“Of course.” Jane sat compliantly, the conversation effectively over. Lord Westfield moved away, back to his seat by the door.
As Emily began to play, Jane peered back over her shoulder. With a sharp intake of breath, she watched incredulously as Lord Westfield’s mouth curved into an all-too-arrogant grin.
Actually smiling at her, the maddening man! She smiled back brightly, maintaining her façade, and then turned to face the keys with nary a tremor, despite her churning emotions.
Men. She’d never understand them.
***
Jane tried not to frown as Lord Westfield’s carriage pulled up before the assembly hall. Crowds of people spilled out onto the street in their finery as conveyances jostled about, depositing their occupants here and there onto the cobbles below. As Jane took Cecil’s arm and stepped out into the cool night, the lilting notes of the orchestra reached her ears while the breeze caressed her cheek. There was a hum in the air; the excitement was almost palpable.
She turned and watched as their silent companion alighted, joining her and Cecil on the street. Lord Westfield hadn’t spoken a single word the entire drive. Instead he’d sat in stony silence as Cecil pointed out local landmarks and made idle chatter. Jane had felt as if she would scream if they did not accomplish their destination in due haste. Why ever had she agreed to this?
Pushing through the crowd, their party at last made their way to the door. Jane instinctively reached down to smooth the skirts of her favorite gown as they entered the assembly. She’d thought to leave behind these yards of crimson watered silk, thinking she’d not likely have the opportunity to wear such a fine gown. She was thankful now for her change of heart. She knew the cut of the gown, with its deep, square neckline and high, tightly fitted waist showed off her figure to its best advantage. It was impossible to feel anything but confident in this gown and she was grateful for the self-assurance.
They entered the main room, where long lines of couples engaged in a lively country dance. It was an attractive room, ornate in décor, done in red and gilt with sparkling chandeliers providing warm light from above.
Jane glanced up at her escorts, faintly amused by the opposite expressions worn by the two men. Cecil’s pale face was lit with obvious pleasure; he turned and bowed cheerfully in greeting as they made their way through the crowd. Lord Westfield, on the other hand, looked almost pained. He moved forward without moving his head, clearly avoiding eye contact with anyone and coming perilously close to cutting several attractive ladies who visibly strove to catch his eye and initiate conversation. Jane almost laughed aloud at his self-imposed discomfort.
For her part, she remembered herself and resolved to enjoy the evening despite her misgivings. No use fretting over nothing. This seemed an agreeable, fashionable gathering and she enjoyed such amusements.
“I say, Miss Rosemoor, there’s Sir Thomas Huxley and his three daughters. Come, let me introduce you. Delightful girls, just delightful.”
“Of course,” Jane murmured, following Cecil to a group clustered beside the refreshment table.
A quarter hour later, Jane eagerly moved away from the Huxleys, convinced Cecil found the girls far too delightful. His flirtations had made her more than a little uncomfortable, especially when she thought of sweet Emily confined at home and so sorry to miss such a party. It took a conscious effort for Jane to remove the furrow from her brow and force her lips from a pursed position to a pleasant smile.
She and Cecil rejoined Lord Westfield, who stood against the wall with his hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly half a dozen ladies flocked about them, all demanding introductions to Jane while batting their lashes solicitously at Lord Westfield. Yet he rebuked all attempts at polite conversation with his demeanor alone. Jane couldn’t help but roll her eyes heavenward, both for the ladies’ silly and obvious behavior and for Lord Westfield’s evident disdain. Clearly, he was a much sought-after prey.
One particular lady seemed far more interested in Cecil. All but ignoring Lord Westfield, the striking brunette sidled up to Cecil with a coquettish smile.
“My dear Mr. Tolland, you must introduce me to your lovely companion. I don’t believe I have the pleasure of her acquaintance.”
Lord Westfield eyed her coldly and turned away with a sneer.
