“Yet Lady Jane calls you uncle.” She slipped on the bauble, where it lay like banked fire around her glove-covered wrist.
“I am quite close to the family,” he said in a whisper. “In fact, I consider the Hawkinses my family.” What was wrong with him that he gave away a secret so freely and to this woman?
“You are not close to your father, your brothers?”
“My brothers have their own lives; one of them has a wife and children.” He settled the necklace over her slender neck and then fiddled with the clasp. Damn, he couldn’t remember how many nieces or nephews he had, for he’d not kept in regular contact with his siblings. “And my father… well, you read the letter. That is merely a representation of how he is. Frankly, I stay away to retain my sanity.” His relationship with his father was not up for discussion.
“It is sad, but I understand. I came to London and took the position with Lady Archewyne because I could not be with my own father either,” she said in a quiet voice.
At the last second he tamped down the urge to snort. “And to stalk me.” He lingered his touch at her neck.
“There is that.”
Once the clasp caught and he closed it with a faint snap, she turned to face him. “It’s perfect on you.”
He couldn’t help staring at the stones as she brushed her gloved fingertips over two of them. Yes, he’d learned to always prepare for every contingency, but the truth was, he carried that jewelry with him all the time. A year ago, he’d bought the pieces for Lavinia, the woman who’d captured his heart, the only woman he’d ever loved, but she had been killed before he could declare himself and give the trinkets to her. They had been part of his mother’s trousseau and what she’d brought to the marriage to his father. Upon her death, she’d willed her jewelry collection to him with the caveat that he never gamble it away or give it to mistresses. He was to bestow the jewels on a lady he cared about.
Having the pieces on his person each day made him remember Lavinia and remind himself to keep others at arm’s length. Made him recall that he didn’t deserve anything good in his life because he couldn’t keep her from death.
Seeing the jewelry gracing the neck and wrist of a different woman both tore at his heart and gave him a renewed sense of hope. Far too long he’d kept the gems buried in a pocket. Perhaps it was time they saw the light of day. Or night as it were. He rather thought his mother would be pleased, though he merely loaned the pieces to Sophia for the purpose of this ball.
“The baubles suit you,” he whispered into the tension-filled silence that brewed around them. Like drops of ice, the gemstones sparkled and gleamed against her pale skin.
“I…” Tears misted her bluer than blue eyes as she trailed her finger along the necklace. “Jonathan, I…”
“What’s wrong?” Immediately on guard, he straightened his spine while pocketing the velvet pouch. He slid his right arm about her shoulders and reveled in her body heat. “Tell me.”
She stifled a sneeze. “It isn’t important.”
“Everything is important to someone.” With his other hand, he cupped her cheek and tipped her head back until their gazes met. “What is it?”
The tendons in her graceful neck worked with a hard swallow. “I have never worn such fine things: this dress, the jewelry.” When she bit her lower lip, he tamped down a budding groan. “Father gambled away everything of value we had. Even Mother’s scant jewelry collection. My sisters and I, we made due with what we could, even saved up enough money between the three of us to purchase a string of pearls made of paste.” She sucked in a shuddering breath and let it ease out. The warmth skated along his jaw. “We each wore that precious necklace, trading chores for it, if only to feel special for a moment.” She laughed, but it was a watery affair. “My oldest sister wore those faux pearls on her wedding day, and she looked beautiful in them.”
His own throat constricted. “Well, now you don’t need to worry about such things.”
She nodded, but he didn’t drop his hand. “Another special-for-a-moment sort of thing.” Another round of tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m honored to wear your jewels tonight, and I shall enjoy every second of this opportunity to play the lady before I give them back. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A twinge of guilt speared him. He should gift Sophia with those jewels and she knew it. She deserved more than life had given her, more than the men—like him—who had destroyed her trust and stolen her future. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, her highly kissable mouth that tempted him at every turn. Regardless that this ball was merely a way to get close to Basselton and his contact, he vowed to give her an unforgettable night she would remember for years. “Sophia?”
“Yes?” Almost imperceptibly, she leaned toward him.
He did the same and once more, their lips brushed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wish to kiss you, with your permission.” She deserved a gentleman. Even if he wasn’t one, he would play the role to the hilt tonight.
It was the least he could do to make up for what he done.
“There is nothing stopping you, Viscount Trewellain,” she whispered, and her lips grazed his like the veriest brush of a butterfly wing.
That briefest touch sent tingles dancing along his skin. He increased the pressure of his fingers behind her ear to bring her closer, but the moment his lips touched hers, the carriage lurched to a halt, and it rocked when the driver jumped down.
They had reached their destination.
“Well,” he began and scooted across the shallow aisle to his bench. “Perhaps we shall revisit that at another time.” Cold relief swept through his person as clarity returned to his brain along with a sudden jolt of redirected blood. He wasn’t looking for romance, and if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be with her. She was an innocent, and he wasn’t in the habit of deflowering women just for the sake of indulging his own need.
