Marrying the Marquis (16 page)

“The Marquis of Awe,” Tinker announced, instantly claiming her attention.

Dressed in formal attire, Ross MacArthur stood beside Tinker at the top of the stairs. His dark gaze scanned the ballroom until he found her.

And then he smiled.

She returned his smile.

Holding her gaze captive, Ross descended the stairs and walked toward her. Blaze felt her heartbeat quickening and the butterflies winging in the pit of her belly.

“Good evening, Miss Flambeau.” Ross bowed over her hand, his smile boyishly charming.

“Good evening, my lord.”

He offered her his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Blaze started to reach for his hand but—

“Sorry, MacArthur.” Prince Lykos took her hand in his. “The lady promised me this dance.”

The prince escorted her onto the dance floor, and she stepped into his arms. They swirled around and around the dance floor with the other couples, her gaze looking for the marquis each time they passed their group.

“Your dancing is much improved since your sister’s wedding,” Lykos said.

Blaze stepped on his foot. “Oops.”

“I spoke too soon,” the prince said, smiling. “You could excel at the waltz if you focus on your partner instead of MacArthur.”

“I am sorry, Your Highness.” Blaze blushed, mortified that he’d caught her interest in his rival.

“The marquis is watching us, not dancing,” Lykos told her. “He appears unhappy about your dancing with me.”

Prince Lykos returned her to her parents’ group when the music ended. Before Ross could reach her, Prince Gunter claimed her next.

“I congratulate you on your horse’s success,” Gunter said, as they swirled in time with the other couples.

“The Marquis of Awe helped train her,” Blaze told him. “Are you interested in thoroughbred racing?”

Prince Gunter smiled. “Gambling on the races interests me.”

Alexander insisted on the next dance. “How is your spying?” he asked, as soon as they walked onto the dance floor.

“The marquis knows nothing,” she answered. “My sister regrets not supping with you.”

That made him smile. Blaze had the feeling he wanted Raven to worry about his supper with the blonde.

Squire Simmons claimed her next dance. Blaze wondered if she and the marquis would ever waltz together.

“Congratulations on your filly’s win,” Chadwick said, stepping onto the dance floor and taking her into his arms.

“Are you interested in thoroughbred racing,” Blaze asked, “or only gambling on the horses?”

“Dirk and I own Emperor and several other horses together,” the squire answered.

Blaze managed a polite smile but felt uneasy with the man. “Horse racing is an expensive hobby,” she said. “My father gifted me with Pegasus.”

“My late wife was the only child of a wealthy merchant,” Chadwick told her, “and I inherited all that was his.”

“I’m sorry for your loss and for prying,” Blaze said.

“There’s no need to apologize.”

Squire Simmons said all the right things and smiled when he should, but his green eyes were colder than his mother’s. There was a definite cruelty to his chiseled lips. The man probably envied his younger brother’s title.

When the music ended, Blaze returned to her parents’ group. The Duke of Kilchurn claimed her before any young man.

“I would love to dance with you,” the duke said, and escorted her onto the dance floor.

James MacArthur waltzed with grace and confidence. Dancing with her lover’s father sapped her confidence, and she missed a step. Then she stepped on his foot.

“I’m sorry,” the duke apologized. “I’m not very good at this.”

Blaze gave him a rueful smile. “You aren’t a very good liar, either.”

The Duke of Kilchurn laughed and escorted her off the dance floor, leading her to his son. “This young swain has been waiting to claim a dance.”

Ross offered her his hand. Blaze accepted the invitation, stepping onto the dance floor and into his arms.

The marquis moved with the ease and grace of a man who’d waltzed hundreds of times. Blaze moved with him, following his lead, focusing her attention on the man who held her in his arms.

“Yer dancin’ has improved,” Ross teased her.

“Prince Lykos said the same,” Blaze told him, “and then I stepped on his foot.”

Ross drew her closer. “Perhaps the fault belongs to Kazanov’s poor lead, rather than yer dancin’.”

“What a comforting thought,” Blaze said. “I do tend to battle for the lead.”

“I’ve noticed.” Ross winked at her. “Have I told ye how beautiful ye look tonight?”

Blaze blushed at his compliment. “No.”

“For the rest of my life I’ll remember the way ye look tonight,” Ross said, his voice husky.

“Our fathers are smiling at us,” she whispered, “but your stepmother is displeased.”

“How can ye tell?” he asked. “Celeste wears that forbiddin’ expression more often than not.”

