“Where is Margaret?” Cam asked without preamble.
“Good evening to you, too.” Simon, recovering from his surprise, wore a boyish grin on his face and draped an arm around his lovely wife. Jenny also stared at him as if he had appeared out of the ether.
Cam sighed. “Sorry. Good evening,” he returned to Simon, then to Jenny, he said, “You are a vision in green, a veritable goddess.”
“Sit,” Simon invited him.
Cam shook his head. “I’ve been here for ages and—”
“Good to see you, ol’ boy,” came a voice from behind, right before he felt the now-familiar, hard slap on his back. “So, you’re all mended, are you?”
Turning, he greeted yet another acquaintance, this time a fellow member of Parliament.
“Yes, thank you, David. Much better.”
Satisfied, the man walked away.
“And that keeps happening. I swear, I’ve been struck more tonight than ever in my life.”
“Lord Anguish! You’re alive,” exclaimed another well-wisher before he, too, slapped his shoulder with hearty cheer before disappearing into the crowd.
“What did he call you?” Simon asked, his eyes dancing with merriment.
“Never mind. Where is she?”
It was Jenny who spoke. “She is dancing, as far as we know. We haven’t seen her in ages.”
Sighing, Cam surveyed the crush of people once again. “I may never find her. What a ridiculous place for a ball!”
Simon laughed. “Most would disagree. You’re grumpy for a man who looks to be completely healed.”
Cam shrugged. “If you see Margaret before I do, tell her I’ll come back to your table each half hour. That way, I’m sure to run into her eventually.”
“She’s clad in blue,” Jenny called after him as he dove back into the crowd.
Blue! Of course, her favorite color, and his when it was on her. However, the information barely helped, since it was apparently a popular color with the ton this year.
And then the murmuring which had followed him all night became a distinctly louder chatter, and he knew it was not his appearance anymore spurring it, but someone far more important.
“The queen, the queen,” he heard from every quarter. Victoria had arrived.
Would Margaret head toward the dais he’d already seen twice on his hunt for the woman he loved? There, the regal Duchess of Sutherland was holding her own small court.
Letting the surge push him forward, he got as close to the dais as he could, near enough to see their diminutive queen with her brown hair piled on her head and her round cheeks slightly rouged for the occasion.
“God protect her,” he whispered under his breath, and then began his search once more in earnest.
*
Maggie hadn’t laughed so much in months. Despite Philip being in mourning, he managed a steady stream of witty remarks, which, as if he were a skilled bowman, hit their targets perfectly. Whether he spoke regarding an older lady with a startling amount of face powder—”She ought to apply to the plasterer’s guild”—or a dandified gentleman with an hourglass figure—”He’s got the tightest corset at Stafford House tonight”—Philip had a cutting quip.
Suddenly, the babbling of conversation swelled until she could hardly hear her witty dance partner. From his higher vantage point, Philip scanned the room. Then leaning down, his mouth close to her ear, he told her the reason.
“The queen has arrived.”
Maggie’s heart thumped. “Do you think there’s any way to see her? I know it sounds terribly plebian of me, but I don’t remember a thing about meeting her when presented at the palace during my first Season. I think I had my eyes closed. I swear, I was shaking so badly, I could hardly walk, and I believe I slobbered over her hand.”
Her words brought a slight smile to her companion’s otherwise austere face.
“We can head in that direction if you wish.”
To Maggie’s delight, she did see Victoria in all her regality, complete with a glittering tiara and a royal blue sash over her dove-grey silk gown. It was enough simply to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty looking happy, standing on the dais beside the pretty duchess.
“Are you content?” Philip asked.
Maggie grinned and took his arm as they stepped aside, making way for others who were eagerly pushing forward to see the queen.
“I am. Do you think she noticed me when I curtsied?”
“If you drooled upon her hand once, in all likelihood, she remembered you. In truth, I think she said to the duchess, ‘We are happy to see young Miss Blackwood with the overly active spittle.’”
Maggie dissolved in laughter, then saw an expression cross Philip’s face that made her insides tighten.
She wasn’t ready to begin again. Was she? Her heart was still full of John and aching for him. But Jenny had reminded her not to settle for less than a man who made her tingle with a special sensation. And it all started with a kiss.
As if she’d conjured her sister with her thoughts, Maggie suddenly saw Simon and Jenny mere yards away. Unfortunately, with the crowd surging between them, they were impossible to reach.
“Jenny,” she called, and was rewarded when her sister turned. With an excited look, Jenny grabbed Simon’s arm before waving and gesturing at Maggie.
“There’s my sister,” she told Philip, whose arm she still held. Looking again, she realized Jenny appeared to be mouthing some words.
“Whatever is she trying to tell me?”
Philip peered in the same direction. “It looks to me as if she said someone is here.”
“Oh,” Maggie said. “Of course, the queen. They must be going to see her.”
“Shall I escort you back to your table?” He hesitated, catching her gaze with his. “Or perhaps you’d care to leave this crush a moment and take a stroll in the gallery.”
