Falling for the Marquess (American Heiress Trilogy Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

  Four long hours later, Clara entered her third ball of the evening. She was exhausted from the constant string of introductions and the challenge of making conversation with English gentlemen while remembering to curtsey to this one, not to curtsey to that one, and for pity’s sake, not to become distracted and call an earl a “sir-something” or a baronet a “lord.”

  Later, she sat down with Mrs. Gunther, clacked open her plumed fan and watched the dancers while absent-mindedly stroking the smooth jewel in her drop earring with a finger and thumb.

  Again, her thoughts drifted to the vision of that incredible man, sauntering across a ballroom toward her. It all seemed like a ridiculous fantasy now. Perhaps the champagne and the punch had rattled her senses and made it all seem more magical than it truly was.

  But certainly, the man’s effect on her had been real. She had not been able to extinguish the confusing, sweet longings that emerged every time she thought of him, every time she reminded herself that she did not even know his name, and that it was a very real possibility she would never see him again.

  Still, Clara continued to dream of that night, imagining what might have occurred if she had gone with him to one of the private rooms as he had suggested. She envisioned a night of abandoned morality, bold and daring quests for pleasure, and the more she thought about it, the more intense and adventurous her fantasies became.

  But that’s all they were, she reminded herself. Fantasies. She knew nothing about the man beneath the mask, except that he had not ravished her when he’d had the chance.

  And for that—despite all her daydreams that indicated otherwise—she was thankful.

  She also felt justified in her private affection for this stranger, for at least she could tell herself that he possessed some integrity, and that he was a true gentleman, under the circumstances. A hero who had pulled her from the fires of scandal, just as her father had done two years ago. If that mysterious gentleman had not marched her back to Mrs. Gunther and insisted that they leave, who knew where Clara might be today? Perhaps on a steamer somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, on her way back to America, her chances of marrying a decent man all but washed away.

  On the other hand, her heroic fantasy man could have been married.

  Married. She hoped he wasn’t. Pity the poor wife if he was, for how could any woman survive the knowledge that a husband like him was unfaithful and uninterested in her?

  Sophia approached with cheeks flushed from a dance with her husband. “It’s almost time to leave, Clara. Have you danced enough?”

  “Enough? Most definitely. I’m exhausted.” Yet, the thought of leaving brought disappointment, for another night had passed and her dream lover had not materialized.

  “Shall we go then?” Sophia asked.

  Clara closed her fan, gathered up her skirts, and followed her sister out.

  As they drove home in the dark carriage, Clara continued to ponder the situation. She could not continue this way, dreaming about a mysterious stranger, while opportunities with perfectly respectable gentlemen passed her by.

  Later that night, not long after she’d changed into her nightgown, Clara padded down the corridor in bare feet and knocked on Sophia’s door.

  Sophia opened it and raised her index finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She held her second son, John, in her arms. Carefully, she handed the sleeping infant to his nurse, Louise, who headed for the door to take him upstairs to the nursery. Clara closed the door behind Louise.

  “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Sophia said.

  Clara sat on the bed, not altogether certain how to explain her feelings to her sister, who already had enough on her plate with two babies barely ten months apart. All Clara knew was that she needed to do something to get over this foolish infatuation because it wasn’t going away on its own.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Clara said, “that I’ve not been remotely interested in any of the gentlemen I’ve met this week, and I’ve met quite a few very nice men.”

  Sophia regarded her intently. “Is it because you’re still thinking about the man you met at Livingston House?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “To me, yes. You gaze off into space most of the time, and if you’re not doing that, you’re surveying ballrooms, searching with your eyes.”

  Clara tried to explain herself. “I want to find a good husband, I truly do, but how can I, when I can’t get a certain fantasy man out of my mind? None can compare to my memory of him.” Clara cupped her forehead in her hand. “I know it’s ridiculous, because I’m sure that everything I believe about him is exactly that—a fantasy. Let’s be honest. He was present at one of these improper balls, and therefore is probably one of two things: a rake who carries on affairs with married women, or a husband who cheats on his wife. Neither of those possibilities are attractive to me. I want to marry a decent man who will be faithful to me and be a good father, and yet....”

  “You can’t stop thinking about him.”

  Clara sighed. “Something needs to be done. I need to get him out of my head.”

  “How can I help?”

  Standing and crossing the room, Clara glanced down at the stack of cards on Sophia’s desk. “I don’t suppose you’ve received any more invitations to a you know what.”

  Sophia rose from the bed and joined Clara at her desk. “I know very well what, and I thought you said those balls were appalling.”

  “Well, they are, at least for married people who go there to be unfaithful.”

  Sophia slowly shook her head. “Clara. You cannot take a risk like that. What would Mrs. Gunther say?”

  “Would she even have to know?”

  Sophia gaped at her.

  “You could be my chaperone,” Clara continued. “We could go for just an hour or so.”

  “But I couldn’t possibly go to a Cakras Ball without James,” Sophia replied. “I wouldn’t want to be seen there without him. People might presume we’ve grown bored with each other, which we have not.”

