“I’ll be counting the moments.” And dreading every one.
Thankfully, she turned away to leave him. He breathed a sigh of relief, but she turned back with one last smile and whispered over her fan.
“Who gave her that scarab? She’s flirting with him right under your nose.”
“YOUR FRIEND MISS BRADLEY SEEMS TO BE ENJOYING herself tonight,” Ferrel Chesterton said as he led them through the first series of dance steps.
“I believe she is. Mr. Markland is being most attentive to her.”
“Yes, he is.”
“She was most eager to see him here tonight.”
“I did not realize he and Miss Bradley were acquainted.”
“Oh, they weren’t before tonight. But after I told her how Mr. Markland rescued me today, she became quite enthralled with the man. They make a lovely couple, don’t they?”
“I’m hardly an expert on the topic.”
“Well I am, and I believe they look lovely. See? She’s glancing over here now to make certain I’ve noticed how he smiles at her.”
“He’s got a bit of a lopsided smile, don’t you think?”
“He’s perfectly symmetrical and quite dashing, actually. At least, it would appear Miss Bradley thinks him so. Watch how she lays her hand on his arm.”
“Perhaps she is trying to push him away. He does seem to be looming over her excessively.”
“He’s being attentive.”
“Yes, so you mentioned.”
“And they look lovely together.”
He didn’t reply instantly. Instead, he seemed to be studying them to consider Penelope’s declaration. She knew, of course, there was no way he could contradict her. Maria did look lovely, and her tall, elegant form was the perfect complement to Mr. Markland’s manly appearance. Indeed, Aunt Clara would change her mind about leaving London quite directly.
“They are lovely together,” she repeated.
“I will defer to your wisdom in this matter, Miss Rastmoor,” Mr. Chesterton said at last. “After all, of every lady here it is very clear you are, indeed, the foremost authority on loveliness.”
“How you flatter, Mr. Chesterton!”
“By no means! I speak only the truth.”
“Well, I would never wish to call any man a liar, sir. So I suppose I have no choice but to graciously accept your kind, if unmerited, praise.”
“Excellent. Then I will not only praise your appearance, but your graciousness, too.”
“Heavens, but I’m to become a bit full of myself if I linger in your presence much longer!”
“You’ve little choice, I fear. Once you marry my cousin, you will be doomed to hear and accept my praises whenever our family gathers for special occasions. Let George Markland try to come up with that many sweet tenders to say about his partner.”
“There are a great many sweet things to be said for Miss Bradley,” she assured him, “though it hardly matters that you see them. Mr. Markland seems to have noticed, and that is all that matters right now.”
“So it would appear.”
“Yes, so it does. I’m quite encouraged for my friend.”
“Indeed, Mr. Markland has much to recommend him, I suppose.”
“Does he? Other than rescuing me and being decidedly not a favorite of my dear fiancé, I must admit I don’t actually know much about the man.”
“And Miss Bradley knows even less.”
“True,” she acknowledged. “But you are his friend. What do you know about him?”
“I know that he has an annoying way of making otherwise perfectly sensible ladies swoon like idiots in his presence.”
“So he is quite the Casanova, is he?”
“No, he’s nothing like that, Miss Rastmoor.”
It almost seemed to pain the man to admit his friend was not a scoundrel.
“He is quite preoccupied with propriety and a gentleman’s duty, and all that,” the man continued. “His fortune is large, you see, and his grandfather is some haughty duke. He takes his position as a member of that family very seriously and would never dream of dirtying himself or his family name with anything so low as even a hint of scandal.”
“Mr. Markland is heir to a duke?”
Well, this was far more than she could have ever expected for her friend. Heavens, but Maria had attracted such a man? Penelope had known she’d done well in helping re-dress her dear friend, but she’d not realized she might do this well. A duke!
“No, he is not heir to a dukedom. Not the title, anyway. The old duke is his maternal grandfather. Markland simply carries the family name since his grandfather raised him after his mother’s death.”
“But what of his father?”
“No one of significance, apparently. Markland never mentions him. Oh, I’m convinced that the man is a gentleman and that his parents were properly wed, but once his mother died, it seems the father had little use for a toddling son. He left him with the duke, so Markland’s loyalty is to that family. Be assured, he is determined never to disgrace them by marrying beneath himself as his mother did.”
“Ah, I see. Was that a subtle warning, sir? You fear my good friend is overreaching herself?”
“Your friend is attractive and gently bred. She cannot be faulted for reaching as high as she might.”
“Well said, sir. I see I have convinced you of both her good breeding and her numerous fine attributes.”
“Indeed, Miss Rastmoor. I will concede to being convinced on both counts.”
“Then I have accomplished my goal and must immediately begin putting my efforts to another task. Let’s see…what of you, Mr. Chesterton? Clearly you are not as duty bound as your friend.”
“I may not have the fortune of Markland, but I assure you I am every bit as duty bound. More so, in fact.”