“Lady Adele,” Cecil gushed. “How lovely you look tonight. You must allow me introduce my wife’s cousin, Miss Jane Rosemoor of Essex. Westfield and I have the honor of escorting her tonight. Miss Rosemoor, I present Lady Adele Etheridge.”
The two women curtseyed toward one another. “A pleasure,” Jane said. “You look so familiar, Lady Adele. Perhaps we’ve met in Town?”
“It’s quite possible.” Her gaze traveled to Cecil’s face. “My late husband and I frequently took residence in Mayfair during the summer months.”
A widow, Jane thought. How interesting.
After what felt like an interminable time, Lady Adele finally moved away with a swish of silk and the lingering scent of rosewater. Jane’s brows rose as Lady Adele turned and glanced back over her shoulder once more, favoring Cecil with an inviting smile before disappearing through the crowd.
At last alone, Cecil turned toward Jane. “Will you dance, Miss Rosemoor?”
Jane returned his easy smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted.” She reached for his arm, but he shook his head. “Oh, I’m not much of a dancer myself. But I’m sure Lord Westfield will accommodate you.”
Jane cringed as the music switched to a waltz. She looked up at Lord Westfield with trepidation, expecting an expression of distaste. Instead, not a trace of any emotion whatsoever showed in his countenance. He simply offered her his arm.
Jane hesitated for a fraction of a second, inexplicably terrified to touch him–to connect with him physically in any way.
His eyes darkened at the perceived slight. “Does the prospect displease you so intensely?”
Jane’s face flooded with heat, and she waved her fan, pretending to be affected by the room’s warmth. “I...no. Of course not. It would be my pleasure,” she lied, reaching for his arm. She followed him to the center of the room on weak legs.
She barely felt the floor beneath her slippers as she reached a hand up to his shoulder, the other clasped tightly in his. His nearness positively unsettled her. She could feel his heat, warming her skin beneath the thin fabric of her gown and all but burning her hand through the layers of wool and kidskin that separated them. She thought of nothing save regulating her breathing as they began to glide across the floor, the sound of her heart overpowering the strains of the waltz. She was keenly aware that his touch, his closeness, affected her physically in ways she’d never before experienced, and the thought disturbed her greatly. Her eyes boldly sought his face, wondering if he was similarly afflicted. As if he sensed her appraisal, his eyes met hers.
Jane forgot to breathe.
Seconds later she let out her breath in a rush, still unable to look away from the mossy depths of his eyes. She swallowed hard. I should say something, she thought in panic. Anything, to break this spell. But he spoke, instead.
“You did not include dancing on your list of accomplishments,” he said, his tone clipped. “An oversight, I’m sure.”
Jane sucked in her breath, averting her gaze at once. Was he insulting her?
As if he’d read her mind, he continued. “I meant that as a compliment. No use getting yourself into a temper. You’re an exceedingly graceful dancer. I can’t imagine a more lovely partner.”
Her gaze flew back to his. “I would never indulge in a fit of temper in public,” she replied coolly.
“Then I apologize for suggesting you would.” He smiled down at her, almost patronizingly.
“In fact,” she added, “I rarely indulge in such fits at all.”
“Indeed?” His smile widened.
Jane knew she was speaking nonsense, but it was all she could manage in order to keep from dwelling on the fact that he’d complimented her. Had
he called her lovely? No, she corrected. He’d only said she was a lovely dancer. Quite different.
The music ended. Jane tried to step away from him, but he only held her closer, refusing to release his grip on her. “Isn’t it customary to engage a partner for two consecutive dances?”
“Perhaps two dances,” she said, feeling foolish, “but not necessarily consecutive.” As the music struck up again, Jane’s mind raced to find a suitable topic of conversation. “Do you not come to Town often?” she asked at last.
“I attend to my parliamentary duty, yes. Each year. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just odd, isn’t it, that we’ve never before met? I’ve come to London for, oh, eight Seasons now, and yet our paths have never crossed. I thought perhaps you were one of those men who preferred the country.”
