by Diane Gaston
‘Lord and Lady Piermont,’ the butler announced.
Xavier’s parents.
When they were introduced to Rhys, they reacted with pleasure.
‘But we know Rhys!’ Lady Piermont exclaimed. ‘He is like one of our own.’
Lord Piermont pumped Rhys’s hand. ‘Good to see you here, my boy.’ He looked around to anyone who was in earshot. ‘This man saved our son’s life on the battlefield.’
‘Good to see you both.’ He bowed to Lady Piermont. ‘Ma’am. Your son is here. He is about somewhere.’
‘Is he?’ She immediately began scouring the room. ‘Oh, do let us find him straight away.’
They quickly moved through the rest of the receiving line and hurried off in search of their son. Xavier was fortunate in his parents, Rhys had always thought.
More names began to blur as other guests arrived. Suddenly Ned seized Rhys’s arm. ‘She is here!’
‘Who?’ he asked.
But Ned leaned across him to speak to his parents. ‘She is here. The young lady I told you about.’
Lady Westleigh looked interested. Lord Westleigh looked as bored as Rhys felt.
‘Lady Gale. The Dowager Lady Gale. Miss Gale,’ the butler announced.
‘She looks like an angel,’ Ned murmured.
Rhys glanced over and froze.
The first woman approaching the reception line stopped suddenly. She was not looking at Rhys, but at Lord Westleigh. Shock and dismay filled her expression.
He glanced at Westleigh, who showed not the slightest sign of recognition.
Lady Gale greeted Lady Westleigh cordially. She moved on to Westleigh, who appeared as uninterested as she was cold.
Westleigh gave his desultory introduction. ‘May I present my natural son, Mr Rhysdale.’
She turned to him.
‘Rhys,’ she mouthed.
Rhys took her hand and applied more pressure than would have been polite. ‘Lady Gale.’
She fixed her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his neckcloth. ‘Mr Rhysdale.’
‘Hurry up, Celia,’ the older woman with her snapped. ‘You are blocking everyone.’
The older woman passed by Rhys without a word, as she did Ned and his brother and sister. Ned had already left the line to go directly to the young woman announced as Miss Gale. She was already speaking to Lady Westleigh.
‘Mama. Papa,’ Ned said. ‘May I present Miss Gale to you. You have heard me speak of her, I am sure—’
While they spoke with Miss Gale, Rhys turned back to Celia. She met his glance, but there was no pleasure on her face. She, instead, looked horrified.
His attention was called back to Miss Gale, as Ned presented him to the young lady. Her attention to the family, including to Rhys, was more pointed than any other person going through the line.
Once the young woman had finished exuding her pleasure at meeting Phillipa and moved away from the line, Ned said to none of them in particular, ‘There is the lady I wish to marry.’
Who was she to Celia? A stepdaughter? A sister-in-law?
A few minutes later a Lord Gale went through the line.
Celia’s husband? Had she lied to him?
As the man offered Rhys a limp hand, Rhys said, ‘Your family precedes you. They went through the line a few minutes ago.’
Lord Gale did not look him in the eye. ‘My cousins?’ he said. ‘Yes, they would be here, would they not?’ He shot a scathing glance towards Ned, who was too happy to notice.
Rhys was relieved.
One thing was for certain. As soon as this receiving line was finished, he would speak to Lady Gale.
* * *
Celia pressed her hand against her stomach. It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. Twice. She could not even think about Rhys at the moment.
She stopped her mother-in-law. ‘Lady Gale, did you know that Neddington was Lord Westleigh’s son?’
‘Certainly.’ Lady Gale sniffed. ‘Everyone knows that.’
Everyone except Celia, of course. She’d merely accepted the young man’s title without thinking what title his father carried.
She was never meant for London. In that her husband had been entirely correct.
Adele caught up with them. ‘I hope they liked me. Do you think they liked me, Celia?’
‘I think they liked you,’ Celia answered by rote.
‘The natural brother seemed respectable enough, did he not?’ Adele went on.
