Lady Kensington found him before he found her. “Lord Alexander! I hoped to see you here this evening.” She pushed through the crowd, tugging a struggling Lady Grace along behind her—more dazzling and bewitching than he had ever seen her before. She looked like an angel, all aglow beneath the warm candlelight. They arrived at his side in record time; crowds posed no deterrence to Lady Kensington. “You are such a dear man. My Laurence had a pleasant visit with you this afternoon, he tells me, and hopes you will bring yourself around to us far more often. I must agree with him, as well.” She looked as though she might talk to him for hours if he didn’t stop her.
If looks could kill, Lady Grace’s aunt wouldn’t be alive very long. Even as daggers glared through the younger woman’s eyes, he’d never seen anything so beautiful. “Why thank you, Lady Kensington. And good evening to you, Lady Grace.”
She wore a high-waisted silver gown that shimmered in the candlelight to match her eyes. Ribbons twirled through hair dressed in a much more fashionable manner than her traditional knot. Curls spilled free and ran riot at the back of her head. A few tendrils wisped along her temples and at the nape of her neck, begging him to be touched. He anchored his arms to his side to keep from doing so.
She looked ravishing.
The orchestra had finished their preparations, and dancing was set to begin. “I do hope I’m not too late to request your hand for a dance.”
She looked horrified at the prospect of dancing with him, with her jaw dropping almost to the floor. He thought she would deny him, but Lady Kensington interrupted before she could speak. “Splendid! I’m afraid she’s already granted the first two dances to other gentlemen, sir. But the third dance, which,” she said with a wink, “I understand to be a waltz, is free. Gracie, please pencil him in on your card.”
“Aunt, I haven’t been approved to waltz. I dare not defy convention in such a manner.”
Blast. She may have found her excuse to avoid him, at least for that particular set.
“Oh bosh, Gracie. No one in Bath cares what Almack’s dictates. You know how to waltz, don’t you? Nothing else is required here, my dear. You’ll waltz with Lord Alexander this evening.” Lady Kensington positively beamed over her success.
A tall, lanky youth with pimply skin joined them at that moment. He looked to be hardly out of leading strings. Good. This one should pose no threat.
“Oh, Lord Warringly. You are precisely on time for your set.” Lady Kensington’s nose wrinkled, and Alex debated whether it was due to pleasure or distaste for the young viscount.
“Lady Grace? I do believe this is my dance.” Warringly escorted her away before she could go against her aunt and deny Alex his waltz. She glanced back over her shoulder at him with a look of chagrin as she walked across the ballroom.
“You sly fox. You look positively smashing tonight, my lord,” Lady Kensington said, her voice filled with amusement. “During your waltz, I’ll look the other way should you decide to take her for a walk in the gardens or something of that nature. I’ll not interfere.”
His nerves built as he anticipated what was to come. “Thank you, ma’am. However, I don’t believe it would be in your niece’s best interests to be caught sneaking off alone with me at this point—not until after an announcement is made and her father has approved the match.” He couldn’t bear to cause her more damage than he already had. “I don’t believe we’ll stray out of sight.”
Tonight everyone would see. That was just how it must be.
But the pleasing thought of taking Lady Grace somewhere alone nagged at him and burned his mind.
~ * ~
Grace danced a country dance with Viscount Warringly and thought all the while about Lord Alexander. The young viscount attempted to make polite conversation with her when they were close enough to converse, but had little more to discuss than general comments on the weather. Grace didn’t try overmuch to participate. The day had exhausted her, and she wanted nothing more than her bed.
Even worse than her exhaustion, she was mortified to have her aunt drag her into the public eye so soon after the morning’s scandal. If her aunt and uncle insisted she stay with them and not seek employment, wouldn’t it be better to keep her from society and gossipmongers? For once in her life, Grace thought perhaps her father was right. His enforced isolation might be useful for some things in life, at least.
