A Lady's Favor

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Hensley.”

  Mathew looked to his right, and then smiled politely at his rival. “Good evening, Lord Strapshire.”

  “Evening,” Strapshire said, though in a dry tone. He stared across the room, his eyes locked on Bianca in a possessive way that caused Mathew to tense. “I hope that it will be a good evening and that you will not push me out as you did at the last ball.”

  “Push you out?” Mathew said, raising his eyebrows.

  “I mean to make an offer for Miss Davidson,” he said with confidence, raising his chin with a sense of authority and entitlement. “And I would ask you, as a gentleman, not to complicate my ambition.”

  Mathew turned to face the man more fully. “Am I to understand that you are asking me to step aside in my attentions to Miss Davidson?”

  Lord Strapshire nodded sharply.

  “And if I refuse?”

  Lord Strapshire’s nostrils flared. “Then you are no gentleman.”

  Mathew smiled. “I suppose it is fortunate that you are not the one who gets to decide such things.” He began to walk away, but Lord Strapshire took hold of his arm.

  “I intend to marry her, Hensley,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Mathew pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, giving great consideration to brushing off the sleeve of his coat as he fixed Lord Strapshire with a cold glare. “I mean no disrespect, Lord Strapshire, but in this country a woman has a say in the man she marries, and if you are not her choice, then you need not factor me into your equation at all. Miss Davidson is fully capable of making her own decision.”

  Lord Strapshire waved his hand as though Mathew was speaking nonsense. “All was well between us before you pushed in,” he said, sounding very much like Mathew’s seven-year-old nephew when he did not get his way. His fists were clenched at his side and his chiseled jaw set tightly.

  “Was it?” Mathew asked, allowing doubt to fill his tone. “Then one wonders how it is that I found any room to insert myself at all.” He turned and walked away, unhindered, though he could feel Strapshire’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his coat. When Mathew found Bianca’s eyes again, he knew that she’d seen the exchange and was troubled by it. He repaired his expression, hoping it would ease her worries.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Davidson, Miss Davidson, Miss Granger, and Miss Marta,” he said, addressing the women standing with Bianca when he reached them. “You all look very lovely tonight.”

  Miss Marta—barely fifteen—blushed at his compliment. The other women inclined their heads in acknowledgment of his greeting and attention. He held Bianca’s eyes a moment longer than necessary, but then engaged all the women in conversation so as not to repeat his meeting with Lord Strapshire in his head too much. He could not forget the exchange completely, however, and found his temper growing. The man gave no consideration to Bianca’s feelings in the least. He hadn’t seemed to even consider the possibility that she might not see his attention as the greatest victory of her life.

  “Mr. Hensley?”

  Mathew turned to Mrs. Davidson, who had apparently directed a question toward him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I asked when your mother was returning to Brookborrow?”

  “It will be another week at least. She and my father enjoy London this time of year.”

  “I wish I could go to London,” Miss Marta said, sighing dramatically.

  “I don’t expect you take my word for it,” Mathew said, “but I much prefer Brookborrow. There are ever so many rules to follow and expectations to fill amid London society. My mother was raised there and has a great many friends to see, but for my temperament, Brookborrow is everything wonderful and comfortable.”

  “You only say that because you have been able to compare the two.” Miss Marta affected a pretty pout. “While I’ll never get the chance to determine even those parts I shall hate. The society must be so very fashionable there.”

  “Just because we don’t have a London Season does not mean we do not enjoy society or enjoy fashion in our right,” Bianca said.

  Miss Marta sighed again with the martyrdom of youth, and Bianca and Mathew shared a smile. The orchestra, which had been filling the background with a lovely melody, signaled that the dancing portion of the night was about to begin.

  “Would you care to dance, Miss Davidson?” Mathew asked. He was eager to relay the exchange he’d had with Strapshire, but even more eager to have Bianca’s attention all to himself.

