“Thank you,” Ryder said sincerely. “I’m certain Diana will be agreeable.”
Eve hesitated. “If you would rather not return home just yet, you are welcome to stay for Claire’s dancing practice. The twins have been tutored by a dancing master since they came to England, but they both need the practice, particularly with the dance from the Continent that swept London last year, the waltz. Drucilla usually plays the pianoforte while I advise.”
Cecil gave a mock groan, and Claire looked less than happy. “I am not particularly graceful, Sir Alex, so you may not want to watch.”
Eve answered before he could. “You are a lovely dancer, dearest. And it will benefit you to have an audience now so you will be more comfortable when you perform the waltz in public for the first time.”
“Very well.” With a resigned sigh, Claire rose and crossed to the open space at the far end of the drawing room, near the pianoforte, and stood waiting for her brother.
“I don’t know why we must endure this torture,” Cecil complained as Drucilla took her place at the instrument.
“Because you care that your sister succeeds,” Eve said firmly, moving closer to observe.
Lady Beatrice remained occupied with her needlework, but as Drucilla struck the opening lilting bars of the waltz, Ryder joined Eve on the sidelines, where together they watched the first half of the dance. Cecil performed with the gangly awkwardness of a leggy colt, but his twin was surprisingly accomplished, as elegant and graceful as a swan.
“Your sister is right, Lady Claire,” Ryder said over the music. “You are a superb dancer. I have no doubt you will cast your competition in the shade.”
Claire looked up from her intense concentration to give him a brilliant smile, and Eve murmured in a soft undervoice, “Thank you, Ryder. Claire’s dancing has always been excellent. It is her self-esteem that is lacking.”
“I don’t think you need worry. She will dazzle her audience in her own quiet way.”
Eve cast him a diffident glance. “I would like you to dazzle your audience as well. You are my protégé, so to speak, and I want you to put your best foot forward.” Eve took a deep breath, as if girding herself for a difficult task. “I could show you how to waltz, if you like. I am considered a fair teacher.”
“I remember,” Ryder replied lightly. “You taught me how to dance the cotillion when I was as awkward as Cecil is now.”
He saw her reluctant smile at the memory. It was during their one summer together on Cyrene. He’d known Eve had felt sympathy for him when he’d admitted he had no idea how to dance, so they had spent one entire afternoon laughing and cavorting in the meadow with only their horses for an audience.
He’d learned a good deal about dancing since then, including how to waltz, but Ryder didn’t correct her. Eve had likely offered to teach him just now because she didn’t want him to be embarrassed by his shortcomings. He in turn wanted a legitimate excuse to take her in his arms. Dancing was the only socially accepted means of touching a lady, and one of the few ways to increase the intimacy of his clandestine courtship without driving Eve away.
Thus Ryder answered quite truthfully, “I would like you to show me how you waltz, Countess.”
At her brisk nod, Ryder understood that Eve regarded her offer of instruction as purely a business proposition, as part of her role as matrimonial guide. While the twins finished their first dance, Eve explained the rhythm and the steps, raising her skirts a trifle so he could see her slippered feet move in time to the lilting rhythm. Ryder fixed his gaze on her trim, stocking-covered ankles and tried not to fantasize about her slender limbs wrapping around his hips in the throes of passion.
When her siblings concluded, Eve lavished them with praise and suggested more practice. She waited until Drucilla struck up the next waltz before moving onto the floor and positioning Ryder. She showed him the proper stance—where to put his hands and feet and how to hold her.
They began the steps in slow motion, but Ryder immediately recognized his mistake. He’d wanted an excuse to touch Eve, but torturing himself with the brush of her body against his, the warm, ripe feel of her in his arms, was not the wisest thing he could have done.
Eve was entertaining similar chaotic feelings. As Ryder gazed down at her with his dark, smoldering eyes, she shivered with awareness, a common occurrence whenever she was in his presence. She could never ignore her body’s natural response when he merely shared the same room with her, and being this close to him now—her fingers clasped in his warm ones, his hand resting lightly, possessively, at her waist—made her positively breathless.
