Brenda Hiatt Read online

  Lord Creamcroft gazed fondly down at his wife. “Nothing would please me more than to waltz with her, but I have no wish to tease her into doing anything she finds objectionable.”

  Prudence smiled her thanks at her husband, but Nessa chose to focus on the first part of his response.

  “There, you see, Prudence? Nothing would please him more. Haven’t you a duty to please your husband?” She knew that particular responsibility had been drilled as forcibly into her sister as herself.

  “Oh!” Clearly Prudence had not considered the matter in that light before—nor, likely, had Philip ever spoken so plainly, without Nessa’s prompting. “Is it true, Philip? Do you wish me to waltz?”

  Lord Creamcroft placed an arm around his lady’s shoulders and gave her a very discreet squeeze which nevertheless made her squeak. “Not if you don’t want to, my dear. But should you ever wish to try it, I’d be more than agreeable.”

  Prudence looked charmingly confused, but Nessa was distracted from this promising scene by the arrival of Sir Hadley and Amanda Leverton.

  “Lady Haughton! How delightful to see you again so soon.” Miss Leverton accosted her. “I do hope you haven’t had time to fill your dance card, as Sir Hadley most particularly wished to have a spot on it.”

  Her brother stepped forward to agree, and to claim as many dances as she would grant him. Though Nessa had not yet been claimed for a single dance, having only just arrived, she allowed him but one—for now.

  Other gentlemen were hurrying toward her by then, to renew acquaintances from the evening before or to seek introductions, rather to Nessa’s relief. She wasn’t sure whether it was Sir Hadley himself or Prudence’s too-obvious approval of him which put her off, but she knew for certain she did not wish him to dominate her evening.

  “Good evening, Mr. Galloway,” she said, half turning from the Levertons. “I see no card tables here, alas, so I fear we shall not have the opportunity of another victory.” She regarded the dashing young redhead with added interest, now that Prudence had indicated him as someone to avoid. Perhaps he would show her the wilder side of London life, if Lord Foxhaven—

  She cut off that line of thought abruptly.

  “Indeed, Lady Haughton, I had hopes of discovering whether you dance as well as you play at whist,” responded Mr. Galloway with a deep bow. A throat-clearing at his elbow made him glance over his shoulder. “Ah, yes. And I promised an introduction to my cousin, Mr. Gregory Orrin. Gregory, Lady Haughton. My claim for a dance comes before yours, however.”

  In ten minutes, Nessa found herself committed for more than half the sets—though she kept the two waltzes free. She told herself it was because she hadn’t yet enough experience with that dance to risk exposing herself or embarrassing her partner with a misstep.

  Despite her inattention, the Levertons refused to leave her side, though Prudence and Lord Creamcroft were now chatting with other friends a few feet away. Perhaps Prudence felt the Levertons offered sufficient protection for the moment. Nessa might almost have suspected she’d arranged it with them.

  “My dear, you must strive to appear less eager,” Amanda Leverton advised Nessa in an undertone during a lull in the conversation. “Try to cultivate an air of aloofness toward the gentlemen. ’Twill enhance your popularity, I assure you.”

  “I thank you for your counsel to one so inexperienced as I.” Nessa glanced away before Miss Leverton could see the twinkle in her eye. Amanda, she had noticed, was engaged for but two dances thus far—one with her own brother.

  The orchestra struck up the first dance then, and Sir Hadley stepped forward to lead Nessa onto the floor. Happily, it was a country dance, offering little opportunity for conversation. As they went down the dance, however, Nessa could not help noticing one or two details about her partner.

  Though undeniably attractive and dressed both impeccably and respectably, Sir Hadley’s coat showed faint signs of wear at the elbows and hem. The fit, while passable, did not speak of Weston or any of the other premier tailors in Town. Certainly, it was not up to Lord Foxhaven’s standards….

  Almost unconsciously, Nessa scanned the room. No, he was not here. Would she see him again, as he had promised, or had either her refusal or her subsequent behavior given him a disgust of her? Not that it mattered of course!

