“Why? Because they are too lily-livered to stand up to you?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help laughing as the orchestra struck up, and then he took her in his arms and she melted back into the waltz as if it had never stopped since the Laceys’ party.
“You are besieged by partners,” he observed. “I had to fight to get near you.”
“Most of them want me to introduce them to Cecily,” she said dryly.
“I doubt that.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It seems association with your family makes me fashionable.”
He blinked. “Why should you say that?”
“At the Laceys’ party, no one even thought of dancing with me until you did. You did that deliberately, didn’t you? You knew it would happen.”
“Yes,” he admitted. He hesitated, then added, “It’s an odd quirk of human nature. We don’t always appreciate what is under our noses until someone else covets it, and then, for some reason, we see it differently.”
“And in this case, I was the it?”
“I wanted your family and your neighbors to see you, as I did. Just because you don’t covet it, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy the same attention as your sisters. Besides, dancing parties are dull if one doesn’t dance.”
She frowned, somehow not quite pleased. “You are helping me to find my fairytale prince? My knight in shining armor who will take me away from the shame of spinsterhood?”
“God, no,” he replied. “I should then be forced to fight them off.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. “You are ridiculous.”
“Yes, but not for the reasons you think. Be honest, did you not enjoy the Laceys’ party more than others?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But that was because—” She broke off. That was because you were there, because I danced with you. “Perhaps you are right,” she said hurriedly. “But you know, I do not want—nor can I have—a London season. It is for Tommie and Henrie to make the brilliant matches. And although my parents might have started to think that Matthew Lacey or the vicar’s son, Michael, might do very well for me after all, I have absolutely no desire to receive offers from them.”
“No indeed,” he said gravely, “but I have a plan for that, too. If you marry me, you will still dance at parties but no one else will offer you marriage. You see, it is the perfect solution.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl at him. “But you do not like parties. I would hate to plague you to take me.”
“I like them better with you, Besides, it is vastly unfashionable to rely on one’s husband to escort one.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you suggesting I attract admirers and lovers to escort me instead?”
“No,” he replied flatly. “That would not be part of our agreement.” The flash in his eyes might have been anger or jealousy, although he covered it quickly with an expression of amusement.
She lifted her chin. “You have many plans for an agreement that will never happen.”
His arm tightened imperceptibly. His thumb stroked the side of her gloved hand, sending tingles all the way up her arm. “Why not? You cannot pretend you are indifferent to me.”
There was a witty reply to that. She was sure of it, though she couldn’t find it. She could only gaze up at him, stricken. He muttered something beneath his breath, dropping his arm and ushering her toward the edge of the dance floor.
“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I should not say such things in public. I did not mean to upset you.” He guided her around the edge of the floor to the French door that led to fresh air and a well-lit, walled terrace.
After the heat of the dance and the hundreds of burning candles, the breeze against her cheeks was a welcome relief. Since it was the middle of the popular waltz, there was no one else outside. Alvan urged her to the far side, where they would not be visible from the ballroom.
“Better?” he asked gently.
She nodded.
“Good. Because I mean what I say. I don’t want you to deprive either of us of this chance at happiness. I do know you’re not indifferent… which I grant you may not be love. If it isn’t, I shall spend my life trying to win you, to make you happy in all things.”
She gasped, turning away from him because she couldn’t speak under the intense fire in his eyes or the emotion in his every word. “You do not understand,” she whispered. “It is not just a question of my feelings or yours. There is a… bond… between Tommie and me… between all my family, that cannot be… broken. I could not do this to her, even if I wanted to.”
His breath stirred her hair. He was standing very close behind her. “But you do want to? At least give me that much honesty.”
She closed her eyes, but could not speak for the tears in her throat. To be with him, to be married to him and love him without guilt, that would be true joy. She nodded once.
He did not speak. In fact, he was silent so long that she thought he had vanished inside, which would surely have been best. But she heard his intake of breath, felt his movement behind her, and then, amazingly, the soft caress of his lips on her ear.
Her whole body shivered with pleasure and overwhelming emotion. With a gasp, she twisted her head around to speak, to admit her love, but her mouth met his in a deep, consuming kiss.
The music and chatter from the ballroom faded. There was only Alvan in her world, and the wonder of his warm, demanding lips, so sweet and arousing.
“If you love me,” he whispered against her lips, “we will find a way.”
She couldn’t help it. “I love you,” she whispered, and pressed her mouth to his once more, before slipping free.
He caught her hand, his eyes glowing in a way that thrilled her. “Then let us finish our dance.”
*
Without the exertion of dancing, Alvan thought he might explode with happiness. He had hoped but not expected to win her love, let alone her admission of it, so soon. With her shy, passionate kisses on his lips, the scent of her in every breath, he was on fire with love and lust.
But he had learned self-control at an early age. He would not shout his triumph just yet. For one thing, she would not even accept engagement until they somehow made things right with Thomasina. And so, while reserving the supper dance with her, he reluctantly released her back to his aunt and strode off in search of other distractions to calm himself.