It had been a mistake to offer to teach him, Eve knew. And she was so distracted that several moments passed before she noticed Ryder had increased their tempo effortlessly to keep pace with the music, and that he was leading.
He danced with the lithe easy grace of the natural athlete, she realized.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously. “You know perfectly well how to waltz,” she said, her tone accusatory as she snapped out of her reverie.
Ryder’s mouth curved in that appealing lazy smile he gave so rarely. “I made it a point of learning the waltz when I decided to come to London for the Season and enter the matrimonial lists.”
Eve felt like writhing in embarrassment. “I presumed you didn’t know how, but you let me go on and on with my instruction without saying a word.”
“You offered to teach me if I liked, and I very much liked. As you said, it never hurts to practice. And I couldn’t pass up the chance to dance with a beautiful woman, now could I?”
His smile was disarming; it gave her an achy little sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, as well as the urge to kick him in the shins for leading her on that way.
“You should have told me, you wretch. And you won’t mollify me by showering me with empty flattery.”
Ryder’s shoulders lifted in an innocent shrug. “Now you wound me, sweeting. You specifically told me I needed to learn how to conduct a polished flirtation, and I was merely being obedient—attempting to use you as my sparring partner. How else am I to improve my skills if not on you? You want me to be polished enough to impress a prospective bride, don’t you?”
“I suppose so,” Eve admitted grudgingly.
As if to prove his point, he whirled her around in an intricate move that left her feeling a little lightheaded and filled with the desire to laugh.
“You are shameless, you know.”
His grin was slow and wicked. “Not at all. I am merely intrepid, taking advantage of the opportunity you presented.”
How tempting he was, how impossibly tempting, Eve thought.
She was barely aware that their steps had slowed…and that the dance eventually came to an end. Yet he didn’t release her; quite the contrary. Eve wasn’t certain if Ryder drew her closer or if her body leaned toward his of its own volition. But either way, she found herself pressed lightly against him, cradled against his body that was rock hard and lean.
She stood riveted in the heat of his embrace, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. The way Ryder looked at her made her hot and shivery. He was staring down at her mouth, reminding her of their one passionate kiss on Cyrene. That single kiss had awakened hungers in her that she had never forgotten…or satisfied.
Without conscious thought, Eve raised her mouth closer to his….
A throat being loudly cleared—Drucilla, perhaps—made Eve suddenly recall her surroundings.
Keenly flustered, she stepped back out of Ryder’s embrace and averted her gaze, hiding her flushed cheeks. How inexcusable to become so carried away by her attraction that she had almost kissed Ryder right there in front of her family!
The man was pure danger, lethal to her senses.
Clearing her own throat, she managed to say in a tart voice far huskier than she liked, “I think that is enough practice for one day.”
Avoiding Ryder’s gaze, Eve crossed the room, trying to compose herself. Yet her kne
es felt ridiculously weak. She could still feel Ryder holding her, feel the residual tingle of her skin, the humming of her nerves.
She was very glad she had added two more names to his list of prospective candidates. Lady Keeling and Mrs. Ferris-Jones were both sexually experienced widows who should appeal to him. And once Ryder was fully occupied with wooing his future wife, then surely she wouldn’t have such difficulty controlling her own brazen feelings for him.
But the soiree couldn’t come quickly enough for her, she reflected as she took a deep, calming breath before turning back to face him.
The sooner she found Ryder a bride, the better.
Chapter
Five
By any normal standards the soiree should have been considered a smashing success, Eve thought as she observed the crowded gathering over the delicate lace web of her fan.
The drawing room of the Thorne mansion in Cavendish Square glittered with the light of myriad chandeliers, a perfect setting to honor the hero of the hour, Sir Alex Ryder.
His friends, Viscount and Lady Thorne, proved the ideal aristocratic sponsors—gracious and charming and lavish in their praise of Ryder. And any number of dignitaries were also present to vouch for him, many from the British Foreign Office, including the foreign undersecretary.