  Bianca smiled and stepped forward, but before she could take his arm, Lord Strapshire suddenly appeared between them, took Bianca’s hand, and pulled her toward the floor.

  Mathew was too stunned to react immediately, and by the time he had taken a step after them, Bianca was part of a four set, looking at him with wide eyes. Mathew considered trying to force his claim for the first dance, but Lord Strapshire’s rude manner had already been noticed and allowing that rudeness to linger might be the better solution than showing himself poorly too. He nodded to Bianca and stepped back beside her mother.

  Mrs. Davidson said nothing, but the way she fluttered her fan told him she was also anxious about what had happened.

  Mathew watched every step of the dance, his anger and jealousy growing despite his attempts to talk himself down. Lord Strapshire pranced and performed as though he were on stage, a triumphant smile on his face as he executed the steps of the dance perfectly. What Mathew wouldn’t give to plant a fist in that man’s nose!

  As soon as the dance ended, Mathew started toward Bianca, meeting her and Strapshire halfway across the floor.

  “Might I have this dance?” Mathew pointedly ignored Strapshire’s narrowed look.

  “Certainly, Mr. Hensley,” she said, quickly extracting herself from Strapshire and taking Mathew’s arm.

  Mathew didn’t even bother meeting Strapshire’s eye as he escorted Bianca back to the middle of the floor.

  As soon as he could safely state his mind, Mathew began his grumbling, “That indolent, pompous—”

  “Arrogant windbag!” Bianca cut in.

  They shared an equally irritated look. “And yet he gets away with it,” Bianca added. “What does anyone see in him that is worthy of any appreciation at all?”

  They took their places on the floor but were too far away from each other to converse easily. Once the dance began, they shared brief conversation when they could, and Mathew told her of Strapshire’s warning that he not insert himself in the baron’s plan to propose.

  Bianca’s neck turned red with irritation. “Why does he not give up?” she said during a step where she hopped a circle around Mathew. Her cheeks were in high color, her jaw tight and her eyes flashing. Quite frankly, she was beautiful—even amid her anger—and she moved with such easy grace and confidence that there was no doubt in his mind why Lord Strapshire had not given up.

  Mathew’s level of appreciation loosened his tongue. “Because you are spectacular.”

  Bianca came around to the front of him, her eyebrows lifted. A slow smile lit her beautiful lips as she stepped back a few paces, and then forward again as the dance demanded.

  “Spectacular?”

  He said nothing, only held her eyes and watched a flush creep up her cheeks. She did not stop smiling, however, and he felt a not wholly unexpected desire to be more than an actor in this game. She was spectacular, and every moment in her presence convinced him of it more than ever.

  A flash of blue satin coat caught his eye, and he saw Lord Strapshire standing on the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently he was waiting for the dance to finish so he might take Bianca to the floor again.

  Mrs. Davidson stood beside him, attempting light conversation in order to improve his mood. She caught Mathew’s eye only long enough to scowl at him. Clearly he was still not her choice for Bianca. The entirety of the situation made Mathew’s chest burn.

  “The silly baron is already waiting his next turn,” Mathew said to Bianca when next they
were close enough to converse. They separated once again, and she looked over her shoulder in Strapshire’s direction. When she faced Mathew, her jaw was tight.

  It was Mathew’s turn to move around her, and as he did so, she hissed so only he could hear, “I despise that man. What will it take to throw him off for good? What if he does make an offer? Mama will see it as a bird in the hand. She is still encouraging him because she cannot make sense of your ‘unexpected’ attention.”

  “She does not believe me sincere,” Mathew stated. It was not hard to suppose such a thing, and he couldn’t even fully fault Mrs. Davidson for her hesitation seeing as how Strapshire flattered her so openly and Mathew had steered a wide berth around Bianca until now.

