Dancing With A Devil

by Julie Johnstone

  She met her father’s contemptuous gaze first and instantly wished she hadn’t. Her mouth watered as her nerves jumbled into tighter knots inside her belly. Pressing her nails into the soft flesh of her palms, she forced herself to look at Mr. Shelton and speak. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Shelton. I―”

  “You should be,” he spat. “I would have given you wealth beyond anything you’ve ever known, you silly fool. I’ll not have you now.”

  She struggled not to breathe a sigh of relief. “I understand. And since I never formally accepted your marriage proposal”―she added that for Trent’s benefit―“there are, of course, no ill feelings. Despite what you saw, I vow to be guilty of a kiss but innocent of anything else.”

  Mr. Shelton glared. “You’ll understand, I’m sure, that I’m disinclined to believe you. But, ever the gentleman, I won’t repeat what I saw.”

  Now, Audrey did breathe out a sigh of relief while thanking God for small reprieves. At least Father couldn’t hold a ruined reputation over her head. “You’re too kind for being so discreet.”

  “It’s not for you.” Mr. Shelton laughed, but the sound was abrasive and cutting. “I don’t give a fig about your reputation. I don’t want people knowing I was almost made a fool of by marrying a woman like you.”

  Trent stiffened beside her. Discreetly, she shifted toward him to try to calm him. Mr. Shelton gave her one last contemptuous look before stomping off the terrace and back into the ballroom. She stood for a moment, caught between an overwhelming sense of relief and a foreboding of what was to come. Intent on heading off her father’s oncoming tirade, she spun toward him and stilled. His face was an unnatural shade of purple. “Father, I―”

  “Shut your mouth, you disgraceful, ungrateful lightskirt.”

  Sadness squeezed her chest like an unrelenting fist. “Father, let me explain.”

  His face twisted with rage as he advanced on them. Trent pushed Audrey back behind him and stood between her and her father. “It’s not what it seems.”

  “Were you or were you not taking liberties only a married man should take?” her father bellowed and shoved Trent in the chest. Trent’s body swayed, brushing against hers, but he did not lose his footing nor, thank God, did he try to retaliate. Audrey tried to move out from behind him, but he raised his arm and blocked her.

  “Stay put,” he commanded in such a lethal tone, she was afraid to move. She’d never heard Trent’s voice raised in anger in all the time she’d known him.

  “You’ve not answered my question,” her father roared while shoving Trent yet again. His body remained unmoving as stone. Good thing. Her father sounded mad enough to charge through the thickest of walls.

  “I did take liberties I should not have and for that I’m ashamed, regretful and incredibly sorry.” Trent spoke in a stiff, apologetic tone.

  His words, though perfectly proper and likely exactly what her father wanted to hear, made her shudder with humiliation. Confusion swiftly followed and left her feeling as if she was drowning under the thoughts and doubts bombarding her mind. Did Trent regret kissing her or just regret they’d been caught? Did he love her or not? Would he marry her or was she the biggest fool to ever live? Please, God, not the last.

  “I’m glad you’re gentleman enough to agree you crossed a line.” Her father’s voice was cool and impersonal, all traces of anger seemingly gone. The foreboding she’d felt moments before raced across her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

  “For what has just occurred, I’m sure you’ll agree the only recourse is to marry,” her father said. “You may call on me tomorrow morning and we will work out the terms of the betrothal contract.”

  Audrey darted out from behind Trent. He stared at her father with a hard cold-eyed smile. As if he sensed her looking he turned and met her gaze. Bitterness―or was it remorse?―swept over his face, making him appear less a man chiseled of stone and more one molded of regrets. Her heart gave a tremendous jerk.

  Slowly, he turned fully toward her. His eyebrows were drawn together in a deep frown. Her breath caught and a lump formed in her chest. No. no. no. She wanted to run and hide. Or cover her ears. He’d said nothing, yet she knew what was about to come. Her heart cracked within her chest.

  “Audrey, I’m sorry, but I cannot marry you. I started to tell you. Or, that is, I meant to tell you.” There was a bitter, strange edge to his voice, yet the despair roaring in her ears like a funeral bell made it hard to care what could have made him so rancorous, unless he truly believed she’d tried to trap him.

