by Jen YatesNZ
The collective gasp rippled round the room yet again as another figure in midnight blue evening attire entered the ballroom.
Lord Baxendene!
The two most eligible bachelors of the ton in one ballroom at the same time. It was a wonder the matrons weren’t swooning. Sheri simply wanted to stamp her foot. She’d used to consider Bax fun, but since they’d been to Windermere and he’d invited himself to ride back to London with them, he seemed to have set himself the task of deliberately spiking any chance the Duke of Wolverton might finally be noticing her—as a possible wife.
Sheri pulled herself up with dismay. You are so going to get your heart broken if you believe that, Sherida Dearing!
Much less concerned with discretion than his cousin, Bax boldly surveyed the room, found her, shot Dom a devil’s grin and sauntered right across the middle of the floor to bow over her hand.
‘I hear a waltz starting up. Will you dance with me, Lady Sheri?’
‘This dance is promised to Lord Camberwell.’
A steely glare from the fierce grey eyes stopped the foppish Camberwell on the other side of the room, then Bax looked down at her with the famous smile few women could resist and placed her hand on his arm. Leading her across the floor, they passed a few feet from where the Duke was trapped between Lord Kilminster and several other members of the Privy Council—talking state business no doubt. Dom didn’t look enthralled and when Bax slanted him a triumphant smile and deliberately wished him ‘Good evening, Your Grace’, he positively glowered. Then the Earl swept her into the dance and she had no time to watch His Grace of Wolverton.
Dancing with Bax was like being swept about in the arms of a hurricane. Definitely not an acceptable and restrained execution of the dance, they swayed, turned, dipped low, pulled scandalously close to one another and despite herself she was laughing and breathless at the end of it.
‘Now that’s better,’ he said with deep satisfaction, continuing to twirl her to the last strains of the music. ‘I love to see a woman in my arms all flushed—and heated. Disheveled. Perfect.’
Her laughter became a grimace and she opened her mouth to issue the stinging set-down he deserved, but he raised one gloved finger and tapped the end of her nose.
‘Uh-uh. Don’t scold. It makes lines here,’ he said, moving his finger to smooth the lines between her brows, ‘and that spoils the heavenly beauty of my favorite iceberg. Only smiles should ever grace these beautiful lips,’ he finished, the wicked finger now moving in that direction.
They were in the middle of the ballroom, almost the last couple on the floor. Sheri pulled abruptly back out of his arms. But he recaptured her hand and placed it on his arm, patting it for emphasis in case she should be tempted to remove it again.
‘Have you noticed how well we fit together, my dear? Your height is perfection.’ He smiled down at her, wicked glints dancing in eyes that were usually a silvery grey, but at this moment were quite blue with devilment. ‘May I call on you tomorrow?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she snapped. Nothing could dent Bax’s ego. ‘I cannot think of a single reason why that would be desirable!’
‘You wound me!’ he murmured dramatically as he brought her back to where Dom was now greeting Lady Augusta.
‘Evening, cousin. Didn’t think you frequented these affairs.’
‘Nor I you.’
A slow smile curved Bax’s beautiful mouth.
‘One does what one must!—Aunt Gussy!’
He bent elegantly over her hand and Dom took the opportunity to secure Sheri’s and lay her fingers on his wrist.
‘Promenade with me,’ he requested.
Demanded really, and though there was little of polite finesse about the request, she complied. Was helpless to refuse.
As he led her away, it was Dom who shot a challenging glare over his shoulder at Bax.
‘What is going on with you two?’ she demanded.
He looked down at her, jaw taut, green eyes smoldering. For a moment he was a man she didn’t know. Then he smiled, his jaw relaxed and his eyes softened. Sheri tightened her fingers around the struts of her fan in order to keep from reaching up to soothe the scar gleaming stark and white against the tan of his skin.
‘Nothing for you to—’
He was going to brush her off with some empty flattery. Hot denial was rising within her when they were both cut off by a voice a little strident and forced yet laced with a seductive tone as blatant as it was jarring.
‘Dominic! We don’t often see you at these affairs.’
