Brenda Hiatt Read online

  Before he could respond, Sir Lawrence hurried forward to remind her that the next dance was his. With great relief, she relinquished Lord Foxhaven’s arm and returned to the floor for the contredanse just forming.

  She tried to concentrate on the intricate steps of the dance, to keep her mind from her dilemma. Unfortunately, Sir Lawrence’s conversation required little in the way of attention, consisting almost entirely of banalities.

  Even had she not been burningly conscious of Lord Foxhaven’s eyes following her about the room, Nessa would scarcely have been able to keep her thoughts from the remarkable conversation which had just taken place. Marrying him was out of the question, of course. Surely his threats against her reputation, and Prudence’s, must be hollow, for he did not seem a vindictive man….

  Her eyes strayed to his position at the edge of the ballroom. To her dismay, she saw that he was talking to her sister and brother-in-law. Surely he would not—

  “You dance like a feather on the wind, Lady Haughton.” Sir Lawrence took her hand briefly as the figures brought them back together. “You must have kept in practice while living secluded in the country.”

  She merely smiled. In fact, she’d done very little dancing during her marriage, though it was an exercise she had always enjoyed. No doubt if Lord Foxhaven had his way, she’d be forced to give it up again. Though he had been the one to insist she learn to waltz…

  Again she looked in his direction, but now saw only Prudence standing there. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the Creamcrofts had sent him packing. She knew the thought should relieve her, but somehow it did not. Or—a horrifying thought occurred to her—suppose Philip had called him out for insulting her? She didn’t think her brother-in-law was the sort to react so, but suppose she was wrong?

  The rest of the dance seemed to last an eternity, so impatient was she to discover what had passed between the others. It ended at last, and she wasted no time in hurrying to her sister’s side.

  “Why are you not dancing, Prudence?” she began, uncertain how to broach the subject that obsessed her.

  Lady Creamcroft looked at her in surprise. “I have danced twice already, Nessa. You know that I am not in the habit of romping at a ball.”

  “No, no, of course not, Prudence. I, er, had not realized you had—that is, I’ve been so occupied myself—”

  “Yes, I had noticed.” Rather to Nessa’s surprise, Prudence did not sound quite so disapproving as she had expected. “Really, Nessa, I cannot fathom why you wish to encourage that Mr. Galloway. He is not at all the thing. And as for Lord Foxhaven—”

  Nessa held her breath when she paused.

  “Well, I must admit that he has behaved unexceptionably in my presence, or almost so,” Prudence continued. “Had the stories about him not come from unimpeachable sources, I would doubt their veracity. But still, I pray you will be cautious.”

  So he had apparently said nothing of consequence to her sister after all. Nessa let out her breath. “Thank you, Prudence. I will endeavor to follow your advice.”

  Mr. Pottinger approached then to claim the next dance and Nessa accompanied him willingly enough, her mind somewhat calmer. They had taken only a step or two, however, when Lady Mountheath swept up to Prudence, just behind them.

  “My dear Lady Creamcroft,” she said in carrying tones, “I am most grieved by what I hear—and by what I have observed with my own eyes, as well.”

  Nessa slowed her pace somewhat, though her escort gave no sign that he had heard. Prudence’s reply was inaudible, spoken as it was at a more seemly volume, but from Lady Mountheath’s response it appeared she had claimed ignorance.

  “Oh, come, my dear. The whole room, nay, the whole of Society is discussing your sister’s scandalous behavior, and this very evening she has danced with more than one gentleman whom I’d have expected you to warn away from her. You know that you have always been dear to me, but of course I have my daughters’ reputations to consider. Therefore, I am confident that you will not take it amiss when I say that I will not be the least offended should you find you have another engagement on the night of my next dinner party.”

  Nessa froze, and would have turned back, but Mr. Pottinger urged her forward. “Ignore her,” he whispered. “’Tis the only thing you can do. Otherwise you lend credence to her words.”

