Spotting her father standing amongst a small group of people a short distance away, Tiffany waited until she caught his eye and then descended the few short steps to the ballroom floor as he approached. He looked impeccable as always, from the top of his neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, to the tips of his highly polished shoes. The only difference she noted was the unusually bright smile upon his lips. In stunned disbelief, she realized that it was directed at her.
When he reached her side he cast a brief, speculative glance at the necklace fastened around her neck, but he made no mention of it as he leaned forward to bestow a light, fatherly kiss upon her left cheek. “My dear, how lovely you look,” he exclaimed as he drew back, his voice carrying to several couples standing nearby, as he had clearly intended it to.
“Thank you, father.” Placing her gloved fingers upon her father’s proffered arm, Tiffany managed to conceal her shock as her father led her into the midst of the crowded room. Although the compliment had been unexpected, it was the kiss that had sent her senses reeling. In stunned fascination, she realized that it was the only sign of affection she had received from him for as long as she could remember. However, much as she might have wished otherwise, she wasn’t a fool and the fact that the uncharacteristically loving display had not been for her, but rather for the benefit of the other guests, was not lost on her. And so, with eighteen years of practice to her credit, she disguised her true feelings behind an artificial smile as she greeted those eager to make her acquaintance and to wish her a happy birthday.
Before long, at least a dozen men had surrounded Tiffany, all of them bombarding her with dance requests. Her father generously nodded his approval at each gentleman in turn, and before she knew it she found herself lost in the midst of the colorful silks and satins of the swirling dancers, moving to the strains of a five-step schottische with her first partner, an elderly baron who possessed a shock of thinning white hair and a kindly, timeworn countenance. However, despite his advanced years, the baron was exceptionally light on his feet as he turned her about the dance floor. When she commented on his skill, he literally beamed at the compliment.
“My wife and I used to dance all the time,” he told her, smiling somewhat wistfully. “Knowing how I enjoy it, she insists I keep at it, even though she’s no longer able to partner me herself. She took a nasty fall last year, you see,” he explained, “and her right hip has been troubling her ever since.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Tiffany said compassionately.
“That’s my Millicent over there,” he said, smiling fondly and motioning to a petite, grey-haired woman seated in one of the many chairs that lined the edge of the room.
“She’s lovely,” Tiffany noted with a pleasant smile.
Catching their eyes upon her, the baroness returned their smiles, waving her gloved hand daintily as she and the baron passed by. From the looks on their faces, it was clear to Tiffany that theirs was a love match. It was a heart-warming realization, and she couldn’t help hoping that she might one day be as fortunate.
As soon as the first dance came to an end, Tiffany found herself in the arms of her next partner, a red-haired youth with a smattering of freckles upon his nose and both of his cheeks. Unlike the gregarious baron, he seemed incredibly ill at ease as they danced and kept his gaze locked upon his feet as they moved about the floor, quietly counting each step under his breath. Seeking to put him at ease, she remarked admiringly upon his proficiency. She regretted it at once, for the moment he looked up and met her gaze he abruptly lost his concentration and trod heavily upon her foot. Embarrassed, his cheeks turned nearly as red as his ginger-colored hair as he stammered out a hasty apology. Wisely, she made no further distracting comments and the poor lad quickly returned his gaze to his feet, resuming his quiet counting until the music finally came to an end.
The third man to lead her onto the floor was a middle-aged viscount who regaled her with tales of his latest fishing trip as they danced. When she mistakenly mentioned that she had tried her hand at the sport a time or two, his eyes lit up with excitement and he immediately engaged her in an impassioned discourse involving the most effective forms of bait used to lure varying types of fish. Tiffany had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud when Ashleigh looked her way, rolling her eyes skyward as she and Nicholas whirled by. Clearly she’d heard the viscount’s comment regarding his partiality for using earthworms, and the occasional chunk of moldy cheese to draw river trout to his line.
