by Robyn DeHart
Lady Benchly’s expression pinched her features. “Good evening to you ladies,” she said, then strolled away.
“Ella, you shouldn’t have insulted her like that.”
“She deserved it.” Ella crossed her arms over her chest. “She was positively horrible to you. And she does look really ugly in that color.”
“That color would be ugly on anyone.” Clarissa said. Just then George and Ella’s brother, Victor, stepped over to them.
“I believe I’d like some lemonade. Refreshment table?”
“Sounds delightful,” Ella said. “Of course, anything would be delightful after conversing with that old bag.”
“Ella!”
“It’s true.” She smiled. “You know you can’t even argue with me on that.”
“Good evening ladies,” George said. “Clarissa, would you dance with me?”
She handed him her dance card. “Of course.”
He shook his head. “No, right now, this dance.”
“Yes, certainly.”
Ella frowned, but Clarissa left her standing there with her brother. The music began and Clarissa realized it was a quadrille, not one of her favorites because you had to keep switching partners, but it was lively. She began standing across from George, moved forward, they touched hands, she tried to think of something to say, something clever or engaging, but nothing came to mind.
“Clarissa, you look quite lovely this evening,” George said.
“Thank you,” she said and then was whisked off to another partner, and another. She wanted to ask George about Franny, demand he tell her the truth about his intentions, but she didn’t dare do such a thing. She wasn’t even supposed to know about the wager.
“Are you having a pleasant evening?” he asked again once they were back together.
“Indeed and yourself?” Oh these pleasantries were enough to drive her to madness. She wanted to have a real conversation with him, talk about something that mattered. But even if she could do such a thing, this particular dance was not conducive to such a discussion.
“Who was that gentleman you were speaking to earlier?” George asked.
Clarissa ignored the heat that surged through her. “That was Mr. Rodale. He is a dear friend of the family.”
“I see.”
“What is it, George, do you have something to say about Mr. Rodale?”
He eyed her for a moment, then nodded slightly. “I am concerned for your welfare. I’d hate to see a man such as he tarnish your impeccable reputation.”
The words shocked her, so much so that she nearly missed the fact that the music had ended and their dance was over. “Thank you for your concern. I can assure you that my reputation is quite all right.” She realized with alarming clarity that she was angry with George. He was the one who had lied to her, who had treated their relationship, or whatever it was, so casually. And yet he had the nerve to feign concern. The fact that the concern was warranted did not escape her mind. Her reputation should be in tatters now as many times as she’d been alone with Justin, kissed Justin.
George escorted Clarissa back to Ella, then he bent over Clarissa’s hand and walked away.
“What was that?” Ella asked.
“I believe George and I just had our first fight, only he doesn’t know it and I didn’t say anything.”
“I’m not certain I followed that. Still want something to drink?”
“Most definitely.” Perhaps she should have had Justin teach her how to sip some scotch. She could use something a little strong at the moment.
They reached the refreshment table and instead of selecting lemonade, which Clarissa had intended, she chose a glass of champagne. The bubbles teased her lips as she took a hearty sip.
Ella eyed her, surprise etched in her features. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.” Clarissa scanned the room, the couples twirling around the middle of the ballroom, and then she spotted George. He stood over near the French doors that led to the balcony and he was obviously speaking with someone, but his body blocked the person from Clarissa’s view. And then George shifted, held his arm out and Franny Cooper took it and then he escorted her outside. “Look at that.” She nodded with her head.
Ella followed Clarissa’s gaze to the couple as they left the ballroom. “A dance with you, a walk with her.” Ella sighed. “He’s certainly keeping up appearances as far as not letting on to which one of you he’s going to pick.”
Clarissa considered that a moment, wondered if right now he was kissing Franny in the gardens and if Franny would enjoy it more than Clarissa had. If only Rebecca were still alive to give her guidance. What if she didn’t want to marry George, then what? It wasn’t as if there were other prospects. She’d set her sights on George so early on, after the incident with Christopher, that she hadn’t really encouraged any other would-be suitors.
Ella stilled, then nudged Clarissa in the ribs. “Listen,” she whispered.
Clarissa’s hand gripped her champagne glass and she focused on the people behind them.
“Well, that is not what I heard about him,” one woman said. “No, I had heard that Mr. Rodale blackmailed someone to invite him to this very ball. Can you imagine?”
“It is not as if he’d have to resort to such extreme measures,” another woman said. “His brother is a duke, for heaven’s sake. Certainly if the man wanted to be a part of polite society, his brother could garner him invites.”
“Lois, you always do give everyone the benefit of the doubt. That man is a bastard and he has no place in this ballroom with the rest of us,” the first woman said. “I don’t care if his father was a duke and his mother was nearly French royalty, it doesn’t make it right.”
Clarissa grit her teeth, feeling quite indignant on his behalf. Yes, she’d thought those very things about him, but she’d never say them in public. And now that she’d actually heard them out of someone’s mouth, she could see how truly ugly the sentiment was.
“It is not his fault, the choices his parents made,” the other woman argued.
