by Renee Rose
“Indeed.”
“Why don’t you play the pianoforte for Lord Westerfield?” Miss Anderson suggested.
She sighed. “Do you wish to hear the pianoforte, my lord?”
He gestured toward the instrument. “By all means.”
She crossed the room, rolling her eyes in a private gesture to him, which made his heart swell. She sat down to play, and though she was very skilled, it was clearly not a passion for her. After two songs she stood and paced some more, glancing at Miss Anderson and finally dropping down next to him on the settee.
“Lord Westerfield,” she said in a low voice, her eyes darting to her companion. Miss Anderson took the hint and purposefully studied her needlepoint. “I was just wondering…is our engagement still on?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course it is; why should you ask?”
“You haven’t come courting. Are you still angry with me?” So charming was the way she peered up at him that he snatched up her hand, seeking the bare skin of her wrist, just beyond the edge of her glove. He rubbed a tiny circle over her pulse. “No, kitten,” he said softly. “I’m not the slightest bit angry with you.”
Her cheeks colored at his touch and her lips parted, the gold-flecked eyes searching his. “But why have you not come to call?”
Because I cannot keep my hands off you.
“It’s only been a week,” he said, making an attempt at sounding casual.
She pulled her hand away from him, her brows coming together. “A week,” she said coolly. “Indeed.”
She stood and walked back to the pianoforte, offering her back in what could only be interpreted as some form of female ire. She played three songs before she stood and said politely, “Well, thank you for coming to call, Lord Westerfield.”
He sighed. He’d ruined things again.
* * *
Kitty obeyed Lord Westerfield’s wishes and donned the orange gown, not willing to risk a row, and secretly pleased he liked the bold dress she’d had made to her own design. As it turned out, he’d had good reason. When she and Miss Anderson met him in the sitting room, he produced a stunning ruby necklace, which matched the engagement ring and the ribbons on her dress.
She was speechless for a moment, never believing she would ever own or wear such an expensive piece of jewelry. “I don’t want you to have the only unadorned neck at this ball,” he said as she drew it slowly out of the box with her mouth falling open. Her eyes shot to his, startled that he had remembered her little remark and had thought to remedy it. “Thank you, my lord,” she managed, turning around and offering her neck. She wished she had taken the time to get the engagement ring sized, not because she wished to show off matching jewelry, but because it now seemed rude that she had shown such little interest in the thoughtful gifts Lord Westerfield had chosen for her. He draped the necklace around her neck, the cascade of tear-dropped rubies feeling cold over her collarbone, the brush of his warm fingers on her nape sending a shiver through her.
In the carriage, she could think of nothing to say. So mixed were her emotions toward him, she hardly knew how to be near him.
“It is unusual for you to be so quiet.”
“Indeed. But it isn’t for you,” she said, sounding more sharp than she intended.
“Are you purposely holding your tongue?”
“No,” she sighed. “I am not trying to be rude. I cannot seem to sort out my feelings for you,” she confessed.
“You’re still angry?”
She nodded. “I am angry and disappointed, and frankly, a bit terrified about our arrangement.”
“Why should you be afraid?”
“It’s an arranged marriage. That means my entire future happiness depends upon a man whom I do not know and who doesn’t know me in the slightest.”
“We are getting to know one another right now. And I assure you I will do everything I can to make you happy.”
“Why did you pick me? Because of my pedigree? Or because you thought I’d make pretty heirs for you?”
He frowned. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Ironically, what attracted me was your joie de vivre, which it seems our betrothal has robbed from you.”
Like a self-pitying fool, she blinked back tears, looking out the window of the carriage until she’d recovered. At the ball, she ensconced herself with a group of young ladies she knew and drank a glass of champagne to take the edge off her nerves. Westerfield seemed to take the hint, because she did not see him again for the next hour. It was not until she was dancing the second waltz with young Captain Furling that he actually had the gall to interrupt them on the dance floor.
“Captain Furling, may I steal my fiancée from you? I’ve hardly seen her all night.” He phrased it as a question, but his presence was imposing and his tone implied it was not a request.
Captain Furling bowed and left and Westerfield took her into his arms, gracefully sweeping her back into the dance.
“That was rather embarrassing.”
Westerfield did not answer. His jaw was set in a stubborn line and he was not looking at her.
“If you wished a dance with me, why did you not ask at the beginning of a dance like everyone else?”
“I forgot.”
“You didn’t wish to dance with me, did you? It’s only that you don’t want anyone else to, either. Or is it just that the waltz is too close for your taste?”
He gave a small smile of acknowledgment, but still did not answer.
“How do you imagine we are going to know one another if you will not speak? It is as if I am merely for your entertainment, and you don’t believe you need answer me.”
He brought his eyes to hers. “Forgive me—you already know I am a man of few words.”
“Well, when I ask you a question, I do require an answer.”
