Lady Drummond pressed her lips together and appeared to want to say more on the subject, yet she only asked, “Who was the gentleman you shared a dance with?”
A shallow shuddery breath returned a small portion of her composure. “A friend of my stepfather.”
“A suitor for your hand?”
“It appears so.” Jessica tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out defeated. Even though she was far from giving up, her options were narrowing at a rapid pace.
The music of a waltz coursed through the room, and ladies and gentlemen rushed to the floor. Lady Drummond’s attention shifted over Jessica’s shoulder, and her mouth tightened. Curiosity had Jessica shifting around to see what had caught Lady Drummond’s ire.
She stepped closer to the dance floor, forgetting about her need to hide. Simon waltzing was a mesmerizing sight. He was graceful but led with an undeniable strength. It took a circuit around the room for Jessica to notice the woman he whirled in his arms.
The skirts of her low-cut dark red gown swished against his legs. The curves of her décolletage were pale and creamy. In contrast, her hair was black and sleekly arranged off her graceful neck. The lady was several years older than Jessica and beautiful in a way that made her feel more gauche than ever.
As they made a turn close to where she stood, the lady laughed throatily at something he whispered close to her ear—a sensuous, inviting sound. Jessica had no doubt the lady would be happily waiting in his bed tonight if he so desired. And it appeared he desired her very much.
The lung-crushing jealousy made her feel light-headed. That fact she had no right to the emotion only made it worse. The tart lemonade burned a path up her throat. Dear Lord, she was going to cast up her accounts in the middle of a ton ballroom.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled to Lady Drummond and pushed her way through the melee.
The doors at the back of the ballroom beckoned like air to one being suffocated. Slipping to the gardens, she gulped in the cool night air. Her stomach thankfully left her throat.
A cluster of three men stood smoking at one end of the balustrade, but they were easily avoided on her flight down the stone steps and into the solitude of the garden. An alcove of vines offered a respite. She sank onto a bench, the seeping cold of the stone a welcome balm. Anger and grief and love warred in her heart.
A figure blocked the entrance to her hideaway. The man stepped forward. “Here you are. I thought we were meeting in the library, my dear.” It was Sir Benedict.
“I was seeking solitude, sir.” Would he take the hint? Doubtful.
“Don’t play coy with me, my lady.” He wagged his finger playfully. When she didn’t reply, his voice took on an annoyed edge. “You agreed to our assignation.”
Oh dear. That must be what she’d inadvertently agreed to on the dance floor. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I am feeling overheated and ill.” Not untrue. She was heartsick at watching Simon smile at another woman.
He advanced, putting him within an arm’s reach and blocking her exit. “I have just the medicine.”
He fumbled with the fall of his silk breeches. It took a few astonished blinks to understand what he was implying. While she wasn’t a woman of experience, her time with Simon had left her more knowledgeable than most debutantes. Or so she assumed.
“Sir! Step aside this instant.” She rose, which unfortunately put her only inches from Sir Benedict’s person.
“Goforth gave his blessing, considering I made an offer.”
“My stepfather gave you leave to accost me?” She gestured toward his breeches.
“He told me you might protest, but that you had expressed your admiration for me in most specific terms. Come and let me give you a little tickle.”
He took her stunned silence as acquiescence. His arms came around her, and she did her best to squirm away but only managed to turn so she could see the exit but not break free.
“Get away from me, sir. I do not wish to give you any of my favors.” She managed to push one of his arms away, but he merely tightened the other.
“I like a little fight in my women, but do keep it down. We don’t want to bring the ton on our heads.”
Panic dried her mouth. If she screamed, she might be saved, but at what cost? Would she be forced to marry Sir Benedict? Yet if she did nothing, she would be truly ruined, not just of reputation, but of soul. That she couldn’t allow either.
He planted a kiss on her neck and the squelchy feel of his lips sent a shudder through her. It also gave her a jolt of strength born of desperation. She put both hands on his chest and shoved.
