Fascinated

by Bertrice Small

  They crowded into the reception hall and wound their way down the long hallway lined with gilt-framed portraits of generations of Skeffingham ancestors and into the two-story ballroom.

  It didn't seem possible, but the room appeared full to overflowing already, the stuffiness thankfully mitigated by long french windows at either end of the room that were wide open to the cool fresh air.

  Candlelight glimmered everywhere, reflected in dozens of mirrors, the light softening every detail and giving the room an intimacy and a most flattering glow. Chairs lined the walls on two sides, and already the matrons who would not be dancing had gathered with their bosom-bows for an evening of exquisite gossip.

  Servants hovered, accommodating every request, and on a balcony ten feet above, a string quartet played under the discreet hum of conversation. And ten feet above that, angels hovered, flitting in and out of puffy clouds on the beautiful painted ceiling.

  But no angels here on earth, Regina thought irritably, as she and her father paused at the threshold of the ballroom to be announced, just Jeremy and her father, devils both of them. Since there was nothing yet she could do, she moved through the crowd on her father's arm, greeting friends and acquaintances she had seen a mere five days before.

  She was grateful, finally, to see Ancilla Hoxley-Marshall, her dearest friend, who was obviously on the lookout for her. Ancilla was the best person, as sweet and self-effacing as a nun, and yet she was always a repository of the most current on dit, especially in a gathering this size.

  Regina grasped Ancilla's hands which were cold as al-abaster. "Ancilla! What a crowd. Have you seen Marcus Raulton?" Time to go forward. She had thought of a strategy, it couldn't even be called a plan, but it involved feeding her father's worst fears by making sure she was seen with or near Mr. Raulton as often as possible. It wasn't a perfect scheme, but it was something, and it just might serve for this evening until she thought of something better.

  "So many people," Ancilla murmured. "But I say that every year, do I not? No, I have not been aware of Mr. Raulton's presence. Good evening, by the way, Regina. Oh, look! There's a new face. Could that be-could it-? Jeremy Gavage? After all this time…?"

  Blast it. Regina whirled, and her breath caught. Blast! Her heart started pounding. Jeremy... She hadn't expected him, not this quickly, not this soon and… looking so different- and so much the same.

  She felt as if she had taken a header. So much for plots and schemes. How like a man to just show up and throw everything top over tail.

  She couldn't take her eyes from him. Even through the crowd the faint halo of smoke, the water-light music, and Ancilla's sweet voice droning in her ear, her whole attention was fixed on Jeremy.

  She didn't expect this reaction to Jeremy. Oh, God. Jeremy. Father's knight errant. Purged by the battle of loving a woman who loved her sovereigns more. And now willing conspirator to save her innocent self from taking a pounding at the hands of the most notorious bachelor in London. So appropriate. Truly-errant was the word.

  He seemed taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his hair longer, his frown utterly forbidding, but that could be the effect of the high ceilings and low light. Certainly the dark look on his face reflected the fact that he was not pleased, not with anything. Especially not her.

  But why should he have any opinion in the matter at all?

  She could not take her eyes off of him.

  Nor could he stop staring at her.

  He had been thinking all along he would be dealing with the artless child she had been, only a few years older, of course, and instead he was looking at a woman full grown and aware of her power, a woman with presence and passion. A woman old enough to wed.

  It was the most stunning revelation.

  Reginald should have warned him. Damn him-Reginald should have told him. He felt as if he had fallen off a steep cliff, as if everything-every preconception, everything he knew-had been wrenched out from under him.

  And to make matters worse, there was Raulton, strutting and preening around the perimeter of the room, accosting the ladies who would speak with him, and commanding her avid attention as she seemed to follow his every move.

  Damn, damn, damn. Those eyes. As bright and blue as ever he remembered. But not that womanly body, or that beautiful face. He didn't remember her looking like that at all. Damn Reginald. Damn him.

  And standing next to that pale blond woman in white, she positively glowed. Did he not see Raulton slide a proprietary look of interest her way?