It was impertinent and she expected reproof, but instead the harsh angles of his face split into a grin. “What was the question?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Did you want to dance with me?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then why did you not ask me until now?”
He shrugged. “I wanted you to enjoy the ball.”
She stared at him. “Well, thank you, I suppose.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand you. Why did you select me for your wife?”
“This again? I already told you—your spirit.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“It’s the truth.”
“Do you wish me to bear you heirs?”
“Of course. Well—my mother certainly will. It’s not my primary interest.”
“What is your primary interest?”
He smiled, a wicked look creeping onto his face.
* * *
Kitty blushed. He enjoyed seeing the innocence on her, in contrast to her confident demeanor.
“Because I’m quite young still,” she rushed on. “It would be nice to enjoy another season before having children.”
“Children may not be my primary interest, but having you in my bed is.”
Her shocked expression made him smile. It was a taste of her own medicine, and she had not expected it from him.
“You did ask for the truth.”
She recovered quickly. “All right, tell me this—you said you’d made a mistake with me. If you could start over, how would you do it differently?”
“Intriguing question.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “I would certainly try to court you first.”
“Try to? And if you did not succeed?”
He pressed his lips together and looked away.
Her eyes narrowed. “You would still make arrangements through Maury?”
He did not answer, knowing there was no denying it.
“Of course you would.”
“Actually, I would make arrangements through Maury first, but ask for his silence until I had courted you.”
He shrugged. “I only gamble when winning is a sure thing.”
Her face flushed a deep red and he realized he had taken the truth too far.
“I’m not a prize! I’m not a possession for you to acquire!” she flamed. “Clearly my feelings are completely inconsequential to you, despite your insincere apologies.”
“No—that’s not true.”
She pulled away from him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of another drink. I just can’t seem to drink enough champagne tonight.”
He thought to pull her back, but creating a scene in society was distasteful to him. He watched the bold line of her back as she sashayed to the refreshment table, picked up a glass of champagne, and drained it. It was the second glass she’d had that evening. When she picked up a third, he felt obligated to intercede.
“Miss Stanley,” he said, reverting to formality. “I think you’ve had enough champagne.”
“Lord Westerfield, as anxious as you may be to start giving me orders,” she said with a wry curve of her lips, “you’re not my husband yet.” She drained the full champagne glass. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she turned and flounced away.
He sighed, heaviness weighing down his chest. He understood her anger, but her efforts to goad him into the same were going too far. It seemed there was nothing he could do or say to earn her forgiveness. How long into their marriage would things continue this way? One month? One year? He grit his teeth. She would not win a contest of wills with him, but he wanted her happiness, not a forced complacency.
He gave her wide berth after that, allowing her to dance with other gentlemen without inviting her to dance himself. He was not planning to dance again, but Lady Dunning, the hostess of the party, dropped a hint he could not ignore, so he was obliged to lead her to the dance floor. Kitty was there, preparing to dance a second dance with Lord Fenton.
“Is it true you are engaged to Miss Stanley?” Lady Dunning asked.
“Yes, it is true.”
“What are you going to do about Lord Fenton?” she asked meaningfully.
He glanced over at the pair. “What do you mean?” he asked, an uneasy feeling creeping into his chest.
She did not answer, but rather, gave him a look as if to say, “Come, now, don’t be daft,” causing an icy chill to pass through him.
Kitty and Lord Fenton? They were childhood friends, he knew from the dinner party together, but he had not suspected any attachment. His heart hammered in his chest and sweat trickled down his sides. He ground his teeth.
He would not lose this bet.
Kitty Stanley belonged to him.
* * *
“I think he’s changed his mind about me.”
“What makes you say so?” Teddy guided her easily across the dance floor in their second dance.
“Promise discretion.” Kitty found the spinning whilst full of champagne to be a bit overwhelming. “Slower, Teddy, else I’ll lose my head.”
He chuckled and stopped spinning her. “I promise discretion.”
“You remember how rude I was at dinner the night we announced the engagement?” She could hear the slight slur in her voice when she spoke, which made her giggle.
Teddy nodded. “Well, Westerfield took me over his knee, and then I swooned and when I woke up, I was in his arms with my corset open.” She hiccupped and giggled.
“No!” Teddy said with amusement.
“And then he kissed me, but Maury interrupted.”
Teddy looked at her quizzically. “And then?”
She shrugged. “Then he did not call for a week. And now he brought me here, but only asked me to dance when I danced two dances with Captain Furling, but otherwise has paid me no attention at all. What do you think it means? Could it be I didn’t kiss properly?”
Teddy burst into laughter. “No, love, I don’t think that’s it.”
“What, then?”
Teddy looked across the dance floor where Lord Westerfield was dancing with Lady Dunning. “I don’t know. Perhaps he thinks you are angry.”
She blew out her breath. “I am angry, but I’d have an easier time forgiving if he would actually court me as he promised to do.”
