‘The poet?’ Being the bigger man in every way, Lord Eastwood politely took the proffered hand and shook it, seemingly oblivious to the unwarranted slight he had just been dealt.
‘Among other things—but it is indeed my poetry I am most famous for.’ As much as she liked him, she had always thought Edward a bit too confident, but she had never noticed the smugness before. Or the shallowness—which suddenly made sense of her reluctance each time he had pressed his suit despite her mother’s continued encouragement of it.
It was staggeringly unattractive.
‘Only, of course, by reputation.’ In that one sentence Lord Eastwood managed to convey that he had the full measure of Edward Tate while still behaving like a complete gentleman. ‘But I am keeping you from your charming partner, sir, and that will not do.’ He inclined his head politely then turned to smile at her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Brookes. Once again, it has been a pleasure.’ Then with the quiet dignity her dance partner would never possess, he slowly sauntered away.
It was the quiet dignity which was her undoing, because it was wrong on every level.
It did not matter what crimes he had or hadn’t committed in the past; he hadn’t committed any today and certainly not to either her or to Edward. If anything, he had been minding his own business from the periphery—as usual—and she had unintentionally brought trouble to him. She couldn’t stand by and watch such despicable, unprovoked treatment and do nothing. As a Brookes through and through, she had more substance than that!
‘Lord Eastwood…?’
He turned, his expression as bland as bland could be but his clever eyes locked with hers warily as if he knew she was about to do something wilful and impetuous and was cautioning her against it. ‘Yes, Miss Brookes?’
Her mother was going to have a fit but it couldn’t be helped. She owed him and was too outspoken not to take a firm stand against Edward’s unjustifiable challenge. ‘As I have danced with Edward already this evening, I am sure he will not mind in the slightest if you take his waltz.’
CHAPTER TEN
A strange quiet settled over the ballroom as Piers led her to the floor. It amplified the sound of his wild hammering heartbeat in his spinning head.
This was a very bad idea, for so many reasons he couldn’t begin to count them. He had tried to talk her out of it in the scant few moments she had given him to answer, but she was adamant, and as a gaggle of wallflowers had seen her take his hand and tug him towards the floor, nobly digging his heels in would only cause a scene.
Although how this was going to cause less of one was beyond him, especially as the blond Adonis had reacted to her bombshell with noisy petulance, at first forbidding her to dance and then storming off in a belligerent huff when she quietly told him to she did not answer to him or anyone.
Already he could picture the frenzied paragraphs of rot and speculation in tomorrow’s newspapers and wished he knew how to spare her from it.
‘It’s not too late…simply dither for a moment then have a very public change of heart.’ That was certainly safest for both of them. It was bad enough he kept imagining what she would feel like in his arms, he did not need either confirmation or the experience to torment him further, and certainly not when he had been rigidly adhering to his perfectly excellent plan to avoid her at all costs all week until tonight. ‘I promise you, not a soul in here would blame you for it.’
‘No—they will blame you and that wouldn’t be fair.’
Piers did not need her to be decent because decent made her too damn likeable when he wanted to believe she was exactly like Constança beneath the beautiful exterior, even though he already suspected she wasn’t. She was brilliant, intelligent, talented, insightful and kind.
How the blazes was he supposed to remain impervious to the siren if she wasn’t shallow and selfish?
‘I wouldn’t blame you, Miss Brookes. I understand what a precarious—and potentially distasteful and awkward situation this puts you in.’
‘Why? Because you are worried I might feature in the gossip columns, Lord Eastwood?’
‘I think I can guarantee you will feature in them if you dance with me. You would become the source of much unfair and unwarranted speculation.’
‘I am afraid that ship has long sailed, and all without your assistance.’ She smiled unperturbed as she gracefully manoeuvred them to the very centre of the floor, then dipped into an exaggerated curtsy which drew every covetous male eye in the room. ‘Clearly you do not read them often enough or thoroughly enough yourself, my lord, else you’d know we Brookes girls tend to feature in them with alarming regularity without even trying. They have printed some shocking things about all three of us over the years, so I am well used to it. Gossip is merely gossip, and it passes soon enough.’
As the orchestra played the first chords, she gave him no option but to take her in hold, which did absolutely nothing to ease his galloping heart while simultaneously assaulting all his senses regardless of his resolve not to be seduced.
She felt divine beneath his fingers. The gentle flare of her waist, the soft skin of her hand clasped in his. This close, he could see exactly why the precise colour of her eyes always eluded him because the irises were ringed with an intense dark blue on the outer edges before they melted into the flecked violet which framed the pupils. He could also count every pretty freckle which dusted her perfect nose. And then of course, there was the hair and the single loose curl which bounced next to her cheek, the one his index finger itched to twirl itself within. Fearing he might, he concentrated on the steps instead, and prayed the dance would be short.
‘For a man who claims to loathe balls, you dance divinely, Lord Eastwood.’
With every eye in the room suddenly riveted to them and the sublime, heady scent of her perfume playing havoc with his senses while common sense raged a losing battle in his head, it was nothing short of a blasted miracle his big feet were able to move at all, let alone in synchronisation with hers.