“I can feel her deadly basilisk stare.”

“Basilisk?” Ross laughed at that. The other couples cast curious looks in their direction as did the guests loitering around the dance floor.

“Why aren’t you dancing with all the ladies?” Blaze asked him.

“Yer the only lady I want in my arms,” Ross said. “We’ll leave after supper.”

“I cannot leave with you,” she refused.

“We’ll discuss yer objections after supper,” Ross said, and returned her to her parents.

Blaze knew she was losing the battle. The marquis would never take
no
for an answer. She had never met a more arrogant, bossy, stubborn man.

“We must speak privately,” Raven said, sidling up to her.

“Shall we visit the withdrawing room?” Blaze asked.

“Ladies may be resting there,” Raven answered. “Let’s get punch and then wander down the corridor.”

Without a word to anyone, the sisters wended their way slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom toward the door. Refreshments were served in a room several doors down the corridor. There were tables and chairs positioned around the room and a long table laden with the crystal punch bowl, glasses, and light snacks.

Raven ladled punch into one crystal glass and handed it to Blaze. Then she filled a glass for herself.

Blaze sipped her punch. “Shall we sit at a table?”

“We cannot chance eavesdroppers or interruptions,” Raven answered.

“This sounds serious.” Blaze followed her sister out of the refreshment room, and they walked in the opposite direction from the ballroom. At the end of the hallway, they ducked into the servants’ staircase.

“Look at my betrothal ring.” Raven held her left hand out. The star ruby had darkened to blood red, signifying the owner was endangered. “The legend has proven true.”

“Charlie’s murderer is standing in our ballroom,” Blaze whispered, and emptied her glass of punch. “We should tell Alex.”

“He doesn’t believe in hocus-pocus,” Raven said. “I’ll tell him after supper, and we’ll make plans to review the guest list tomorrow.”

“The ruby has narrowed the possible suspects,” Blaze said. “Now we have only two hundred suspects instead of everyone in Newmarket.”

“I sense Dirk knows nothing,” Raven told her, “but Chadwick Simmons makes me uneasy. His lips are cruelly shaped.”

“Celeste MacArthur makes me uneasy,” Blaze said. “Her look is more deadly than a basilisk.”

Raven giggled, which made Blaze laugh. By unspoken agreement, the sisters retraced their steps down the hallway. They reached the ballroom just as the guests were beginning to go down for supper.

Prince Lykos appeared and offered Blaze his arm. “Shall we go down, my lady?”

“I am merely a miss,” she corrected him, slipping her arm through his.

The long, rectangular dining table held a variety of tempting fare. The guests would serve themselves and then find a table in the dining room or one of the smaller salons on the first floor.

“Tell me what appeals to you,” the prince said, “and I will fill a plate.”

Blaze strolled down the length of the table, seeing few dishes to encourage her appetite. There were slices of roasted beef and chicken, baked kippers from Argyll, poached salmon, and the potted dishes—chicken, ham, shrimp. None of which she planned to sample. Ever.

“I would like pickled gherkins, grilled mushrooms, and a scoop of potted cheese,” Blaze said, and then pointed to a greyish pate. “What is that?”

“Beluga caviar,” Lykos answered. “Beluga is a Russian delicacy.”

“I’ll try that, too.”

The prince placed two small squares of black bread on her plate. Then he topped each with a dollop of caviar.

“I would love another glass of the punch,” Blaze said.

“Where is this punch?”

Blaze pointed to the crystal bowl in the middle of the dining table. Lykos looked from the bowl to her and smiled. He passed her the plate and ladled the punch into a crystal glass.

“Let us sit over there.” The prince ushered her toward a table and set the plate and the glass down. “Taste the Beluga and tell me your opinion.”

Blaze lifted a piece of black bread and took a tiny bite. Though unimpressed by the taste, she smiled at the prince and nodded her approval. Russian delicacies were probably an acquired taste.

The Duke and Duchess of Inverary chose a nearby table. The duke nodded at Lykos and the duchess smiled. Blaze caught the irritated look her father gave her stepmother.

“Why is you-know-who supping with you-know-who?” Blaze heard her father ask.

Her stepmother waved her hand. “Strategy, dearest.”

“Strategy, my arse,” her father muttered.

Blaze struggled against the laughter bubbling up. She lifted her glass and sipped the punch.

“Tell me how MacArthur cured your filly of this balking problem,” Prince Lykos said.