“I do prefer the country. But I don’t dislike Town. Eight Seasons, you say?”
Jane sighed impatiently. “Well, of course I haven’t actively participated in all eight. But I do come to Town each summer with my family. I find it amusing enough.” He peered at her oddly, as if attempting to solve a riddle. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
His face went immediately blank.
Moments passed in silence.
“And have you figured it out?” she asked.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Why I’m on the shelf. Have you figured it out yet? It’s terribly obvious that the question is on your mind.” He wouldn’t be the first, Jane thought, nor was he likely to be the last.
His only response was a quirk of the brow.
“Because I choose to be, my lord,” she supplied. “I’ve had a number of offers each year, offers that I chose to decline.”
“And what were your reasons for declining them, if I might be so bold as to ask?”
She shrugged. “I suppose no one suited,” she lied. “I have very discerning tastes.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed.”
“I suppose, then, that one with such, what was the phrase? ‘Discerning tastes’, that was it...” He cleared his throat, obviously suppressing a chuckle. “That one with such discerning tastes prefers the unmarried state, then?”
He made no effort to cloak his amusement, and Jane’s hackles rose at once. “I find it interesting that every man assumes a woman prefers the married state over spinsterhood. I enjoy a great deal of freedoms that a husband would likely deny a wife.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, well...” Jane was flustered, suddenly unable to think of a good response. Just what activities would a husband restrict, she wondered? “Such as being able to travel whenever I take a notion to visit relations, for one.”
“Hmmm, I see,” he murmured. “Yes, a husband would likely want to keep you at home, wouldn’t he?” He smiled wickedly at her, his eyes lit with amusement.
Her cheeks burning yet again, Jane looked away, past Lord Westfield’s broad shoulder. Her attention was immediately distracted by Cecil, who hurried along the perimeter of the dance floor just steps behind Lady Adele. The unpleasant idea that perhaps Cecil had lovers, that his considerate attentions to his wife were nothing more than a façade, startled her.
Jane pulled away from Lord Westfield, suddenly dizzy and a bit queasy. “I think I need some air.”
He held her shoulders as she swayed against him. “Come, let’s step outside.” Without waiting for her reply, he took her elbow and steered her out through a set of open doors and onto a wide, sweeping terrace. Crowds of people milled about, strolling arm in arm and enjoying the refreshing, crisp air.
Lord Westfield led her to a stone bench where she sank gratefully. Jane blinked rapidly, attempting to regain her equilibrium.
“Wait right here,” he said. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
She nodded dumbly in reply, feeling foolish yet again. Would this night never end?
Chapter 3
Hayden reached for a flute from a silver tray. Grasping it tightly in his gloved hand, he strode back out to the terrace. Miss Rosemoor sat just as he’d left her, perched on the edge of the bench and looking quite pale.
She took the proffered champagne and gulped it down. His eyes widened dubiously. He certainly hoped she was accustomed to the effects of ingesting half a flute of champagne so efficiently.
He stood uncomfortably, unsure what to do, while she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The swell of her breasts rose provocatively with each inhalation, tempting him with images of them spilling out of the scarlet-colored silk. The color of a temptress, he reminded himself. Was she trying to seduce him?
Her dress was close to indecent, hugging her curves in all the right places and displaying an ungodly amount of bosom. The rich, jewel tone set off her skin to perfection, made her eyes sparkle like the finest polished sapphires. Not a single sane man in the room tonight had been able to take his eyes off her. Sir James Quigley had nearly tripped over his own feet trying to reach her side as they quitted the dance floor moments before.
At last she opened her eyes. Even in the moonlight their intense color reached out to him, capturing him in their hold. He looked down at once, pretending to study his fingernails.
“Thank you, Lord Westfield. I feel much improved. I have no idea what came over me. Perhaps I’m still weary from my journey.”
