The Lady's Command. Stephanie Laurens
decision with a gracious smile. She’d hidden her welling consternation; she had yet to decide how best to respond to his decision to leave her safely in London.
She understood his motives, but equally, she knew that they would have to start somewhere—that at some point, she would have to press her case to accompany him on his business trips. In the circumstances, it was difficult to find a reason not to commence as she intended to go on. If she bowed to his fear for her now, if she gave it credence on what he’d assured her was an as-near-as-made-no-odds dangerless voyage, his attitude would only grow more entrenched, making her ultimate battle to change his mind that much harder.
On them both.
As she was beyond determined that, ultimately, she would prevail and would routinely accompany him on his voyages, then letting his decision stand, even this once, seemed an unwise path to take.
Outwardly gay, she attempted to respond to the banter and comments directed her way sufficiently well to camouflage her distraction. Meanwhile, the better part of her brain revisited the options she’d identified over the past twenty-four hours. She wasn’t the sort to fret and fume, to argue and shout; over the years, she’d found that the most effective way of overcoming hurdles was to ignore them and act as she believed she should. However, this situation was complex and complicated, affecting not just her but Declan, and also impacting and potentially shaping the foundation of their marriage.
She’d thought about seeking advice, but there were precious few whom she might ask, and even fewer with what she deemed the requisite experience and understanding to whom she might consider listening. There were few ladies in the ton whose husbands were adventurers. The closest comparison she could think of was her brother, Julian, and with respect to his marriage, it had, indeed, been Miranda who had acted to make their marriage happen; if she hadn’t taken a decisive step against Julian’s clear direction, the joyful marriage she and Julian shared would simply not have been.
Impulse, observation, and contemplation all urged Edwina to act. If she truly believed—as she did—that her accompanying Declan on this voyage was critical for their marriage to succeed, then it behooved her to make that happen for their joint greater good.
That was a nice, clear, unequivocal conclusion. All she needed to do was convince herself that it was, indeed, the right one.
She was still mentally debating, still absentmindedly fending off subtly worded advances when, across the ballroom, a gilded head of light brown hair caught her eye. She was too short to see the face beneath, but that color, that recklessly windblown style…
Seconds later, the crowd thinned, and she glimpsed Declan moving purposefully in her direction. Her pulse sped up; she ignored all those about her—she had eyes only for him.
It appeared he felt the same way about her; although several ladies attempted to intercept him, and although he cloaked his responses in superficial civility, his gaze barely diverted from her.
And then he was there, smoothly taking her hand and raising it to his lips while his gaze held hers. “My dear, I apologize for my tardiness. Matters took longer than I’d anticipated.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he raised his gaze and allowed it to travel over the group of over-attentive gentlemen.
Declan smiled, coldly, on the group of, at least to him, unwelcome admirers who had had the temerity to gather about his wife. He didn’t like the looks of any of them. An unsettling thought rose in his mind—that with him absent on the Crown’s business, she would have no one to send them packing. “Do introduce me to your”—cicisbeos—“friends, my dear.”
Several of said friends all but deflated.
He managed not to bare his teeth and managed to respond with passable civility to the introductions Edwina was quick to make.
This was the first night he hadn’t accompanied her into the ton, and he was going to be away for at least a fortnight, possibly longer…
He squelched the impulse that rose within him; this was not a venue in which snarling was acceptable.
The introductions were barely complete when the small orchestra at the end of the room put bow to string, and the introduction to a waltz rose above the chatter. He fell on the opening. Closing his hand over hers, he smiled into the widening eyes she turned his way. “I do hope you’ve saved this waltz for me.”
She blinked several times, then somewhat carefully said, “Yes—that is, I believe I might chance it.”
He gave her a quizzical look, but he wasn’t about to argue; she’d accepted and given him the opportunity to remove her from the horde surrounding her. He flashed a smile he fought not to allow to be too overtly possessive around the group, made their excuses, and drew her away.
The open space of the dance floor was only two paces distant; as he turned her into his arms and stepped out, he arched a brow at her. “What was that all about?”
She sighed. “I claimed to have a twisted ankle so I could avoid all their invitations to waltz.”
Happiness bloomed. He grinned. “Clever girl.”
She pulled a face at him. “I feel I should point out that you’ve just shown me to be a liar.”
He arched his brows, considering, then offered, “Most of them probably knew you were lying.”
She snorted. After two brisk revolutions, she admitted, “Most likely.”
That was the last word they exchanged about her court of would-be admirers. Declan set himself to entertain her and not-too-subtly monopolize her time. He saw her mother, her sisters, and several of the older ladies noticing and commenting, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave anyone, gentleman or lady, in any doubt that Edwina was his—and that he intended her to remain so.
As the evening wore on, he took a leaf out of the Delbraith ladies’ book; working on the principle that the most effective way of discouraging any would-be lovers was to demonstrate just how happy he and Edwina were in each other’s company, how steeped in each other they had already become, he did something he’d never imagined he would do and openly wore his heart on his sleeve—and encouraged her to do the same.
What followed was the most enjoyable evening they had spent in the ton since their wedding. He kept his attention locked on her, and hers remained locked on him; the rest of the guests were merely a colorful backdrop for their play.
Gradually, his possessively protective tension faded, soothed by her laugh, her smile, and the openly loving light in her eyes. Earlier in the day, he’d taken time from his search for information to hunt up Catervale and Elsbury and alert them to his impending absence. Both Edwina’s brothers-in-law had readily agreed to do what they could to shield her from any unwanted advances. Of course, it went without saying that both would have to rely on her sisters to alert them to any need for action.
Foreseeing the weakness in that plan, Declan had hailed a hackney, traveled to the house overlooking Dolphin Square, and spoken to her brother. Julian and his wife might not circulate within the ton, but as Neville Roscoe, he had eyes and ears everywhere. Once Julian had shaken off his surprise that Edwina had agreed to remain in London, he’d undertaken to watch over her while Declan was at sea.
Declan had taken every precaution he could. Given that Edwina wasn’t a silly female prone to taking unnecessary risks, when they finally departed Comerford House and settled in the shadows of their carriage to rattle over the cobbles to Stanhope Street, he felt more settled than he had since he’d learned of his mission. Assured that while he was away, all would be well with her, and relieved he’d managed to navigate his way through the marital shoals caused by his unexpected voyage.
Having her seated beside him with one small hand tucked into one of his and her soft shoulder pressing against his arm set the seal on his peace.
As the carriage turned a corner, she glanced at his face. “Do you know at what hour you’ll be leaving the house?”
Her tone was even, the question simply that.