The Last Man in London

by Emma V. Leech

  A knock at the door downstairs had her heart leaping to her throat.

  “Oh Lord, Joe, he’s here. I’m not ready yet!”

  “What do you mean?” he retorted. “You look like bleedin’ royalty, luv.”

  “But my hair,” she wailed, turning to pick up the mirror. “The curls are all loose, I was going to do them again.” Panic was surging under her skin now as she searched for a reason not to leave the house. “Tell him I’m ill,” she said, clutching at Joe’s arm as a lifeline presented himself. “We don’t have to do such a big affair, I’m sure that there are far better places to be seen together …”

  Joe rolled his eyes at her and went downstairs, and Dinah sucked in a breath. Thank heavens, a reprieve.

  A moment later, however, and there was another knock.

  “Come in, Joe,” she replied, feeling a little more cheerful now that they had averted the crisis, until Ben opened the door.

  “I’m told you’ve got cold feet …” he began, sounding cheerful as he came in, and then stopped in his tracks. He just stood there, staring at her, and Dinah blushed, mortified.

  “I’m so sorry, Ben, after all your hard work, too, but you must see … I can’t possibly go like this,” she babbled on, drawing his attention to her hair. “But that wretched woman was drunk, and she wouldn’t help me … so … so you must see, it’s q-quite impossible,” she stammered.

  “What?” Ben replied, looking, well … frankly, a little odd.

  Dinah huffed and folded her arms. “I said my hair is a mess and I can’t go!” She stamped her foot with impatience, feeling foolish and embarrassed and wishing he would go so she could die of mortification in private.

  Ben blinked, looking somewhat stunned. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely in my whole life.”

  Dinah’s mouth dropped into a little O of astonishment, as he was staring at her in such a way that made her wonder if he might mean it.

  “You don’t need to flatter me,” she said, frowning and turning away from him, cross now as she reminded herself of his objectives. He stopped her, grabbing her hand and turning her back to him.

  One large hand reached out and cupped her face, the palm warm against her skin, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I’m not flattering you, love,” he said, his voice low. “It’s the God’s honest truth. I … I don’t know what else to say to convince you, only that …” He paused, shaking his head and smiling. “Please. Please, Dinah, come out with me tonight.”

  Dinah took a deep breath, biting her lips with anxiety and watching in alarm as his eyes darkened in the most extraordinary manner. Before she could answer, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  It was ridiculous, she scolded herself. Kisses like that were confined to the pages of romance novels, they did not, did not, exist in real life. Except it appeared that they did as her legs didn’t feel up to the task of keeping her on her feet. Her bones seemed molten, too heavy and languid, yet suffused with tension. Worse still was the liquid heat pooling low in her belly that made her never want to leave the circle of his arms and to press herself closer to him. He let her go, moving back a little, and Dinah clutched at his arms to steady herself. She stared up at him in shock, a little relieved to discover he looked rather shaken himself.

  “I … I apologise,” he said, sounding rather stunned that he was actually apologising for such behaviour. “I promise you, I … I did not intend to do that, only…” He stopped, and Dinah frowned at him, wondering what he’d been going to say.

  “Only?” she pressed, the words sounding breathless and strangely sultry.

  He smiled, then, a warm look in his eyes she wanted to believe in. “Only I can’t bear the idea that you won’t come out with me,” he said simply. “I want to show you to the world, you see, because every man there will be green with envy, because you’re with me.”

  “Oh.” Dinah felt certain she ought to say more in reply to such a fulsome compliment, even if he was only pretending, but oh was as complicated a reply as she felt able to manage just at the moment. “But my hair,” she began … raising one hand to the loose curls that ought to have been tight like little corkscrews.

  “I don’t know how it was meant to look, love,” he replied, shaking his head and smiling at her. “I can only tell you it looks perfect to me.” He took one thick curl in between his fingers and tugged it a little so that the curl loosened further and settled over her shoulder, resting on the swell of her breast. “Perfect,” he repeated, the word a little husky now as his gaze dropped lower.