  Damn it damn it damn it…

  Thank God he had come tonight; thank God he had seen her before he had started any intervention, because he couldn't trust himself to go to her now, knowing what he knew.

  And he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Or Raulton.

  Things could heat up at the instant, he thought, watching the man warily. Raulton meant business, and there was no more beautiful business in this ballroom than Regina.

  And from the way she was looking at Raulton, Reginald had it exactly right. Regina didn't care a fig about his reputation or any improprieties. All she saw was the virile cock-of-the-walk.

  So like a woman, he thought mordantly. Never looking beyond the outward appearances or the size of a bankbook.

  And Raulton looked ripe to feed on a frisky virgin or two.

  But it mattered not. Regina would not be one of them. If Jeremy had been ambivalent before about this ridiculous charge he had undertaken, he was not now. Reginald had not overstated the case. And he had been right to come to Jeremy.

  Raulton was the enemy, and he would never have her, not if Jeremy could help it. His mission was perfectly clear: he had her father's full faith and trust, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

  "They say she left him because he wasn't rich enough."

  Ancilla's words finally registered, and Regina swung her gaze back to her friend, though she would much rather have gazed at Raulton. He was fascinating to watch, the epitome of cool disdain as he circled the room, dropping a greeting here, a word there, a bow to a lady. Perfect. Impeccable. One would have thought he was the most welcomed parti in the world, instead of a man who was bent on mending his reputation.

  She reached frantically for the topic of conversation. Yes. "Jeremy, you mean."

  "Jeremy, I mean. And doesn't he look the brooding hero now, with that deep frown and dressed all in black?"

  "Ancilla!"

  "No, no, no. There is a man I would not suit, not in the least. I could never get past that woman."

  There was always a that woman, Regina thought critically. Witness Raulton. And the that woman always seemed to have a great deal more fun, too.

  "What about Mr. Raulton, then?" Best to keep her attention there; then she could gaze at him with impunity and fuel the fire, which, given Jeremy's complicity in her father's scheme and the way Jeremy and her father were glaring at her she was more than wont to do at the moment.

  It was like having two bulldogs nipping at her heels, blast them both.

  "… how much of a man's more primitive nature ought a woman support," Ancilla was saying. "And yet, the Skeffing-hams had no compunction about inviting him here tonight," she added, voicing what many guests must be privately saying.

  Well, yes, there was a consideration, Regina thought. He had been at any number of events already, hosted by personages who seemed to be lending their countenance to his efforts to-what?-reinstate himself in society's good graces? Reform? What did anyone know of Raulton's motives?

  Or any man's for that matter?

  "Strictly speaking, he is as eligible as anyone," Regina pointed out. "His wealth must make him so. And morality doesn't enter into it once a man is serious about finding a wife. Every man goes off hall-cocked until he gets leg-shackled. You must admit, he's a most intriguing man, and any one of us would be curious if not interested."

  "Not this one of us," Ancilla said tartly. "And yet-he's so very good about doing the Proper. That is Harriet Soame
s with him. She's a very great heiress. She need not even consider anyone of Mr. Raulton's station, and yet there she is. She cannot be above sixteen years. Who could have so ill-advised her as to stand up with him?"

  Regina's ears pricked up. Stand up with him? The thought settled in her mind, light as air. "Are you sure?" Stand up with him… oh, the very thing to make Father go around the bend.

  "Oh, we are no great friends and she is as aloof as a choir stall, but yes, she is among those everyone is watching to see where her interest lies. Oh, but surely it is not with Mr. Raulton."

  "Do let's move closer to see," Regina murmured. It was a really bad suggestion, verging on ill-mannered, but she had to make sure that he noticed her. For how else would he know she was there? And how else would Jeremy see them when Raulton came to ask her to dance?

  "Regina!"

  "Come, haven't you a lick of curiosity about Miss Soames?"

  "Not even a lap."

  "Well, I do. Do come with me, Ancilla. You know you want to."

  Ancilla followed her reluctantly. "It is far too noisy," she whispered crossly as they edged their way to the forefront of the onlookers.