He released her to catch his balance. She didn’t hesitate and stumbled out of the alcove. What she had first viewed as a sanctuary had turned into hell. Her only thought was to escape the demon on her heels.
Chapter 18
“I’m expecting to see lightning and hear thunder at any moment.” The darkly amused voice of Damien Northcutt came from behind Simon.
Simon continued to scan the dance floor and the chairs set along the back wall, but Jessica had disappeared. “What are you talking about? I’m not in the mood for your joshing this evening.”
“No, I can see you are not. You look positively murderous.” Damien moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Simon. “Am I to assume your sinister mood lies at the feet of the lovely Miss Tremaine?”
“Why would you think that?” Simon clipped out. “Where the devil did she go? The ladies’ retiring room?”
“Yes, why would I assume such a thing?” Damien asked in fake bewilderment. “So silly of me. Are you rekindling your affair with the beauteous Lady Herriot as consolation for losing your true love?”
Finally, his attention caught, Simon turned a scathing, deadly glare on his best friend. “That’s preposterous. Miss Tremaine is not my true love. She lied to me.”
Damien made an exaggerated sound of disgust and rolled his eyes. “Not that trite excuse again. You judge her too harshly based on your past. The more I learn of her stepfather, the more I believe she had due cause for her masquerade.”
Simon hated Damien’s smugness, even more so because he was absolutely right. “I realize my initial reaction was too harsh. Don’t think I didn’t try to see her many times in the aftermath, but she gave me the cut direct.” The note had been a rapier straight into his heart.
“Ah, so that’s why you’ve thrown yourself to the wolves this evening. If I wasn’t at your side as the resident blackguard bastard, you would be overrun by women in white muslin.”
“I’ll admit Minerva informed me of Jessica’s presence this evening. How she came by that information, I haven’t a clue.”
“She is the wife of a former spy and a formidable woman in her own right. She’s frankly rather terrifying. She mostly likely threatened Eversham’s bollocks to obtain the guest list on your behalf.”
Simon found himself chuckling. “By the by, what are you doing here?”
“I heard the card room will have some highfliers with more coin than sense. I’ve come to relieve them of the former so they might gain the latter.” Damien’s smile was wicked. “By the way, I saw Miss Tremaine slip out to the veranda as you and Lady Herriot were dancing.”
Simon shot him a look that promised retribution at a later date. “Why the devil didn’t you lead with that information?”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
Simon took off toward the doors leading to the gardens, leaving Damien’s teasing laughter in his wake. Navigating the throng on his way to the door involved a delicate dance to avoid offending anyone, but he finally made it and flung himself outside, expecting to find her alone on the balustrade. In his endless dreams, she always appeared limned in moonlight. Usually with considerably less clothes than she wore this evening.
He’d spotted her on one of his spins around the dance floor with Lady Herriot. Her gleaming brown hair was braided elaborately and strung with a length of pearls. Her white dress was delicate and skimmed h
er figure attractively. The joys of what was underneath had haunted him for months. So much so, he had eschewed any other woman’s company, even though Lady Herriot had insinuated her bedroom door would forever be open to him.
Standing at the top of the stone stairs, he scanned the garden, but it was full of tall hedges and draping vines. A rustling drew his attention, and he jogged down the steps and into the garden.
A warm body crashed into him with an oof of exhaled air on both their parts. A familiar scent tickled his nose. He grabbed Jessica’s arms and rebalanced her. She glanced over her shoulder with a panic that set his own heart sprinting ahead.
“What’s the matter?” he whispered.
“I have to get away before he finds me.” Her voice was reedy.
He took her by the hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. After tucking her between a pair of tall evergreens, he blocked her from view. “Is it your stepfather?”
“No. Not him. One of his cronies.” She was pale and her chin wobbled.
Whatever had happened had shocked her. If the situation were different, he would be tempted to take her in his arms and offer comfort.
