Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

hug from Charles could knock the wind from you, and she shivered at the very thought of it.
Well, if marriage was what he needed, why not her?
The thought was laughable, but was it impossible? Many a marriage was less companionable than theirs would be – and if the heat that had just risen through her body was any judge, they would have plenty of pleasure, too…
Now her cheeks were warm, and she tore her gaze away from Charles and continued walking around the dancers.
The very idea of it! Just thinking of…well, that intimacy that belonged between a husband and wife…it was shameful.
A young lady from a respectable family such as hers should not be even considering something as scandalous as wooing and making love. It was not merely impermissible, it was inconceivable that she would wish to!
“Such a wonderful wedding…”
“I thought the bride very elegant despite her bluestocking nature.”
“And Irish! I had no idea…”
Voices flittered in and out of Priscilla’s hearing as she circled the room and moved into another, which comprised of no dancing but plenty of chatter.
She looked back through the doorway, at the slice of dancing she could still espy.
Was not dancing just a facsimile of the marriage bed? True, it was not an exact metaphor, but there was enough similarities for it to strike her. Finding your perfect partner, coming together, touching, enjoying each other…
Priscilla raised a hand to her cheeks and almost gasped at the heat. They must be flaming, and no wonder! It simply was not right thinking this way.
Even less, thinking of Charles this way.
A drink, Priscilla thought wildly. A nice, calming, refreshing, and most importantly, cold drink would restore her equilibrium. She noticed a punch table at the back of the room and hastened there as elegantly as she could.
As she reached out for the ladle, a hand bumped into hers.
“Oh, I do apologize,” she said, looking up.
“No, the fault is all mine,” said the voice of Miss Frances Lloyd.
Priscilla had to work hard to keep her face calm as she realized Charles’s betrothed was standing right beside her. Was it possible that – but no, she chided herself silently. Miss Lloyd could have no idea what licentious and scandalous thoughts had flashed through her mind!
“I should have looked at what I was doing,” Miss Lloyd was continuing with a gentle laugh. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Priscilla’s mouth fell open. She had never spoken to Miss Lloyd before, their circle of acquaintances had never intersected. And yet here she was, still apologizing for something as simple as touching her hand.
“I am afraid I was a little distracted,” Miss Lloyd said. “Are…you are Miss Seton, are you not?”
Priscilla closed her mouth. Well, she had never sought out Miss Lloyd’s company, but it had been thrust upon her by…what? Fate? Destiny?
Whatever it was, she was not going to let the opportunity disappear.
Smiling as naturally as possible, she said, “Miss Lloyd. Will you walk with me?”
In the hindsight of a few seconds, she could have been warmer, but Miss Lloyd did not seem put off by her slightly brusque approach. On the contrary, she nodded with a curious look.
Priscilla did not know why her heart was fluttering as they began to promenade around the room slowly.
Say something, her mind urged her. You need to say something!
“I…I do not believe we have been officially introduced,” she said haltingly.
Miss Lloyd nodded. “No, but I know you. Miss Priscilla Seton, am I right? Friend of the Orrinshire family.”
A spark of jealousy pushed through Priscilla’s heart like a barb, and she had to bite down her instinctive retort that she was no friend to the Orrinshire family, but she was Charles’s closest friend in all the world.
It was probably not a clever idea to say that to Charles’s betrothed…
“And I know you,” she said instead.
As they turned a corner, she noticed Miss Lloyd’s cheeks pink.
“You call him Charles, as though it were nothing.”
Priscilla sighed. Already, she was making mistakes. Was it a mistake to even speak to Miss Lloyd if she could not recall the requirements of deference?
“You have to understand, Miss Lloyd,” she said hastily, “we have known each other for…why, almost fifteen years now. When you know each other as children, the formalities of society are difficult to maintain.”
They passed the open door to the card room, from which rowdy laughter poured. The wedding was entering the evening as the wine flowed, and tempers started to fray.
Miss Lloyd had a wistful expression on her face. “I suppose if we do marry then, we will become very well acquainted.”
Something in her tone made Priscilla frown. “I beg your pardon…if you marry?”
Panic was clear now on her companion’s face. “Please, forget I said that – I misspoke.”
Was…was it possible? Priscilla found herself holding her breath at the very thought. Could there be a chance Miss Lloyd wanted to go through with the betrothal as little as Priscilla wanted them to?
It was not possible. Her luck would simply not have handed her this perfect opportunity on a plate…and yet, Miss Lloyd had said ‘if’…
“I know we have only just become acquainted,” she said slowly, carefully weighing each word before she spoke, “but as a friend of Charles – of His Grace, I would hope to be a friend to you. I would like it if you could confide in me – in the strictest of confidence, naturally.”
Had she laid it on too thick? Priscilla could not bear to look at Miss Lloyd as they circled the dancers.
“Remember, I have Charles’s interests at heart,” she said quietly, “but that does not mean I am not a woman and have no solidarity with those of my sex. It is clear you have doubts.”
Miss Lloyd sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “You must keep it to yourself, for goodness knows, I have not shared with anyone else, I am trusting you to –”
“Please,” Priscilla interrupted. “You can be assured that anything you say to me stays with me.”
Her heart was racing. Was this the moment she discovered everything was