And to assure Ryder’s triumph, the Prince Regent himself had put in an appearance to offer congratulations and then remained for some time afterward.
In addition to the distinguished company and scintillating conversation, their hosts had provided dancing and cards and a light supper for the guests’ entertainment. Eve, however, felt she could also take partial credit for the success of the evening, for she had thrown herself into championing Ryder and introduced him to perhaps two-thirds of the ladies on her potential bride list.
So why did she feel so dissatisfied? she wondered as she stood to one side of the drawing room, plying her fan and waiting for another of Ryder’s friends, Mr. Beau Macklin, to fetch her a glass of punch. She should be proud to see Ryder so fawned over. Across the room, he was surrounded by a gaggle of beauties, all laughing and chatting and vying for his attention.
“But you knew he would be successful,” Eve muttered to herself.
Ryder looked infernally handsome tonight, dressed in an exquisitely cut black tailcoat and pristine white cravat, just as many of the other gentlemen wore. Yet he stood out boldly from the crowd, for there was an unmistakable air of danger about him that made every female head turn.
Women would find his smoldering eyes and raw masculinity, combined with that hint of dark charm, irresistible, Eve knew very well. She understood the secret excitement of being near a dark, dangerous man with a questionable past. And she suspected that any number of ladies were fascinated by the notion of trying to tame him.
Even the aunts were starting to warm to Ryder. He’d succeeded in charming Beatrice quite thoroughly during the past week. And while Drucilla still pretended to view him with a measure of disdain, declaring that the sooner they concluded this nonsensical bride search, the sooner they could get Ryder out of their lives, the haughty dowager’s comments were becoming less disparaging by the day.
But then Eve had expected nothing less. Ryder was so completely unlike any man the aunts had ever known that she felt sure he would surmount their defenses in the end.
He had worked on doing just that all week, escorting the family to various functions, including tonight’s soiree. But tonight he had earned Eve’s undying gratitude with his treatment of her sister.
Ryder had simply worked wonders with Claire. When they’d first arrived, the girl had seemed as timid as a mouse surrounded by hungry cats, and her stammer returned with a vengeance. But Ryder claimed he was terrified to face the intimidating list of bridal candidates alone and insisted that Claire remain by his side. Thus for the first hour of the evening, she had gamely followed his lead while he endured the social obligations of exchanging polite greetings, accepting good wishes, and receiving introductions.
Claire’s stammer soon disappeared. Then when the dancing began, Ryder had claimed her as his partner for the opening minuet. Claire looked so animated, smiling and laughing up at him, her steps so sure and graceful, that she dazzled her audience.
The sight had brought a hot sting of tears to Eve’s eyes, making her feel so grateful to Ryder for his kindness that she could have kissed him.
After that, her attempts to pair Claire with suitable partners had required no effort at all, for numerous gentlemen had eagerly solicited her hand for a set of dances. Even better, for the remainder of the evening, Claire had lost her usual awkward reserve among strangers.
And when Ryder escorted them into supper, Claire had actually responded to his teasing question “How does it feel to be such a heartbreaker?” with a coquettish smile and a toss of her head.
“It feels exceedingly pleasant, thank you. In fact I think I could become quite addicted to such popularity.”
Claire was dancing now with a young nobleman who appeared fascinated by her. She did indeed look lovely tonight, Eve thought with a surge of sisterly pride, in a gown of blue net over a white satin slip, with a string of pearls around her neck and a garland of damask roses entwined with pearls in her hair.
Eve herself wore an evening gown of silver-shot gauze over rose satin with a choker of small diamonds at her throat, but she was overjoyed to have Claire outshine her. She didn’t really mind, either, that Ryder had paid her almost no attention all evening long.
She herself had never lacked partners, even though she’d tried to maintain a congenial but polite distance from all her potential suitors. She’d also been sought after by various female guests. All evening long the ladies on her list had come up to her to find out more details about Sir Alex, which Eve found unaccountably vexing.