Rhys had looked incredibly handsome in his formal clothes. Pristine white breeches and linen. Impeccably tailored coat. How she’d missed seeing him as soon as she was in the doorway was a mystery. Except she’d caught sight of Westleigh and could see no one else.
They were all connected. Adele. Westleigh. Rhys.
‘And I adored Phillipa.’ Adele was oblivious to Celia’s distress. ‘I thought her scar was not very evident at all.’
Goodness. Celia had not even noticed.
Lady Gale ignored Celia completely and latched on to one of her cronies. Adele begged to join her friends, obviously eager to pour over each minute detail of her introduction to Ned’s family. Celia retreated to the wall. At least her malaise had left her, but now her stomach ached with a different sort of pain.
She glanced back to Rhys at the same moment his eyes found her. Her skin heated and she could feel the tension that fairly raced across the room between them. Matters had changed between them.
Xavier Campion crossed in front of her. She held her breath. He paused for a moment and his eyes widened ever so slightly.
He bowed and walked on.
Her heart pounded. Had he recognised her? He had never seen her without her mask, but she would wager his had been a look of recognition.
Finally the reception line broke up. Ned made immediately for Adele.
And Rhys came directly to her.
‘Lady Gale.’ His eyes seemed to bore into her.
‘Rhys.’
The music started and Lady Westleigh announced the first dance, taking Lord Westleigh as her partner.
Celia could not even look at Westleigh. It was difficult enough to disguise her abhorrence of him beneath her mask at the gaming house—how was she to do so as a possible family connection? How could she bear being around any of them, knowing he was behind them in the shadows?
How could she again be with Rhys, knowing Westleigh was his father?
‘You never told me Westleigh was your father,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You knew what he did to my father.’
‘You never told me you were Lady Gale.’ He gazed out to the dance floor as if engrossed in the couples forming for the dance. ‘I did warn you about Westleigh.’
She smiled as if they were merely passing pleasantries. ‘You acted as if you disdained Westleigh. That does not fit with this family camaraderie.’
He turned to her. In spite of herself her breath caught at how handsome he looked. ‘You make an excellent point and I agree with you. I do disdain Westleigh, but I cannot explain here and now why his bastard is suddenly introduced as a son.’ He extended his hand. ‘Would you do me the honour of this dance? I suspect these people think me deficient in all the social graces.’
‘I usually do not dance,’ she said.
He held his hand in place. ‘Help me, Celia.’
She glanced into his eyes and put her hand in his.
They joined the line and faced each other.
The music began—‘Miss Moore’s Rant,’ a country dance.
Rhys and the other gentlemen bowed to the ladies, who curtsied in return. Then they joined right hands, forming a star with the couple next to them and turning. They completed the figures, changing sides and moving one place down the line.
When she’d been a mere spectator to this dance, Celia appreciated the symmetry. The dancing couples moved like petals falling from a flower.
Inside the dance was an entirely different experience. She was aware only of Rhys. How he turned. How effortl
essly he moved. How he gazed at her when the figures brought them together again. He did not look as if he gave any of the steps a single thought, but performed them as if it were as natural as walking down a country path.
His lovemaking was like that, she realised. Confident, natural and so very excellently done. Her senses came alive at the memory of it. When their hands touched, even gloved, she could feel his bare fingers on her flesh. When his gaze caught hers, she remembered how his eyes darkened at the height of their passion.
They reached the bottom of the set and had to stand out one sequence. Celia’s body still felt alive to him. She fanned herself with her hand. It was too bizarre to feel so aroused by him after learning who he was, whose blood flowed through his veins.
She glanced away from him.
To her surprise she glimpsed Xavier dancing with Lady Phillipa. Adele, of course, was Neddington’s partner and looked the very picture of delight. How could Celia spoil that for the girl even though it now connected Adele to Westleigh?
Lord Westleigh also danced, but she turned cold at the sight of him.
Rhys leaned towards her. ‘Do not allow him to dampen your enjoyment.’
It was time for them to move up the line.
