As his tightened around hers, she realized he still held her hand. He released his hold, but his gaze heated. “Is she?”
His voice came out as a low rasp, and she suspected he was envisioning a shy woman—or perhaps even herself—doing something else with her fingers. She didn’t mind that his thoughts traveled along a wicked path. This place seemed to call for it. He was correct. Their soirees required so much damned formality and proper behavior, how did someone ever discover another’s true self? “What about chaperones?”
“What of them?”
“Will they follow their charge around, or will you have a special room where they will wait?”
“They won’t be allowed through the door. The whole point of this place would be the freedom to do as you pleased, with no one to judge.”
“Oh, people will judge. Some will come here merely to judge.”
“You have a valid point.” His eyes lightened as he began thinking it through, and while she regretted that she’d broken whatever spell had held his attention on her, she also liked knowing that he was giving such careful consideration to what she’d said, that she’d offered a viewpoint that was of value to him.
She couldn’t recall a gentleman ever asking her opinion on an important matter. Well, a man had once sought her guidance regarding the weather and whether he should carry an umbrella about on the following day, but that hardly compared with offering advice on a business venture.
“To be considered for membership one must be recommended by another member,” he murmured. “Or I could post names and other members could strike off those not fitting.”
“You’d have some who would strike off a name just to be petty or get even for some slight that had nothing at all to do with them being judgmental.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Women, most certainly. Probably men as well. Some people are awful and vindictive for the silliest of reasons. I once received a cut from a woman simply because my gown very much mirrored hers. Should I win the duke’s favor . . . I will lose friends or receive cuts from others who had sought his attentions.”
“Why would they not celebrate and take joy in your success?”
“Because they wanted it for their own.”
“Will you be jealous if someone else wins?”
“I like to think not. Oh, I will suffer the sting of rejection, certainly, but I hope I have it within me to be glad for her.”
“The fact that you hope it is an indication you will.”
She’d never have thought he’d hold such faith in her. “I suppose we shall see.”
Watching her steadily, he lifted a hand. She thought he might graze his fingers over her cheek or stroke her chin as he seemed to be headed in that direction but quickly changed course and began rubbing the back of his neck. “You think I should go with referrals, then?”
Was there anything as reaffirming—as sensual—as a man asking for her judgment on so important a matter? She felt as though she’d grown two inches taller, although the fact that she barely reached his shoulder confirmed that she had not. “I believe it would be your wisest course.”
His smile was as warm as a summer day, as bright as the sun at noon. “That’s what I’ll do, then.”
Again he was studying her in a way that caused her nerve endings to tingle with an anticipation she didn’t quite understand, that made her want his hands gliding over her to calm and settle them back into place. “What of the floor above?”
Her breathlessness astounded her.
“Smaller rooms that would be reserved for couples who want a more intimate . . . dialogue.”
A private place where one communicated with touches more than words. “You’ll be encouraging carnality.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Will there be beds in these rooms?”
“In some of them. Pleasure is brought in all sorts of ways. Take tonight, for example. We’ve done nothing untoward, and yet I can say, in all honesty, that it has been a good long while since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman as much as I have yours this evening. No chaperone. No one to interrupt. No one to overhear. No one to judge. How often, in our world, do we have the opportunity to explore the possibilities without the sense of being constantly on display?”
His voice had gone lower, softer with each word spoken. Once in the market, she’d seen a man sitting on the ground, swaying, playing a flute. A cobra in a woven basket had followed his motions, weaving back and forth. At the moment, she felt very much like that cobra, entranced, willing to travel in whichever direction Griff went. Up those stairs with the more private rooms, even though there was no need because they were alone here. He was as dangerous as that viper, perhaps more so, because he made her question the value of things she’d clung to for so long: her purity, her reputation, her respectability.
None of them had ever brought her as much joy as these few hours of doing what she ought not with a man she shouldn’t—sneaking out, traveling alone, wandering through rooms, hallways, and up the stairs, speaking about scandalous behavior as though it wasn’t so scandalous. “What will you call it?”
Perhaps she was the flute player and he the cobra, mesmerized by her, because it seemed to take him a moment to realize she’d asked a question, to understand what the question was. He blinked, as though he’d been lost in her eyes or her hair or her mere existence. He released a long, slow exhalation. “The Fair Ladies’ and Spare Gentlemen’s Club. The Fair and Spare for short.”
“I like it.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “And the purpose of it. I’m looking forward to visiting it once you have it opened.” She put force behind her words, belief, because she wanted—needed—him to understand that she had complete faith in his ability to make a go of this place.
His smile seemed somewhat melancholy. “By the time I have the means to purchase this building and everything required for all the rooms, you’ll be married. Only the unmarried can have a membership here since the purpose of the club is to provide a safe atmosphere in which to arrange assignations.”
“You don’t know that he’ll choose me.”
“Did you write him what I told you to?”
“Not yet. I’ve been working on it.”