He tried to laugh as if she amused him, but she found the sound not nearly as appealing as it ought to have been. True, Mr. Chesterton had the good sense to acknowledge Maria’s high value, but he lacked the grace to entertain with his light conversation for more than minutes at a time. She was quite convinced her first impression of the man still held firm. He had been in the presence of an actress, he’d initially approached her overboldly, and he was even now darting his eyes around the room rather than focusing on her. Not to mention the fact that clearly he had never interceded with his father on Lord Harry’s behalf. Indeed, this Mr. Chesterton was not nearly so fine a gentleman as his friend Markland. No, not even so fine as Lord Harry, and that was saying quite a lot, considering the first impression she’d had of that man.
Oddly enough, she could not deny it. She truly preferred Lord Harry’s company to that of either of her other partners tonight. She’d much rather be dancing with Lord Harry than with his well-dressed young cousin, here, or even with the elegant Mr. Markland. With luck the set would end quickly and she could return to her faux fiancé. Where was he, anyhow?
She ignored the small talk Mr. Chesterton was attempting and let her eyes scan the room for a moment. At last she found him. Lord Harry was very near where she’d left him, tucked into a corner with…with a female!
Drat the man. He was right here in this very crowded room, ignoring his dear fiancée while he cloistered himself for a tête-à-tête with some woman! Who was it? She craned to see.
Ah, Lady Burlington. Well, perhaps she should take relief in that. Surely the woman was simply being a polite hostess and personally greeting her guests. Very personally, it appeared. She was practically hanging on the man. For his part, Lord Harry appeared nothing short of enthralled with her conversation. Why, was he complimenting her on her jewelry? Indeed, it appeared he was.
The man was flattering her! And Lady Burlington gobbled it up, fluttering her fan and leaning toward him, whispering something into his ear. Lord Harry nodded, agreeing to whatever the woman suggested. He was flirting with her!
Ooo, this burned. How dare the man behave this way! First it was dallying with a household servant, and now it
was flirting with a married woman in her own home! What was he thinking in that dratted, handsome head of his?
Of course he most likely wasn’t thinking with his head at all. Clearly Lord Harry was ruled by other body parts. That blackguard. This was simply too much. She would not let him continue this way, not while he was supposed to be her fiancé.
She fairly stomped her way through the rest of the dance. Mr. Chesterton droned on about nothing in particular, and it was more than a relief when at last it all ended and she could let the man lead her back to Lord Harry. If Lord Harry might be kind enough to rip his attention from Lady Burlington and give at least some semblance of interest toward her.
If the poor man had difficulty with that, she’d be happy to rip something for him.
But Lady Burlington was gone by the time they reached Lord Harry. He smiled pleasantly as if nothing at all untoward had happened in her absence. Very well, she could play along. At least until she had her faithful fiancé alone.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourselves,” he said as innocently as a babe.
“Mr. Chesterton is delightful company,” she said, wasting a glowing smile on the man who had, actually, been rather dull once they’d exhausted the topic of Maria. “But now I’m quite fatigued, I fear.”
Lord Harry became all concern and consideration. “Perhaps I should fetch you something to drink, Miss Rastmoor?”
“Yes, and fresh air, I believe. Let us go into the other room, if you don’t mind.”
Lord Harry gladly accepted her hand as she left Mr. Chesterton’s side and moved to his. She would have loved to trample his foot along the way, but decided not to. No sense alerting his cousin to the fact that all was not sunshine and happiness between them.
Mr. Chesterton was at least perceptive enough not to invite himself to join them. He wisely thanked Penelope for the dance, complimented her abilities again, then took himself off to the side. As she and Lord Harry moved away, she found her former partner had already forgotten about her and was back to solemnly searching the crowd. Perhaps all the talk of Markland’s good luck at securing Maria’s attentions so easily had inspired him to hunt for his own admirer. He’d have to settle for someone less remarkable than Maria, of course, but at least the man was likely to find a more respectable companion here than that actress he’d been with.
For now, it was time to deal with her fiancé.
“LEMONADE, MY DEAR?” HARRIS ASKED WHEN HE LED Miss Rastmoor to a rather lonely corner of the dining room.
He handed her the glass he’d picked up along the way. She eyed it dubiously, but took it and sipped. Yes, she probably had gotten rather parched with all the exertion from batting her eyelashes and smiling so sweetly for Ferrel. Damn, but didn’t she realize people were watching?
What was society to think if she went around acting as if she were still the same unengaged little flirt she’d always been? He thought the whole idea had been to convince the world they were ragingly eager to wed. How else was she going to trick her poor brother into meeting whatever silly demands she had?
“You know,” she said slowly, “this whole plan of ours is only going to work if we convince everyone around us that we are quite content as a couple.”
“Indeed. But after your display with my cousin tonight, I should expect the only way to do that would be for me to call him out.”
“What? My display tonight? I danced one simple country dance with the man.”
“You flitted about him as if he were the only man in the building. And what were you discussing that had you smiling as if you were made of sugar?”
“We were talking about…well, it is really none of your business what we were talking about. You should be telling me what you were about slinking off into corners with Lady Burlington.”
“I did not slink anywhere with anyone.”
“I saw you huddled there, fawning over her, giving flattery and devious glances.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. I spoke a few words to the lady, yes, but there was no slinking and certainly no fawning.”
