by Jo Goodman
And it gave greater credence to Sophie's fears that his life would be forfeit if he gave her a male heir. Tremont and Dunsmore would find a way to manage both Sophie and his son's inheritance. The income from his estates would never support the ill-considered gambling that Tremont and Dunsmore were doing under the guise of investing.
East shut the ledger, closed the cupboard, and began gathering the soldiers. He stuffed them in his pockets until they poked him uncomfortably with their tiny bayonets and drawn swords and carried what remained in his hands. Securing the ledger under his arm, East returned first to the drawing room and dropped the ledger outside the window where he could retrieve it later.
The stairs did not creak overmuch as he mounted them, and the door to the nursery swung noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. East moved cautiously in the room, afraid he might stumble on neglected dolls or wooden horses. He found the toy chest, opened the lid with the toe of his boot, and then emptied his hands and pockets. He was about to close the chest when the unmarked leather spine of a book caught his eye. Curious, he plucked it out and quickly thumbed through the pages. Here was something Sophie had left behind, and something she would be happy to have again in her possession.
"I say, are you the Gentleman Thief?"
Eastlyn carefully tucked the journal under his coat and turned slowly in the direction of the youthful, inquiring voice. He extended his arm, holding his candle steady until the circle of light encompassed the small figure on the threshold of an adjoining room. East squatted so that he would not appear so threatening to the boy and beckoned him closer, saying his name softly.
"How'd you know who I am?"
East shrugged. "Your sister is Esme."
Robert's barefooted approach was quiet. He was still wary, but infinitely curious. "Have you come to take my toys? I shall scream, you know. And my father will come and shoot you."
"That would be unfortunate then, because I have only come to make an inventory. You have a great many toys here. They were not all put away, I noticed." He picked up a nearby ball and dropped it into the chest. "You've been told to return things to their proper place, haven't you?"
Robert's dark eyes grew almost impossibly wide, and he nodded slowly. "Cousin Fia told me someone might come, but I thought she was having me on," he whispered in awed accents.
"I knew your cousin when she was your age. If memory serves, she was a very serious young girl with hair the color of honey. She left quite a few things lying about until I warned her that she shouldn't."
Robert was a believer now, and as he considered this information, he became more hopeful than he had been. "This is to be my warning, then?"
"Yes. Hand me that doll, will you?"
"It isn't mine," Robert said quickly, giving it over. "But I'll tell Esme what you said."
"Very good." East closed the chest and straightened. "I don't expect that you'll know when I've come to look in on you again. If you're missing a toy that was left discarded and unwanted on the floor, you will know I've been here." He managed to keep his smile in check as Robert nodded solemnly. "Go on. Back to bed."
Robert tore out of the room, and East winced as the door was slammed closed. He waited listening for signs that the governess had been roused or that Robert had awakened Esme to tell her of his odd encounter. Across the hall, there were no noises from the parents' bedchamber.
East left the house by the same route he had entered. He retrieved Dunsmore's ledger, brushed it off, and tucked it under his arm. All things considered, including Robert Colley stumbling upon him in the nursery, he had not managed the thing too clumsily. And more importantly, he had his first chamber pot.
* * *
Mr. Sampson regarded his employer with a considering eye. "Your lordship is unaccountably restive this evening. I cannot fathom if you are looking forward to the ambassador's gala or dreading it."
"What if I told you it were both?"
"Then I would say it is a most peculiar state for you." Sampson adjusted Eastlyn's jabot and cravat and pulled on his satin frock coat to improve the line over his shoulders. "You will endeavor to remain still a moment. There is a loose thread on the waistcoat."
Eastlyn allowed Sampson to cut the silk thread and fuss over him for another few seconds before he had had enough. Never one to examine himself in front of a glass, East did not change his habits now. The edge and cuffs of his navy frock coat were heavily embroidered with metallic gold thread, and he felt the weight of the garment on his shoulders. The collar points were so stiffly starched that Eastlyn was cautious of turning his head lest he draw blood. He brushed at his white satin breeches and adjusted the fit at the knee. Straightening, he presented himself for his valet's dark scrutiny a second time. "Your verdict, Sampson. I await your verdict."
"Your lordship is most handsomely turned out," Sampson said dryly.
East accepted this, not because he particularly believed it, but because Sampson did. "I depend on the pride you take in your duties to make it so."
Sampson acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head. "All is in readiness, my lord. The carriage is outside."
"Good."
The valet held out East's brushed beaver top hat. "It is to be hoped that Lady Sophia will enjoy herself this evening."
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation in Eastlyn's reach for his hat. He regarded Sampson with a faint air of wariness. "Why do you suppose she will be there?"
Sampson merely responded with a wry look.
"I am so obvious?" asked East.
"I am afraid so, my lord."
East nodded slowly, taking Sampson's observation as a very good thing. He carefully schooled his features until they reflected nothing so much as boredom and knew that he would have to manage it the entire evening. "Your verdict, Sampson," he drawled. "I await your verdict."