When her fourth partner guided her through the steps of a quadrille, a foppish young dandy who immediately vowed to compose a dozen sonnets to describe her incomparable beauty, the excitement of attending her first ball was slowly beginning to wane. Though she tried to conceal her discomfort at the fawning gentleman’s effusive praise, she desperately searched the edge of the ballroom for any sign of the Earl of Chesterfield. When she failed to spot him after casting several sweeping glances about the room, her spirits plummeted even further. She knew that he’d accepted Ashleigh’s invitation, but perhaps he’d changed his mind and wasn’t coming after all. It was an exceptionally disheartening notion.
Approximately thirty minutes later, Alexander Warrene stood at the entrance to the Leighton’s ballroom, his restless gaze traveling over the crowd of people moving about the room. Aside from the latest crop of debutantes, the faces were all too familiar. He sighed, hesitating for a moment as he lingered at the top of the five short steps leading down to the parquet floor. Would Ashleigh ever forgive him if he turned around and headed back out the door, he wondered briefly?
“Lord Alexander Warrene, the Earl of Chesterfield!” Damn, the butler’s deep monotone announced his arrival. Too late now, he thought dolefully as dozens of heads swiveled in his direction. Feeling the pressing weight of their stares, he knew that it was going to be a long night.
He couldn’t help but smile a moment later though as he glimpsed Nicholas and Ashleigh within the midst of the dancers twirling about the center of the room. Catching his eye, he responded to Nick’s derisive grin with a sympathetic expression, which he quickly changed to a broad smile as Ashleigh then spun in his direction. Though it was obvious that Nicholas was head-over-heels in love with his young wife, it was a well-known fact that the duke disliked society affairs even more than he did. Ashleigh must have employed some very persuasive methods in order to get Nick to agree to the ball, he imagined, chuckling softly to himself as he descended the steps.
“Chesterfield, it’s good to see you.” Turning to his right, Alex saw the Duke of Ravenfield approaching. Quickly losing sight of Nick and Ashleigh amongst the multitude of dancers, he turned his attention toward the duke.
“Ravenfield, how are you this evening?” he responded affably, returning the greeting of one of the few men he considered a true friend.
“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he replied with a sardonic expression.
Alex nodded in understanding. “Let me guess. You received a personal note from the duchess along with your invitation, just as I did.”
He bobbed his head, his expression lightening at the mention of Ashleigh. “She’s a difficult woman to say no to.”
“She is indeed,” Alex agreed with a wide grin.
As her latest partner led her from the dance floor and to her father’s side, Tiffany was relieved to note that the musicians were preparing to take a break. Though she had enjoyed the last dance, as well as Mr. Danver’s skillful footwork and delightfully quick wit, she was ready for a brief respite.
“Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?” the marquess asked as they approached.
“Very much so,” she replied, directing a warm smile toward her partner. “Thank you, Mr. Danvers,” she said politely, as he bowed over her hand.
“The pleasure was mine,” he said as he straightened and then turned his gaze to her father. “Your daughter is as charming as she is beautiful, my lord. You are a fortunate man.”
“I am indeed,” William
agreed, smiling fondly at Tiffany.
As Mr. Danvers moved off, Tiffany could see the coolness slowly reenter her father’s eyes.
“See that you do nothing further to encourage his attention,” he cautioned in a censorious tone. “In addition to his lack of title, I have it on good authority that Danvers isn’t nearly as plump in the pockets as he’s rumored to be.”
Tiffany bit her tongue and merely nodded in response. She wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Mr. Danvers romantically and she’d certainly done nothing to encourage his attention, but even so, she found her father’s boorish comments extremely discourteous. He could be such a snob. However, she knew better than to voice such a thought aloud. Glancing about the room, she was about to suggest they seek out the offerings of the refreshment table prior to the start of the next set, when her gaze landed unexpectedly upon the one man she’d been searching for all evening. He’d come, she noted giddily, feeling a combination of pleasure and excitement rush through her. Rising up onto her toes, she watched him move steadily through the crowd, stopping every few paces to return a greeting and a friendly handshake. Her heart began to race as he moved in her direction, and then, when she realized that he was heading straight toward where she and her father now stood, her heart felt as if it might beat right out of her chest. With her attention focused primarily upon the earl’s progression, Tiffany barely noticed her father’s sudden change in demeanor or the odd, speculative gleam that entered his eyes, as he too noted the earl’s advance.