Any further pleasure she might feel from dancing with Rhys was spoiled by glimpsing Westleigh, who was like mould spreading through a bowl of fruit, spoiling everything she loved.
The dance moved her apart from Rhys.
When they came together again, he said, ‘Is Miss Gale your sister-in-law?’
It was the sort of question a dance partner might ask to further an acquaintance, but everything they said to each other was now replete with hidden meaning and more questions. ‘She is my stepdaughter.’
The dance ended and the couples scattered off the floor.
Rhys escorted her back to where they had been standing. He bowed to her. ‘There is much more to say, is there not? You will come to the gaming house later?’
Before she could answer, Hugh Westleigh, whom she had so briefly met in the receiving line, approached them.
‘Lady Gale.’ He bowed perfunctorily to Celia before turning to Rhys. ‘Father wants you in the card room. Apparently several gentlemen are eager to have you play.’
Celia recognised Hugh as another frequent visitor to Rhys’s gaming house. The family certainly supported Rhys’s enterprise, did they not? At least the family connection explained why Neddington attended the gaming house even though he did not gamble.
Rhys nodded and turned to Celia. ‘Thank you again, Lady Gale.’
* * *
Rhys followed Hugh through the dancers gathering for the next set. They walked out of the ballroom.
Hugh turned to him. ‘Smart of you to dance.’
‘Was it?’
Hugh was probably surprised he knew the steps.
‘And to ask Lady Gale,’ Hugh added as they walked back to the hallway.
‘Oh?’ Rhys had been certain asking Celia had been unwise. ‘And why is that?’
‘Surely you noticed Ned is besotted with her stepdaughter.’ Hugh spoke with sarcasm. ‘Lady Gale would certainly not want to offend the family by refusing you.’
Rhys took hold of Hugh’s arm and pulled Hugh back to face him. ‘I am accustomed to your insults, Hugh, but Lady Gale does not deserve them.’
He expected Hugh to flare up in anger. Hugh’s face turned red, but he averted his gaze. ‘By God. I did not realise...’ He looked back to Rhys. ‘Accept my apology, Rhys. You behaved decently.’
Rhys could not help but smile. ‘Almost like a gentleman, I suppose?’
Hugh’s mouth twitched as if he’d contemplated smiling. ‘Precisely like a gentleman.’
‘Did you think I meant to embarrass all of you?’ Rhys asked.
Hugh faced him. ‘That is exactly what I thought.’
‘Then you do not know me.’ Rhys released him.
‘None of us know you, do we?’ Hugh responded in a low voice.
* * *
Rhys did not see Celia again until the night grew late. Half the gentlemen at the ball were frequent patrons of the Masquerade Club and were eager to engage its proprietor in play.
The aristocracy foxed him. Ned and Hugh were certain they would be ruined if the ton knew they owned a gaming hell, but he, their bastard brother, somehow earned cachet for the role.
Although he’d bet none of these gentlemen would want him to marry their daughters.
As if a gambler should marry at all.
He returned to the ballroom and immediately found Celia. She stood against the wall near her mother-in-law who was chatting to another lady. He watched her.
He’d never guessed that she belonged to the world he scorned, the world he wanted to join merely so he could turn away from it.
Xavier came to stand beside him. ‘Did you win?’
‘Enough to impress.’ He had learned long ago the benefits of not winning every hand. ‘I want them to come back to the gaming house.’
‘Wise man.’
‘How have you been occupying yourself while I was in the card room?’ Rhys asked.
Xavier shrugged. ‘Dancing, of course.’
‘Careful,’ Rhys warned. ‘These young ladies will think you are looking for a wife.’
Xavier looked completely serious. ‘Perhaps I am.’
Rhys was taken aback. ‘Are you serious?’
He shrugged. ‘I am merely humouring my parents, who would so like to see me settled.’
Rhys said, ‘They were more than gracious to me, as they always are.’