Sampson favored East with a slight smile that often served in place of a generously spoken compliment. "Your carriage," he repeated, opening the door. "It will not do to keep her ladyship waiting."
East decided that was sound advice as well.
* * *
A light snow covered the grounds outside the ambassador's residence. Carriages lined the street in front of the gated residence and filled the drive leading to the main entrance. Drivers, footmen, and young tigers, all splendidly turned out in their livery, waited stoically in the cold January night to be of service again. More than one hundred torches lighted the entrance and drive, lending the illusion of twilight to a night with no moon's silver grace.
The ballroom was already a crush of guests when Sophie and Lady Gilbert were announced. Sophie's discomfort was immediate and nearly paralyzing. If not for her great-aunt's insistence that she find a chair, Sophie knew she might have stood in just that spot, an expression of perfect terror fixed on her face.
"You look like death, my dear," Lady Gilbert whispered. "Pinch your cheeks. Your features are bloodless. And do endeavor to breathe. You cannot expect to enjoy yourself if you do not breathe."
Smile still in place, Sophie took a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly. She hoped that satisfied her aunt, because she was not going to pinch her cheeks.
"That is better," Lady Gilbert said. "You do know it must continue, do you not? In and out. In and—" She stopped, encouraged by what she saw. "Yes, I can see that you have the way of it now."
Sophie nodded faintly. Her eyes wandered over the guests, taking note of no one specifically, but of the glittering whole. Satin and silk in a rainbow of colors was the order of the evening, and the men were often as extravagantly turned out as the women they partnered. Lavender silk and pale pink satin mingled on the ballroom floor as lines were drawn for the next set. Ivory fans fluttered with abandon, but seldom because their owners were overheated. It was Sophie's observation that the fan was the finest tool of a seasoned flirt and could be used to great effect when wielded properly.
Through the narrow opening between the guests around her, Sophie caug
ht flashes of diamonds as the dancers began to move to the music. There was the occasional striking glimpse of rubies and emeralds, but this evening, perhaps in a nod to the winter season, most of the women wore icy diamonds at their throats.
Lady Gilbert leaned toward Sophie. She lifted her cane a few inches off the floor and used it to point to a couple not far away. "Do you know them?"
"They are the Baron and Baroness of Battenburn."
"I am observing they seem to be acquainted with a good number of the ambassador's guests. They must be in the popular set. Odd, that. They are barely of any rank."
Sophie tempered her smile. Lady Gilbert, she had learned, was something of a snob. It mattered little to her that she was practically penniless; her late husband had been a viscount, which she considered vastly superior to a baron. "They are considered to be most amiable and enjoy a great circle of friends." As she watched, the baron took his wife by the arm, and they began a slow turn around the perimeter of the room. In every instance they were greeted warmly. "Everyone is not so particular of rank as you, dear aunt."
Lady Gilbert merely sniffed.
Sophie was grateful for the distraction provided by an acquaintance of her aunt's who was purposefully making her way toward them. After introductions were made and amenities exchanged, Sophie was excused from active participation in the conversation as the two childhood friends filled in details of their lives since last they parted.
The light strains of a waltz came to Sophie over the insistent murmurings of the crowd. She excused herself from her aunt's side and slipped through the crush so that she might better hear the music and view the dancing. She nodded politely to the guests who caught her eye and offered the usual pleasantries when she was greeted but knew herself to be perfectly content to stand at the edge of the ballroom and observe the graceful sweep of the dancers in concert to the three-quarter time.
"You are looking well this evening."
Sophie stiffened but she did not turn. She wondered that she had not spied him earlier. "Thank you." Nothing in her response invited further conversation.
Tremont stepped closer so that he was standing at Sophie's side. "I confess I had not thought to see you here this evening. I never supposed that your name would appear on the ambassador's guest list."
"I cannot fathom it myself, but if it was a mistake, then I am glad for it. It is likely to be an affair without equal, and it is fortunate for me that I have been invited to witness it."
"But not participate, eh? I notice that you have had no partners."
It disturbed Sophie that Tremont might have been watching her since her arrival, but she would as soon cut off her nose as permit him to see it. She made no reply.
"You missed Prinny," Tremont said pleasantly. "He arrived just as the music began and left shortly after the first set."
"I suppose he felt it was necessary to make an appearance."
"It is just the sort of thing he does to placate the Frogs."
"If that is all the Prince Regent must do to keep the peace, then I hope he responds as favorably to all his invitations."
Sophie pivoted slightly on her heel so that she was no longer shoulder to shoulder with her cousin, but positioned to leave him. The ribboned hem of her ice-blue silk gown did not shift with her movement, and she caught a measure of the fabric in her gloved fingers and lifted it so that she would not trip.
"You dare!" Tremont hissed close to her ear. "I have not given you leave to go."
Sophie could barely draw air. His breath was hot on her skin, and there was no part of her that was warmed by his attention. She felt herself grow cold, then numb.