  But what if Strapshire did make an offer? Bianca would refuse him, certainly, but no doubt Strapshire would be public about her offense toward him. It would damage Bianca’s reputation and that of her family, but she would be the one to suffer more than Strapshire. Mathew wanted to help her with more than this game they played, yet she continued to believe he was in this merely to repay the debt he owed her. He could see in her face that she did not take his compliments as seriously as he meant them, and now, instead of Strapshire moving on to some other woman who would welcome him, he was tightening his grasp. What could Mathew do to convince Mrs. Davidson, and Bianca too, that his interest was sincere? That he was as interested in Bianca as Lord Strapshire was?

  Mathew came around to face Bianca, and he had a sudden flash of brilliant foolhardiness. Instead of stepping back into place as scripted by the dance, he took a step toward her, put his hands on either side of her beautiful face and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

  She immediately startled, and her hands came to his chest as though to push him away, but she did not press against him. Instead, she melted into the kiss. A sudden fire possessed him as he felt the rightness and glory of this intimacy—both shared and returned—and he deepened the kiss. She seemed as captured as he was in the energy between them, and he forgot about the ball and the guests and her mother until a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

  Mathew had only a moment to take in the shocked expressions of the people around them and the halting screech of the orchestra before Lord Strapshire’s surprisingly firm fist smashed into his nose and sent him reeling.

  EIGHT

  Bianca’s shock when Mathew kissed her lasted only a moment before the sensation of his lips pressed upon her own overrode any other thought. How could she feel a kiss in her stomach, shoulders, and knees? She could not explain the encompassment, but she didn’t need to explain it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself. Everything faded but the sweetness of that paramount sensation . . . until Mathew was suddenly pulled away.

  Bianca opened her eyes, blinked, and then reality descended in the same moment that Mathew went flying backward.

  Women screamed—herself included—and guests scrambled out of the way. Two men took Lord Strapshire by the shoulders to hold him back when he lunged forward. Bianca turned to Mathew, who had rolled to his knees, the end of his coat flipped up to his shoulders. She took one step toward him before a familiar, viselike grip surrounded her arm and yanked her in the other direction. She stumbled after Mama, but looked back toward Mathew. Someone was helping him to his feet, and she saw a crimson stain on his shirtfront.

  “He’s hurt,” she said, trying to pull toward him.

  “As he deserves!” Mama was fairly crushing Bianca’s arm as she continued to pull her through the tittering crowd. They exited the ballroom and continued down the hall before they reached a closed door. Mama opened it and pushed Bianca into the room, causing her to barely keep her balance until she caught herself on a desk. Her head was spinning. She turned to face her mother, who immediately slapped her hard across the face. Bianca yelped as stars popped before her eyes. She stared in shock at her mother as tears began to rise. She could not find a single word to say.

  “How dare you allow yourself to be treated like a common tramp!”

  “Mama!” Bianca said, even more shocked by the words than she’d been by the attack. She took a step to the side of the desk, attempting to put a barrier between them. She had seen her mother angry before, but never like this. More tears came to her eyes, but she tried to blink them away.

  Mama paused and then her face fell as she seemed to realize what she’d done. “I am sorry,” she said quickly, her breathing coming fast. She moved toward Bianca, who cowered from her. “I did not mean . . .” She paused for a deep breath. She spoke with forced calm “Have you any idea what such a display says of you? Of your family?”

  “I did not invite . . .” Bianca’s words trailed off. Hadn’t she invited that kiss? She had known Mathew was going to kiss her a moment before he’d done so; she’d even raised her hands to push him away. But she hadn’t pushed him away. In fact, she had parted her lips when he beckoned her to do so as though their movements were part of some other dance designed only for them. She had tasted the sweetness of his kiss, and she had wanted more. Even now, amid the shock and horror of the last few moments, she could feel the warmth of his kiss upon her lips.

  “You are a selfish girl!” Mama said as she began to pace and wring her hands. “Oh, what shall we do now? How shall we overcome this disgrace? What will Lord Strapshire think?”

  Hearing his name—the impetus of this entire affair—brought Bianca back to herself. “I do not care what Lord Strapshire thinks.”