“Where are you, you little tease?” A man’s voice carried to them, anger overriding the attempted cajoling in the words.
Jessica tensed and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pressing closer to him. He would gladly protect her and would be more than happy to grant the man a lesson in manners with his fists. Alas, his aggression remained untapped. The man bypassed them and climbed the stairs, stopping briefly at the top to scan the gardens before disappearing inside.
“What were you thinking?” The question emerged with more vitriol than he intended. Mamas whispered warnings to their young daughters to never be alone with Sir Benedict. He was an aging rake who could no longer attract pretty, young ladies through his looks or charm and so resorted to other means. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook off his hands. “Why does it matter to you? Whatever happened is my fault. Isn’t that right?”
Simon took a step away from her and ran a hand through his hair when he’d prefer to check her for bodily or emotional injury. “I apologize if I implied his scurrilous behavior was your fault, but I must know… Did he hurt you?”
“If you mean rape, then no, he did not.”
He let out a long sigh. “Why did you accept his invitation into the gardens?”
Her chin firmed, and her eyes flashed. “Again I ask, why does it matter to you? I’m surprised you dragged your nose out of that woman’s décolletage.”
The accusation cut deeper than he’d expected. He had been living like a monk because he couldn’t stop thinking about her and self-flagellating with regrets. His exasperation flared into anger, and with a snide twist of his lips, he asked, “Were you jealous?”
She held his gaze for a moment before letting it slide to rest somewhere over his shoulder. “Yes,” she said curtly.
Her answer doused whatever resentment he carried about her deception.
As he searched for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a halfwit, she continued. “It made me sick to see you with her. I came outside to gather myself, and Sir Benedict followed me. Is that what you want to hear? Does my suffering somehow make up for my lies?”
He swallowed past a lump, but his voice was hoarse with emotion anyway. “Was it all lies? You told me your mother…”
She ran a hand over her forehead, hiding her face from his searching gaze. “That was true. No one else knows. Except for Goforth and Mrs. Hamish.”
“I suppose Goforth bribed or threatened the magistrate to rule it a natural death.”
“Yes.” She dropped her hand but kept her focus on the middle of his chest. “That was the only decent turn he gave her. Although I’m certain it was more to save his reputation than hers. I was glad to see her buried in sacred ground. She deserved that.”
“And your brother is away at school, isn’t he?”
She gave the slightest of nods. “Eton, of course. I’m doing my best to see that he remains there.”
“Does doing your best require you to kowtow to men like Sir Benedict?”
“I must keep Blake away from Goforth’s influence until he reaches his majority.”
“And how do you plan to do that? Subject yourself to more abuse? Barter yourself for your brother’s freedom?” An incredulous huff escaped his throat. When she didn’t respond, he took her arms and gave her a slight squeeze. “You aren’t going to allow Goforth to sell you for votes or influence.”
“Allow him?” Finally, she raised her eyes. Fury blazed through a sheen of tears. “I am merely a woman, and he is my guardian. I have no say in the matter. If Goforth wishes to promise my favors to men like Sir Benedict, then what recourse do I have to deny him?”
“Is that what he’s done?”
“Based on Sir Benedict’s insinuations, yes, but—”
Simon turned on his heel and stalked away. A wrathful spirit had invaded. He took the steps to the balustrade two at a time and reentered the ballroom. He cut a path through the crowd, ignoring the niceties this time. No sign of Goforth.
The man wasn’t the type to cultivate relationships with the matrons and their eligible daughters. He wanted to form connections with gentlemen of influence. Where better to do that than the card room? Simon followed two young men up a staircase and down a hallway to where a cacophony of laughter and male conversation emanated on a waft of smoke from numerous cheroots.
He paused in the doorway to get his bearings. Goforth was seated at a table of four men playing whist. Notes were piled in the middle. Goforth appeared slightly sweaty and rumpled. A tumbler stood empty at his elbow.