He found them in the card room, where Lord Braithwaite was also seeking relief from his duties. Alvan was not a great gamer—he lost interest too quickly—but he did enjoy it for short spells, not just for the tension of following his own luck, but for his observation of the cards and of the players. As Braithwaite left “to do the pretty once more”, Frank Cornell appeared from a different table and sat down. Harrington, the officer from last night, hovered at his shoulder.
At least if the man was playing cards here, Alvan thought cynically, he was not monopolizing Cecily. He’d already seen Cornell dancing with her, but was not unduly worried since he suspected it was pure bravado, to prove he could not be warned off. After which, Alvan was sure, he would leave her alone.
But after Cornell won twice, Alvan paid him a little more attention, and after the third hand, he stood to go. He saw Harington, a born troublemaker if ever he’d met one, nudge Cornell, who rose, too, and followed him from the table.
“Your grace does not like to lose,” Cornell observed with more than a hint of a sneer.
“No,” Alvan said shortly.
“Don’t take it to heart,” Cornell drawled. “I just played better, old man.”
Alvan paused and stared at him. “No, you didn’t. You cheated, old man. And if you sit down to play again, I’ll tell them exactly where on your person to find the aces. If I were you, I’d take my leave now.”
*
Flabbergasted, Cornell could do nothing but watch his “victim” walk away. In every situation, it seemed, Alvan was there with his haughty, sneering eyes an
d his superior, I know what you’re up to remarks. Cornell refused to acknowledge that this was his own fault. He had done a deal with his abductors and made off with Dunston’s money, but he’d earned it by his ordeal and for all the damned toadying. He didn’t deserve Dunstan’s cold shoulder.
Plus, he was a gentleman. He had every right to talk to and even to court Lady Cecily without being warned off.
Here, at cards, he might have cheated a little, occasionally, but damn it, he began with the disadvantage of poverty. Dunstan’s money was running out and he was playing against much wealthier men.
Still, his blood ran cold at the thought of Alvan revealing his cheat. Even if he got rid of the incriminating cards in his sleeve, no one would doubt the Duke of Alvan’s word. All doors would be closed to Frank Cornell and he would have no more resources but his own.
He found himself walking down the ballroom toward the exit. He was running out of time to hook a rich bride before he’d spent all of Dunstan’s money, despite the boost of tonight’s winning. Courting took a damned sight too long.
Lady Cecily and her aunt appeared before him, like a revelation. They both nodded pleasantly, Cecily with that provoking, devastating smile that implied she never took anything seriously, least of all men. Damn it, she was almost his soulmate. And suddenly, in his mind, wealth, ease, and vengeance merged into the person of the duke’s sister.
He laughed aloud, attracting Lady Cecily’s glance back over her shoulder.
“Dance with me, my lady,” he begged.
The ladies paused while he caught up with them once more.
“It is the middle of the quadrille,” Cecily pointed out.
“Well, we may walk surely, until the next.”
“I don’t know. In all, will that not count as two and a half dances?” she teased. “I shall be ruined.”
“Nonsense.” Cornell offered her his arm.
Old Lady Barnaby frowned. “Until the next dance only,” she decreed.
“As your ladyship desires,” Cornell said meekly.
Cecily laughed and took his arm. “What ails you, Mr. Cornell?” she inquired. “You seem restless and unsettled.”
“I am,” he confided. “I am quite dreadfully bored with all this formality which seems solely designed to prevent anyone enjoying themselves.”
A flash of sympathy in her brilliant eyes told him he had picked just the right subject.
“Do you never want to run away, Lady Cecily? And just live as you wish?”
“Frequently,” Cecily admitted. “But I know I should be miserable within twenty-four hours of doing so.”
“Why? Would adventure not more than compensate for the familiar and the luxurious?”
She thought about it. “Perhaps. I suppose it would depend on where I ran to and why. And the adventure, of course.”
“What about Scotland?” he suggested boldly. “For the sake of romance and independence. We needn’t forego the luxury.”
She regarded him with amusement. “I have been to Scotland. A year ago, I was very nearly in love with a quite devastating nobleman there.”
“Only nearly? Then there is hope for me.” He infused his eyes with heat and laughter as he had long ago learned to by practicing in front of the mirror, and held her gaze. “Run away with me, Cecily. Marry me and we’ll thumb our noses at the world and laugh and love and be as merry as we wish.”
She blinked. There was no disguising the astonishment in her face. “You’re serious!”
“Never more so.”
“Mr. Cornell, I barely know you.”
“One can fall in love at first sight.”
“Perhaps,” she said cynically, “but neither of us did.” She withdrew her hand from his arm and glanced around to be sure, presumably, of not being overheard. “Mr. Cornell, I shall say no more about your insulting suggestion, since I believe it to be part of the foolish war between my brother and Lord Dunstan. Never speak of it again and I might—might—remain civil to you.”
She swung away from him, instead, catching the arm of the elder Braithwaite girl and moving through the crowd away from him.
Rot the woman, she had the same over-haughty tongue as her brother. It made him seethe, but he was far from cast down. He hadn’t truly expected to win her with this encounter. But it had been worth a try. Now he knew what to do, and he could take his leave of his hosts with pleasure in his heart.
