Chapter 27
“Bloody success, don’t you think?” boomed Wyndham.
“A coup,” Ian said, half stunned by the sheer immensity of Eva’s victory. “A veritable coup.”
Elizabeth had outdone herself in the decorations. Every member of the ton who was anyone—and a few who weren’t—graced the ball. Elizabeth had made sure of that. Between himself, Wyndham, and Elizabeth, they had bullied and ordered like generals to turn the room into a starlit wonderland.
Hung from a hundred golden wires, paper lanterns in the shape of stars swung from the ceiling, and gardenias sprawled everywhere.
Eva was the queen of it all. Despite the gnawing feeling that he was stealing happiness, Ian couldn’t stop his own delight. This was all he’d ever wanted for her: to conquer society so that she might be free. But there was one aspect of all this that detracted from the relief he should have experienced.
He’d barely seen her in the last few days. He’d tried to convince himself it was because he was busy. But the truth was he couldn’t bear to be around her hope. Expectation fairly shone from her eyes, that at any moment he would utter the words she so longed to hear. But he couldn’t.
So he’d swept himself up in the tasks of launching her into society. In all their days together since her return, he’d never felt more adrift. More lost. And with each day that passed, he felt her slipping away. Which was of course foolish. They would never be parted. She needed him.
He studied her, a sweet pain.
Eva stood surrounded by a horde of gentlemen and ladies. Her dark hair had been wound with gold rope and diamond stars. That skin, which had seemed too white for so long, now shone perfect porcelain. The hue that women of the ton virtually poisoned themselves to obtain.
He and Wyndham stood high above, watching near a balustrade, overseeing that nothing should go amiss. Nothing would, of course. Somehow in the midst of all their endeavors, she had grown far out of his reach. He was still trapped in his sorrow. She? Eva was a butterfly born out of her dark cocoon, aflight with glorious color.
Indeed, she turned and laughed at a young fop’s sly comment, her green velvet gown, a creation by that atrociously expensive fop, Worth, swishing.
“It’s your fault, you know.”
Ian continued to keep Eva within his gaze as he said, “Indubitably.”
Wyndham threw his head back and let out one of his barrel laughs. “My, don’t we feel sorry for ourselves.”
Ian tore his gaze form Eva. “I do not feel sorry—”
“Do forgive me. Of course you don’t.” Wyndham tossed back half his champagne, then inclined his head toward Eva. “She is a goddess.”
“I know.”
Wyndham lifted his glass and tsked. “Ah. But she is not your goddess.”
“She will be,” Ian said calmly. They were so close now. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t find it in his heart to move past that day in India or his failure of Hamilton. She’d be with him. Even if he couldn’t give her the perfect love that all young women desired.
Eva understood. They couldn’t betray the past. Honoring it was the only way to atone for how utterly he’d failed Hamilton and the old lord.
“Are you certain? So many worship and adore her. Perhaps she will choose someone less melancholic.”
Jealousy, white and hot, instantly tore through him in an unexpected rampage. “And do you worship and adore her?”
Wyndham smirked. “Of course. Who would not?”
Ian stepped forward, grabbing Wyndham’s lapel with his gloved hand in a sudden surge of possessiveness. “Whether those buggers down there know it or not, she is mine.”
“Here, now.” Wyndham brushed at him as if he were an irritating fly. “Don’t wrinkle it.”
Ian tightened his grip, controlled by some force he’d never felt before, and added a good dose of warning to his stare.
“Please.” Wyndham snorted, rolling his eyes rather like a droll stallion. “All right, fine. Fine. She is yours.” Wyndham grinned, then said, “For now.”
“Do you want to keep your balls?”
“I have no fears. My balls are made of iron. I doubt even you could rip them off. Now stop behaving like a lovesick idiot and detach yourself.”
“Oh, I’m sure your balls are impervious to wind and weather, but where there is a will there is a way.” He forced a nonchalant expression to his brow and let go of Wyndham’s coat before snatching a glass of champagne. “And I am not lovesick. One must experience love to be sick from it.”