  Dinah cleared her throat as a flutter of something that might have been panic - or possibly excitement, if she was brutally honest - began to rise in her chest. “Well, if you are quite sure, I … I suppose we’d best not keep everyone waiting.”

  Chapter 12

  “Wherein the ton set eyes on our heroine, and our heroine sees the ton … in all their colours.”

  Ben was very aware of all the eyes upon him as he entered the grand ballroom of the Duke of Sindalton’s London home. It was clear enough that Lady Obalston had done her work, and all tongues were wagging about the young woman on his arm.

  He moved his party through the throng, pleased that his brother’s goddaughter, Elizabeth, had taken to Dinah so readily. She was a vivacious girl, pretty, too, but quite overwhelmed by the sumptuous surroundings. As she’d been born and bred to the world of the ton, he could only imagine how Dinah felt. Seeing it now, through her eyes, he realised just what an intimidating event this must be.

  He’d never taken much notice of the lavish nature of such events, he was too used to such a life, too jaded to be impressed. Dinah, however, had been nowhere grander than her own home, to his knowledge. There was sometimes an uncertain edge to the way she spoke about herself that made him wonder if she felt she didn’t even belong there, that she was an interloper. The thought annoyed him for no good reason, but he covered the hand that was clutching at his sleeve with his own. Her slim fingers released the death grip she had on the fabric of his coat and she looked up, those crystalline blue eyes wide with awe.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said, the words low and quite obviously daunted.

  Ben lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Don’t feel bad,” he murmured, denying the urge to nuzzle her ear with difficulty. “They’ve never seen anything as lovely as you either. Neither have I, come to that,” he added, smiling at her. “I’ve never been prouder to escort anyone.”

  She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to weigh the likelihood that his words were in any way honest, and then looked away again. Ben felt a weight in his chest as he realised she thought he was still saying such things to get her into bed. It was true enough, he acknowledged, except that … he did mean it. He felt a wave protectiveness towards her as he considered what some people here would say about her, would at least be thinking, even if they were too well-mannered to say it aloud. Anger spiked in his blood. They were fools if they believed she was in any way inferior because her grandfather had been in trade. She’d run circles around all of them if given the opportunity, and he intended to ensure that she did.

  “Dance with me,” he said, taking her hand from his arm and threading her fingers through his. She bit her lip, eyes wide with anxiety, and he fought the desire to kiss her and chase the worry from her eyes again. It had worked before after all.

  “I’ve only ever danced with Joe,” she whispered, sounding utterly terrified. “In the parlour. He taught me all the fashionable ones,” she added, sounding a trifle defensive. “The whores …” She buttoned her lip, looking appalled, and then started again. “There were some ladies who taught him the steps so that … he could teach me,” she trailed off, mortification in her eyes.

  Ben smiled, eyebrows raised as he imagined the great, hulking villain teaching Dinah to dance. The young woman had the ability to wrap even that great brute around her little finger, it appeared, if he’d gone to a whorehouse to learn to dance. />
  “We pushed all the furniture back and rolled up the rug,” she added, as though to assure him it had all been done properly. “Joe told me I dance well, but … but I …”

  “But we had better find out for sure,” Ben said, his tone firm as he led her onto the floor and the first strains of the waltz were heard around the room. “Don’t worry so,” he said, as he pulled her towards him, relishing the feel of his hand on her slender waist and knowing damn well he was the envy of every man here. No matter what they thought of her pedigree. “I will guide you.”

  He could feel her trembling, her breathing coming fast and found as he looked up that he well understood her terror. It appeared everyone here was watching them, even those taking their own partners to dance. Whispers drifted towards them, the music muffling most of the comments, but words like cit and fortune-hunter were easy enough to distinguish. Ben gritted his teeth as his temper rose a notch, his grasp on her tightening a little.

