Frost had attempted to speak with his mother about that particular topic, especially given Dory's already far-too ardent interest in the Runner, but Lady Chillton had not been in the mood to listen to any suggestion from her son. Instead, she had whispered something in Harry's ear and, when he nodded somberly in agreement, she sent him off with Dory securely on his arm. It was only then that he smiled, an action that was not lost on Frost.
"Well, she is a charming lady, if not a little uneasy at times." Francis commented, still studying the dancers as they twirled about under a glittering chandelier. "But then aren't we all when it comes down to it?" Underhill had only just reentered London Society and was quickly discovering that it was far different than what he had grown up with under his fictional name of Lord Moxham back in Cornwall, even though what he remembered of that long-ago time was mostly shadowy images at best. "Best of luck to you, Frost. I have a feeling that once the men of Town get a good look at her, you will be beating them away from your front door with a walking stick."
"Thank you." Frost chuckled dryly, finally feeling a bit of lightness for the fist time since he had handed Lavinia into the carriage back at Chillton House. "Not just for the compliment, but for the humor. I have not laughed in days. Quite unlike me." And it was. However, from the moment he had tangled up his life with Lavinia's, there had been precious little to laugh about.
Lord Underhill bowed a bit stiffly, his injured leg obviously still bothering him. "Always my pleasure." Then, he was off, his honey-wheat blonde hair that so matched his sister's - the new Lady Candlewood, of course - catching female eyes as he cut through the crowd.
For a moment, Frost was glad that the man had not been present when he had been attempting to woo the ladies of Society in his younger years. He had a feeling that Lord Underhill, with his kind ways and easy charm, might have been far more formidable in vying for the affections of young women than Frost would have liked.
Alone again, it only took Frost but a moment to locate Lavinia on the dance floor once again. This time, she was performing a quadrille with Rayne, which did not exactly sit well with him. And once more, Frost had no idea why he even bloody cared. It wasn't as if Rayne was going to bed her. The other man had not only sworn off women for the Season, especially after his ugly parting not quite a year ago with Marianne Crestwood, but he would not cross the line of friendship if Frost was interested in Lavinia for himself. Which Frost was not. Or at least not that he would admit.
Oh, hell. Frost knew that he might as well admit that Lavinia, with the body of a goddess and the skills of a seductress and the charm of an innocent, was beginning to consume his every thought - which was very unlike him. And that was not good. He could not allow himself to take her. Or to desire her. Not even a little bit. Because if he did, he might lose his mind over her more than he already was. Then again, considering how addlepated he had been in the last two days, how much worse could he possibly become before he was ready for Bedlam?
When Lavinia laughed at something Rayne said before moving on to her next partner, this time the supposedly already-betrothed Lord Selby, Frost wanted to cross the ballroom floor and yank Lavinia out of the other man's arms. It was only through sheer force of will that he stopped himself from making a scene that he would likely come to regret.
This could not go on. If it did, he would surely go mad! Or bring shame upon himself and his entire family.
Instead of acting, Frost simply watched the dance progress, the ebb and flow of the dancers' steps taking couples around the room and then back again. By the time the small group of musicians played their final notes of the set, Lavinia, Rayne and the other couples they had been dancing with were positioned back in front of Frost. He wasted no time in catching Rayne's eye and indicating that the man should bring Lavinia and join him near the ugly marble statue of Eros he was leaning against, one of many similar likenesses of the same Greek god that littered the ballroom. The Dershems really did have appalling taste in art, he noted absently.
"Lord Chillton." Lavinia dipped into a curtsey. "Thank you. I am having such a marvelous time."
"She's an excellent dancer, my friend." Though his words flattered, Rayne glanced around the room clearly seeking another woman. When they alighted on Sarah, Frost nearly growled in warning, but then thought better of it. His old friend was simply doing what Frost's mother had dictated earlier. The earl had been charged with keeping a watchful eye on Sarah, just as Harry had been charged with Dory's care. Frost could not fault the man for doing his duty. Nor would he wish to be Rayne if Lady Chillton thought he was shirking his assigned task. The woman's tongue-lashings were infamous.
Lavinia dipped another curtsey at Lord Raynecourt. "Thank you, my lord, but it does help when one has such a skilled partner." For some reason, that made Frost glower even more, this time the sound emanating from him causing more than one head turn in their direction. Lavinia had no idea why. She hadn't said anything improper.
True, it was difficult navigating the ball, trying to be certain she didn't commit any enormous social blunders. She had made a few small ones, but those had been easily bushed aside by whoever was in her company, usually a handsome man that had requested that particular dance. Even Lord Hathaway, whom Sarah had warned her to be careful around, had lightly squeezed her hand when she misspoke and commented that it must be difficult for her to return to Society after being away for so long, and having been so isolated in the north country. Apparently, the perceived death of a parent after a long illness was one of the few socially acceptable excuses for occasionally questionable behavior.
"Speaking of dance partners," Rayne said, his gaze going to Sarah once more, "I fear I must find my next one, lest I lose the waltz to another." An unknown man of extremely large size and vaguely Mediterranean features was now attempting to charm a group of ladies that included Sarah, while a row of sour-faced matrons looked on from behind briskly fluttering fans.
