by Louise Allen
‘No need.’ Eden laid his own hand over hers, then raised it to his lips. ‘I can rely upon your discretion?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Hurst, I am very, very, discreet.’
Trollop, Maude thought, torn between admiration for Eden’s technique and indignation at Lady Lucas.
‘If you promise not to tell a soul—’ Maude strained to hear his lowered voice ‘—there is going to be a very interesting event at the Unicorn in a few weeks, and I can make certain that you have the very best box.’
‘A private box?’ Lady Lucas managed to imbue the phrase with overtones of delicious impropriety.
‘Oh, yes,’ Eden purred, ‘Very private.’
‘Two hundred guineas.’ Maude started, then realised that leaving Mr Worthington to brood on her words appeared to have done the trick. ‘Here you are, my dear, a note for my bankers.’ He pressed the paper into her hand. ‘No, no, do not thank me. Now I must find Lady Smythe, I have promised her a hand of whist.’
As she tucked the note into her reticule, Maude craned to see what was happening with Eden and Lady Lucas, but both dark head and blonde had vanished.
‘What’s the matter?’ Bel asked, appearing at her side. ‘You look as though you’ve lost something.’
‘Eden. I last saw him reducing Lady Lucas to putty with promises of a very private box at the theatrical event. And now they’ve vanished.’
‘And you are wondering if he has been swept off to demonstrate his um…credentials? Don’t worry. See—he is over there, flirting desperately with Mrs Hampton-Wilde. He really is very good at it; look at her, she is positively quivering. He throws himself into it with far more enthusiasm than Ashe does when I nag him into trying to charm money out of ladies, poor dear.’
‘Eden appears to have a natural talent for it,’ Maude said darkly.
‘Jealous?’ Bel smiled wickedly. ‘Never fear, he has not seen you yet; when he does, I am certain he’ll have eyes for no one else. That gown is stunning.’
‘It is rather, isn’t it?’ Maude allowed herself to be distracted into contemplating her gown. It was cut perilously high under the bust, and perilously low above it, modesty being preserved only with a yellow rose at the centre and a thin ruffle of lace. The underskirt of soft white satin was quite unadorned, but the overskirt of almost transparent gauze was finished at the hem with a double row of rosettes, each with a rose at the centre.
‘I love those short sleeves, so intricate.’ Bel studied them. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. But how on earth you are going to stay within the bounds of decency if you dance anything energetic, I have no idea.’
‘It’s very tight, I won’t fall out,’ Maude whispered. ‘And you can hardly criticise.’ Bel was dashing in pomona green with a plunging back and fluttering overskirt with high side-slits.
Bel looked smug. ‘Ashe adores it. He wanted to stay home when he saw it. Oh, look, Mr Hurst is making her blush. Are you going to drift past and see if you can put him off his stroke?’
‘Certainly not,’ Maude said. ‘I am going to see if I can make him jealous. And there’s the very man.’ She let her eyes widen as she caught the gaze of Major Sir Frederick Staines, then dropped them in apparent confusion.
‘Careful,’ Bel warned, ‘he’s the most terrible rake.’
‘I know. Perfect.’ With a laugh, Bel moved on. ‘Oh, good evening, Sir Frederick.’
The major was tall, blond, smoothly good looking and perfect for her purposes.
‘Lady Maude. May I say how very lovely you are looking this evening?’ She dimpled at him. ‘Might I beg the honour of the first waltz? And perhaps something later?’
‘I would be delighted.’ Maude consulted her dance card. ‘The first waltz and the fourth set of country dances, then.’ As she hoped, he stayed by her side, his eyes a little too brazen in their admiration of her neckline. ‘Listen! The orchestra has started.’
The major promptly offered his arm to walk her into the ballroom. With perfect timing they found themselves halted at the doors to the ballroom by a knot of elderly chaperons who were greeting each other loudly right next to Eden, still in attendance on Mrs Hampton-Wilde.
Maude looked up at Sir Frederick, a slight smile on her lips, and was rewarded by him returning the look with one of cheek-warming intensity. ‘Oh, Sir Frederick,’ she said lightly, ‘you quite put me to the blush, you wicked man.’
Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Eden’s head turning, felt the impact of his eyes on her. As she hoped, the major bent over her, murmuring flirtatious nonsense and she laughed, rapping him on the sleeve with her fan in mock reproof.
‘Lady Maude.’
‘Mr Hurst! My goodness, you made me jump. Good evening, Mrs Hampton-Wilde.’ The other woman bowed, her lips pursing in displeasure at the interruption.
‘Might I ask for the honour of a dance?’ Eden asked. Maude smiled and nodded. ‘The first waltz?’
‘I am engaged to Sir Frederick for that set. Perhaps some country dances later?’
‘Might I see?’ Eden reached for her dance card almost before she lifted her hand. Beside her the major stiffened. ‘The supper set and the last one?’ He was writing, E.H., even as she agreed. Perfect. And even better was the way he was looking at Sir Frederick with cold, hard challenge. He did not like to see her with the other man, that was plain, even if he was unaware of just what that implied.
Although, Maude mused, as her hand was claimed by Lord Nashe for the first set, a quadrille, it could simply be that Eden was aware of Sir Frederick’s reputation and would have been wary of his attentions to any young lady he knew.
Still, even if he was not consumed by burning jealousy, it was a good start to the evening and she could not brood upon it any more now—the first of the figures, the Grand Ronde, was underway. Maude smiled at her partner and set herself to follow the complex patterns of the dance.
Eden set one shoulder against a pillar and watched the promenading couples through narrowed eyes. Maude was not, thankfully, dancing with that rake Staines, although she would be, he’d seen the initials on her card. The man wasn’t safe for her to be with; he was a regular visitor to the Unicorn, to be found in the Green Room after a show, propositioning the girls of the chorus or in a box with some companions and two or three bits of muslin.
Was Maude aware of his reputation? And what the hell was she doing here without her father, or a proper chaperon? She was too damn free and easy, that was the trouble…
He listened to his own thoughts and smiled grimly, hardly noticing the expression of alarm on the face of a bold young lady who had been staring at him as she passed. Damn it, he sounded like her guardian, or her elder brother, which was thoroughly hypocritical of him, considering he was encouraging her in unconventional behaviour—dining in her box, walking home through the streets. Kissing in alleyways.
But that was with him. She was safe with him—give or take a kiss. Thoughts of those kisses occupied him through the entire set. It occurred to him that association with Maude Templeton was turning him celibate—in action if not in thought. Which was, Eden mused, odd. He was well aware that his appetites, while well regulated, were more than healthy. So why was he avoiding the usual houses where such things could be discreetly satisfied?
Maude, twirling in the middle of the set, turned her head, laughing in response to something her partner was saying to her, and Eden caught his breath. No, he had not lost interest in sex, he had simply lost interest in any other woman than Maude.
Hell. This was more serious than he had imagined. There was a strange sensation apparently lodged under his breastbone, his normally clear mind was in turmoil—and she, quite obviously, had no ideas in that direction whatsoever. She would hardly been so comfortable alone with him if she had.
Maude knew all there was to know about his parentage, so she must, being very much a member of the ton herself, have no thought at all of any other relationship than the one they had now.
Ed
en conjured up, with no difficulty whatsoever, the feel of her mouth under his, her body against him. It was not that Maude was not responsive when he kissed her, but she was most certainly not abandoned to passion. It was almost as though she was curious. Perhaps that was it; a well-bred young woman had few opportunities to experience passion and she thought he was safe enough to experiment with a little.
Painfully, an entire new set of emotions were being born—possessive, protective desire, warm liking, the need to be near her. He had never let himself get close to a woman before and there was no one to ask if these were normal feelings.
He had resolved to simply get used to her being around and that was proving impossible. It was impossible, too, to be unmoved by the sight of Sir Frederick Staines waiting for her as she walked off after the completion of the quadrille. Eden looked at his own card. A waltz. Now he was going to have to stand and watch her revolving in the arms of that man.