  Mechanically, she began moving again. Rage, pain, and shame battled for mastery of her feelings. That horrible, horrible woman! Somehow, she managed to go through the opening movements of the dance, but surreptitiously peeped at Prudence as soon as she could. Lady Mountheath had gone, and Philip was back at her side, much to her relief. Still, even from this distance, she could see that her sister was greatly distressed. What else had that hateful woman said? Had Jack already begun spreading the story of the masquerade?

  By the time the dance ended, Nessa had forced herself to face the full consequences of flouting Society’s rigid code. She had been deluding herself to think that she could live her life as she chose without serious repercussions. Her choices at this point were limited.

  If she retired to the country, she would have to live under the watchful eye of either her Cousin Filmore or the current Lord Haughton. She shuddered. At any rate, leaving Town now might only serve to fuel the gossip further. Try as she might, she could think of only one thing that would save Prudence further embarrassment and, just perhaps, give her the freedom she craved.

  Marriage.

  Jack took a final puff from one of the fine cigars provided by Lord Hightower for his gentlemen guests in the library. He very much feared that Nessa would call his bluff—for bluff, he now realized, it was. He respected Nessa’s feelings too much to force her into marriage if the notion was truly repugnant to her. A most inconvenient scruple, in light of his situation, but there it was.

  He tossed the butt of the cigar into an ashtray, nodded to the two gentlemen conversing on the other side of the room, and headed back to the ballroom. His first order of business must be to gauge her feelings, now that she’d had some time to think things over.

  Lord Creamcroft, who had accompanied him to the library, had already returned to his wife’s side, but Nessa was not with them. Jack’s attention was caught, however, by the unusual pallor of Lady Creamcroft’s complexion, combined with her husband’s thunderous expression.

  Jack’s heart sank. Had Nessa already told her sister of his ultimatum? That would certainly complicate things. For all he knew, Creamcroft might even call him out—which would be awkward in the extreme. Odd that such a scenario had not occurred to him before, during the course of all his careful planning.

  Taking a deep breath, Jack headed toward the Creamcrofts, prepared to undo whatever damage he had caused. Restoring his respectability, or even gaining the balance of his inheritance, he realized belatedly, was not important enough to justify ruining anyone else’s life—most particularly Nessa’s. No, not even important enough for him to be easy about upsetting the prudish Lady Creamcroft or her more pleasant husband.

  He would simply go to Paris alone, if need be, and endeavor to exert some self-control for the first time in his life. It could not be so hard as he imagined. Others managed it all the time.

  When he was but a few strides away from Lord and Lady Creamcroft, he saw Nessa returning from the dance on the arm of some aging roué—Pottingly or something like that. She looked up just then and caught sight of Jack. Whispering something to her companion, she disengaged herself from his arm and hurried forward, intercepting Jack before he reached his destination.

  “I’m happy to see you are still here, my lord,” she began breathlessly. “I feared…But that is neither here nor there. I have been thinking on what you said earlier.” She spoke quickly, as though to say something before she could change her mind, but Jack interrupted her anyway.

  “So have I, Nessa.” He kept his voice low, but urgent. “I handled things poorly. If you would allow me to—”

  “No, Jack, let me finish.” He
r face set, she focused on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder. “I have decided I will marry you after all,” she said in a strained monotone. “You have only to name the date.”

  Jack felt as if the earth had shifted on its axis beneath his very feet. A bolt of elation lanced through him, staggering in its intensity. “You…you have?”

  She nodded, her pretty face still rigid and unsmiling.

  Hard on the heels of his startling jubilation, doubt assailed him. Clearly she did not make this decision willingly. “Might I ask the reason for your volte-face?” he asked gently.

  She did not quite meet his eyes. “Prudence. Lady Mountheath was quite abominable to her, because of me. I—I have realized that I cannot allow her to be dragged down in disgrace on my account, after all of her kindness to me.”

  Inwardly, Jack cursed himself for being such a bungler. He had successfully wooed dozens of women. Why had he botched it the one time it mattered? He should let the matter drop—allow her to live her life as she wished. It was the only fair thing to do.