Wyndham rolled his eyes again so hard it appeared the irises might pop back in his head. “Ah, the lies we tell. You look like a dog irked by someone not paying attention to your piss-marked territory, old boy.”
The very thought was disgusting . . . yet accurate. That was exactly how he felt. She was supposed to be his. Under his domain. Under his protection. She’d shared his bed these last several days, but there was something missing. Ian took a long swallow of the bubbling French wine. Sweet and ever so slightly sticky, it tasted of heaven. Of joy. In the last years, the closest he had come to unadulterated joy had been in Eva’s arms.
With her hands upon his face, her body loving beneath his. But he couldn’t say the words she so longed to hear because, besides his honor, he no longer trusted himself to surrender to those emotions. When he did, his judgment grew unreliable. And Eva needed his judgment to be unshakable.
Once again, he stared down at her. She was the exact picture of what a man wanted. Soon, she would be the queen of the ton—if the women didn’t loathe her out of sheer envy. Eva had that slightly reserved presence that suggested that though she was in the world, she wasn’t touched by this world.
She would let no man claim her, so every man would try. It was the nature of men. To want what was just out of their reach. Oh, how she kept them out of reach. Even now, she gave a smile, a slight look of warning from her stunning eyes as she laughed at the remark of another young buck pressing for advancement.
“I’m going down there.”
Wyndham lifted his finger and poked it into Ian’s shoulder. “Behave yourself. So far she’s a tremendous success. Don’t muck it up.”
He curled a lip at the very idea. Hell would bring down the heavens before he did anything to jeopardize her tentative position.
Eva couldn’t quite believe she was this new person. For, surely, her present self had very little to do with the old Eva. That Eva had been bright, laughing, and sparkling, but she? She was reserved, smiling but cool, which seemed to only delight those flocking to her all the more, as if she held the secrets to all their desires. How that made her wish to laugh. In fact, she was on the edge of perpetual laughter at these foolish people.
She half listened to the beautiful tones of the aristocracy, so different from the twisted voices in the asylum and the low tones of the keepers. Eva focused in on Lady Edgington. They’d known each other since they were girls. The other woman was her opposite in every way. Where Eva was dark haired, she was wheat blond, and while Eva was fairly short, Lady Edgington fairly towered. And yet they’d been dear friends. When last they’d spoken, the other woman had been the head of the Committee for Rescue Among the Poor. It had been an admirable pursuit, attempting to find reasonable work for young girls and boys from the East End as servants. But it had been something she’d done not just out of the goodness of her heart but because . . . well, frankly, she’d been bored. They’d all been so bored. All their good deeds had come from a desperation to fill the long hours.
“My dearest Lady Carin, you look divine! Whatever you have been doing, we should all do.”
Eva raised her crystal flute in mock salute. “Rest and the waters, my dear. Oh, and a strict discipline.”
Lady Edgington tittered, her silky blond curls shaking about her doll’s face. “You are terrible! I barely have the discipline to walk about the park, let alone do as you must have done.”
Eva inclined her head, her black hair curled
deceptively around a gold-roped turban. “Well, it did me a world of good, did it not?”
“A world of good?” A gentleman approached her, a Lord Montague as she recalled, his silver hair flickering in the candlelight. “Madam, you outshine the heavens.”
She laughed, a full bell sound. “How naughty of you to tell a lie to a lady, my lord.”
He gaped.
And before she knew it a small crowd was gathering about her. All faces she knew. All faces that hovered in the distance of her memory and all faces that meant little or nothing. Where had they been when she’d been shoved into the horrors of her life? They had been absent. All of them afraid to be tainted. But now? They couldn’t bear being more than a few feet away.
“Is it true you are having tea with Princess Victoria next week?”