  “Dinah.” She started a little, jumping in his arms and staring up at him, eyes wide like a deer in a hunter’s sights. He had the feeling she might bolt at any moment. “Look at me,” he instructed, realising how badly he wanted her to succeed now, and cursed himself for throwing her into the deep end so quickly. If he’d not been so determined to get her into bed, he could have done this differently, he could have eased her into it without scaring her half to death in the process. This was his fault, but he would not let her fail.

  “Look at me and no one else,” he said, smiling at her now and feeling the strangest sensation uncurling in his chest as she took a breath and gave a little nod, putting her trust in him.

  The moment the dance began, he knew he need not have worried so. It was only her own lack of confidence in the situation letting her nerves get the better of her. Joe was quite correct, and he determined to congratulate the man on a job well done. She danced not only well, she moved like a dream, like she was a part of the music. A few minutes in and she relaxed, her smile growing wide as they flew across the floor.

  “You’ve been rather too modest, I think, you little devil,” he murmured in her ear. “Pulling the wool over my eyes again, eh?”

  She gave a delighted laugh as he smiled at her and the sound of it made his heart feel strange, sort of light and bubbly and, well … rather odd, really. He found he was genuinely disappointed when the dance drew to a close, but more pleased than he ought to be when she turned her lovely face to him and demanded that he dance with her again.

  “Ben!”

  With some annoyance, he heard his name called and looked around with relief to see Tommy and Owen walking towards them as he escorted Dinah from the floor. Both men looked a little stunned and Ben could not help but feel smug as they descended on him.

  “Ben,” Owen said, shaking his hand, though both he and Tommy were staring at Dinah with identical expressions of disbelief that were making her blush in a most becoming manner.

  “Miss Osborn, may I present these two reprobates to you,” Ben said to her, placing her hand firmly on his arm in a rather proprietorial manner he was not about to analyse. They were supposed to be about to get engaged, after all, it was only natural. “This is Lord Thomas Tindall, Earl of Stanthorpe, and this is Mr Owen Tatum.”

  She glanced up at him, her grip on his arm tightening as she was introduced to an earl, but she dipped an elegant curtsey and spoke to both men politely, with a little reserve, but not so much that even the strictest of sticklers for good manners could find her anything but perfectly charming.

  “I wonder if you might care to dance with me, Miss Osborne,” Tommy asked, whose complete lack of airs and graces had put Dinah at her ease in short order. Ben experienced a pang of jealousy and frowned a little at Tommy before realising he was being an idiot. He’d asked Tommy to help him guide her through the evening, and he trusted the man, too. If Tommy believed she was to be his wife, he’d treat her with the utmost respect. Though Tommy would likely treat any young woman the same way, whether a duchess or a flower girl. He was simply that kind of person. Besides, he wasn’t jealous in the least, he assured himself as the idea made all kinds of anxieties leap to mind. He was simply trying to ensure she enjoyed herself, and that she trusted him, enough to become his mistress, with a bit of luck.

  In any event, his feelings - not jealousy, were soothed as Dinah gave him an enquiring glance to get his approval before accepting Tommy’s invitation. Ben watched the two of them go, amused to see their gold curls matching so well. They could almost be brother and sister, and as long as Tommy acted like her brother, there would be no problem at all.

  “I see what you mean.”

  Ben dragged his unwilling gaze from where Tommy and Dinah were taking their places and looked back at Owen. “What’s that?” he asked, frowning.

  “She really is quite out of the ordinary,” Owen said, nodding towards Dinah. “Now I understand why you’ve got that ridiculous smile on your face. Never thought I’d live to see the day when some slip of a girl made you go all dewy-eyed, but if you’ve got to go …” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That is certainly the way to do it.”

  Ben opened and closed his mouth, appalled to be accused of such … such nauseating behaviour. “I am not the least bit dewy-eyed,” he protested, feeling very indignant. He wasn’t even going to marry the girl for real, let alone actually be in love with her. Owen was an idiot.