“Well,” Teddy mused. “He’s dancing with Lady Dunning right now. Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shall we see if we can make him jealous?”
“Ah, and throw Lady Dunning off your trail at the same time?”
“Yes.”
“I rather had the impression she had received your message, though she does not appear to be taking it gracefully.”
The dance ended and Teddy led her off the floor. “Come, let’s just see if they follow,” Teddy murmured.
“What does it mean if he is not jealous?”
Teddy looked sober. “That he’s changed his mind. Would you be devastated?”
It must have been the champagne, because she suddenly wanted to cry. Instead, she stretched her mouth into a smile. “Of course not,” she slurred. “I never wanted this engagement to begin with.”
“I know, love,” Teddy said softly, and she knew he’d seen her true heart.
“I need more champagne,” she declared to change the conversation.
“I think you’ve had plenty. Any more and Westerfield will be carrying you home.”
“No,” she insisted, “I need another. Come on,” she said too loudly, tugging at his arm.
“Kitty,” he said in a low voice. “You are starting to call attention to yourself.”
“Good,” she said without lowering her voice.
She reached the table with the champagne, but Miss Anderson appeared, nervously twittering, “Too much champagne is bad for your figure, Miss Stanley.”
“We’re leaving, Miss Stanley,” came the deep voice of Lord Westerfield. She blinked at him, finding her focus to be swimming. She tightened her hold on Teddy’s arm, which elicited a deep frown from her fiancé. “Leave, Fenton,” Westerfield snarled. She felt Teddy attempting to extricate himself from her grasp, but she clung even tighter, liking the idea of making him jealous. The memory of her previous quarrel with her fiancé over the champagne came rushing back and she purposely snatched up a glass and began to drink it down.
Westerfield wrenched the glass away from her, spilling champagne down the front of her gown. She gasped and spluttered, furious. Teddy produced a handkerchief and handed it to her, but she lost her balance and swayed. In the confusion as he righted her, Teddy brought the handkerchief directly to her décolletage, unwittingly popping one breast free of her stays. In a flash, Westerfield’s fist had arced through the air and connected with Teddy’s jaw, the sickening sound of bone on bone eliciting several screams. She gasped, horrified. Lord Westerfield seized her arm and began marching her away from the scene.
“Don’t mind him,” she called out in a loud voice, flapping one hand in his direction. “We’re engaged. He paid off my brother’s gambling debts to earn the right to bash in the faces of the men with whom I dance!”
“Enough!” Westerfield hissed, but he somehow stepped on the edge of her gown and she tripped, stumbling forward, stopped only by his grasp on her arm. She heard more gasps and twitters as she righted herself and then realized, with horror, that both her breasts had popped out of the dress whilst he trod upon it.
“Dear God, Kitty!” he muttered as she struggled to yank it back up, her face flaming. He pulled her hurriedly through the manor and out the front door, and she trotted to keep up, as eager as he was to depart the horrible scene.
She gasped for breath, her corset feeling too tight in light of the situation. Westerfield did not wait for his carriage to be called, but walked along the path until he found it himself, hoisted her into it and gave orders to the driver.
She was aware of too many things all at on
ce—that Miss Anderson would surely panic at her leaving unescorted, that the scene inside would ruin her reputation forever, that Maury would be furious at the scandal. Then, as she sat in strained silence, she considered the deeper ramifications. Westerfield could break off the engagement, which would have a financial impact on Maury, leave her forever ruined, and, quite possibly, break her heart. Because the truth was, Lord Westerfield had risen in her esteem and the thought of him not becoming her husband now was far more devastating than her initial anger of the arranged marriage.
Feeling quite sick, she attempted to reason with Westerfield. “I should not have said that, my lord. I’m sorry.”
He neither answered, nor even looked at her.
She closed her mouth, frightened. Did he believe there was something between her and Teddy? Or was he just furious with the way she’d embarrassed him? She pulled the curtain aside and looked out the carriage window at unfamiliar scenery. “You’re not taking me home.”
“No.”
Her heart picked up speed. Where was he taking her? After a short ride, the carriage pulled up in front of what must be his house, and he handed her out of the carriage without speaking.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she allowed him to lead her inside, passing swiftly through a marble-floored foyer, then upstairs to his chamber. He waved away his valet, who hurried in to light the lamp. She stood trembling as he ignored her, taking off his coat and waistcoat, removing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves. The unknown—what he was thinking, what he would do with her—was more dreadful than anything her imagination could produce. When he picked up his razor strap from the dressing table, it was almost a relief.
A whipping.
She shivered. But at least now, she knew.
“Take off your clothes, Kitty.”
She heard herself gasp but stood, rooted to the spot.
He raised his eyebrows. “Now.”
She reached behind her, but without someone to help her undress, could not manage.
“Perhaps you could send me a maid?” she suggested, her eyes pleading.
