With deliberate ceremony, Lord Farren led his beautiful wife to the floor. Julia noticed that there were only four other couples with the pluck to join Lord and Lady Farren in performing the daring dance.
Glancing around at the other guests watching from the edges of the floor, Julia noticed the number of older people looking on disapprovingly.
Lud, Bath really could be stuffy. At the assembly balls back home, couples waltzed with nary an eyebrow raised by even the most straitlaced. Undaunted, Caro and Clive took their places as the lilting strains of the waltz began.
A smile came to Julia’s lips when she saw the older couple she had been admiring all evening performing the steps with smooth grace.
“What a lovely sight you present, Miss Allard, framed by the flowers and candles—like a goddess in her bower.”
Julia turned to see Mr. Dillingham standing next to her. Admiring his attractive dimples, she paused to assess her heartbeat, just in case. It would have been nice to fall in love with so amiable a man.
“You catch me at a loss for words, Mr. Dillingham—so I shall only say thank you for your kind flattery.”
Placing a hand over his heart, Mr. Dillingham gave her a mock look of pain. “You wound me, Miss Allard, my words are a true expression of my feelings! And you call it mere flattery—I thought it was closer to poetry.”
“I sincerely apologize, sir, for not properly appreciating your poetry,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.
The smile on Mr. Dillingham’s face stilled as his eyes swept over her features.
“You really are the loveliest young lady I have ever seen.”
Julia suddenly felt shy at the serious tone in his soft voice, and was at a loss as to how to reply.
As if he sensed the change in her mood, his voice changed back to a lighter tone as he asked her if she waltzed.
“Yes, I do.”
“Mayhap in the future you will honor me with a waltz.”
Julia smiled but made no response and continued to watch the dancers.
Though Mr. Dillingham stayed by her side, he said little else.
This was a familiar scene, Julia thought with a mental sigh. Here they were at the beginning of a perfectly fine conversation, and he had to go and make it awkward by becoming too serious. Why did gentlemen do that? Continuing their banter would have been much more fun. She hoped he was not developing a tendre for her. It would be too bad to have to start avoiding him—he was such a good dancer.
At that moment their hostess approached, and Julia thought her green turban and tight aubergine-colored gown made her look rather like an eggplant.
“La, Miss Allard, does not my son dance beautifully?” Her high, breathless voice seemed at odds with her plump, matronly figure.
“Indeed he does, my lady.”
“Yes, he takes after me. I would have thought that he would partner me for the first waltz—he is usually the most considerate son.”
Out of sheer loyalty to Caro, Julia could not let this pass and looked down at the matron with a raised brow. “Well, my lady, I think it is most appropriate for Lord Farren to waltz with his new wife,” she stated, trying to keep the edge of anger from her voice.
The lady’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and she sputtered in her attempt to respond.
Julia tensed, ready to continue her defense of Caro. Suddenly the dowager’s mouth closed, and her eyes lit up as she espied something over Julia’s shoulder.
“Bless me! The Duke of Kelbourne has decided to grace my little ball!”
Julia’s heart sank to her slippers as she whipped her head around to see the duke. He was standing in the frame of the open double doors, gazing around the room with that bored yet somehow assessing expression.
At his right was his sister, her gleaming golden gown showing to great advantage against her brother’s black coat.
The waltz was ending, and Julia watched as Lady Farren hurried across the floor, waving her handkerchief at the newcomers.
Caro and Clive left the floor and came to join Julia and Mr. Dillingham. There was no mistaking the concern in Caro’s eyes as they met Julia’s startled gray gaze.
“Well, we are certainly in rare company,” Mr. Dillingham said, his eyes on the duke.
“Yes, we are certainly honored to have the duke and Lady Fallbrook at our ball—though it is a bit late,” Clive added.
“Not in London,” Caro could not resist pointing out. “When we were in Town, the best parties seldom started before midnight.”
They watched as Clive’s mother presented a few people to the duke and his sister. A moment later Mr. Dillingham bowed and took himself off.
“Oh, Julia, are you all right?” Caro asked as soon as Mr. Dillingham was out of earshot.
Clive leaned his slim frame forward to look at Julia with concern. “Why should she not be?”
“Never mind, Clive. Julia?”
“I am perfectly well. I am sure Lady Farren wishes you to make welcome her new guests. I shall be fine here.” She forced her voice to a lightness she did not feel.
Caro looked back with obvious concern as her husband drew her away.
Lifting the hem of her lavender-blue gown, Julia moved through the other guests to a less conspicuous part of the room. Keeping her eye on the duke was easy; he was at least a head taller than any other man present. Her eyes slightly narrowed, she followed the duke’s broad-shouldered frame as he made his way across the room.
Turning her head slightly, Julia watched a smiling Mr. Dillingham approach Lady Fallbrook. After a moment Julia’s eyes moved back to the duke, who was now conversing with an older gentleman.
She had to own that though he was not handsome in the traditional sense, he was striking. She could acknowledge this without diluting her hatred of him. Inexplicably, the fact that he was so attractive made her loathing that much more intense.