Precisely. Clarissa tugged on Ella’s sleeve. “I don’t need to hear any more of that,” she said once they were out of earshot. She didn’t want a reason to feel defensive for him. It wasn’t as if she could actually say anything on his behalf. That would really start the gossip flying.
“Do you know who his mother was?” Ella asked. “Do you believe she was a French princess or some such thing?”
“No, of course not.” But the truth was Clarissa had no idea who his mother was. Other than knowing she was French, Clarissa had never given it a single thought.
Until now.
…
It was not difficult for Justin to locate Clarissa when it was time for their dance. His eyes had followed her all evening. He’d known where she’d been, to whom she’d spoken with, and which fellows brought her to dance. He’d seen her dance with George and then seen the man take Miss Cooper outside for a walk. Clarissa had not been pleased.
For most of the evening she stood next to her friend Ella. As he walked up to the two of them, Ella’s eyes widened.
“I believe this is our dance, Chrissy,” he said.
He brought Ella’s gloved hand to his lips and nodded. “Lady Ella, a pleasure as usual.”
She giggled. “Mr. Rodale. You two are going to miss your dance, go.”
Once Clarissa and Justin were on the dance floor, she blurted out, “I am quite sorry for my rudeness.”
“When?” he asked.
Her cheeks pinkened. “Yes, well I realize I have been ill mannered when it comes to you on more than one occasion.” She looked up at him. “It does seem that you have a tendency to bring that out in me, being around you makes me forget my manners and I’m far more likely to speak my mind. My apologies.”
He nodded. “It is a strange thing to apologize for, would you not agree? What if I prefer you speak your mind? Prefer that you’re honest? Prefer you to simply be y
ourself?”
She looked up at him a moment and he was struck by how perfectly beautiful she was, with her sparkling blue eyes and lips that he knew were far softer and more pliable than he had a right to know.
“Do you prefer that from everyone?” she asked.
“I’m not speaking of anyone but you, but I suppose yes, I think people should be honest.” His eyes met hers. “And I do know other things about you. You need not pretend about anything around me.”
She nodded. “You have done quite well tonight.”
“What does that mean?” he asked. She was much shorter than him; he couldn’t help noticing, so very feminine. He rather enjoyed having her in his arms in the midst of the people around them, having an acceptable excuse to put his hands at the curve of her waist, be close enough to catch the lovely lemon scent of her hair.
“Merely that you do very well blending in with everyone here.”
Blending because he didn’t belong—is what she meant? Clarissa didn’t mean it poorly. It was the way she’d been raised, the way they’d all been raised—these people surrounding him tonight. How could she apologize in one breath and in the next insult him again? Then he realized she didn’t mean it as an insult. More than likely she thought she paid him a compliment. Still her words stung.
He knew he didn’t belong here. He’d known that his entire life. And some people felt the need to remind him of that. But he also knew that regardless of what people thought of him, he’d been invited and he’d come and he would do his damnedest to blend in as much as possible because that made people uncomfortable.
That didn’t really explain why he was truly there. He did feel indebted to the Kincaid family since they’d always been so welcoming of him. But he knew his recent jaunt into Society had more to do with a certain Kincaid than out of gratitude to the entire brood.
“Chrissy, you look beautiful tonight,” he said, knowing fully that the compliment would make her uncomfortable.
“Why do you call me that?” she asked.
She looked up at him and the startling shade of blue in her eyes met his. “Because it irritates you. And when you’re irritated, you get feisty. I like it when you’re feisty, when I can see the fire burn behind your eyes. It makes you more interesting.”
She took a deep breath and swallowed, then schooled her features so that she was once again pretty Clarissa Kincaid, not his spirited Chrissy.
“I imagine you know all manner of secrets about many of the families in this room,” she said. She looked around at the couples dancing near them. “I suspect you also make many of them quite nervous simply by being here.”
Justin glanced around. “You are right on both accounts. You are obviously uneasy about dancing with me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You insist on talking.”
“It is what we’re supposed to do whilst we dance,” she said. “Why, what do you think dancing is about?”
“Holding a beautiful woman close in your arms. The music, the swell of the strings, the way our bodies move as one. The heated pink stain in your cheeks, the catch of your breath, the way your back feels against my hand. The fact that in just the right angles I get a tantalizing view down your bodice.”
Her mouth had fallen open, but she came to her senses and closed it.
“That is what dancing is about to me.”
“Well,” she said as she tilted her chin up, “perhaps that is what it is to some. But for proper society, it is about witty conversation.”
“We can talk if it will put you more at ease.”
She grinned, satisfied with his acquiesce. “Will you tell me some of them?”
“Some of what?” he asked.
“The secrets? The gambling details?” she asked.
“Chrissy, shame on you,” he said with a grin of his own. “I am discreet, you know that. It is a hallmark of my business. Rodale’s wouldn’t be nearly as popular a gaming hell if people thought their secrets were being bandied about at the balls.” He swirled her around the dance floor, noting that she felt rather perfect in his arms. It had been years since he’d danced. He’d forgotten that, at times, it could be enjoyable.
“You are no fun at all,” she said.