  She favored poor Sir Hadley with a brilliant smile, causing him to miss his next step and earning him a glare from the young lady whose hand he had been supposed to grasp just then. Sir Hadley did not appear to notice.

  Her next dance was with Mr. Galloway, and it was quite clear from Prudence’s raised eyebrows that she did not approve. Nessa merely gave her sister a slight shrug, telling herself as she had last night that she’d set aside time for guilt later on.

  Mr. Galloway proved a bit of a disappointment as a dancer, however, his conversation far more practiced than his steps. Still, he flattered her at every opportunity, lightening her mood considerably.

  “Having discovered you have two such talents makes me eager to uncover any others,” he said as he led her from the floor.

  Nessa knew she should blush at such a statement, but somehow Mr. Galloway did not cause the same delightful confusion she felt when Lord Foxhaven used similar words. Still, she brought her fan into play, fluttering it between them in mock rebuff.

  “La, sir,” she said, trying for a flirtatious tone, “Were I to fathom your meaning, I’m certain I should be quite shocked.”

  “Shall I speak plainer?” Mr. Galloway asked, his eyes beginning to smolder.

  A deep voice from behind Nessa spoke, “I’d advise against it. Shocking a lady is a far worse offense than confusing her.”

  Nessa whipped around toward the speaker to find Lord Foxhaven regarding her with apparent amusement. Now her color did rise, as those shared moments in the Park that afternoon came flooding back.

  He continued, speaking to Mr. Galloway rather than to her. “I know whereof I speak, believe me. Unexpected pronouncements may lead to equally unexpected results.”

  Rather to Nessa’s irritation, Mr. Galloway appeared intimidated by this new arrival. Dropping his arm from under her hand as though it had suddenly become hot as a poker, he bowed.

  “Foxhaven. I must acknowledge you the authority in such matters. My lady.” Bowing again, he hastily decamped, leaving Nessa to stare after him in surprise.

  “Is this how you intend to handle all rivals?” she demanded of Lord Foxhaven. “I presume you must be a crack shot, to have frightened poor Mr. Galloway so.” She could not help being nettled by that young man’s abrupt defection, after all the flattery he had heaped upon her during their dance.

  Jack chuckled, exasperating her further, even while something within her thrilled at the sound. “I probably have that reputation, yes. And once a reputation is established, I have found, little action is necessary to maintain it.”

  Nessa regarded him uncertainly. Was he trying to tell her he was not a rake after all? Or, at least, not anymore? “I should imagine that depends on how thoroughly one’s reputation was established to begin with, and through what means, my lord.”

  “My lord? I thought we were Jack and Nessa now—or have you reconsidered?” The look in his eyes, even more than his words, recalled to her again the events in his phaeton that afternoon—and the feelings that had accompanied them.

  “Er, yes, of course. I mean, no, I haven’t reconsidered,” she amended hastily, wondering if he alluded to his offer, as well as their use of Christian names. As her disjointed response elicited further amusement rather than disappointment, she decided not.

  His smile was knowing now, as though he divined the nature of her conflict, but he only said, “Good. I should hate to have to retake the ground I had already gained.”

  She had no idea how to respond to that, so turned slightly from him as though to observe the room, in an attempt to display that aloofness Miss Leverton had advised. What an abysmal failure as a flirt she was turning out to be!


  “Are you looking for someone?” he asked, and she wondered if she imagined the slight edge to his voice.

  “My sister,” she replied, only belatedly realizing she’d have done better to name another gentleman. She didn’t want Lord Foxhaven feeling too secure of her, particularly if he intended a renewal of his “honorable” courtship. “I’ve been trying to convince her to waltz,” she added by way of explanation, as the orchestra struck up the opening strains of that very dance.

  “Then allow me to do the same with you. ’Tis time for your next lesson, I believe.” Jack held out his hand with a smile and Nessa responded by placing hers into it after only the slightest hesitation.

