“There is Aldreth with his beautiful lady,” the viscount remarked as they started out by narrowly avoiding the lumbering pair of Mr. Julian Durling and Miss Camilla Fairchild. He spoke carefully now, producing crisp syllables. He was not half the dancer Cynssyr was. Grinning, Wilberfoss swung her around a half-beat behind the music. “Been looking for you all night. Ought to get to know each other better, don’t you agree?”
“I admit I’m curious about you. Emily’s not told me much.” He was younger than she expected, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and quite exquisitely dressed, though he hadn’t Cynssyr’s natural flair or Thrale’s austere elegance.
“Your sister mentions you quite often. Can’t praise you enough. Got me worried, her having a paragon of perfection for a sister. What if she expects me to be as perfect as you? It’s been fretting me no end.”
“I assure you, I’m far from perfect.”
“Good.” He feigned relief so comically Anne had to laugh. “Now I see why Cyn married you.” His hand, which had rested very properly on her back during a chasse exerted a slight pressure. “Magnificent,” he murmured. As she and Wilberfoss passed each other again, the viscount’s focus shifted from her eyes to her mouth then down to rest below her chin.
“Your jewels are lovely.”
That made her look. For the briefest moment, she could have sworn to a salacious intent. But his face was all innocence and smiles. They moved past, dipped away, then back to one another.
“A gift from your husband?”
Of course, he meant the diamonds. “Yes.” What else could he have meant? Fewer couples hemmed them in since they had somehow ended up at the edge of the ballroom.
“The duke has always had excellent taste in women and in jewelry,” he said to her diamonds.
“Has he?” She backed out of his arms, giving up the pretense of dancing since Wilberfoss had stopped any attempt to guide her through the steps.
He drew a flask from his pocket and took a long draught. “Give anything for his knack of matching the gem to the woman,” he said. “I keep thinking, what ought I to give my beautiful Emily? Have you any suggestions for me? I confess I’m at a loss.” Daintily, he wiped his mouth with the side of a pinky. The smell from the open flask sent her stomach into near revolt. “What is it I heard him say once? Ah.” He lifted a finger. “I have it. A rule, he said, by which he ordered his most private affairs. Diamonds for a blond. Emeralds for a brunette. Rubies for a redhead.”
Anne forced a grin because what leapt instantly to mind was Mrs. Forrest’s rubies, and it was really too bad of Lord Thrale not to have made an introduction.
“Were you my wife, I would look no further for companionship. Tonight or any night.” Wilberfoss put a hand on her shoulder, gazing at her with concern. “Why, duchess, you’re flushed. Are you faint? Air. You must have fresh air.”
She seized the excuse because her fatigue had quickly worsened with even their little bit of dancing, and her stomach pitched unpleasantly. “Yes. Do forgive me.” She wanted to like Wilberfoss, she really did, but she couldn’t entirely approve of him, though she wasn’t able to pinpoint the reason. They’d stopped near a wide corridor leading eventually to the gallery, and she walked out, heading for a marble bench about halfway down the hall. She never reached it, for Wilberfoss followed her.
“My dear duchess,” he said, all cloying concern. He walked into the corner of a side table. “Damnation!”
Anne stopped. “Are you all right?”
“Your servants appear to have been lax.” The flask appeared once again. “Have I made a hopeless muck of things?” His disarming smile made her think that perhaps he and Emily would suit after all. She was learning the value of a partner with whom one might laugh. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know about the rubies.”
“For redheads, you mean?”
“Rubies for redheads. Yes, indeed. Magnificent rubies for a magnificent woman. Cynssyr is a man of the world. ‘Deed he is.” He raised his flask, smiling cheerfully so that his round cheeks became rounder yet. “I drink to men of the world.” He opened a door just to his left. “This should do nicely.”
“For what?”
“Come, come, now,” he said impatiently. He gripped her elbow.
“There’s nothing in there, my lord. Cynssyr does not use that room.”
“Even better.”
She dismissed her alarm as absurd. Wilberfoss was a puppy, and practically engaged to her sister. “You wish to speak to me about Emily?”
“Yes, that’s it.” As he came closer, fingertips brushed her bosom. Anne backed away. “Duchess,” he said. “I assure you your husband is well occupied at the moment.”
“What would you like to know about Emily? I fear she’s strong-willed, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a good deal of her charm.”
After another sip from the flask, he held it out with an inviting nod. “No?” He shrugged. “Then how about a kiss for your future brother-in-law?”
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, saw him become completely distracted by the movement and immediately uncrossed them. She knew she was naive, but not so much that she could misinterpret that look. “You’re drunk.”
“Lively, my sweet. Merely lively.” Again, his eyes swept her. “Honestly, of all the lovely bits here tonight, you are the morsel I should most love to sample.” He stood close. Far too close. Instinctively she put a hand on his midriff.
“You have drunk too much, my lord. You are not in your right mind.”
The boyish smile reappeared. “Oh, I dare say I am very much in my right mind.”
“Let me go.”
“There’s a love.” He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She reacted on instinct. Her palm connected sharply with his cheek, and his head snapped back. “Why, damn you!” He touched his face, red where her fingers had landed.
