by Gaelen Foley
That makes two of us. Maggie followed Trinny’s gaze across the ballroom just as Connor stepped in through the open French doors.
Her mouth fell open when she saw him, for he was in full dress uniform tonight, resplendent in his scarlet coat with black-and-gold facings. His mighty shoulders looked cliff-like, gleaming with gold epaulets. The black sash ’round his lean waist accented his V-shaped physique, and his white dress breeches shone bright as snow.
Maggie stood tongue-tied, ogling him from across the room, while Trinny glanced at her with amusement.
Thankfully, Edward emerged just then from down at the music room, greeting the duke. Delia followed, and Maggie regained her wits when she witnessed the frosty nod that Connor gave her sister—but as he shook Edward’s hand, he obviously realized that Maggie must have arrived, too.
His glance swept the ballroom and landed on her in a trice. At once, a grin lit up his handsome face, and Maggie smiled in return, blushing.
“My, my,” Trinny murmured. “You two are getting on well, aren’t you?”
Maggie was dying to tell her that they would be married, but somehow she swallowed the glorious news for now—though she could not quite dim her beaming smile.
“His Grace is…surprisingly amiable,” she coyly admitted.
“More so than Bryce, my dear?”
“Much more,” she said, then Connor marched across the ballroom to join them.
“Welcome, Lady Margaret,” he said warmly.
“Good evening, Your Grace—or should I say Major? I hardly know whether to curtsy or salute,” she teased.
“Ah, if it were up to me, I’d rather greet you with a kiss. But we wouldn’t want to start a scandal now, would we?” Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles, holding her gaze as roguery twinkled in his cobalt eyes.
Maggie felt heat flooding into her face and rather feared she had just turned as red as his coat.
“You look radiant,” he said. “You both do,” he added, smiling at Trinny.
“Such flattery, Your Grace,” Trinny said with an airy wave of her hand.
“Have I told you how much I love the Rolands, Lady Margaret?”
Maggie smiled. “As do I. How’s the baby, anyway?”
“Oh, don’t ask her that,” Connor teased with a groan. “We’ll be here all night.”
Trinny smacked him on the arm, and he laughed. “He is all that’s plump and happy and adorable,” she informed Maggie. “But I’m sure you can bear to hear all the latest details until later in the evening. Humph!” she said playfully to the duke.
“Ah, never mind me, Lady Roland,” Connor said with a grin. “Truth is, I’m just jealous, y’see. I’ve always thought ’twould be a fine thing to have lots of children at home. Babies everywhere, loads of ’em—the louder and stinkier, the better. What say you, Lady Margaret?”
Maggie stared at him, speechless.
Trinny laughed heartily and clapped the duke on the arm. “That’s the spirit, Your Grace! You’ll need help with that, though, to the best of my understanding of how it all works. Won’t he, Maggie?” Trinny’s eyes danced with mischief. “Know anyone who’d like to volunteer?”
Maggie’s eyes widened as she stared at her friend. You redheaded rascal! Trinny laughed gaily while Maggie did nothing but stammer incoherently.
“Hmm, do they mean to start the dancing soon?” Trinny asked, glancing toward the musicians.
Connor shrugged.
“Think I’ll go ask,” the viscountess said, then sailed off to leave them alone, the little matchmaker.
“You are altogether naughty!” Maggie finally said, still blushing, when she finally regained her tongue.
“I was only being honest,” Connor teased. “You do want children, don’t you?”
“Well, of course. Not stinky ones, in particular…”
“They’re all stinky, Maggie. It’s part of their charm.”
Laughing softly, she wanted so much to embrace him and give him a proper greeting. But that was impossible, since, for now, in the eyes of the ton, they were no more than friends. The memory of his mouth at her breast and other places on her body filled her with desire, though, as his fond gaze caressed her.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, though she thought she detected a troubled flicker in the depths of his eyes. “Can I get you something to drink? There are refreshments in the music room.”
“No, thank you, stay. How are you enjoying your party so far, my dear guest of honor?”
