A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  Back upstairs, Mary dug out Jane’s riding costume. They changed her clothes in record time, but there was no time to re-pin her hair in a style that better suited the cap that matched it. There was no time to properly air and form the feather, which had been stuffed in a hatbox, since the occasions when Jane rode were few and far between.

  “You look lovely,” he said when she came back down.

  Liar. “Thank you.”

  “I asked Ambrose to have a mount brought around for you.”

  “Thank you.” Ambrose is a traitor. “That’s very thoughtful.”

  They walked out together. He was staring at her strangely. He’d probably noticed something was out of place. It served him right if she was an embarrassment.

  Adam lifted her onto the deep russet mare Charlie had found for her. She sat stiff and straight, waiting for him to leg up onto his own mount. Once he had, she expected him to choose a direction, but he just sat there. Her horse danced in place, shifting its weight from one hoof to the other.

  “Jane, is something the matter?”

  “Of course not.” Her mount twitched, swinging its head around to eyeball the square.

  “I think you’re lying.”

  I think you’re—

  “That. Right there. What were you just thinking?”

  Pink flushed her cheeks. There was no way she could tell him that. “Nothing.”

  “Now I’m certain you’re lying.” He brought his horse around, boxing hers in. He spoke low to her mount, rubbing up its nose, calming it. “We’re friends, Jane. Real friends. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  She dug her fingers into her palm, but the riding gloves dulled the sensation. Opinions were one thing. This was not something he would understand.

  “I’m waiting, Jane.”

  “I wasn’t dressed for riding!” she shouted. The horse jumped, surprising them both. Jane’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Adam grabbed the reins, settling her mount back down. “All right. And that has made you angry because—”

  “Because I was dressed for walking. You said we would be walking, and I was perfectly prepared for that. But then you arrive and suddenly we’re doing something else.”

  He frowned. “Do you not like riding?”

  “I love riding!” She was on the verge of tears. This was it. This strangeness—these nerves no one seemed to understand—he would see it now, and take back all the nice things he’d said about her.

  Adam pinched the bridge of his nose.

  She was giving him a headache, the same way she gave Charlie a headache and made Mathilda start drinking far too early in the day. He should just dissolve their association—it would be for the best.

  Calmly and slowly he said, “Jane. I want to understand, but I need you to explain it to me.”

  “I just—”

  “Deep breaths. Take your time.”

  She inhaled. “I planned for walking. I was ready for walking. Now we’re riding and I didn’t plan for it. Anything could happen.”

  “I see,” he said.

  Did he? Did he really? Because sometimes she barely saw, herself. It was like there was another Jane looking down at her, yelling, What the devil are you doing? But even though she could hear it, she couldn’t stop herself.

  “So the trouble isn’t that we’re riding. It’s that I didn’t tell you we were riding.”

  “Yes.” She stared at the space between her horse’s ears. “It’s very inconsiderate to change plans.”

  “I’m gathering that,” Adam said, smiling.

  “Don’t,” Jane insisted. “Don’t smile like you understand. They should just toss me in Bedlam and throw away the key.”

  Since he still had hold of her mount’s reins, he was able to start them moving without consulting her. They set off toward one of the outlets from the square. “I won’t pretend I don’t find your behavior odd, but I find a lot of things odd.”

  Odd. May a giant pit open up and swallow her whole.

  “Some of the things I find odd, I also find enjoyable.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do. Your company, for instance. I enjoy it a great deal. The fact that both your moods and behavior might suddenly take an unpredictable turn . . .”

  The fact that she was utterly mad.

  “. . . adds an element of excitement that I’ve found lacking in my present situation. There are no approaching hurricanes. There is no threat of wolves. Without some sort of unpredictability, it all gets a bit dull.”

  “You’re comparing me to a hurricane?”

  “In a nice way.”

  “How could there possibly be a nice way to compare someone to a hurricane?” She wasn’t the only one who was mad.

  “Hurricanes are beautiful. And terrifying. And awe-inspiring. Have you ever sat on a beach, watching a hurricane move closer to shore?” The cadence of his voice—low and musical—drew her in.

  “No.”

  “It’s incredible. There’s nothing like the anticipation of it.”

  Jane’s heart was thudding in her chest—not fast, just strong. She cleared her throat.

  “You remind me of a force of nature. Something only a deity could have wrought.”

  Heat rippled over her skin. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I promised you compliments.”

  “To get used to being flattered. No one would say that to me.”

  “I would.” His horse shifted closer to hers—dangerously close. Their thighs brushed against each other as he leaned over. “And if it’s ridiculous, why are you flushed?”

  She tried to look and see if he was teasing her, but he trapped her gaze with his own. All she could see was striking green. Smoldering green. The green of a thousand forests.

  Jane broke the contact, looking away. “Because it’s very warm.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smile. “It’s January, Jane.”

