Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  They descended into the noise, smoke, and heated air, while people turned to survey them. Carrie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and forced herself to smile while Nicholas escorted her through the crowd. Their progress halted continually when guests greeted him and begged for an introduction. Complimentary comments, loud enough for Carrie to hear, followed in their wake and made her cheeks burn. Questions as to the new beauty’s identity and where she hailed from. It was all new to her and nothing like the Yorkshire dances. She clutched her fan, longing to employ it to cool her face.

  Nicholas placed his hand over hers on his arm and gently squeezed. He leaned down and spoke in an undertone. “Smile, sweetheart, your Season is already a success. Come, my good friends, Charles and Nellie, the Duke and Duchess of Shewsbury, are eager to meet you.”

  The reassurance in his eyes and his words calmed her. She gazed up at him with a tremulous smile. She wanted him to be proud of her. But did she want this, any of it?

  Ahead, the duke and duchess, a handsome and formidable couple who drew the gazes of everyone around them, waited to meet her, and Nicholas steered her toward them.

  Carrie curtsied.

  His Grace drew her to her feet and kissed her hand while Her Grace’s smiling violet eyes and natural manner immediately put Carrie at her ease. The duchess wore a gold silk gown with magnificent diamonds. She and Gwen shepherded Carrie away. “We can have a nice coze without the nonsense men go on with,” Her Grace said. “And before the rush to claim your hand for the first dance. A busy night awaits you, Miss Leeming. Or shall I call you Caroline?”

  “Carrie, please.”

  “Then please call me Nellie. Gwen has told me so much about you. I feel I know you already.”

  Carrie smiled shyly while her head swam. She’d been so sad and struggled with hard decisions for so long, this all seemed like a dream. But the decisions must still be made. She could not afford to lose her head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nicholas joined Charles in a group who stood discussing current affairs. He half-listened while he watched Carrie partner the haughty Lord Sheen for a country dance.

  As the dance ended, he entered the card room to view a hand of faro in progress, but it pained him to see young Bleckley lose his inheritance, so he wandered out to rejoin Charles.

  Utley had claimed the quadrille. The knight’s son appeared quite taken with Carrie. They chatted when the steps brought them together. Nicholas’s mood soured. Neither of these men would suit. He surveyed the crowd seeking those who might want a wife but couldn’t find a single one among them he considered a good husband. No one could say Bennington, who lost his wife last year, wasn’t an honorable fellow. But so frightfully dull that life with him would crush Carrie’s spirits. Margrove was a rake and a gamester. He’d go through Carrie’s dowry before the year was out. Broughton was associated with a well-known courtesan, whom he confessed to be extremely fond of. It was unlikely he’d give her up. Carrie deserved better than that.

  “A problem?” Charles inquired.

  “Neither Sheen nor Utley are right for Carrie.”

  “You’ve disregarded everyone I’ve suggested.” Charles arched his eyebrows. “Have you anyone in mind?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “No one here tonight.”

  “Early days,” Charles said soothingly.

  Nicholas glanced sharply at him, but the nimble fellow had turned to ask a question of George Campbell, Duke of Argyll, who had just strolled up to them.

  When they called the waltz, Nicholas approached Carrie. She looked up from her chair, where she fanned herself, her cheeks flushed.

  What a vision she was in that gown. As he had suspected, no debutante here tonight could rival her beauty, although there were several pretty ones. He noticed a delightful blonde’s attempts to attract Dominic’s attention. Nicholas wondered how he resisted. Perhaps her mama seated beside her and watching him keenly might have deterred him?

  He gazed down at Carrie. “These affairs are always overheated. Are you enjoying your first ball?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  Nicholas held out his hand. “I believe this dance is mine?”

  She rose and took his arm with a smile. “We Leemings are such a bother.”

  He laughed. “To have the prettiest young debutante at the ball on my arm? I consider myself most fortunate.”

  “And I am fortunate to dance with you when the other debutantes can only sit and watch.”

