The Wedding Trap

by Tracy Anne Warren

Kit grinned. “Well, seems to me you are entitled to your pleasure, however you may come by it. Now, what do you say we take a turn around the floor, if your feet are sufficiently rested? We haven’t danced yet tonight, you and I. And since this next set is the supper dance, we can share a meal. I know just the table—”

  “Sorry, Winter,” a smooth, familiar voice interrupted, “but the lady has already promised the supper dance to me.”

  Kit glanced up. “Brevard, I didn’t realize you were here this evening.”

  “Arrived a bit late. My little sister is taken ill with a dreadful cold, so I wanted to make sure she was well settled before I left the house. I nearly decided not to come, but Franny wouldn’t hear a word of it. Shooed me on my way, blowing her poor little red nose all the while.” Brevard’s chin dipped in sympathy.

  “Is that not thoughtful of Lord Brevard, to care so much for his sister?” Eliza said, sending the viscount a warm smile.

  If he cares so bloody much, then he ought to have stayed home, Kit thought to himself.

  Kit stood, one of his gloved hands curled into a loose fist at his hip. He forced a smile. “So how is young Franny? She was scarcely more than a baby when last we met.”

  “She’s all grown up now or so she thinks. Eighteen and ready to make her come-out. She would have been here tonight if not for her illness. She was quite distraught to be missing all the fun. I have been assigned the task of providing a full rendering of events over tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  “I am sure you will do an admirable job, my lord,” Eliza said. “Only do not forget to take note of the ladies’ gowns. Likely your sister will want to know what colors and styles were most in vogue tonight.”

  Eliza had learned her lessons well, Kit thought, since even a month ago she would not have thought to consider fashions at all. Of course, a month ago she wouldn’t have been conversing so easily either. A moment of pride washed through him; he felt profoundly pleased by her accomplishment.

  Then Kit forgot all about such matters as Brevard turned his blue gaze upon Eliza, adding a blinding flash of his straight white teeth. “Thank you for a most excellent suggestion, Miss Hammond,” Brevard said. “I shall have no difficulty remembering how to describe your lovely raiment, or the even more lovely lady who is wearing it.”

  Kit restrained the urge to glower.

  Eliza dipped her head at the compliment. “You are too kind, my lord. Pray be so good as to give my regards to your sister and wish her a speedy recovery.”

  “I shall. She will be most cheered, and sorry not to have made your acquaintance.”

  “We will meet when she is feeling better. I look forward to the day.”

  “As will she. But now, if my ears do not deceive me, I believe the next set is forming.”

  Brevard was right, Kit saw, as he noticed the small quartet of musicians resume their seats across the room and play a few practice notes on their instruments in preparation for the next song.

  Brevard extended his arm to Eliza.

  She rose and laid her hand on top of his sleeve.

  “Winter.” Brevard nodded at Kit.

  Eliza sent Kit a well-contented smile. “Lord Christopher.” Then she let the viscount lead her away.

  Lord Christopher?

  What in the blazes was that? She hadn’t called him by that stuffy name in weeks. But in company he supposed the formality was best.

  They could no longer address each other as Kit and Eliza, not in public anyway. A lot of things would be different between them now. He should be glad, he told himself. His mentoring duties were done.

  So why had the enjoyment suddenly gone out of the evening?

  Not wanting to consider the why, he strode out of the ballroom and made his way to the card parlor, no longer at all in the mood to dance.

  “Well, you must be floating on a cloud.”

  From her place on the coach seat next to Violet, Eliza peered through the night-darkened interior at her friend, Adrian and Kit taking up the seat opposite.

  “Now that you say it, I believe that I am,” Eliza agreed in an amazed sort of wonder.

  “As well you should be.” Violet reached over and patted Eliza’s hand. “You were brilliant tonight, the talk of the evening, and I mean that in the very best sort of way. Everyone was commenting on how attractive you look and how you have put off your shyness and come out of your shell. And you danced nearly every dance, the gentlemen could not stay away.”

