With that, she hobbled off to greet a circle of her cronies.
Penny’s gaze went back to Marcus, still surrounded by ladies. The loathsome Lady Ashley was now not only batting her lashes at Marcus, she was also giving that annoyingly tinkling laugh at everything he said. Penny wanted to go over and tackle the trollop; good sense and her pride held her back.
“What a marvelous crush, Lady Blackwood!”
Tearing her attention away from Marcus and his harem, Penny focused on greeting the newcomers. The group consisted of four couples, all of whom she liked, so for the first time that evening, her smile felt genuine.
She first exchanged air kisses with Lady Helena Harteford. As usual, the beautiful, curvaceous brunette was accompanied by her tall, austere marquess, who bowed politely over Penny’s hand. They were followed by Marianne and Ambrose Kent; the former’s moon-kissed glamour was a direct contrast to her husband’s lanky, salt-of-the-earth handsomeness, yet the pair went together like a fork and knife. The Duke and Duchess of Strathaven, a dark-haired and lively couple, said their hellos next, and then came Thea and her new husband Gabriel, the Marquess of Tremont.
Tremont inclined his tawny head. “Good evening, Lady Blackwood,” he said.
Not long ago, mutual mistrust would have colored any exchange between Penny and her former colleague. First rule of espionage: trust no one—particularly another spy. But Tremont’s recent marriage had changed him; the love of his marchioness had made him a different man, one whom Penny had trusted enough to join forces with. With the help of the Kents, Tremont and Penny had put an end to the affair of the Spectre and, in doing so, laid their past animosity to rest.
“I’m so glad to see you all here,” Penny said and meant it.
“We’ve been here for a while,” Thea confided, “but we didn’t want to interfere with your hostess duties.”
“What she means is that you were positively swarmed with admirers. We couldn’t beat a path through to you,” Marianne drawled.
“A problem I’m all too familiar with,” Ambrose Kent muttered.
Being gorgeous and witty, Marianne Kent received her fair share of male attention. She winked at her husband. “You know I save all my waltzes for you, darling.”
“Speaking of waltzes, has anyone seen Violet?” This came from Emma, who was craning her neck to get a view of the dance floor. “The minute she arrives at a ball, she’s like a fish let loose in the ocean. I keep losing track of her.”
“I don’t see her, pet.” Having the advantage of height, the Duke of Strathaven towered over his petite duchess, his pale green eyes alertly scanning the ballroom. “Could she be out in the garden?”
“Knowing Violet, she could be anywhere doing anything—which is precisely what I’m afraid of,” Emma said, her brows knitting.
“Don’t fret, love. We’ll find her.” Sliding a proprietary arm around his wife’s waist, Strathaven said dryly to the group, “Excuse us while we attend to a domestic emergency,” and the pair took off into the crowd.
“Should we help them look?” Thea asked.
“Tremont, Harteford, and I can go,” Kent said. “You ladies enjoy yourselves.”
As the men took leave of their wives, Penny suffered a stab of envy. Harteford murmured something in his lady’s ear that made her cheeks turn pink, and Tremont kissed his new bride tenderly on the forehead. Whereas Penny’s husband… she couldn’t help but glance beneath her lashes in Marcus’ direction. Blooming hell, he was still in Cora Ashley’s group, only now the scheming bitch had wormed her way to his side. Penny gripped her lace fan as Lady Cora leaned up and whispered something in Marcus’ ear, laying a pink glove on his arm.
On my husband’s arm.
Fragile sticks snapped in Penny’s hand.
“Is everything all right, my dear?”
Marianne’s quiet words broke Penny’s anguished reverie. For once, she felt too hurt and angry to measure her words. She didn’t even have the heart to care about the presence of Lady Helena, who was a mere acquaintance. Seeing as the marchioness was Marianne’s bosom friend, she probably knew some of the truth anyway.
“No.” Bitterly, Penny tossed her broken fan into the pot of an adjacent palm. “Things are far from being right.”
“Lord Blackwood must be proud of your event,” Thea countered. “I’ve never been to a ball so beautifully planned, and no one can deny this is a crush.”
