(COMPLETED)
Before the Duke of Wardington, before marriage, and before the games of marrying off his three sons and their friends, there was simply Lord Martin...
There's only one sort for a rogue and that's more rogues.
So... when Martin and his f...
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If ever a question had caused Martin more anxiety, it was this one.
Abigail stood like an angel in the midst of the dark smoking room. Her hands folded perfectly in front of her as she waited for his reply.
He'd seen the way she'd looked at him in the ballroom before she'd asked her question. It was the look he'd seen on a dozen women before, but never her. Those blue eyes had also captured him in their ocean-like depths, and when she'd opened her perfect mouth and formed her invitation, it was like the call of a seer to a sailor's doom. And he was sure she'd never offered another man this opportunity, and that alone made him weak in the knees.
But then the music had rose and Martin remembered where he was, remembered what had just transpired on the terrace, and whose rescue he'd come to. Ellen. Sweet, naughty Ellen. She was changing him, making him see things he hadn't been able to see before. The possibility of a marriage of which he'd never tire. Ellen was ravishing, insanely beautiful, yet like no other lady he'd ever met. She made him believe in real happiness and he'd seen that she believed in it too when she'd held him in her arms, never wishing to let him go.
Thinking about her now made his heart swell. And though he was very attracted to Abigail... "Yes, I wish to be with Ellen."
He saw the blow hit her. She rocked back on her heels. Her hand went to her chest. Then she closed her eyes.
He didn't know what to say after that. He wouldn't apologize for his feelings, though he felt sure of one thing. "I don't believe you should marry Charles."
Her eyes opened and the pain was vanquished with anger. "Oh, so I can't have you, but I shouldn't marry Charles either? I thought you just called him your friend."
"He is my friend, which means I know him a great deal more than you know him."
Abigail started for the door. "I think I'm through with this conversation in its entirety." She touched the doorknob.
He rested his hand over hers. "Abigail, do not marry him to spite me."
She turned her head and looked at him with disdain. "This has nothing to do with you. Charles wants me, unlike you."
"Yes," Martin agreed. "He wants you desperately, but he's not like other men."
"What do you mean?"
A sound of laughter from the door on the other side brought them to alert. The men were returning, which meant they must leave.
Abigail opened the door, and Martin followed her out.
"What do you mean?" she asked again on the way back to the ballroom.
"I mean—"
"Lord Martin?'
He raised his head and found Ellen staring at him with sad confusion. Charles was with her and his look held no confusion or surprise. Immediately, he dropped Ellen's hand and walked over to Abigail.
"You've been crying?" he whispered as he brought a gloved hand up to touch her face.
Abigail gasped at the touch, staring up at him in skepticism, but also... need. She needed love, Martin knew. Her father's warmth and gentleness equaled that of a caged tiger. and Charles was playing her like a well-tuned violin, plucking each of her strings with the expertise of a professional. He wanted her surrender and he was getting it.
A flash of silk caught his eye, and he saw Ellen heading back toward the ballroom, fast, as though danger were on her very heels.
Martin spared the lovers no glance as he went after Ellen, catching her right at the edge of the crowd. He spun her around and saw that tears had begun to build in her brown eyes. Would he be the cause of every lady's tears tonight? Knowing he had not much time before she demanded her release, he brought her near and whispered in her ear, "I choose you, a dozen times over."
Ellen stilled. She took a quick breath and then let it out before taking another.
"I chose you," he whispered again.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "Don't do me any favors." Leaning back, she stared into his face. Her eyes still looked like large dams ready to burst at any moment, but her chin was thrust into the air.
"It would be you doing me the favor, my lady."
She pushed her lips together, then turned around and took a step away from him. Then she paused and over her shoulder said, "So long as you know." Then she went back to the ballroom.
Martin grinned, believing that no other woman understood him more. A fight turned right with humor. He was sure that not every battle would end this way, but it gave him hope. He followed Ellen and took her hand into the next dance.
After the first dance, they were joined by Charles and Abigail. And the lady was all a glow once again. Whatever Charles had said had worked its charm, and it was clear that whatever had been said in that hall had changed the air between them. Abigail's eyes no longer wandered anywhere else, but stayed transfixed on Charles.
And after the final song, a signal was given for the music to stop and everyone stood witness to Charles asking Abigail for her hand.
Martin balled his fists at his side, not because he felt cheated, but because he understood Charles so well. He was striking before anything or anyone — like Martin — could upset his plans. He had Abigail in his grasp and wished to keep her there.
As everyone expected, Abigail said yes, and the ton paid witness to the joining of a powerful match. Politics, money, and class. A combination that no good lord or lady could resist.
By his side, Ellen clapped along with the crowd, and to not offend, Martin joined in. But every thrust of his hands felt like a betrayal and he could only hope that the future would prove him wrong.
