by Shana Galen
“He has indeed.” Lady Ravensgate nodded at Collette.
“Did he?” Lady Birtwistle was still studying Collette, her gaze so intent Collette could feel her cheeks warming. “I had heard as much and was eager to meet the young lady who has claimed my brother’s attention.”
“I would not put it that way, my lady,” Collette said, forcing her voice to an audible level. “It is only one dance.”
Lady Birtwistle looked unconvinced. “Then he didn’t call on you at home last week?”
Collette looked down, uncertain what response to make. “He did. I am certain he is simply making me feel welcome.”
“My brother does not care about making people feel welcome. And to my knowledge he has never reserved a dance with an unmarried lady or called on one. You must be very special indeed.” She tilted her head as though inspecting Collette. “And now that I meet you, I do see the appeal. That shade of yellow is lovely on you. I cannot wear yellow, I’m afraid.”
“She has the perfect coloring for it,” Lady Ravensgate agreed, and both women stared at Collette’s yellow silk gown, trimmed with cream lace. It was a simple gown and not overly embellished, or so Collette had thought until she put it on. Then she realized how cunning the modiste had been with the cut of the dress. It dipped quite low in the back, so low she could almost not wear her stays, and daringly low in the front, although a border of lace rimmed the bodice for modesty. Collette, already self-conscious of her large bosom, had shoved the dress aside and had not worn it to any of the events she’d attended. But Lady Ravensgate had pulled it out tonight and would not hear any objections to Collette’s wearing it.
“You look quite lovely,” Lady Birtwistle told Collette. “My brother has impeccable taste. I knew you would be a beauty.”
Collette had never thought of herself as a beauty. Her lips were a bit too pronounced, her shape curvier than the current fashion of willowy women, and her hair and eyes were an unremarkable shade of brown. “You are too kind,” Collette said. Far too kind, considering the supper dance was about to begin and Mr. Beaumont was nowhere in sight. Why had she come tonight? Why had she not stayed home? Everyone would see what a fool she was. She’d come to the ball to dance with Beaumont, and he hadn’t even bothered to make an appearance.
All around her, men claimed their partners and led them to the dance floor for the last dance, a waltz, before supper. Lady Ravensgate continued speaking with Lady Birtwistle, but Collette could not hear them. Her ears were ringing and her eyes stinging. Her gaze locked on the floor in front of her slippers. She should not care whether Beaumont made a fool of her. She was not here to impress London Society. She was here for her father and he was all that mattered.
Through the blur of unshed tears, she spotted a pair of men’s shoes stop before her. They were attached to muscled legs in white breeches.
She knew those legs.
She looked up quickly and into the face of Mr. Beaumont. His eyebrows lowered and his smile turned to an expression of concern when he saw her face, but his hand remained outstretched. Collette looked at his hand, then at Lady Ravensgate, who gave her a nod. Pasting on a smile, Collette took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the center of the dance floor.
Now her ears rang for an entirely different reason. She hated to be the center of attention. Not only would everyone be staring at her because she danced with Beaumont, but they’d also be watching her because she was in the center of the room. The orchestra began playing, and Collette took a deep breath. Beaumont put his arm at her waist and pulled her closer, then moved in time to the music. Collette glanced up at his face, but that only made her more nervous. How could anyone be so beautiful, so flawless? And why did such a creature want to dance with her?
“Are you well?” he asked, as he moved her across the dance floor. Not only was the man handsome, but he could dance. She’d never been a confident dancer, and she’d felt awkward and tentative all evening as she’d danced. But with Beaumont, she didn’t even have to think about her next step. She seemed to know where he would lead her, even before he did so. And he made the more complicated steps feel easy and enjoyable.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am quite well.”
He leaned close to hear her words, and she caught the scent of spices, something musky and dark. “You looked as if you were close to tears before. You did not think I would come for you?”
She looked down, staring at the place where her white glove lay in stark contrast to his dark coat. “The dance was to begin, and I had not seen you at the ball.”
“I was merely waiting for the right moment to claim your hand. A man would be a fool to miss the opportunity to dance with you.”
“I think you have that backward, monsieur. You are the accomplished dancer.”
He gave her a nod. “I will tell my stepmother all of the money she threw at my dancing masters was well spent.”
Collette glanced at his face again, trying to ascertain whether he was serious. “I think you already know you are an excellent dancer.”
“It’s easy to dance well with a beautiful woman in my arms.”
Her face heated again, and she could have cursed her body for blushing at her every small discomfort.
“I have embarrassed you?” he asked.
“I am not used to so much attention,” she answered, her voice low, which forced him to lean close again. She had to stop whispering. Every time he leaned close, her belly fluttered, and she felt even more light-headed. She had the urge to turn her head and bury her face in his neck, inhaling his scent. He smelled so wonderful.
“And you do not care for attention?”
She smiled. “Not as much as you, monsieur.”