  She grasped the notion in desperation. If only she could make him see. Clasping his arm she said, “I vow I did not plan this.”

  He carefully withdrew his arm from her hold. “I don’t think that.” His voice was low and shaking.

  Behind Trent, her father sneered at her. The idea that her father was correct, and she was no more than a diversion Trent never intended to marry made her stomach turn. She inhaled a shaky breath.

  Trent’s face twisted, as if he was in pain. “Your fear is groundless and not the reason I can’t marry you.”

  His voice chilled her like a cold wind. Tears blurred her vision. Gathering her frayed pride, she blinked the tears away and forced a laugh, albeit a bitter one. “Well, it was amusing while it lasted.”

  “Amusing,” her father growled. He swung toward her. “You may accept that, but I’ll not.” Before she realized what was happening he barreled into Trent with a roar. Both men flew back into the balustrade. Trent jumped sideways, sending her father crashing alone into the railing, his weight and height working against him to fling him almost sideways in the air. For a horrified moment, she held her breath. He was going to topple over the barrier to his death three stories below.

  “Father!” she screamed, hoping Trent could save him. She blinked at the blur before her. Trent grasped her father by the arm and jerked him backward toward the terrace floor.

  With her heart pounding in her ears, she rushed to her father and grasped his other arm to help steady him. “Let me help you.”

  “You’ve helped enough.” He snatched his arm out of her hold and shoved her away with his free hand.

  Her slipper caught on the edge of a chair and caused her to stumble backward toward the ground while reaching out blindly for something to grasp. Air rushed from her lungs with a harrumph as Trent gripped her under the arms and hauled her to her feet. For a moment he held her pressed against his chest. “I’ve got you.” His warm breath whispered across the back of her neck before he gently pushed her down. She landed with a thud in a chair. Her gaze locked behind Trent on her father advancing like a madman, his face twisted and his fists raised to fight. Anther scream ripped from her throat, but this one was to warn Trent. He jerked around in time to duck the punch her father threw.

  Audrey jumped up, caught the hem of her dress under her slipper and careened forward to land on her hands and knees with a jarring impact that cracked her teeth together and caused an instant headache. Pain shot through her knees and hands, but she scrambled to her feet, determined to stop her father. As she stood straight, he swung at Trent again, then his face screwed into an expression of pain. Groaning, he grabbed his chest and collapsed to the ground.

  For a moment, she froze as wave after wave of shock slapped at her. When Trent dropped to his knees by her father, it was as if whatever invisible string had held her still was cut. She raced to his writhing form and knelt down. He tugged frantically at his evening coat as he struggled to breathe. “My chest,” he wheezed as drool ran down the side of his cheek and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Dear God, what is happening?” she cried.

  “I think it’s his heart,” Trent snapped.

  Trent grasped her father’s hands and pulled them out of the way. She tugged at his shirt as he mumbled a jumble of words she couldn’t understand. “Father, what is it?” Trent shoved her hands away and with a violent yank, ripped her father’s shirt in half. His face turned a d
eep shade of red as his hands fluttered to his chest, then fell away. “Father, Father!”

  “Audrey,” Richard’s sharp voice called behind her. She did not bother to turn. She scooted closer to her father, her heart thudding so loudly in her ears they rang in time with each beat. The silence seemed too long. “Why is he not talking?” Desperation made her shake. “Why are his eyes not opening?” She spoke to Trent’s back as he huddled over her father. Why wasn’t he answering her? Grasping Trent’s arm, she tugged on him. “Move over. Let me see him.”

  Trent gazed back at her, his eyes glazed with the same emotion she’d recognized earlier―regret. “No, no, no.” She moaned and tried to shove him out of the way to get at her father.

  Trent sat up and crushed her to him. “He is gone, Audrey, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  Before she could make sense of what Trent was trying to tell her Richard knelt beside her on his knees. Audrey flung herself at her brother and buried her head against his silky coat.