Connor snorted. “Surviving it. I missed you,” he added in a low tone.
“I missed you, too. But, um, shouldn’t you be on a receiving line somewhere?”
“Aunt Lucinda promised me we would not be so formal as that. Frankly,” he murmured, glancing around, “I have no idea who most of these people are.”
“But you have met the three young ladies, I trust?”
“Oh yes,” he said dryly.
“Well?” As he hesitated, her sense of the nervous energy about him tonight grew stronger. “What’s wrong, darling?” she murmured, briefly touching his arm. “You seem on edge.”
“It’s all just a little unseemly, I guess,” he said gruffly. “Can you believe two of those three girls were aimed at Cousin Richard last Season? Aunt Florence told me so. Now they’re being shoved at me, as though all titled men are interchangeable. It’s disturbing. I feel like some sort of harlot being peddled to the highest bidder—not that it matters. My affections lie elsewhere, obviously. I should have told my aunt so before tonight, but she had her plan, and things happened so quickly between us. So I’m merely being polite until I can tell her this was all wasted effort.”
Maggie smiled sympathetically. “Well, don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”
Indeed, the structure of the evening had been laid out in orderly fashion in the invitations. The soirée was to last for precisely four hours. From seven until nine, there would be biscuits and hors d’oeuvres, a little dancing, and cards. From nine to eleven, the guests would enjoy a light supper and cake.
And then Her Grace wanted everybody out.
To be sure, the Dowager Duchess of Amberley was a woman who knew her own mind.
“As long as you’re not cross at me for this,” Connor said, scanning her face.
“Not at all. I understand you must tread delicately here.”
He nodded.
“Besides, what woman could be cross at so magnificent a specimen as you tonight, Major?”
He gave her a wry look. “Ah well. You’re here now, and that’s all I wanted. As for the ladies themselves, suffice to say I can see why Aunt Lucinda favors them.”
“Oh?” Maggie lifted her head with a twinge of jealousy. “Are they very pleasant?”
“No, they’re exactly like her.” He paused, sending Maggie a brief scowl. “The brunette had scarcely known me two minutes before she asked if I’d ever killed anyone in the war. Can you imagine? No, I was only there to learn how to play cribbage.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “It does seem an impertinent question. What did you tell her?”
“I said of course. Hundreds. Just to see how she’d react.”
“You are naughty.”
“Perhaps a slight exaggeration,” he said with a gleam in his eyes.
“What? Hundreds, really?” Maggie felt the blood drain from her face.
“Well, I didn’t keep count, exactly. But I was in for fifteen years, Maggie. You figure if it averaged out over time to one a month between battles and skirmishes and scouting missions, well, it comes out to…more than the number of guests here, at least.” He shrugged, gauging her reaction while she stood there dazed.
He stared at her. “Why? Does that bother you?”
Actually, Maggie was reeling with the news. She appreciated his honesty and did not want to seem as unnerved by his answer as those three girls in the other room. But, in truth, she could barely wrap her mind around this reve
lation.
“Maggie?”
“That is…surprising,” she managed at last.
He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. “You’re horrified.”
“N-no.”
“Yes, you are.”
“A little. It’s all right.” She felt a bit faint, but held up a hand, determined to steady herself. She just needed a moment. “I’m glad you told me. I just…never thought about it too much before. But you’re right. It was a war. And without men like you, we’d all be speaking French.”
“Speaking French would be the least of your worries,” he said grimly. “I’d be more concerned about guillotines.”
“Oh. Yes…” She finally looked up at him again, having gathered herself.
She found him watching her guardedly.
“You did what you had to do,” Maggie said, determined to show her support. “And after all, as you said, you weren’t there to play cribbage.”
He said nothing for a moment, then looked away. “This is why I hate it when people ask me that question, and they always do. There is no good answer.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Fortunately, Connor, that life is far behind you now.”
He gazed wistfully at her. “Wish I could believe that.”