  • • •

  She had no defenses. Even the smallest compliment sent pink flushing to her cheeks. He suspected it was similar with insults. Or embarrassments. It would be a shame to lose the enjoyment he got from watching her flush, but in the end Adam suspected the ability to filter her feelings would make Jane much happier. Less nervous, at the very least.

  “I think you might be the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”

  More blushing. “Stop.”

  “Not a chance. I promised you compliments, and compliments you shall have.”

  “How would you like it if I did this to you?”

  “If you said incredibly flattering things about me over and over?” Adam grinned at her. “I imagine I should weather it nobly.”

  She sighed, shaking her head.

  “At any given moment, you are the most attractive woman in the room.”

  This time, she stared up at the sky while she shook her head.

  “Your intelligence and point of view are very refreshing.”

  “Where do you even come up with these things?”

  Adam slowed in his horse. “You don’t think that’s true?”

  “I . . . My point of view is not unusual.”

  They entered the leafy vastness of Hyde Park, letting their horse plod along sedately under the leafy canopy. “You don’t want to marry.”

  “And?”

  “You have to admit that’s a bit unusual.”

  “I don’t have to admit any such thing.” Her voice acquired the sharpness of an upcoming lecture. “Plenty of women don’t want to marry—or wouldn’t if they had the option to consider it.”

  It was all beside the point. “You’re a romantic, Jane.”

  “Yes, I am. So you can imagine how disappointing the reality of matrimony would be to someone with such high hopes as mine.”

>   Adam had honestly never thought of it that way. It made a certain sort of sense.

  “And you?” she asked. “You’re not a romantic. What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m not?”

  She laughed. “No, you’re not.”

  He sighed. “No, I’m not. Not anymore. When I was younger, but . . . it was foolish.”

  When his father declared Adam was to be shipped off to the colonies, Adam had asked Regina to run away with him. He’d been so certain she’d say yes. He’d already made plans.

  Her denial had floored him. It wasn’t just the refusal. Adam had been prepared for some resistance on her part—after all, it was a life-changing decision. It was the fact that she honestly didn’t want to go with him. She admired his father. The man who’d ignored her and abandoned her. She loved him. It was the last thing Adam had expected to hear.

  “. . . have a powerful title, responsibility trumps romance anyhow,” Jane was saying.

  His future title could go straight to the devil. “I’m not planning to—”

  “Jane!” The man from the other night—Pembroke?—was flagging Jane down. He crossed the track with his companion. The dark-haired woman looked less than pleased.

  “Geoffrey.”

  “And Lord Wesley. How lovely it is to see you again.”

  Adam doubted that.

  “I must confess, when Jane introduced you the other night I wasn’t familiar with the title. I’ve since looked you up, though—quite impressive. An earl and the heir to a marquess.”

  The brunette’s attention snapped to him, then shifted between him and Jane.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met, have we?” Adam asked her.

  A little muscle in Pembroke’s cheek started twitching. “Where are my manners? Lord Wesley, this is my fiancée, Miss Drusilla Lyndon.”

  “A pleasure.” She smiled, blinking at him prettily.

  Adam responded with a noncommittal hum. “I think you told me about Miss Lyndon, didn’t you, Jane? At the Rockfords’ ball?”

  Miss Lyndon paled. Jane was motionless beside him. He turned to her. She was sitting impossibly still, attention riveted on Pembroke’s twitching cheek. Her horse shifted, the tension making the animal nervous.

  “Jane?”

  “I . . . Perhaps. I might have mentioned her. I don’t recall.”

  Something was very wrong. “Miss Lyndon. Pembroke. I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us. I promised Jane’s aunt I’d get her back before tea.”

  “Surely Lady Hawthorne would forgive—”

  “Good day, Pembroke. I’m certain we’ll run across each other again.” Adam took Jane’s reins—as best he could, with how they were clenched in her hands—and set their horses in motion.

  The way Pembroke had looked at Jane set Adam’s teeth on edge. When they were well out of sight, he stopped the horses again.

  “Jane?”

  “He was angry.” Her voice was distant. “You didn’t answer his compliment, and then you embarrassed him. He was angry.”

  Adam didn’t give a fig about Pembroke.

  “He doesn’t . . . You shouldn’t embarrass him.”

  He was used to strange behavior from Jane, but this was by far the most unusual. “All right.”

  “I should send him something. Flowers? No, he wouldn’t see the point in them. Perhaps—”

  Adam raised his voice. “Jane.”

  Her attention snapped back to him. “Yes?”

  The way she said it—slightly vacant—Adam decided against challenging her. Perhaps it would be best if he just got her home. “Nothing.”

  “Oh.”

  They rode back to St. James’s Square in silence, with the furrow of Adam’s brow steadily progressing into a headache.

  • • •

  Back at Number Fourteen, Lady Hawthorne took one look at her niece and jumped into action.

  “Jane, dear, you look like you could use a relaxing bath.”

  “But I—”

  “Have lots of things that need to be done, I’m sure, but let’s get you warm and clean first, shall we?”

  Her niece nodded. Lady Hawthorne looked back as she led Jane to the stairs, “Will you wait?”