An elegant gloved hand, heavily weighted with gold and diamond bracelets, clutched at his free arm.
Dom froze. The jolt of it transmitted to Sheri, who stood rigid at his side, staring at the haughty beauty of the Duchess of Wolverton, Dom’s sister-in-law.
Diamond tiara resting among a riot of strawberry gold curls, low-cut gown in gold silk exquisitely draped about a generous but tightly corseted figure and sparkling with a veritable cascade of diamonds, the Duchess was a dazzling picture of brilliance and beauty.
If one more person tried to come between her and the boon of a private moment with Dom she was going to lose her facade of politeness. It would cause a similar scandal to the time she’d given the odious Captain Pritchard a set-down so public he’d scarcely shown his face in society since, but—
Dom still hadn’t spoken, not even to acknowledge the woman.
‘Perhaps you would dance with me later?’
Sheri gasped at the woman’s brass. A lady waited to be asked.
‘Can’t imagine why you’d think I’d want to.’
‘For old time’s sake?’
The limpid sea-green eyes fluttered and darkened.
Dom’s chest swelled.
‘Because I’m family?’ she added, the voice dripping with so much innuendo Sheri blushed.
‘You are not, and never have been, family to me. You’re my brother’s relict, no more, no less.’
To be spoken to in such a curt, ugly fashion would have turned Sheri on her heel. Her Grace of Wolverton merely widened her eyes and leaned her voluptuous body a little closer to Dom’s.
‘But, Dominic, I would talk with you—’
White fury was building within Sheri. She’d never been so rudely ignored in her life. About to make her presence noticeable, she was forestalled by Dom’s icy response.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m engaged at the moment with Lady Sherida.’
Sheri realized her fingers were digging into his sleeve like the claws of a hissing cat—or a possessive she-wolf! She removed her hand from Dom’s arm. He firmly replaced it.
‘Perhaps later,’ the Duchess persisted with an arrogance beyond rude.
‘Not now. Not later. Not ever. Is that clear enough for you?’
Turning on his heel he towed Sheri across the room to the balcony doors, apparently uncaring of who saw the abrupt encounter or that they left the room together—or too furious to realize.
They walked to the far end of the balcony where the noise from the ballroom scarcely reached and they were enclosed by soothing darkness.
…
‘I’m deeply sorry for that, Sheri. I’m—’
Dom found himself uncharacteristically stuck for words.
‘It’s all right. But it’s as well you gave her a set-down for I was about to disgrace myself by doing it for you!’
He grinned down at her, relieved to feel an easing of his inner rage.
‘I’ve been told you do that rather well. Beware the thawing of the ice, hmm?’
Her head ducked as if she was embarrassed and he patted her hand where it still lay on his sleeve. It felt right there.
‘I wanted to talk to you, but that woman has unsettled me. If she accosts me again I’m likely to do something society will never forgive.’
‘The ton would forgive their favorite Duke anything.’
‘I doubt they’d condone slapping a woman in public, no matter how bad
ly she deserved it!’ he said, trying to keep his tone light, and failing. Now she’d know there was more to the vague rumors of discord between the Duke of Wolverton and his sister-in-law.
‘There is something I want to discuss with you. Will you ride with me tomorrow? Early. Before the crowds.’
She stared up at him, trying to read him in the darkness, but he would do this thing his way. He could distract her by kissing that delectable mouth that was partly open, begging him to taste. Damned if he didn’t actually want to!
‘Very well,’ she said quietly, surprising him by not questioning, demanding to know all now, as his sister would’ve done. Surprising him even further, she added, ‘Perhaps we should return to the ballroom before the tongues start wagging.’
‘Probably too late for that,’ he muttered, but turned and promenaded her back along the balcony as asked.
By the time they re-entered the ballroom he was feeling at ease in his skin again rather than burning to take something, anything, apart with his bare hands.
The reason for that was the woman walking at his side with the calm poise and resilience of a duchess born. If Sherida Dearing could do that for him, and he realized she’d always had that ability, then it would definitely be enough.
Tomorrow he would propose.
