Isabella stood by the edge of the dance floor, her hands curled into fists at her sides, lips pressed into a thin line. She had every intention of storming across the floor to confront her husband and Lady Harcourt, who were currently spinning in a clumsy sort of dance.
Just as she took her first step forward, a tall figure stepped into her path, blocking her like a well-dressed wall. "Forgive me, my lady," came a smooth voice.
She stopped, blinking up at the tall figure before her. He bowed deeply, then took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles with the flair of someone who had practised the move in every mirror he had ever passed.
"I'm Lord Julian, Marquess of Westbury," he said with a charming smile and just a touch of slurred speech. "And you, dear lady, are by far the most radiant creature in this room. Why in heaven's name are you standing alone?"
Isabella blinked, caught off guard. The man was certainly decent to the eyes. Light brown curls, cheekbones sharp enough to slice cake, and an expression that made her wonder whether he was teasing her or genuinely meant every word. But something about him made her hesitate. Perhaps it was the faint scent of wine on his breath, or the way his eyes twinkled a little too brightly.
My supposed partner is too busy spinning another woman across the floor, she thought bitterly.
She curtsied politely. "My dance partner is otherwise engaged, my Lord," she said, trying not to grit her teeth. Her blood boiled.
Lord Julian followed her gaze, and his eyebrows lifted. "Ah, I see. That explains the fire in your eyes."
Isabella gave Lord Julian a side glance. "You see a lot, don't you?"
He chuckled softly. "Well, it is very rude of the lucky man to leave such a lovely lady unattended. But perhaps, I can help fix that?" He held out a hand. "May I have the honour?"
She was about to decline with a quick excuse—her ankle hurt, or she was expecting someone else- but when her gaze slid back to the dance floor, she clamped her mouth shut.
Though Leofric looked like someone dancing under protest, all stiff shoulders and awkward steps, it didn't change the fact that he had embarrassed her publicly. Her anger simmered when Lady Harcourt clung to her husband like a leech with a smile that could crack her powdered face.
If her husband could dance with other women, why couldn't she enjoy herself too? What was the harm in it?
"Very well. Let's dance." She placed her hand in Lord Julian's and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, ignoring the small voice in her head that whispered, 'This might be a mistake.'
Lord Julian grinned down at her, flashing rows of pearly white teeth. "I promise not to step on your toes, unless I get too distracted by your beauty."
"Oh, please don't," Isabella said dryly. "These shoes cost a scandalous amount."
He laughed. "A woman with wit. My evening just improved tremendously. Where the hell have you been all evening?"
Julian led her to the dance floor as the music changed to a slower, more elegant tune. He placed a hand gently at her waist, and they began to move.
Just as she hoped, Leofric noticed her. Not just her, but them. His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. His whole face turned to storm clouds. Good.
To her surprise, Julian was a wonderful dancer. Smooth, confident, and graceful. He twirled her with ease, making her gown flare, then pulled her gently back into his arms, his hand warm on her back. And though she was tense at first, she started to relax just a little.
"Now, I must confess," Lord Julian said as they glided across the floor, "I had no idea this ball would be so… entertaining. Drama, secrets, and beautiful women."
"You forgot the gossip," Isabella replied with a small smirk. "Without gossip, there wouldn't be a plot."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, how true. Do you suppose they're talking about us already? About how a handsome Lord saved an abandoned, beautiful lady?" The corner of his lips pulled up into a mischievous smile.
"I'd be disappointed if they weren't," she said, then chuckled at her own reply.
Lord Julian leaned in, his voice low. "Shall we give them something else to talk about?"
She gave him a sideways look. "That depends. Are you going to try to kiss me?"
He looked mock-offended. "Would I do such a thing?"
"I don't know, would you?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Just know that my husband might have you beheaded before you even try it."
"Ah, right, you are married. I almost forgot." His brows drew together only for a moment. "I would only kiss your pretty lips if you invite me to. And even then, I'd ask twice to be sure."
"You're terribly charming," she said half jokingly. "Has anyone told you that recently?"
"Only three times tonight," he replied, and they both burst into quiet laughter.
Across the ballroom, Leofric nearly crushed Lady Harcourt's foot as he stepped on it.
"My Lord!" Lady Harcourt gasped in pain and shock.
But Leofric wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on Isabella. Or rather, on the man whose hand was firmly around her waist. And she was laughing. Laughing with Julian Westbury, of all people.
His jaw clenched. It wasn't just jealousy that clawed at his chest, it was something worse. He knew Julian. The Marquess was Lady Harcourt's younger half-brother. A charming scoundrel with a reputation that made most fathers bolt their daughters' windows and doors at night.
"Earth to you, my Lord," Lady Harcourt said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You're stepping all over me."
Leofric blinked and forced his attention back to the lady clinging to him. "What is your brother doing in town?" He said grimly.
She lifted one slim shoulder. "He arrived unexpectedly this morning. I couldn't very well turn away my own kin, could I?"
"You could have at least tried to keep him away from my wife." Leofric glared down at her before focusing on Isabella and her dance partner.
"I suppose you plan to end our dance early to chase your wife?" Lady Harcourt said with a pout as she followed his gaze.
Leofric gave her a sharp look. "You suppose correctly."
"Before you go," she added smoothly, "when will you tell your wife about your mistress?"
Leofric's jaw clenched. "There is no mistress. There is nothing to tell."
Lady Harcourt tilted her head. "Oh? I could've sworn—"
"Swear less," he snapped. The song ended, and he offered only a curt bow before walking off.
He scanned the room, searching for Isabella, but his stomach dropped when he saw her leaving the ballroom with Julian. His heart thumped in his chest. What the devil was happening?
Without thinking, he started after them, his steps long and full of purpose, but before he could reach the doors, someone stepped into his path.
Miriam.
Christ's toes! Were all the women in the ballroom trying to drive him crazy? Did they hold a meeting or something?
"Leofric," she said quickly, "We need to talk."
"Not now," he growled. "This is not a good time."
"It's important," she insisted, grabbing his sleeve. "If you don't listen, I'll scream. I'll tell them all. Right here, right now."
Leofric's hands fisted at his sides. "Miriam…"
"I'm serious," she said, her voice shaking. "You promised—"
"I didn't promise you anything, damn it." he cursed under his breath, his eyes lingering on the door. He tried to side-step Miriam, but she blocked him. "Get the hell out of my sight, woman."
"How can you treat me like this in my condition?" Miriam asked, tears rolling down her face. "I am carrying your child for Christ's sake!"
"Keep your voice down!" Leofric whispered-yelled, eyes fiercely sweeping the room. Of course, people were already watching them. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to a less crowded part of the hall. "Why the hell are you doing this? We both know the bastard you are carrying isn't mine."
"You keep saying that to yourself when we both know the truth. All I am asking for is your attention."