Free Darker Than Love by Kristina Lloyd Page A

and the arrogant sneer had not faded from his lips. Along the right side of his face ran a thin scar, a silver line following his jaw and dipping an inch or so into his neck. Any other man would have worn a beard. But Marldon didn’t; he had only neatly clipped sideburns. He knew the power of that mark.
    Octavia crackled open her fan and slipped away with a murmured excuse. Marldon moved towards Lucy, his stride confident, his gaze purposeful.
    ‘Mrs Singleton,’ he said in a voice that was menacingly soft. He took her gloved hand in his and touched a kiss to her fingertips, his eyes never once straying from hers. ‘I believe we are soon to be related. Your cousin, isn’t it?’
    Lucy flashed him a smile, the brilliance of which belied her disquiet. ‘It appears so,’ she replied calmly. ‘And I’m told she expects you at the end of the month. Your presence, my lord, is untimely.’
    Lucy struggled to keep her attention fixed on Marldon. She was desperate to survey the room in search of Clarissa, and her thoughts raced to find a way of keeping the two apart.
    ‘Business brings me here, Mrs Singleton,’ said Marldon. ‘Nothing more. I’m not one for the niceties of courtship, as you may imagine. I have no intention of presenting myself quite yet.’ His eyes flicked briefly over the mass of heads, then returned to Lucy. He regarded her with a steady challenge. ‘Although, if Miss Longleigh were here tonight, perhaps a glimpse would whet my appetite. Is she present?’
    ‘Of course not,’ blurted Lucy, immediately regretting the zeal of her reply. ‘The company she keeps is far more respectable.’
    ‘Oh?’ said Marldon, arching his brows. It was only one word but it was imbued with mocking disbelief.
    Panic fluttered in Lucy’s stomach. Did he know that Clarissa was a guest? And, if he did, was he here for that reason? She trusted him not one iota. It was only a little after midnight, but it was imperative that her cousin return home. She could not bear to think that the two of them might meet, not when Clarissa seemed to have embarked upon an intrigue with Gabriel. It would ruin Alicia’s plan of lulling her gently into an acceptance of the earl’s depravity.
    Relief flooded over her as Julian approached and clapped Marldon on the shoulder. The two men exchanged greetings and shook hands warmly.
    ‘And how is your dear lady wife?’ asked Lord Marldon. ‘Locked up somewhere in Oxfordshire for the season?’
    ‘Her health troubles her,’ answered Sir Julian, giving a smile which did not reach his eyes.
    ‘Still?’ said Marldon. ‘How unfortunate. I’ve yet to meet anyone who’s seen Lady Ackroyd fit and well. In fact, I’ve yet to meet anyone who’s seen Lady Ackroyd. A curious state of affairs, don’t you agree?’
    ‘My wife doesn’t much care for London,’ replied Julian tetchily. Then he brightened a little and added, ‘Baccarat, my lord? There’s a promising game about to begin upstairs. Perhaps your luck will be better this time round.’
    Marldon gave a scornful laugh. ‘The devil take you, Ackroyd. Yes, revenge would be very sweet.’ Then he turned to Lucy. ‘Do you gamble, Mrs Singleton? Ladies tend not to but – well, I don’t suppose your presence would raise many eyebrows.’
    Lucy bristled at the veiled insult then caught a sly, urging nod from Julian. For a moment she was confused, then comprehension dawned. Ha, what a sweetheart he was. Julian’s invitation to cards was a diversion, an attempt to lure Marldon away from the ballroom. Her heart lifted.
    She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Yes, my lord. I most certainly do gamble.’
    The balloon-shaped lamps in the games room were shrouded in a fog of blue smoke. The place was a babel of noise. Amidst rumbling chatter, shouts and laughter, balls rattled on roulette wheels and bagatelle boards clattered incessantly. Men, some in shirtsleeves and waistcoats, were hunched over tables, intent on poker, baccarat or