***
“Dear Lord, Miss Rosemoor. You’re stunning tonight.” Nickerson looked pleased as he presented his arm. “Perhaps too much so. I fear you’ll make Miss Adare jealous.”
“Nonsense,” Jane answered, laying her hand in the crook of his elbow. Nickerson’s beloved stood not ten feet away, a dazzling smile upon her face as her eyes met his and lit with excitement.
“Miss Jane Rosemoor and Mr. William Nickerson,” the butler’s baritone voice boomed out. Jane looked down and smoothed the folds of her dress, running her fingers lightly across the smooth pearls that ornamented the bodice. She readjusted the filigree gold armlets encircling her arms as she scanned the cavernous ballroom, searching for Lucy and Lord Mandeville. She would need every bit of her friends’ support tonight.
She found them near the entrance to the refreshment room, and with a tip of her head led Nickerson in their direction.
As soon as the initial pleasantries were dispersed with, Jane and Lucy excused themselves to the ladies’ retiring room.
“It was cruel of Mr. Nickerson to make you accompany him here tonight,” Lucy said with a scowl as the door closed behind them. “Especially if what you say is true. The announcement, I mean.”
“Oh, it’s true. But it’s best that I’m here, putting on a good face. Nickerson’s right. Honestly, Lucy, you mustn’t fret over me.”
Lucy looked skeptical. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t accept his suit. Lord Westfield, I mean. Henry likes him immensely, and it’s clear you’ve formed an attachment of some sort. He’s rich, he’s sinfully handsome, and his estate in Derbyshire is nothing short of magnificent by your own account. I fear I’ll never understand your reticence toward marriage.”
“I wish I could explain it to you. Truly, I do. But you must trust my judgment when I say it’s best this way.”
“Best for whom?”
“For me. And for Lord Westfield,” Jane added.
“But you love him,” Lucy insisted.
“I do not love him. I...I don’t know what I feel toward him.” She looked around surreptitiously and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I fear it’s indecent.”
Lucy bit her lower lip, then laughed. “I felt much the same about Henry when we first met. Everyone but me realized I was in love with him, including you, I might add. Why can you not see the truth in yourself, when it’s so plain?” She sighed in exasperation.
“Because it cannot be,” Jane hissed, then reconsidered. She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak so sharply.”
Their conversation ground to a halt as a pair of giggly young ladies–debutantes no doubt–rushed into the room with their faces aglow, whispering behind their fans.
With raised brows, Jane allowed Lucy to thread her arm through hers and the pair hurried back to the ballroom.
She wasn’t the least surprised to find Hayden at Mandeville’s side and Nickerson nowhere to be seen. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat as she joined them.
She felt his eyes on her, prickling her skin, as she curtseyed in greeting. “Lord Westfield.”
“Miss Rosemoor, Lady Mandeville.” He bowed sharply. Several seconds of uncomfortable silence ensued.
“I believe I need some refreshment,” Jane announced, and turned toward the refreshment room.
“I’ll join you,” Hayden said.
Jane almost stomped a foot in frustration as she turned back toward her companions. Why didn’t Lucy or Mandeville offer to accompany them? Instead, a smug smile passed between the two, and Jane was left with no choice but to accept Hayden’s offer of escort.
Her head held high, Jane stalked off, Hayden at her heels. As he reached her side, she gave him a sidelong glance, attempting–unsuccessfully, of course–to assess his intentions. His veil of ennui was firmly in place, betraying nothing. “I won’t dance with you,” she snapped out.
“I hadn’t any intention of asking you to.”
“Oh,” she inhaled sharply.
“Don’t be offended. I shan’t dance with anyone tonight save my betrothed.”
The taste of bile rose briefly in her throat. “I’m not in the least offended,” she lied.
He turned and looked over his shoulder, grimacing as Nickerson rejoined the Mandevilles. “You seem to frequent William Nickerson’s company.”
“I do, indeed. We have quite a history together, Nickerson and I.”
