Thus he would fulfill his familial obligations and perhaps avoid his father’s censure for a few weeks. Or maybe even months.
But where the devil was his father? He could hardly perform this act of generosity if the duke did not make an appearance soon. With the woman he hoped to marry off to his son.
Frustrated, Trevor again glanced at the main staircase. He saw a tall, curvaceous woman dressed in blue avoid being announced by cleverly stepping behind the majordomo and gliding down the stairs. Her reason for anonymity intrigued him, yet her breathtaking beauty kept his eyes upon her as she attempted to melt into the crowd.
Her pale lustrous skin glowed in the candlelight, her simple unadorned gown showcased full breasts and a lovely neck. She was taller than most of the women and many of the men in the room, so it took little effort to follow her progress, even though she kept to the edges of the ballroom.
Something about her seemed oddly familiar, but at this distance Trevor could not be certain he knew her. She seemed more like a dream conjured up from his adolescence, an ethereal beauty who was the very picture of grace, elegance, and raw sensuality.
“I heard a rumor you were here, but needed to see the proof of it with my own eyes before I could believe it to be true.”
Trevor turned to find one of his former lovers, Lady Ann Tower, standing beside him. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Ann was pretty and intelligent, a widow who enjoyed her independence. Their affair had been brief and torrid, and she was one of a select few Trevor chose to remember with affection.
But not at this moment. His eyes and mind had been captivated by the blond beauty. Fortunately Lady Ann was intelligent enough to realize that Trevor had other, more pressing matters on his mind. After exchanging polite greetings, she made no further attempt to invade his privacy and merely smiled at the distracted farewell the marquess bestowed upon her when she left.
Frustrated, Trevor once again searched the crowd for the blond beauty. He felt a surprising amount of regret when he could not find her, but she seemed to have vanished.
He turned to lift a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a passing servant and then, miraculously, unexpectedly, she stood before him. His breath caught. Odd that lately he felt indifferent to the charms of so many females, and yet the sight of this particular woman could affect him so completely.
She nodded regally in his direction, then dipped a low, graceful curtsy. As she regained her feet, her blue eyes flashed, and he suddenly recognized her. His back went stiff with shock. With painful clarity he recalled precisely who she was and exactly how he had come to know her.
Trevor’s need for a tall glass of whiskey increased tenfold.
Steadfastly ignoring the flitter of nerves in her stomach, Meredith approached the marquess. Her progress across the room drew little attention among the crowd, though several male heads turned as she glided gracefully past them.
He was not looking in her direction when she approached. For a moment she wasn’t certain how to best gain his attention. Meredith was about to loudly clear her throat when she realized her knees were shaking.
Good heavens, she had not felt this nervous when she had been presented at court.
As she struggled to control the knocking of her knees, the marquess lifted a glass of champagne from a passing servant, then turned toward her. His initial gaze of curiosity and delight turned to puzzlement, and then utter surprise.
“Meredith,” he whispered.
“Good evening, my ... my lord.”
Meredith wished she had the nerve to address him as Trevor, but it seemed far too presumptuous despite all they had shared in the past.
Though the years had wrought changes, he was still a commanding man. Handsome seemed too mild a word to describe his looks. He was like some golden god, spun from brilliant sunlight, created by magnificent sorcery. Yet for all the beauty in his face and form, it was his eyes that spoke to her. Despite his youth, they were old. Old and filled with a weariness buried within their depths she had never seen.
“Champagne?” he asked, lifting a second glass from a servant who stood silently near.
Though her mouth was dry, Meredith refused the drink. The marquess shrugged his broad shoulders. Instead of returning the untouched flute of bubbling wine, he lifted it to his lips, tilted his head back, and emptied it in one long swallow. He quickly repeated the gesture with the goblet he held in his other hand.
Meredith glanced at the silver tray the footman held. Among the empty glasses were three crystal flutes filled to the brim. The marquess placed his goblets on the tray. His hand moved fractionally toward one of the filled flutes, then hesitated.
As if sensing her intense regard, his head turned toward her.
Their eyes met. She lifted her brow fractionally, almost daring him to pick up another glass. A ghost of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“No words of disapproval?” he asked in a daring tone.
“ ’Tis hardly my place,” she replied demurely.
“That rarely stops a female from commenting with a scowl of her brow and a click of her tongue.”
Meredith smiled. “I am not like other women, my lord.”
“I remember.”
She blinked at him, suddenly uncertain. For a brief second, there had been a glimpse of the man she had known, carefree, fun-loving, mischievous. The man Lavinia had loved so completely.
It hurt to remember. Meredith expected it would feel strange to see him again, but she had not known how hard it would be.
“It has been a long time,” he said, forsaking a third goblet of champagne.
“Eight years,” Meredith whispered. She looked over at him.
His face was carefully expressionless, but she had the distinct feeling he was about to rebuke her. With a start she realized he must be experiencing the same feelings of loss and regret and pain that she felt. It was as if this meeting had brought to the forefront a wealth of shared memories of Lavinia—tragic, sad memories.
