A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  Jane suddenly felt deeply grateful for her aunt’s unconventional guardianship. “Eugenia, you know you’re delightful, don’t you?”

  She frowned. “I wouldn’t have said so before we met, but you and Lord Wesley seem to genuinely enjoy my company. Even Mr. Clairborne and Teddy are nicer now. Perhaps I’ve improved.”

  “Perhaps they have.” Jane would stake her new mount on Quincy harboring secret affection for Eugenia. “Either way, I’m glad you’ll come if we end up invited. I suspect Geoffrey will be there, and I’d rather not face him alone.”

  “Lord Geoffrey is not delightful.”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “But Lord Wesley is.” They turned at the end of the lane, starting a new lap. “I didn’t think so at first when he yelled at you, but he seems to have also improved.”

  In more ways than one. Jane’s skin flushed at the memory of her lips on his skin.

  “Oh. You like him,” Eugenia concluded. “You never said if you liked him kissing you, but you do. You’re not just friends anymore, are you?”

  “It’s . . . complicated.”

  She did like him, and at the beginning of the season she would have already chosen the names for their future children. But now she also liked the way she felt. Like all the walls that had been penning her up had been torn down and she was expanding out across the whole city. Like she was free.

  In the beginning, with Geoffrey, she hadn’t started out nervous and malleable. It was something that had happened to her. Something she had allowed to happen. Adam was a better man than Geoffrey, but he was still a man. He had his arrogant moments. He could be overbearing and loud. Right now he had no claim on her—but how would he behave if he did? How many decisions would he try to make for her own good without consulting her? Charlie was a good man, too, but it hadn’t stopped him. And neither had she.

  “Are you going to kiss him again at the house party?” Eugenia asked.

  That part was not complicated. “I think so, yes.”

  Jane planned to more than kiss him. The experience in the boathouse had opened up a whole new area of curiosity for her. And Adam had promised they would keep trying until she wasn’t afraid anymore. Adam was a man who kept his promises.

  “Perhaps I will kiss someone at the house party also,” Eugenia pondered.

  It shocked Jane out of her imaginings. “Who would you kiss?”

  “Anyone. Do you think Lord Brandon would kiss me?”

  If Lord Davenport was right about him, he may very well. “Perhaps you’d be better off asking Lord Quincy for a kiss.”

  “Quincy? I suppose I could ask him. I wonder if he’s kissed anyone before.”

  Jane also wondered, but for very different reasons.

  • • •

  That night, Adam sent a note to let her know that the invitations would be arriving the following day. Jane went to find Mathilda and tell her. She found her aunt sitting in front of the library fireplace, sipping whiskey and staring into the flames.

  “Aunt Matty?”

  Mathilda shook herself, smiling when she saw Jane. “Come and sit, dear.”

  “Apparently I am going to be invited to the Cavendish house party tomorrow.”

  “Lady Cavendish never stood a chance.” Mathilda’s smile was the cat who got the cream.

  It set off a disturbing chain of thoughts in Jane’s head.

  “Aunt Matty, are you one of Lord Brandon’s . . .” How did one phrase such a thing?

  Mathilda barked a laugh. “No, dear. But I appreciate the artistry of what he does.”

  Artistry. Jane wouldn’t have put it like that.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask an inappropriate question. How far have things progressed between you and your Lord Wesley?”

  Oh Lord. “I . . . am going to pour myself a drink.”

  “And then you’re going to answer my question, Jane Seraphina Bailey.”

  Which was why she needed the drink. Jane opted for port—she would likely never adopt Aunt Matty’s habit of drinking whiskey—and sat back down. “At the musicale . . .”

  Mathilda waited. There wasn’t any judgment in her face, just open interest.

  It all spilled out. The kiss in the drawing room. Her frustration at not being able to master her fear. Adam’s initial plan and then the eventual happenings in the boathouse—including how she’d almost left him there when Drusilla came across them.

  “He doesn’t—we’re not—we’re still just friends, but he’s helping me. I’m genuinely attracted to him, but I’m still afraid, and I don’t want to be. I want to be normal.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mathilda had listened to it all. Her eyebrows had raised in a few places, but otherwise she’d passed no judgment. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  “I think so. I think it’s going to work. You won’t make me stop, will you?”

  Mathilda sighed. “I ought to. Heaven knows your father would have me tarred and feathered if he realized half the things I’ve let you do.”

  “And encouraged me to do.”

  “And that. But no, I won’t stop you.”

  Jane launched herself into Mathilda’s chair, wrapping her arms around her aunt’s shoulders.

  “But!” Mathilda said around Jane’s exuberance. “We have a few things to discuss.”

  “All right.”

  “Like sex. And what happens to women who aren’t careful.”

  “Careful?”

  Mathilda patted her hair, giving her a pitying look. “Dear, do you think it’s an accident that I never had children?”

  To be honest, Jane hadn’t thought about it much. “I thought maybe you or Uncle Harry . . .”

  “Uncle Harry was perfectly capable, as illustrated by his children with his first wife.”

  “Then you’re—”

  “Also perfectly capable, just not interested.”