  “It was a lovely evening.”

  More than that, it was the best party Eliza had ever attended, with the possible exception of that memorable night long ago when Kit had danced with her, then afterward compelled his friends to do the same. But she had needed no assistance tonight from Kit, at least not in that regard, a more than gratifying number of gentlemen soliciting her hand, apparently of their own volition.

  She had arrived at tonight’s entertainment not knowing what to expect, quaking in fear that she might muddle up everything and inaugurate yet another dismal failure of a Season. But more quickly than she could have imagined, she found herself singled out by one attentive gentleman after another. The experience had been quite novel, the impact of which was even now still sinking in.

  “And you danced twice with Lord Maplewood,” Violet continued. “He is a few years your senior and a widower but a pleasant man all the same.”

  “Yes, he was very nice. We spent most of the time discussing plays. He is an avid theatergoer with a keen knowledge of Shakespeare. I quite enjoyed myself.”

  “And I saw you with Mr. Carstairs and Lord Vickery and, of course, Viscount Brevard, who claimed you for the supper dance. Quite a few young ladies had their noses out of joint over that. Jeannette says Brevard is the catch of the Season, a very elusive catch, I am given to understand. At the risk of sounding like my mama, I hear he is worth twenty thousand a year, so there is no need to fear his interest in you has anything to do with your wealth.”

  Eliza traced a gloved finger over her pelisse. “I suspect he was only being gallant and has no particular regard for me.”

  “Well, we shall see. But particular or not, I must admit one cannot complain of his company, he is so very dashing and handsome.”

  “And what are you doing noticing dashing, handsome men, madam?” Adrian questioned out of the darkness opposite. “Might I remind you, you are a married woman.”

  “Hmm, but not a blind one. And despite my scholarly proclivities, I have long admired the turn of a handsome male face. Why do you think I fell in love with you?”

  Adrian snorted in obvious good humor and settled deeper into his seat.

  “Kit, you have been rather quiet,” Violet prodded. “What do you think of Eliza’s grand evening?”

  He cleared his throat. “Me? Oh, I agree, the evening was an obvious triumph. Eliza did a splendid job and surpassed all of my expectations. As her mentor, or former mentor now that her lessons are finished, I must say she has been an apt and most attentive pupil, well deserving of praise. You were marvelous tonight, Eliza.”

  “Due to your tutelage.”

  He waved off her compliment. “No, no, it was all you. And because of your success, I am sure you shall have no trouble finding a most excellent husband. The house will likely smell like a florist’s shop come morning, crammed with a veritable garden of bouquets from all your many admirers. Before you know it, you’ll have a ring on your finger and we’ll all be cheering and waving you off on your honeymoon trip. What a glorious day that will be, don’t you think? Your wedding day, the event Violet’s entire scheme was designed to achieve.”

  “Yes, of course,” Eliza said softly, glad for the coach’s concealing shadows so none of them could see her expression.

  Marriage and a husband was exactly what she wanted, she reminded herself, just as Kit said. But did he have to sound so ebulliently excited about it? Did he wish to see her settled and out of his life so very badly?

  The pleasant little glow she’d been huggi
ng to herself since leaving the party evaporated like a mist caught beneath the rays of a merciless sun. She folded her hands and listened to the clack of the coach wheels on the street, the cry of a night watchman calling out the time.

  “Here we are,” Kit announced in a pleased tone when they arrived at Raeburn House a couple minutes later. Kit leapt down first, then Adrian, who turned to assist Eliza and Violet from the coach.

  “Did you ask François to set something out for us, Vi?” Kit asked as the four of them crossed into the house. “Or shall I have to go down to the kitchen and rattle around to see what I can scrounge out of the larder?”

  “You know you are forbidden to go anywhere near the kitchen.” Violet drew off her gloves and handed her evening mantle to a footman. “François nearly gave his notice the last time you decided to rattle around in his domain, and good French chefs are far too valuable to risk offending. I know fully a dozen households, including one of the royal dukes, who would snap him up in an instant. But in deference to you and your endless appetite, I left instructions for a light repast to be served in the drawing room.”