"Yes. Please do so," Frost scowled, not liking the look of the other man. "I know my sister was looking forward to waltzing with you since she does not enjoy the opportunity very often."
Rayne laughed but there was something in his gaze as he watched Sarah that Frost could not decipher, and it made him uneasy once more. "That is because I do not provide innocent young ladies with such opportunities, lest they form the wrong idea about me, which would never do at all." The earl's lips twitched in annoyance when he saw the Mediterranean-esque man place his hand briefly on Sarah's arm. "But in this case, as it is Lady Sarah and she knows me far too well to be bamboozled by my charms, I shall make an exception." Then he was off, cutting an elegant swath through the crowd, joking and laughing with people as he passed, but reaching Sarah's side far quicker than Frost would have thought possible. The man truly did take his duty seriously and Frost decided that for once, that was a good thing.
When Frost was finally alone with Lavinia - or as alone as anyone could possibly be in a crowded ballroom - he offered her a low bow. "My lady. I believe the next set is mine." This was the second of two dances that he had claimed on her dance card the moment they arrived. There was a part of him that wished to claim more dances, every single one if possible. And yet another part of him that did not wish to dance with Lavinia at all, mostly for fear that she would look into his eyes and see the truth of his desire for her lurking there. As if she likely didn't already know.
The truth was, Frost didn't know much about this woman, other than that she had the ability to tie him in knots rather easily with just a look. While he believed she was still a virgin, he also knew that she was no stranger to at least some forms of bedsport. So where had she come by that knowledge? He knew nothing of her past, where she had come from or anything else about her really. And for the first time, he began to get some inkling of why his mother thought he had made a huge mistake in bringing her into their home like a lost kitten. God, what a bloody idiot he was at times.
Lavinia stood there gazing at Frost while she saw a
range of emotions play across his face. She did not understand most of them, for in truth, outside of desire and the need for control, she had little experience with men or their feelings. Mostly, she wished to know what he was thinking.
Did he regret freeing her from Desponia's clutches? Likely so. After all, she had cost him an obscene amount of money today on their shopping expedition, which was in addition to what he had spent freeing her. Even though it was Lady Chillton who had arranged for the purchases, it was Lavinia who benefited. Did Frost regret arranging for her to be purchased right in the middle of his study? Again, that was very likely. After all, what gentleman of good sense brought a known whore and madam into his home in broad daylight while his family was in residence? Worse, when his neighbors could bear witness to the offense?
Finally, Frost seemed to come to some sort of decision and he offered her a bow before extending his hand. "The waltz, my lady. I will not even ask if you have received permission, for I likely do not wish to know the answer." His eyes flicked to the wall of dragon-like matrons who had now turned their beady gazes towards him and Lavinia. "And neither do they. Not really."
Lavinia, of course, had not received permission to waltz from the patronesses at Almack's, though she had learned the steps back in Northumberland from a very efficient dancing master. Instead, on that long-ago day, she had simply been presented at court by her mother and then quickly stuffed in a coach that rolled back north towards her grandfather's castle before the door was barely even shut and the stairs raised.
But she could not say that, at least not here. Instead she offered him a coy smile, the sort she had learned at her mother's knee long ago. "Rest assured, my lord, I know the dance as well as any pretty young thing." Then she accepted his proffered hand and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.
Around her, candles shimmered and flickered in the warm late spring air, the breeze wafting in from the terrace unseasonably warm for this time of year. The crystals in the myriad of chandeliers overhead sparkled and caught the light, throwing rainbows over the crowd below and casting glittering light on the ceiling's Greek-themed frescos above them.
Large bundles of netting had been gathered and strung about, creating the illusion of clouds wafting overhead. Panels of pale blue and mint green silk had been hung around the edges of the ballroom, allowing them to billow out when the breeze caught them to create the illusion of a floating palace. It was dreamy and romantic and just the sort of setting Lavinia had dreamed of for her first true waltz when she had been little more than a child. And when she settled into Frost's arms as if she belonged there, she found herself falling a little more in love with her rescuer. Not that she wasn't half in love with him already.
As the music began to flow around them, Frost spun Lavinia through the moves of the dance. She was correct. She did know the steps and again, he wondered where she had learned them. This was yet more proof that she was a lady and not a doxy. Women like those found at Lycosura did not know how to waltz or have fine manners or such proper and educated speech. And he wondered again where she had come from, if not from the very depths of his imagination merely to torture him. An innocent lady with the soul of a harlot? She seemed far too good to be true and the living embodiment of his every randy fantasy.
"Who are you, Lady Lavinia?" Frost queried for her ears alone as the swirled through the other couples, though he saw no one but the woman in his arms. "Really. For you are a paradox, two sides of the same woman and neither making a great deal of sense."
For a moment Lavinia stumbled and would have fallen in disgrace if not for Frost's strong arms. "I am precisely as I have said, my lord." Her feminine whisper was a light tickle of breath on his cheek since she was not quite as tall as his own six-foot-one frame. "I was born a lady and became...something else not of my choosing. Can we not leave it at that?"