“I cannot divulge our secret,” Blaze said, “but you should wager on Pegasus in the next race.”

Prince Lykos inclined his head. “I will certainly follow your advice.”

One floor above the dining room, Ross stood with his sister and waited for the last of the guests to go to supper. He did not want anyone eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Are we goin’ to supper or not?” Mairi asked him.

“I want yer help,” Ross told her. “I need ye to keep Prince Lykos busy while I lure Blaze away.”

“Why do ye want the company of the redhaired, freckled, illegitimate daughter of a suicide?”

I love her
, Ross thought, surprising himself. This wasn’t merely a competition to win the lady’s hand in marriage. He could not imagine growing old with anyone else. And Blaze wanted him, even if she didn’t know it yet.

Ross would never consider baring his heart to his sister or anyone else. “I intend to marry the lass.”

“What aboot Amanda?” Mairi exclaimed. “She’s been waitin’ for ye to settle.”

“I never encouraged Amanda or Celeste regardin’ marriage,” Ross said. “In fact, I moved to the Rowley Lodge so Celeste canna catch me in the marriage trap. If yer smart, ye’ll bolt yer door in the event Dirk wants to trap ye in marriage.”

“I’ve been lockin’ my door since Da married Celeste,” Mairi told him.

“I see ye share my intelligence,” Ross said. “Listen carefully, sister. I’ll only say this one time. If I ever hear ye speakin’ ill of Blaze, I’ll wash yer mouth out with soap.”

“Are ye threatenin’ me?” Mairi arched a dark brow at him. “Ye’ve a strange way of seekin’ favors.”

“I mean every word.”

“Very well, I willna voice any disparagin’ thoughts,” Mairi said, turning toward the stairs. “And I’ll help ye. Are ye comin’?”

“Thank ye, sister.”

“Ye do know yer leavin’ yer baby sister with a notorious ladies man.”

“Lykos is a rake?” Ross couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“I wouldna go so far to name him a rake,” Mairi replied, “but he enjoys the company of various women. The ladies call him the Wolf Prince, and the peaheads would swoon at his feet if he smiled at them.”

When they entered the dining room, Ross felt as if he’d walked into an opera’s last act. Raven Flambeau was supping with his stepbrothers while Alexander Blake supped with Amanda. The reason for the shift in partners eluded him.

“They’re sittin’ over there,” Ross said, his gaze on Blaze and the prince.

“Are ye so hot for her ye’d make yerself a fool?” Mairi placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Fix a plate for me, and then we’ll wander over there.”

Ross grabbed a plate, asking, “What do ye want?”

“I’ll take a slice of beef, a piece of the spinach souffle, and two kippers.”

With plate in hand, Ross escorted his sister to Blaze’s table. “Good evenin’, Yer Highness,” he greeted the other man. “Do ye remember my sister, Mairi?”

Prince Lykos stood and bowed over her hand. “I could never forget a beautiful woman.”

Mairi MacArthur inclined her head. “Are all princes as smooth as ye?”

Lykos smiled. “Please join us.”

“As a matter of fact,” Ross said, setting his sister’s plate down and lifting Blaze’s, “I need a private word with Miss Flambeau. If ye dinna mind, that is.”

“I do not mind if Mairi keeps me company.”

Ross drew Blaze out of her chair, and his sister sat in it. “I’ll bring yer plate in case this takes longer than I anticipate.”

“What are you doing?” Blaze whispered.

“I’ll tell ye in a minute.” Ross noted the curious gazes watching their exit and knew that tongues would be wagging in the morning. Thankfully, Blaze seemed oblivious to their audience.

“I dinna want anyone eavesdroppin’,” Ross told her, “so we’ll walk outside.”

“What is the secret?” Blaze asked, when they reached the gazebo. “Has this to do with Pegasus?”

“I wanted to sup with ye.”

Blaze rolled her eyes, but a smile flirted with the corners of her lips. “That was a sneaky trick.”

“Thank ye for the praise.” Ross grinned at her. “What are ye eatin’?”

“I chose gherkins, mushrooms, potted cheese, and Beluga caviar.”

“Do ye know what Beluga caviar is?”

“Beluga is a Russian delicacy,” she told him.

“What kind of delicacy?”

“I don’t recall the prince telling me.”

“Beluga is sturgeon roe,” Ross informed her. “Sturgeon is a fish, and roe its unfertilized eggs.”