“So I’ve been told.” His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw flickered. “Mandeville tells me you refused his hand several years ago. Perhaps you’ve reconsidered?”
“Perhaps,” she replied noncommittally before attempting a bright smile. Was he jealous? She saw him ball his hands into fists by his sides.
With a trembling hand, she reached for a flute of champagne, just as Hayden reached for the same one. Their fingers met on the stem. In an instant, his thumb covered hers, subtly massaging it. Jane sucked in her breath, unable to move.
“Jane,” he said, so hoarsely, so quietly, that Jane feared she had imagined it.
She drew back her hand at once.
He picked up the flute and held it out to her, but she dared not take it. Instead, she reached for another, refusing to meet his gaze. She took a sip of the bubbly liquid, shuddering as it traced an ice-cold path down her throat. “Why did you follow me?”
He shook his head, his brows drawn together. When he spoke, the words were soft, gentle–almost apologetic in tone. “I haven’t any idea.”
“Lord Westfield,” a voice pealed. Miss Upshaw hastened to them, golden blond ringlets bobbing around her heart-shaped face. She looked up at Hayden with the largest, most perfectly round brown eyes Jane had ever seen–eyes the color of drinking chocolate. “There you are. I couldn’t find you anywhere,” she chastised, laying a hand on his arm.
“Have you met Miss Jane Rosemoor?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, “but I’ve heard much about you from Lady Mandeville. What a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“A pleasure, Miss Upshaw.” Jane curtseyed. In comparison to Miss Upshaw’s petite proportions, she felt large, ungainly. “If you’ll excuse me, I must rejoin my companions.”
“Of course,” the girl replied good-naturedly, happy to return her attention to her betrothed.
Without chancing a look at Hayden, Jane spun around and hurried back to her friends as quickly as decorum allowed.
“There you are,” Nickerson called out to her. “Shall we dance?” He held out a white-gloved hand, and she reached for it with a nod.
“Of course.” Jane followed him onto the floor as the sets formed for the opening quadrille. It was only when the music struck up that she noticed her unfortunate position in the square. Somehow, she and Nickerson had managed to find themselves in the third couple’s spot, opposite the top couple–Hayden and Miss Upshaw. She nearly groaned aloud as the opening figure commenced. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be forced to join hands with Hayden.
Seconds later, she placed her palm against his, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Miss Rosemoor,” he said with a nod, his voice full of civil formality.
“Lord Westfield.” She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Miss Upshaw smiled up prettily at Mr. Nickerson, her pastel curls dancing about her flushed cheeks.
Jane didn’t breathe again until she was returned to her own partner. Nickerson shrugged helplessly in reply to her icy glare. Did he not realize how painful this was for her? But no, he was far too busy making calf’s eyes at Miss Adare, who, with her partner, was strategically positioned directly opposite them in the nearest square.
The next figure required Jane to join hands with Miss Upshaw and circle about. As she reached for the girl’s delicate hands, Miss Upshaw smiled up at her warmly.
“Miss Rosemoor, you must tell me which modiste you patronize. That dress is enchanting.”
Jane glanced down at her filmy blue skirts. “Madame Villency, on Oxford Street. She’s ye
t to disappoint me.” She stepped back, allowing her gaze to briefly flit to Hayden’s face as he reached for Miss Upshaw’s hand and led her through the next figure. She saw not a flicker of emotion, not the faintest spark of desire as he looked at his betrothed. If anything, she sensed reluctance, an expression of resignation in his countenance. Why, then, would he wish to marry her? He could likely have any woman he chose. She shook her head. She’d never understand the man. Probably for the best.
At last it was her turn to move through the next figure, and she forced a smile upon her lips as she took Nickerson’s hand.
“Alexander Clifton is staring at you,” Nickerson whispered into her ear. Jane’s gaze followed the tilt of his head toward her immediate right.