His hand came very near to touching her cheek before he returned it to his side. “You made an impression on him today. Identify yourself in the letter, as he told you to, and describe yourself as I suggested—and he’s yours.”
He made it sound so easy. Unfortunately, she was no longer certain she wanted Kingsland, a man who believed a wife should take her opinions from her husband.
A short time later, she and Griff were traveling back to the residence, a comfortable silence resting easily between them, each lost in thought. In the morning she would return home. It was doubtful that she would see Griff again until the duke’s ball. But she knew she would never forget this remarkable night or the man with whom she’d shared it.
Chapter 7
A little over two weeks later, the night of the most important ball of the Season, the one destined to change lives, arrived. Excitement thrummed through Kathryn as she stood with Althea and Jocelyn in the grand salon of the Duke of Kingsland’s Belgravia mansion. Oddly, her anticipation had nothing at all to do with the announcement the duke would be making at the stroke of ten or the fact that anyone of any renown was presently taking flutes of champagne from the elegant footmen or that the largest orchestra she’d ever seen sat in one corner of the balcony that encompassed three sides of the room for easy viewing of the lower section of the ballroom by guests.
No. Her elation was due solely to the fact that she would have her waltz with Griff.
If he remembered. If he showed. She had yet to see him.
“Who are you searching for?” her dearest friend asked.
“I’m just looking at everyone. Can you believe how many people are here?”
They were packed in like sardines in a tin.
Ladies with intricate coiffures, sparkling jewelry, and extravagant gowns. It didn’t seem to matter if they were married, or if they were hoping to gain the duke’s attention. All of London wanted Kingsland to know that his affairs warranted any expense in clothing, any trouble to display their elegance. No one wanted to be found lacking.
“There must be at least two hundred,” Lady Jocelyn mused. “The duke has never held a ball. It has brought out everyone of any consequence. I wonder how many letters he received.”
“No doubt one from every lady not spoken for. Perhaps even a few from those who are betrothed but hoping to acquire something better than what is promised,” Althea said. “I’m grateful I’m not having to compete.”
“My letter ran the length of eight pages,” Jocelyn boasted. “How long was yours, Kat?”
“Everything I wrote about myself filled only a single page.”
With a roll of her eyes, Jocelyn scoffed in a manner of superiority that suddenly irritated. “I was unable to limit all my fine qualities and attributes to only one piece of foolscap. My hand fairly cramped when I was done outlining all the reasons he should select me for his duchess.”
“I’ve no doubt of that,” Kathryn murmured. Jocelyn would probably win, and she would wish her friend naught but happiness. She glanced at her dance card. A quadrille. A polka. A waltz. She’d written his name beside the waltz. “Are your brothers here, Althea?”
“Marcus is. He accompanied Mother and myself. Father had other business which we all know is code for visiting with his mistress. I don’t even know the woman, yet I abhor her, which makes me feel at once ashamed for my uncharitable thoughts and gratified that I refuse to forgive him for the pain he’s caused my mother.”
“Maybe your parents should travel to Italy together. It seems to have done wonders for my parents’ relationship.” Having caught them twice in a passionate embrace, kissing enthusiastically, she had adopted the habit of peering into chambers before entering them.
“I don’t think it would make a difference. His excuses and absences are increasing by the day. On a couple of occasions, he’s even taken to dining elsewhere.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
Althea shrugged. “It’s not your fault, but I am so terribly disappointed in him. One expects one’s father to be above reproach, not to be such a disgraceful cad.”
“And Lord Griffith?”
“Well, he can be a cad as well, I suppose, but as he is not yet married, I see no harm in it.”
She laughed lightly, only because she didn’t want to give away that while she’d once thought the same, she no longer did. “No, I meant, is he here?”
“Oh, I see. He made no mention of attending and didn’t accompany us, but I can’t imagine that he’s not here. I doubt anyone is visiting the clubs tonight. If he is about, he’s probably in the cardroom.”
She refused to hunt him down. He was here or he wasn’t. Upon first entering the residence, he would have been given the gentleman’s dance card, which he would have slipped into the inside pocket of his evening coat, so he would know when the first waltz was. He’d either claim it or he wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to be disappointed if he didn’t. Or at least not very. Oh, devil take him, she would be very disappointed, indeed. Since the night he’d shared his dream with her, he and it were all she’d been able to think about.
Jocelyn leaned in slightly. “The duke gave me a very secretive smile when I greeted him and his mother.” Her upper teeth pressed into her lower lip as though she dearly wanted to squeal with triumph and was taking precautions not to do so. “I think he might have been hinting that he chose me.”
Kingsland had been very formal with Kathryn, hadn’t even given the impression that he remembered their encounter in the park. Obviously, he was not taken with her, which was no doubt for the best because she wasn’t certain he would make her happy. And if she wasn’t happy, could he be?
“I shall be thrilled if he calls out either of your names,” Althea said diplomatically.