“Perhaps,” she responded in a small voice as she wrapped a filmy silver shawl about her upper body.
The carriage door swung open and the driver put down the steps.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Ladies first.” He gestured toward the door, for he needed a quick few seconds to compose himself and hope his hardened member would settle.
Damnation but it would be a long night.
Chapter Ten
Sophia laughed and chatted with a few women who’d clustered around her, but her attention lingered on Jonathan as he prowled the perimeter of the ball room. They’d gone through the receiving line with nary an issue. How the viscount had procured an official-looking invite was beyond her, and she made a mental note to question him about such skills.
Every once in a while, he’d pause and exchange a few words with a man here and a woman there. The silver wolf head of his cane glimmered in the light from three enormous crystal chandeliers overhead. He moved with athletic grace despite the slight limp, and his dark evening clothes, tailored to the powerful lines of his body, garnered more than a handful of admiring glances from ladies.
The muscles in her stomach clenched when one woman attached herself to his arm and leaned entirely too close while chatting. Sophia gripped the strings of her reticule more tightly. Why wouldn’t he return? She swallowed hard when he laughed easily with the lady in red skirts, and then just as smoothly detached her from his arm and continued on his way.
Relief slid through her in a cooling tide. Then she berated herself for the interest. He was nothing to her except a traveling companion. Once they gained England’s shores, she would have her freedom and he could return to his life of playing the rogue.
Somehow, that thought didn’t comfort her like it used to. Even now, her lips still briefly tingled from where his had pressed against hers. What would have happened had they not been interrupted?
When a gentleman—dark, swarthy and charmingly Spanish—approached her, she smiled and gave him most of her attention. Pretending he was her brother wasn’t an option, for he was much too handsome and
very solicitous. Even the sound of his accented English added to the excitement coursing through her veins for this event.
“Perhaps you will grant me the honor of partnering me on the next set, bella dama.”
Beautiful lady. “I don’t see why not.” Sophia smiled as the other ladies around her tittered and one of them made proper introductions. Apparently, he was a man of some import within Madrid society, and the fact he’d singled her out elevated her in the eyes of the ladies present. It was nice, this being courted with pretty words from a stranger. Almost as nice as when Jonathan had complimented her looks. Both occurrences bolstered her confidence, and she stood with her spine a little straighter.
Couples swirled about the floor with colorful skirts and dark evening clothes. Snatches of laughter and the low buzz of conversation flowed around her, mixing with the strains of music played by a five-piece string orchestra. It was all so romantic, and made possible by the viscount.
Again, her gaze moved unbidden as she searched for him and finally located him taking two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. Even from the distance that separated them, the cords of his throat worked as he drained one glass of the bubbly liquid. He set the empty glass on the tray of another footman.
And then he moved in her direction. Butterflies began a ballet in her belly the closer he came. Her gaze met his, and she sucked in a surprised breath at the intensity lighting his hazel depths that glowed more green than brown in the flickering candlelight. Merciful heavens, the man is potent. What would it feel like if they’d actually been in love instead of laboring under the false engagement?
“Excuse me, but I believe this next set belongs to me, Miss Wickham.” When the crowd around her parted, he extended his hand with the flute of champagne. “For you, my dear.”
Her hand shook as she took the glass from him and lifted it to her lips. “Thank you, Lord Trewellain.” She’d had champagne twice before on special occasions away from her home, and it remained a favorite. A sneeze threatened as the bubbles tickled her nose.
“My pleasure.” He nodded to the few women who’d remained. “Ladies.”
The Spanish gentleman who’d asked her for the dance protested. “I believe the lady promised me the next set.”
Jonathan lifted an eyebrow. His expression conveyed boredom, something he’d probably learned at his father’s knee, yet a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. “No doubt an oversight. You should inquire with her later this evening in the event she has an opening on her card,” he suggested in a tone that brooked no argument.
The man stared at the viscount, openly challenging, before dropping his gaze. “Perhaps you are correct,” the other man murmured. With a slight bow from the waist, he looked at Sophia. “Until later.”
“Ladies, I’m afraid I need to steal Sophia away for a bit,” the viscount said and took her arm, effortlessly extricating her from the knot of women. He didn’t stop until they’d gained a grouping of potted ferns and other hothouse plants.
“What has occurred?” She looked up into his face and caught the determined set of his jaw. “You’ve found a clue.”
“Perhaps.” A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“You have!” Sophia took another drink of her champagne before he tugged the glass from her fingers and deposited it into one of the ferns. “Tell me.”
The current set ended and polite clapping broke out through the room.
“Lord Basselton is here.”
“Now?” When he nodded, she gasped. “Then he is not missing.”
“Apparently not.”
“Where?”
Jonathan positioned himself in front of her, putting his mouth near her ear. “Look casually over my left shoulder. Tall man, brownish-black hair, shifty eyes, salmon waistcoat.”
“I see him.” She transferred her gaze to the viscount. “You know for certain it is him?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I heard someone address him by the title. The daughter of the house, I think. She is to escort him to the room where he’ll meet with his contact.”