Dimly Meredith heard the strains of music as the orchestra began to prepare for the next dance. She assumed the marquess would be most anxious to depart from her company, for she now understood why her unexpected presence could be considered unwanted and unwarranted.
She nearly let it happen. Yet before the back of her throat closed completely with emotion, Meredith blurted, “Will you dance with me, my lord?”
The marquess said nothing. His head tilted, his golden brows pulled together in puzzlement.
“I own I consumed a fair amount of wine with my dinner, a drink of whiskey upon my arrival, and two glasses of champagne, yet I am not so far gone I cannot remember the rules of polite society. Ladies do not ask gentleman to dance.”
His frown deepened. “Or has there been some cataclysmic event that has changed everything we know to be proper and correct? If that is true, I am damned sorry to have missed it.”
“Neither of us have ever subscribed to the dictates of polite society. Besides, you just said damn in my presence, proof positive you do not think of me as a lady. And if I am not a lady then I am not bound by any silly rules of convention.” She slowly let out her breath and slanted an amused look in his direction. “So, my lord, will you dance with me? I believe the next set is to be a waltz.”
“You always had a reputation for being unconventional, Lady Meredith, not scandalous. Shall I assume from your current behavior you plan on changing?”
“If you dance with me, sir, perhaps you will learn the answer.”
It was an invitation no man could resist. He extended his gloved hand. She placed her fingers lightly in his palm, and the marquess escorted her onto the dance floor. He chose a position on the far side of the room. Deliberately? So they would not be so clearly in view?
Meredith suspected that was his motive, but whatever the reason she was grateful. The extra steps provided a little time for her to compose herself.
They made their proper bow and curtsy just as the dance began.
Meredith felt the marquess’s hand tighten around her waist, and her hard-won composure slipped fractionally. She rested one hand ever so lightly upon his broad shoulder and obediently linked the fingers of her other hand with his.
Meredith felt the warm contact through their gloves. She worried for a moment that he was aware of the tension that had gripped her the instant they touched, but Meredith had no time to ponder the peculiar sensations afflicting her, for the dance had begun.
She believed she was prepared for it, but her breath caught as they revolved and whirled down the floor. She kept her gaze fixed over his shoulder and her lips pressed tightly. The marquess held her at the proper distance, yet why did it feel so intimate?
They remained silent through the first part of the dance. Meredith could feel his eyes on her, studying her intently with a highly charged gaze. Her stomach knotted and twisted, and she chided herself for such a foolish reaction.
She was not a young debutante, wide-eyed with wonder at her first ball. She had danced with countless gentlemen in her life. Men who flattered her outrageously, pledged undying devotion and love, threatened to do themselves bodily harm if she did not look upon them with favor.
Yet she found none of these bucks as compelling as being held in the arms of the Marquess of Dardington. That surprising realization troubled her greatly.
“You disappoint me, Lady Meredith. Luring me onto the dance floor with subtle hints of outrageous behavior and then retreating behind a wall of proper silence. ’Tis most unfair.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “Please, forgive my proper, reflective behavior. I shall endeavor most studiously to utter something of monumental impropriety the moment I catch my breath.”
“Excellent.”
“Ahh, now I am truly feeling the pressure to be sparkling and witty.” She felt his shrewd eyes on her face, but surprisingly her nerves began to ease. He led her into a graceful turn and her mouth curved broadly. “You must allow me a moment to marshal my composure, or I shall trod upon your shiny shoes. It has been a long time since I danced a waltz.”
“I do not believe you.”
“ ’Tis true.” She paused a moment, allowing the enchanting music and graceful rhythm of the dance to lull her. She felt like she was floating as the cool air rushed by her cheek. “I spend the majority of my evenings at home. There is hardly anyone appropriate to waltz with, though I suppose if I were desperate I could ask one of the footmen. I am, however, uncertain if they know the steps.”
“Are you as much of a recluse from society as I?”
“Nearly. I find I attend fewer and fewer events each year,” Meredith admitted. “I do not enjoy the activities of the Season, nor the company of many of the esteemed members of Society.”
“Why?”
Meredith gave a shrug of nonchalance. “I fear I have never been able to discuss feminine pursuits with much authority, and my competence in business affairs long ago labeled me a bluestocking.”
“What has saved you from utter ruin?”
“My outrageous sense of propriety?”
“I think it is more your ready sense of humor.” His hold around her waist tightened fractionally, drawing her closer.
Meredith smiled. “Alas, my unusual appreciation for the absurd has offended more than one self-centered, overblown aristocrat.”
“You have easily described half the people in this room.”
“I think two thirds is a more accurate count. Many object to me and my odd ideas on principle alone.”
The marquess shook his head. “And yet you hold no grudges?”
Meredith lifted her chin. “I react without malice to their slights, for that only frustrates them more. It was a trick Lavinia taught me, though I know in my heart I shall never achieve her grace and charm and kindness with such easy fluency. She was a dear friend, and one of the finest women I have ever known.”
“That is because conversation and wit came naturally to her,” the marquess answered readily. “As well as her affinity for society.”