"No." Frost's reply was just as soft as he spun her through another turn, nearly bumping into Lord Hunt who was taking the elderly dowager Duchess of Holmby slowly through the steps of the dance.
Lavinia murmured an apology to the young man and his elderly dancing companion and waited until they had moved away before she spoke again. "I am afraid that it must suffice, my lord. To say anything else would be...risky." Once more, she knew she risked much even by revealing what little she already had. However, she also knew that Frost would not rest until he knew her every last secret.
A part of Lavinia had known that to be true the other night when he had swooped in and plucked her from the depths of Lycosura, though she had refused to acknowledge those notions at the time. For the first time, she wondered if agreeing to his plan to rescue her might be, in the end, every bit as dangerous as remaining at the brothel would have been. It was certainly more dangerous for her heart, at the very least.
After that, they continued to dance in silence with Frost looking at her speculatively every so often and then scowling over her shoulder when he was not gazing into her eyes. During one particular turn, she caught a glimpse of Lord Raynecourt waltzing with Lady Sarah and they, in turn, were keeping a watchful eye on Mr. Greer who was waltzing with Lady Dory. It was all very puzzling, as Lavinia did not believe that men like Mr. Greer were eligible to attend balls. Then again, this was not Almack's so perhaps that was the reason? Lord, she wished she was not so ignorant about the ways of Society.
Lavinia was about to ask Frost, and hopefully steer his thoughts away from the mystery of her past, when she realized that they were no longer in the center of the ballroom floor and surrounded by other couples. Instead, they were on the far edge of the room where a small pocket door led to who only knew where.
Then, before she knew what she was about, Frost had slid the door open and had pulled them both into the corridor beyond the pocket door, plunging them into complete darkness. Her first instinct, one borne from years of fear, was to scream, even though her logical mind knew she was perfectly safe in Frost's company. And that instinct overrode everything else.
As she drew in a quick breath and opened her mouth, Lavinia was shocked when instead, warm male lips tinged with the scent of peppermint came down firmly over hers. After that, screaming was the last thing in the world she wished to do.
Lavinia was heaven in his arms, just as she had been last night. For a brief moment when their lips first met, Frost wondered if last night had simply been an aberration, the result of having this mysterious woman under his roof. He was pleased to discover it had not been.
Instead, she fit against him perfectly, as if she was made for him and him alone. That was, of course, a dangerous thought so he shoved it aside and instead concentrated on the feel of her lips beneath his, not to mention the way her body pressed and arched into his, as if silently begging for more. This was what he should concentrate on. Not the perfection of her, for down that path led dangers he did not wish to contemplate.
"Lea," he whispered against her neck and she was certain he could not have known he had called her by the nickname her grandfather had graced her with as a child. "You drive me to the brink of insanity. Merely holding you makes me forget myself." Lavinia had no idea whether or not that was a compliment, but she thought that it might be. In either case, when he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of her throat, she found herself whimpering with need. For once in her life, she welcomed the attentions of a man. It was a gratifying experience.
Lavinia had been kissed before, true, but never like this. Never as if another person's life and happiness depended upon her response. "Frost, I..." She did not finish her thought before he was kissing her again.
"Robert," he practically begged her. "I asked that you call me Robert."
"Robert," she agreed as he peppered her bare shoulder with kisses so light and delightful that she thought she might swoon in his arms. This was the way a true man made love to a woman, Lavinia thought fleetingly. And it was nothing like she had been taught in the past. "But we cannot...you should not..." Then his hand was cupping h
er breast, thumbing her already aching nipple through the thin silk of her dress and she forgot what exactly he ought not to do.
In the back of Frost's mind, a small voice whispered that this had not been the plan. Rather, he had thought to pull Lavinia through the small butler's serving door and into the back pantry that was only used for the Dershem's large Christmastide fete. There in the secluded pantry, they might be able to talk in private and he could use his best, rakish charm to seduce her into revealing more about herself. Or that had been his initial reason for pulling her into the darkened corridor, one he had explored often times with other young men seeking places to debauch young women when he had still been a young buck and heedless of the consequences of his actions.
Except that the moment the corridor plunged into total darkness, Lavinia had been about to scream. Frost had known it instinctively and he cursed himself for frightening her. Not to mention that such an action would bring all of the party-goers directly to them, ruining her and forcing them into marriage. So while Frost hated the idea of placing his hand over her mouth to silence her, he had no idea what he might do otherwise. Until the idea of kissing her into silence had popped into his mind, and once again, he had thought with his cock and not his brain.
Now, he was having a rather difficult time remembering why he wished to speak with her about her past and why he had thought merely kissing her was such a bad idea. At present, it seemed like a fine idea indeed. One of his best, really.
"We should...really," Frost countered as he kissed a path down the exposed slope of her breast. "We really and truly should. I know that I vowed to myself that I would not touch you, but I find that I cannot do that. I desire you too much. So yes, we should."
"No. Not like this." Her voice was thready and she clearly desired this as much as he did, but there was some small, pleading note in her voice that gave him pause.
From the Viscount With Love Page 11