Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride

by Mary Balogh

  “So I see.” He took the book that was tucked under her arm and raised his eyebrows. “Pope? You like his poetry?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “But I mean to find out.”

  “You like poetry?” he asked. “You have tried Wordsworth or Coleridge?”

  “Both,” she said. “And I love both. Mr. Pope is quite different, I have heard. Perhaps I will love him just as well. I do not believe that liking one type of literature means that one will not like another type. Do you? It would give one a very narrow scope of interest.”

  “Quite,” he said. “Do you like novels? Richardson, for example?”

  She smiled again. “I liked Pamela until I read Mr. Fielding’s Joseph Andrews,” she said, “and realized how he had made fun of the other book and how right he was to do so. I was ashamed that I had not seen for myself how hypocritical Pamela was.”

  “But that is one purpose of literature, surely,” he said. “To help us see aspects of our world that we had not thought of for ourselves. To broaden our horizons and our minds. To make us more critical and more liberal in our thinking.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you are right.” And then she blushed and looked around her and licked her lips and he guessed that she had just remembered she was not supposed to be talking with him.

  “I do not attack young ladies in dark corners of libraries,” he said. “But I understand that you must go.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking warily at him. He had not stood back to enable her to pass.

  “You will be at the Chisleys’ ball this evening?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You will reserve a set for me?” he asked. “The second, perhaps? Doubtless you will dance the first with your betrothed.”

  “You know?” she said.

  “Perhaps you have not been in town long enough to realize how impossible it is to keep a secret,” he said. “And I do not believe your engagement is even meant to be an official secret, is it?”

  “No,” she said.

  “You will dance the second set with me?”

  She hesitated and swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be pleasant.”

  “It would,” he agreed. “But I wish you would not keep looking at me when you say so as if you saw me as an executioner with his hood on and his ax over his shoulder.”

  He held her eyes with his until she smiled.

  “Until this evening,” he said, stepping back at last. “Every minute until then will seem an hour long and every hour a day.”

  “How absurd,” she said.

  “Most things in life are,” he agreed.

  She hesitated and then whisked herself past him.

  “Your book,” he said.

  She looked back at him, mortified, and held out one hand for it. He placed it in her hand, making sure that his fingers brushed against hers as he let it go.

  A very fortunate encounter, he thought. Luck was on his side. He had no doubt it would rattle Kersey to see him dance with Miss Winwood this evening. It would be a pleasure to rattle Kersey.

  He just wished, the earl thought as he left the library five minutes later, after the ladies had already done so, that it was a different lady. He had the uncomfortable feeling that beneath the vividly beautiful and desirable body that housed Miss Winwood was a rather likable person. An intelligent one with a sense of humor. Someone whom in other circumstances he might have liked to befriend.

  But he shut his mind to conscience. He did not want to be deflected from his purpose. The prospect of making Kersey look a fool was just too tempting for the present.

  5

  THE DAY HAD BEEN UNSEASONABLY WARM. THE evening was cooler, but the indoors still held the heat of the day. The French windows along the length of the Chisley ballroom had been thrown back to admit as much air as possible and to allow the guests to dance or stroll on the wide balcony beyond and even to descend to the lantern-lit garden below if they so chose.

  It was a great squeeze of an event, it being the come-out of the middle Chisley girl. The Earl of Thornhill made his bow to her in the receiving line after passing by her mother, whose manner dripped ice almost visibly. It was quite unexceptionable for his lordship to attend and add luster to her ball, that manner said quite audibly, but let him not expect to dance with Miss Horatia Chisley. Not this evening or any other evening of the Season.

  “Well, I am for dancing,” Lord Francis Kneller said as they looked about them in the ballroom. “I promised my sister that I would lead out Rosalie Ogden—younger sister of her particular friend, you know. The girl has not taken well.” He grimaced. “Nothing for a dowry and nothing much for a face either.”

  “It is admirable of you to be willing to do your civic duty, Frank,” the earl said, raising his quizzing glass to his eye. Yes, they had arrived already, and were being closely guarded by Lady Brill. He wondered if he would after all be able to get past the redoubtable old dragon. Would she agree that a promise given at the library this morning must be honored? “And how about you, Bertie? Have you come with the intention of tripping the light fantastic?”

  “Not all night long,” Sir Albert replied. “One does not mind being seen to be browsing at the marriage mart, Gabe, but one would not wish to be thought to be shopping in earnest. The very prospect makes me nervous. Point out Miss Ogden to me, Frank, and I’ll dance with her too. I like your sister. Miss Newman promised me a set when I called at Berkeley Square yesterday afternoon. I had better claim it early. She is going to be besieged.”

  “And you, Gabe?” Lord Francis asked as their friend strolled away to join the group of young men beginning to gather about the little blond beauty.

  “Later,” the earl said. The ball was about to begin. Miss Horatia Chisley was being led onto the floor by a young gentleman whose shirt points looked in imminent danger of piercing his eyeballs, and sets were beginning to form. “I intend to stand here and ogle the ladies for a while.”

  Lord Francis chuckled and moved away.