“Good evening, Melborne,” Alex remarked with cool civility when he reached the marquess’ side.
William tipped his head in greeting. “Chesterfield.”
Turning to Tiffany, his expression softened. “Lady Tiffany, you look enchanting as usual.” Although Tiffany’s extraordinary beauty had been glaringly apparent on the night he’d first laid eyes upon her, during the past months her face, as well as her figure, had taken on an added maturity that although a seemingly impossible feat, only managed to enhance her exquisite loveliness.
“Thank you, my lord,” she responded in a quiet voice, hoping that her cheeks hadn’t turned an embarrassing shade of pink at the compliment. “It’s so nice to see you again.” So very, very nice!
“And you,” he replied with a warm smile. “I hope you are enjoying your birthday, as well as your first ball.”
Tiffany sighed internally, for Alexander Warrene was simply glorious to behold, especially when he smiled. “Yes, my lord,” she managed. “I am.” Especially so, now that you’re here, she added silently. Without conscious effort, her eyes moved across the contours of his face, lingering for a moment upon his remarkable bluish-grey eyes, a color that reminded her of glistening raindrops, then moving along the gentle slope of his nose and finally dropping to the sensual curve of his lips. For a moment she felt almost lightheaded.
“Have I arrived too late to request a dance?” Alex asked, glancing down at the small card attached to Tiffany’s wrist with a thin satin ribbon. In truth, he secretly hoped that her dance card was already full, as he had intentionally delayed his arrival for just that reason. For considering his attraction to the enticing young lady, holding her in his arms, even if it were only on the dance floor, would surely do nothing but add heat to an existing fire.
Although she managed to keep her expression calm, her heart was beating so loud that she was afraid he might hear it. “As it happens, I do have one spot remaining on my card,” she said softly. “The last waltz is yet unspoken for.” She had purposefully saved it in the hope that she could share it with him.
Damn, and a waltz no less. He groaned inwardly. “Well then, the last waltz it is,” he responded, concealing his consternation behind a genial smile. “If that meets with your approval of course,” he said, turning his questioning gaze to the marquess.
“It does,” William responded, nodding his assent.
“Excellent. Until then, Lady Tiffany.” With a parting smile for Tiffany and a slight nod to her father, Alex turned and once again made his way through the crowd. He needed to speak with Melborne about the land deal, but he would wait until they could talk privately.
Twenty minutes later, as Alex leaned casually against the wall on the opposite side of the room; he watched in disinterest as the musicians resumed their positions upon the small, elevated platform and prepared to begin the next set. His interest was piqued a moment later however, as he observed Brendon Leighton lead Tiffany Marlowe out onto the dance floor.
Apparently Brendon had just said something amusing, for Tiffany’s face was suddenly alight with laughter. God she was stunning, especially when she smiled he thought to himself, a small smile tilting the corners of his own lips. His smile quickly faded however, as he watched Brendon pull Tiffany into his arms at the start of the music. It was the first waltz.
Watching as they moved to the lilting strains of the vals crilollo, their bodies separated by a few paltry inches, he slowly pulled away from the wall and straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height, his eyes following their graceful movements as they twirled across the floor. Damnation, did he really need to hold her so closely, he silently pondered. However, noting the look upon Tiffany’s face, she certainly didn’t seem to mind. She appeared to be enjoying herself immensely; perhaps a bit more than she should be, he thought somewhat grudgingly.
