by Lisa Kleypas
Emma's blue eyes sparkled as she hunted for a glimpse of her father through the window. “Papa said he would come here after he opened the ball with Lady Harcourt. He promised that next year I can have a children's ball, right here, while the adults dance in the big room.”
A new voice entered the conversation. “It won't be long before you're in the big room with the rest of us.”
Emma whirled around at her father's approach and posed extravagantly. “Look at me, Papa!”
Luke grinned, stopping to admire her. “My God. You're beautiful, Emma. You've turned into a young lady. A fine thing to do to your poor old father.” He reached out and caught her close for a moment. “You look like your mother tonight,” he murmured.
“Do I?” Emma asked, beaming. “Good.”
Tasia watched Stokehurst with his daughter. She steeled her spine against a sudden tremor as she remembered the moonlight on his black hair, and the warmth of his mouth. His body was elegant and powerful in the tailored black coat and white waistcoat. As if he sensed her keen interest, he glanced at her. Hastily Tasia looked away, a blush rising from her high collar.
“Good evening, Miss Billings,” he said blandly.
She didn't need to look at him to know there was a mocking gleam in his eyes. “My lord,” she replied under her breath.
Emma was in no mood to dally. “I've been waiting for hours to dance with you, Papa!”
He laughed at his daughter's impatience. “You have? Well, I'm going to waltz you back and forth until you complain about your aching feet.”
“Never,” Emma exclaimed. She placed one hand on his leather-bound wrist, just below the flashing hook, and rested the other on his shoulder. At first he whirled her in a vigorous romp, making Emma laugh. Then they settled into a smooth, graceful waltz. Stokehurst had obviously seen to it that his daughter had lessons, and had practiced with her.
A smile twitched at Tasia's lips, and she withdrew to the doorway, enjoying the sight.
“They're a remarkable pair, aren't they?” came Lady Harcourt's soft voice.
Tasia gave a start. Lady Harcourt was standing a few feet away. She wore a gown of pale yellow satin covered with tiny gold beads. The scooped neckline showed a hint of her deep cleavage, while the waist came to a scalloped point low on her hips. Several diamond and topaz combs glittered in her auburn hair, holding her loose braided chignon in place. Most spectacular of all was the necklace around her throat, a web of jeweled flowers with diamonds in the center.
“Good evening, Lady Harcourt,” Tasia murmured. “The ball seems to be a great success.”
“I haven't sought you out in order to talk about the ball. I'm sure you know exactly what I intend to say.”
Tasia shook her head. “I'm sure I don't, my lady.”
“Fine, then.” Iris fidgeted with the tassel that hung from her fan. “I don't mind being blunt. I've always believed in approaching a problem directly.”
“My lady, I would never wish to cause you the slightest problem.”
“Well, you have.” Iris stepped closer, staring at the distant figures of the Stokehursts as they waltzed at the far end of the gallery. “You are the problem, Miss Billings. Ultimately your presence here will bring pain and trouble for everyone: me, Emma, and especially Luke.”
Dismayed, Tasia stared at her without blinking. “I don't see how that's possible.”
“You're distracting Luke. You're leading him away from the thing that would bring him true happiness—companionship with one of his own kind. I understand him. I've known him for years, you see. I knew him back when Mary was alive. The relationship they shared was special—and I can give him something very close to that. I'm actually a rather nice woman, Miss Billings, in spite of what you may think.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I'm asking you to leave, for his sake. If you give a fig about him, you'll do as I ask. Leave Southgate Hall, and don't look back. I'll reward you well for it. Perhaps you would like to have this necklace I'm wearing.” Iris lifted the fall of jewels away from her skin, making them sparkle. “You never thought to have such riches, did you? Every gem is real. You'll be comfortable for the rest of your life with the money it will bring. You could buy a little cottage in the country, even hire a cook maid for yourself.”
“I don't want your jewelry,” Tasia said, mortified.
The wheedling note left Iris's voice. “You're an intelligent girl, I see. You want more, and you've decided that Emma is the key. Gain the affection of his daughter, and that will lead Luke to a romantic interest in you. You may be right. But don't fool yourself into thinking the affair will last longer than a matter of weeks. Your youth may hold his attention for a little while, but you don't have what it takes to keep him.”
“What makes you so certain?” Tasia was appalled to hear herself ask. Instantly she bit her lip. The words had rushed out before she could stop them.
“Ah,” Iris said softly. “Now the truth is out. You do want him. And you actually harbor hopes of keeping him. It should annoy me…but instead I pity you.”
The words were derisive, but Tasia sensed the deep unhappiness beneath them. Her heart softened with sympathy. This woman had known Lord Stokehurst intimately, had thrilled to his kisses and his smiles, had spun dreams of becoming his wife, and now she was fighting for the chance to keep him. Tasia tried to think of words to reassure her. After all, Lady Harcourt wanted her to do what she was already planning to do—leave. She couldn't stay even if she wanted to. “Lady Harcourt, please believe you have nothing to fear. I won't—”
“Fear?” Iris said defensively. “Of course I don't fear you—a governess with no dowry, no family, and no figure to speak of!”