"You cannot keep running from me, Sophia. Do you think I don't know that you are in league with him? You would do well to encourage a change of course. Neither of you has the least idea what you are confronting."
Sophie was certain he meant to say more, so she was surprised when his tight grip on her elbow eased and his hand fell away. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the approach of Lord and Lady Redding, the Viscount Southerton's parents. She had only ever met them once before, and she could not imagine why they were moving so purposefully in her direction until they were upon her, greeting her warmly, and engaging Tremont in conversation.
Rescue came from the most unexpected sources, Sophie discovered. Lord Redding skillfully drew Tremont to the side while Lady Redding began an animated conversation, most of it cleverly hidden behind her fan.
"It is to be the gallery, my dear, and that is all I know," the countess said, interjecting these words into her discourse on Prinny's brief visit and the stir it caused. "Will you be able to find it?"
"I am sure of it."
Lady Redding nodded and laughed as if Sophie had said something witty. "Go on. I will sit with your aunt for the nonce and make excuses for your absence." She guided Sophie a few steps away from her husband and Tremont. "He is a most disagreeable sort, is he not?" Her fan fluttered, giving her words an odd warbling sound. "Yes, I am speaking of your cousin, and when you know me better you will learn that it is not in my nature to speak ill of others. However, it seems I must make an exception. I thought you might faint before we would reach you." She snapped her fan closed and tapped Sophie lightly on the forearm. "Quickly, my dear. Before you cannot make your escape."
Sophie offered Lady Redding a fleeting, grateful smile and hurried away. She paused only once, and that was to watch the Earl of Northam and his countess step onto the floor as the strains of another waltz began to play. She knew a stab of envy for the couple's easy grace and open affection. Whatever problems had existed in that marriage, Sophie doubted they remained unresolved. It did not seem possible that what she observed passing between them was feigned for this public setting. They moved as one, beautifully paired, matched in their movement and effortless elegance.
It was North who had asked for Eastlyn's help tonight, she remembered, and Eastlyn who had asked for hers. The moment of envy passed, and she felt small of spirit for having experienced it. She turned away from the dancing and threaded her way through the crowd until she reached the grand hall. Large gilt-framed mirrors mounted on the walls multiplied the throng, and for a moment she thought she would never find her way through to the gallery.
Helpful servants were in abundance, however, and Sophie was shown directly to the room she sought. She did not ask for escort into the long gallery, but requested privacy. The liveried footman obligingly closed the doors behind her.
Sophie glanced to her right and left. Candelabra set ablaze on the tables lighted the room sufficiently for her to see that she was alone. She took several steps into the gallery, turning slowly so that she might have the paintings revealed to her in circular splendor. It was only when she returned to her starting point that she saw him. He had been there all the time, of course, standing against the wall as if he were the subject of one of the full-length portraits. When he stepped away, it was as if he had moved outside a frame, his vitality and essence of life too powerful to be restrained by oils and a two-dimensional canvas.
East's smile made him recklessly handsome. "Can you hear the music?" he asked softly. "Come, Sophie, let us have another waltz."
Chapter 14
Sophie's feet were buoyed by the lilting measures of the waltz. She found herself standing in front of Eastlyn without memory of the journey. She lifted her face as he slipped one hand into hers and another at the small of her back. Her smile was wondrous; her eyes bright. It was in every way like the first time he had asked her to dance.
"You remember," she said softly. "I did not think you would."
"You should shoot me for a fool," he said quietly. "It would be a kindness."
Sophie did not think so. Her ice-blue gown shimmered as East turned her in a wide arc with his first sure steps. She followed his lead, her body lithe and light in his arms. She was aware of the distant music, but it was not what guided her through the intricacies of the dance. Her body responded to the subtle pro
mpts of his: the signals of his hand and wrist, the gentle pressure of his fingers on her back, the slight tilting of his head. This rhythm was different from the one they shared in bed, but no less intimate in its communications. His eyes held hers, the regard profoundly knowing. Her flushed, radiant features could not be entirely explained by her execution of the steps.
The gilt frames of the French ambassador's paintings created a kind of golden glow at the periphery of their vision. The portraits passed in a blur and might easily have been confused for the crush of interested guests on the perimeter of the ballroom. Sophie and East circled the long gallery twice before their steps finally slowed. It came to them only afterward that the music had long since faded away.
East led Sophie to the couch that faced the large fireplace. He turned slightly sideways as he sat so that he might not have his back completely to the gallery's doors. His arm lay protectively across the curved back, close enough to Sophie's bare shoulders that he could feel her warmth.
Sophie turned also. At the far end of the gallery she could see a set of double doors that she knew did not lead into the hall. "Is the ambassador's library beyond there?"
Eastlyn nodded.
"Is the Gentleman Thief in there now?"
"I think you are rather enamored of that fellow," he said. It was no answer to the question she had asked and he had to hope Sophie would not press him. "If you find his exploits romantic, you might have said something. I am not such a poor sneaksman myself, you know."
