Unforgivable(56)

Gil bowed, Rose curtseyed, and after Lord and Lady Clive had reciprocated, Gil performed the introductions. Lord and Lady Clive’s expressions, when they looked at Rose, were avid with curiosity. And, in Lord Clive’s case, admiration. His eyes swept down the length of Rose’s silvery gown and up again, lingering on her bosom, then her mouth.

Gil discovered he wanted to punch Lord Clive on the nose, although, rather inconsistently, he also discovered that the man’s reaction gave him a strange thrill of somewhat masochistic pleasure.

And what was that all about?

What did it matter to him what anyone thought of Rose?

It was a thought he had plenty of time to contemplate that evening. Forced to introduce Rose to dozens of friends and acquaintances, he then watched her proceed to dance her slippers off with everyone but him.

He really ought not to mind. He was the one who had suggested they go about in society together for a few weeks. The very purpose of coming to this ball was to introduce Rose to the Ton, wasn’t it?

So why, every time some grinning fool approached them to enquire who Gil’s lovely companion was, did he feel like frog-marching her out the door and back to Stanhope House?

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Gil heaved a sigh and leaned his shoulder against the pillar that he was half hiding behind. There were plenty of people he could talk to if he chose, but he wanted to be alone for a while, and he’d found this quiet nook from which to watch Rose dance the quadrille. She was dancing with some young pup called Thorpe, who affected the most absurd poetical airs, like a third-rate Lord Byron. Thorpe was gazing soulfully at Rose. Making a cake of himself, Gil thought irritably.

He turned his attention back to his wife. Her movements were graceful, though obviously unpractised. He could see that she needed to think about the steps as she performed the passes and turns of the dance with her overeager partner.

Lord, but she was beautiful tonight. Her silver gauze gown glittered under the blazing chandeliers, making her look like a fairy. Titania maybe, with that regal pose of hers. A serious sort of fairy. The sort that would be running fairyland, he thought, and smiled to himself, thinking of her poring over golden accounts books in her silver finery.

He’d been watching her for only a few minutes when a female voice spoke behind him. “Hello, Gil.”

He turned, a smile already growing at those unmistakable soft tones. “Tilly—”

Eyes twinkling, she offered her hand, and he lifted it to his lips, grazing her gloved knuckles with his lips. “You look wonderful,” he said. And she did, in a diaphanous gown that enhanced her pink-and-gold beauty, a beauty that looked more mature now.

“Thank you.” She blushed becomingly. Still that quiet, modest nature. “You’re very kind, Gil.”

“Hardly. Merely pointing out the obvious. And how is Dray? And the children?”

She was plainly pleased to be off the subject of her own looks, launching into an animated monologue about her family, how busy Dray was with his politics and how the twins had had mumps but were quite recovered now. Tilly was a domestic creature at heart, and Gil smiled at her indulgently as she talked, not especially interested in her news but soothed by her easy contentment.

“And what about you, Gil?” she said at last. “I see that your wife is with you this evening. Is she—that is, is everything…?” She trailed off hopefully, gazing at him with wide blue eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised by her question, but Rose had never been mentioned between them before. He found himself wondering why Tilly had asked. Had she seen him staring at Rose? Had he looked infatuated? The thought of other people guessing his innermost feelings made him queasy.

“Rose came down to London a couple of weeks ago,” he replied. “We are—that is, we plan to try to live together.” He gave an uncomfortable laugh, an attempt at lightness that didn’t come off.

“Really?” Tilly said, blue eyes suddenly glittering with what looked suspiciously like tears. “Oh Gil! I—I’m so very pleased for you. I’d been thinking, you know, what a—well, a perfect waste you’ve been making of your life. So, I’m glad. Truly.” She gave a little sniff and smiled in a wobbly way, and he found himself gazing at her, surprised by her little display of emotion. She was always so full of her husband and children and her home. He was amazed she’d even given him a thought.

After a moment, Tilly tore her gaze away from his and looked at the dancers. “She’s very pretty, I see.”

Gil stared at Tilly’s averted profile, wondering how to respond to that.

“I—well, yes,” he mumbled eventually and followed her gaze. His eyes immediately found Rose amongst the dancers, turning in silver splendor, her gown glimmering with the reflected flames of a thousand shivering candles. She was the most beautiful woman in the room, he thought, though it seemed ungallant to say so to another woman, even Tilly.