“I'm trying to explain—”
“Don't waste your long-suffering gaze on me, child. I've said my piece. All I ask is that you think about it.” Before Tasia could say another word, Iris walked away. She stepped through the doorway, her gown shimmering. “What a splendid sight the two of you make,” she called with a wide smile. “Emma, you dance like an angel. My lord, after this waltz you must return to the ball with me. You are the host, after all.”
The dancing was interrupted by a midnight feast that lasted for two hours, followed by more music, more waltzes, more of everything, until the night waned and the horizon began to glow with the approach of the morning sun. Sated and drunk, the crowd dispersed, the floors creaking as scores of sore feet trod across them in search of soft beds. The guests slept for most of the day, taking breakfast in the afternoon. Some left early Sunday evening, while others preferred to travel on Monday. Iris was one of the Sunday departures. She had come to Luke's room to inform him, barging in while he dressed.
“I'm leaving for London within the hour,” she said, watching as Biddle fastened the right cuff of Luke's shirt.
Raising his brows at her quiet intensity, Luke shrugged into a claret-colored coat. He took his time about replying, first glancing at the selection of narrow cravats Biddle displayed, then deciding not to wear one. He ordered the valet out of the room and turned to Iris. “Why so soon?” he asked evenly. “You seemed to enjoy yourself last evening.”
“I refuse to spend another night waiting in vain for the sound of your footsteps! Why didn't you come to me after the ball?”
“You banished me from your bed, remember?”
“I told you not to visit me if you couldn't get that Billings girl out of your head. It's clear that you can't. Every time you look at me, you wish I was she. It's been going on for weeks. I'm trying to fight it, but I don't know how!”
Iris held her breath as she saw Luke's expression change, the remoteness fading. For a moment she tensed with impossible hope. Then his regretful voice doused the flicker of happiness. “Iris, there's something I should tell you—”
“Not now,” she said grimly, backing away. “Not now.” She left with determined strides, her hands clenched.
Dutifully Luke attended the after-dinner
gathering, making conversation, smiling at light quips, applauding as several guests performed skits, recited poetry, and did their best at the piano. His impatience grew, finding outlet only in the monotonous tapping of his foot. When he couldn't bear to sit still any longer, he excused himself with a quiet murmur.
He wandered through the house with the appearance of aimlessness. He wanted no one and nothing but her, even if it was just to sit in silence and stare at her. It was a hunger he had never known before. She was the only one in his life who saw him, and knew him, for who and what he was.
Iris thought she understood him. Most women prided themselves on thinking they had superior knowledge of the male mind, and therefore could manipulate men to their advantage. But Iris had never known what it was like to have her life destroyed, and what it took to rebuild; the pain and rage, the will to survive…and the isolation it imposed. Tasia understood all too well. That was the bond between them, the basis for unspoken but mutual respect, the inner recognition that had tormented him since the first moment they met. They were exactly alike, in the only way that mattered.
As he walked along a first-floor hallway, Mrs. Knaggs passed with an armload of fresh linen. The housekeeper paused to nod respectfully. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Mrs. Knaggs, where is—”
“Upstairs, sir. With Emma, in the green sitting room.”
Luke frowned. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”
The housekeeper smiled smugly. “After all these years working for the Stokehursts? There's hardly anything that Seymour, Biddle, and I don't know, my lord.”
Luke gave her a warning glance, and she went on her way, unruffled as usual.
The sitting room was cozy and well-lit, a little more cluttered and fringed and cushioned than the other parlors in the house. He heard Emma's animated voice as she read aloud from a novel. Tasia was curled at the end of a brocade settee, one slender arm draped across its curving back. She changed position as she saw him, straightening a little and drawing her arm into her lap. The top two buttons of her gown were undone, showing a glimpse of her white throat. Lamplight cast a golden gleam over her skin and gilded her hair. Emma threw her father a quick grin and kept on reading.
Luke sat in a nearby chair and stared at Tasia. Beautiful, troubled, stubborn woman. He wanted her, every inch of her body, every secretive turn of her thoughts. He wanted to wake up in the morning and find her arms around him. He wanted to keep her safe, until she lost the haunted look in her eyes. She stared back at him, her forehead touched with a questioning frown.
You've never smiled at me, he thought fiercely. Not once.
It seemed as if she read his mind. A curve touched her lips, sweet and wry, as if he had provoked it in spite of her wish to hold it back.
It felt strange to Luke, being forced to depend on someone for the first time. He couldn't break down her defenses; she would only resist him more. The only way to gain what he wanted was to let down his own defenses and encourage her to do the same. It would require more patience than he possessed. But somehow he would manage it, no matter what it cost. Nothing was too much to ask, no price too dear, if only she would love him.
Five
With the weekend party concluded, the last few guests departed on Mondy. Luke was free in the afternoon to go to Iris's London terrace. It was time to end their arrangement, and he knew Iris must be aware of it by now. There was only one woman he wanted, and everything he had to give was for her alone. Perhaps Iris would be disappointed at first, but she would recover quickly. In addition to a well-managed fortune, Iris had a circle of devoted friends—and there were at least a dozen men who were ready to flatter and console her. Luke had no doubt that she would do very well without him.
