Read The Marquis At Midnight for Free Online Page A

been flawless. Grace was
wearing one of the new gowns she had ordered since arriving in
London; a white satin under slip with an overskirt of jonquil
sarcenet several shades lighter than her dark golden hair. Tiny
yellow rosebuds had been embroidered around the bodice and hemline.
As it was still cold out, both ladies were wrapped in velvet
cloaks, Hester’s lined with ermine for she could not seem to get
warm.
    Grace was growing more and more worried
about her friend. Normally someone with the sunniest of
dispositions, the weight of what must feel like her pending doom
was pressing down on Hester unbearably and Grace could not help but
feel that she was heading for a breakdown. It was why she had not
entirely dismissed the idea of Bertram’s assistance. The
possibility of getting that necklace back somehow seemed to be all
that was keeping Hester from breaking into a hundred tiny
pieces.
    The Earl of Hartwell’s
estate – not his country estate that lay in Shropshire – was set in
extensive grounds abutting the Heath itself. It had become a
tradition for the Countess to hold a ball there at the end of
March, to which, it seemed, all of the ton were invited. Unsurprisingly,
then, Hester and Grace had to wait in the carriage for a good ten
minutes while the occupants of the carriages in front of them were
dislodged.
    Once inside, as a first
time visitor, Grace was impressed by the enormous, well-lit rooms.
There were two ballrooms and both had been set up to accommodate
the flood of guests who wandered through them. They had not arrived
early and there were a lot of people. Both Grace and Hester looked around
them a little nervously, although for different reasons.
    ‘What a crowd!’ Grace murmured, a little
stunned.
    ‘It’s the same every year.
Most of the ton turns up. It’s like bears emerging from hibernation.
Especially some of the older gentlemen.’ Hester gave a mischievous
grin. ‘Sometimes I swear I can see some of them blinking at the
light while they scratch themselves.’
    Grace smiled at the image. It had to be
admitted that some of the elderly lords, with their equally elderly
wives, looked a little like slow moving, furry animals.
    It wasn’t until they had been there an hour
that Grace finally got to meet the perpetrator of her friend’s
continuing torment. They had been dancing and Grace had almost
managed to have a good time, although for some reason all of her
partner’s brought to mind that last dance at Vauxhall Gardens,
which was a very unwelcome memory and one she constantly tried to
banish.
    Returning from the dance floor, she saw
Hester talking to a tall, thin man dressed in black satin. Even
from a distance, she knew that it must be Lovington and, even at a
distance, she disliked him immediately. The way his tall form
hovered over Hester, as predatory as a carrion bird. Grace hurried
forward, unwilling to leave her friend undefended, although really,
what could she do?
    I cannot give him the
satisfaction of intimidating Hester , she
thought with unaccustomed fury. The man was, quite simply, a wrong
‘un. She shed her partner with alacrity and sailed towards Hester,
who turned to greet her arrival with relief.
    ‘Oh, Grace. There you are. May I present
Lord Lovington? A… A friend of mine.’ Hester could not help that
small catch on those last words.
    Grace gave him a smile. Not the kind that
she usually bestowed upon a new acquaintance. It was more of a
teeth together kind of grimace. ‘My lord.’
    Lovington’s cold dark eyes surveyed her with
interest as he took her hand, bowing over it. ‘My dear Lady
Pemberton,’ he drawled, giving her a smile that was a reptilian
stretch of the mouth as he was practically lipless. ‘How charming.
Hester has told me so much about you.’
    Hester? Only close friends
were given permission to call a lady by their first name and
Lovington was certainly not a friend. The deliberate use of
Hester’s name was almost a taunt. ‘And I you, my