  “We could wear wigs and put on English accents,” Clara suggested. “No one would recognize us.”

  “Have you lost your mind? Even if we did manage to attend without anyone knowing, what are the odds that you would see this particular man again? He might not even be there.”

  “Can’t we at least try? I must know who he is—have a name at least. What if he’s the man I’m destined to marry?”

  “Then you will meet him in a respectable situation.”

  “How can you be sure? Maybe he only goes to the Cakras Balls.”

  Sophia sighed with frustration. “What about everything you just said, about him being either a rake or a philanderer?”

  Clara waved a finger at her older sister. “You told me James used to go to those balls when he was younger, and now look at him. He’s a perfect husband, Sophia. What if you had dismissed him because you’d discovered he attended those parties?”

  Sophia was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you have me there.”

  “I just want both of us to keep our minds open.” A thrilling ripple of anticipation shimmied up Clara’s spine. “So, will you come with me?”

  Her sister hesitated, then went to her desk to sort through the invitations. “The Cakras Balls don’t happen regularly. Sometimes I don’t receive an invitation for months on end.”

  She continued to flip through, then stopped and stared at Clara. Excitement fluttered in the air as she handed her a card.

  “Or sometimes, they come exactly when you want them to.”

  Chapter 4

  Dear Clara,

  Please be careful. Do not forget what happened two years ago. You craved excitement and you wanted to break free of society’s strictures, and you came very close to complete ruination. Remember that where young women like us are concerned, society’s strictures e
xist for our protection....

  Love,

  Adele

  “If Mother could see us now, she’d turn blue.” Sophia glanced out the dark window of the carriage as Livingston House came into view, then arranged the rhinestone-and-feather mask on her face. “I don’t know what James will think when I tell him where we went tonight. I hope he won’t be angry.”

  “You can blame it on me,” Clara replied. “Besides, it’s not as if you’re sneaking out behind his back. In fact, we would have brought him with us if he hadn’t gone to Yorkshire.”

  “I suppose. At any rate, I’ll explain everything when he returns and hope for the best. We’re here. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Clara fought to suppress nervous butterflies as she, too, arranged her mask. She was about to take an enormous risk by sneaking into a Cakras Ball, but she might also see her handsome paramour again.

  Anticipation rippled up her spine. “Yes, I am sure.”

  Sophia faced her squarely. “All right then. Here are the rules. And as your chaperone, I will allow you to dance with him, but under no circumstances should you be alone with him. This is a dangerous place, Clara, and if he’s not to be trusted—”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything foolish. But I don’t want to presume that he’s not to be trusted. He didn’t ravish me the last time.”

  “That was last time. What if sees you here, after you’d already been warned, and presumes you’re looking for a dalliance? He might think you’re fast.”

  The carriage stopped in front of the brightly lit mansion. “I’m not fast. I am morally upright, in perfect control of my impulses.”

  Sophia gave her a look. “Then what, pray tell, are we doing here?”

  Clara had no choice but to surrender to her sister’s shrewd observation. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you, too. And despite my misgivings, I’m pleased that I can help you tonight because I understand how you feel. It was the same when I met James. I could barely get through the day, wanting him the way I did.” She squeezed Clara’s hand. “Who knows, maybe this man is your destiny. What a hopeless romantic I am.”

  “Or maybe I’ll discover that he’s the worst rogue in the world and he’s here tonight cheating on his wife, after losing half his fortune playing cards, and on top of that, when he sleeps, he snores like a buffalo.”

  They shared an affectionate smile, then Sophia pulled on her long gloves. “With any luck, we’ll find out soon enough—at least about the first two things.”

  The carriage door opened, and the ladies stepped out. Clara looked up at the front of the mansion where the same burly man as last time stood in front of the door.

  Sophia straightened her mantle. “You’re absolutely positive?”

  “Yes,” Clara replied. “Let’s get this over with.”

  They picked up their skirts and walked up the steps. Sophia presented their invitation. The next thing they knew, they were inside, standing on the shiny black-and-white checkered floor in the wide hall, handing their mantles over to the masked butler while the music of flutes and violins flitted to their ears from the ballroom.

  “Does Lord Livingston ever greet his guests?” Clara asked as they ascended the stairs to the drawing room.

  “No, there are never any introductions. Both Lord and Lady Livingston follow the same rules as everyone else. They mingle and dance with whomever they please, but no names are ever spoken.”

  “You mean to say they carry on affairs under each other’s noses, and they’re happy with that?”

  “Apparently.”

  Clara considered such an arrangement. If she married an Englishman who was later unfaithful, could she turn a blind eye? She had been brought up with a different ideal, as all American girls were, with a Puritan attitude toward adultery as a scarlet letter sin.

  They entered the crimson-and-gold drawing room, where elegant chintz fabrics covered the chairs and chaises, and the walls were painted scarlet with gilt crown moldings. None of the guests were sitting down. Most stood in dimly lit corners, whispering and giggling. The air was charged with the heat of secret, wicked seductions.

