If what Ilya said were true. That he had been successful in keeping the line between playing the libertine for his family and fidelity to her, did they stand a chance?
Her heart, the one that had been a constant ache for the last five and a half months, trembled in hopeful beats.
All those letters she had sent back unopened. Had he tried to convey this to her earlier? Had she protracted the pain herself? Immediately and ongoing, she had assumed the worst of him.
Seph, slipped the dance card into her purse and made her way through the candle lit paths to the conservatory door and stepped back into the hall. She walked down the corridor to the blaze of light that was the Ballroom. A soft rumble of a crowd all speaking, laughter leaping out of the hum, the percussive clink of glasses. It was as if she had just come from another world.
“Where have you been?” Marsden murmured. His eyes scanned her face.
“Did you tell him where I was?”
“I didn’t know where you went, and I didn’t have to. The man was determined, he’d have gone to the kennels out the back and unleashed the hunting dogs if he’d needed to.”
“Where’s my fiancé?” She searched over heads with feathered plumes and glittering hair pieces, between gaps of people in shimmering gowns and formal black and whites.
Marsden gave an exaggerated huff. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”
The orchestra was between sets ensuring the dance floor was empty.
“That is what he is. I have some things I want to talk with you about but not here. I’ll call on you.” Seph saw St Alban over the other side deep in discussions near the patio doors with his parliamentary crowd. “There he is.” There was no wave of warmth as she looked at him. Ilya was a tidal wave of emotions even at the mere promise a shape could be him in the crowd. Her gaze scanned for Ilya, there was no sight of him, and still her heart shivered knowing he was somewhere in the room.
“St Alban doesn’t even know that his claim is being eroded by a determined and preferable Russian.” Marsden said under his breath. “That lack of observation doesn’t bode well for parliament nor you.”
“I thought you said you punched the ‘preferable Russian.’”
“Men don’t hold that against each other.”
“Oh, look there are the Dolton Twins perhaps you should rush over?” Seph hid a grin as she took her exit.
It was days later that Marsden could be found at his house, brooding.
“I have been calling by for days.” Then she took stock of him. “What’s wrong with you?” He was disheveled and hadn’t shaven.
“I am not feeling social Seph, so make it quick.” The scent of alcohol puffed into the air as he spoke.
“Are you drinking already?”
“I have only gotten home from an all-night game.”
Seph sank into her favorite parlor chair, the canary yellow brocade, overstuffed at one time and now simply a comfortable snuggle. Leaves and vines were carved into the mahogany back and the yellow brocade had vertical stitching with button tufting. It had come from Marsden’s family country house. She’d spent many a summer vacation in it during her childhood, legs tucked up under her, as she and Marsden regaled each other about how great their lives would be when set free from the constraints of youth.
Little had either of them guessed that those were the days of freedom.
“You look terrible.” She said as her friend sank into the matching sofa. “What’s wrong are you sick?”
He waved a dismissive hand.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“What do you want Seph?”
The door opened. “Excuse me sir will you and Miss Seraphina be wanting a tray of tea?”
“Yes.” She replied as Marsden said, no.
The butler, Fredrick stood at a loss. Marsden was the master of the house and yet she was as good as family as far as the staff and Marsden’s family were concerned.
Marsden gave Fredrick the nod.
“You have dark circles under your eyes.” And a haunted look. She knew that look; it was what she saw when she looked in the mirror these past few months. “Are you in love?”
The expression he gave was wretched. “Absolutely not.”
“Who is it?” Had she been so self-obsessed she hadn’t noticed?
“No one…no one I can have. No one I want…”
He leaned back then barked a derisive laugh. “Who would have thought, the infamous Lord Marsden, rakehell to end all rakehells, the man without a heart would be so swiftly felled. Out of the blue, taken by surprise and made wretched with want and longing.”
In seconds Seph was on the small little sofa next to him. Arms slipping around his shoulders drawing him close as he rested his head on her shoulder.
“We should paint the town,” she murmured stroking his back.
“Done.”
“Crash and burn at the gaming halls…”
“Done.”
Oh dear.
“Let’s open that bottle from Egypt, the one that smells like it would kill you.”
“Finished.”
“Are you going to tell me who it is?”
He turned his face, so it was now pressed into her shoulder and mumbled something into it.
“You’ll have to enunciate…” she coaxed.
He lifted his head and leaned back. “Enough of my maudlin affairs. How are you going with your Russian?”
Seph pulled a face. “I need your help to check a few things.”
The door opened and the tea service was set out on the coffee table. Seph busied herself with it while Marsden looked up at the ceiling. Seph handed him a cup of tea.
“You need to wash. You smell.”
“I smell you say?” He sniffed himself.
“Yes, just a bit.”
When he looked at her his eyes softened. “Come on then, out with it.”
Seph drew the dance card from two nights earlier out of her purse. “Ilya said you would know he hadn’t slept with them.”
“These are the women you saw in his room?” Marsden glanced at the names and shook his head.
“Yes.” Her throat was tight.
“It’s a pity I hadn’t known earlier. I can tell you unequivocally he didn’t sleep with them. They might be married but they like to slip away and ‘tip the velvet.’”
“I don’t understand.”
“They like women, they are sapphic. A couple of us who know let them use our rooms.” Marsden raised his gaze and looked at her.
“Women?” Confusion swirled through her as she tried to put it together, but it didn’t make sense.
That indulgent smile of his formed on his lips. “Yes.”
A lightness filled her, something entirely unexpected. She smiled and foolish, foolish girl her eyes welled up. Marsden got that soft look in his eyes. And then it just broke loose, and she cried, cried with deep aching sobs. How much had she kept in, how deep had the pain gone? The relief was enormous, a shaft of light over gloom that was the past five and a half months.
It was now her turn to get her back rubbed and press her face into his shoulder while she wept.
“I am the cause of my own suffering,” she muffled against him
“Aren’t we all. Now are we done?”