  "Oh, but do look. You are so right. Miss Soames looks as though she just let down her dresses and put up her hair. What would a man like Mr. Raulton want with such a milk-and-water girl?"

  "Oh, these men!" Ancilla muttered disgustedly. "Why is there not some kind of guide, some kind of tutoring for a girl as young as this to deal with a man like that…"

  Regina was only half listening as she watched them, but then Ancilla's words suddenly penetrated, taking shape, and taking on life, and she grasped her friend's hand urgently. "What? What did you say?"

  "I said a girl as young as Miss Soames ought to have some kind of guide or tutor so she could learn how to deal with a man as experienced as Mr. Raulton."

  "Oh, exactly!" And why hadn't she thought of that herself? Because Ancilla was a genius, and she was a dolt was why. The answer had always been before her. But now, it was a plan, sprung fully formed from Ancilla's trenchant observation, perfect for diverting Jeremy and accomplishing her own ends.

  Yes. Once she got Raulton to dance with her. "Women are always the last to know anything," she added roundly, "especially anything having to do with men."

  "Well, poor Miss Soames, in any event," Ancilla said dampingly. I don't envy her if it is Mr. Raulton on whom she seeks to fix her interest."

  "Oh, nor I," Regina said hastily as the music ended and the dancers bowed to each other. And now, and now-she needed to catch his eye, but he was busy returning Miss Soames to her mother. He did have manners.

  But she really really needed just this one more piece of the pie. Mr. Raulton must dance with her before the evening was done, so she could set her Plan in motion.

  However, it became apparent that this night, among the Skeffinghams' refined company, Mr. Raulton was after only those girls who were very young, and very pristine, the ones who perched with great sangfroid on the sideline chairs and waited like queens for each escort to humble himself and come to her.

  And so it must be, Regina decided. A woman must always wait. It was one of those things. If a man wished to renovate his name and reputation, he must act impeccably, and seem at the outset to require the most chaste, the innocent, who would be uncritical, malleable, and utterly inexperienced in the ways of the world; those he would be able to control and manipulate by their affection and their desire to be wed, for what else was there for a girl, or even a woman? And so, they must wait. She must wait. Wait for a man to notice, to speak, to come. But he would come for her, she was certain of it, when he was tired of all those green girls and their insipid conversation, and at a point in the evening when his choices would not be so much remarked upon.

  She sat on the sidelines with Ancilla and patiently waited. "Your Mr. Raulton shows no favorites," Ancilla commented acidly. "He goes to every sixteen-year-old equally. How democratic of the man."

  Regina suppressed a smile. Ancilla's observation was not quite true; as Raulton worked his way around the room, Regina had seen his covert looks at others, and the hesitating step he had taken toward her once or twice.

  He had been watching her, amused that she, too, played the game of propriety by sitting on the sidelines and waiting, always waiting.

  "My lady?" And then his voice startled her, because she had been so deep in thought, and she hadn't been expecting him, not just then.

  "My lord?" She looked up at his lean face that only now was showing some of the ravages of his excesses. Pleasant enough, up close, but what really attracted her was the humor in his expression, as if he knew what was said about him and didn't care, as if he were tweaking the mores of the very society into which he sought entree, and she, at least, was in on the joke.

  He took her hand, and she made a moment's show of reluctance before she allowed him to lead her to the floor for the reel. It was perfect for her purposes: there would be minimal conversation, and she could gaze at him as if her heart's soul were in her eyes.

  One dance, one intricate interlacing of hands and steps and things unsaid. She couldn't have planned it better. She hoped Jeremy and her father were both watching. She hoped they both felt as powerless as she.

  And it worked. She couldn't believe how beautifully it worked. When Raulton finally led her back to her chair, she found Ancilla had gone, effectively voicing her distress and disapproval. Her father was waiting for her, grim as a bear, and the best thing of all was when she finally caught her breath and looked around the room, she saw Jeremy by the door, his expression as black as a thundercloud.