Eva lifted her brows but said nothing. Queen Victoria had paid her undue attention, apparently truly saddened by her loss and the wickedness done against her but, being in deep mourning for her beloved husband, Albert, had sent her daughter to convey her condolences. When Dr. Jenner’s report had gone directly before Chancery, Thomas’s scandalous behavior had been clear. He’d wrongfully stripped her of her independence, though no one knew the depth of his actions.
Word was that the Queen herself had ordered her officers to look for Lord Thomas and call him upon the carpet for his nefarious behavior.
But where were these people weeks ago? Nowhere. In fact, all of them would have turned against her if she appeared as she had been. No, only Ian had come to her aid. And now he was the one who had faded into the distance while her heart ached for him, but not enough to humiliate herself again.
Lady Prichard, a red-haired beauty with a sprinkling of freckles over her nose, leaned in. “Do tell us how you have achieved such a marvelous shape. Perhaps we should all take the waters.”
Eva grinned. “When one does not eat, one diminishes quite remarkably.”
They all laughed as if she’d said some tremendous bon mot. “Of course,” Lady Prichard said. “I’ve heard of many marvelous regimes. And I would sell my soul for your coloring.”
“Until recently, I kept myself indoors. In truth, I don’t recommend it.”
Lady Edgington gestured with her fan. “But you are so, so—”
“Glorious,” Lord Montague intoned.
“Why, thank you,” she said, barely keeping her amusement in check.
“For God’s sake, leave the girl alone.” The deep, slightly raspy voice came from the left.
Eva turned and couldn’t stop her mouth from falling agape. There stood a young lady she’d once known quite well. Her russet hair was curled perfectly over her shoulders and about her pale face, but she didn’t look particularly well. In fact, Lady Danby looked as if she might keel over at any moment. Eva smiled carefully.
“Vultures, the lot of you,” Lady Danby said tightly.
The group laughed nervously as Lady Prichard leaned in and whispered in Eva’s ear, “Consumption.”
This one word seemed to contain a certain sort of disdainful sympathy that quirked Eva’s ears. She turned to Lady Danby. A wry smile twisted Eva’s lips. “We are all birds, Lady Danby, of infinite variety.”
A glimmer of recognition occurred as their gazes met. The kind of recognition that occurs between two sympathetic souls. Lady Danby’s face softened. “Indeed. And you have escaped your cage?”
“To play with the birds in the park, yes.”
Lady Danby’s pale lips trembled with repressed laughter. “A pigeon, then?”
A gasp from the surrounding gentlemen filled the air. “A swan, more like,” sneered Lord Montague.
Eva grinned. “Pigeons are quite noble creatures. Survivors.” Some force moved her and she found her fingers sliding carefully out, hidden by the wide folds of her skirts, to brush Lady Danby’s.
When Lady Danby’s fingers squeezed hers back, Eva felt a pulse of happiness and a sudden feeling of great sadness.
For she had found that tauntingly unattainable myth. A kindred soul. And the only other woman who had ever touched her in such a way was still locked up in a madhouse, her life an ongoing horror. Mary remained in her heart, and now that Eva had her freedom, she wouldn’t forget her. Slowly she pulled her fingers away from Lady Danby’s. Desperate. Desperate to give freedom to every woman destroyed by man. But first she had to free herself for good.
Ian headed for the wide staircase. Trailing his hand along the gold wrought-iron railing, he took deliberate steps down to the ballroom.
Hundreds of couples crowded the flower- and star-bedecked room. Several danced, the strands of a Strauss waltz sweetening the air. As he approached, it became clear that Eva was not limiting her attention to men, as some women might do.
Several ladies had joined the circle. It was a veritable hive of chatter, each little bee busily drinking his or her champagne, attending to every need of the queen.
The women smiled on her, their eyes wide at whatever she said. The rumors were no doubt still alive, but every person in this room wanted to speak with Eva, to see whether she was mad or sane. As they came to her, that enigmatic smile drew them in.
Hooked. They were all hooked on her beauty, her mystery.