  As he opened his mouth to do just that, he suddenly recalled the letter he’d received only that afternoon from Havershaw. Fire had destroyed one of his tenants’ cottages. Until it could be rebuilt, a family of five would be homeless. Without that trust money…

  “Do you not wish to marry me after all, my lord?” Nessa prompted as he hesitated.

  “Yes. Yes, of course! I was simply…surprised by your sudden change of heart.” But he was all too aware that it was not truly a change of heart. Her expression was determined, resigned, but certainly not happy.

  Sir Hadley came up behind her just then, no doubt to claim another dance, but Jack waved him away. “Lady Haughton is feeling overcome by the heat,” he said. “Be a good fellow and fetch her some lemonade. I shall escort her out onto the terrace, where it is cooler.” Sir Hadley bowed in some confusion and hurried off.

  Jack led her through the French doors a short distance away, then paused. It certainly was cooler out here. In fact, it was downright frigid—not surprisingly, as it was late October. What had he been thinking? What the devil had happened to his vaunted ability to plan for every contingency? Nessa shivered.

  “My apologies. Let’s go into the parlor instead.” Leading her back inside, he indicated an archway. A few moments later they were seated on a divan, alone in the room but with the door discreetly half open. Taking both her hands in his, he said, “I will marry you, Nessa, but only upon two conditions.”

  Despite her obvious distress, a spurt of laughter escaped her. “My, how the tables have turned! An hour ago you were bargaining for my hand. Now it appears I am to bargain for yours. What are your conditions?”

  Jack reached out to stroke her cheek, pleased to see she was still in possession of her sense of humor. “Brave girl. Only these: first, that we schedule our wedding to take place before Christmas.” He paused and she nodded, accepting that. “Secondly,” he continued, “that you come with me to Paris.”

  “Paris?” she breathed, her eyes wide.

  He nodded. “I’ve been invited to a post at Louis’ court. We would leave just after the first of the year. Consider it a honeymoon,” he added with a grin.

  Though she frowned at that, Nessa nodded slowly. “Very well, Jack. I will go with you to Paris. And now,” she finally met his eyes, “I have a few conditions of my own.”

  “Indeed? Let’s have them, then.”

  She ignored his teasing tone. “First, as I said before, I will not be dictated to. Or bullied. Or abandoned in the country while you pursue your pleasures in Town.” He nodded solemnly. “You have my word.”

  Though she looked startled, a smile flitted across her face. “And—I want the rest of those waltzing lessons you promised me.”

  Jack laughed aloud at this conclusion, but quickly sobered. “We shall consider it settled, then.” He regarded her quizzically. “Surely a kiss would be appropriate, to seal our troth?”

  She looked wary, but did not shy away when he leaned toward her. He covered her mouth with his, savoring the light, slightly floral scent of her skin and hair. She truly was exquisite—an excellent choice. As he deepened the kiss, she seemed to melt beneath him—much as she had that afternoon in the park. Her breath quickened and mingled with his, and again it took all of his self-control to pull away.

  “Is this how you mean to bend me to your will, my lord, now you have agreed not to dictate?” she asked as soon as she could speak.

  Her quick recovery surprised him, but he answered readily enough. “Do you not find me persuasive? That is but one of many weapons in my arsenal, I assure you.”

  She eyed him speculatively. “Indeed. I asked you this afternoon whether that was how a rake kisses. I don’t recall that you ever answered me.”

  He tried to choke back a laugh, but failed utterly. “No, I suppose I didn’t. How should I answer? That is how I kiss. If I am to be categorized as a rake, then I suppose the answer must be yes.”

  The sparkle did not leave her eyes. “Ah, but you aren’t truly a rake anymore, are you? Perhaps I shall never know for certain how a real rake behaves toward a lady.”

  Nessa would never bore him, of that Jack was absolutely certain. “You little minx! How on earth did you ever attain such a spotless reputation in the first place?”

  “By being relentlessly respectable, of course,” she replied. “Did I not tell you I was heartily tired of it?”

  “You did. And sometime you must tell me what it was like and just why you developed such an aversion…but not now. I perceive Sir Hadley and your lemonade have found us.”

