by Cheryl Holt
Yet what if he didn’t view it that way? There was that odd moment when he was leaving, when he’d said goodbye rather than good night. She’d replayed that exchange a thousand times and couldn’t deny that there had been a definite air of finality in his words.
What if he’d left London as he’d been planning? What if he’d ruined her, then totted off like the cad he was renowned to be? What if...what if...
The instant the frightening doubts assailed her, she pushed them away. She wouldn’t think badly of him, wouldn’t believe the worst. His entire life, he’d been denigrated and disparaged. She wouldn’t malign him. Not ever. From now on, she would always be his best friend and champion.
The orchestra was ready, and the beginning chord was sounded. Her heart sank, her pulse pounding with a sick dread. It took every ounce of fortitude she had to keep her smile firmly in place, but she might have been made of glass. Given the slightest encouragement, she would shatter into pieces.
How could he deceive her? How could he fail to arrive?
She’d been so confident in her assessment of their situation.
Barbara glared at her and frowned. “I thought you were dancing the waltz set. I thought your card had been signed.”
“I don’t see him,” Amelia miserably replied.
“What sort of rude oaf would leave you standing here alone? Why ask you if he doesn’t intend to dance?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It most certainly does. Who is it? Do I know him?”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Amelia mumbled.
Suddenly, there was a murmuring in the crowd. Heads were turning, a path clearing so someone could get through.
Amelia glanced over at the commotion, and...there was Lucas!
He’d dressed in full evening wear, a black velvet coat with tails, a cravat stitched from miles of Belgian lace. Diamond studs pierced the cuffs of his shirt. His shoes had been buffed to a lustrous shine.
She’d never seen him looking so grand, hadn’t known he owned such fabulous clothes. He made such a point of disdaining the members of the ton that she always forgot—for all his complaining—this was his world and these were his peers.
Her jaw dropped. “Lucas?”
He clasped her hand and gave a perfect bow over it. “Miss Hubbard, I apologize for being late. There was a terrible crush with the carriages outside.”
“It’s...it’s fine. The waltzes are just starting.”
“So I hear. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”
She was so shocked that she was trembling with what felt like dismay.
There was not a single resemblance to the lazy, insolent libertine of her acquaintance. He appeared rich and dashing and more handsome than any man had a right to be. Because he frequently scorned his family and his lineage, it was easy to discount his actual position, but his current attire underscored the vast differences between them.
Why would he ever wed her? He was an earl’s son, a viscount’s brother, and she was a schoolteacher and orphan with no ancestry that could be mentioned in polite company. He could pick a bride from the most elevated circles. He didn’t need to stoop so low. Why would he?
Her composure flagged, and she was very close to running out of the room in shame. Then...he smiled, his blue eyes glittering with an intensity that informed her he found her to be beautiful, that he’d come especially to be with her, that there was no other woman in the kingdom he wanted to be with more than her.
“You wore the silver gown,” he said.
“Just for you.”
Barbara took that moment to lean in. “Lucas Drake! As I live and breathe! Look at you. My goodness!”
“Mrs. Middleton.” He nodded at Barbara, being very correct, very formal.
“Amelia,” Barbara scolded, “there are obviously a few things you haven’t told me.”
“Obviously,” Amelia agreed. “You don’t have to know everything, do you?”
“I have to know some things—such as how this happened.”
Barbara waved her fingers toward Lucas, trying to indicate the elegant transformation, but there were no words to describe how magnificent he was.
The orchestra began to play, the couples whirling as if they were marionettes being pulled along by the tantalizing rhythm.
Lucas’s smile widened. “May I have this dance, Miss Hubbard?”
“I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Drake.”
He grinned a heart-stopping grin. “I really can waltz.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” she saucily retorted.
“Yes, we will.”
He placed a very proper hand on her waist, and she laid a very proper palm on his shoulder. As if by magic, he whisked her into the color, motion, and joyous movement.