Xavier nodded. ‘They are excellent parents, I would say.’ Which made it all the more mysterious to Rhys why Xavier rarely saw them and rarely attended events that would include him in their circle. Xavier had come to this ball at Rhys’s request, not his parents’.
Xavier glanced around the room. ‘It has been a much more interesting ball than I had imagined, has it not?’
Rhys’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is your meaning?’
Xavier gave him an intent look. ‘I recognise her, Rhys.’
Xavier knew? Had any others recognised her?
A waltz was announced.
Xavier cocked his head. ‘I am engaged for this dance.’
He walked quickly away to where Lady Phillipa stood alone.
Rhys hesitated only a moment more before striding directly to Celia.
He bowed to her. ‘Another set, Lady Gale?’
She hesitated and her mother-in-law’s face flushed with disapproval.
She suddenly said, ‘I’d be delighted, sir.’
He took her by the hand and together they joined the circle of couples forming for the dance. The music began and, facing each other, Rhys bowed and Celia curtsied.
Rhys put his hands on her waist and Celia rested hers on his shoulders. He remembered their first lovemaking when she’d rested her hands in just this way. Their gazes caught and he swirled her into the dance.
No wonder many thought this dance scandalous. The intimacy of moving as one, touching with hands and eyes, left the illusion of being alone on the dance floor, even as the circle of dancers rotated like a wheel.
He was reminded of their lovemaking, of watching her face as pleasure built inside her, her skin flushing, her lips parting. He wished they were this moment in his bed rather than in this ballroom. He did not know how a respectable widow justified an affair with the proprietor of a gaming hell. The secrecy enabled it, he suspected.
They did not speak during the dance; nor did they change position, even though there were several different holds that could be used in the waltz. Rhys saw only Celia. At the same time he fancied he was losing her, that this was their goodbye.
He wanted to hold her tighter, closer, and never release her.
But the music concluded and he blinked as if waking from sleep.
He reluctantly released her. ‘Come to me tonight.’
She stepped back. ‘I—I do not know.’
He stiffened. Perhaps he’d been correct about the goodbye. ‘We need to talk...about who you are, who I am. Will you come?’
She averted her gaze. ‘Yes.’
He walked her back to where her mother-in-law stood. ‘I bid you goodnight, then.’ He leaned to her ear and whispered. ‘Until later.’
Chapter Eleven
When Celia walked in to the game room that night, Rhys caught Xavier. ‘Watch the room, will you?’
Xavier, for once, did not lecture. He merely nodded.
Celia had transformed herself from the very proper aristocratic widow to the slightly scandalous, mysterious and masked Madame Fortune. Not only by her costume, its deep red more theatrical than the pale green gown she wore to the ball, but by the way she carried herself with a seductive confidence. At the ball she made herself fade into the background, unnoticed apparently, although to him, there had been no other women present.
It was like that in the gaming house, as well. Other women attended, some masked, some not, and he was not blind to the fact that some left with gentlemen patrons. For Rhys, though, Celia was the only one worth a second glance.
He moved through the game room to where she was chatting with other gamblers. Her gaze flicked to him and back to the others.
He touched her arm. ‘Madame? May I have a moment of your time?’
She stiffened. ‘Certainly.’
He escorted her out of the game room and together they climbed the servants’ stairs to his private drawing room.
He closed the door behind them.
She pulled off mask, no longer looking like Madame Fortune or the Lady Gale of the ballroom, but a woman ready to fend off an attack. ‘It is good you approached me. Better we discuss this right away. Do we start with who you are or who I am?’
‘I think it more to the purpose to talk of who you are.’ He lifted a decanter. ‘Some port?’
‘Please,’ she responded.
He poured them each a glass.
She took the glass of port and he noticed her hand trembled. ‘Why is it more to the purpose to discuss who I am? Why is that more important than discovering that my lover is Westleigh’s natural son and my stepdaughter is being courted by his heir?’
He took a gulp of his drink and set down his glass. ‘Because it makes your being here more of a risk.’ He moved closer to her and grasped her arms. ‘Xavier recognised you. What if others do, too? Your reputation—’