  She was wearing white again—of course. She would wear it all through the spring. And yet she had a way of making white look like the most vivid of colors. Tonight’s gown was rather lower in the bosom and more heavily flounced at the hem. It shimmered with lace overlaying satin. She was dancing with Kersey, who was looking startlingly gorgeous in silver and pink. The earl surveyed the viscount through his glass with some distaste. Pink! There was something distinctly feminine about the color. It was worse even than Frank’s lavender at the Nordal ball. And yet Kersey was drawing female admiration as he always did.

  Jennifer Winwood had eyes for no one else. She smiled with unfashionable warmth at her betrothed. Despite the intelligence and sense and wit that Thornhill had seen in her, she was not immune to the beauty and charm of Kersey, it seemed. She was very probably in love with the man. He hoped not. Not that he would balk at the challenge if she were. He just hoped she was not.

  He just wished that, having decided upon some small measure of revenge, he did not have to involve a third person. Especially an innocent.

  It would be as well for this particular innocent in more ways than one if her feelings were not deeply engaged. Persistent inquiries over the past few days had revealed that Kersey kept two mistresses, one a dancer of recent acquisition, the other a former seamstress who had already borne him two children. He was also known to frequent brothels more often than one would expect of a man who had established mistresses on whom to slake his appetites.

  It seemed unlikely that such a man would suddenly become a model husband on his marriage. It would be as well if Miss Winwood, like most wives, did not expect either fidelity or devotion. It would be disastrous for her if she loved Kersey.

  Though that would be her problem, not his, the earl thought grimly, turning his glass on her for a moment before lowering it. But good Lord, how could any man, betrothed to such a woman, contemplating marriage with her within the next few months, need anyone else? And how would any
man after marriage with her have energy left or desire to expend on another woman?

  The Earl of Thornhill waited with some impatience and some trepidation for the set to end and for the second to form. Though trepidation waned after Miss Newman, dancing the intricate steps of a vigorous country dance right before his eyes, had her hem stepped on by some clumsy oaf and a ruffle dragged too awkwardly to enable her to continue the dance. A few moments later, just as the music was drawing to a close, she left the ballroom with Lady Brill, obviously bound for the ladies’ withdrawing room and a quick repair there by the maids and seamstresses who would be kept on hand for just such an emergency.

  The fates appeared to be on his side, the earl thought. And Kersey, aware that his fiancée’s chaperone had disappeared, was remaining at her side like a true gentleman and watchdog. It was perfect!

  JENNIFER WAS NOT ABLE to enjoy the opening set even though she was dancing it with Lord Kersey and he had smiled at her and complimented her on her appearance and reminded her that she was to save the supper dance for him. And even though, as usual, he was looking quite splendidly handsome in pale colors that made his blondness dazzling.

  She could not draw her mind free of the foolish promise she had given at the library. She had been warned against the Earl of Thornhill by both Aunt Agatha and Lord Kersey. Lionel had said that the earl was guilty of some heinous sin. And her own instinct warned her against him. She did not like the way he looked at her so directly and so boldly with his dark eyes. She did not like the look of him, handsome as he undoubtedly was. He was so very different from Lionel. Besides, she had no interest whatsoever in any man but her betrothed.

  And yet she had allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with him at the library. She had allowed herself to laugh with him. It somehow seemed unseemly to laugh with another man—almost intimate. And worst of all—a brief conversation was quite unexceptionable, she supposed—she had agreed to dance the second set at the Chisley ball with him.

  The knowledge of her foolishness had weighed heavily on her ever since. And to compound her foolishness, she had not even told anyone. Not even Samantha, who should have been easy to tell since she had seen him in the library and had commented on his presence there. She had not told Aunt Agatha or Lord Kersey. She positively dreaded the moment when he would come to claim his dance. If Aunt Agatha tried to steer him away, then Jennifer was going to have to admit that she had promised the set to him during what was now going to seem to have been a clandestine meeting at the library.

  Why, oh why, had she not gone home and openly complained of how she had been maneuvered into accepting, of how she could not have refused without seeming discourteous, of how she intended to dance with him and make it very obvious to him that she wished for no further acquaintance with him? Why had she not done so? But it was too late now.

  The opening set of country dances was a vigorous one. Jennifer felt hot and breathless when it came to an end and the viscount escorted her to where Aunt Agatha should have been waiting. She fanned herself in a vain attempt to cool her cheeks and calm her agitation. Aunt Agatha, someone told her, had gone to the withdrawing room with Samantha because Sam’s hem was down. It was a small relief, but Lord Kersey lingered.

  “Mama is not here either,” he said. “I shall do myself the honor of remaining at your side, Miss Winwood.”

  She knew there would be no reprieve. The Earl of Thornhill was there and had been from the start. He had not danced the opening set but had stood on the sidelines, quizzing glass in hand. She knew, even though she had not once looked at him, that he had watched her through most of the dance. She had been aware of him with every nerve ending in her body and had resented the fact when she wanted to be free to feel awareness of no one but Lionel.

  But it was her own fault. She must learn not to behave so rustically. She must learn not to allow others more accomplished in the social niceties to maneuver her.