‘I have two sisters who forced me to practise with them.’ A nuisance he had hated growing up but was ridiculously grateful he had been bullied into tonight. They might well be causing a fresh scandal in front of a hundred or more people, but thanks to those interminable hours he’d spent twirling around under protest, at least he didn’t look ungainly and stupid while he did it. That was something.
God help him.
‘You might try smiling at me though…at least pretend to be enjoying it.’
It was near impossible to smile when he was sure that parts of him were enjoying holding her in his arms a little too much. Tonight’s fevered dream was already a fait accompli, and doubtless the next months’ worth were too. Although to be fair to her, that was a done deal when she had started talking to him and he had watched the excitement in her eyes when she had talked about her art, or perhaps even before that. His fate had likely already been sealed the moment she peeled off that beguiling scarlet-lined cape and he had seen her gown. Now she was so close he could smell the seductive rose in her hair. ‘Everybody is watching us.’
Good grief! He sounded so stiff and ungrateful, when despite knowing this was absolute folly in every possible way, he was actually supremely touched by her sacrifice. It had been a long time since a virtual stranger had been this kind to him.
‘I know…all the more reason to smile or they will think we are both here under duress. Try to ignore them, Lord Eastwood. For me…’ Her gaze locked with his and the flagrant amusement in her eyes did the trick. The rest of the room seemed to evaporate in a puff of smoke, alongside the remnants of his plans to remain detached and unmoved by this new and dangerous temptation who had invaded his life. Much to his complete surprise, Piers found himself genuinely smiling back.
‘That’s much better.’
And it was.
Which was a worry.
‘You know they are all going to t
hink there is something going on between us. You should brace yourself for an avalanche of nonsense tomorrow.’ If he maintained a flow of rational conversation about all the negatives, then perhaps he might still be able to crawl away from this foolhardy, intimate waltz relatively unscathed. His head intact and his heart untouched.
She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘My mother is an opera singer, my father a painter. We live in Bloomsbury among the rest of the disreputability—believe me, I am used to being used as cannon fodder for the titillation of my betters here in blue-blooded Mayfair. I asked you to dance, Lord Eastwood, knowing full well the implications. I have no doubts this one short waltz will be splashed all over the scandal sheets tomorrow. That is as inevitable as night following day.’
That she understood that awful ramification made him feel a little better—until her next words thoroughly spoiled it. ‘But you should brace yourself for some nonsense too, my lord, for you are about to be unwittingly press-ganged into the ranks of a long list of supposed suitors who have apparently knocked at my door—but not in the acceptable and proper way if you catch my meaning.’
‘I am not sure I do?’
She sighed, the half-smile failing to cover the tired resignation and the anger. ‘Then forgive me for speaking plainly, my lord, but it is better you are prepared also rather than ambushed on the morrow. Because almost every blue-blooded aristocrat currently watching us with interest, very likely also views me as fair game for a fellow aristocrat such as yourself. Wholly acceptable mistress material—but nowhere near worthy enough to ever join their illustrious ranks.’ There was sadness in her eyes now. Deep-rooted and, for Piers, unbearable. ‘In truth, a great many of those supposed suitors have proposed things to me over the years and none of them has been marriage.’ A staggering revelation which baffled him when she was hands down the most beautiful, vibrant and fascinating woman in the room.
‘They may well assume I have procured myself a new benefactor, or might even suggest I have seized a golden opportunity to use your current predicament as the ton’s favourite social pariah to better myself, and therefore intend to entrap you into a more permanent attachment, using my well-practised and well-used wiles.’ She tilted her chin defiantly and beamed for the benefit of their audience. ‘You might be a scandal, Lord Eastwood, but you will one day be an earl. Whereas an upstart from Bloomsbury like me would obviously stop at nothing to be a countess.’
He heard the note of irritation over the casual matter-of-fact tone. Heard it and felt for her because he knew she was right. As unfair as it was, that was exactly what they might think just as they assumed he had parted ways with Constança because she wasn’t of noble blood. Even when things weren’t about rank and reputation, London society made it about them. Procuring a future earl, even one as sullied in reputation as him, would be seen as a massive social achievement for her. There was every chance, in being kind and charitable, the intrepid Miss Brookes would come off looking much worse from this than him.
‘I’m sorry.’ It seemed like such a lacklustre response to such a well-intentioned good deed.
‘Don’t be.’ She smiled stoically and it made him want to slay dragons for her. ‘If this shocking waltz achieves nothing else, at least it will put paid to the persistent and annoying rumours concerning me and Edward Tate.’
His foolish heart soared at the way her expression soured at the mere mention of the poet. ‘But I thought he was your particular friend?’
‘Recently he has intimated that he would like to be and there is no denying my mother would like him to be, and it is true we have been the best of friends for years, but…’ She huffed out an irritated sigh. ‘After tonight’s churlish performance, I think it is safe to say any chance he might have had is now well and truly gone.’