When she saw Lady Keeling approaching just now, however, Eve smiled with genuine warmth. A good friend, Lydia was near her own age, as well as being blond and tall and widowed just as she was—although Lord Keeling had not left her with much of a fortune to speak of, unlike Richard had done for Eve.
“So tell me, Eve,” Lydia said after they had pressed cheeks, exchanged affectionate greetings, and made small talk for a few moments, “do you have prior claim to Sir Alex?”
“No, not at all,” Eve answered, trying to repress an inexplicable twinge of regret at her disavowal. “Sir Alex was a neighbor on Cyrene and is close friends with the twins. And workmen are redecorating his house across the square, so he has spent more time than usual with us the past week. But he is merely an acquaintance.”
“So you won’t mind if I consider throwing my cap at him?”
Absurdly, she did mind that her friend was romantically interested in Ryder, but she could hardly say so. “Of course not. I could think of nothing more delightful than having you fix his interest.”
“The competition will be fierce,” Lydia said thoughtfully, glancing at Ryder as he led yet another young lady onto the dance floor.
“I have already put in a good word for you,” Eve assured her.
“Thank you—you are a dear.”
Before either of them could say another word, an arch feminine voice spoke behind them. “I am afraid you don’t stand a chance against me, Lady Keeling. Neither of you do. So you might as well save yourself the bother of pursuing him.”
Eve turned to find Mrs. Ferris-Jones smiling cattily. The beautiful widow had evidently been eavesdropping, but she wasn’t the least embarrassed by the fact. On the contrary, she seemed to be deliberately throwing down the gauntlet.
The lady’s confidence was well placed, Eve acknowledged with distaste. Mrs. Ferris-Jones wore an exquisite gown of emerald lustring, with emeralds sparkling in her flame-colored hair. And her low décolletage showed off a scandalous expanse of creamy white bosom.
Eve felt rather prudish by comparison, but she managed to say airily, “Oh, I am not in the competition for Sir Alex, Phoebe. I am merely helping an old friend
—doing my small part to bring him into fashion.”
“That is fortunate,” the beauty replied. “A man like Sir Alex will doubtless prefer someone with more…sophistication in the bedroom. And from all reports, neither of you fit the bill.”
The remark stung, as it was meant to, but Eve would rather have chewed nails than allow that cat to see it. Forcibly relaxing her grip on the spines of her fan before they snapped, she plied it back and forth in a careless display of indifference while offering a cool smile. “Actually, Sir Alex has confessed to me that he is looking for a bride out of the…common way. Someone with refinement, such as Lady Keeling.”
“We shall see,” Phoebe declared, giving a sharp laugh before she turned and glided away.
Eve and Lydia exchanged eloquent glances.
“Well, that was certainly pleasant,” Eve said wryly. “But I don’t think you need worry overmuch. Ryder is intelligent enough to realize that she simply wants him for his fortune.”
“His person is nothing to scoff at either” was Lydia’s amused reply. “I vow he quite makes my heart flutter.”
At her friend’s frank admission, Eve couldn’t quell a sharp pang of jealousy. Honestly, she should be very happy that Lydia was attracted to Ryder—and that the feeling might be mutual. Over supper, he had casually mentioned that of all the candidates he had met thus far, he liked Lady Keeling and Mrs. Ferris-Jones best.
And it was patently absurd, Eve rebuked herself, to feel the least bit possessive toward Ryder. She had no claim to him whatsoever. She simply didn’t like the idea of that witch Phoebe sinking her claws into him. To think of Ryder wooing her left a sour taste in Eve’s mouth. She would do her best to steer his attention toward Lydia as the more suitable bride.
But if he chose Mrs. Ferris-Jones…well then, she would simply have to get over it, Eve told herself resolutely.
She made some noncommittal reply to Lydia’s observation about Ryder’s heart-stirring appearance, but she was glad when his handsome friend, Mr. Macklin, returned to her side.
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