She wondered how long it would be before word of the incident at the Pump Room reached him. If he thought her a whore before, what would he possibly think after hearing how she had allowed Lord Alexander Hardwicke to kiss her? He would be furious.
She needed to forget any daydreams of an eligible match, and leave to seek employment, irrespective of the Kensingtons’ adamant insistence that she stay. But Grace had no desire to hurt them. She’d hate to lose the relationship she had recently forged with them. But as much as the loss would hurt, she knew there would be more to gain. She could escape Father’s wrath, protect the Kensingtons from him, and keep her child, working as a nurse or a governess somewhere.
But then there was Lord Alexander. Why could the man not understand it would be easier for them both if he left her alone? After this morning, Grace had no doubt he was forming an emotional attachment to her, despite her best efforts to allay him. And try as she might to ignore him, she thought of him more often every day. He consumed her.
It had to stop. She was unsuitable for him. Grace set her mind to dissuade him tonight.
The dance ended, and Viscount Warringly led her to Aunt Dorothea, who held out a glass of lemonade for her.
“Thank you, my lady. It was a pleasure.” The viscount inclined his pock-marked head toward her and then left.
“He is quite a young lad, isn’t he?” Aunt Dorothea wrinkled her nose toward him again as he walked away. “I know it’s not his fault, but a few more years will do that boy a great deal of good. Oh dear, I hope you didn’t fancy him, Gracie. I don’t think he is the one for you.”
“Aunt, you and I both realize it doesn’t matter who I might or might not fancy. Please stop trying to match me with some eligible gentleman, as I’m entirely ineligible.” She sent her aunt a pleading look across the glass of lemonade as she sipped. “A match for me, right now, is just not possible. You have to accept the truth.”
Her next partner came to claim Grace for his set. Lord Cecil Fullerton was a handsome man with broad shoulders and a good deal of height. Everything about him suited the current fashion, from the cut of his hair to that of his superfine coat. A score of young ladies eyed her jealously. He must be quite the catch in Bath.
Lord Cecil bowed deeply to Aunt Dorothea. “Lady Kensington, if you’ll allow me, I’ll leave you bereft of your charge for a short while.” He turned his pompous smile to Grace and placed her hand on his arm. “Shall we?”
He led her to the dance floor, which soon filled with couples. She took her place across from him. When the music started, Grace attempted to fix her attention on the man before her, but soon wished she were dancing with anyone else.
“You do realize you are the envy of every young lady in the room at this moment, don’t you?” He flashed her a grin, but she only saw teeth. Perfect teeth. Perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfect teeth.
“Is that so? Hmm.” The man would receive no compliments from her, no matter how he fished for them.
“Quite. I must inform you, I’m the most eligible bachelor in the room. Many would go so far as to say the most handsome, as well.” He brushed a hand over his waistcoat—again, a flawless hand—and drew her attention to the peacock colors adorning him.
“I see.” Grace looked down the line of dancers for anyone to distract him. “Oh, look. The lady over there with the fair hair and aubergine gown is attempting to catch your attention.”
He followed her gaze across the hall. “Ah yes, the Dowager Viscountess Burkes. She has been after me since before her husband passed.” Lord Cecil winked at the woman and pursed his lips, feigning a kis
s in her direction. “Pay her no mind, my lady. I have no desire to taste someone’s leftovers. She will be no competition for you in winning my favor.”
Grace shuddered as they separated to dance with a nearby pair for a few figures. She had no idea what the ladies who envied her could see in him. She only saw an utter popinjay.
They came together again. She steeled herself for another round of revulsion.
“Do you admire my cravat?” He pointed to a perfectly knotted neck cloth when she did not immediately respond.
“What was that? Oh, yes. It’s fine.” Good gracious, would he never speak of anything but himself? His pomposity knew no bounds.
“I purchased the fabric from a trader in India. He has the most luxurious silks and muslins you have ever seen.” He waited while they formed a figure too far apart for her to hear. “When I brought the fabric home, I had the best seamstress in all of England sew me some new cravats. I daresay they are the envy of every gentleman in Bath. Probably all of England. None could be finer.”