Eden glanced to either side and realised he was behind the chairs occupied by a group of wallflowers, half a dozen young women watching with ill-concealed envy as their more fortunate sisters took to the floor. He stepped forward, selected the plainest girl he could see and stopped in front of her.
‘I regret we have not been introduced, but may I have the honour of this dance?’ It was improper on his part, and outrageously fast on hers, but the young woman, sandy haired, befreckled and gawky, jumped to her feet with alacrity.
‘I would love to, sir.’ She could, he realised with considerable relief as they reached the floor, dance. In fact, despite her height and her surprise at being snatched from the sidelines, she moved very gracefully.
‘I am Eden Hurst,’ he said after the first few steps.
‘Angela Hunter. I haven’t been approved to waltz by a Patroness, you know,’ she added, biting her lip.
‘It’s all right, you can simply say I snatched you on to the floor and you were far too well behaved to resist,’ Eden said, sweeping her round a corner. ‘Everyone will blame me, I have a shocking reputation.’
‘Really?’ She grinned. ‘What fun.’
Now that he could see Maude, it was a simple matter to steer his partner so that they were dancing close to her and Staines. He couldn’t hear what the man was saying to her, but at least if he saw any distress on her face he was near enough to intervene.
And then Maude saw him. Her eyes widened, she smiled, then she saw his partner and she frowned. She was puzzled. Good. He fully intended that she should be, it might take her mind off that blond Lothario.
They appeared to be in perfect unison. It was a wonder the swine can concentrate on his steps, Eden thought savagely, because he seems to be fixated on her breasts. And that damn gown, the soft satin moulding her long limbs as she twirled, fleetingly outlining every lovely line.
Miss Hunter was mercifully quiet, content, it seemed to dance in silence. Glancing down, meeting her eyes and smiling, Eden decided he liked the girl. She didn’t deserve to be stuck with no partners, or used by him as a stalking horse. As the set swirled to its end, Maude still happily chatting away to Staines, Eden felt his partner tense in his arms.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Mama,’ she said grimly, nodding towards a tall matron with feathers in her coiffure.
‘Never mind.’ He spotted Jessica, standing talking to Lord Dereham. ‘Come and meet some friends.’ Miss Hunter, looking bemused, allowed herself to be led towards them. ‘Lady Standon, may I introduce Miss Hunter?’ Over the top of the sandy head, he mouthed Find her partners at Jessica.
She picked up the cue and smiled. ‘Do join us, Miss Hunter.’ They strolled off and a few moments later Eden saw Jessica introducing Miss Hunter to a lively group of young men, two of whom seemed to be asking her for a dance.
‘Who were you dancing with?’ He turned to find Maude, charmingly flushed from the exercise.
‘A wallflower,’ he said, controlling his breathing. ‘Nice girl, a Miss Hunter.’
‘Oh, that was kind of you.’ Maude beamed at him. ‘So many men just ignore the poor things and the more they are ignored, the worse it gets.’
It was tempting to bask in her approval. ‘Kindness did not come into it,’ Eden said, some evil genius prompting him to honesty. ‘I wanted to keep an eye on Staines and I had no partner. He is not someone you should be associating with.’
‘Indeed?’ Maude’s chin went up. ‘I like him. He is charming, good looking and an excellent dancer.’
‘He’s a rake and a libertine.’
‘You exaggerate. He’s a shocking flirt, that is all,’ she said haughtily. ‘And I am well able to take care of myself, thank you.’
‘He propositions the chorus girls and he brings birds of paradise into his box at the theatre,’ Eden snapped.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Maude assumed an expression of exaggerated shock. ‘How dreadful! I am sure you have never so much as spoken to one of the muslin company yourself—have you, Mr Hurst?’
‘I—damn it, Maude I’m only—’
‘Interfering?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘Really, Eden, anyone would think you were jealous. Ah, there’s my partner for the next set. Do excuse me—and please, do carry on your good work amongst the wallflowers. I am sure they will be most grateful.’
Jealous? Eden stood staring after her as she walked towards the young gentleman who had come to claim her hand, the skirts of her exquisite gown swishing slightly with the sway of her walk. Jealous? He certainly felt possessive, and foolishly hurt and—But if he was jealous, that had to mean that this was more than desire, more than friendship. That strange new sensation was making his chest tight again.