  As they took their places, she finally spotted Prudence and Lord Creamcroft, moving toward one of the curtained arches leading into the hallway, rather than the dance floor. As she watched, the pair disappeared through the arch.

  “Are you so proficient at the waltz now that you can dance it with your head turned backwards?” Jack’s question brought her belatedly back to her own situation.

  “Oh! I beg your pardon.”

  With that encouragement, he led her into the steps of the dance. It really was as simple as she’d told Prudence, if more unsettling. Taking his hand from her waist, Jack twirled her for the first time, quite successfully. Her confidence rose.

  “I meant what I said about refusing to surrender,” he commented then, as though it stemmed from their current conversation.

  Though they were attempting no fancy steps at the moment, Nessa nearly stumbled. “I beg your pardon?”

  Instead of repeating his statement, Jack asked a question of his own. “You like me, do you not, Nessa? You implied as much this afternoon.”

  Nessa blinked. “Why…yes, of course, Jack. I find you quite, er, amiable.” Interesting or exciting would have been nearer the truth, but she settled on a safer word.

  “Then perhaps you’d care to share your reasons for refusing my offer? If you find me amiable”—his emphasis on the word gave her the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading her thoughts—“then surely you must agree that we would deal well together.”

  She focused on her steps for a moment before answering. “As well as could be expected in marriage, I suppose.”

  “It sounds as though you have a poor opinion of the wedded state. While I have frequently encountered that attitude among those of my own sex, it is surely an unusual one for yours.”

  Nessa met his quizzical gaze directly. “I can’t imagine why. In my experience, the institution of marriage is tailored to serve the needs and desires of your sex rather than mine. For most women, wedlock is little more than indentured servitude, often to a capricious and exacting master.”

  It was his turn to blink, rather to her satisfaction. She was also proud to note that she had not missed a step during the exchange. He twirled her again, and again she completed the turn successfully.

  “Are you not basing your opinion on a somewhat limited sample, my lady?” he asked then. “What marriages have you been in a position to observe, other than your own and that of your parents and sister?”

  She had no answer to that. Her life had been so sheltered until three weeks ago that she had no more than a passing knowledge of any others—as he seemed well aware.

  “Are not those enough?” she finally responded. “Surely you are familiar with the Scottish saying, ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’? I should like to think I have learned from my experience, limited as it may have been.”

  Looking up at him, she saw he was smiling. It provoked her into adding, “And as limited as my experience of marriage might be, my lord, I’ll warrant it is greater than your own—or are you hiding a wife somewhere?”

  He laughed aloud, drawing a few curious stares from other couples in the dance. “If I were, I would scarcely have made you an offer! But I acknowledge your hit, Nessa. I have no firsthand experience of the married state. Will you not consider tutoring me, in exchange for the dancing lessons?”

  She grinned at his absurdity in spite of herself. “Hardly a fair bargain, Jack. A dance can be taught in a few hours.”

  Forcing herself to greater sobriety, she continued, “I can’t think why you should be so eager to wed, in any event. Surely the need to produce an heir cannot be terribly urgent to a man of your age and health.” Though faintly shocked at her own plain speaking, she awaited his response with interest—though why it should matter so vitally, she was uncertain.

  “Is it so impossible to believe that I am smitten by your charms?” He twirled her yet again. They were really getting quite good at it. “I must marry eventually,” he continued before she could answer, “and I prefer to have the matter settled sooner rather than later. You seem an ideal choice, for a variety of reasons.”

  Nessa still felt sure he was not telling her all. His response was too glib to bespeak a true attachment to her. “Might I know a few of those reasons?” she prompted, realizing belatedly that she might seem to be fishing for compliments.

  “You are lovely, of course, and intelligent,” he replied seriously. “I quite enjoy your company, in fact. And, as I intimated to your sister, I am endeavoring to reform my ways. I believe you might help me to do so.”