  “He’s dead. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him with my disobedience. He came upon me kissing Trent on the terrace and it killed him.” Tears slid unchecked down her face. Her father hadn’t loved her, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t spent night after night wishing he had and years trying to make him see her and not through her.

  Richard’s brow crinkled with obvious confusion. God, she was tired. So very tired. With a sigh, she pushed a lock of fallen hair out of her eyes. “Richard, do you understand me?”

  He shook his head. How could she find the strength to explain? She swallowed and suddenly Trent was there, his hand firm and reassuring on her shoulder, his voice explaining in low tones what had happened. Then his hand was gone and Richard stood. Their voices seemed louder, but hardly compared to the noise in her ears that made it hard to think. Audrey was aware that something did not seem right with them. Concentrate. She had to focus. It was so hard. Her thoughts fluttered around her like rings of white smoke rising from a fire. They disappeared before she could grasp what she thought they might be saying.

  Their deep voices grew louder. Angry. Snarling.

  She opened her eyes and gasped. Her brother and Trent stood toe to toe, her brother’s face mottled and red, Trent’s mouth pressed tight and grim. She pressed her hands to her ears, desperate to stop the deafening ringing so she could hear what they were saying. All fell quiet then noise erupted through the silence like a blast from a pistol.

  “You leave me no choice but to challenge you to a duel if you refuse to marry my sister.”

  Mortification weighed upon her almost heavier at this moment than her grief. How utterly selfish of her. Appalled with herself, she struggled to her feet and squared her shoulders while staring at Trent. She wanted to sound as if she were perfectly fine, so he would never know how he had hurt her. “You’re free to go. I don’t expect you to marry me.”

  “By God he will,” Richard roared. “He told me what Mr. Shelton said. He has ruined your chance for marriage.”

  She winced as Trent blanched, which made her feel a thousand times worse, smaller than the smallest, most insignificant bug she’d ever quashed under her slippers. She was the bug. Insignificant to Trent. He’d stomped on her heart and crushed her hopes. “Please, Richard, let him leave before someone comes out here and then gossip starts. As it is we can say Father simply had a heart problem.”

  “I’ll stay and help you see to your father,” Trent said to her.

  “That will not be necessary.” It was so hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but she had managed, she believed. Now to deal with Richard. “Richard, please.”

  “Cease talking,” he snapped.

  She bit her lip, unsure how to proceed. From where she stood, she could see a couple strolling toward the terrace. Any minute they would come out here and hear the ugly truth. But if she pressed Richard he’d likely grow angrier. Whatever transpired, she would fix it tomorrow.

  He rose to his full height. “I demand satisfaction.”

  Trent nodded. “You deserve it and more. But duels are foolish. There must be another way―”

  “No,” Richard interrupted with a vicious slice of his hand through the air. “My second will contact you with the details of the duel.”

  Trent nodded just as the terrace door opened and the couple stepped onto the balcony. “All right,” he agreed under his breath, turned, moved without a sound toward the garden path and slipped into the dark night.

  Audrey bit down hard on her lip to stop the scream that was lodged in her throat from escaping. Her brother was a worse shot than she was. She couldn’t lose him on top of Father all because she was an utter fool. It was too late now to talk sense into Richard, but tomorrow, she would beg Richard to call off the duel.

  Several hours later, Audrey’s head pounded and her stomach threatened to empty its contents as she climbed the steps to their home on Mayfair with her coachman’s help. Scenes from the ball played relentlessly through her head and no matter how she tried, she could not stop them. Her father’s mottled face. His wheezing and grasping at his chest. His hateful words. Trent in the glow of the moonlight refusing to marry her. Huddling by her father’s still form as the doctor came and pronounced him officially dead. The stricken look on the faces of the guests at the Lionhursts’ ball as her father was carried out.

  Ringing commenced once more in her ears. Moaning, she released Mr. Barrett’s arm and pressed her hands to either side of her head. She swayed and as she did, he gripped her elbow. “My lady, shall I try once more to get your brother to come into the house.”