  She teased him, but an expression in her eyes disturbed him. He’d expected her to be excited, aglow with her success. Wasn’t she happy? “Have you enjoyed the dances?”

  “Yes. But one older gentleman who partnered me tonight hopped about in a spritely fashion, and another younger man trod on both of my feet.”

  “What’s Gwen about, accepting an old fellow to dance with you?” he said as the orchestra struck up.

  She smiled impishly as he took her in his arms. “It’s said some older men are steadier and more reliable.”

  “As long as they’re not in their dotage,” Nicholas said. “That won’t do for you, Carrie.”

  “What will do for me?” she asked, suddenly serious.

  He smiled. “This is your first ball, Carrie. Shall we wait awhile?”

  Nicholas was silenced as he settled Carrie in his arms. He breathed in the sweet flowery fragrance of her hair, his hand on her slender back. Her small-gloved hand rested in his. He abandoned any flippant response he might have made and surrendered to the waltz.

  His hand spanned her narrow waist as he guided her through the steps to the strains of a sublime Mozart sonata. It might be the only time he danced with her. Aware they were on view, he raised his chin to avoid staring at the beguiling view of her bosom peeping from a froth of lace.

  “I suspect some men find dancing a bore. Do you, Nicholas?” Carrie’s question drew his gaze down to meet hers.

  “When my partner is as light as a feather? Certainly not.”

  A small frown marred the skin between her eyebrows. “I have had a surfeit of compliments tonight.”

  “Poor fellows. Most likely, they are not of a poetical persuasion,” he said, amused.

  “It’s as though they feel obliged to praise me.”

  “You are too harsh, Carrie.”

  “I find some people’s behavior quite shocking.”

  He resisted a smile. “Oh?”

  “A lady encouraged the attentions of a man who is not her husband. She handed him a note which was hidden behind her fan. And her husband was standing nearby.”

  “It goes on, Carrie. But much of it is harmless.” He nodded to a lady who swept past them on Lord Cresborne’s arm. “Mrs. Browning is a contented wife but see how she laughs and indulges her partner in a light flirtation. It is a sport in which the ton indulge.”

  “Not if it’s dishonest and can cause mistrust…and hurt.”

  “It won’t if you understand the rules.”

  “Which rules?”

  She was youthfully idealistic but right in some respects. The behavior of the ton was too often hurtful and cruel. “One must be discreet.”

  “So, after I’m married, as long as I’m discreet, it’s acceptable for me to have affairs?”

  He tightened his jaw, finding the idea repulsive. “Some do. Most do not.”

  “Well, I shall not. And I will flirt only with the man I am to marry.”

  “I believe I heard a collective sigh from the men dancing around us.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Nicholas looked away from Carrie’s very kissable mouth. He would hate to see her become cynical. His hand firmed at her waist as he suffered a fierce desire to protect her, to whisk her away. Madness. “Have you not warmed to anyone you’ve met tonight?”

  Carrie shook her head. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about them. Not now.”

  She was so unaffected and natural for a beauty. He hoped it wouldn’t change. The poets would
write sonnets extolling her beauty, and she was sure to break hearts. He marveled at long dark lashes fluttering against her cheek and enjoyed far too much how well their bodies moved together. As they danced down the length of the ballroom, the music swelled to a magnificent crescendo, while golden lights from the chandeliers were reflected in the mirrors and embellished the fiery luster of her hair.

  “Oh Nicholas, this is lovely,” she murmured. “I want to dance on forever.”

  Carrie yearned to live, to love. And she deserved the best. He could protect her and pleasure her with infinite care. Make a thorough job of it, where other fellows might not. The picture of her stretched out naked in his bed ran in his mind like temptation.

  Nicholas pulled himself up sharply. He was not suited to marriage. He had been on his own too long. Carrie sought a poetic soul, free-spirited. Once he returned to the country, his busy routine would banish any dangerous thoughts. He wished his denial hadn’t begun to sound like a refrain.