“Did you retrieve the name of his contact?”
“No. It’s all very cloak and dagger, which is frustrating.”
Sophia stiffened. “He is moving.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Actually, he is escorting a partner onto the dance floor.” She sucked in a breath as the string quintet took their positions while the couples did the same. “It’s to be a waltz.”
“Bloody hell.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Partnering the Conde Mayorga’s daughter. No doubt they will attempt to exit the dance early.”
“She is very beautiful.” The woman’s jet black hair sparkled with strings of emeralds that matched her gown.
“Beauty is subjective.” He grunted. “We’ll lose him once the dance starts.” He thrust his cane into a potted plant and then, with a hand to the small of her back, he propelled her onto the floor amidst the crush of couples. “I will not allow that to happen.”
Anxiety circled through her insides. Dear Lord, he wanted her to dance, and with him? A sharp sneeze escaped her. “I told you I’m not proficient in dancing, and I’ve only practiced the steps of the waltz by myself or with my brothers.”
“You shall be fine,” he whispered as they took up position. “Think of it as walking with flair.” He encouraged her hand onto his shoulder while he took her other in his hand and pulled her a tad closer to his body with his hold on her waist. “I won’t let you fall.”
The opening strains of the waltz began, and all too soon Jonathan set them into motion.
Out of her element, she felt awkward, clunky, as her feet wouldn’t move with any sort of grace and she continued to step on his toes or trip over her own, and looking at her slippers didn’t help in the least.
“Sophia.” The command in his soft voice made her glance up and meet his gaze. “You’re concentrating too hard and thinking too much. The waltz must be felt, movement done almost on intuition, fluid as breathing, instinctive as kissing.”
She stumbled and he righted her with simple pressure of his fingers at her waist. “I’m failing.” And in spectacular fashion. She certainly wasn’t as agile or as flawless as women he was probably familiar with. All around them couples twirled and flowed, like droplets of water within a larger ocean. She was the odd speck of rubble marring a pristine surface. Sophia sneezed twice in succession. Bloody hell. Society events were not for her.
Jonathan pulled her closer to him. He squeezed her fingers. “Keep your focus on me, on my face, on what I’m saying to you.”
With a nod, she held his gaze, fascinated as it changed to a mossy green. Beneath her hand, the muscles in his shoulder flexed with his every movement, and then he spoke of inconsequential things, of funny anecdotes, of boring recitations they’d both learned years ago in the schoolroom. It didn’t matter, for the words fell away while the baritone of his voice flowed around her, the inflections he used as if she were the only woman in the world, the soft way his lips worked as he formed the words, the same lips that she’d felt against hers briefly in the carriage. He would have kissed her had they not arrived at the noble townhouse when they did. Would he attempt to kiss her when the ball concluded? Tingles circled through her lower belly at the thought. She wanted that experience.
All of this worked to relax her, and she went through the steps of the dance with an ease she’d never known before. With every circuit of the room, every turn, every movement, she kept her focus on Jonathan. Discerned a few gold flecks within the depths of his eyes that almost matched the golden waves of his hair. Discovered a shallow dimple in his chin that only flashed if he smiled in a certain way. Wondered about a faint scar at his left temple that resembled a tiny crescent moon. How had he acquired it?
Her body moved in tandem with his so seamlessly that she ceased to know where her limbs ended and his began. His slight limp became less evident the longer they danced. Heat crept through her blood, building, igniting with eac
h turn, and he held her closer. Awareness of him as a man infiltrated the haze blanketing her mind. Delicious tingles of need moved down her spine to lodge between her thighs. His words faded and he didn’t talk any longer, but she kept her gaze riveted to his, recognized a hunger there, the same craving that had been lit within her, and he was wrong. She did fall, against her wishes and all of her plans, despite his assurance that he wouldn’t let her. She tumbled into the deep depths of his eyes, wrapped in the warmth of his body against hers, lost in the wonder that came from simply being held by a man while intimately engaged in a dance.
This man, the one who mirrored her movements with grace and vitality, was completely different than the man who’d forgotten about her for nearly three years, who’d held her future hostage as he went about his own life, who hadn’t cared a fig for a no-name woman hidden away in the country, who’d ordered her to accompany him through Spain. Yet over the course of their trip, he’d shown a different side of himself, a softer ability, a tiny glimmer of what he could be when he wasn’t trying so hard to veil himself from the world with surliness and sarcasm.
What had occurred in his life that he felt the need to keep everyone away?
Her heart trembled, and vaguely she became aware they had stopped moving and that the music had ended. Polite applause broke out and the various couples dispersed. And still she stood within the circle of Jonathan’s arms. Heat slapped at her cheeks, and with a shake of her head and a deep breath, she took a few steps backward.
The spell woven around her was broken, and they were only, after all, two people joined by a make-believe engagement, thrown together on a covert mission, without a hint—or hope—of romance between them.
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 11