Now that it was too late to take it back, she wished she’d not done it. “Forgive me.”
“I suppose,” he said, easing back, though not enough for her to walk away. “I deserved that.”
“As a matter of fact, sir, you did.” She tried to slide past him, but his hand shot out, grasping the nape of her neck and trapping her between him and the door. “My lord. Please. Let me pass.” She pushed again, but he didn’t budge. “Lord Wilberfoss!”
His fingers brushed over her breast. “Luscious.”
She rationalized what he was doing. He didn’t mean it. Or else he did not understand that she objected. Somehow, she’d not managed to make herself clear to him. “Please,” she said in her most reasonable tone. “Let me go. You must let me go.”
“I think not.” He pressed her hard against the door, hard enough that she felt his aroused state.
“Let me go,” she said, still not able to believe she might actually be in danger. “Please. You must let me go.”
“Don’t be difficult.” He addressed her bosom. “God, but I want a mouthful of you.” She shrieked when he kissed her there and pushed his shoulders hard enough and unexpectedly enough that he stumbled back. She darted past, but he swung around, stopping her with a hand on her wrist. He gave a good-natured grin and tightened his fingers. “God knows why he wants another woman when he’s got you.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“You make even her seem positively spindle-shanked.” He dragged her closer, and she could do nothing to stop him.
“My Lord Wilberfoss. I said, you’re hurting me.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Am I? Do forgive me.” His fingers dug into her wrist.
Under no illusion now of his bad intentions—whatever the motivation—she struggled to free herself before he overpowered her. He now held her so tightly that she bent slowly to the pain. Catching at her neckline, he said, “They’re the prettiest I’ve seen for ages.”
“My lord.” She tugged on her wrist. Fear shot through her when he thrust his fingers down the front of her gown. “Please. Stop.”
“Stop this. Stop this moment.” Frantic, she struggled, but his grip on her tightened. Panic took over completely. She shouted. “Cynssyr!”
“What will you tell him if he comes?” Holding her tight against him, he brayed with laughter. “That you’re a deceitful little bitch?”
She tried to kick him but missed badly.
“Why, you little bit of skirt!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her against the closed door hard enough to dislodge a nearby painting from its mooring. Her head snapped back and hit the wall, stunning her. Drunk he surely was, but he still outweighed her, and Anne could do nothing to stop him. Reaching around her, he opened the door. The sudden lack of support unbalanced them both. She stumbled, but kept her feet. Wilberfoss fell hard.
Terror gave her speed she didn’t know she possessed. She bolted. But the blow to her head slowed her reflexes. He caught her only steps from the ballroom, spinning her around and holding her tightly, face to face. His hand over her mouth kept her from calling for help. “Quiet!” he hissed. Drink was strong on his breath. “Someone will hear you. Do you want to rouse the household?”
She kicked out, and this time she connected with his shin. He was not, thank goodness, wearing boots that might have protected him.
“Damn you!”
His grip on her loosened, and she bolted again. Wilberfoss followed, letting out a shout of outrage. His fingers just caught her sleeve. She jerked. The fabric tore, and she was free and dashing into the ballroom. As luck would have it, she careened into Henry, the postilion who had for the evening been cast in the role of footman. For all his hulking size, Henry was the sweetest, gentlest man she knew. Fortunately, Wilberfoss didn’t know that.
The footman caught her shoulders but released her as if he’d been burned. “Here now, Madam Duchess!”
“Henry.” Her heart pounded and though her knees felt like water she wanted to run and keep running. She glanced behind her. Wilberfoss took three steps more, saw Henry and skidded to a stop. She turned back and grabbed the servant’s hand. “Have you seen the Duke?” In her moment of terror, when she’d believed Wilberfoss would overpower her, she’d called for Cynssyr. That fact stayed in her head and refused to leave.
“Yes, Madam Duchess.” Henry essayed a bow as he pulled at his forelock, or where his forelock would have been had he not been wearing a powdered wig.
“Where?”
“The French Parlor, Madam Duchess.”
“Show me the way, if you please.”
“Such a large house, Madam Duchess,” he said, taking such deliberate and careful steps she wanted to scream for him to hurry. It wasn’t a royal procession, for heaven’s sake. “It’s no wonder a body gets lost. Why, I once was lost nearly a week ’teen the kitchen and the scullery. Here we are.”
“Thank you.”
Blocking her way, Henry harrumphed loudly and tapped on the door. “Your grace?” he called out.
Anne reached around him and opened the door, walking in without waiting for an answer to Henry’s announcement. This was one of the more intimate parlors, her favorite because of the shades of damask rose and heather. Lord, she was shaking still from her encounter with Wilberfoss. Please, she thought, let Cynssyr be there. She wanted him to hold her. To tell her all was well. She needed him.
He stood by the sofa, straightening his coat. She had the impression he had just risen.
“Anne.”
“A word, sir.”
Cynssyr nodded toward the door. “You may go, Henry.”
Now that she stood confronted with her stern, too somber husband, she didn’t know how to start, how to tell him that Wilberfoss had frightened her, or how badly she wanted him to reassure her, like one of those armor-clad ancestors of his might once have done for his lady.