Very quickly she realized that Lucas hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed to be an accomplished dancer. He was commanding and confident and very light on his feet, and Amelia only needed an instant to decide that she was—by allying herself with him—once again immersed in the most spectacular, most wondrous experience of her life.
Nothing that occurred in the future would ever, ever compare.
* * * *
“Would you look at that?”
George Drake was standing at the edge of the ballroom, watching as the couples twirled by in a fast, dizzying wave.
Lucas was in the middle of it with Miss Hubbard. Under Barbara’s tutelage, she’d blossomed into a raving beauty, wearing Barbara’s gowns and jewels as if she’d been born to the attire.
As to Lucas—with his blond hair and blue eyes—he could have been an Olympian god come down to Earth. Honestly! He was remarkably majestic, but then, it was easy for him. He resembled his glamorous mother in nearly every way.
Together, Lucas and Miss Hubbard were the most striking pair on the floor, like a prince and princess in a fairytale, and it was impossible not to stare. Everyone else was turning too, transfixed by the sight. Partially because Lucas never made much of an effort to impress, but also because they were just so arresting.
“I’m stunned, George. I’m absolutely stunned.”
“So am I.”
He was huddled with Barbara Middleton, the two of them struggling to hide their astonishment.
“Had you any idea?” Barbara asked.
“No, none. I talked to him yesterday about her, and he refused the betrothal yet again. We quarreled about it quite vehemently.”
“Well, he’s definitely not refusing it now.”
“No, definitely not. I can’t believe it.”
“If I was pressed to explain what I’m witnessing, I’d have to say this is a beautiful young couple that is madly in love.”
“I’d have to concur,” George said. “How did this happen? When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. He’s visited my house a few times, and they’ve spoken, but I’m clueless as to when such fondness could have blossomed.”
“Clearly, it has.”
“Yes, clearly.”
“I’m betting we’ll have a proposal before the night is through.”
“Or first thing in the morning.”
They nodded in unison and grinned from ear to ear.
Barbara raised a brow. “You owe me ten pounds, George.”
They’d wagered over whether or not Lucas could be brought to heel. Barbara had insisted it was possible, but George had been extremely dubious. Obviously, Barbara had won.
“Money well spent, Mrs. Middleton,” George murmured. “Money well spent.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow so you can pay up.”
“I’m delighted to have been proved wrong.”
* * * *
“Would you look at that?”
“What?”
“Your brother! He’s waltzing with Miss Hubbard.”
Priscilla gestured to the dance floor, and Aaron followed the direction of her pointed finger. Sure enough, there was Lucas, whirling by with Amelia Hubbard.
; Aaron hadn’t known Lucas was still in London. The previous day, his father had given Aaron a blow-by-blow account of his latest fight with Lucas. It had concluded with Lucas announcing he was sailing to India.
Ever since, Aaron had been searching for Lucas, prepared to bribe him not to go, to calm down, to reconsider. Aaron had intended to help Lucas with offers of financial assistance or whatever else would keep him in the country, for Aaron had a sinking feeling that if Lucas went to India, Aaron would never see him again.
There was too much bad blood between him and his brother. As Aaron’s marriage approached, he was growing desperate, like a dying man who had to fix all his mistakes before he reached the end. But he hadn’t been able to locate Lucas at any of his usual haunts.
To see him like this! Dressed and dashing and downright splendid!
Lucas had a style and charm that Aaron lacked. The traits had been inherited from their mother, with Lucas supposedly receiving all of her aptitude for art and music and Aaron receiving all of George’s stuffiness and pomposity.
Aaron could bang out a few horrid pieces on the harpsichord, and he’d had the same lessons as Lucas, the same teachers, but he’d quit his musical studies the moment their father had agreed he’d learned enough. But Lucas had taken to the training as if he’d been born to play and sing. He had a natural talent and a natural attractiveness that Aaron couldn’t generate or emulate.
