Fanny bit her lip, ahead as she prepared for the dance, curtsying as the first strains of the music echoed in the ballroom. How should she respond? she wondered. When he knew…everything.
“You certainly risked that beautiful neck of yours,” he went on, as they performed their figures in the centre of the group before returning to the sidelines. Then, squeezing her hand, he murmured, “I just want to assure you that, as a gentleman, your secret is safe with me.”
Was that meant to be reassurance? No lady wished a gentleman to be in possession of a damaging secret.
“A great relief, sir,” she responded warily as they watched the other dancers go through the motions, “though wouldn’t you say that carrying me off forcibly yours was the greater crime? I had become separated from my friends and Lord Alverley was about to help me find them before you took advantage of the situation.”
She tried to say it with hauteur, but the memory of the burning kisses this man had trailed over her throat and across her collarbone made her desperate for more. The other liberties she’d nearly allowed him to make made her want to crawl into a dark hole.
“You’re flushed, Miss Brightwell. Perhaps you need air. Shall we step outside?”
So, he was taunting her. “How can you think I’d—?” she began, knowing she sounded flustered, but was cut short by the realisation that indeed he was only teasing her.
His deep brown eyes held laughter. “My dear Miss Brightwell, you surely do not imagine I would be so bold as to whisk you away from tonight’s company as I did two nights ago?” He grazed the sensitive skin of her forearm with his hand and she shivered as he added, “And for that you have my apology. The truth is that, much as I would like that, I am a gentleman.”
She glanced at the nearest couple, afraid their conversation might be overheard, relieved when he murmured with surprising intensity, “I just wanted to reasure you of that. Whatever happened between us was between you and me.” His eyes crinkled with admiration. “And shall go no further.”
Holding Lord Fenton’s gaze, Fanny executed her dance steps like an automaton. They’d been drilled into her as thoroughly as her need to perform in the marriage mart.
The brittle pride that had armoured her against the damage he could do her—in so many ways—was replaced by the beginnings of hope. Lord Fenton was studying Fanny with the greatest interest…and lack of condemnation.
She thought of her impending marriage to Lord Slyther. In twenty-four hours she’d be his possession; his prisoner. And right beside her was a young man who acknowledged that he had feelings for her and that despite her boldness he nevertheless respected her.
A yearning and desperation gathered force within her that was so powerful she thought she might be extinguished by it.
There were just a few weeks before the end of the season and Lord Fenton was on the dance floor because he was looking for a wife.
If Fanny only had time, she could persuade him that he could find no one better suited than she.
But how could she do that in one night? First she’d have to convince him that her scandalous behaviour at Vauxhall Gardens was not an indication of a deeper immorality that would preclude her from becoming any gentleman’s wife.
Desperately she needed to explain. “I slipped away for but a moment to speak to Lord Alverley. My chaperone was waiting for me but then you whisked me away.” She swallowed. “I know I should have screamed but…my Lord, in your arms and in the ferry, something came over me… I’d never felt it before and”—she kept her eyes trained on his as they linked elbows to dos-à-dos down the centre of the room—“I felt I was in heaven.”
Looking decidedly pleased, he put his head close to hers before they separated briefly once more. “Then we shall have to do it again, Miss Brightwell—only this time I promise to proceed in a far more gentlemanly manner.”
Was there any clearer way for him to indicate his interest? She was about to respond, to indicate her pleasure and hopefully prolong the boyish charm that had replaced for the moment his rakish self-confidence, but her words were truncated by a gasp. Right before her very eyes she was bearing witness to what threatened to be her sister’s greatest impropriety yet.
Antoinette hadn’t had much opportunity to display her glaring disregard for propriety as this was her first ball, however every fear that Fanny had ever held regarding Antoinette’s propensity for courting disaster was not playing out before her eyes.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, clutching Lord Slyther’s hated ring on its chain, which she had all but forgotten.
“Miss Brightwell?”
When he touched her arm, bare above her gloves, she jerked into sensual awareness, her heart rate speeding up now on more than just Antoinette’s account.
