Oh, he was handsome enough, but she’d found him soft in certain unappealing ways. His hands were delicate, his laugh was too quiet, and he kissed like her grandmother. In other words, he was absolutely nothing at all like Phineas Bennet. For as expected, her husband had become the impossible touchstone against whom she measured every other man.
Also as expected, she found every single one of them to come up short.
As for John Claymore, she’d cursed herself for even bothering to try to recapture a little happiness. John’s failure to come close to Finn’s appeal only made her sadder and lonelier.
“I’m here to speak with Mr. Brewster,” Rose said, turning her vivid blue Malloy gaze to ward Claire’s heart’s desire. The others exclaimed aloud.
“Now you’re for it,” said Thomas Craigston, whom Rose had never fancied though he had a good sense of humor.
They all chuckled at his friendly warning.
“Are you attached?” she asked Franklin, ignoring the others.
Franklin looked taken aback.
“I . . . That is . . . Are you . . .? No . . . why?”
“Do you always stammer?” Rose asked. “Because though my friend might have an interest in dancing with you, I will not recommend you to her if you cannot also carry on an amusing conversation.”
She saw him look over her shoulder to where Claire sat as it dawned on Franklin to whom she referred. No doubt they locked gazes since her best friend was most likely watching the exchange.
Rose noted with satisfaction that a small smile appeared on his appealing face, along with an interested spark in his cocoa brown eyes and a becomingly humble blush to his handsome cheeks.
Perfect. She had a feeling they would be well matched. Claire was an intelligent young lady with lovely blond hair, a sweet face, a good disposition, and blessed with a certain vivacity. Rose’s impression of Franklin was that he, too, was clever and easy-going. What’s more, Claire’s father and her grandfather before him were extremely successful financiers.
Any man should be pleased to gain Claire’s interest.
“Are you speaking of Miss Appleton?” Franklin asked, still looking past Rose.
“If I were, are you agreeable to such an association?” Rose asked, wanting to hear an affirmative before she said any more.
Franklin coughed. Rose knew her direct approach bothered some and scandalized others. So be it. She usually got results, and more quickly than beating about the bush.
“I would very much like to dance with Miss Appleton,” Franklin admitted. “However, it seems she is otherwise occupied.”
Rose turned to find her seat had been taken by James Sonders who clearly was attempting to monopolize Claire. For her part, Claire’s green-eyed gaze was still trained on Rose and Franklin’s encounter while admirably trying to wrest her hand from Sonders’ grasp.
Rose sighed. Good God! She couldn’t leave her alone for one minute.
She turned back to Franklin. “My dear friend is not in the least interested in Mr. Sonders, I assure you. I suggest that you and I rescue her since the next two dances on her card are free. I will engage the gentleman while you whisk away Miss Appleton to the dance floor. Agreed?”
Franklin merely nodded, seemingly quite impressed by Rose’s forthright manner.
With a “good evening, gentlemen” to his companions, leaving them with her most dazzling smile, Rose swished her gray-silk skirts as she turned on her heel and headed back to Claire, secure in the knowledge that Franklin was following on her heels like a good pup.
“Oh, Mr. Sonders,” Rose exclaimed as she approached the blond-haired fellow. “I was so hoping to run into you.” She grabbed his wrist so suddenly that he released Claire’s hand.
James Sonders looked up at her. “Miss Malloy,” he greeted her and, as a gentleman, immediately stood.
Out of the corner of her eye, she knew Franklin had taken her advice and was indeed striking while the branding iron was burning hot. He grasped Claire’s hand, brought it to his lips, and, in another instant, made off with her to where couples were dancing a slow Boston-style waltz.
“What can I do for you?” Sonders asked.
Rose stared at him, the man with unfortunately large teeth and an even larger fortune. “Oh, um. I believe if I’m not mistaken that my brother is looking for you.”
With that vague intimation, Rose curtsied and hurried away. She circled the room once more, sipping at a drink she’d grabbed from the refreshment table, something fruity, and wished she had an interest in any man there. She listened to the music and once more felt the tug of regret that she’d not had the opportunity to dance in public with Finn.
Taking another sip of her drink, she admonished herself against self-pity. After all, one glorious night, they had danced together, swaying to the sound of a young violinist practicing one floor above at his boarding house. The unskilled musician was terrible, but she’d enjoyed every second of being in Finn’s arms.
Rose came out of her reverie to realize that John Claymore was approaching her from one side, no doubt wanting to try and take up where they left off the previous summer. Her eldest sister, Elise with her husband, Michael, was approaching from the other. Moreover, she had a look of purpose on her lovely face.
Rose slipped through the doorway behind her.
Intending to go back into the Tremont’s ballroom through the door at the other end of the hallway, she stopped stock still upon seeing her brother. Reed and his wife, Charlotte, her unmistakable auburn hair drawing Rose’s gaze like a beacon, were chatting with the big-toothed James Sonders.
“Drats!” she muttered, feeling surrounded. She didn’t need Reed interrogating her on her doings of the past week. She’d been caught by their mother trying to go out without a chaperone after dinner. It had been harmless enough. Rose had wanted only to listen to a band on the Common and desired only her own company. Yet one would have thought she’d been secretly going to meet a man in a rooming house, by the way that Evelyn Malloy had carried on with a long lecture about propriety.
If only that had been the case. Rose’s heart gave its usual painful squeeze at the delicious memory of secretly meeting Finn.
Rose stood still until she realized her family hadn’t seen her. Though she wanted to watch Claire and Franklin have their first dance, she walked in the opposite direction. Same people, same dances. Same, same, same. No wonder her other sister, Sophie, had gone clear across the country to live, as far from home as one could get and still live in the United States.