“No need to apologize, Miss Rosemoor. I’m only pleased to see you so well recovered. Perhaps we should take a turn. Are you up to it?”
“I suppose,” she replied, wariness evident in her voice. She stood and reached for his arm, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. In silence they strolled the length of the terrace, then back again.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded her assent. “Much.” They ambled over to the stone railing and looked out onto the garden below where paper lanterns cast shadows beneath the old yews. Minutes passed in silence.
Sensing her presence like a warning bell, Hayden looked over one shoulder with a scowl as Adele hurried to his side, her dark brows knitted into a scowl.
“Westfield,” Adele said, her voice sharp. “A moment, please.”
He cast a scornful glance at the woman, but did not respond.
“Hayden, please,” she repeated, her voice rising.
He saw Miss Rosemoor flinch at the sound of his given name on the woman’s lips. Damn Adele’s impropriety.
“It’s Tolland,” Adele added.
With an inward groan, he realized he’d better hear what she had to say. “If you’ll excuse me for one moment, Miss Rosemoor?”
Miss Rosemoor only glared at him in reply.
He moved away with Adele, grasping her elbow much too firmly. “You’d better make this fast, Adele. I haven’t the patience for your games.”
She looked up into his eyes, her own pale-blue ones full of bitterness. “I hate to disturb your pleasant evening, but if you venture into the maze, you’ll find your dear friend Tolland has injured his ankle–perhaps broken it. He needs your assistance at once. I was forced to leave him there.”
“Need I ask how you managed to find yourself alone with a married man in the maze?” he asked through clenched teeth.
She tipped her chin in the air defiantly with a mutinous glint in her eyes.
“No, I suppose not. Smile, my sweet. That scowl isn’t the least becoming.”
Without looking back, Hayden strode away from Adele, back toward Miss Rosemoor who stood watching the exchange with unmasked curiosity.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened to Cecil?” Miss Rosemoor asked as soon as he reached her side.
“Nothing of any import. Just female theatrics, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should go back inside for a moment, and I’ll rejoin you shortly.” He placed one hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the doors leading back in to the assembly hall.
She twisted herself away from his grasp and turned angrily to face him. “I demand you tell me what is going on, my lord.
This instant. Where is Cecil?”
His anger rose a pitch at her impertinence, the blood pounding at his temples. “If you must know, he’s somewhere in the maze with a twisted ankle, the fool,” he spat out. “And I’m sure word is spreading like wildfire as to where he was and just who he–”
“Let us go at once.” She strode off toward the steps leading down to the garden.
“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere but back inside, Miss Rosemoor.” He reached for her arm. “And that’s not a request.”
She spun to face him, her face livid. “Not a request?” she sputtered. “You’re ordering me to go back inside?”
“Very astute, Miss Rosemoor. That’s precisely what I’m doing.”
Almost regally, she drew herself up to her full height, her face only inches from his. “I don’t know what type of lady you’re accustomed to dealing with, my lord, but let me assure you that I take orders from no man. My father didn’t order me about, nor would my brother dare for fear of having his ears boxed. Emily’s husband is injured, and I’m going to see to his welfare. Whether or not you accompany me is immaterial–”
“And how do you suppose to find him? Are you familiar with this particular maze, Miss Rosemoor? It’s enormous, as twisted as a labyrinth. Do you wish to find yourself lost in there, alone in the dark?”
Her arrogant gaze faltered. “Then after you, my lord.” She gestured ahead of herself with the sweep of one graceful arm.
“Certainly you realize that we cannot be seen–” he broke off, clearing his throat. “You’ve just arrived here in this district and I should suppose you’d wish to keep your reputation intact. If I might say so, venturing out into the darkened maze in my company would not be the most prudent move on your part.”
She shrugged. “Surely when they see us emerge with the injured Cecil in tow, they’ll understand. Besides, I haven’t time for such worries.” She turned and skimmed down the steps, the red folds of her dress billowing out behind her.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 3