Aaron envied Lucas his ability, his grace, his athleticism, his charisma. On watching Lucas—so handsome and bold and magnetic—Aaron felt old and tired and used up. He wished he could dance with such abandon. He wished he could step out onto the middle of the floor and capture every eye in the room.
Instead, he and Priscilla were loitering in the corner, with her complaining about it being too hot to dance. Aaron had been happy to oblige her by sitting it out.
“What’s happening with them?” Priscilla demanded.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, clearly, they’re very close.”
“They are?”
“They’re madly in love!” she snapped. “Even a blind beggar could see it.”
Aaron assessed his brother and quickly realized that Priscilla was correct for once. Lucas was completely enchanted by Miss Hubbard, appearing joyful and content in a way Aaron hadn’t witnessed in him in years.
As for Miss Hubbard, she was staring back at Lucas with the same heightened regard, as if he was the most amazing man in the kingdom.
Aaron wondered what it would be like to have a woman gaze at him as if he walked on water, as if he could do no wrong. If he met a woman like that, if he jumped into an affair with her, what sort of person would he be when it was over?
“You told me Lucas would never wed Miss Hubbard,” Priscilla accused.
“It’s just a waltz, Priscilla.”
“Just a waltz?” she gasped. “If that’s what you think, you’re an even bigger fool than I imagined.”
She flounced away, and he sighed.
* * * *
“Would you look at that?”
“What?”
“Lucas Drake—with Miss Hubbard.”
“Lucas is dancing? Are you sure?”
Claudia was right next to Nanette Nipton. She hadn’t meant to be in such close proximity, but she’d turned and Mrs. Nipton was there. Claudia hadn’t meant to remark either, but she was simply so shocked she couldn’t hold it in.
The prior evening, George had said Lucas was leaving England and there would be no marriage to Miss Hubbard, despite how George had insisted. Now, this! Claudia couldn’t decide what to make of it.
Mrs. Nipton was glaring at the dancers, attempting to find Lucas in the spinning crowd.
“Who is Miss Hubbard?” she asked.
Claudia glanced over. “You don’t know? You haven’t heard?”
“No. Who is she?”
“Lord Sidwell betrothed him again. Miss Hubbard is his fiancée.”
“His fiancée!” Mrs. Nipton huffed. “He’s not engaged. He would have told me.”
“Lord Sidwell arranged it without informing him first.”
“Lucas wouldn’t have agreed,” Mrs. Nipton scoffed.
“No, he wouldn’t have,” Claudia concurred, “and it was my understanding that the betrothal was over, that they disliked each other so intently no union was possible.”
Lucas and Miss Hubbard took that moment to circle by. They were so utterly focused on each other, it was as if they were the only couple in the room, as if they were dancing to an orchestra only they could hear.
“This is not good,” Claudia muttered. “Not good at all.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was...thinking aloud.”
Claudia continued to study Lucas, and the longer she watched, the more concerned she became. She’d never seen two people so intimately attuned. Their affection was blatant and visible and absolutely deplorable. No member of the ton would ever display such a ridiculous amount of emotion. It was viewed as appalling conduct.
Nor could she believe Lucas had developed such strong sentiment for Miss Hubbard. He was a very thick-headed boy. Perhaps he didn’t realize he was in love with Miss Hubbard. Perhaps Miss Hubbard didn’t realize the level of her fondness either. All of London could observe their partiality. It was like a tangible object, hovering in front of everyone’s eyes.
Drastic measures had to be taken—and fast! Priscilla’s wedding was another month nearer, her grand day approaching with lightning speed. Claudia would not let Lucas undermine Priscilla’s triumph by bringing that paltry schoolteacher into the family. It would happen over Claudia’s dead body.
Surreptitiously, she assessed Mrs. Nipton, having always found the younger woman to be very beautiful, but in a lethal way, much like a poisonous spider that lures prey to its doom.