  To Nessa’s relief, the dance ended just then. She was not certain she could have continued it, so chaotic were her thoughts. He wanted her for her respectability? She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him across the face. If she had repented of her earlier refusal for even an instant, it was now clear she’d made the right decision. Such a marriage would be far worse than the worst she had imagined!

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” she began in a cold voice, but he had not finished.

  “I had hoped to secure your consent in the conventional manner,” he continued, “but make no mistake that I shall obtain it nonetheless.”

  She gaped at him. “You seem remarkably sure of yourself for a man who has been unequivocally refused.”

  The smile he slanted down at her held a steely determination she had never marked in him before. “Yes, I suppose I am…Monique.”

  8

  Nessa felt every vestige of color drain from her face. She must have paled visibly, for Jack tightened his grip on her arm.

  “’Sdeath! You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

  Though more than a bit disoriented by the sudden shock, Nessa found herself oddly touched by his obvious concern. Shaking her head slightly, she pulled herself together. “No, of course not. Unhand me, if you please.”

  He did so, and she continued. “How long have you known? I presume you have been planning this…this bit of extortion all along.” Fully recovered now, her tone was as quelling as she could make it.

  Lord Foxhaven appeared far from quelled, however. “Actually, though I had my suspicions earlier, it was not until this afternoon that I was certain. Though I may occasionally forget a face or a name, I never forget a kiss.”

  Nessa felt her face flame. Fighting down her panic and embarrassment, she said, “You have no proof, my lord. Do you honestly think anyone will believe your story, should you choose to tell it?”

  Infuriatingly, he continued to smile. “A week ago, perhaps not. But given your more recent behavior, I suspect the truth would spread like wildfire. Such a delicious bit of gossip, don’t you think?”

  Nessa’s heart sank, but she forced herself to speak bravely. “Do what you will, then. I will not be forced.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes harden, though his smile never wavered. “Indeed? Have you so little regard for your own reputation—and your sister’s—as that?”

  Doubt crept in. “Prudence? What has she to do with it? I attended that masquerade entirely without her knowledge.” Belatedly, Nessa glanced around to ascertain that no one had heard her indiscreet words.

  “Oh, come now, Nessa. You can’t be so ignorant of Society and its ways as all that. Surely you are aware that whatever you do, particu
larly while residing in your sister’s household, must reflect upon Lord and Lady Creamcroft.”

  “I shall move out, then,” she retorted, her head held high. “I’d planned to do so anyway.”

  Jack nodded sagely. “Of course you will. Your cousin, the present Lord Cherryhurst, will no doubt be quite willing to arrange it once he knows how you have comported yourself in London.” Nessa stared. “I’ve done my research, you see,” he explained.

  She knew she was trapped. Tears threatened, but anger overcame them. “I will not be dictated to—not by Cousin Filmore, not by Prudence, and most particularly not by you!”

  He arched one brow. “Wherever did you get the idea that I intended to dictate to you?”

  “You are doing so right now!” she flared. Then, deliberately calming herself, “You wish me to marry you, do you not?” She enunciated her words clearly, as though speaking to a slow child. “Husbands dictate to their wives. It is the way of the world.” Even as she spoke, however, it occurred to her that she had never heard Philip “dictate” anything to Prudence.

  “The way of your world to date, perhaps,” replied Jack softly, as they were now near the crowd at the edge of the floor. Glancing quickly up, she was surprised to see that his expression had softened considerably as well. “Tyranny has no part in my plans for you, Nessa. In fact, you will almost certainly have more freedom as my wife than ever you’d have unmarried.”

  Nessa frowned. “But you said you wished to marry me for my respectability. Surely you intend to ensure that I remain respectable after marriage?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly taken aback by her phrasing. “I did not precisely say that I wanted to marry you for your respectability—” he began.

  “Not in those words, perhaps, but I well understood your meaning. I have played the paragon of virtue my entire life—first as daughter and then as wife. I had hoped to try my hand at other roles now.”