked to discover the depths of rage that she was capable of feeling. No one, not even Featherstone, had ever caused the . . . the eruption of outrage she was feeling at this moment. Her palm itched—absolutely itched—to slap that satisfied smile off his face.
The two of them left the drawing room, but though Belinda was right behind them, she could only follow as far as the stairs, for she could not go all the way down without being forced to introduce Trubridge to Rosalie’s mother. An introduction would convey her approval of him as an acquaintance to the daughter, and she most certainly did not approve. She had to content herself with hovering at the top of the stairs, watching as Rosalie performed the introduction she refused to make. When he and the ladies departed, she was racing back toward the drawing room before the door had closed behind them, and as they paused on the sidewalk outside her front door, Belinda watched from the window above.
Mrs. Harlow had indicated she was in a rush to reach Lady Esmonde’s, but it was clear she seemed willing to postpone that visit for a bit. They lingered for what seemed like hours, and as she watched them through the window, as she watched Trubridge work on the girl with his charm and his smile, Belinda felt sick at heart.
Rosalie was such an innocent. If he chose, he could manipulate her into being alone with him easy as winking, subjecting her to his improper notions of courtship and leaving both of them open to scandal.
Equally awful was the possibility that Rosalie would lose her heart to him. Belinda knew how quickly girls fell in love, and Rosalie’s temperament made her particularly vulnerable to the machinations of a rake. She could become infatuated with Trubridge before Belinda even had a chance to convince her of his reprobate character. Even the one dance they were to have could be enough to captivate the girl and close her ears to anything Belinda might say. In fact, the harder Belinda tried to keep her away from Trubridge, the greater her fascination with him might become. Girls could be so contrary.
She frowned, struck by a sudden thought. Just how did he plan to attend Lord and Lady Montcrieffe’s ball? Crashing it would hardly help him regain the company of good society. She couldn’t imagine Nancy inviting him, but he’d seemed awfully sure of his ground.
She decided to pay a call on Nancy straightaway and clarify the matter. If he hadn’t yet been given an invitation, she could at least try to prevent him from finagling one at the last minute. She might not be able to openly come out against him without hardening Rosalie’s resolve, but she had to do something. The idea of her romantic, naive young friend being disillusioned, heartbroken, and chained for life to a man like Trubridge didn’t bear contemplating. Somehow, this romance had to be nipped in the bud before it could flower into disaster.
I F IT WERE physically possible for a human body to burn with rage, Nicholas had no doubt Belinda Featherstone would be a smoldering mass of coals by now. He was well aware of her gaze boring into his back through the window above, and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that every moment he made conversation with Miss Harlow and her mother increased her ire and her anxiety. Good , he thought. Now
“Of course,” she answered, and took his offered arm.
“An escort is hardly necessary,” Belinda pointed out in desperation as she followed them toward the door. “The carriage is sure to be right outside.”
Again, she was ignored.
“Good day, Lady Featherstone,” Trubridge said, looking over his shoulder to give her a parting smile as he ushered Rosalie out of the drawing room.
In that moment, Belinda was shocked to discover the depths of rage that she was capable of feeling. No one, not even Featherstone, had ever caused the . . . the eruption of outrage she was feeling at this moment. Her palm itched—absolutely itched—to slap that satisfied smile off his face.
The two of them left the drawing room, but though Belinda was right behind them, she could only follow as far as the stairs, for she could not go all the way down without being forced to introduce Trubridge to Rosalie’s mother. An introduction would convey her approval of him as an acquaintance to the daughter, and she most certainly did not approve. She had to content herself with hovering at the top of the stairs, watching as Rosalie performed the introduction she refused to make. When he and the ladies departed, she was racing back toward the drawing room before the door had closed behind them, and as they paused on the sidewalk outside her front door, Belinda watched from the window above.
Mrs. Harlow had indicated she was in a rush to reach Lady Esmonde’s, but it was clear she seemed willing to postpone that visit for a bit. They lingered for what seemed like hours, and as she watched them through the window, as she watched Trubridge work on the girl with his charm and his smile, Belinda felt sick at heart.
Rosalie was such an innocent. If he chose, he could manipulate her into being alone with him easy as winking, subjecting her to his improper notions of courtship and leaving both of them open to scandal.
Equally awful was the possibility that Rosalie would lose her heart to him. Belinda knew how quickly girls fell in love, and Rosalie’s temperament made her particularly vulnerable to the machinations of a rake. She could become infatuated with Trubridge before Belinda even had a chance to convince her of his reprobate character. Even the one dance they were to have could be enough to captivate the girl and close her ears to anything Belinda might say. In fact, the harder Belinda tried to keep her away from Trubridge, the greater her fascination with him might become. Girls could be so contrary.
She frowned, struck by a sudden thought. Just how did he plan to attend Lord and Lady Montcrieffe’s ball? Crashing it would hardly help him regain the company of good society. She couldn’t imagine Nancy inviting him, but he’d seemed awfully sure of his ground.
She decided to pay a call on Nancy straightaway and clarify the matter. If he hadn’t yet been given an invitation, she could at least try to prevent him from finagling one at the last minute. She might not be able to openly come out against him without hardening Rosalie’s resolve, but she had to do something. The idea of her romantic, naive young friend being disillusioned, heartbroken, and chained for life to a man like Trubridge didn’t bear contemplating. Somehow, this romance had to be nipped in the bud before it could flower into disaster.
I F IT WERE physically possible for a human body to burn with rage, Nicholas had no doubt Belinda Featherstone would be a smoldering mass of coals by now. He was well aware of her gaze boring into his back through the window above, and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know that every moment he made conversation with Miss Harlow and her mother increased her ire and her anxiety. Good , he thought. Now
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