Ridiculously, and more alarmingly, he possessively hoped that was true. ‘Don’t be too harsh on him.’ Good grief! Sometimes he loathed his diplomatic streak, but it wouldn’t be fair to allow her to throw all caution to the wind simply because he selfishly wanted her to. ‘It is obvious he cares about you a great deal, else he wouldn’t have charged in to save you from my evil clutches. Jealousy can do odd things to a man and I’m sure he meant well. If your mother approves of him, he can’t be all bad.’ Piers had seen Roberta Brookes laughing with the poet earlier, sat cosied together behind the refreshment table like the closest of friends. ‘And with his talent for words, his apology is bound to be very pretty, and his ill temper is understandable when I did technically steal his dance.’
She stared at him, smiled then shook her head as if his response amused her. ‘It is very noble of you to be so forgiving, Lord Eastwood, but the truth is, in a strange sort of way I’m actually rather relieved he was so boorish. I’ve always enjoyed his company, and he can be very funny and undoubtedly charming, but despite my mother’s sudden keenness for the match, I’ve never felt that way about him…’ She glanced away, embarrassed to have brought that up. ‘I have tried to tell him as much, but…’
‘Your mother’s obvious approval has given him false hope you will miraculously develop feelings which you don’t have, and you have been caught in the middle. I have a mother too, Miss Brookes, and when a mother gets that matchmaking bee in her bonnet…’
He felt the tension leave her body. ‘Yes—that is exactly it. My mother thinks I am being fickle and is convinced if she keeps thrusting Edward at me, I’ll eventually change my mind, when I know I won’t. He is a friend, nothing more. This has given me the perfect excuse to stop pretending that might change.’
‘My mother thinks that if she keeps thrusting me into society, I shall miraculously grow to enjoy it.’ Although at this precise moment he wasn’t exactly hating it for once. Waltzing with the most beautiful woman in the ballroom was hardly a chore. ‘But I’ve never enjoyed it. Not even when I wasn’t a social pariah. Yet my mother still thinks she knows best, so I sympathise.’
As she smiled, she stepped closer, and the urge to tug her closer still was overwhelming. ‘My mother has always been one for flowery words and romanticised sentiment, whereas my overprotective father—much like yours—has strong opinions about all his precious daughters’ potential suitors, including Edward. Much to her chagrin of course.’
‘And what does the great Augustus Brookes think of your poet?’
‘He thinks Edward wears too much lace for his liking.’
‘He does.’ Piers couldn’t help smiling down at her. He was so relieved he wouldn’t ever have to suffer the tortured image of her wrapped in the arms of the golden Adonis in the midst of one of his fevered dreams, he couldn’t help it. ‘All that froth is a sure sign the fellow is unworthy. Trust me, as an armchair diplomat, I know these things. Napoleon likes a lace cravat so I would never trust a gentleman so frilly.’
He felt her spontaneous giggle everywhere, and God help him he liked it. ‘I thought you were an armchair strategist, sir, not a diplomat.’
‘There are no ends to the things one can achieve from the comfort of a well-upholstered chair, Miss Brookes.’ And doubtless he’d be dreaming about that again tonight for sure. But she laughed again and he revelled in it. Then, as he realised he was actually enjoying himself irrespective of all the many reasons that he shouldn’t, Piers came to a staggering and well-reasoned conclusion. One even he couldn’t argue with. What was the harm in enjoying just this one, unexpected waltz? It wasn’t as if they would ever share another—especially after the newspapers eviscerated them on the morrow.
This was it.
His one dance with the most beautiful woman in the room before he battened down the hatches, hardened his resolve and listened to the wise and noisy warnings in his head to avoid her at all costs going forward. He already liked her too much as it was, which was too dangerous a gamble for someone as understandably cautious and wary as he was. Besides, in an uncharacteristically undiplomatic moment, he also reasoned that if he was going to be
hanged for a sheep instead of a lamb regardless, he might as well blasted enjoy it. They were here anyway, in front of everyone, and that damage could not be undone.
So he did. For the next few minutes he banished his marriage, his divorce and his fears from his mind, and he adored every single second of having her for the duration.
But when the music stopped and as he bowed towards her final curtsy, reality descended again like smog as he became aware of two hundred hungry stares boring into his skin and making improper and unfair assumptions. Among them an incensed poet with his nose badly out of joint, his delighted mother who assumed he had taken her advice and, directly opposite on the other side of the dance floor, Mrs Brookes’s clearly horrified one.
As he led her back through the sea of unsubtle, nosy onlookers to her parents, the incensed soprano looked ready to tear him limb from limb and probably would have if one of her other daughters hadn’t gripped her by the arm to stop her.
‘I should probably stay with you and explain how we came to be dancing…’
‘I really wouldn’t.’ She managed to say this without moving her smiling lips. ‘Despite her Quaker roots, Mama’s temper is legendary. Look at her. Does she look rational or reasonable to you?’
Piers did and she didn’t. ‘She looks like she wants me dead.’
‘That is because right now she does, and she will need at least a day or two to cool down before I dare risk her near your person without sturdy restraints. Please leave her to me and Papa. I know he has been an absolute tyrant this last week, but when he isn’t being the slightly deranged and obsessive painter, he is actually the most reasonable man on the planet. Once I explain things to him, he will be able to smooth it all over.’
Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 11