Having known Nicholas’ younger brother since his youth, he was well-aware of Brendon’s overwhelming popularity with members of the female gender, and for perhaps the first time in all those years, he found the notion rather troublesome. The handsome rogue had left more broken hearts behind than he could count and an innocent like Tiffany Marlowe was no match for an accomplished Lothario like him. If she wasn’t careful, she might soon find her own heart added to the mix, he mused. It was an oddly disconcerting thought.
“Has something caught your interest, Alex? Or perhaps I should ask if someone has caught your interest?”
The slightly mocking voice drew Alex’s attention from the dance floor to the man who’d come to stand beside him, Nicholas Leighton, the eighth Duke of Sethe, his closest friend.
“Hardly,” Alex replied, trying to keep his tone cavalier. “I was merely observing your brother’s attempt to add yet another name to his long list of admiring females.”
“Ah, so that’s the cause of the frown you’re sporting,” Nicholas responded, his voice reflecting a touch of wry amusement. “I wasn’t aware that you were interested in Tiffany Marlowe.”
Damn, was he frowning? “She’s a delightful young lady to be sure, but no, I’m not interested,” Alex replied with feigned indifference. “You of all people should know that innocents aren’t my style, Nick.”
Nicholas merely harrumphed and quirked his brow dubiously in response.
Eager to erase the knowing smirk from his friend’s face, Alex decided that the quickest way was to turn the tables on him. Directing his attention to the dance floor once again, he searched for and then deliberately focused his gaze upon Nick’s lovely young wife. “Ashleigh looks stunning this evening,” he commented, with a deceptively innocent smile. “And by the look on his face, I’d wager that Ravenfield thinks so as well.”
As he’d known it would, Nick’s head immediately whipped in the direction of the dancers, his eyes eagerly searching the crowd for his duchess. Spotting her dancing with the Duke of Ravenfield, Nick’s calculating smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Alex then watched in unabashed amusement as Nick’s jaw slowly tightened, his gaze riveted upon the attractive, unmarried duke. Silently congratulating himself on redirecting Nick’s focus, he felt only a moment’s remorse for having cast poor Ravenfield into the lion’s den, so to speak.
For a man who had once considered marriage a fate worse than death, Nicholas had done a complete about face since he’d fallen head over heels in love with Ashleigh St. John. In fact, it was apparent to Alex, as it was to anyone with a set of eyes, that Nicholas Leighton was more than pleased w
ith his new role as husband and father. However, despite his friend’s obvious delight in the matrimonial state, he had no pressing desire to join the ranks of the legally wed himself. Besides, the expression on Nick’s face at that very moment was anything but delighted. He looked like he wanted to lay Ravenfield out.
Funny, but the emotion reflected on his friend’s face was something he’d never really understood, nor did he wish to, reminding him that he had absolutely no desire to find himself in a similar situation any time soon. Marriage could definitely wait!
Then, just as he was beginning to feel guilty for deliberately causing Nick’s distress, the music came to an end and Ashleigh was suddenly making her way toward them, having excused herself from Ravenfield at the edge of the dance floor. Nick’s expression relaxed immediately and a smile once again curved his lips as Ashleigh came up and linked her arm through his. After giving her husband a loving glance, her gaze then shifted to Alex.
“Alex, I’m so glad you were able to attend the festivities this evening,” she said, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. “I was beginning to fear that you weren’t going to make it.”
The odd tone, combined with the mischievous glint in her eye, set Alex instantly on guard. Curious, he cast a questioning glance in Nick’s direction. His apprehension only intensified when he saw that his friend’s face had suddenly become devoid of all expression. Turning back to Ashleigh, he smiled apologetically. “Please forgive my tardiness, Your Grace. I’m afraid that I was unavoidably detained.”
“It’s quite alright, Alex,” she replied, smiling serenely. “You accepted my invitation, and therefore I shouldn’t have doubted for even a moment that you would fail to honor your promise to attend.” Without waiting for him to comment, Ashleigh directed her next remark to her husband. “I have always considered Alex to be a man of honor,” she said. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling, that Alex is an honorable man?”
You, and Only You Page 2