Indeed he was, the rogue. Clifton leaned indolently against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets as his eyes boldly skimmed the length of her figure. He had been a suitor of hers several years past, before he’d ruined Miss Portia Butler and been forced to marry her. Yet his marriage had done nothing to curb his rakish behavior, and his many conquests were legendary. Luckily, he had paid her very little heed the past few years, preferring the bloom of youth to aging spinsters. But now he looked to her with a predatory glint in his eye. Jane shuddered.
“I say, he’s looking at you almost indecently.” Nickerson tightened his grasp on her hand. “Shall I call him out?”
Jane laughed. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Nickerson. He is, after all, only looking at me.” Prickles rose on the back of her neck as the corners of Mr. Clifton’s mouth rose into a lascivious smile. “I do wish he’d stop, though,” she muttered as she returned to her place in the square.
Again she was forced to join hands with Hayden. She heaved a sigh of frustration as she reluctantly met him in the center for a brief promenade.
“Another of your spurned suitors, I suppose?” he drawled, his eyes boring into hers.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do. Clifton. Odd, as I didn’t think he bothered with women over the age of eighteen.”
“Nor did I,” she answered dryly. She risked a glance in the man’s direction, and her heart leapt in her breast. Dear God, she distinctly saw his tongue flick across his lips suggestively. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Shall I call him out?”
“No, and besides, William has already offered.” As she released him and stepped back to her place opposite her partner, she watched in grim satisfaction as Hayden’s expression changed from incredulous to mutinous in a matter of seconds.
Not for the first time, she silently cursed Lady Jersey for ever introducing the interminable quadrille.
An hour later, the tension knotting her stomach had eased only a bit. While her dance card had filled respectably, she felt like the fox in the hunt, dashing this way and that, trying her best to avoid crossing paths with Hayden or Mr. Clifton. Nickerson’s light-hearted company was her saving grace, along with Lucy’s comforting presence.
“Allow me to fill your plate, Miss Rosemoor.”
Jane couldn’t help but smile at Nickerson as she nodded her assent, watching as he filled her plate with slices of roast beef and ham so thin you could nearly see through them, savory pastries, and an assortment of cheeses.
“Mmmm, the lobster pastries are delicious,” Lucy murmured at her side.
Jane sampled one from the plate Nickerson handed her and nodded appreciatively. “Decidedly so. Thank goodness for small favors. At least the food is pleasurable.”
“And what of your escort?” Nickerson asked, feigning insult.
“Oh, certainly the most pleasant of sorts. If only he’d be more careful in choosing our position on the dance floor, I might forgive him.” Jane laughed easily, her mood lightened a bit.
“Look, there’s Henry, conversing with poor Mrs. Clifton. I suppose he’s trying to distract her while her husband nearly mauls Miss Anderson over there in the corner.” Lucy shook her head, a disgusted frown upon her face. She moved off toward her husband, Nickerson right behind her. Jane started to follow.
“Miss Rosemoor?”
Jane turned toward her name. A manservant stood by her elbow, peering at her curiously.
“Yes?” Jane answered curiously.
Without another word, the man reached for her hand and slipped something inside before disappearing through the crowd. She could only stare at his retreating form in puzzlement.
Opening her palm, she saw a small square of paper lying there. She blinked in astonishment. How strange.
Abandoning her plate on the buffet, she hurried to the ladies’ retiring room, anxious to see what news the curious missive bore. Once the door closed behind her, she unfolded the slip of paper with trembling hands. Three words were scrawled in obvious haste.
Rose garden. Midnight.
Perhaps this had something to do with Nickerson and his Miss Adare–some secret arrangements for an assignation. Or perhaps it was something else altogether. Her heart began to pound in anticipation as her eyes skimmed lower, looking for a signature. Please, not Clifton.
And then her heart skipped a beat.
At the page’s lower right corner, there was a single, elegant letter. W. Her palms dampened as the missive fluttered to the carpet at her feet.
Westfield.
Chapter 13
This was madness. Hayden knew it to be so, yet he’d been unable to stop himself from hastily scribbling the note. His own engagement was to be announced at the close of the ball, for God’s sake, and yet here he stood, secretly awaiting another woman among the darkly shadowed, fragrant bushes. He paced between the thorny branches, reaching one hand up to tug at his cravat. The damn thing felt like a noose around his neck.