His eyebrows shot up. “Yes?”
She took a steadying breath against tears. “Do not think for one moment, sir—” She covered a sob with a breathless hiccup. “Do not think my sister will ever marry Lord Wilberfoss.” She wished she had her spectacles. Not being able to see put her at a serious disadvantage.
“Doubtless you are right.”
She recalled the viscount’s groping hands on her, the stink of alcohol on his breath. “I will do everything I can to prevent it.”
“We will talk of this later, Anne.”
She moved toward him because she wasn’t close enough to see his face, coming further in so as to stand between him and the sofa. She got herself under control. “He’s a drunkard, sir,” she said in a low, fierce voice mercifully free of quaver, “who I have had the misfortune to discover becomes violent when under the influence of spirits.” On the verge of tears, she stood clenching her hands and then lost the fight not to throw herself into his arms. She stepped toward him. Someone coughed. She turned.
CHAPTER 14
Anne backed away from the sofa. “Forgive me, Cynssyr. I did not know you had company.” She had every reason to expect this of Cynssyr, so she didn’t understand why the sight of them together felt like a dagger to the heart.
“Perhaps in future you will wait for an invitation to enter,” he said irritably. Nothing in his expression betrayed the slightest guilt for being closeted with another woman. This woman. One of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen in her life.
Eyes on Cynssyr, Mrs. Forrest stroked the rubies around her throat, awaiting her cue. Anne understood now why Thrale had refused to introduce her. He’d tried to warn her. What must everyone think to see Cynssyr’s mistress here? At a ball in honor of his bride. Cynssyr’s arms remained crossed over his chest. What he thought was anybody’s guess.
Mrs. Forrest laughed, a sound of tinkling crystal, pure and insufferably delicate. “Cyn was just telling me how highly he thinks of you, Duchess.” Slowly, she sat, making a great show of rearranging her gown. She had the grace to look at least a little uncomfortable. “Had I known an ability to do sums would so impress him, I would have paid more attention to my governess.”
“Katie.”
She’d counted on finding him alone, on being able to tell him what had happened, on having his advice. Perhaps even his sympathy. Instead, he was vexed, and she was humiliated. Emotion threatened to choke her. She, stupid, besotted woman that she was, had refused to hear anyone’s warnings. “I am sorry to have disturbed you,” Anne said, backing away. Oh, good gracious. She was going to be ill. She looked around for one of Merchant’s basins, praying she would not embarrass herself further. The basin sat discreetly in a corner, and Cynssyr stood between her and complete disgrace.
Seeing the direction of Anne’s gaze, his eyebrows lifted. “Perhaps, Katie, you will give me a moment alone with my wife.”
“Of course.”
Anne’s stomach turned inside-out. Only Cynssyr’s quick reaction saved the lovely carpet. “Poor wee wren,” he whispered.
“So,” came the woman’s soft voice.
She felt him stroking her back while she bent over the basin, embarrassed, ashamed and too sick to care. Her stomach heaved again. “Darling,” he said gently. Not to her, to Mrs. Forrest. “Ring for a servant.”
Silk rustled, then all was quiet but for the sound of Anne sniffling.
“Congratulations, Ruan.”
“Thank you. Leave us now.”
The servant came, saw immediately the problem and took away the basin without a word. Anne sat on
a chair, miserable to her core while Ruan went to the door. He returned with a glass of punch. “A sip only.”
She pushed away the glass when she’d had enough to wash out the taste of bile. “Thank you, sir.” She wanted to scream. To scratch out his eyes. She wanted to run away and never see anyone again. Of course she did none of those things.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Now, Anne,” he said gently. “Exactly what did you mean with that outburst about Wilberfoss?”
“She’s in love with you.”
He replied with a shrug that could have meant anything at all. He knew. He didn’t know. Or he just didn’t care.
“She’s so small. Fragile and beautiful. It’s a wonder you don’t worry you’ll break her.” She left her chair because Cynssyr was too close, and she could not concentrate on anything but him. A book lay on a small cherry table, and she opened it, flipping pages. None of the words made any sense. Her husband and his mistress. “I had no idea. She must think me a perfect fool, walking in on you like that, and you, too. Everyone must. I’m not used to how things are done in Society. What a fool I am. I just wouldn’t see it.” Oh, for heaven’s sake. The book was in Latin. No wonder she couldn’t make sense of it.
Ruan gave her an odd look. “She has her cong´ from me, Anne.”
Out of habit, she touched her nose. Her spectacles were not there which briefly disconcerted her. “What on earth for?”
“She has bored me, and I dismissed her.”
“Her? Bored you?” Tension coiled heavily in her chest, a threat of tears, but she ignored it. It was never very pleasant to know one’s been made to look foolish. “That hardly seems possible.”
“Nevertheless.”
She looked into his face, that lovely, beautifully masculine face and remembered what Thrale had told her. “It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. Not really. “I understand you need a diversion from everyday dullness.”
“Diversion?” One mahogany eyebrow arched. “No. Not a diversion this time.”
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