He considered her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, I offer a deal instead,” he said. “You provide me with some tidbit of gossip you know and I will give you a piece of information in return. Tit for tat, if you will.”
Clarissa looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. She nodded slowly. “I suppose I could do that. Ella’s mother does love her gossip so I hear my fair share of it.”
“Ah, well then our deal is off,” he said.
Her expression fell into disappointment. “Whatever for?”
“How can I trust you not to share these bits of gossip with her? Rodale’s would be ruined if word got out that I had divulged private information with you,” he said.
“But I am not the gossip,” she said. She bit at her lip. “What if I promise not to? You can trust me.”
He raised one brow. “Can I?”
She sucked in a breath, but never took her eyes off him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Of course you can.”
“Excellent. You go first. Tell me about that woman,” he said nodding to the woman dancing next to them. She was probably in her fourth decade and age was beginning to show in her features, though she still worked hard to make herself look attractive. The man she danced with was clearly younger than her, but seemed pleased to have the lady in his arms.
Clarissa looked over and nodded briefly. “That is Lady Bandy,” she said quietly. “She has been a widow for years. It is said she takes a new lover at the start of every Season.”
Justin smiled. “Now then. I could tell you that Lord Bleacher has a significant problem with hazard.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“He has virtually no luck at all. He owes a tremendous amount of money, but he has more than that in his coffers, so I suspect no one overly cares.” He looked around again. “The group of women standing over there near the refreshment table, tell me about the one in the green dress.”
She glanced over, then pinched her features. “That is Mildred Cutter and she refuses to wear corsets.” Clarissa shook her head as if that was a truly vile offense.
Justin chuckled. “Shocking,” he said.
“Do not mock, it is not as if she does not need one.”
He looked back over at the woman.
“Stop it, now you’re staring. Tell me about Viscount Sanders, I’ve heard he has a terrible gambling problem,” she said.
He sighed. “Yes, it is significant. Poor fellow, he has terrible instincts, plays all the wrong people. I am working with him and he owes me a lot of money. Last week I sent him away. I will no longer allow him to play with money he does not have.”
She shook her head almost in disbelief, then a slight furrowing of her brow. “That was very kind of you.”
Justin nearly missed a step. The way she was looking at him as if he’d done something amazing when he’d only done the responsible thing, save his business from more losses.
“I don’t suppose it will prevent him from going to another establishment,” she said.
“No, and men enjoy playing with him because they know they’ll win. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose his house. He’s already had to dismiss most of his servants.”
“That’s terrible. Explains why his wife was so quiet at the card party the other day,” Clarissa said.
The song ended and he stopped their dancing. He took her arm to lead her back to Ella. “How was your dance with George?”
She stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “It was as enjoyable as that particular dance can be. It’s not one of my favorites.”
His brows rose. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
“I suppose you saw him leave with Miss Cooper as well. Have they returned?”
“She return
ed sometime during our dance. I have not seen Wilbanks,” he said.
“You notice everything, don’t you?”
“I have to at Rodale’s so it carries over to wherever I am.” He’d been like that as a boy, though. Roe’s mother had always told him it was a good trait and it would serve him well in life.
“Thank you for a lovely dance,” she said.
“You’re welcome. I hope to see you soon.” He bowed to her and walked away. He rolled his eyes. She had taken him off guard, though, with the moony way she’d looked at him, the awe in her voice. He was not some hero to be applauded. He was nothing more than a businessman. A bastard.
Chapter Seven
After he’d left the ball, Justin returned to Rodale’s. The gaming floor was still a little quiet, but people were beginning to arrive. He nodded to the few men gathered at a table playing baccarat, then made his way up the stairs to the offices. He had no sooner entered the room when Clipps cleared his throat.
“I have found out some information on that bloke you wanted me to look into.”
Justin sat and eyed his friend. “Spill it, man.”
“He frequents Rafferty’s.”
So Justin’s instinct had been correct. George had told Clarissa his debts were at Rodale’s because it was the most respectable hell. Rafferty’s was another gaming hell, perhaps equally as popular as Rodale’s, but in a very different part of town, down on the docks of the Thames. “And you’re certain?”
“Yes, I followed him myself. On two separate evenings he left here and went there. I spoke with a handful of workers there that knew him by name and said he came several nights a week. He has a penchant for fighting.”
“Boxing? Well, that explains why he isn’t playing here more often, if that’s his preference for wagering. Does he bet only or does he fight?”
“Oh, he fights. Inside the ring and out, evidently he has quite the temper. He’s quite good though, I’m told, doesn’t owe them money either,” Clipps said.
A temper. So the man liked plenty of women and he had a penchant for hitting things. Not a good combination, and most certainly not a good choice for Clarissa. Justin would never forgive himself it he stood by and allowed her to marry the man and then found out he hit her. He’d kill George Wilbanks himself if that happened. “Thank you, Clipps.” Frequenting Rafferty’s alone would have been enough to prove Wilbanks wasn’t the right man for her. That club had dedicated itself to serving the needs of those who preferred more risky methods of entertainment. “Did he accompany anyone there or did he go alone?” Justin asked.