  Jane returned to her own chair, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Which is why I’m going to explain it you.”

  “You don’t need to.” Jane was familiar enough with Mathilda’s explanations to know the conversation was going to be very uncomfortable and probably more than a little disconcerting. “Adam and I agreed we wouldn’t actually go to bed with each other.”

  “Adam is a dear man—dearer even than I realized—but in this respect he’s an idiot and so are you. Nature takes its course against the best of intentions, and if you’re not prepared, it’s going to take you somewhere you don’t want to go.”

  It seemed there would be no stopping the explanation. “Where don’t I want to go?”

  “Motherhood—at least not yet. Strange rashes . . .”

  “Eww!”

  “If you think it’s bothersome to hear about, wait until you’ve had one. I have, and I’ll tell you, it’s even less enjoyable than it sounds.”

  “Aunt Matty!”

  “‘Aunt Matty’ me all you like, as long as you pay attention.”

  Jane gulped her port around the frown of disgust she couldn’t get rid of after hearing strange rashes. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to know a little more than she did.

  Chapter 16

  Lady Cavendish’s estate was in Kent, just past Rockford. It was a few hours by carriage to get there, so the four of them decided to go in one vehicle to keep one another company. The hunting horses and Miss Davenport’s maid followed behind with the luggage.

  Adam was sitting next to Brandon on one bench, watching an amusing tableau unfold between Jane and Miss Davenport. Every few minutes, Miss Davenport would look at Jane. Jane would shake her head. About half a minute would go by. Miss Davenport would open her mouth to speak, and Jane would jump in with something mundane. It was about to happen again.

  Miss Davenport opened her mouth. “L—”

 
; “It’s so nice the weather has held, don’t you think, Lord Brandon?” Jane smiled.

  Miss Davenport frowned, defeated.

  Finding out what Jane was stopping Miss Davenport from saying was driving Adam mad with curiosity. When they stopped to water the horses, he pulled Jane aside.

  “What the devil is going on with you two?”

  She was keeping an eagle eye on her friend, even with the carriage stopped. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “This. The way you’re watching Miss Davenport like a worried nanny.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Really? Because if she intends to say something you might as well let her. It’s going to be a long week trying to keep them apart in the same house.”

  Jane swore. “She wants to ask Lord Brandon if he’s a prostitute.”

  For a moment, Adam had nothing to say. Then a laugh bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, and nothing he or Jane could do would get it to stop. And apparently it was contagious, because before too long Jane was laughing, too, and they were both completely useless. They were also making a pretty marvelous spectacle of themselves.

  Brandon and Miss Davenport came over to find out what the devil was the matter with them—Brandon’s words.

  “She—”

  “I can’t—”

  “It’s too—”

  “I mean—”

  Eventually Jane managed to catch her breath enough to say, “Go ahead, Eugenia.”

  Miss Davenport turned to Brandon. “Lord Brandon, do ladies pay you to fornicate with them?”

  To Brandon’s credit, he didn’t immediately react. Slowly he turned to Adam and Jane, who were leaning on each other for support, still giggling at intervals. He shook his head at them both in disapproval.

  “Do you?” Eugenia asked.

  “Not officially.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My existence is . . . somewhat complicated, Miss Davenport.”

  “Could you explain it to me?”

  He looked back at Adam and Jane. Jane was doing a terrible job of keeping herself together. Adam could feel her shaking against him, even though she wasn’t making any sounds.

  Brandon sighed. “Why not? We’ve a fair amount of drive left, and Miss Bailey’s insights on the weather aren’t as riveting as one might hope.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Davenport smiled, satisfied. She climbed up into the carriage with Brandon’s assistance.

  He leaned back around the door after he’d helped her up. “You’re both extremely childish.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jane told him.

  Adam was not nearly as apologetic. “You sort of brought this on yourself.”

  “Did I?” Brandon raised his eyebrows. “If I recall, this invitation—which was desperately important to you—was a product of my particular lifestyle. If you’re in the mood to start judging now . . .”

  “No judging,” Adam promised.

  “That’s what I thought. Get in the carriage—people are staring.”

  • • •

  Lord Brandon’s explanation of his life—and the circumstances that led to it—was even more enlightening than Jane’s fireside conversation with Aunt Matty. She also began to feel awful for finding the situation so amusing. Brandon’s father had lost their fortune the same way Lord Bailey had, but in addition to that jarring reality, he had also taken his own life, as many had after the bubble burst, leaving Brandon with a title and good looks, but little else.

  The fact was, Jane was lucky—in more ways than one. Her family had fallen from grace, but they had not lost one another. She’d never gone hungry. She’d never been homeless. She’d never gone a night without someone to hold her hand if she was frightened. Charles had worked. Jane had stayed with her aunt in Hatfield until she’d taken on the position with Hannah. She’d never had to do anything against her nature to survive.

  By all accounts, Lord Brandon’s lifestyle wasn’t exactly against his nature. Experienced women had enjoyed his company even before the crash. But having to use that fact to support himself was not amusing, so much as it was tragic.

  Eugenia, apparently, thought so as well. “That’s not nearly as torrid as I thought it would be.”