Simon focused on Goforth with the intensity of a hound and didn’t answer any of the calls of greeting that went up as he pursued his prey. Goforth spotted him when he was less than six feet away. A smirk crested his face.
Before the bastard could open his mouth to say something as equally repugnant, Simon’s fist made contact with Goforth’s nose. Blood spurted onto Goforth’s white linen cravat and down his cream-colored waistcoat. He tumbled backward, along with his chair, and lay stunned. The other three gentlemen at the table leaped to their feet and backed away from Simon.
“You are an utter bastard.” Simon pointed at Goforth and stepped close enough to apply a swift kick to his ribs if so inclined.
“I should call you out for this.” Goforth’s voice was muffled behind the hand he pressed to his face to staunch the blood.
“It would be my pleasure to put a bullet through your heart. If you have one, at any rate.”
“Ah, I know what this is about then.” Behind his hand, Goforth’s lips curled cruelly. “It’s that—”
“A duel won’t be necessary, will it, gentlemen?” A hand gripped Simon’s arm and pulled him back a few steps. “You can discuss your differences over a brandy once cooler heads prevail.”
If it had been anyone but Damien interfering, Simon would be tempted to throw another punch. But Damien was an expert pugilist and could put Simon on his back with the same ease as he had put Goforth down.
“I’ll expect an apology, Your Grace.” Goforth scrambled to his feet with the help of another player.
“Excellent. I’ll be sure to offer one and will even tell you where you can put it.” Simon tried to inject coolness into the words, but they came out harsh.
A faint rumble of laughter had Goforth sending a glare to locate the offending parties.
Damien leaned in to whisper. “It would be best to depart.”
“But—”
“No. If her name comes into it, she will be ruined.” Damien didn’t need to specify who he was referring to.
With a curse, Simon allowed Damien to lead him to the door. Rafe met them at the top of the stairs, his manner brusque but with a steadying calm Simon found reassuring. “What’s the situation?”
“We need to get Simon out of here before he makes more of a spectacle of
himself than he already has,” Damien said softly while sending a smile and nod toward a cluster of ladies eyeing them at the foot of the stairs.
“It will take a half hour at least for me to gather our carriage in this crush,” Rafe said.
“I called for mine earlier, prepared for a quick getaway after fleecing poor Kinnock.” Damien collected his hat and coat. Simon and Rafe did the same.
“I feel as if you’re sending me to my chambers like misbehaving child.” To make matters worse, a rather childish resentment flavored his tone.
“Your behavior has been foolish, ill-advised, and at least adolescent, if not indeed childish.” Damien led them outside, and sure enough, his black carriage bearing no family crest waited at the curb.
“What about Minerva?” Simon asked Rafe.
“She knows I’m seeing to you.”
“How did you even know what was going on?”
“Gossip flies faster than the quail from the bush.” Once the three of them were loaded in Damien’s carriage, Rafe sat back and crossed his arms. “Who in the devil did you punch?”
“Goforth.”
“Of course you did.” Rafe let his head fall back and muttered a string of highly colorful curses. “Are you half-sprung?”
“No, I’m as sober as a vicar.”
“I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”
Damien twitched the curtains open. “Goforth might deserve a thrashing, but why in the middle of a ball? Didn’t you consider the talk it would cause? Especially if Miss Tremaine’s name becomes involved.”
Simon hadn’t been able to focus on anything except the fury and overwhelming need to teach Goforth a lesson. “Goforth is basically selling access to Miss Tremaine for votes or influence or coin. Word of that will eventually make the rounds and leave her with few options.”
“That is dire news,” Rafe said. “Are you sure it’s true?”
“Miss Tremaine had a run-in with Sir Benedict in the gardens that left her shaken.” Simon shrugged. “I believe her.”
Damien rubbed his chin. “Goforth has been amassing gambling debt. He’s not so far in the dun to cause gossip, but he’s been bitten by the bug and doesn’t know when to fold and walk away.”
A Daring Deception Page 19