He retrieved his watch and flipped open the case. Two minutes till midnight. He snapped it shut again and shoved it back into his pocket. Would she come? He reached down and pinched off one single rose, its velvety petals the same shade of pink as Jane’s lips, and equally as soft. He ran a fingertip lightly along the petals’ rim, deeply inhaling the rich scent as he did so.
“Lord Westfield?”
He spun around in surprise, at once amazed and relieved to find Jane standing there, even if her countenance showed nothing but annoyance. “I asked you to call me Hayden,” he said at last, dropping the blossom to the grassy carpet below.
“And yet you know how inappropriate my doing so would be, Lord Westfield. Need I remind you that you are a betrothed man? The honor of addressing you so informally belongs to Miss Upshaw, and Miss Upshaw alone.” Her mouth was set in a hard line, her brow furrowed in obvious irritation. “Why did you ask me to come here?”
“I need to speak with you, nothing more.”
“Then speak quickly. I must return at once before my absence is noticed.”
His well-rehearsed words abandoned him, leaving him momentarily speechless. This was madness, and he should allow her to leave before Nickerson came looking for her. Roaring silently in frustration, he made to return to the ballroom post-haste.
But as he brushed by her, he felt her fingers clutch at his sleeve. He stopped dead in his tracks and inhaled deeply before turning toward her.
She looked up to him pleadingly, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “What did you wish to say? Speak now, and let us end this maddening game.” Something was different about her gaze, as if a shrouding veil had been lifted from her captivating eyes, and he recognized pain in their depths. Deep, tortured pain–a pain she’d hidden from the world. He was suddenly aware of her suffering, sensing it as if it swirled around her like a dense fog, enveloping her in its shroud.
He closed his eyes and took a ragged breath. Had he played a part in her suffering? A knife tore through his heart at the thought.
“I fear I’ve treated you badly, Miss Rosemoor,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She said nothing, but her lower lip trembled perceptibly.
“I’ve no excuse,” he continued, his heart racin
g, “except that my judgment clouds in your presence.”
Still, she said nothing.
He allowed one of his hands to stray to her side, to lightly brush the soft fabric of her skirts with his fingertips. This gown was so very different from any other he’d seen her wear. It was more virginal, almost fairy-like with delicate silk leaves appliquéd near the hem, even as the fashionably low-cut bodice revealed an ample amount of her breasts. The opaque tulle over the icy satin leant an ethereal look to her fair skin, making the deep color of her eyes even more intense.
She looked like an enchantress.
“Did you wear this dress tonight to torture me? It suits you perfectly. Innocent yet sensual, beautiful and intriguing all at once.”
Her eyes narrowed as her cheeks flushed angrily. “As hard as it might be for you to comprehend it, your tastes do not dictate my choice of gowns. I wore this dress tonight because Mr. Nickerson’s favorite color is blue, if you must know.” She tipped her chin into the air.
Something inside him snapped. “Are you in love with him?”
“It’s none of your concern,” she bit out, then spun on her heel. She took no more than two steps before turning to face him once more. “And what if I am? He’s a gentleman in every respect, more noble than you despite his lack of title. Mr. Nickerson doesn’t try to...to...” she sputtered, “to seduce me, to risk my reputation at every turn. He’s honest and guileless and–”
“No need to go on,” he interrupted, the blood rising in his face. “I wholly understand.”
“Do you? Then why are we out here, hidden amongst the shadows, sneaking about like lovers? When will it end? I’ve made it clear that I’ve no wish to marry you and now you’re betrothed to another. You owe me no explanation, Lord Westfield.”
“You say the words convincingly, yet your kiss at the Gardens betrayed you. I felt the desire in your kiss, desire that matches mine.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Your arrogance misleads you. Your kiss caught me unawares, that’s all.” She dropped her gaze and shrugged. “I confess I was perhaps a bit curious, nothing more.”
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 15