“Margaret!” Delia suddenly appeared with her nose in the air. “Come. We must go and pay our respects to our hostess. We mustn’t be rude.” She pivoted on her heel and stalked away again, expecting Maggie to follow.
“Far be it from your sister ever to be rude,” Connor said under his breath, hiding that brief glimpse of melancholy behind another roguish remark.
Maggie sent him a smile, glad for his quip breaking the uneasy tension that had rippled between them with his disturbing admission.
Now he changed the subject. “Has she apologized yet?”
“Don’t be silly, Your Grace.”
“She’s a hard one.”
“Aye,” Maggie said heartily, borrowing his favorite word.
Connor smiled. “Come, I’ll introduce you and your sister to both of my aunts. Brace yourself,” he added, then the two of them followed Delia into the drawing room, where Edward already waited.
They walked through the wide doorway and joined the queue of guests waiting to pay their respects to the hostess. The duchess’s house was becoming ever more crowded, but Maggie felt all upside down to think that Connor had single-handedly killed more people than were now crowded into the house.
Now, now, who are you to judge? she scolded herself. This man’s a hero.
She wasn’t judging him, though. She was just…a bit shocked.
Newly in love, she had been floating around in a bubble of happiness ever since he had proposed. Darker possibilities embedded within their alliance had not yet had time to emerge. But as she walked into the drawing room, feeling oddly numb and disjointed from reality after his revelation, she could not help wondering how well she really knew her future husband.
After all, she had known very little about Bryce, as it turned out.
What Connor had said just a few minutes ago was true—things had happened quickly between them. It was the first thing she had said to him when he’d offered marriage. “We’ve only known each other for ten days.” To be sure, they got on beautifully together, but standing back a bit from her swirling emotions, Maggie saw that perhaps she had allowed herself to be swept away by the first blush of passion. Even so, she knew what she felt for him was real.
Delia kept her back to Maggie as they waited in the queue to greet their hostesses, chatting with various people.
Connor was also socializing along the way. As the guest of honor, he was busy and could hardly attend to Maggie alone all evening, nor did she require him to. While he spoke with various guests, Maggie gazed about, taking in her surroundings, admiring the little landscape paintings on the walls.
As they neared the spot where the First Duchess was holding court, Maggie noticed a second elderly lady standing near the fireplace. While the larger woman sat enthroned with the three would-be brides arrayed beside her, the second lady stood, smiling anxiously at people here and there.
She was a frail, nervous-looking thing with an air of hapless vulnerability. Like the dowager duchess, she was clad in widow’s weeds. Her gray hair was gathered up into a chignon, and the only hint of color that she wore was an emerald brooch at her throat.
She noticed Maggie gazing at it, and her fingers rose to it self-consciously.
Maggie smiled at her. “What a beautiful brooch, if I may say so.”
“Oh, you like it, dear? It’s green, you see, in honor of His Grace. A-and the Emerald Isle.”
“How thoughtful.” Surprised but pleased by this small show of support for Connor’s Irish birth, Maggie gazed warmly at her. I wish I’d thought of that. “It’s lovely.”
“Aunt Florence is very kind,” Connor said from nearby, returning his attention to her. “Dear aunt, you must allow me to present Lady Margaret Winthrop, a daughter of the late Lord Halford.”
“Ah. It’s nice to meet you, dear.”
“Lady Margaret,” he continued, “this is Aunt Florence, Baroness Walstead.”
Maggie curtsied, though there wasn’t much room to move in the crush around the unlit fireplace. “How do you do.”
“Aunt Florence lives here with Aunt Lucinda,” he explained.
“Thank you for allowing me to come,” Maggie said.
“Oh, we’re glad to have you, dear. It’s so nice to have guests again.” Florence fretted, as though remembering the three recent deaths in the family.
Maggie did not wish to distress her. “You have a very beautiful home.”
“Oh yes,” Lady Walstead said with a vague look around. “It’s quite pleasant, being close to Hyde Park.”
