Page 45 of Her Errant Earl
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked him, unable to squelch her curiosity. “For the…lack of rules?”
Surely it was the champagne that made her so daring. For the real Maggie would never have dreamt of insinuating such a thing to a stranger. She’d all but asked him if he sought a lover, for heaven’s sake. But if she wanted to succeed in forcing her husband to divorce her, she couldn’t be herself. She had to be someone fearless and bold. Someone without conscience.
“I suppose it is in part,” he confirmed, taking another sip of spirits. “What of you? What brings you here? You appear terribly young for this fast set.”
“Disappointment, I suppose.” She gulped her champagne as he closed the distance between them. He was so near she could see the dark stubble on his defined jaw.
“You’re certainly too young for disappointment.” He ran a finger from her elbow to her wrist, stopping to tangle his fingers with hers. “Who would dare to disappoint you?”
“My husband,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. Though truth be told, she was far more disappointed in herself than she was in the marquis. After all, she had known he married her for her dowry in the same way she had married him for his title. It was simply that she had not anticipated his utter defection and her resulting misery. But there was little need to divulge her inner sins and secrets to the man before her now. This was to be a lighthearted affair. A means to an end.
“He must be an utter bastard to cause you so much distress.”
She laughed without mirth. “I would simply say he is a rather cold and heartless man.” Yes indeed, that described Sandhurst perfectly.
He squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
“You are not the man who owes me an apology.” The old sadness bloomed in her heart as she thought of Jonathan and all she’d left behind. “But I suppose I’ll never have one from him.” The best she could expect from him was anger. Perhaps a blinding fury. She meant to cuckold him before all of London, to leave no doubt in the minds of the entireton. Only then could she be free. This man could help her. She felt certain of it.
“Do you love him?” he asked, startling her.
His query threw her. People of their class so rarely married for love. She did not love her husband, but she had certainly married him with a hopeful heart. Her mother had assured her that many modern marriages began with respect and led to tender affections after time and diligence. She had hoped to foster a relationship of kindness between herself and her husband, at the very least. Instead, their relationship simply consisted of silence. But it was odd for the man before her to have even pondered such a question.
“Of course not,” she said at last. “What of you and your very dear friend? Do you love her?”
“I did for many years,” he said, the admission seemingly torn from him. “Now, I’m not certain what I feel any longer. A need for change, certainly.”
She saw them for what they were then, a man and woman who had somehow run across each other’s paths at the same ball, both of them lost. Searching. She longed to escape from the gilded prison in which she now found herself. He longed for something. Perhaps distraction. A lover. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that the fear in her had at long last subsided. She stood ready, poised to grab the reins of her life and steer herself in a different direction.
“What sort of change do you seek?” she asked, watching him above the rim of her flute.
His sinful mouth curved in a half smile. “I think perhaps it’s you.”
She nearly choked on her mouthful of champagne. “Me?”
“Oh yes,” he told her in that seductive, deep voice of his. His green eyes were fierce and direct on her, trapping her gaze so she couldn’t look anywhere else. There was no denying his sensual promise. “You.”