“Oh, very few people crave attention as much as I do, but I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Your cheeks are red as cherries.”
How Collette wished she had something cold to press against her heated face. She searched for something to say to cover her awkwardness. “It is the exertion of the dance,” she said. “Did you know that the lengthy courtship rituals of the Erinaceus europaeus are considered a means for the sow to determine which boar is the most fit to serve as a mate?”
Beaumont flashed her a smile that made her heart tumble and roll.
“Are we speaking of hedgehogs again? I believe that is my new favorite topic of conversation.”
Collette was mortified. “I would rather not speak of hedgehogs. But when I am nervous, I sometimes say things before I can think.”
“Such as?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he drawled. “How does a male hedgehog know when a female hedgehog is attracted to him?”
She shook her head again. She would not answer this question. He danced them into the center of the ballroom, so the light from the chandelier shone directly on her. There was no denying every single eye in the ballroom was on her.
“Does the female hedgehog wink at the male or flutter a fan?”
“No. Sh-she—”
He raised a dark brow.
“The boar may be attracted to scent cues produced from females in estrus.”
“Scent cues from…?” He gave her an innocent look, but she imagined he looked as innocent as Lucifer fallen from heaven. “Her lips? Her skin? Her—”
“The music is so loud, my throat is quite hoarse,” Collette said. The only way to avoid this topic was to pretend she could not speak.
“Fortunately, I can remedy the problem and give us a chance to speak privately.”
She did not like the look on his face. “The waltz will be over soon,” she objected.
“Not soon enough. Now, just follow my lead.”
Collette’s heart thudded in her chest. Now what did the man plan to do? She could not allow him to make more of a spectacle of the two of them. “But, monsieur—”
Too late. With exaggerated movements, Beaumont twisted to the side and grimaced in pain. “My ankle!” he cried. Keeping one hand in hers, he bent and touched his ankle with the other. “I fear I have sprained it,” he said loudly.
Collette felt her mouth drop open, but when she bent to examine his ankle, she caught him staring at her.
He winked.
The scoundrel! His ankle was perfectly fine. But if this was his plan to remove her from the center of attention, he had not thought it through. This little play was only earning them more attention.
“Are you hurt badly?” a lady who had been dancing near them asked.
“Do you need assistance?” her partner inquired.
“No, no.” Beaumont waved a hand. “I think a few moments’ rest is just the thing. Miss Fournay, may I escort you to the terrace? The fresh air will do us both good.”
“O-of course,” she said. Her face was so hot she could have touched a wick to it and lit a candle. But Beaumont was playing his part for all he was worth. He draped an arm over her shoulder and hobbled beside her. Collette was forced to put an arm around his waist to maintain her balance. The other guests made way for them as Beaumont steered her toward the terrace doors. He bent his head, as though in pain, and his warm breath fell on the bare patch of skin between her neck and shoulder.
“You needn’t make such a show,” she said, speaking without moving her lips.
“Oh, but I like making a show. Even more, I like having your arm about me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.”
Collette held her tongue until they finally reached the terrace. She pushed the door open and led him outside, where she released him as though he were the handle of a hot pan. If his ankle had really been injured, he would have stumbled. But he caught himself easily and leaned negligently on the stone balustrade. Collette walked to the other end, only a short distance away. This was no country house, but a London town house and the terrace was only five or six feet across. But even if she could not distance herself from Beaumont, she was grateful for the cool air on her face. She lifted her face to catch the breeze and closed her eyes as it washed over her.
“I take it you did not appreciate my little piece of theater.”
She flicked a glance at him. “Truthfully, monsieur, I would have preferred to simply finish the dance and exit the floor unobtrusively.”
“You are very good at being unobtrusive.”
She froze, her arms on the balustrade going quite stiff. She chose her next words carefully. “It must appear so to you. You are very good at creating a spectacle.”
He laughed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
Collette let out a sigh of relief. She was reading too much into his words. He did not suspect her. He was a flirt and hungry for attention. He didn’t mean anything more than what he said.
“And how are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Fournay?”
Collette bit her lip. Now she would be forced to make conversation with him, a skill for which she had amply shown she had no talent. But it would not last long. Dinner would be served soon, and they would have to go in. “London is…” What should she say? It was not nearly as beautiful as Paris, but she did not want to invite speculation about any time she might have spent in Paris.
“London is rainy. I think it must have rained every day since I have been here.”
“And it never rains in Paris?”
“Of course it rains in Paris, but…” She trailed off. She had given away more than she’d planned. “I mean to say, but I have not spent much time in Paris and cannot adequately compare the two.”
“There is no comparison,” Beaumont said casually. “Paris is architecturally stunning and eminently more sophisticated than London. A simple stroll down Bond Street will tell you it pales in comparison with the Champs-Élysées.”
“I have not strolled on the Champs-Élysées in years,” she said. “I am surprised you have had the opportunity.”