He turned his back on the dance floor and walked out, along a passageway, through the doors at the end and on to the cold deserted terrace. Was he developing a tendre for Maude? No. No, he could not be doing anything so foolish. He had no idea how. He might as well wish for the moon.
Chapter Fifteen
Well, that was either a big step forward, or a total disaster, Maude thought, joining hands across and promenading down the set. She had certainly succeeded in making Eden embarrassed and angry, but whether he was jealous, and if he was, what he would do about it, she had no idea. He seemed to have vanished from the ballroom.
By the end of the country dances, and the set that followed them, there was still no sign of him and the next set was the supper dance, the first he had put his name to on her card. Some of Papa’s choicer expressions ran through Maude’s mind. Well, she had plenty of married friends she could join for supper, but as for this set, she may as well go and sit with the wallflowers.
‘Lady Maude?’ She let the pent-up breath sigh out of her before she turned around. Eden was unsmiling, but at least he was there. ‘Our dance, I believe?’ He bowed.
‘Sir.’ Maude dropped an entirely proper curtsy and held out her hand. ‘You are freezing!’ Even through the fine kid of her white gloves, she could feel it.
‘I apologise.’ He placed the other hand at her waist, lightly, as if he did not want to press the chilly palm against her. She had forgotten this was a waltz. ‘I was out on the terrace.’
‘Why?’ They began to move in unison with the other couples close around them. ‘It is so cold tonight, foggy.’
‘I was recovering my temper,’ Eden said, his tone conversational.
Maude studied the diamond pin in his cravat. ‘Oh?’ She did not want to bicker, she wanted to be quiet, in his arms, moving to this loving, lilting music.
‘I have never been accused of jealousy before,’ he continued, spinning her so that their thighs touched momentarily and her swirling skirts flew around his legs and then away, like seaweed caught by a wave.
‘No?’ It was a very beautiful diamond. And she could smell him, his cologne, the scent of clean linen, cold skin, hot man. She shifted her gaze upwards, as far as it felt safe. Up to his chin, close shaven, up to his mouth. A mistake. It was too sensual, too masculine, too tempting. ‘I am sorry,’ she
ventured. ‘I was mistaken, of course. Why should you be jealous? I just wanted to hit back because you were criticising me.’
Those tempting lips curved—almost a smile. ‘You were not mistaken, Maude.’
‘I was not?’ She looked up, startled. Eden was definitely smiling now, more than a little ruefully.
‘No. I am jealous, but, of course, I have no right to be.’
‘I…I do not mind, if you are,’ Maude ventured.
Eden looked down at her, the smile fading, his eyes fathomless. Somehow they were still dancing, had not collided with anyone; somehow he must be concentrating, which was more than she was capable of.
His lips moved. ‘Oh God, Maude.’ Was that really what he had said? He sounded desperate. Her heart thudding against her ribs, Maude held her breath. Eden tightened his hold and swept her round, across the flow of the dancers and then off the floor and through the door at the end of the room.
‘Eden?’ They were in a deserted passageway. Without responding he lifted a branch of candles from a side table, took her arm, guided her along the passage and out into the cold, foggy night air. She shivered as he released her to cup his hand around the wildly guttering flames.
‘It is warm in here.’ He flung open one of the glazed doors that opened on to the terrace and stepped through. Maude followed and found herself in a small sitting room. Eden dropped the latch on the terrace door, dragged the draperies closed and then strode across the room to turn the key in the door.
‘Eden?’ He was walking around the room, setting the candle flame to the others on mantelshelf and side tables.
‘We need to talk.’ He came to stand in front of her, frowning.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. He looked so grim, but then Eden rarely smiled.
‘My feelings for you have become—’ He broke off, searching for a word. ‘Inappropriate.’
‘How?’ Maude managed to say.
‘I desire you.’ He said it as if he was admitting to murder or fraud.
‘And I, you,’ she confessed. ‘I do not find that at all inappropriate.’
