She nodded. She wanted to be dancing with Trent, not Lord Clarington, but it was hard to dance with a man who had made himself scarce for an entire week. It no longer seemed quite so lucky that he had told her he wanted to be friends as it had when she thought that meant she would see him often and still have the chance to make him fall in love with her.
She slipped her hand into the crook of Lord Clarington’s elbow, and as she did, she saw her father, not five feet away, drink in hand and a fierce frown on his face. He stood just behind a large suit of gleaming armor. Had he been watching her this entire time? Given the way he now glared at her, he must have noted her preoccupation as Lord Clarington and Lord Spencer had talked.
Forcing a smile to her lips, she searched her mind for what she could do that might please him and make him think she was really giving Lord Clarington a chance. Ah! “Lord Clarington, tell me, have you read any good books lately?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
She gritted her teeth, then forced her smile bigger. “I daresay I’m interested in quite a great deal. What is it you are reading?”
He moved them into place for the quadrille. “I’m reading Rob Roy. You would not understand it.”
If her father were not watching her, she would tell Lord Clarington what an offensive bore he was and leave him standing alone. Instead, she tilted her head. “Ah, Rob Roy. Quite a good novel. I already read it, of course.”
Lord Clarington’s mouth fell open as he moved with the dancers. “You could not have.”
She barely resisted the urge to pinch the man. “I assure you I could and did.”
His mouth puckered as if he had sucked on something tart. “What is it about?”
Once she moved back toward him she said, “Do you wish for me to give you a synopsis of the entire book? The main narrator is Frank Osbaldistone. He falls in love with Diana Vernon, whose father is in hiding because of his Jacobite sympathies.” She took a deep breath, rather enjoying the increasing pinched look on his face. “Then―”
“Enough,” he snapped and jerked away. When once again he faced her, his nostril flared so wide he looked comical. “Women should not tire their minds by reading such heavy tomes. You should read magazines or some such thing.”
“If you say so,” she murmured. Arguing with this foolish man was a waste of her time. Instead, as she kept up with the dance she recommenced her search for Trent. The conspicuous line of wallflowers in various hues of light pinks, blues and yellows standing without dance partners by the large potted plants made her angry at the stupidity of men and envious that the wallflowers did not have to endure Lord Clarington. She prayed he did not offer for her. Her father would surely demand she marry him and that would be a lifetime of misery.
At the end of the quadrille, Lord Clarington led her off the dance floor, opposite of where her father had been. She simply had to have a moment alone. As Lord Spencer approached them once more, she released Lord Clarington’s elbow. “Thank you for the lovely dance and conversation. If you will excuse me, I think I will go freshen up.”
“There is no need,” Lord Spencer said. “You look exquisite.”
“Careful with this one,” Lord Clarington said, eyeing her. “She reads Rob Roy.”
“Rob Roy?” Lord Spencer exclaimed. “Really? How fascinating. My sisters read nothing but Lady’s Monthly Museum. They love the gossip and fashion.”
Lord Clarington locked his hands behind his back and looked down his nose at her. “That is what ladies should read.”
She should not comment. Her lips trembled with need. She could hold it in. All she need do was excuse herself without offending the man, so he would not report her behavior to her father.
“I see you are finally mute on the subject, as is proper.”
“If I became mute, it is because your arrogance astonished me.”
“I beg your pardon?” His tony was icy.
“As well you should,” came a patronizing voice from behind her.
She swiveled around and could not stop the genuine smile that lit her face. He had come. Trent was actually here and looking gorgeous, dressed head to toe in black evening attire save the snowy white cravat that contrasted with his sun-kissed skin. Her heart fluttered at his nearness and the fact that his gaze, narrowed on Lord Clarington, glowed with anger.
He shifted closer to her, and his vitality captured her as always and made her pulse skitter. “I do believe Lady Audrey meant you are a fool when it comes to women, because women are rather smart creatures and have just as much right and ability to read Rob Roy as you.” He glanced at her. “Am I correct?”
“You are.” At this moment, staring into Trent’s burning gaze, she did not give a fig if Lord Clarington bemoaned her name for hours to her father.
Trent’s mouth pulled into a slow knee-quaking smile. “Is your next dance taken?”
She was quite certain her father would rather her try to ensnare a duke like Lord Clarington than a marquess like Trent, but she could not make herself care. Tonight she would dance with a devil and tomorrow she would gladly pay the price. “No. The next dance, the supper dance, is spoken for, but this one is free.”
A slight frown appeared on Trent’s face, before it vanished and he proffered his arm. “Come, then. Let us not waste another minute.”
The second her gloved fingertips pressed against the curve of his bicep, she knew what she felt when near him had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with attraction. Emotion. The invisible pull from one person to another. A physical ache to be with him blossomed inside her.
Without a parting word, he led her away from Lord Clarington and Lord Percy and to the dance floor. As he turned her to face him, he rested one hand gently on the curve of her back and with his other hand clasped hers and raised their joined hands into position. With a thudding heart, she placed her other trembling hand on his upper arm near his shoulder.