  Owen snorted and reached for two glasses from a passing waiter’s tray. He handed one to Ben, giving him an if you say so look from under dark eyebrows that did not sooth Ben’s ego. “So, you’re going to take on the ton and the rest of your family to marry the girl, and I just witnessed with my own eyes the way you looked at her while you were dancing,” he added, shaking his head with a pitying air that made Ben grit his teeth. “Quite horrifying to watch, in truth, Ben, old man,” he said with a sigh. “I mean, if you can be caught, what hope is there for the rest of us mere mortals?” He lifted his glass to Ben in a mock salute before taking a drink.

  Ben glowered at him, deciding it was safer to say nothing. He couldn’t protest too hard for fear of ruining Dinah’s plans, so for now he’d have to keep his mouth shut. Soon enough, he’d have the last laugh, when he revealed to Owen exactly what had been going on. Dewy-eyed, indeed. The man was a fool. Strangely, however, the idea of telling his friends that it had simply been a ruse did not make him feel quite as relieved as he might have expected.

  ***

  Dinah caught her breath as the earl whirled her to a stop and the music died. She had danced every dance so far. Two so far with each Ben, Lord Tindall (who was an absolute darling despite being an earl), and Mr Tatum. She wasn’t entirely sure Mr Tatum approved of her though he had been perfectly charming. Yet there was a considering tone to his questions, and he’d wanted to know a deal about how she had met Ben, which had put her a little on her guard.

  She was walking on Lord Tindall’s arm as he led her back to Ben when a friend of his stopped to greet him. The earl introduced her, and she had the certain feeling that the man, who was looking at her with obvious interest, had only come to get whatever gossip he could. To her relief, and raising Lord Tindall higher still in her estimation, the earl evaded his searching questions and began a rather irrelevant story about a horse he’d lost a vast amount of money on. His friend assumed an air of polite interest and listened while Lord Tindall droned on. Dinah hid a smile and wondered if the earl was as empty-headed as he was rumoured to be, and how much of it was an act. Whilst she was pondering the question, she heard a false trill of laughter.

  “Can you imagine, marrying someone so far beneath him, and smelling of the shop, too? Her grandfather was in trade, you know. If it’s really true, Dreighton will cut him off for certain.”

  Dinah sucked in a breath and glanced behind her to see a group of people, two of the women looking straight at her, their voices pitched to carry to her ear. She turned back, gripping the earl’s sleeve a little tighter as her
stomach twisted into a knot.

  “Do you think she’s got something on him?” one man put forward, his tone considering as Dinah felt herself grow cold. “I mean, Ben Lancaster marrying at all is startling enough, but with such speed and to a girl like that …” The man frowned, shaking his head. “Too smoky by half, if you ask me.”

  “Exactly,” said the woman who had spoken. “I mean, where did she come from?”

  “The gutter, obviously,” replied another witty creature as the group exploded into laughter.

  “Ignore them.”

  Dinah looked around, appalled to discover that the earl had dispensed with his friend and overheard the conversation himself.

  “Come along,” he said, his voice low. “Head up, and smile at me,” he instructed as he turned her to walk directly past the group. “I know, Miss Osborne,” he carried on, his voice louder now. “I’ve often noted that real breeding, that indefinable sense of class, is often lacking from some of those who would pretend they own it by right. Take, Lady Minster, for example,” he added, and at this point Dinah realised he was looking directly at the woman who had slighted her. “Her great-great-grandfather was a mere sea captain, but had the good fortune to marry a viscount’s daughter. Mind you, no one else would have her, by all accounts, face like a bag of hammers.”

  The woman gasped audibly as her companions gaped, looking sympathetic but relishing the moment they would share with the rest of the ballroom shortly. Dinah choked back an astonished laugh, impressed and touched by both his audacity and the fact he would bother to defend her at all. Dinah looked up at him and Lord Tindall gave her a discreet wink.

  “There are some advantages to being an earl,” he murmured.

  “Thank you, my lord, you are most kind, but I’m afraid it is nothing that isn’t being thought, if not said, by everyone here.”