…
Dom took her straight to Augusta, made his bow to them both, the aristocratic and very correct duke back in evidence, then made his farewells to his hosts and left. Bax, thankfully, was nowhere in the ballroom that Sheri could see at a quick glance.
‘Have you had enough, Mama?’
Augusta surveyed her daughter, seeing and deducing God-knows-what and to Sheri’s relief, agreed without demur.
‘What was all that about?’ Augusta demanded the moment they were in the carriage. ‘The Duke and the Earl—’
‘—like dogs with a bone—meaning me?’ Sheri almost snapped back.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ Augusta replied stiffly, ‘but since you have—yes! Exactly!’
Sheri closed her eyes for a moment. Something was going on between those two and it was making her uneasy.
‘I wish I knew,’ she said at last without opening her eyes. ‘It started at Windermere at the christening. Like they’re both vying for my attention. Dom who loves Jassie—and Bax, who has certainly never shown any tendency to pursue a woman with honorable intentions, especially not one at her last prayers! He asked if he might call tomorrow. I had no compunction in turning him off. I’ve no doubt his ego can stand it.—Then Dom—asked me to go riding with him—early—as he has something he wishes to discuss with me!’
‘You’ll take Carter with you, of course.’
There was an odd note in Augusta’s voice, almost as if she’d asked a question rather than delivered one of her usual maternal strictures. But Sheri’s mind was already on her rendezvous with Dom. She opened her eyes and sat up straight.
‘No.’
No one was going to interfere with that tête à tête.
Augusta tutted, albeit mechanically.
‘Even at your age the boundaries of propriety must be observed, Sher. You’ve skated perilously close to the edge of what’s acceptable over the years, what with the number of suitors you’ve turned away before they could declare themselves. Not to mention the Pritchard affair.’
‘Let’s not mention the Pritchard affair!’ Sheri hissed at the despicable name, missing completely the faintly smug tone in Augusta’s voice. ‘Would you have me marry a man I can’t desire and who tried to compromise me?’
Augusta settled back in her corner of the seat.
‘No, my love, of course not. But I worry what is to become of you. You need a husband, children—security—’
‘I am secure. Grandmama Parmenter made sure of that. I have Springwoods now. I could simply retire there and breed my horses—and paint. That life brings me the greatest happiness. In fact I put you on notice, Mama. This is the last season I intend to spend in London. It wearies me—and it only gives gentlemen the false idea I’m actually seeking a husband.’
‘You are!’ Augusta blurted, sitting forward again in agitation.
‘No, Mama. I’m not. I don’t need to. I’ve not met a man—’, Well, that wasn’t strictly true, she owned in the silence of her heart, ‘I’ve not had an offer from a man who inspires any emotion beyond mild interest. I’ll not settle for less than you and Papa had. When you were together it was like—everything in the Universe was ordered how it should be.’
Augusta hiccupped.
‘Oh Sheri, that’s the most beautiful thing you could say to me. Dear God, I miss him!’
Sheri shot across the seat, her arms sliding around her mother.
‘I didn’t mean to make you cry, Mama. Please don’t be sad!’
Augusta sniffled a little and delved into her reticule for a dainty square of linen to dab at her eyes.
‘I worry about you, Sheri,’ she said, a slight fracture in her voice, ‘and Robert could always calm my worst fears. He was so logical, so—sensible!—I want a promise from you!’
‘Anything, Mama!’ Sheri gulped, desperate to make amends.
‘Promise me, if Dominic talks of marriage, you’ll not hint him away.’
Dominic—marriage? Did she truly dare to allow that dream?
‘Mama!—I’ve known Dom all my life. We’ve danced at the occasional ball and we’ve often attended the same house parties and routs and—the man only ever has eyes for Jassie! It’s—’ God, it was so painful to watch, but she’d never shared the depth of that pain with anyone ‘Haven’t you been listening to me, Mama? If I marry it will be to a man who loves me, not my best friend!’
‘I’m just asking you to promise not to dismiss the idea out of hand.’
‘What about the Earl of Baxendene then?’
Augusta started as if the Earl’s name had not even been previously mentioned or had completely slipped her mind.
