by Candice Hern
He bent and whispered in her ear, "I don't suppose there is a dark corner we could slip into?" "No, my lord, there is not." "Damn. No gardens, either, I take it." "No gardens. This way, if you please." She led them, at last, through a door into a room set up with several tables, all of them filled to capacity with others who preferred to skip the soprano. More guests stood about in groups. Footmen threaded their way between the tables, pouring tea and, he was thankful to note, wine.
"Oh, dear," Artemis said. "This was not the best idea, it seems." "Over there," he said, and gestured to a window seat where a man and woman stood and looked ready to leave.
They shouldered their way toward the window just in time to claim the vacated bench. Lady Somerfield sat, and Thayne was tempted to remain standing, where he could look down on her beautifully exposed bosom. But the noise of a dozen conversations, not to mention the music from the drawing room, made it difficult to hear, and so he sat beside her. Which was even better, as it turned out. The narrow width of the bench meant that her thighs and hips brushed up against his.
Thayne procured two glasses of wine from a passing footman, and held his up in salute. "To serendipity," he said, and touched his glass to hers, "which brought us together that night at the masquerade.
"I am glad you agreed to speak to me." He leaned in close on the pretense of not wishing to be overheard. But in fact the din of conversation was too loud for anyone to hear them. "I wasn't sure you would. I am hoping you have reconsidered what we discussed when we last met. About us, I mean."
"No, I haven't reconsidered. Well, not entirely."
He grinned. "Not entirely? I am hopeful, then."
"Lord Thayne, I—"
"Please, no more lording me. We are beyond that, you and I. In private, at least. My name is Gabriel, though only my mother ever uses it. I have never liked the name, in fact. My friends simply call me Thayne." He leaned in even closer. "But you may call me 'my love' or 'darling' or anything you like."
She smiled and pulled back slightly. "I shall call you Thayne. But please, do not sit so close. I do not wish for us to be the subject of gossip."
He shifted his position a bit. "It's a narrow bench. I will attempt a decorous distance, but I'm afraid parts of us are fated to . . . touch."
She arched an elegant brow and looked at him over the brim of her wineglass, but did not comment.
"And what of you?" he asked. "You will not allow me to call you Artemis, though it suits you. Will you honor me with your Christian name?"
She looked at him for a long moment before responding. "Beatrice."
"Ah, Beatrice. One who brings joy. You are certainly that, my lady. And I live in hope that you will bestow more joy upon me in the very near future."
She frowned. "Please. This is madness. There is still Emily. She is still determined to bring you up to scratch."
"And she will have no success in doing so, as I have told you before."
"But she will continue to try, and that makes it awkward for me. Don't you understand?" Her brow puckered and she gazed at him intently. "Yes, I will admit I am attracted to you, Thayne. You know that I am. But until Emily ceases to view you as a potential suitor, it just doesn't feel comfortable for me."
He took a long swallow of wine. "Damn the girl. Do you know she attached herself to me almost as soon as I arrived? She made it quite impossible to avoid sitting beside her during that wretched harp solo."
"You see what I mean?" She sliced the air with her hand, and her voice rose in frustration. "She will keep trying until she has worn you down. I wish you would do something to discourage her once and for all."
"If that is what it takes to have you in my arms again, I will publicly reject her."
Her expression softened. "Oh, no, Thayne. Please, nothing so harsh as that. But her vanity could use a bit of bruising. Perhaps if she sees that you are immune to her beauty, her pride will force her to give up the cause. But that will never happen if she keeps charming you into doing her bidding."
"It was not charm. I simply did not wish to appear churlish before so many onlookers."
"It is all the same. She will be seen sitting beside you and dancing with you, people will continue to link your names, expectations will mount, and before you know it, you will have been cajoled into making her an offer."
He laughed. "You must have more faith in me than that. No one—not Emily, my mother, or anyone else—is allowed to order my life for me. No one."
"Emily will try. Believe me. I know her well."
"But I see that you have decided I am right about backing away from her. The last time we met, you seemed determined that I should court the girl. I am glad you have changed your mind."
Her lips pursed into a tiny grimace before she spoke. "I simply cannot accept the notion of my niece marrying a man with whom I've . . . been intimate."
"Which is precisely why I will never marry her. Even if I wanted to, I could never do that to you, Beatrice. What she needs is a distraction. What if we threw another attractive suitor at her head?"
She gave a little snort. "Do you not see the court of admirers that always follows in her wake? There are any number of potential suitors littering my drawing room almost every day. But none of them is an heir to a duke."
"Are there any other dukes available? I have been away so long that I have no idea."
Beatrice smiled and shook her head. "The only other bachelor duke is Devonshire, and he's deaf as a post. There are always the royal dukes, I suppose. Clarence, for example."
"Is he as fat as I remember?"
"They're all fat. No, I think we will have to come up with something else."