  The Earl of Thornhill came to claim his dance while the viscount was still at her side. The latter set a hand beneath her arm and closed it possessively about her elbow.

  “Miss Winwood is otherwise engaged for this set,” he said with chilly hauteur when the earl bowed.

  “Really?” Lord Thornhill’s eyebrows rose with a matching haughtiness. “I understood that this set had been promised to me.” His eyes caught and held Jennifer’s. “Following a pleasant but all too brief discussion of books at the library this morning.”

  She mentally kicked herself again for not mentioning it to anyone. Just as if there were something to hide. But he need not have mentioned it either. It was almost as if he was delighting in embarrassing her.

  “Why, yes,” she said, sounding surprised, as if she had just remembered something so insignificant that it had slipped her mind. “So it is, my lord. Thank you.”

  But she had concentrated so hard on the tone of surprise that she had forgotten also to sound chilly. She was not good at dissembling. And why should she dissemble? Why should she feel as if she had been caught out in some dreadful indiscretion? She resented deeply having been put in such a position. She would certainly see to it that such a thing never happened again.

  Viscount Kersey released her elbow and bowed stiffly before moving away without another word.

  “I do not blame him,” the Earl of Thornhill said. “If you were mine, or soon to be mine, I too would be unwilling for any other man to pry you from my side. But he must be aware that it would not be at all the thing for him to remain with you all evening.”

  “Viscount Kersey is well aware of what is socially correct, my lord,” she said, fanning herself again and hoping that the music would start and the set be in progress before Aunt Agatha returned.

  “The dance has made you overwarm,” he said. “And the ballroom was stuffy to begin with. Stroll on the balcony with me until the set begins. It is cooler out there.” He held out his arm for hers, an arm that shimmered gold. He looked quite as striking in gold and brown and white as he had in black, she thought. It was perhaps his height and bearing and coloring that made him stand out in a crowd quite as much as Lionel did. He was taller than Lionel.

  “Thank you.” She laid her arm along his. The prospect of breathing in fresh air was too tempting to be resisted, as was the desire to be out of sight of her aunt until the dancing began. Though she would have to be faced afterward, of course. Doubtless there would be scolds. And what about Lionel? What would he say when he claimed the supper dance? Anything? There was nothing improper about her dancing with other gentlemen. It was quite the correct thing to do, in fact. But he had warned her particularly against the Earl of Thornhill. And he now knew that she had talked with the earl in the library this morning.

  “Well,” the earl said as they passed the French windows to the delicious coolness of the balcony, “do you like Mr. Pope?”

  “Oh,” she said with a laugh, “I have not had a chance even to open the book yet. I have been busy.”

  “Preparing for a ball,” he said. “And the result has been worth every minute.”

  He looked down at her, warm appreciation in his eyes, and she was very aware of the low cut of her gown, a cut she had protested during her fittings. But even Aunt Agatha had approved the low décolletage and called it fashionable. She had, of course, worn something slightly more demure for her come-out ball. But not tonight. Jennifer was very well aware that she had more of a bosom than many other women. It was a physical attribute that made her uncomfortable.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I suppose,” he said, “that almost every moment of every day is taken up with busy frivolity. Are you enjoying your first Season?”

  “It has hardly begun yet,” she said. “But yes, of course. I have waited so long. Two years ago when Papa was planning to bring me out we had to change our plans because Lord Kersey was attending his sick uncle in the north of England. We have been intended for each other for five years, you see. And then last year I was unable to com
e because my grandmother had died.”

  “I am sorry,” he said. “Were you close to her?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My mother and her own mother died when I was very young. Grandmama was like a mother to me. She apologized to me when she was dying.” The memory could still draw tears. “She knew that she was going to spoil my come-out, as she put it, and cause my official betrothal to be put off yet another year.”

  “You are positively ancient,” the earl said with a smile.

  “I am twenty,” she said and then remembered that a lady never divulged her age.

  “But at last,” he said, “you have achieved your dream. You are enjoying a Season.”

  “Yes. And with Samantha. That at least has worked out well. She is almost two years younger than I.” It was not so much the Season she was enjoying, though, as what it meant. Lionel. An official betrothal. Marriage. “Frivolity is good for a while. I do not believe I would like it as a way of life.”

  Most of the other couples who had been strolling had returned to the ballroom. The music was beginning for the second set. The Earl of Thornhill made no move to take her inside, and Jennifer was tempted by the coolness and the escape from the squash of guests inside the ballroom.

  “Ah,” he said. “You are not frivolous by nature, then. How have you spent your life until now? How do you envisage spending it after your marriage?”

  “In the country, I hope,” she said, “That is where real life is lived. I have managed Papa’s home for a few years since Grandmama became too infirm to do it for herself. I like visiting my father’s people and doing what I can to make life more comfortable for them. I like to feel useful. I was born to wealth and privilege—and to responsibility. I look forward to managing my husband’s home. I am glad I have had some experience.”

  They had strolled along the balcony and back. He drew her now to sit on a bench and she knew that he had no intention of joining the set. She did not really mind, though she did wonder if her absence would be noticed. They were not alone, though. There were a few other couples still taking the air rather than dancing.