“Yes, it’s fine, my lord.” How much longer would the set last? The man was objectionable in every way imaginable. Her exhaustion didn’t aid his cause either, as she was soon cranky and irritable.
When the set finally came to a close, Grace was parched and desperate to take her glass of lemonade from her aunt so she could find somewhere she could sit to rest for a few moments. However, she would find no such respite. Surely Aunt Dorothea had promised the waltz to Lord Alexander on her behalf, blast the meddlesome woman. He would be displeased if she disappeared, and the infuriating man would, in all likelihood, follow her to claim his dance.
Butany plans she may have formed were moot. Lord Alexander stood adjacent to Aunt Dorothea and rendered any escape plan impossible.
Lord Cecil turned to Grace. “I see your next partner has arrived to claim your hand. Sadly, he’s not as handsome as me. I suppose you must suffer through his attentions for the duration of the waltz.” His voice drifted, and surely Lord Alexander had heard every word. Lord Cecil inclined his head to the party and took his leave. She couldn’t have been more thankful to see him go.
Except she now had to face a waltz with Lord Alexander.
Perhaps she could make him understand, finally, that he should place his attentions elsewhere. How she would manage it, other than stating it as plainly as possible, she didn’t know. He hadn’t heeded any of her prior hints, however plain she thought she had been. The time had arrived for blunt truth.
Grace took a deep breath to calm herself and faced him. Aunt Dorothea beamed in anticipation. Why was her aunt so keen to see an attachment between them? Why could she not see things as they truly were?
Lord Alexander, however, looked ready to strike the next person who dared to cough in his presence. He took a step toward her and bowed his head. “Would you like some refreshment before we waltz?” Without awaiting her response, he grasped her arm and led her toward a table laden with lemonade, gently but firmly pulling her along with him with a sense of both urgency and possession.
She did need something to quench her thirst, so she allowed him to continue, weighing her options along the way as every eye in the ballroom watched. Grace simply must make herself heard tonight. She couldn’t delay any longer. He was acting like a lovesick puppy, which she emphatically could not condone.
He handed her a glass of lemonade with his free hand, the other still firmly grasping her elbow.
Another speech was on her tongue, similar to her diatribe from that morning. But as she opened her mouth to speak, he pulled against her and hauled her through the crowd. She dug her heels into the floor and tried to remove the vise of his fingers against her arm, but she was powerless to stop her progress.
“My lord. Stop this at once.”
He paid her protests no heed and stubbornly tugged her behind him through an alcove to the veranda. He looked around, and then kept going until they reached a secluded area. Apparently, he had no intention of repeating the morning’s performance before of an audience. Fine. Grace intended to give him a piece of her mind, no matter how many or how few people witnessed.
He had to listen. He must understand.
She couldn’t think what would happen if the man refused to listen to reason.
~ * ~
Alex had watched Lady Grace dance with her first two partners of the evening while trying to dissuade the jealousy. Surely he was only jealous due to the fact that he intended to take her as his wife. The sooner it took place, the better.
He did not have feelings for her—nothing serious, at least. He liked her. She fascinated him. Marriage to her would be at the very least a tolerable affair, with a fair amount of passion. Alex could imagine no woman he would prefer to spend his life married to, so that likely played into his feelings of envy.
Any reasonable man would be jealous if the woman he intended to marry danced with and smiled at other men. His reaction had been perfectly rational.
But when Lord Cecil, the deuced dandy, had taken her out onto the ballroom floor, Alex cringed. The infernal man was insufferable—almost as bad as Maxwell. Cecil Fullerton rankled on Alex’s last nerve, and he could not hide his distaste for the man, however hard he tried. Granted, he didn’t quite try.