*
For Charlotte, the wonder of the evening seemed to increase with every moment. Alvan loved her. He truly did. Despite Thomasina, surely there was the prospect of happiness in that? A greater happiness than she had ever dreamed was possible for her, one she had not looked for nor even wanted until he had stepped into the deserted Hart.
When she danced with him again before supper, she felt the avid eyes of the curious upon them, and did not care.
She walked into supper on his arm. Although too excited to eat much, she enjoyed sitting next to him and talking about everything and nothing. They bantered together, too, occasionally also with Cecily and Lord Braithwaite, who sat nearby.
Afterward, he escorted her and Cecily back to Lady Barnaby who was enjoying a comfortable gossip with old friends back in the ballroom. Bowing, with a gleam in his eyes aimed only at Charlotte, he turned and sauntered off. She next saw him in conversation with a group of men, while she and Cecily danced off their supper.
It was returning from this dance that she all but bumped into Lady Gordyn.
“I beg your pardon,” she said at once, falling back to let the lady pass. “My attention is in the clouds!”
Lady Gordyn’s eyes searched her face. “Yes, I see that… Miss Charlotte Maybury, is it not? I believe we met in Sussex last month.”
“Yes, at Seldon Manor,” Charlotte said pleasantly.
“Do walk with me a little, if your partner will spare you?”
Dismissed somewhat cavalierly, her friendly officer took himself off and Charlotte fell into step with Lady Gordyn, curious as to what she might wish to say.
After an exchange of civil trivialities, Lady Gordyn said, “I see you are friendly with Cecily Moore and her family.”
“They have been most kind to me.”
Lady Gordyn cast her a somewhat pitying look. “I do not know Cecily well, but the Moores are not famous for kindness. The duke, in particular never forgives. That is why I wished to speak to you, to warn you… if you put a foot wrong, all will be over.”
Charlotte’s smile grew fixed. “I’m not sure what kind of wrong you mean.” Not leading him into a clandestine relationship at the behest of a cousin, perhaps… when one is already engaged to someone else.
“They are a family of high standards and harsh rigidity,” Lady Gordyn said. “I tell you this because you are clearly a lively, natural young lady. He admires that now, but one slip of action or words or inattention and you will lose him. There will be no more laughter, only stern looks and freezing coldness. I do not wish to see you suffer, so please don’t think ill of me for advising you.”
“Oh. I don’t think ill of you for that,” Charlotte said, inwardly seething at such insolence.
Lady Gordyn’s eyes sharpened as though she suspected Charlotte’s meaning but couldn’t quite believe it. She lowered her voice yet farther. “I once stood where you stand, my dear. And I am neither forgiven nor released. Save yourself before it is too late.” She smiled, blindingly. “And here is Lady Barnaby. How do you do, ma’am?”
Lady Gordyn did not chat for long, and Charlotte tried to dismiss her words as those of a not quite sane person. But in truth, she seemed perfectly sane, except in her opinion of Alvan, which Charlotte could dismiss as mere jealousy or continuing vengeance on Dunstan’s behalf.
But try as she would, there was one sentence she could not dismiss. I am neither forgiven nor released. Surely, she could not mean that Alvan was her lover, while never forgiving her for her betrayal? That was a stretch of imagination that boggled her mind. But there was no
denying he was a strange man.
No, more likely it was the lady’s jealousy that spoke.
Why should that be more likely? I don’t really know Alvan either. Am I being led astray by foolish love?
“What did she say to you?” Cecily asked curiously.
“Nothing really,” Charlotte replied. It was not something she could or would repeat to Alvan’s sister.
Instead, perhaps even more foolishly, she repeated it to Alvan himself.
On returning from the castle, Alvan stayed for a glass of brandy while the ladies talked over the evening. Leaving Cecily arguing with Lady Barnaby over the slightly free manners of the Braithwaite girls, Charlotte wandered over to the window, where Alvan looked out over the night.
He glanced down at her. “Good ball?”
“I have little to compare it with,” she admitted, “but yes, I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” he said softly, and her heart skipped a beat because she knew to what he was referring.
“I spoke to Lady Gordyn,” she said almost desperately. “Or at least, she spoke to me.”
“What about?” He did not look concerned, merely curious.
“I’m not very sure! But she said something rather odd while talking of you—that she was neither forgiven nor released.”
He frowned. “What an odd thing to say. What did she mean?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
He shrugged. “I suspect she has had a difficult life, stuck between Dunstan and her sick husband.”
“I wondered if it was something to do with her relationship with you.”
He blinked. “What relation…” He broke off, the compelling warmth fading from his eyes and leaving them wintry. Even his lips seemed to thin. “After today, after this evening, you believe that of me?”
“No, of course not… but I know I do not understand men.”
He stared at her and set down his half-drunk brandy on the nearest table. “No, you don’t, do you?” he said deliberately. “Good night, Charlotte.”
He walked away before she could say anything further, and took a hasty leave of his aunt and sister. Miserably, she watched him go, wondering if she had ruined everything at the last.
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 19