Iris welcomed him into her bedroom with a sensuous kiss, her body covered in only a few scraps of black silk. Before Luke was able to explain why he had come, she erupted into a prepared speech without allowing him a chance to break in.
“I'll give you a few weeks to amuse yourself with her,” Iris said briskly. “When you tire of her, you can come back to me. We need never mention her again. Didn't promise to give you all the freedom you wanted? I don't want you to feel one bit guilty. Men need variety. I understand that. There is nothing that needs to be forgiven. As long as I know you'll come back—”
“No,” Luke interrupted, his voice coming out too harshly. He checked it and took a deep breath.
Her hands moved in a helpless flutter. “What is it?” she asked plaintively. “There's a look on your face I've never seen before. What's wrong?”
“I don't want you to wait for me. I'm not coming back.”
Iris gave a frantic little laugh. “But why should we throw away everything for some temporary indulgence? Don't be fooled by appearances, darling. She's a pretty, waiflike thing who seems to need you…Well, just because I'm not all skin and bones doesn't mean I don't need you every bit as much! And when you tire of her—”
“I'm in love with her.”
An astonished silence settled over the room. Iris's throat worked frantically. She looked away to hide her expression. “That's not something you would say lightly,” she finally said. “I suppose Miss Billings is pleased with herself.”
“I haven't told her. She's not ready for it.”
Iris sneered with sudden outrage. “Dainty, frail creature that she is, she'd probably faint dead away. God, the irony of it—that a full-blooded man like you would fall for a pale little nothing like her—”
“She's not as frail as you seem to think.” In a flash Luke remembered Tasia in the garden, the sweet hunger of her mouth beneath his, the scratch of her nails over his shirt…His blood quickened in response, and he paced across the room like a caged wolf.
“Why her?” Iris demanded, following him. “Is it because Emma likes her? Is it her youth?”
“It doesn't matter why,” he said curtly.
“Of course it does!” Iris stopped in the center of the room and began to sniffle. “If she hadn't come along and bewitched you, we would still be together. I need to know why her and not me! I want to understand what I did wrong!”
Sighing, Luke reached out and drew her against him. He felt a pang of guilt mingled with affection. They had known each other for a long time, first as friends, then as lovers. She deserved far more than he'd been able to give her. “You did nothing wrong,” he said.
Iris rested her chin on his shoulder and sniffled more loudly. “Then why are you leaving me? How cruel you are!”
“I don't mean to be,” he said softly. “I'll always care about you.”
Iris jerked away with a wrathful glare. “The most useless words in the English language are ‘I care’! I'd rather you didn't care at all, and then I could hate you. But you care just a little…and not enough. Damn you! Why does she have to be beautiful and young? I can't even gossip about her with my friends. Anything I say will make me appear to be a jealous old hag.”
Luke smiled at the petulant droop of her lips. “Never.”
Iris strode to the gold-framed mirror and began to arrange her hair, fluffing the auburn tendrils around her face. “Are you going to marry her?”
Ruefully he wished that everything were that simple. “If she'll have me.”
Iris sniffed in disdain. “I don't think there's much doubt of that, darling. She'll never have another chance to snare a man like you.”
Luke walked up behind her, reaching over her shoulder to catch her agitated hand in his. Their eyes caught in the mirror. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?” There was a quaver in her voice.
“For being so generous, and beautiful. For taking away the loneliness so many nights. I don't regret a single one of them. I hope you don't.” He squeezed her fingers hard before letting go.
“Luke…” Iris turned to him with emotion-filled eyes. “Promise me if something goes wrong…if you decide you've made a mistake…then promise you'll come back to me.”
Luke leaned over and kissed her forehead gently. “Goodbye,” he whispered.
Iris nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. As he left the room, she turned away, closing her eyes against the sight of him walking out of her life.
Luke reached the front entrance of Southgate Hall just as the sun was setting. He had ridden the black Arabian stallion hard from Iris's town house, finding respite in the rush of wind past his ears and the racing of the ground beneath them. He was streaked with dust and sweat, his muscles filled with the pleasant burn of exertion. Dismounting, he gave the reins to the waiting footman. “Make certain he's cooled off well,” he said as the servant led the horse toward the stables.
“My lord.” Seymour stood in the doorway, wearing an expression of mild concern that, coming from a butler, heralded disaster. “My lord, the Ashbournes—”
“Papa!” Emma appeared in a wild flurry, hurling herself down the front steps and into his arms. “Papa, I'm so glad you're here! Something's dreadfully wrong—Lord and Lady Ashbourne are here. They've been talking with Miss Billings in the library for at least an hour.”
Luke was stunned. The Ashbournes had left Southgate Hall only this morning. Something was definitely out of order if they had returned so quickly. “What did they say?”
“I haven't heard a word, but they looked very peculiar when they arrived, and it's been so quiet. Please, you must go in there and make certain Miss Billings is all right!”