  “You are the best, Violet.” Kit winked at her. “So who else could do with a snack?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a brandy,” Adrian said, heading for the stairs.

  “Nothing for me.” Violet lifted her skirts and followed in her husband’s wake. “I need to go check on Georgianna since she is likely the one who really is in need of a meal.”

  Eliza walked up the stairs after Kit, both of them pausing when they reached the landing. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to her. “Eliza? Will you join us?”

  A lump formed in her throat and she shook her head. “It has been a long, exciting night. I think I had best seek my rest.”

  “Good night, then.” For a moment he hesitated as if he was about to say something more. Instead he closed his mouth and kept it closed. Bouncing on his heels, his impatience to be gone was more than apparent.

  “Yes, good night,” she said.

  Her footsteps heavy and listless, she made her way to her bedchamber.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Raucous laughter flowed out of the downstairs salon.

  “What is all that racket?” Kit asked March as he came through the Raeburn House front door. He passed his hat and gloves to the majordomo as another shout of hilarity split the air.

  “Afternoon callers for Miss Eliza, my lord. Mostly gentlemen callers.”

  Kit digested the news. “Hmmph.”

  “His Grace had much the same reaction and departed for his club about half an hour past. Mentioned something about wanting to be able to hear himself think.”

  Kit smiled faintly. “So how long have they all been here?”

  “There has been a steady stream of visitors in and out of the house since just past nuncheon.” March paused. “If you don’t mind my saying, it must be most gratifying, my lord, to see Miss Eliza prospering so well this Season. The staff and I couldn’t help but be aware of your lessons and how hard Miss Eliza worked. We are all so pleased for her, and for your lordship as well. You must be delighted.”

  Kit forced away a frown. “Yes, of course, very delighted.”

  Seconds later, a tall man in a dark blue coat strode out of the salon, his footsteps sounding on the marble floor.

  Kit’s eyebrows rose upward. “Vickery? What are you doing here?”

  The man looked up, a faint expression of chagrin on his face. “Winter. Have you just returned from the Ray-croft sale?”

  “Yes, just.” Kit crossed his arms. “I had rather thought to find you there as well. An impressive selection of prime horseflesh on the auction block, a shame you missed it.”

  “True, but I’ve a full stable already, and I had…um, other plans for the day.”

  So he could see. How long had this been going on? Vickery paying court to Eliza Hammond? To think the man had once sat across from him and verbally sliced Eliza to shreds. Would she turn Vickery away if she knew?

  “Well, good to see you,” Vickery said. “I suppose we might bump into each other again tomorrow since I am promised to take Miss Hammond driving in my high-perch phaeton.”

  Now the man was taking her driving. How serious was this?

  Kit repressed the urge to scowl. “See to it you don’t drive so fast she falls out when you round a sharp corner.”

  Vickery stared at him for a long moment, then smiled, assuming Kit spoke in jest. “Ha-ha, don’t worry, she’ll be safe as a baby in a cradle.”

  “Cradles have been known to tip too.”

  “This one won’t. She will be fine. I’ll make sure.”

  “I trust you will.”

  Vickery flashed him an uncertain half smile then gratefully accepted his hat from March. He jammed it on his head and went on his way with a nod.

  Before March could close the door behind him, another gentleman arrived.

  “Hello, March,” Viscount Lancelot Brevard greeted with obvious familiarity. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

  “Very well, my lord. And yourself?”

  “Splendid.”

  “Miss Hammond is in the salon, my lord,” March volunteered, clearly aware of the purpose of the viscount’s visit.

  Brevard thanked the servant, then turned his blond head. His eyes flashed. “Winter. Didn’t see you standing there.”

  Kit thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “Didn’t realize I was lurking.”

  Brevard chuckled. “Are you about to go in?” More laughter issued from the salon. “Sounds as though everyone is having a lively time.”

  “So it would appear. But no, I am on my way to my rooms.” He flicked a finger across the lapel of his coat. “Plans tonight.”