She took a shaky breath and traces of whiskey and smoke underlying the scent fresh soap that clung to his skin tonight filled her senses. He pulled her slightly closer, so that the heat radiating off his body nearly overwhelmed her, but she noted he did not bring her closer than was proper.
“You’re shaking.”
His deep, sensual voice made the blood rush through her veins. She wet her lips. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
He quirked his right eyebrow, a gesture she now recognized could either mean he was jesting with her or he was surprised by something she had said. She cleared her throat and tried desperately to give a good reason, besides the truth, why she would be trembling. Telling him that simply being near him made her shiver uncontrollably would not do. Not yet. She did not want to scare him off now that he had shown himself once more.
“I do that sometimes when I’m angry.”
“Don’t let what Lord Clarington said upset you. The man is an idiot who incorrectly assumes women are not bright.” A devilish look brightened his eyes. “Enough about Lord Clarington. I want to talk about you.”
“Me? What about me?”
His fingers curled tighter around her gloved hand as his gaze bore into hers. “To begin with, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a woman who looks more beautiful than you do at this moment.”
She could have been dancing in the clouds for as light as his words made her feel. “Thank you. I did not have a new gown to wear, so I was rather self-conscious…” Her words trailed off at the abrupt change of expression on his face. His playful smile disappeared and his mouth opened slightly. Perhaps she should not have spoken so freely. She missed a step as nerves set upon her. “Normally, I would have had new gowns. We are not poor. Father is angry with me, so he is punishing me. I’m sure in his eyes I deserve it. I do try to be as he wishes, but I simply cannot marry a man I cannot countenance.” She clamped her jaw shut when his right eyebrow shot high. Now she had gone and done it with her nonsensical babbling.
He threw his head back and laughed as he twirled them aro
und and pulled her closer to him, so that their bodies nearly touched. When his eyes met hers, his open, intense gaze made her knees weak. He pressed his mouth close to her ear. “You never fail to astonish me. I’ve never met a woman quite like you, or at least how I think you are. I know firsthand you can be cunning and lie like an expert when the need suits you, yet I’ve yet to see your lies be any that would harm another. And take just now―”
She was not sure if he was complimenting her or not, but she was thrilled he had clearly given her enough thought to consider this much about her. “My gown?”
“Yes. I do not know a woman who would admit that their gown was old, or they felt self-conscious or that their father was angry with them because they were willfully disobeying his commands. Yet you admitted all that, as if it was the natural course of conversation.”
Her face flushed with pleasure and just a bit of embarrassment. “I did not say exactly that I was willfully disobedient.”
Trent grinned, then frowned. “You are confounding me and making me question things I have no wish to question.”
Her heart lurched. “And that is bad?”
A deep crease appeared between his eyebrows. “I like to stick to what I have planned.”
“Did you plan to come here, seek me out and dance with me?”
“No,” he said, his tone slow and careful. “I had not planned it at all. Then I became worried about you, so I decided to seek you out and warn you. When I arrived and saw you, standing by the balcony”―his gaze traveled down the length of her gown and ever so slowly climbed back up to her face―“well, let me say your beauty has a way of making me forget myself. I could not pass up the chance to dance with you. And when I overheard Clarington being so rude, I wanted to rescue you, though thinking back upon it and the way you matched him comment for comment, you did not need my help.” As the waltz ended, he brushed a finger against her hair before dropping his hand away and offering her his elbow.
Her heart thundered painfully. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, wishing the dance, his admissions and this night would never end. Yet not ten feet away, her brother stood with Lord Thortonberry, poised to snatch the moment away from her. Richard waved at her to join him. She bit her lip and slowed her steps.
Trent caught her gaze, then stopping, turned to face her. The deep crease between his eyebrows appeared once more and a tic pulsed at the left side of his jaw. “How well do you know Lord Thortonberry?”
Of all the things she had been expecting him to say, that was not one of them. “I’ve known him all my life. Why?”
“Do you trust him?”
Whatever was this about? “Of course. He is my brother’s closest friend and our neighbor.”
“That may be, but sometimes those we think we know the most are the ones we know the least.”
She had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but she did not like the glassy look in his eyes. On top of that, the music for the supper dance had started and Lord Thortonberry was striding toward them with an angry frown. She squeezed Trent’s arm. “Who is it you are telling me I should not trust?”
“Lord Thortonberry. He consorts with questionable characters, men as well as light skirts. He’s not appropriate company for you to keep, especially in light of the fact that you are searching for a husband and marriage of mutual affection.”
Mutual affection? Audrey gritted her teeth, thinking. Could Trent not even say the word “love”? Whitney had told her previously that he had been madly in love with some Frenchwoman who had killed herself, but she did not seem to know much more than that. Maybe the woman had broken his heart. As much as she hated to think he had loved another woman with such devotion she could see the good in the knowledge. If he had loved fully, then that would make him capable of the deep love she wanted. Another less pleasant thought occurred to her. “How do you know what sort of characters Lord Thortonberry consorts with, including light skirts?” Right as the words left her mouth, she realized in her burgeoning anger, she had forgotten to whisper.
Lord Thortonberry stepped next to Trent with a smile at her and a hostile gaze for Trent. “Yes, Davenport, do tell us how you know what sort of characters you think I consort with.”