  Weary, Audrey turned to the carriage. In the darkness, she could not see inside the window to glimpse Richard’s face, but she suspected he wore the same scowl as he had since they had alighted into the carriage from the ball and she had tried to talk to him. He had refused to look at her or acknowledge anything she way saying. Her shoulders sagged and when she caught the look of pity on Mr. Barrett’s face, she released him and straightened her spine. She may want to crumble to the ground, but she refused to do it in public. “Go back to Richard. Watch over him if you can and see that he makes it back home eventually.”

  “Certainly, my lady.” Mr. Barrett tipped his hat, strode down the steps and clambered onto the coachman seat. With a word from him, the horses let out a neigh, the carriage wheels turned on the cobblestone street and Mr. Barrett and her brother disappeared around the corner.

  As she touched her hand to the brass knob of the door it opened and her aunt flew out the door, her face creased with lines of worry. “Oh, my dear! The Lionhursts’ sent their footman round with a note to tell me what has happened. Come in, come in!”

  Audrey folded into her aunt’s warm, flowery embrace and wilted against her. She clutched at her arm as her aunt brought her into the house and closed the door. “I can’t believe he is dead,” Aunt Hillie murmured while shaking her head and leading them into the parlor. “Sit, here, dearest. Your face is pasty and”―her aunt pressed a hand to Audrey’s forehead―“your forehead is damp. Let me get you some tea. You look as if you may faint.”

  Audrey collapsed against the settee. “I feel as if I might faint,” she whispered, swallowing against the nausea threatening to rise. Her mouth began to water profusely and the pounding of her head grew tenfold. Suddenly she jerked upright. “I’m going to be sick.” She pressed a hand over her mouth and watched as her aunt raced to the tea tray and ran back with tea splashing over the side of the cup and falling on the faded Audubon carpet.

  “Drink this.” Aunt Hillie moved Audrey’s hand out of the way and pressed the china cup to her lips.

  Audrey inhaled deeply of the honey-scented steaming tea as she took a tentative sip. The warmth slid down her throat and pooled in her belly. Aunt Hillie peered at her with a worried frown. Audrey sat still for a moment, waiting to see if the tea would settle her stomach or be the thing that made her lose the contents of it. The rolling of her stomach continued, but did seem to subsi
de a bit. She gave a tentative nod and then took another sip. After a few minutes, the tea cup was empty and her stomach was still, though her head still pounded dreadfully.

  “A bit better?” her aunt asked in a hushed voice.

  Audrey nodded and closed her eyes, lowering the teacup to her lap. She slit one eyelid open when her aunt’s warm fingers grazed her hand and took the teacup. “Thank you,” Audrey murmured.

  “Of course, dear.”

  The soft clank of the teacup being set on the side table resounded throughout the parlor along with the swishing of Hillie’s skirts and the soft pat of her slippers across the carpet and back. The settee sank a bit to the left as Hillie once again sat by Audrey, took up her hands and grasped them in hers.

  Audrey did not open her eyes, but the much-needed comfort of having someone she loved who actually seemed to care about her take her hands and hold them made the tenuous control she held over herself break. Warm tears seeped out of her closed lids and trickled down her face and off her chin.

  “There now,” her aunt soothed and wiped at Audrey’s face with a soft cloth. Every moment of the terrible night played repeatedly as she cried softly. After a bit, the front of her dress was soaked, her nose stuffy, and her body felt as if it weighed a hundred stone. She could not make herself move, all she could muster was to open her eyes into mere slits.

  She turned her head on the cushion of the settee and glanced at her aunt, who peered intently at her, her brow puckered and her bottom lip between her teeth. Her aunt released her lip and squeezed Audrey’s hands. “Are you able to tell me what happened? The note from Lady Gillian said your father died suddenly on the balcony and there seemed to be something wrong with his heart as he was clutching his chest.”

  Audrey let out a shuddering sigh. “He and Mr. Shelton happened upon Lord Davenport and me while we were kissing.”

  “Oh, dear.” Aunt Hillie pressed a hand to her chest.

  “Yes, oh dear is correct. It was not pretty. He screamed and yelled. Mr. Shelton, of course, declared he no longer wished to marry me, and once he departed Father demanded Lord Davenport marry me.”