Lucas’s name had been linked to hers for years, so there had to be some kind of committed relationship between them. Mrs. Nipton couldn’t be any happier about the pending debacle than Claudia. Mrs. Nipton had to want to prevent it as much as Claudia.
Wouldn’t she?
“Mrs. Nipton,” Claudia said, “might I have a quick word with you in private?”
“What about?”
“In private, Mrs. Nipton,” Claudia snapped with exasperation. “It means we talk alone, where others can’t eavesdrop.”
Mrs. Nipton peered out at the dance floor as Lucas performed a rather smooth and stunning dip in his turn of Miss Hubbard. Onlookers gasped and clapped with delight.
Mrs. Nipton frowned and whipped away.
“Yes, let’s chat.” She gestured to the rear door. It led to a long hall that went to the back of the house. “I’ll leave first. Meet me in five minutes, third room on the right.”
“I will see you shortly,” Claudia said, but Mrs. Nipton had already slipped away.
* * * *
“What is it?” Nanette asked Claudia Cummings. “And please be brief. I’ve really never liked you, and I’d just as soon be in the ballroom.”
“I shall be blunt and brief.”
“Thank God,” Nan mumbled.
“I’d like to speak with you about Lucas Drake.”
“What about him?”
“I understand he is a particular friend of yours.”
Nan considered the pros and cons of an admission of friendship, then she shrugged. “Yes, he is. So what?”
“You can’t want him to marry.”
“Why wouldn’t I? We’re not that close, and I’m married myself. It’s naught to me if he weds.”
Claudia smirked. “Let’s be frank, shall we, Mrs. Nipton?”
“Yes, let’s definitely be frank.”
“You can’t let that pathetic schoolteacher have him without a fight.”
“Is that where she came from? Lord Sidwell is scraping the bottom of the barrel, isn’t he?”
“I certainly feel that way, and I don’t wish her to join the family.”
“Is
it any of your business, Mrs. Cummings?”
“Of course it’s my business, Mrs. Nipton. My daughter, Priscilla, will be countess of Sidwell someday. Everything that happens to the Drakes affects us enormously.”
“If you say so.” Nan shrugged again, not caring about Aaron or George Drake.
But Lucas...
Lucas was another matter entirely.
Nan had flirted and seduced and deceived too many people to count. From an early age, she’d known what she craved: wealth and status and position. She was just twenty-eight, but she’d already been wed four times. She picked rich, elderly fools who were vain and stupid enough to presume she loved them, yet frail enough to die swiftly after the marriages began.
Her latest husband, Freddie, was typical. He was in his seventies and not as spry as he once was. But he had friends who liked to tattle and get her into trouble, and Lucas was the biggest trouble of all. Whenever they were seen together, Freddie was informed immediately, and he was always furious at the news.
Of all the men with whom she’d ever trifled, Lucas was the only one who hadn’t wanted her. The fact that he could remain so aloof, that she’d never been able to entice him into a deeper affiliation, rendered him a prize worth having.
His disregard was as vexing as it was annoying. She was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, but also the most dissolute and corrupt. She matched him in temperament, character, and degenerate nature, and she’d assumed that—after she’d amassed a sufficient fortune from her many spouses—she’d ask Lucas to wed and was convinced he’d agree.
He was very smart and always penniless. If she dangled a fortune in front of him, he’d rapidly recognize the wisdom of a union.
While Lord Sidwell kept plotting to marry him off, it had been their running joke that Lucas wouldn’t have a girl chosen by Lord Sidwell. It had never occurred to Nan that the situation might have changed, that Lord Sidwell might have actually found a girl who could snag Lucas for her own. Nan couldn’t believe it, but she’d seen Lucas dancing with the little mouse. He’d never once gazed at her as he’d been gazing at Miss Hubbard.
“What is it you want from me, Mrs. Cummings?” Nan inquired.