For what seemed like the thousandth time, she wished that there were a way she could make him pay for that kiss. His lark, she seethed. She wanted him to know what he had done to her, the trouble he had caused her. But how? Her brow creased in contemplation. He was a powerful man; there was nothing someone like her could do to wipe that arrogant look off his face. How could he, who cared not that the world knew him to be an unmitigated rakehell, understand what it was like for a woman to be at risk of losing her good name—through no fault of her own.
Nothing could hurt a man like him, she thought, gripping her fan in impotent rage.
Her anger simmering, she watched him for a few minutes longer. As his teeth flashed in laughter at something the older gentleman said, her heart jumped at a sudden thought.
Gripping her sandalwood fan tighter, she allowed the unprecedented, extraordinary thought to stay a moment.
The notion was so daring, so out of character, that she tried to dismiss it.
Flipping open her fan, she used it vigorously to cool her flushed cheeks. Her angry, troubled eyes returned to the duke. The extraordinary idea would not leave.
A thrill of daring and danger raced across her body, raising gooseflesh down her spine. She tried to consider the ramifications of carrying out this hazy and hurriedly designed plan.
Without vanity, she knew most people of her acquaintance considered her pretty. By the very fact that the duke had used her to keep his ridiculous vow, he must have thought so, too.
With her heart racing and the heady scent of the flowers and candles assailing her overwrought senses, Julia came to a decision.
Maybe, just maybe, if she were bold enough and applied some of Caro’s advice on flirting—and if there were any fairness at all in the world—she could pull it off.
Lifting her chin, she stepped away from the wall and began to move slowly toward Caro’s mother-in-law. As if her hazardous decision had somehow heightened her senses, she was aware the instant the duke’s eyes found her.
Could she really do it? She experienced a moment of hesitation, as if she were about to walk into a dar
kened room with no idea what lay ahead.
Pushing aside the specter of fear and throwing away all caution, she turned fully around and looked directly at the duke. Above the heads of the swaying dancers, she allowed a slow and, she hoped, alluring smile to spread across her lips.
Chapter Ten
T here was nothing hesitant or shy about the way his gaze met and stayed on hers. Breathless at the shock his intense, glittering gaze caused her senses, Julia realized nothing in her life had prepared her for a moment like this.
Trying to calm her galloping pulse, she forced herself to breathe slowly—it would be mortifying to have him know how nervous she was. There was something so knowing, so assessing in his gaze, that she found it more difficult than she had imagined to hold his gaze.
From the corner of her eye, Julia saw the petite figure of Mrs. Crowley approaching. Unhurriedly, she pulled her gaze from the duke’s, but not before she saw a rakish half-smile appear on his lips.
Turning, she smiled her response to Mrs. Crowley’s greeting. So tightly strung were her senses, she was almost physically attuned to the moment the duke moved.
Without looking in his direction, she was aware of his tall frame strolling around the edge of the dance floor, stopping here and there to speak with other guests.
“Do you not think the waltz is lovely?”
Pulling her attention back to Mrs. Crowley, Julia quickly nodded, lest the lady think she was rude. “Yes, and terribly romantic.”
“Only a few of the grand hostesses here in Bath allow the waltz to be danced at their private gatherings. The Master of Ceremonies at the Upper Room will not hear of allowing the waltz,” the older lady stated, before turning her attention back to the dancers.
Julia turned her attention to the floor also, and her gaze swept the festive, colorful crowd. For the first time, she noticed a large gilt-framed pier glass hanging on the opposite wall.
Because she was at a slight angle, she could see a good part of the room, and was able to admire the swaying gowns and glittering jewels reflected in the glass.
A moment later, she caught sight of the duke and discreetly kept her eyes upon his reflection.
She hated his arrogant, handsome face with every fiber of her being. Watching how everyone feted and gushed over him steeled her resolve to exact some kind of revenge—to pierce his pride in the only way she knew how. The graceful music and the happy hum of the guests only seemed to accentuate the power of her feelings.
She continued to watch the pier glass as he made his way inexorably closer to her. With every step he took, her heart beat a little faster and her breath seemed to pause tremulously in her throat.
Mrs. Crowley stayed at her side, chatting about the dancers. Julia was grateful not to be alone at this moment.
The duke disengaged himself from a gentleman, and as he turned away, their gazes met in the pier glass. Her eyes froze on his, and she was astonished that the unexpected meeting felt almost like a physical touch.
Instinctively, she glanced away. But a moment later, she stiffened her resolve and turned her gaze back to his.
He was much closer to her now, and she felt the gooseflesh rise down the length of her arms. This was the moment, she thought in rising waves of panic. And she knew, with a conviction as clear as the music that filled the room, that her entire plan hinged on this moment.
“Good evening, Miss Allard.”
Had she noticed how deep his voice was before this moment, she wondered as the deep timbre vibrated over her skin.
Lifting her chin slightly, she looked directly into his disturbing hazel eyes.
“Good evening, Your Grace, are you acquainted with Mrs. Crowley?” she asked, curtsying before turning to present the petite matron.
Mrs. Crowley flushed and choked on a giggle and actually curtsied twice.
With smooth, spare grace, the duke inclined his head to Mrs. Crowley.