‘The Earl of Baxendene would make no woman a suitable husband! I’ll not be diverted by red herrings, Sheri! Just give Dominic a chance, is all I’m asking. I’ve always thought you had a bit of a tendre for him. Allow him to court you, if that’s what he asks, and see where it leads.’
So much for hiding her feelings from her mother! And Dom had obviously already broached the subject to Mama!
‘If I allow him to court me and then turn him down I’ll definitely be considered beyond the pale—especially since he’s the Duke of Wolverton. There were plenty who had something to say when Jassie turned him down, the most eligible man in the kingdom! I’ve only got away with so many rebuttals to date because I’ve made my feelings clear the moment a man showed an intention! I never led any one of them to suppose their suit might have a chance of success.’
‘And as you’ve just said,’ Augusta responded smugly, ‘none of those men were the Duke of Wolverton. Now there’s a man! What’s not to love?’
Indeed. Sheri found words clogged in her throat and there was no way she could continue the argument. She turned to gaze out the carriage window at the night.
It was who he loved that made it all hopeless.
‘Like I said,’ she choked out at last, ‘we’re engaged to ride tomorrow.’
‘Invite him in for breakfast.’
Sheri sighed.
‘Perhaps.’
…
The dawn was still new when Sheri let herself out onto the front step where Carter was holding Dream Lady for her. As she started down towards the street Dom rode into the Square from Brook Street, resplendent in a bottle green hacking jacket, buff riding trousers and riding a sleek chestnut mare. His face was shadowed beneath the brim of his hat and the scar gleamed in the dawn light.
For just a moment she indulged the pretense that he came because he loved her. By the time she’d reached the street and Carter had handed her up into her saddle, she knew how foolish such a dream was. She had to work a little harder than usual to fix her social smile in
place, but she was ready when he rode alongside.
‘Are ye sure ye don’t need me, m’Lady?’ Carter growled up at her from under grizzled brows.
‘I’m sure the Duke will take good care of me, Carter. Thank you.’
Carter beetled his brows at Dom, clearly skeptical.
‘Your mistress is in good hands, Carter. I’ll see no harm comes to her.’
‘Ye better,’ he muttered, stomping off back to the mews, clearly unimpressed by title or status.
‘Churlish old curmudgeon,’ Dom commented, unable to hide his surprise at being doubted in any way, by anyone.
His expression was comical and suddenly Sheri was laughing. She would simply enjoy the ride—and Dom’s company. Surely they were early enough this morning they’d not be interrupted by anyone.
‘Are you laughing at me?’
Sheri rolled her eyes.
‘I was about to compliment you on the color of your habit. Blue really does suit you and midnight blue best of all, I think. However, I shall content myself on commenting on the pleasant morning instead.’
‘Oh, I’d much rather you did,’ she said gaily, delighted he’d remembered her impatience with compliments.
It was Dom’s turn to roll his eyes and they rode along Upper Brook Street in perfect accord.
‘Is that a new horse? I’ve not seen her before,’ Sheri asked, appreciating the proud lines and glossy chestnut coat.
‘I finally talked Briersley into naming a price for her and damning him by paying it. I’ve been after her for some time. Her name is Freya. I think I’m going to really enjoy her.’
‘She’s big for a mare. The perfect height for you.’
‘Not as well matched as you and Dream Lady. You’re a walking advertisement for Springwoods Stud—a picture of elegance, but I’m sure you know that. It’s your business, after all.’
‘You make me sound conceited.’
‘I’m complimenting you on something you do extremely well. When you match one of your horses with a woman, you create a work of art. Look at Arabella and Black Satin. She’s the exact color of Bella’s hair and in habits the same blue as her eyes or a deep rose color, she looks stunning; Alice Fairweather and that chestnut. Your eye for balance and color is amazing. It has occurred to me, in a crowd of riders on Rotten Row, it’s quite easy to pick out the women mounted by Springwoods. It’s become fashionable to be mounted by you and every young lady is badgering her Papa or husband—or indulgent uncle—to provide her with a Springwoods beauty. Apparently it’s deemed to add considerably to their consequence and they can certainly have absolute confidence in the performance of the animals. Your trainer is superb.’