“Well, as Lord Griffith cheered us on that long-ago morning, may the best lady win,” Jocelyn said with glee, as though she had no doubt that the honor would fall to her, that her name would be announced.
Kathryn should care, should be beside herself with worry or nerves. If not this duke, then who? The one thing she yearned to possess seemed beyond reach, and yet at that moment, she knew no sadness, all because of what would happen in her future, in a very short time. A waltz she was rather certain she’d never forget.
When the orchestra filled the room with the strains of the first dance, she greeted her partner with a smile before he led her out onto the floor. She’d always loved dancing, not only the movements that were now popular but the ones from times past. Even if her partner was not particularly skilled, she had the means to make him look so. She seldom lacked for men willing to take her about the floor, but a woman’s ability to dance well did not translate into a proposal of marriage.
Above her the crystal chandeliers glittered. But then chandeliers sparkled in every chamber she’d passed on the way to this one. They would become the chandeliers of whomever the duke chose. What a silly thing to contemplate when she had the attention of a man for a few minutes.
“The atmosphere at this ball is the strangest I’ve ever known,” her dance partner lamented.
“How so?”
“So many furrowed brows among the unmarried ladies as they wait for the duke’s pronouncement. I suspect afterward, a good many tears will be shed, and many of us gents will be willing to lend our shoulders to those in need of comfort.”
Apparently not only the ladies had been preparing for this extraordinary night. “Do you think all the single ladies wrote him letters?”
“Absolutely. My mother insisted each of my sisters write him, and one of them is only four and ten.”
Astonished, she hardly knew what to say. “My word. Surely not.”
“Indeed. I find the entire arrangement rather sordid and disgusting.”
“I cannot imagine he would select a child.”
“I shall certainly hope not. Otherwise I might have to call him out.”
“And your mother while you’re at it.”
He grinned broadly. “Why are women so desperate to marry?”
“Why are lords so desperate not to?”
His smile widened further; his eyes twinkled merrily. She’d danced with the viscount numerous times but couldn’t recall discussing anything other than the weather.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever realized how blunt you are, Lady Kathryn.”
“It is a fault of mine, I suppose.”
“I rather like it. Perhaps more forthright conversations would result if men and women were not always at such cross-purposes, the ladies willing to shackle us while we prefer to remain untethered.”
“I’m beginning to believe, my lord, that perhaps the problem is that we have different notions as to what marriage entails. You make it sound decidedly unpleasant. I can see why you might want to avoid it if you view it as some sort of prison.” Although for women it could become a disagreeable arrangement because they lost so many of their rights when they married.
She was as relaxed with her next partner as she’d ever been, and he with her. It was as though tonight no one felt that they were being judged as marriage material, that they had to put on a show or present themselves as anything other than they were. Everyone was simply waiting for the duke’s edict. When their dance was finished, they’d taken a mere half a dozen steps toward the chalked edge of the dance floor before Griff was standing before her, holding out a gloved hand.
“I believe the first waltz is mine,” he said quietly.
He looked spectacularly handsome in his black tailcoat, black trousers, silver waistcoat, and perfectly knotted black cravat. His blond locks were neatly styled, and she was tempted to muss them.
With a slight bow, her previous partner left her in Griff’s care, and his fingers
closed securely around hers before he led her back into the center of the salon.
“I wasn’t certain you were here,” she said as they waited for the tune to begin.
“I always collect on debts owed.”
She refused to be disappointed that his reasons weren’t more personal, that it wasn’t a desire to have her in his arms that had spurred him to make an appearance.
He lowered his head slightly. “Besides,” he said on a whispered rasp, “I would be a fool to miss the opportunity to dance with such a ravishing creature.”
She was striving very hard not to take his words to heart, not to blush. That she’d had a light green gown made for the occasion, one that flattered her skin and her eyes, hardly signified. “You’re teasing.”
“Not this time.” His voice was more solemn than she’d ever heard it, and for some reason the sense of having found something to only quickly lose it skittered through her mind.
The music began, and effortlessly, they came together as though they’d done so a thousand times, when in fact they’d never once danced together, had never been quite this close, scandalously close actually, the fingers of one hand splayed over her back, his legs brushing up against the satin of her skirts. “Did you have any luck in the cardroom?”
“What makes you think I’ve been playing cards?”
“Althea indicated that’s where you were, or where she thought you were.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I was watching from the balcony.”
Curtains draped here and there made it possible to look down from above without being seen or to find a little privacy from prying eyes—as long as no one sought the same spot. “Anything of interest catch your fancy?”
His gaze held hers for what seemed an eternity—leading her to wonder if he might be on the verge of confessing that she had—before he finally spoke. “Did your parents reconcile?”
She almost insisted he answer her question, but perhaps it was less hurtful not to know the truth, to be able to believe what she wished. “They did, and it’s been rather strange, actually. I’m not accustomed to them looking at each other with longing or exchanging secretive smiles or carrying on pleasant conversations without snapping at each other. I’ve even on occasion caught them kissing.”
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 7