He returned to his position beside Lady Kensington. The woman could talk the ear off anyone, but at least she had a sense of humor. He couldn’t allow himself to become distracted. She spoke to him—she must have spoken to him—but he paid her no attention.
He could think of nothing but Lady Grace.
Watching her dance with Lord Cecil had been pure and utter torture. The bastard kept making vapid attempts to smile at her, obviously in search of compliments. Lady Grace played the part as well as could be expected, but by this point, he knew her expressions well—and she was quickly growing annoyed. Good! Alex was glad the fop annoyed her.
Maybe he had no reason for jealousy, after all.
But if she was annoyed…well, Lord Cecil had no right to cause her such aggravation. The abhorrent dolt. Alex had to clench his jaw shut.
Various gentlemen came to him, attempting to engage him in conversation. Alex wasn’t interested. Not to be boorish, but he couldn’t suffer their simpering thoughts at this point. He needed to focus his energies elsewhere, such as on the dolt who was leering at his soon-to-be-fiancée while dancing with her.
Of all the insufferable fools! Alex was fuming. Smoke must be billowing from his ears, and he was quite certain his face easily matched the redness of his hair. He could scarcely remember the last time he had been so uncontrollably, treacherously angered.
After the set finished, which felt as though it filled the span of three sets, the nit-wit Lord Cecil finally escorted Alex’s future bride back to her aunt’s side. He then had the audacity to say within Alex’s hearing, “I see your next partner has arrived to claim your hand. Sadly, he is not as handsome as me. I suppose you must suffer through his attentions for the duration of the waltz.”
Suffer through his attentions, indeed. Alex would gladly suffer Lord Cecil through a fist to the jaw. Once the half-wit left, Alex’s desperation to speak with Lady Grace alone consumed him. He needed her alone. Now.
“Lady Grace, would you like some refreshment before we waltz?” Anything to find privacy.
He didn’t wait for a response. If he had, he knew she would say no, the minx. Or perhaps she would remember her aunt was holding a glass of lemonade for her and decline to go with him. Alex took her by the wrist and stalked off to a refreshment stand.
He took a glass of lemonade and passed it to her, never removing his grip on her arm. He would prefer port, himself, or perhaps scotch. Something to clear his head of all the cobwebs.
Other people leaned in, seemingly attempting to overhear any snippets of conversation between them. What would he have to do to find some privacy? Blast it, why had he thought his idea so ingenious, so brilliant to face the scandal in the open, to have their betrothal witnessed by
the masses?
But that had all changed now.
He needed some seclusion with her, and he needed it now. He pulled her behind him and searched for anywhere they could be alone. The card room and the octagon room were filled with people trying to avoid the crush of the ballroom. There was nowhere acceptable indoors.
Lady Grace struggled against him, digging her heels in and trying to pull her arm free. His strength far outweighed hers, so he had no fear of her success. He would never physically hurt her, or any woman. But he needed to deal with things right now. Later would not work.
When her attempts to pull herself free failed, she called out to him, “My lord. Stop this at once.” Alex ignored her protests and continued his march toward privacy.
The weather was quite pleasant that evening—a little breeze, a few clouds, but no rain. He looked around the room and found an alcove with a door leading to the veranda. Perfect. He would take the chit outside, away from the prying eyes of chaperones and gossips.
They needed to have a conversation, and they would have it tonight, by God. Right now.
There were things Lady Grace must come to understand.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex pulled Lady Grace through the gardens to find somewhere they could talk in private. The simple task wouldn’t be so impossible if she would cease fighting him like a banshee. At least she had finally stopped ordering him to leave her alone. They would have a damned audience if she continued.
He wound through the walks of the garden, leading her by the arm. After countless twists and turns in their path, they were blessedly far enough away from prying eyes and ears to have their discussion. But where to start? He hadn’t taken the time to decide how he should go about informing her of his decision. It was obvious they must marry, but Lady Grace didn’t strike him as a woman desperate to be married to him. For that matter, she was loath to remain in his company.
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