She pondered a moment. This was most certainly not her first ball. A stroll meant one thing, as far as she had experienced. Back to the safety of the Devere table or … a stroll?
“It will take my sister and brother-in-law a good half hour to see the queen and get back to our table.” She blinked up into the face of this stranger. “Yes, let’s go see the gallery.”
Turning back, she waved again to her sister and then let Philip lead her to the closest door.
As soon as she set foot upon the thick, red-carpet runner, which stretched endlessly along the main upper hall of Stafford House, Maggie knew she was doing the wrong thing.
This man was grieving, as was she, though for different reasons. What good could come of this? For all she knew, he had confessed his plan to ruin her so she would drop her guard. She might be playing into his wicked plans at that very moment.
Sighing, her step didn’t falter. When had knowing the right path ever stopped her from taking the wrong one? Wasn’t she supposed to find sizzle with another man? Or should she pine for John the rest of her life?
As expected, they walked only as far as an arched and shadowy alcove with columns standing on either side as sentinels. Philip stopped and turned to face her.
Taking both her hands, he backed her nearly into the vase perched on a pedestal, the only object in the deeply recessed nook. As he did, she felt the porcelain wobble and tap her back before it settled back into place.
Gracious! Any vase on display and owned by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland must be worth more than her family’s entire cottage in Sheffield.
“Take care,” she murmured as her new acquaintance stepped closer.
His actions, both predictable and expected, didn’t cause her even a tremor of fear. Rather, she worried at her own blasé acceptance of what would occur. Philip would kiss her, and she would feel nothing more than mild curiosity.
“You just sighed,” he told her.
“My apologies. Proceed.” Maggie closed her eyes and tilted her head.
She waited. Nothing. Peering through one raised lid, she saw his surprised expression.
/>
“Well?” she demanded.
Releasing her hands, he ran one of his own through his hair, messing it up terribly, and then raised the other to the wall to lean upon it.
“You definitely make it tough on a man.”
“Whatever can you mean? I’m making it easy.”
“Too easy. You seem about as interested as if I were about to shine your shoes.”
Smiling, she reminded him her satin slippers needed no polish.
Suddenly, they heard voices and footsteps. A small group of partygoers had left the ballroom and were traversing the hallway.
How could they hide?
To her surprise, Philip leaned closer, one arm snaking around her to press her against his body and shield her from their sight.
Betraying their high spirits and probably too much champagne, a few passers-by whistled. One said, “Huzzah, huzzah!” And then, they were gone.
Philip looked down into her face, his eyes wide with alarm.
Against all decorum, Maggie giggled. After all, he had threatened the ruin of her reputation. Instead, he had protected it.
“We’re not going to kiss, are we?” Philip asked.
“No, you’re bloody well not,” came a familiar voice.
Impossible. It couldn’t be!
Pushing Philip aside, Maggie faced John Angsley in high dudgeon by the look of his thunderous expression.
“In fact,” John added, his tone like ice, “you won’t even be standing in a minute.”
With one arm, John tried to sweep her out of the way, while he drew his other back, ready to deliver a five-fingered missive to Philip’s face.
Oh dear!
“No, don’t,” Maggie cried, struggling against the strength in her former fiancé’s arm as she tried to get between them.
*
With Margaret’s hands wrapped tightly around his left arm and her warm breasts pushed against him as she struggled, Cam could hardly keep his attention on the knave who had tried for an ill-timed tryst. With his woman!
Who was this audacious stranger, standing with legs slightly apart, his arms at his sides, braced and apparently willing to take the blow?
It was the other man’s stance and attitude more than Margaret’s entreaty which caused Cam to hesitate.
“Are you going to defend yourself?” he demanded.
“No,” the blighter responded. “Are you going to harm the woman?”
“What? Of course not! How dare you?”
For that remark, Cam felt the urge to hit him rise up again.
“John, you are here, in London!” Maggie exclaimed. “You’re standing and walking!”
She sounded pleased, but it didn’t take the sting out of catching her with another man.
Particularly when the man chuckled. “I’ve noticed a tendency in Miss Blackwood to state the obvious.”
Cam saw red. Had this smug toad truly spent enough time with his Margaret to offer an opinion on her behavior one way or the other? His hand fisted once more.
“I have never noticed any such inclination. Possibly you are so extremely dull, sir, there is nothing else for her to comment upon except your apparent tediousness.”
Margaret had succeeded in stepping entirely in front of him. Standing extremely close, radiating warmth, her spectacular smile in place despite their situation, her sparkling eyes gazed up at him.
“How did you find me?” Her soft voice threaded through his anger.
“I encountered Simon and Jenny near the queen’s dais, where I thought you might be. Your sister said she’d seen you leave the ballroom with this mutton-headed blackguard.”
“Rather harsh,” the stranger said.
At last, taking her eyes off him, Margaret turned to the man who still stood too close behind her.
“Perhaps you’d best leave us alone.”
The man’s gaze went from her to Cam and back again. “Don’t you want to introduce me to his lordship?”
Margaret seemed hesitant. That worried Cam. Were they a couple? Was he too late?