“Aunt Florence, Lady Margaret is a neighbor of mine in Moonlight Square,” Connor said. “She lives with her kin there, Lord and Lady Birdwell.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said sweetly, looking relieved to find that she wasn’t the only one cast upon the hospitality of relatives.
Delia, meanwhile, was immersed in conversation with some woman, so Connor did not bother making that introduction quite yet.
“Florence!” the dowager duchess suddenly snapped, making the timid little baroness nearly jump out of her skin. “What was the name of that play I told you I wanted to see? At Drury Lane.”
“Oh, er, it was… I’m sorry. I-I cannot remember,” Florence said, shaking her head.
“Ugh, of course not. Her brain’s made of cheesecloth, I swan,” the First Duchess declared to her listener.
Maggie’s eyes widened, and her glance flew back to the unassuming Aunt Florence. The baroness lowered her head with a wounded air at the sting, but the dowager duchess did not take the least notice, continuing on with her conversation.
Maggie looked uneasily at Connor. He gave her a look that said, I warned you. Then he put his arm around his little aunt’s shoulder, gave her a kiss on the temple, and playfully asked her if the punch was strong enough to get them drunk.
Aunt Florence pooh-poohed his question, but lifted her head and gave him a grateful smile as her charming nephew teased away the hurt.
Maggie fell just a little more deeply in love with him, seeing his kindness. He might be a beast on the battlefield, but his heart was pure gold.
In any case, with her own introduction to the dragon lady looming, Maggie’s main concern was getting through the next few minutes unscathed.
If anyone could tolerate a few minutes in the presence of a bully like the duchess, surely it was she. After all, she’d dealt with Delia since birth.
The line to greet the dowager duchess moved slowly, in part, because Her Grace gave no thought to inconveniencing everybody present. It was her house, seemed to be her attitude, and everybody there could either dance to her tune or leave.
Just then, the butler came sidling along the wall, making his way to Connor, and trying to get his attention.
/>
Maggie pointed him out, and Connor turned.
The butler bowed his head. “Pardon, Your Grace. The duchess earlier instructed me to inform you when the Duke of Wellington arrived: His Grace is below.”
“What? Wellington? Here?” Connor blurted out, his eyes widening.
“Yes, Your Grace. The duke has only a few moments to spare, I’m afraid, but he wishes to make your acquaintance, welcome you to London, and express his appreciation for your service.”
“Me?” Connor seemed tongue-tied. “I-I’ll be right there!” He turned to Maggie. “Ol’ Nosey’s here—to see me!”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go on,” she said, nodding toward the doorway.
“I don’t…want to abandon you.”
“Nonsense. I’ll be fine. Lady Walstead can do the introductions, I’m sure. Would you mind?”
“I’d be delighted, my dear,” Florence said. “Run along, Amberley. Go see your field marshal.”
Connor actually gulped. “Wish me luck,” he said, smoothing his uniform coat.
“Good luck,” Maggie said with amusement.
Lady Florence and she exchanged a glance at his boyish awe, then he excused his way through the throng and hurried off to meet his idol in person.
When he’d gone, Maggie noticed that the three approved brides had spotted their quarry standing next to her for those few moments.
Now they looked daggers at her. She turned away self-consciously, gritting her teeth.
Perfect. Delia still wasn’t speaking to her. Those three were glaring at her like they wanted to snatch her up and toss her out the window. And she was about to be chained to a rock before the Kraken.
Nevertheless, she did a cursory introduction between Lady Florence and her sister before they arrived at the dragon’s seat. While Delia started preening in expectation of meeting the duchess, Maggie’s gaze wandered off through the wide-open pocket doors, where the crowd had parted to allow the Duke of Wellington to march up to the landing at the top of the stairs.
There, Connor met the great Irish-born general, who had masterminded the Monster’s demise. As some other uniformed fellow introduced the two, Maggie stifled a grin to see Connor looking stiff, intensely serious, and a bit self-conscious upon being presented to the Iron Duke.