  So now the stage was set. She had only to sit back and wait for Jeremy to dance attendance on her, and then pay him back for his presumption.

  She dressed accordingly the next day, in simple white muslin trimmed at the bodice and hem with demure pleating, and a matching lace-trimmed cap. Virginal. Innocent. What everyone expected to see.

  She made herself comfortable in the library until, as she knew he inevitably would, her father wandered in.

  "This season is too fatiguing," he began, dropping into the wing chair opposite the sofa where she sat. "Last night… too crowded, too many undesirables. I don't know what the

  Skeffinghams were thinking. That Raulton-there is a man who ought not be received at the docks let alone in polite society. What is the world coming to?"

  "Oh, indeed? He seemed quite the thing to me."

  "Well, he ain't. And you should have known better than to take his hand willy-nilly like that," Reginald grumbled

  "I did no such thing," Regina said indignantly. "I just danced with him. A reel, for heaven's sake. We were barely face-to-face throughout the whole. But"-she lowered her voice insinuatingly-"he did cut quite a fine figure. And his manners were impeccable…"

  "Re-gina…" Reginald began, but the butler interrupted.

  "Mr. Gavage, my lord."

  "Thank God," Reginald muttered, rising from his chair and relieved as a ninepence that he didn't have to pursue the question of Raulton one moment further. "Send him in."

  And there he was, framing the doorway, glowering.

  "Jeremy, my boy-here's Regina."

  Jeremy cast a dark glance at her. "So I see."

  Well, Regina thought, that wasn't too promising. She had better reconcile with him right now, or Jeremy would never fall for her plan.

  She uncoiled herself from the sofa and went to him, her hands outstretched. "Jeremy, it's been ages too long."

  "So it seems," he said in that deep burnished voice of his.

  Oh lord, he was tall, taller than he had seemed last night; she didn't remember him being that tall. Or those hands being so warm. Or those eyes so penetrating. Nor had his face been that old. She remembered the youth of that face, before the lines now there had been etched that deep.

  He wasn't going to help her either.

  "Do sit down. Father, go see to something to eat. Or drink. Would you care for…?
" She couldn't even think what this early in the morning.

  "Tea and toast will do. I assume you've eaten."

  "I could eat some more," Regina said staunchly. She wasn't some faint-away female. And anyway, food in hand helped. She didn't know how, she just knew it would. "I'll take the same. Father!" She had to get him out of the room. "Do see to it."

  "I'll ring"-Reginald looked from Jeremy to Regina. Lord, she looked so sweet and innocent this morning. And yet she had danced with Raulton the night before and looked at him as it he were a god.

  Jeremy eyed him meaningfully, and Reginald changed course. "Of course, my dear, I'll see to it." Anything to get out of the room and leave her with Jeremy. He could trust Jeremy. Thank the fates Jeremy had come and none too soon.

  Regina closed the door behind him and whirled around to face Jeremy.

  "Oh, Jeremy. Did I not see you last night at the Skeffinghams'? Why didn't you come to me? Oh, no matter, you're here now. You cannot know how grateful I am that you came."

  She came toward him and edged him farther into the room. This was the moment; she could not fiddle around with niceties or building the story up any further than what Jeremy had seen with his own eyes. She had to preempt him.

  She had to take action now.

  "You must help me." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and beseeching, the very essence of femininity and innocence. She hoped.

  "Must I?" Jeremy said repressively. "Are we not to have a moment's civil conversation before you beg a favor of me? After all this time?"

  Odious, odious man! Anyone else would have been at her feet, promising her the moon if she wanted it. "We could have done so last night," Regina returned tartly, "but you chose not to. In any event, I will not ring a peal over your bad manners-today. This is serious. I need your help, Jeremy, and I haven't a moment to lose. You cannot refuse me."

  "Oh no? Appearances are deceiving: here I thought to bask in the company of a childhood friend, and instead I find a spitting hell cat. If I hadn't walked in the door, who might you have dragged off the street to abet you-a sniffing torn?"