Thayne surreptitiously pressed his knee against hers. "I will contrive a plan, I promise you. And you must have more faith in my lionhearted resolve against one troublesome young chit. We shall be together, you and I, if I have to pay someone to abduct the wretched girl and drag her to Gretna Green."
Thayne had lost no time in putting a plan in action to deal with the problem of Miss Emily Thirkill.
"You don't mean it." Jeremy Burnett stood beside him in the shadows of a large classical statue in one corner of the room. "How the devil am I supposed to capture her attention away from you?"
"With your infamous charm. And by staying at my side. Even if the girl does not make her usual effort to track me down, I fully intend to speak with her aunt. If Miss Thirkill is not with Lady Somerfield at that precise moment, you may be sure she will lose no time in returning to her aunt, ready to flaunt her beauty in my face. She is persistent as a fly on a hound's nose."
"She's devilish gorgeous, that's what she is."
"Which should make your job all the more easy." Thayne watched his friend and knew that look in his eye. The girl's looks had had him smitten from the first.
"I agree it is no great effort to spend time with her," Burnett said. "But if she has her sights on a marquess, what makes you think she'll deign to show interest in a plain mister?"
"Your father's an earl."
"But I shall never be, unless you have some sinister plot to remove my two elder brothers. No, there is nothing to recommend me to that sort of girl."
"Nonsense. Your fortune alone is a powerful recommendation. And you forget that I have seen how you charmed your way into every zenana in India, not to mention the bedrooms of every British woman there under forty. Besides, I am not asking you to marry the girl, or even to seduce her. Just to be there to aim some of that charm in her direction while I attempt to depress her hopes with my most imperious condescension. She's a tough little nut, though. Alone, my arrogance makes no impression on her. But your good nature can act as a counterpoint to my rudeness. When she is angling for me to request a dance, you step in and request it first. Think of it as being a sort of bodyguard. Keep her away from me as much as possible."
"A bodyguard, eh? I might require a hefty fee for such strenuous employment."
"What sort of fee?"
"Hmm. I just
might want to rid you of one of those Hindu statues."
"If you can get that damned girl to give up any notion that I'll make her an offer, you may have as many statues as you want."
"You think this will work? That she'll give up if I keep her away from you?"
"She will not like to be seen pursuing a man who has no interest in her. It would be too wounding to her pride. Hopefully the girl will eventually let it be known that she has no interest in me and never did have. But it is a two-man job, I assure you. It will take me twice as long to be rid of her without your help. And the sooner the girl picks up her cap and walks away, the sooner her aunt will agree to an affair."
Burnett looked across the room at the two ladies in question. "I can see why you are in such a hurry. She's a stunning woman. Always thought so. Funny how she turned out to be the very woman you sought."
"She is indeed stunning, in every way. And with your help, I intend to have her again, and soon. If Miss Thirkill shows even the smallest sign of irritation with me, I shall have my opening. I depend upon you, old chap, to help her to see what a pompous ass I am."
Burnett grinned, displaying the full force of the boyish charm that had captivated women from Calcutta to Madras. "That should be no trouble at all," he said.
"Hmph. Let us make ourselves more visible."
They stepped from the shadows and began to move about the ballroom. Almost at once, they encountered Lady Emmeline Standish and her mother, Lady Frome. Lady Emmeline had been presented to Thayne by his mother, who was enthusiastic in her assessment of the girl's suitability as a potential bride. He had no objection to the young lady, who had glossy dark curls and a pretty mouth, and who did not seem as diffident as some of the other candidates. He should make an effort to get to know her. His request for a dance later in the evening was accepted.
"Seems a nice girl," Burnett said as they moved on.
"Yes, I like her. She doesn't fawn over me or simper or stammer. Her father's an earl; her mother is the daughter of a marquess—the blood's blue enough to suit even my mother."
Burnett stopped him with a hand to his arm. "That's it! There's your solution."
"What?"
"Miss Thirkill's blood is not blue enough for your exacting standards. Her father is merely a baronet. You wouldn't dream of introducing such an insignificant bloodline into the family."
Thayne's eyebrows rose in interest. "By Jove, it's brilliant. And credible. You have my permission to paint me as the loftiest of highborn snobs."
Burnett snorted. "Oh, that's a stretch."
"Remember that statue you wanted?"
"Yes, yes."
"Aha. Here they come. Get ready to exert your best charm."
Beatrice and her niece were walking toward them. Emily was beaming a dazzling smile at the young men who buzzed around her like bees. Thayne caught Beatrice's eye, and desire surged through him with a ferocity that left him breathless.
God, how he wanted her. He tried not to stare, but probably failed. She was clad in a green dress trimmed in gold that clung to her curves in a most provocative way when she moved. Her full bosom was on display, to his delight.
He was hard-pressed not to grin like a fool at the sight of her, but if his plan was going to work, he must retain his aristocratic reserve. And so, with an effort, he kept his lips tight, his face calm and rigid as a mask, his chin high. He turned away from the slow approach of the ladies and pretended to survey the room.