  Practiced in such matters, Jack expertly and surreptitiously straightened a ruffle of Nessa’s rose gown and one of his lapels before turning to face the interloper. “My apologies, Leverton. It was too cold on the terrace for Lady Haughton’s comfort, so we changed our venue for her recovery. She seems much more the thing now.”

  Sir Hadley glanced suspiciously from one to the other, but Jack regarded him serenely—as did Nessa, he noted with approval.

  “Is that my lemonade, Sir Hadley? You are a dear, thank you. I’m quite parched.” She took the glass from her erstwhile suitor with a breathtaking smile, earning a grudging one in return.

  “My honor to be of service, my lady,” he said, bowing. “My very great honor. Perhaps I might persuade you to accompany me back to the ballroom?” He sent a darkling glance at Jack.

  “An excellent idea. I’ll come with you.” Jack rose and extended a hand to help Nessa to her feet, forestalling Sir Hadley, who had perforce to precede them from the room. Jack took the opportunity to whisper, “Shall I approach the Creamcrofts, or do you wish to speak with them first?”

  The look she flashed him held a hint of alarm. “Let me do it, please! I’m not certain how—” But Sir Hadley had turned back, so she broke off. “Thank you, my lord,” she concluded more audibly.

  Her face giving no hint of the turmoil she doubtless felt, Nessa proceeded regally to the ballroom to dance the next set with Sir Hadley. Jack wasn’t certain he could have performed any better himself, under the circumstances. Yes, she’d do quite nicely.

  The remainder of the evening passed far too quickly for Nessa, dreading as she was the announcement she must make to Prudence during the drive home. She danced one more waltz with Jack, and honored her other, previous commitments on the floor, but sat out the remainder of the dances to give herself time to think.

  Her newfound popularity was an impediment to this goal, however. Between Miss Leverton and various interested gentlemen, she was given little time to herself.

  “Are you certain you do not wish for another glass of ratafia?” Mr. Galloway asked, seating himself rather too close to her on the bench where she’d sought refuge behind a potted palm.

  “Quite certain, thank you,” she replied, scooting an inch or two away from him. “I am merely a bit tired. Pray go and enjoy the dance.”

  No sooner had he left her than Miss Levert
on appeared with a fresh volley of advice for Lady Haughton’s improvement. Nessa smiled and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals while her mind traveled other paths.

  Was she doing the right thing? If not, what alternative did she have? She imagined life in the country, at Haughton Abbey’s dower house—an intolerable prospect. Or at Cherry Oaks, where her Cousin Filmore now held sway—a man after her father’s heart. Even worse.

  No, marriage to Lord Foxhaven must be superior to either of those alternatives. Mustn’t it? He had promised much, but of course she had no way to enforce those promises. She hoped she could trust him. And Paris…!

  “You understand what I mean, do you not, Lady Haughton?”

  “Oh, certainly, Miss Leverton. Thank you for advising me.”

  Whatever instructions she had just imparted, her self-appointed mentor was not finished. She launched into yet another monologue.

  What would it be like to live with Jack in Paris? Nessa was unable to suppress an anticipatory shiver. And that “persuasion” he’d alluded to—he’d implied he meant to do more than kiss her, but did she really want him to? Certainly, his kisses were completely different from Lord Haughton’s, but kissing had always been the least unpleasant part of marital intimacy. Would…that be different, too? Her thoughts shied away from the subject.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Haughton, I did not mean to embarrass you with my plain speaking.”

  Nessa had no idea what Miss Leverton had been saying, but it was clear her own musings had brought a blush to her cheeks. Happily, it served to deter her advisor from further counsel. As Amanda Leverton stood, Prudence approached.

  “Will you be ready to leave soon, my dear? Supper is not to be served until after midnight, and I confess myself quite tired.”

  Though not surprised, as the Creamcrofts frequently left such functions early, Nessa wondered whether Lady Mountheath’s hatefulness had contributed to her sister’s fatigue. She felt a moment of panic on realizing that the moment she’d been dreading was almost upon her. Best to get it over, though. “Certainly, Prudence. I am rather fagged myself.”