“What’s going on?” he ground out, keeping his eyes on her. Her answer might mean his happiness or his abject misery.
Watching her worry her lower lip with her teeth, Cam felt a spike of desire. He had almost forgotten how her nearness affected him, but it was hardly the time. What if this man was her new paramour? What if Cam had incited her passions with all their nighttime encounters, only to have her seek relief at the hands of another?
At last, she shrugged. “John, this is Philip Carruthers. You may remember his brother—”
“His brother died on Oxford Street,” Cam finished for her, all his attention now on the stranger. This unexpected turn evoked the terrible day clearly, particularly the moment when he’d seen the driver’s panicked expression.
Despite the months of agony this man’s twin, Robert, had caused him, Cam felt all the fight instantly drain away. Except … why was he bothering Margaret?
“How do you know each other?” His voice sounded too loud to his own ears.
“We don’t,” Margaret said quickly. “I only met him the other night, and then he, well …” she trailed off and looked over her shoulder again.
“I approached her tonight to tell her who I was. Beyond that, there is nothing between us. I understand you were gravely injured. I offer my apology on behalf of my family.”
Cam swallowed the last vestiges of anger.
“You lost your brother. I am sure it is difficult to tender an apology to me, but I assure you, it is accepted. I am sorry for your loss. Senseless, as it was.”
The man stiffened.
“On that we agree, Lord Cambrey. Utterly senseless.”
Carruthers turned to Margaret. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Blackwood, and I thank you for the dance and for lifting my humor somewhat these past few hours.”
She nodded.
Then he addressed Cam. “I’m glad we met. It makes it easier somehow.”
Then, with nary a backward glance, the man strode away.
“Poor man,” Margaret murmured, drawing Cam’s focus.
“Were you really going to let him kiss you?”
She sighed. “Is it important?”
Was it? Yes. No. He didn’t know.
“How many men have you kissed since we parted?”
“Since the day you called me a nag whom you had no wish to marry?”
Had he really? That wasn’t how he remembered it, but he had been under the influence of more than a little opium.
“I apologize. I wasn’t myself, as you know. I am now, by the way.”
He was rewarded with her smile.
“I can see it,” she said, her gaze locked on his. “Yes, I can see it in your eyes.”
Reaching up, she traced her fingers along the thin white scars at his temple. “You look very fine, indeed. And how is your leg?”
In answer, he took her in his arms and proceeded to waltz her down the corridor, enjoying her lilting laugh as her skirts swished around his legs, once again strong and stable.
Feeling her warmth beneath his hands, Cam’s heart swelled. Pausing, he bent low and swiftly claimed her lips, but when he straightened and looked down at her, her eyes were still closed and—what the hell?— a few tears leaked out to trail down her face.
“Margaret?” he asked, unsure of her thoughts.
Her beautiful gold-flecked eyes flew open. Dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, she stared up at him.
“Kiss me again!”
Relief flooded him, and he obeyed her. Slowly this time, Cam lowered his mouth to join with hers.
Almost at once, it wasn’t enough, and, with a groan, he backed her against the wall for anyone who happened upon them to see. With a hand pressed on either side of her head, he continued the kiss, slanting his head, pressing his tongue to her lips until she welcomed him inside with a sigh. Bowing his tall body, he couldn’t help but push his hips to hers, relishing the way she arched ag
ainst him.
She made a soft sound which drove him wild. The queen of the British Empire was a mere few yards away, the most powerful woman in the world. Yet, it was Miss Margaret Blackwood who was the queen of all Cam was and would ever be. With a small sound, she could bring him to his knees.
When they broke apart, both taking lungfuls of air, she reached up and held his face.
“Yes, in truth, I would have let him kiss me,” she began, her words cutting him like a sword. “Only because I was going to start searching for our sizzle.”
“Our sizzle is ours alone,” he reminded her. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“I know. And, no, I haven’t kissed another since you made me yours at Turvey House.” She blushed at her own words, offering him the vivid memory of her sprawled beside him, completely naked and looking sated.
He wanted the very same again, and soon.
“You can kiss a hundred men,” he said, making her eyes widen, “and you will never find one who loves you as I do.”
Now was the time to confess. “You were right about opium. It was killing me, I think. For I can’t believe anything that put me in such agony of mind and body could have been good for me. It was the devil’s own work to stop taking it, but I did. I’m glad you weren’t there to see me.”
Margaret nodded before standing on tiptoe and planting her own brand of kiss upon his lips.
Afterward, reaching for her hand, he tucked it in his and escorted her along the hallway. Just before they passed through the large double doors back into the ballroom, she held his arm, halting him.
“Are we a couple again? Are we engaged?”
“No,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “We are most definitely not.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie felt as if the floor had fallen out from under her. What could John mean? They had kissed as passionately as ever. The sizzle! It was there in obvious abundance, practically making her melt.
Trying to speak with him in the loud, echoing room, she couldn’t, not while he continued to drag her along, her gloved hand firmly clasped in his own.
Pushing through couples and groups, he finally halted on the shiny parquet and brought her around to face him.
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