  Mama took a quick step toward Bianca, but when Bianca pulled back—afraid she would be struck again—Mama stopped. “How can you say that?” she said in almost a whisper, as though the very furniture in the room would object to any disparaging comment made about the baron.

  “I can say it because I do not want his attention,” Bianca said. “As I have tried to tell you many times. It is you who wants him for me.”

  “Because I am your mother, and I know what is best for you.”

  “Like Miss Crawford’s school was the best for me?” Bianca spat. “Beatings and starvation for months on end?”

  Mama pulled back, her face pale. “I did all I could to remedy that.”

  “Yes, and I am glad for it, but it does not change the months of torment I received at Miss Crawford’s hand—torment that you initially ignored—and it does not change that you are forcing me upon a man I do not want.”

  Mama looked slightly frantic and somewhat confused.

  Bianca took full advantage of what seemed to be the early signs of her mother’s capitulation and pushed forward.

  “I do not want him and I will not have him, Mama. Moreover, I believe Lord Strapshire does not truly want me, but only a pretty girl who would look good on his arm. If it means running away, as I threatened to do when you would not listen to me the last time, I will do it. I tried to put Lord Strapshire off politely, and it did not work. I even tried to put him off impolitely, and it did not work. I asked you to help me, and you refused. I had no other choice.”

  “With a kiss in the middle of the dance floor?”

  Bianca knew, too late, that she had said too much, and she felt her own face pale as Mama’s eyes narrowed. Bianca wiped at her increasing tears in frustration. She did not want to lose control, and yet hadn’t she already? Everything had gone so wrong.

  “What has Mr. Hensley to do with this?” Mama continued. “Is there some kind of arrangement between you?”

  Bianca did not know what to say. It was a closer guess than she could ever have imagined and she had no ready answer.

  “What have you offered him in return for his attentions? How far have you demeaned yourself?”

  Bianca still did not speak, overwhelmed and horrified at this turn in the conversation.

  Mama continued to glare at her. When she began advancing again, Bianca stepped fully behind the desk. Would Mama strike out again? Should Bianca defend herself? How had this happened?

  Mama stopped across the desk, staring hard.

  “I’m sor
ry,” Bianca squeaked. “I am so sorry.”

  “What is your arrangement with Mr. Hensley?”

  Bianca scrambled for as much truth as she dared to say. “Only that he would help me throw off Lord Strapshire’s attention.” As she spoke, she felt her stomach fall to her toes. She was betraying Mathew with this confession, and yet it had all been her idea. What would come of it? What else could she do?

  “Why?”

  “Because I do not want him,” Bianca said again. She dared to meet her mother’s eyes. “I do not want to marry Lord Strapshire.”

  “I mean, why is Mr. Hensley helping you?”

  The creak of a door hinge behind her proved to be Bianca’s salvation and came not a moment too soon.

  “Might I be of assistance, madam?” a footman asked, though his expression did not reflect the calmness of his words.

  The entire ballroom must be in chaos right now, and the embarrassment of having been the cause for such a thing burned hot. All of her life Bianca had been known as a girl with good manners and grace. She was not the type to be central to scandal.

  Mama turned toward the door, flustered by the interruption. “Yes. You can have the Davidson carriage readied at once.”

  “Very good, madam.” He ducked out of the room as quickly as he had entered.

  Mama turned back to her. “Why is Mr. Hensley helping you throw off Lord Strapshire?”

  Bianca said nothing. She could not tell Mama about the Incident and the lingering debt it had created. She had not saved Mathew from abject humiliation only to use it for her own defense when the time was right. Even if her mother struck her again she would not tell. She had already said too much.

  “Has Mr. Hensley made you an offer?” Mama leaned forward and placed her hands flat upon the desktop. Her tone had a note of hope in it. As though Mathew could be the key to saving the disgrace he himself had caused. Bianca could fairly hear her mother’s scheming thoughts—if the display on the dance floor could be explained as a passionate act of an intended husband . . .