Just his touch could transport her into a new realm of hope.
But shat could she say? The truth would paint her sister as no better than herself. Lord Fenton had to be reassured that the Brightwell sisters, though impecunious, were virtuous.
But there wasn’t time for excuses.
She pointed. “My younger sister is easily led. She’s innocent and credulous and has, this very moment, disappeared through a door behind that tapestry.” Her head swam as she contemplated the possible repercussions. “Not one second after Mr Bramley,” she added, faintly.
“That was unwise but I’m sure you’re mistaken. It’s a coincidence and certainly nothing to be concerned over, though we should fetch her back, I agree.”
“She mustn’t spend a moment in that man’s company,” Fanny said, her tone growing more urgent.
“Bramley is probably fetching her back, since it’s his uncle’s house. He knows this is your sister’s first ball.” His dark eyes gentled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t—”
“You don’t know Bramley if you believe that, sir.” Fanny knew she spoke too hotly but her mind was running circles around Antoinette’s potential for ruining the entire Brightwell family’s prospects.
The squeeze of his hand upon her wrist brought her close to tears. Again he lowered his head to speak softly, his warm breath against her ear spearing tingles of almost unbearable need throughout her entire body.
“The moment this set ends I’ll follow them. We need to be discreet. Don’t worry, Miss Brightwell—Mr Bramley will not ruin your family’s good name.” Pointing to a single door at the end of the saloon that led to the ladies’ mending room, he added, “I’ll go and retrieve her.”
“I’ll come with you,” Fanny said quickly. If he was going to be disappearing into the recesses of the house, at least this was one opportunity for Fanny to be alone with him.
He sent her an uncertain look but, obviously noting the light in her eye, he nodded slowly. “All right. But not together. Follow the passage to your right until the last door. I’ll meet you in the chamber beyond.”
Fighting her impatience, Fanny watched his judicious exit. As soon as she deemed it appropriate, she hurried away to carry out his instructions…right into the path of her chaperone for the evening.
“Lady Harwood, I have two loose buttons that need securing,” she gasped.
But there was Isadora bringing up the rear. “Who was that gentleman you were speaking to, Fanny?”
“My dress is about to cause me a terrible embarrassment.” Fanny fidgeted anxiously.
“It was Lord Fenton, wasn’t it?” Isadora went on. “You can’t look as if you’re chasing him, Fanny, for all that he seems interested. Yes, I saw the way he looked at you.”
There was a look of both censure and yearning on Isadora’s thin, sallow face.
Fanny stiffened. He had invited her to meet with him in the rooms beyond and she was not going to throw away what might be her one opportunity to further their acquaintance in private.
“If he’s looking for a wife, Fanny, he’ll want one who knows how to conduct herself properly.”
Fanny shifted her weight to her other foot. “Of course I understand that, Isadora. Please excu
se me.”
Isadora looked unhappy but she stepped back with a slight inclination of her head. Lady Harwood, on the other hand, sent Fanny a narrow-eyed look. Her sponsorship of the Brightwell girls might be a discreet arrangement that eased the dowager duchess’s pecuniary difficulties and gilded Fanny and Antoinette’s prospects, but she took her duties seriously. Raising her lorgnette to her hooded eyes, she scanned the assembly.
“I trust the ladies’ mending room is where we’ll find Antoinette.” She gave a disapproving sniff. “The girl is too pretty with too little sense to make me easy.”
“She accompanied Miss Conyngham to the library, I believe,” Fanny lied.
To her relief an old acquaintance chose that fortuitous moment to address the dowager and Fanny was able to slip away.
Smoothly she made her way to the rear wall which was covered in tapestries. In the corner, a large potted palm on a plinth half obscured a doorway which could only be accessed after feeling behind the wall hanging of garishly rendered cherubs for the door knob.
Fanny knew that what Isadora had said was true and had she not been under such an obligation to her mother, she may well have chosen a different path. She’d have flirted with Lord Fenton, whipped up his desire, made him realise how much he wanted her as she dispensed her favours in small quantities. A stolen kiss here, a secret meeting there.