  “I don’t see him,” Clara whispered. “Perhaps he’s in the ballroom.”

  “Or in one of the private rooms already.”

  Clara didn’t want to think about that, but she had to face the fact that it was a very real possibility.

  They accepted glasses of champagne from a footman who offered it, then entered the large ballroom and watched couples waltz around the polished floor. The same orchestra was there again, and the music was stupendous.

  Clara couldn’t help thinking that from her vantage point, it could have been any other respectable ball—if not for the couple kissing passionately behind a potted tree fern not three feet away from where she and Sophia stood.

  A mixture of shock and fascination struck her, and she couldn’t seem to look away.

  Sophia took hold of her arm. “Stop staring.”

  “Can you believe that?” Clara whispered as Sophia led her away. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I thought your mystery man kissed you.”

  “He did, but at least he found us some privacy.”

  They continued to move around the perimeter of the ballroom, watching the dancers. A gentleman caught Sophia’s eye and approached. “Care to dance?”

  She smiled graciously and disguised her voice with an English accent. “Please except my apologies, but I must decline. Perhaps later.”

  He bowed cordially and moved on.

  “I won’t be dancing with anyone tonight,” Sophia said, “and neither should you, except for the man we’re here to see. We must remain focused.”

  “I completely agree.”

  They finished their champagne and set their empty glasses on a side table.

  “Do you see him?” Sophia asked.

  “No. He’s not here.”

  “Don’t lose heart. We’ll stay for a little while. Maybe he’s on his way at this very moment.”

  “Or maybe he was here earlier and left already.”

  Just then, a golden-haired man in a black mask strolled into the ballroom. Looking relaxed and confident, he picked up a glass of champagne and let his gaze sweep around the room. Clara’s eyes narrowed.

  She knew that walk...that body. It was him.

  A thrill rushed through her like a firebrand. She stood motionless, watching him intently. He looked as handsome as she remembered. Even more so, after the week she’d spent dreaming about him. She was completely dumbstruck by the sight of him.

  “Is that him?” Sophia asked. “The man who just walked in?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Upon my word,” Sophia said. “No wonder you couldn’t forget him. He’s incredible.”

  They watched him move around the room, composed and at ease. Clad in the usual formal attire—black jacket, white waistcoat, and white necktie—he raised his glass to a man on the other side of the room, who raised his glass in return before continuing his conversation with a lady.

  “Do you know his name?” Clara asked. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Never. I only attended a handful of Cakras Balls with James, and I don’t recall seeing this man, though James and I weren’t here to socialize with others.”

  “What about during the Season last year?”

  “I never saw him at any of the parties or balls I attended. I most certainly would have remembered him.”

  Clara took a deep breath. “What is wrong with me? My stomach is doing somersaults.”

  “It’s called infatuation, and you’re infected with it. But it’s understandable, now that I’ve seen him for myself. Let’s walk this way so you can collect yourself before you speak to him.”

  Speak to him. At
the mere mention of it, Clara’s stomach careened again. “What will I say? I can’t ask him his name. That would be against the rules. How will I learn anything?”

  “You’ll have to be creative. Are you ready?”

  Once again, Clara found herself caught in the sticky web of his unparalleled good looks and his debilitating sexual allure.

  “Heaven help me, I could never be ready for a man like him.”

  It was the perfume that gave her away as she brushed past his elbow, in a ridiculous dark wig, no less. She smelled of strawberries again. A brief glance at her mouth confirmed it. It was indeed the American.

  Seger stopped and turned to look at her from behind after she’d passed by and felt the immediate stirrings of unfulfilled arousal. Tonight, she was with a friend instead of the older woman from the week before. No, not a friend... Seger’s brows drew together as he noticed the wig on the other woman as well. It was probably Miss Wilson’s sister, the Duchess of Wentworth.

  At that precise instant, the single heiress glanced over her shoulder. Their eyes locked and held, and recognition occurred. She stared at him for a few seconds, then faced front again.

  Seger shook his head. What the devil were they doing here? It was a well-known fact that American heiresses were bombarding London in a mad dash for husbands with titles. Why would she come here to look for one and risk her reputation? Did she not realize that skirting a scandal last time had been a complete miracle? The duchess should have known better.

  Or perhaps that’s why the single heiress was here in the first place. To stir up a scandal and force someone’s hand.

  Well, it wouldn’t be his hand. He had spent the past eight years learning how to guard himself against that sort of thing.

  Unfortunately for her, however, it probably wouldn’t force anyone else’s hand either. Most of the gentlemen here were not in possession of a great deal of honor when it came to young ladies and scandals. They would simply watch from the shadows as she danced in her noose. Besides that, most of them were already married.

  Just then, in his peripheral vision, Seger noticed an older man making his way toward Miss Wilson. It was not surprising. Even in that ridiculous wig, she was stunning. It was only a matter of time before every other man in the room would want to experience her delights, for she was a rare contradiction. She had the look of a professional beauty, yet with such innocence. And those lips were enough to bring any man to his knees.