  It was Adam’s turn to nod. He wouldn’t mind some answers, and Lady Hawthorne appeared to have them. He went into the parlor to wait.

  There was definitely something amiss. It was apparent that Pembroke was the discarded fiancé she’d mentioned in the maze, but that hardly accounted for her behavior. One minute she was Jane, and then the next minute, she was gone.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Lady Hawthorne said when she came back down. “And thank you for seeing her home.”

  “I was hardly going to leave her there. Lady Hawthorne—”

  “Mathilda, please.”

  “Mathilda.” Adam supposed it was only appropriate, since he was about to ask some very personal questions. “What just happened?”

  She folded her hands across her lap. “Jane has . . . fits. Sometimes they’re bursts of energy, a need to complete a certain task. And sometimes she just sort of—”

  “Goes away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has she seen a doctor? Can anything be done?”

  The butler came in with a tea tray. Lady Hawthorne’s hand shook slightly when she poured. “Jane’s difficulty is not a physical one, nor is it naturally occurring.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What happened during your ride? Was she embarrassed? Did you encounter anyone?”

  Suspicion took root. “We did. Pembroke and his new fiancée, Miss Lyndon.”

  Mathilda swore.

  It couldn’t be as simple as that. The man hadn’t done anything. “I was with her the entire time. Nothing happened.”

  “It didn’t need to.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Sure, Jane was a little odd, but just seeing someone shouldn’t do that to her.

  “When Jane was girl, she was vibrant. Confident and outgoing and adventurous.”

  Adam had to admit he found that somewhat hard to believe as well. “And then?”

  “And then her engagement to Geoff was announced. They started spending more time together. Slowly she disappeared.”

  “Did he . . .” If she’d been damaged—if he’d struck her—surely someone would have noticed.

  Mathilda set her cup down with a rattle. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what he did to her. She doesn’t think he did anything, and she won’t talk about it.”

  “But there is clearly something wrong.”

  “And it is clearly related to Geoffrey Pembroke.”

  Adam finally picked up his cup. The warmth between his palms was a welcome distraction.

  “Do you care for my niece, Lord Wesley?”

  “Jane is my friend.” He couldn’t reasonably say anything else.

  “Do you have many friends?” Lady Hawthorne was staring at him with eyes far too sharp for the flirtatious manner she usually employed.

  “No.”

  “Good,” she said. “Jane is a very loyal girl and very caring. I hope that you realize how extraordinary she is, and will do everything in your power to be worthy of her friendship.”

  It felt like he was swearing some sort of ancient oath, the way she was staring at him. Still, there was only one answer he could give. “I will.”

  • • •

  The bath combined with the soothing strokes of Mary running the brush through Jane’s hair—and the wine Matty had required her to drink—put Jane into a peaceful lull. She was lying in bed, watching the fire flicker, devoid of her earlier panic.

  It was like her fits happened to someone else. But it was her. She remembered them, and she remembered the way they felt, but it
was like she was only watching. It was the strangest feeling, after. To feel so much and then . . . nothing.

  The door whispered open, almost soundless over the thick carpet. The rustle of Mathilda’s skirts marked her progress across the room. She knew it was Mathilda because anyone else would have knocked. The mattress depressed. More rustling as her aunt scooted closer, wrapping her arm around Jane.

  “Feeling better, dear?”

  “Much.” The flickering firelight was fascinating.

  “I like Lord Wesley. I think he’s going to be good for you.”

  Adam. “You like him because he’s handsome.”

  “It doesn’t hurt his cause, but no. I think . . . that he’s kind.”

  Jane chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I keep telling him how arrogant and rude he is.”

  “You do?” Mathilda’s surprise was obvious.

  She nodded. “He asked me to be honest.”

  The flames danced. “I heard you saw Geoffrey.”

  “Mathilda, I don’t want to—”

  “Discuss it. I know. Just . . . if I’d had a daughter of my own, I couldn’t have cared for her more than I care for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Jane nodded again. “I like Adam, too. I’m not certain if he’s kind, but I like him.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.” Jane finally turned to her aunt. “We’re just friends.”

  In the dim light, Mathilda looked like she’d aged ten years in a day. There were worry lines on her face. Her eyes were tired. “For now.”

  “For always.”

  Her aunt smiled, bringing some of the mirthful Mathilda back. “Dear, there are a lot of things I don’t understand, but men aren’t one of them. And neither are you.”

  She was wrong, but that was all right. It was good to see Matty smile. Jane closed her eyes, knowing what came next.

  “One time, in Rome, I met the nephew of a prince and . . .”

  She let musical sound of Mathilda’s story send her floating off to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  The Montroses’ White Ball was breathtaking. All of the guests wore white, including the gentleman. It turned the entire ballroom into a sea of bustling creams and ivories. Jane looked down at the guests who had already arrived, milling below. The looked like swans. Tiny touches of black stood out as the servants moved through, handing out refreshments. Skirts flared out like wings.