Devious glances, perhaps, but he was determined to deny all.
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Your eyes were too busy gazing in worship at every other man in the room, including my scrawny cousin.”
“Oh honestly. Mr. Chesterton is nothing at all like scrawny.”
“Sizing him up, were you?”
“At least I wasn’t remarking on items of his apparel as you were doing with Lady Burlington.”
“She is a vain, arrogant matron who waves her apparel in front of everyone demanding their praise. You honestly worry that the casual onlooker would believe I might find myself favoring the likes of her over you?”
“Well, you did seem rather cozy.”
“I assure you,” he said, exasperated with her accusations and glancing around to make sure he would not be overheard, “not a soul here tonight would ever imagine I was at all smitten with anyone who was not my beautiful fiancée.”
He hadn’t actually meant to sound quite so passionate about this, nor did he intend to come right out and declare her beautiful. She was, of course, but she was by no means the sort of female who needed to hear it. She was already well aware of the fact, and it could only go badly for him if she thought he knew it, as well. Which he did. Damn.
“You think I am beautiful?” she asked.
“I think you are generally regarded as such, as well you know. You were happy enough to let Ferrel go on and on about it.”
“So what if I did?”
“So my uncle might hear of it and become suspicious of my ability to maintain this engagement.” That sounded a plausible argument, didn’t it? “And what of your brother? If he hears you are dangling after other men, won’t he assume your devotion to dreadful, terrible me is not complete? How then will you sway him to do your bidding in exchange for throwing me over? He’ll realize you never truly wanted me in the first place.”
He could see this last statement struck a chord. For both of them, this engagement must be perceived as unbreakable. If certain parties were not convinced of a deep tendre between them, they stood to gain nothing.
“Yes, you’re right. I simply didn’t realize that by participating in one innocent country dance I was declaring myself in love with your scrawny cousin.”
“I thought you said he was not scrawny.”
“It is a figure of speech.”
“But is it a true statement or not?”
“It would depend on whom one was comparing him to.”
“Compare him to me.”
“Well…that’s hardly the point.”
“Isn’t it? Go ahead, Miss Rastmoor, defend your position. How does my fine young cousin stand up compared to me? Is he a better dancer?”
“No, but—”
“Then I suppose you found his conversation more stimulating than mine.”
“No, not really, but—”
“It is his person, then. You prefer his sandy-colored hair to mine, or the way his coat hangs limp off his narrow shoulders.”
“Heavens no! Er, that is—”
“Perhaps you prefer his kisses?’
“No! Of course not.”
“So you prefer my kisses?”
“Of course. Wait, that’s not what I mean.”
“You prefer his kisses.”
“You know very well I’ve not kissed your cousin, sir,” she said, stamping her foot and glaring up at him.
He’d allowed himself to get very close to her, happy to take advantage of the fact that he was, in fact, anything but scrawny. He felt as if he towered over her delicate form. It forced her to tilt her chin skyward to keep facing him. She was not the type to be intimidated, however, and kept her angry eyes fixed on his. He liked that about her. Also, he was aware of her scent, and he liked that, too. Unfortunately, it made him realize how very much he liked other things about her, as well.
“I don’t know that, Miss Rastmo
or,” he said, praying his hand would stay safely at his side and not reach out to brush the carefree strawberry curls that framed her pretty face. “You seemed so comfortable in his presence tonight.”
“That hardly indicates that I’ve kissed him,” she said. “Perhaps I ought to, though, if you insist I provide a detailed comparison.”
“Like hell you will.”
He lost the battle against his hands and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her eyes got slightly wider in surprise, but she did not pull away, so he dragged her up against his body. Anyone noticing them could simply go to hell as he proceeded to kiss her in a way that would ensure she never bothered to attempt a comparison between him and any other man on the planet.
Chapter Twelve
He was kissing her again. Heavens, but she did like it when he did that.
Of course, it was highly improper for him to kiss her here, tucked into the corner in Lady Burlington’s dining room, but what did it matter if they were found this way? He was kissing her! She couldn’t think of anything beyond that just now.
She let his mouth have its way with her, gave her arms permission to wrap tightly around him and her fingers free reign to find their way into his thick, dark, heavenly hair. Indeed, there was nothing scrawny about this man. She could feel the strong layers of muscle in his shoulders, as she basked under the engulfing heat that came off him and drank in the sweet delight of wine on his lips. The very idea of ever comparing him—any part of him—to another man was laughable.
He kissed her lips, her chin, the soft spot beneath her earlobe, her neck. She tiptoed up for him so he could continue his kisses on any other part he might so choose, and fortunately he did choose. He also chose to drag her off to the side, behind a screen that had been placed in the room to hide one of the servants’ corridors.
They were now blissfully alone, out of sight. The air in this dim corridor seemed suddenly cool compared to the brightly lit dining area, but the heat generated between them more than made up for it. The man’s touch, the feel of him pressed against her quite made her head swim, and it was easy to ignore the fact that he was practically carrying her now, taking her farther from the safety of the dining room. The only safety she needed just now was the security of knowing his kiss would continue and his embrace would grow tighter.
Passion and Pretense Page 18