"There he is, Aunt Beatrice," Emily whispered. "He has seen us. Let us take our time. I do not wish to appear overly eager."
"A wise idea, my dear. It would not do to have people think you are chasing after him."
"I do not chase," Emily said in an indignant tone. "But I have saved a set for him."
Several young gentlemen stopped them and requested dances from Emily. She obliged them all with promises for later in the evening, but gave no one the next dance. Clearly, she wanted her first appearance on the dance floor to be on Lord Thayne's arm. Beatrice glanced at him again, and was pleased that he was no longer watching them approach.
He had donned his best toplofty demeanor, she noted, which came so easily to him. But there was something else, too, a contained energy about Thayne, as if the room, the starched neckcloth, all of Society even, were too small for him.
Had that lordly hauteur she'd once been so concerned about really been something else altogether? Beatrice sensed a feeling of confinement, a suppressed urge to bust loose and take life by the horns, on his own terms. That was probably why he'd spent so many years traveling in India, to fuel his restless spirit, to stretch the boundaries of his world. Yes, he would do his duty to his title and family, but he did not seem the sort of man to be constrained by that duty. He would reach beyond it somehow, to grab more from life.
It was one of the things she found most attractive about Thayne. He was so different from Somerfield, who'd been so rigid, so thoroughly fixed in his view of the world. He would never in a thousand years have traveled to India. It was too different, too alien, a place that did not conform to the rules he understood.
But a man like Thayne who explored new lands and new people and new ideas appealed to Beatrice. Perhaps it was merely a reaction to her years with Somerfield, but she was drawn to this young man with his strange dichotomy of upright nobility and restless spirit.
And the way he looked at her, with open desire. She had succumbed to that desire in a moment of madness and had subsequently hoped it would be enough to assuage that persistent hunger she'd felt ever since Penelope had pressed that wretched Merry Widows' pact upon them. It might have done, if she had never discovered his identity and been thrust into his company so often. The one wild evening had, in fact, done nothing to silence her body's urges, but had intensified them. She would fight them for now, or at least try to do so until she and Thayne sorted out what to do about Emily.
Beatrice noted with concern that Lord Rochdale had come to hang about on the fringes of Emily's court of admirers. His intense gaze was worrisome at best. She could not believe his intentions were honorable. All the world knew he did not have a principled bone in his body where women were concerned. He caught Beatrice's eye and arched a black brow. She glared at him and he finally moved away. She would have to warn Emily about him. Though he was too old for her, he did have rank and fortune that might appeal to the girl. Or, God forbid, to Ophelia.
For the moment, however, Emily was taking aim in another direction. They had made their way to where Thayne stood, and Emily stopped directly in front of him.
"Lady Somerfield," he said, and sketched a bow. "And Miss Thirkill." He gave a crisp nod in Emily's direction.
"Good evening, Lord Thayne," Beatrice said.
"Is it not a lovely ballroom?" Emily exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling, her smile brilliant. "I plan to dance every dance. I've already promised several sets, and hope to have them all promised very soon. I hate to sit out a dance, don't you?"
"You remember Mr. Burnett, of course," Thayne said, completely ignoring Emily's not very subtle suggestion that he dance with her.
Mr. Burnett made an elegant bow. "Miss Thirkill, may I be so bold as to reserve one of your remaining sets? I promise not to tread on your toes too often."
"Oh."
Emily looked at Thayne, apparently hoping he would claim the set instead. The marquess, however, affected a demeanor of supreme disinterest and said nothing.
Beatrice gave Emily a discreet poke in the ribs.
"Why, yes," she said, plastering a brittle smile on her face, "I'd be happy to dance with you, Mr. Burnett. As it happens, I have the next set free."
Again, she darted a glance at Thayne, for she had surely been saving her first set for him. But there was nothing she could do about it now.
"Excellent," Burnett said. He smiled broadly and offered his arm. "Shall we dance, Miss Thirkill?"
He led Emily onto the floor, where several lines were forming for the first country dan
ce. Thayne shot Burnett a significant look, and Burnett nodded in response before taking his place in the line. What signal had just passed between them? What were they up to?
"There, see how easy that was?" Thayne said. "Burnett will keep her occupied for a while."
"It is only a dance, my lord," Beatrice said, "not a betrothal."
"You are not to my lord me anymore, remember? Anyway, Burnett has promised to fill the girl's head with accounts of the worst aspects of my character."
"Ah, so that is your plan. But what makes you think he can capture her interest, when she has all but ignored him up to now?"
"Because he has the power of love to drive him— he is besotted with the girl—plus the promise of a statue. His primary goal is to convince her that I am not worthy of her attention, that I am too toplofty and will never condescend to court her. Only a baronet's daughter and all that. While he's blackening my name, I have no doubt he will try to woo her for himself. He has always had a way with the ladies. I've known a dozen women or more who've fallen in love with the fellow based on little more from him than a smile."