This evening was supposed to be Penny’s piece de resistance. Her way to win her husband back and show the world how much they loved each other. Instead, the entire affair was a fiasco.
“I thought this would help, but clearly it doesn’t. None of this matters.” She waved a weary hand at the roaring merriment. “He’s still angry at me.”
“Then why don’t you go talk to him?” Marianne said. “Tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t know what is going on, and it’s probably not my place to say.” Lady Helena’s soft, cultured voice broke in. “But if this has anything to do with husbandly problems, I might be able to help.”
So Marianne hadn’t said anything to her friend. Penny was grateful for the other’s discretion. At the same time, she couldn’t help but say wryly, “What would you know about those, Lady Helena? Your husband adores you and probably hasn’t given you a moment’s trouble.”
Marianne and Lady Helena looked at each other—and burst into gales of laughter.
Penny frowned. “What is so amusing?”
Thea shrugged, her expression equally puzzled. “I haven’t the faintest.”
“Sorry—sorry,” Lady Helena gasped, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. When she was finished, she said, still smiling, “It’s just that I do know a thing or two about troublesome husbands.”
“Trust me, she does,” Marianne said.
“And what I know leads me to believe that the gossip circulating about your estrangement can’t possibly be true,” Helena went on.
“Why would you say that?” Penny said with dull resignation. “Marcus hasn’t paid me any attention all evening.”
“But he has been paying you attention, my dear,” Helena said, her eyes dancing. “He merely does so when you’re not looking. Right now, for example.”
Penny’s head spun in Marcus’ direction. Her gaze locked with his stormy one, and her heartbeat took off in a wild gallop. The next instant, he looked away, bending his head to catch something Cora had to say. A minute after that, he left the group.
To fetch something for the needy tart? Penny thought, outraged.
Jaw clenched, she said, “Why can’t he just talk to me about what’s gotten under his skin?”
“Because he’s a gentleman,” Marianne said. “When it comes to talking about their emotions, they’d rather have a tooth drawn.”
“Or drink. Or pummel each other in the ring,” Helena added.
“Or clam up—even though they are suffering inside.” Thea’s voice was gentle. “Being newly married myself, I can’t profess to have the knowledge that you all do. But my mama always said there’s one important adage to live by in marriage: to err is human—and to forgive, divine.”
Flora would have said something similar.
“A wise woman, your mama,” Helena said, nodding.
“I’ll be the first to admit that holding out an olive branch is not my favorite activity, but when I’ve done it,” Marianne said in philosophical tones, “it invariably works.”
Given the disaster of the evening thus far, talking couldn’t make things worse.
Penny heaved a sigh. “I’ll go speak to him.”
With impeccable timing, a footman walked past, and she snagged a flute of champagne from his tray. She swallowed first the bubbles and then her pride. After that, she went to look for her husband.
A quarter hour later, Penny approached the small balcony off the north end of the ballroom. The area was deserted as steaming new refreshments had just been brought out, luring the partygoers to the buffet tables. Marcus had not been amongst them. In fact, Penny had looked for him in all the obvious places, and he was nowhere to be found. As the servants hadn’t recalled seeing him go upstairs, the balcony was the next likely place to search.
The thick burgundy drapes were drawn, the doors left open behind them. A cool draft shivered over Penny’s skin. She pulled back one of the curtains… and her heart shot into her throat.
Marcus, standing in the cold moonlight.
He wasn’t alone.
The scene ripped into Penny like a bayonet. Cora Ashley, in Marcus’ arms, her mouth plastered to his. A jagged sound tore from Penny’s throat. Marcus jerked, his head spinning in her direction, his gaze crashing into hers.
He pushed Cora away. “Penny—”
She didn’t hear the rest. Insides splintering, she ran away—as fast and far as she could.
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, Marcus made his way out of his club. He was drunk but not drunk enough. Guilt and self-recrimination swirled uneasily with the alcohol he’d imbibed as he waited for the footman to fetch his coat and hat.