  All too soon, the music slowed, and the dance ended. Around them, others prepared to leave the floor. Carrie rested her fingertips on his arm. Her eyes, soft as velvet, held him captive. No wonder there’d been so much resistance to the waltz when it was first introduced in England. It was the closest to making love one could do in a crowded room. He escorted her back to her seat.

  As Gwen had not yet returned to her chair, Nicholas remained while Carrie seated herself and arranged her things about her.

  “Have you a partner for the supper dance?” he asked.

  “No. Have you?”

  He hadn’t. But now he must. He turned to survey the crowd. “If you’ll excuse me, Carrie, I must seek the lady before some fellow claims her hand.”

  “Thank you for the dance, Nicholas.” She lowered her head and fussed with her fan.

  Nicholas crossed the floor to find a waiter with a tray of champagne. He would have preferred a stiff brandy, but none was on offer. As he nursed his drink, several young men crowded around Carrie, seeking an introduction from Nellie, who had joined her. He should go over and sort those young bucks out but didn’t have the heart for it.

  “Nicholas?”

  Gwen stood at his elbow.

  “The evening is a success. You have done admirably, Gwen.”

  “That’s not what I want to talk to you about.” She took his arm and drew him into a quiet corner.

  He stared at her concerned face. “Is this necessary? Why the secrecy?”

  “It’s Miss Carswell.”

  “From the village?” He narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

  “She is visiting her sister in London and is here tonight. She approached me concerned about an incident that happened at Elm Park.”

  “What incident?”

  “She deeply disapproves of Carrie living with you without a proper chaperone. She says she found you both alone together in the morning room. You were sitting too close together. And after watching you dancing together tonight, she fears Carrie’s reputation might suffer.”

  “What nonsense!”

  “Of course it is. I explained to her you had my full support and confidence.”

  Nicholas cursed under his breath. “If she says a word against Carrie, she’ll feel the full force of my anger.”

  “It won’t do to stoke the fires, Nicholas. She is a duke’s sister-in-law and considers herself justified in interfering in other people’s affairs. Nothing will change that view. You must be careful. Carrie’s reputation is at risk if she spreads any gossip.”

  “Damn the woman.”

  Gwen raised her eyebrows reprovingly. “I believe I have calmed her down, but it might be best if you do not dance with Carrie again tonight.”

  “I have no such intention.” He frowned. “After all, you asked me to waltz with her.”

  “Yes, but I…” She cocked her head. “I hadn’t realized you were so fond of her.”

  He scowled. “Of course I am fond of her. She has been living in my house. I’ve gotten to know her, like her. And I enjoyed dancing with her.”

  “If you were a married man, we would not have this problem.” She patted his arm in a patronizing fashion, infuriating him further. “Just for tonight, best be discreet.”

  “I shall return to Elm Park tomorrow.”

  She huffed. “As soon as that? You are behaving badly, I must say. One might wonder why.”

  He shrugged. “I declare there’s no pleasing you, Gwen.”

  After she left him, Nicholas wandered through the ballroom. He drew the attention of the lady he sought and shouldered his way through the crowd toward her. “Lady Burrell. Have you forgiven me for my shameful neglect of you last night?”

  Lillian raised a delicate eyebrow. “I have not yet decided.”

  “Will you dance the supper dance with me while you consider it? And allow me the pleasure of taking you into supper?”

  She accepted with her usual grace. Lillian had enjoyed a successful marriage to a peer before she lost him to illness several years ago. He met her slightly ironic smile with one of his own. How refreshing were mature women? Always graceful, and they knew the rules.

  ***

  Carrie sank back in her seat, vigorously employing her fan, deeply frustrated as Nicholas walked away. Their waltz was everything she’d dreamed of. No other man tonight compared with him. Or even came close. Being in his arms had overwhelmed her senses. She wanted to draw closer to him, to put her arms around his neck and have him smile his affectionate smile, which seemed to have become very necessary to her peace of mind. Must she be satisfied with that? Or could his feelings for her have deepened? She’d begun to suspect they might have during the waltz. His eyes were magnetic and compelling when they gazed into hers, and her heart had leapt eagerly in response.