’Twas as if she had come alive. Blossomed overnight, leaving the old Eva behind. Finding a new one.
Some small voice within whispered that he was losing her. Already, she’d begun to go out into the parks, smiling and nodding at passersby, finding a kind of enjoyment that had been completely vacant from her before.
Oh, there was still pain in her eyes. It was there in the slight brittleness of her perfect posture and the way her smile didn’t entirely light her deep blue eyes. But unlike himself, she’d mastered it, making her able to lavish her attentions on the company of strangers.
It was impossible, the way she was giving herself to these people and absolutely none to him. It hurt to be left alone in the darkness. After all, only she could understand the guilt he lived with hour upon hour.
He walked to the edge of the crowd around her.
The men, all in their perfect black jackets, took one look at him and made way. The women gaped, half smiles on their insipid faces. Many no doubt hoped he had come to ask them to dance.
He ignored them all, just focused on the one thing he wanted. Her back was to him, but she stilled as if sensing his presence.
Ever so slowly, she turned her head in his direction.
Just that faint turn of her head, exposing her fragile neck and her delicate features, stole his breath. God, she was captivating. Full of hidden promise. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and her pink lips parted in a soft smile of greeting.
Everyone around them grew silent.
It seemed preposterous that the glance between two people could be scandalous. Yet the tension between them crackled with such palpability, he was instantly aware that they were causing what could turn into the greatest gossip the ton had known in weeks—if not years. Just this nearness was enough for them to both stop as though no one were in the room but them.
Everyone recognized it. Sensed it. And turned to it, so they might see it unfurl before them.
At last, Ian stretched out a gloved hand. “Might I have this dance, my lady?”
Eva eyed his hand, her gaze flicking over his body. For one strange moment, he wondered whether she would say no.
Finally, she curtsied ever so slightly, then placed her gloved fingers into his.
The fine fabric of her glove could not hide her slight tension as he clasped her hand in his. Strongly, purposefully, he led her to the center of the floor. Instantly, couples made room for them.
The air pulsed with it. The sudden understanding that they were no ordinary pair. Eyes turned to them, fabric whooshing, voices whispering.
Ian ignored them all, his vision able to bear witness only to the woman before him. Gently, yet firmly, he placed his hand at her waist and took her hand in his. They swayed for the appropriate two counts
and were off, swirling about the room. There had been a distance between them since that night. Since he had been unable to return her love. But he knew he could repair it. With care, they would find their way back to the unfettered understanding they shared and break this unease.
For a woman who had not danced in years, she swept across the floor, each step sure-footed. It was absorbing. Hypnotizing, the way her body so effortlessly moved to the music.
Ian stared down at her, but her gaze was askance. He ventured the banal: “You dance very well.”
She laughed. “I always loved dancing.”
Even now, he could see her flitting about the long gallery at Carridan Hall, her pantalettes flouncing beneath her pink skirts. She’d been so happy as a child. All he’d wanted was to be in her company. Nothing had really changed in the long years that had stretched since then. “I remember.”
“You’ve improved,” she said evenly. “You used to be dreadful.”
“Practice at least did not make me worse,” he teased.
She nodded. After a few moments she cleared her throat. “I must thank you, of course. For the ball, that is.”
His chest tightened with a first hint of genuine concern. Why was she acting as if they were strangers?
“Would you care to discuss the weather next?” he said softly, pressing his hand into the curve of her waist, willing her to recall the intimacy between them.
She lifted her eyes up to his face, fire, not sadness, glowing in their depths. “What else did you have in mind? Shall we bring out our ghosts here?”
God, the flame in her burned so brightly now it could heat even the most frigid soul. He longed to drag her against him and devour her mouth with his and feel that warmth. Instead, he pulled her as close as he dare, their torsos brushing lightly together. “Ghosts need never be discussed.”
A soft breath of resignation sighed from her before she arched away. “The weather, then.”
The Dark Lady: Mad Passions Book 1 (Mad Passions (Eternal Romance)) Page 25