But tomorrow night she was marrying Lord Slyther. She had no choice. Her mother gave her no choice.
So Fanny had to act quickly to shore up Lord Fenton’s feelings for her.
Starting with a secret meeting in the ‘chamber beyond.’
Fear and resignation mingled as she turned the knob and quietly —unobserved, she believed — she slipped into the secret recesses of her host’s magnificent London residence.
* * *
She was unprepared for the scene that greeted her in the Earl of Quamby’s ‘chamber beyond’. At first she could see no sign of Antoinette or Bramley. Nor did she immediately seek them out, such was her shock as the discreet door closed behind her.
The room was clearly for entertaining on a lavish scale, but for a purpose that Fanny could only imagine. Lit now by a series of candles in wall sconces, its lofty proportions disappeared into darkness.
But enough could be seen of the entwined limbs and glazed eyes of the Bacchanalian orgy wall murals reflected in a myriad of mirrors that Fanny turned away with a gasp. This was not a room she should enter.
It was only when she heard weeping overlaid by Lord Fenton’s stern tones that she forced herself to venture further.
Following the sounds of a heated exchange between two men, punctuated by Antoinette’s sobbing, Fanny came upon them by the edge of a sunken area piled high with red and gold silk cushions.
Antoinette sent her sister a baleful look from where she sat hunched on a richly embroidered banquette. Mr Bramley and Lord Fenton angrily faced each other across her.
“I suppose this is your doing,” she sniffed.
Instantly, Lord Fenton came to Fanny’s defence. “With your best interests at heart, Miss Antoinette.” The glower he directed at her younger sister sent a vicarious thrill right through to Fanny’s bones. It was enormously comforting to see the man who’d imprisoned her in his arms two nights before read the two miscreants the riot act regarding the proprieties.
Mr Bramley puffed out his chest and his nostrils flared but he made no apology.
“Make yourself decent,” Fanny hissed in her sister’s ear as she noticed the half exposed breast and skirts rucked up to her knees. “How could you even think—?” She couldn’t go on. Antoinette’s behaviour had obviously been disgraceful.
“Good God, Bramley!” Fenton railed at him. “Have you no concern for what damage you could cause this young lady? A young lady with no experience of the world?”
Fanny stopped her own chastisement of her sister to watch, fascinated, the transformation of rakish Lord Fenton to moral disciplinarian.
The sensual mouth and poetic eyes were hard with anger. Excitement skittered through her. He was doing this for her, she realised, for he’d never met Antoinette before now. Surely his concern was prompted by the knowledge that scandal that attached to Antoinette could impact on Fanny?
And that could only mean that he was interested in Fanny.
He was was much more than just a brooding poet with the usual masculine propensity to notch up conquests without regard for consequences. Fanny was awed, as she would be by anyone who could wipe the cynical smirk from Bramley’s thuggish face.
“Judging by the last few minutes I’d say the young lady had a great deal of experience.”
The swaggering disregard was back. Fanny gasped at his outrageous statement and raised her hand. Quickly she dropped it, the memory bubbling up of striking Mr Bramley when he’d waylaid her in a passageway at a ball last season and tried to kiss her.
Fanny had made no secret of her disdain then, and while she made no secret of it now, it was not, she felt, in anyone’s interests if she slapped his face.
She wanted Lord Fenton to leave with only the best impression of her.
“Apologise for that statement, now.” Lord Fenton’s tone was low and threatening. “Your behaviour is reckless and cavalier. I will not see an innocent smeared as a result of your low conduct.”
Mr Bramley shrugged. “I had no idea you were such a stickler for propriety, Fenton. In fact, I’d heard suggestions to the contrary.” He inclined his head with a thin smile for both Fanny and Antoinette. “Ladies, it appears I have ruffled His Lordship’s feathers and I’d hate to think anyone thought ill of me for merely accepting what appeared implicit invitation. My apologies.”
With that he turned sharply on his heel and strode through the dim, lofty ceilinged room with its wicked artwork, disappearing into the gloom.