“ ’Tis true. Her natural gifts made her a well-respected and sought-after addition to any social gathering.” Meredith felt a tug at her heart, remembering her friend. “I, on the other hand, must work very hard at being amusing and entertaining.”
“Not so very hard, I think.”
“You are being kind, my lord.”
The marquess’s gaze clung to hers and it was dark with emotion. “I am being honest.”
The unexpected compliment startled Meredith and she nearly missed a step. He held her tightly as she swayed unsteadily, and she could feel the heat of his body, the raw strength in his arms.
She fought to hold herself stiffly, for the sudden urge to mold her body softly against his was overwhelming. Her heart jolted at this thoroughly disconcerting notion.
Meredith’s cheeks went warm. Though she knew he could hardly read her thoughts, she worried he had somehow known what she felt, for his gaze was probing and far too perceptive.
They finished the waltz as they had begun, in silence. The music ended with a resounding crescendo and the dance was done. The marquess turned his head and scanned the crowded ballroom with great interest. Meredith felt herself blushing. While not being precisely rude, it was obvious the marquess had dismissed her from his thoughts.
Meredith held her smile steady, trying to ignore the unwelcome bite of disappointment. It was usually she who sought refuge from an ardent male, not the other way ’round. Was she truly becoming the undesirable spinster her brothers thought her to be?
Meredith knew within moments the marquess would bow stiffly and escort her off the dance floor. It seemed unlikely he would seek out her company again, and Meredith was unsure if she possessed the courage to approach him a second time.
If she had any hope of winning that ridiculous wager and proving to herself she was not set firmly upon the shelf, she would have to act now.
“The room is warm, my lord,” Meredith said anxiously. “Shall we take a stroll in the garden for a refreshing breath of air?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, and Meredith once again marveled. There was something so striking about him. Even his smallest gesture or expression seemed important.
“Are you not engaged for the next dance, Lady Meredith?”
“I have danced with only you this evening,” she said very quietly.
The marquess tensed, and his expression became guarded. She could almost sense the wariness that filtered through him. He remained silent for so long she was certain he was going to refuse her suggestion of a walk outside. Then he silently held out his arm. She grasped it eagerly, and they paraded across the room in full view of any who cared to be interested.
And many were. She was very aware of the speculative glances thrown their way, but Meredith took her cue from the marquess and ignored them all.
It was a moonless night. Only a few couples milled about in the corners of the large patio. Servants had lit torches on the perimeter of the slate terrace, and the light they cast was sufficient to see the shapes of the neatly tended bushes and rows of blooming flowers that comprised the garden.
The night air felt damp, but there was no mist. Instead layers of shadows spread over the gardens, curling around the gravel paths, casting strange shapes into the far corners.
A light breeze blew, ruffling the stray curls that had escaped from Meredith’s tightly coiled hair. She resisted the temptation to set them back in place, afraid the gesture would bring more attention to herself.
“Have you filled your lungs sufficiently with fresh air, Lady Meredith?”
The marquess sounded bored. She stiffened her spine and lifted her head, reminding herself the bet he had made with her brothers revealed much about his attitude and opinion of women. If nothing else, it would give her a great sense of satisfaction to make a sufficient adjustment to that pompous attitude.
Abruptly she cleared her throat and waved vaguely at the French doors leading to the ballroom.
“Please don’t feel obligated to stay out here on my behalf, my lord. I understand perfectly if you wish to return to the party.”
She suspected that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was unpredictable enough to call her bluff.
When he did not reply, Meredith decided to tempt the fates once more. She moved forward slowly, then called over her shoulder to the marquess, “The enchanting fragrance of the garden beckons, my lord. I fear I must indulge myself.”
She sailed blithely down the stone steps, listening intently for the crunch of his footsteps behind her. As the silence lengthened, Meredith slowed her gait, but she resisted the urge to turn around.
She might be stubborn and occasionally willful, but she had her pride. If the marquess followed her into the darkness of the secluded garden, she would make every attempt to kiss the man senseless and win this outlandish wager. And if he did not, well, perhaps the loss of this bet would make an impression upon her brothers as to the fickle nature of gambling.
And perhaps pigs would learn to fly!
Meredith sensed a restless shifting behind her, then breathed a sigh when she heard the telltale crunch of a shoe upon the gravel. He was following her!
Eyes alert, Meredith strolled along the path. The marquess kept silent pace behind her. They did not speak, and she was glad, for she had long since run out of conversation.
What Meredith sought was privacy, for to be caught in the act of kissing the marquess would be disastrous for them both. A vague recollection of a pretty gazebo tucked away in a secluded area of the lawn had Meredith eagerly scanning the shadows with each step she took.
She nearly cried out with delight when she at last spied it. Meredith lifted her skirt and trod up the wooden steps of the structure, ducking her head to avoid becoming tangled in the hanging vines. She took a seat on the wicker sofa inside and waited.
He did not immediately follow her but instead stood outside the open-air gazebo. Through the silence of the still night, Meredith could clearly hear the sound of her own breathing.
To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 6