“Oh, Your Grace, we are so pleased to have you in Bath,” Mrs. Crowley gushed.
The duke raised one brow and flicked a quick amused glance to Julia, and she felt slightly taken aback by the intimate, conspiratorial feeling that look evoked within her.
As he responded to Mrs. Crowley, Julia was aware of what a novel experience it was for her to be next to a man so much taller than she was. It was something she rarely encountered, and it was not just his height but the imposing breadth of his shoulders that made her feel almost petite for the first time in her life.
The melody of the waltz faded away, and Julia saw Caro leading Clive over, her expression anxious.
The orchestra struck up the opening notes of a quadrille.
Again, a thrill raced up Julia’s spine at her daring. She knew that any second Caro would try to rescue her. She must act quickly if she were to seize this chance. With a confidence born of a year’s worth of suppressed anger, she gave the duke an intimate look of her own.
Julia held her breath and waited. She hoped fervently that he would unwittingly aid her in her plan to exact her revenge upon him.
“Miss Allard, if you are spoken for this set, I shall be desolate,” he drawled with an answering smile.
“No, this dance is not bespoken, Your Grace.”
“Would you do me the honor?”
With a gesture of supreme confidence, he held out his hand toward her. Lifting her hand toward his, his long fingers engulfed hers. The moment she felt the warmth of his fingers through her glove, that same breathless feeling came over her once again.
Looking down at her slim hand held by his strong fingers, she paused for a moment before moving off with him.
The other dancers took their places, and Julia was keenly aware that a number of eyes were directed toward her and the duke.
Keeping her expression as composed as she could, she glanced over and saw Caro standing next to Clive with her mouth agape. Julia had to look away from the stunned expression on her cousin’s face, for she was afraid she would lose her nerve.
As the music rose, Julia abandoned herself to the mood permeating the flower-scented, candlelit room. Purposely and with determination, she set aside any trepidation that still lingered.
The dance began with them facing each other, followed by several turns and passes.
At the first pass, in the chassé style, she took her courage in both hands, and with a little toss of her head, she gave the duke her most dazzling smile and passed him much too closely, her bare shoulder lightly brushing the sleeve of his black evening coat.
As she did this, she looked up at him and felt a little disheartened when he did not react as she hoped. Not that she was at all sure what to expect—certainly not the slightly amused quirk of a smile he shot her. But at least he made no evasive move.
Through the steps of the dance, they came together and parted numerous times, saying nothing. He was a very good dancer, she observed, continuing to move as close to him as possible, gazing into his eyes in what she hoped was a fascinating manner.
With a feeling of deflation, she noticed he did not appear to be at all dazzled. She guessed that was too much to hope for in a matter of five minutes—especially from a jaded rake.
But he was gazing at her with a disturbing intensity, curiously in contrast with the sophisticated, enigmatic smile he wore. During the exchange where the gentlemen circled the ladies, he took her lead and moved behind her, so near that she felt his warmth on the back her bare nape.
Suppressing a shiver of awareness, she glanced over her shoulder to gaze at him with an expression of open admiration.
Never in the whole of her life had she behaved in such a forward manner. In the part of her mind that could still think clearly, she knew that if they were here, her aunt and uncle would be looking at her disapprovingly.
They met in the center, held hands, and crossed in front of each other; she moved so closely in front of him that she saw the green flecks surrounding the inky pupils of his chestnut eyes.
Something about his unaffect
ed self-confidence rattled her sense of purpose. It occurred to her that it would be much easier to carry out her scheme if he were not so terribly attractive. And it was more than galling to realize that he found it perfectly natural for her to be flirting with him in this unguarded way. Oh, she wanted to see that arrogant expression wiped off his face.
She gave him another sideways little smile, allowing her gaze to linger on his for several seconds too long. As hard as she tried, she could not hold his piercing gaze and was the first to look away.
Another moment of heart-thumping panic gripped her. How could she do this? The wisest thing she could do was stop this nonsense before it went further. It was certainly not too late to extricate herself from what at this stage could only be termed as a mild flirtation.
But another glance at his arrogant countenance kept her from retreating.
Resolutely, she pushed thoughts of tomorrow from her mind. There was only tonight and the disturbing presence of her hated enemy. If she could secure his interest now, she would decide what to do about it later.
Making another graceful turn, she realized it would be easier said than done.
Glancing around, she saw that more than a few pairs of eyes were upon her and the duke as they went through the steps of the dance. The staid residents of Bath were certainly being treated to a rare sight this evening.
A devilish smile lurked at the corner of his mouth as they met in the center, hands clasping briefly before separating again. Schooling her breathing to a slower pace, she sent him a smile that she hoped conveyed that she welcomed his touch.
Finally, to her great relief, the quadrille ended and the duke was unhurriedly guiding her back to where Caro was standing, staring at her in near horror.
The pounding of Julia’s heart had nothing to do with dancing as the duke amiably greeted Lord and Lady Farren.
She held her breath, hoping he would not just bow and take his leave.
Caro was still gazing at Julia, but her expression was not as obviously appalled as it had been a few moments ago. It was apparent that she was making an effort to regain her composure.
The Wagered Heart: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Page 9