  “Thought or hoped?” Brandon winked at her.

  It was time for Jane to bring their conversation back into the realm of propriety. “Well, thank you, Lord Brandon, for using your unique talents to secure our invitations. We’re all grateful.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  “I don’t think I can ask him to kiss me,” Eugenia told Jane. “I don’t have any money of my own, and it wouldn’t seem right if I couldn’t give him something in return.”

  “What’s that now?” Adam asked.

  Jane’s face flamed crimson. “It’s no—”

  “Jane plans to kiss you again at the house party. I thought I might kiss someone also, but now I don’t think I will. Physical negotiations all seem a bit convoluted.”

  Lord Brandon was staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

  Jane cleared her throat. “Next subject, please.”

  Meanwhile, Adam’s foot had moved next to hers on the carriage floor.

  “Do you think there will be charades?” Eugenia asked. “I’m not very good at charades.”

  The carriage hit a bump, and his foot disappeared under the edge of her skirts. It was an innocent touch, not even skin to skin, but the way he looked at her when he did it . . .

  It felt extremely wicked. Jane liked it.

  She looked over at their carriage companions, but Eugenia and Lord Brandon were occupied discussing house party activities. Lord Brandon had been to many and was a fount of knowledge for Eugenia’s near-infinite list of questions.

  Using her skirts to cover the movement, Jane toed out of her slipper and rubbed her stocking-covered foot against Adam’s ankle. His nostrils flared, and he shifted in his seat. Jane raised her brows in a challenge. Adam accepted—Lord, did he accept. While she watched, he trapped his lower lip between his teeth the way she had done to him in the boathouse and slowly loosened his cravat with his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Eugenia asked. Her eyes were darting between the two of them.

  “They’re being extremely tiresome and exhibiting bad carriage etiquette,” Brandon told her.

  Mortified, Jane slipped her shoe back on and waited for the drive to be over.

  • • •

  They were one of the last groups to arrive, which suited Adam just fine. He didn’t want Sebastian to hear he was there and invent an excuse to leave. Better for him to find out after he was unpacked and relaxed.

  The grooms settled the horses they’d brought for the hunt while footmen from the estate took up their luggage. They stopped to greet their hostess before being shown up to their rooms.

  “Brandon, darling!”

  Adam had expected her to be older—a bored woman resisting her twilight years by entertaining dalliances with younger men. She was nothing of the kind. If anything, she was of an age with Jane and Miss Davenport.

  Brandon kissed her offered palm, lingering scandalously. “You look ravishing.”

  She preened. “And which of these lovely people do I have to thank for convincing you to come to my little get-together?”

  “It’s a house party in the middle of the season, Lydia. No one wants to leave the city this time of year.”

  “It’s my birthday! I refuse to have my birthday in London.” She batted his shoulder. “Now stop being rude. Introduce me to your friends.”

  Brandon sighed. “You can deduce that the tall one over there is Lord Wesley.”

  “The Marquess of Clairborne’s son.” She eyed him like a dessert. “Delicious.”

  It was a singularly uncomfortable feeling. She might not be seas
oned in age, but she was in mannerism.

  “Down, girl. This lovely young woman is Miss—”

  Lady Cavendish clapped her hands. “Jane Bailey. We had our first season together. I hated you terribly.”

  “I’m . . . sorry?”

  “Don’t be.” Lady Cavendish winked. “It was only because I was dreadfully jealous of you—until . . .”

  Brandon steered her in front of Miss Davenport. “And last, but hardly least, of our party is Miss Eugenia Davenport.”

  Lady Cavendish looked her up and down in a much different fashion than she’d assessed Adam. “How is it that I’ve never met you? I must have seen your mother a hundred times at those boring parties.”

  “I mostly hide behind ferns,” Eugenia said honestly.

  Lady Cavendish turned an unamused expression on Brandon. “You brought a wallflower to my birthday party?”

  “Miss Davenport is not a wallflower. She’s something altogether unique.”

  Puzzled, Lady Cavendish turned back to Eugenia. “Why do you hide behind ferns?”

  “I tend to offend people.”

  “In what way?”

  “In every way.”

  Lady Cavendish broke into a wide grin. “Oh, darling.”

  “Happy birthday,” Brandon answered. “I’ll show everyone upstairs.”

  “Hurry back down,” Lady Cavendish insisted. “It’s formal dinner tonight, and we’re having drinks in the parlor in half an hour.”

  They moved as a group to the stairs, where the butler held a list of room assignments.

  Brandon greeted him like an old friend. “Where’ve you put me this time, Cutty? Belowstairs broom closet?”

  “There’s a lovely shed just off the side of the stables that I thought you might like to try.”

  Brandon grinned, clapping the man on the back.

  “You’re in the blue room, and Lord Wesley is next door at the end of the hall.” The man smiled, handing him two keys. “And Misses Bailey and Davenport are sharing a room. I hope that’s all right.”

  “I told him it would be, since we were a late addition,” Brandon explained.

  “That’s fine,” Jane answered. She smiled at Eugenia.

  “You’re in the marigold room, which is left at the top of the stairs. I can have someone show you.”