If Trent had been surprised at Lord Thortonberry’s sudden appearance, he did not show it in the least. His face looked made of stone. “I’ve heard rumors.” His tone, just like his face, revealed nothing.
Whatever was occurring here? Was Trent jealous? If so, that was marvelous, because it meant he liked her more than as a friend. Audrey tsked. “You shouldn’t listen to rumors.”
“No, indeed,” Thortonberry concurred, with humor underling his words. “Besides, even if the rumors were true, Lady Audrey would never be in any danger from me. She is safe in my care, and this dance is mine, so you can go along and enjoy the rest of your night.”
When Trent’s gaze became cold and hard, a part of her reveled in his anger, though it was positively wrong of her. He was jealous! She was so incredibly happy, she could not keep the smile from her face as Lord Thortonberry led her to the dance floor.
She glanced over her shoulder as Lord Thortonberry positioned them for the cotillion and inhaled sharply. Trent had not moved and his face― There was no mistaking the hard pressed line of his lips or the angry slant of his eyes. This was turning out to be a glorious night! She forced herself to move her attention to Lord Thortonberry, only to find him frowning at her.
“How do you know Davenport?”
Lord Thortonberry’s sharp question angered her. She already had to answer to her father and brother. She was not about to submit to questions from another, apparently disapproving, man. She raised her eyebrows at him. “I know a great many lords. I could not really say with certainty how I first met him.”
“Cannot or will not?”
She was glad that the dance forced her to switch partners. She moved away and ended up facing Mr. Sutherland. She smiled at Whitney’s betrothed. “Good evening, Mr. Sutherland.”
“Indeed it is, Lady Audrey. Are you having a pleasant time?”
She stepped back in time with the other dancers and came back toward him, then nodded. “I am now.”
“Now that Davenport has arrived?”
Heat flushed her chest. “I suppose Whitney told you that I rather like her cousin?”
He nodded. “She did. And we both agree the feeling appears mutual, but I worry you will have a hard time getting Davenport to admit it. Try to be patient.”
She really wished she knew the details about the woman from France, but she certainly could not ask Mr. Sutherland. She suspected he did not know much anyway. Whitney was closer to Trent than anyone, so she would be privy to the most information. Audrey sighed. She could be as patient as a saint if she thought Trent truly cared for her but just had not admitted it to himself yet. Her father was another story, of course, but she could probably hold him off for a bit longer.
The tempo of the music rose and signaled a partner change that put her back with Lord Thortonberry. She cringed at the ridged set of his mouth. Before she could think of a different topic to discuss, other than Trent, Lord Thortonberry spoke. “Davenport is not the sort of man to marry. I do not wish to see you hurt by him.”
“Your warning sounds more like opinion than fact. How can you know if he is the sort to marry? Is this the same way he knows you consort with unsavory characters and light skirts? Have you been listening to gossipmongers as well? If not, that leads me to the conclusion that the two of you were at a questionable club and saw each other there. If that is the case―” A hard knot formed in her throat. She did not want to think about the possibility that Trent might be bedding other women.
Lord Thortonberry jerked a hand through his hair and then let out a grunt. “No, no. I would never go to a hellfire club. You know me better than that. I suppose I am as guilty of listening to rumors as Davenport, but I only mentioned it because I care for you.”
The anger that had
knotted in her throat released. She patted Lord Thortonberry on the arm. “I care for you too.” He was like a brother to her, after all. A strange look flashed in his eyes but was gone before she could read it. Left standing in uncomfortable silence, she cleared her throat. “The dance has ended.”
He blinked and glanced around them. “So it has.” As the dining bell chimed, he took her by the elbow and led her off the dance floor and toward the supper room. She wanted to look back to see if Trent was still watching her, but she did not. Perhaps it was better to kindle his jealousy just a bit and not seem too desperate. With that in mind, she gave Lord Thortonberry all her outward attention, though Trent had her thoughts and her heart.
As Trent followed Audrey and Thortonberry into dinner, he made sure to keep enough distance that if either one of them happened to glance behind them, they would not catch him observing them. Not that there was much concern in that. They appeared to have eyes only for each other. He expected one of them to collide with a piece of furniture or another guest any moment now. If fate were at all kind, Thortonberry would be the one to trip and go sprawling face-first to the floor. Maybe he would twist an ankle and need to keep it elevated for the next several weeks, giving Audrey time to meet a more suitable prospect for a husband.
The scenario made Trent smile, until he imagined her married and the man caressing her hair or skin or bandying wits with her late at night under the bedcovers in the privacy of their bedchamber. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was turning into someone he did not recognize.
What the devil was wrong with him? He would never offer for her, so he could not allow himself to imagine such things. He had become a sorry excuse for an honorable man.
They abruptly stopped ahead, and he made a quick scan around the crowded supper room for the perfect place to watch Audrey without anyone noticing or bothering him. Most of the guests lingered near the refreshment table, around the high tables set up on the periphery of the room or near the warming table where footmen served the food. After a moment, Thortonberry, the bounder, slid his hand to the small of Audrey’s back and guided her toward the refreshment table.
Dancing With A Devil Page 4