  She frowned and tugged at her gloves. Why did she want him when he was intent on his singledom and his unruffled existence? And yet she did. She yearned for adventure and excitement. To travel to exotic places. She lifted her chin. To dance naked in the moonlight if she cared to. What would he say should she declare it? Would he laugh at her? Think of her as very young? But it was impossible to imagine fulfilling her dreams with any of the gentlemen she’d met tonight. They appeared to be bound by the strictures of Society and consumed by their important place in it. Must she choose a sober-minded man and live accordingly? Once Bella was safely out, Carrie knew she would want much more from life. Why did she think, despite everything, Nicholas might want that, too?

  She searched the ballroom for him but couldn’t find him. He was forever telling her what she wanted, as if she didn’t know herself. It made her so cross, she was tempted to be a little outrageous. To shock him into seeing her. To understand her. Aware she was frowning, she bowed her head. It hardly mattered what she said or did. Nicholas was intent on honoring her father’s wishes to see her married, and that was a sticking point.

  When Nellie brought Lord Ludlow to her, Carrie rose for the next dance with Nicholas still in her thoughts. She would never change his mind while behaving like a ninny. Was she a woman worth her salt? It was time to live up to her father’s vision for her.

  A baron’s son, Lord Ludlow had nice blue eyes. They had danced together before. He was really most presentable, she decided as they took to the floor.

  Nicholas and an elegant lady were in the set. Carrie tamped down a bout of jealousy and smiled at her partner. “Do you have brothers and sisters, sir?”

  Lord Ludlow revealed he had four. As he described them to her, Carrie’s mind wandered. Who was the lady dancing with Nicholas? They seemed to be old acquaintances. One could always tell when a couple was familiar. Were they lovers? She drew in a sharp breath.

  Lord Ludlow paused and viewed her with raised eyebrows. “Did I tread on your toes, Miss Leeming?”

  “Heavens, no, sir,” she said hastily. “You dance divinely.”

  He looked so pleased, she felt a little guilty.

  “And your brother and sister, Miss Leeming,
are they in London?”

  “Oh, no.” She smiled, gathered her scattered wits, and focused on him.

  He listened to her explanation politely. He did not seem given to ridiculous flattery. She had struggled not to giggle when one young gentleman declared her hair to be as prized as Prometheus’s fire. And another likened her eyes to a fawn’s.

  Carrie refused to look Nicholas’s way again. Instead, she endowed Lord Ludlow with a beaming smile, which made him flush and gave herself up to the dance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Unfortunately, I must return to the country in a few days,” Nicholas said as he and Lillian sampled the tasty morsels on their plates and sipped champagne in the supper room.

  She prodded a lobster patty with her fork with a look of dislike. “Problems with your tenants?”

  “My two young wards have probably burned down the east wing by now.”

  She laughed. “Tell me about them.”

  Nicholas elaborated on Bella and the gypsies and Jeremy’s excursion through floodwaters. An expression appeared in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. Was it boredom? Lillian had no children. His ego suffered a check, and he moved to correct it. “Why don’t we…”

  He was about to suggest a stroll in the moonlight after supper but halted when he caught sight of Carrie talking animatedly with two men. He didn’t know either of them. One, short in stature with a shock of orange hair, fitted the description Max had given him of his scurrilous brother, Simon. The other, dark-haired man had a swarthy complexion. Somewhere in his thirties, he was a stranger to Nicholas. The back of Nicholas’s neck prickled. He threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Please excuse me for a moment, Lillian. There is something I must see to.”

  She frowned. “If you must.”

  The men had left the supper room by the time Nicholas reached Carrie. She sat alone while Ludlow, who had brought her into supper, stood at the table filling a plate with food for her.

  “Who were those two men, Carrie?” he demanded.