  “Ah, then we won’t see you at the opera, I suppose.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Miss Hammond has agreed to accompany my sister and me there this evening. I have come to apprise her of all the last-minute details.”

  “Don’t much care for the opera as a general rule.”

  “Well, yes, it can be an acquired taste.” Brevard rested a set of knuckles against one hip. “Sorry to have missed you the other day at Gentleman Jackson’s. You have quite the reputation there. Hear you pummeled yet another of Jackson’s best.”

  Kit inclined his head. “I keep my hand in the game.”

  “We must have a match one of these mornings,” Brevard invited with a cheerful grin.

  “Indeed. Sounds like fun.”

  “Well, best go make my bow to the ladies. Good day to you, Winter.”

  “Good day.”

  Brevard strolled into the salon, Eliza’s gently melodic greeting ringing out above the fray.

  So she was going to the opera tonight with Brevard? He hadn’t even realized. Actually, he no longer knew a great deal about her daily schedule, not as he once had done. In the three weeks since the Lymondhams’ ball and her reentrance into Society, their lives had gradually drifted apart.

  For one thing, their lessons were done—no more mornings of instruction and practice conversations. Neither did they ride together in the mornings, Eliza taking Cassiopeia out in the afternoon now to promenade in the park. Caught up in the social whirl of constant balls and parties, she had taken up the Town habit of sleeping late and frequently taking breakfast in her room. Often, he caught glimpses of her at various entertainments, but she was always surrounded by her small but dedicated coterie of admirers, so he left her to them and did not interfere.

  Of course, he still kept watch over her. When a rake with a less than stellar reputation at both the gaming table and with the ladies began to insinuate himself into Eliza’s circle, Kit had quietly taken the man aside and let him know his overtures were not welcome.

  In fact, Kit’s fierce protectiveness of Eliza had not gone unnoticed, a few of his cronies ribbing him about his new little “sister” until they realized he was not amused and decided it might be safer to keep their quips to themselves.

&
nbsp; Kit stared at the door to the salon. For a long moment, he considered following Brevard inside. Instead he turned on his heel and strode across to the staircase, racing upward two steps at a time. He had no interest, absolutely none, in watching Eliza flirt and flutter with her beaux. For a woman who used to be so timid she would barely dare to meet a fellow’s gaze, she had certainly taken to her new role of charming ingenue with alacrity, he sniffed. Some days he barely recognized her, wondering where the sweet, shy girl he’d once known had gone.

  But hadn’t that been the whole point of their lessons—to make the old Eliza disappear in favor of the newer, bolder version? He ought to be delighted with her, as well as for her.

  Instead he felt…hell, he didn’t know what he felt anymore. All he knew for certain was that he missed her.

  He stopped, hand gripped tightly around the banister.

  Missed her? Missed quiet, reticent, academically minded Eliza Hammond, for whom he’d once held so little regard that years earlier Violet had practically pushed him out onto the dance floor in order to get him to stand up with her?

  But as he’d only just seconds ago reminded himself, Eliza was no longer particularly quiet nor reticent, and he had long since gotten over any reluctance to lead her into a dance. Nor did he mind her company. In point of fact, he’d come to enjoy it, rather a lot, he realized.

  Her soft smiles and intelligent observations. Her laughter and the deliberate way she would let a sentence hang before delivering the choicest part. Her gentle manners and occasional uncertainty, looking to him for guidance with those dove-hued eyes before rousing her own kind of bravery from within. When she spoke, it was with interesting purpose. When she fell silent…well, he no longer found her silences awkward, but restful, like a peaceful breeze on a warm, sunny day.

  And her kisses. His loins tightened at the memory of her kisses. He shook his head and continued up the stairs. He had no time for such thoughts. No time for missing her either. Eliza Hammond was destined for a life that did not include him, except perhaps as an occasional friend.

  The idea brought a frown to his face. No, he mused, he definitely did not want her for a friend. What then did he want her for?