Stepping forward, Fanny addressed her sister sternly. “Antoinette, your absence will be noticed unless we return you immediately to the ballroom.”
“And that would be better effected without me in your wake.” With a chivalrous bow and a wry smile at Fanny, Fenton, too, turned on his heel. But not without a quick, reassuring squeeze of her wrist and a whispered, “I hope we’ll see each other again before the night is over.”
And then he was gone.
Nodding coldly to Bramley, Fanny pulled her sister up from her seat.
“No one would have missed us for five minutes longer,” Antoinette muttered as Fanny hustled her through the room, past brocade-upholstered banquettes and chairs, and partitions separated by festooned drapery.
“A lot of things that can’t be undone are done within five minutes. Are you such a fool, Antoinette,” Fanny asked under her breath, “that you would ruin your chances—and quite possibly mine, too—because that knave Bramley sees you as easy prey?” She sighed. “Are you so stupid you don’t see that?”
Antoinette tugged her arm free of Fanny’s grip, her mouth sulky, as she stopped in the middle of the passage to face her sister.
She stuck out her lower lip. “Mr Bramley’s next in line to inherit from Lord Quamby and we all know Quamby’s never going to produce an heir. Why, Mama would be thrilled.” She dropped her voice. “You remember how furious she was when she heard you’d thrown away that chance last year. Well, I’m going to seize it and one day become Lady Quamby and…” Her eyes danced with merriment which riled Fanny further, even before her sister added, “And quite lord it over you, Fanny.”
Fanny shook her head, taking her sister’s arm again and hustling her into a long, dark corridor she couldn’t remembering having traversed before. “How credulous you are,” she said as she tried to recover her bearings. Ah, yes, there was a door. Perhaps another discreet entry into the ballroom, she thought as she made her way towards it.
“Bramley is toying with you to avenge himself against me for rejecting his advances last summer.”
With relief they slipped into the main part of the house and were soon back in the ballroom
, assailed by the scent of several hundred perfumed bodies mingled with the scent of beeswax candles.
“Now, here comes Lady Harwood. If I see you move out of her sight I swear I shall tell Mama everything.”
She was already turning, barely able to contain her impatience to thank Lord Fenton, when Antoinette gasped, “Oh Fanny, I’ve lost Lady Harwood’s bracelet—”
Fanny felt like throttling her. As their mother had predicted, Antoinette was well on track to doom the Brightwell family’s chances.
“Stay there and don’t move!” she hissed. “I’ll find it. It must have come undone when…”
Now was not the time to put her sister’s misdemeanours into words.
“Lady Harwood, what a wonderful evening this has been.” Smiling serenely, despite her pounding heart, she fanned herself, congratulating herself on her ability to conduct herself like a lady under the most trying of situations.
Unlike Antoinette.
“And Isadora, have you danced this evening?” she asked as Lady Harwood turned to greet an acquaintance, pushing Antoinette before her. Fanny knew how much her cousin loved dancing, and, with her own prospects suddenly so much brighter she felt particularly charitable towards the girl. Even though Isadora looked twenty years older in a drab velvet round gown the colour of a mushroom, her eyes were very fine, she thought. And her complexion, while sallow, could definitely be enhanced with a little of the secrets Fanny knew how to use judiciously.
“How you do like to rub salt in the wound,” Isadora whispered, turning away—but not before Fanny saw the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Fanny protested, taking her cousin’s arm and drawing her to a quieter part of the room. “You’re looking lovely this evening, Isadora, and I’m not just saying it.”
“In a dress two seasons old?” Isadora gave a short laugh. “Everyone knows there’s no hope for me now. Last year was the last possible chance I had. Aunt Seraphina let me go to London, albeit reluctantly.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Released me from retirement for one short season but with nothing in the way of a wardrobe how could I compete with…with the likes of you, Fanny? I will never know love, or have children, or laugh with a man who makes my heart beat faster.”
Rake's Redemption (Scandalous Miss Brightwells Book 1) Page 6