He smiled. “I can be unobtrusive too.”
She had seen the truth of that tonight, when he’d seemed to come out of the woodwork to claim their dance.
“If you did not live in Paris, where did you live?”
This was a common topic of conversation, and she launched into her well-rehearsed answer. She’d lived in the countryside with her parents, who had been devastated when her brother died in the Battle of Waterloo. Now that their period of mourning was over, her parents had thought it might be beneficial for her, their young daughter, to travel to London and see her cousin and attend social events. Her mother and father were still far too distressed to interact socially and they did not want their daughter to suffer.
As she spoke, she’d stared out at the small garden behind the town house. Very little bloomed at this time of year, a few roses could be seen in the light filtering from the ballroom. But when she finished speaking, she looked back at Beaumont and almost jumped to see him standing right beside her. She hadn’t even heard him move.
“That’s a lovely story,” he said, his gaze on her face. Collette felt it heat again at the intensity of his look. She wondered if she would ever become used to having such an attractive man so close to her.
“It’s all true,” she said, and immediately regretted the words. They sounded too much like a protest when one had not been required.
“I don’t doubt it. I too was in the war, though I didn’t fight at Waterloo. Tell me, was your brother army or cavalry?”
Collette opened her lips, but she had not encountered that question before. Moreover, she had not been schooled in the answer. It had never occurred to her or to the men holding her father that any Englishman would care about the particular placement of a French soldier.
Beaumont noticed her hesitation. “Don’t you know?”
“Yes, but…” Should she choose one? Then what if he asked more questions like the brigade number or the commander? “You must excuse me, sir. It is difficult for me to discuss.” He was not the only one with acting skills.
“No, you must excuse me. I should never have brought it up.” He lifted her hand from the balustrade, forcing her to angle toward him. “Forgive me?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.
“Of course.”
His took a step forward, forcing her back if she wanted to keep any space between them, and her shoulders touched the wall of the terrace. “It must be hard to lose a sibling.”
She nodded. He was so close. Even in the darkness, she could see his violet eyes. He still held her hand, and his other hand rested lightly on the balustrade beside her hip. “I have seven. You are welcome to borrow any of mine. You met my youngest sister?”
She nodded again, trying to focus on his words, not the feel of his hand holding hers or the closeness of his body or how soft his lips looked, how inviting.
“Did she tell you all of my secrets?”
Collette shook her head. Her voice had deserted her, and she feared if she attempted to speak, he would lean close to her and she would catch his scent and lose all control over her baser urges.
“I suppose I shall have to leave that to my brothers. I have four, and we live to humiliate each other. Two of my brothers are in the navy. Officers and proud of it. They want nothing but to serve the king. And your brother? Did he support Napoleon?”
She nodded, all but transfixed by his good looks and his melodious voice, then realized what he’d asked. “I mean, no.”
“He did not support Napoleon?”
“I—” What was the correct answer? She did not want to be seen as a supporter of the dictator who had been England’s enemy. “No, he was conscripted.”
“I see. And did your father work for Napoleon against his will too?”
“He—” Collette drew in a sharp breath. “My father did not work for Napoleon, monsieur. He was a farmer.”
“D
id you mention that before?”
“I thought I did.”
“I must have been confused.” He leaned close and she felt his warm breath on her cheek. “I will confess… May I confess something to you?”
Collette didn’t know what to reply. She wasn’t certain she could have spoken if she’d tried.
“When I look at you, my brain goes to mush. My thoughts are all muddled. Do you know how that feels?” His body pressed against hers, a warm, solid weight that terrified and excited her at the same time. “All I can think about when I am this close to you is my mouth on yours.” He reached out and touched a finger to her lips. He’d removed his gloves at some point, and the feel of his bare skin sent a zing of pleasure through her. “My hands on your skin.” He caressed her lips with his finger. “My body pressed to yours.”
Collette could not breathe. Her lungs burned and her heart beat painfully in her chest. As though she watched from far away, she stood immobile while Beaumont trailed his finger from her lips to her chin, catching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, brushing over her in a slow, tantalizing whisper of a kiss. Collette drew in a sharp breath, and Beaumont moved to the corner of her mouth. “I make you nervous, don’t I, mademoiselle?” He spoke in French now, though she barely realized it. “You are afraid I will kiss you, really kiss you. And you are also afraid I will not.”
Collette wanted to move her mouth to meet his and give in to him—his velvet voice, his teasing mouth, his intoxicating scent. But she could not afford to indulge in flirtations, especially not with men she could not trust. Her father’s life depended on her, and she would not gain any useful information on the terrace with Mr. Beaumont.
Collette closed her eyes and summoned all her strength. “I am afraid if you kiss me, you will receive a nasty surprise, monsieur.”
His lips paused in their exploration as he undoubtedly felt the pressure of her knee between his legs.
“Step back, or I will make certain amorous activities are the last thing on your mind for the next few days.”