Rose sighed and began a slow meander down the spacious hallway. When she reached the end, she climbed the wide stairs with its pretty floral runner. As she reached the landing halfway, she thought she heard footsteps begin at the bottom, and she faltered a moment. Obviously another partygoer was exploring the venue, or perhaps it was a hotel guest with a room on one of the three upper floors.
She continued upward until she reached the next floor, where another long hallway stretched out before her. She strolled toward the other end, intending to descend the far staircase and make a complete circle.
Hearing the steps behind her again, she increased her pace a little, her heart racing slightly. When she could stand it no longer and with nowhere to hide, she whirled about to face her tracker, hands on her hips.
Still twenty feet down the hall yet with his eyes fixed determinedly on her was William Woodsom — a few years older than her, handsome in a classic way, always good fun at a gathering, though a tad cock-sure of himself in her opinion. No doubt that was due to his father being an expatriate from England and an earl or a duke of something or other. William maintained a slight accent that seemed to make the girls hearts beat more quickly.
Luckily, Rose was immune. In fact, her pulse slowed when she realized who it was, though she was not entirely sure there was no threat to her person. After all, they were barely acquaintances, and certainly not friends.
“Mr. Woodsom,” she said, greeting him with a nod of
her head when he was ten feet away. She hadn’t noticed him downstairs. How odd that he would be up here on the second floor!
“Miss Malloy,” he returned, slowing his steps when he reached her. “How is it that you can make a greeting sound like a challenge?”
She tilted her head. What did he mean? Then she couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. There was something about him that made her feel spirited.
“It’s no matter,” he added when she didn’t answer. “Are you tired of the party already?” His eyes looked her up and down — not with insolence though with definite interest.
Rose considered her answer. “In truth, I am a little weary of the party.” This and every other one, she thought to herself. Then she tried to be more sociable and added, “Though I do love to dance.”
“Odd. I don’t believe I’ve seen you dance, not lately at any rate,” he said, his well-formed lips ending with a half-smile. “However, the party loses its luster in your absence.”
She smiled back at his light banter. William Woodsom was a known flirt, nearly as bad as she used to be when she was a precocious teenager. Yet somehow, they had never connected, nor had even the briefest of attachments. He had entered her circle rather late, having spent his formative years in Great Britain and the Continent. Rose had always been interested in someone else in their group. Before Finn. And after him, she’d felt nothing.
“Does it really?” she asked, tilting her head. “Has Maeve Norcross grown tired of you already?”
He raised an eyebrow but gave no indication she had hit a sore spot. “Have you been keeping track of my attachments?”
She did not blush; after all, she had no designs on him. She merely knew that Claire had seen Maeve and William riding along the Common because her good friend had been keeping an eye on Franklin Brewster, who was Maeve’s cousin and thus had been riding along behind.
“So she has discarded you?”
“What an awful way to put it!” William protested, with mock indignation. “Discarded, indeed, like an old stocking.”
However, he didn’t deny it or look the least bit upset.
Rose gave an unladylike shrug. “I am returning to the ballroom now. The luster will be restored momentarily.”
William laughed. “You ought not to walk around by yourself.”
“I sought only to avoid too many family members.” She turned away, realizing that perhaps she’d spoken out of turn. Yet he fell into step beside her as they started once more toward the far staircase, so she added, “Everywhere I turn, it seems there is a Malloy.”
“Being the only offspring does have its privileges,” he offered, sounding sincere.
Hm. He had always struck her as someone who enjoyed his privileges. That was certain. Perhaps a tad spoiled, perhaps he considered himself entitled. Perhaps he would end up inheriting a castle or country manor back in his parents’ home country. She didn’t know. She knew only that his father was an ambassador with an office at the State House and that William worked with him in some capacity.
Actually Rose knew one other thing — that too many of her acquaintances had fallen for William’s good looks only to have their expectations dashed.
For her part, Rose appreciated his wit, his charm, his lively disposition, even his pleasing face and figure. However, she was not the type to fall at a man’s feet, especially knowing as she did his reputation for a quickly wandering eye. She had never given up the smallest part of her heart, neither before nor since Phineas Bennet, and she didn’t intend to start with the likes of Woodsom.
They were nearly at the bottom tread when, unexpectedly, he rushed a step ahead, abruptly cut in front of her, and turned at once to face her. Unlike her oldest sister, Rose was not overly tall. However with William a step below, they were nearly nose to nose.
“What are you doing?” she asked, grinding to a stop, their faces inches apart.
“I’m going to kiss the prettiest girl at the Tremont.”
Chapter Three
“I beg your pardon,” Rose said, though a tremor of anticipation shot through her at his bold words. “That is completely beyond the pale.”
“As is your strolling by yourself through these corridors. Good thing I came along and rescued you. For that at least, I deserve a kiss.”
“You deserve nothing of the kind,” she began when, to her astonishment, he laid hands on her, one at her waist, one cupping her head under her glossy black curls.
Good thing her hair was up, she briefly thought, or he would have mussed it terribly. And that thought was chased by the next one: Good God, he’s touching me. He’s really going to—
William didn’t brush her lips with his as a few of her suitors before Finn had done, nor did he offer her a peck at the corner of her mouth. No, his lips closed over hers he tilted his head, and their mouths fit together like two sides of a coin.
Rose stilled a moment, a flash of fear at what was happening, followed closely by a blaze of sensation so exhilarating, she felt breathless. For the briefest of moments, she could pretend it was Finn, for this felt the closest to his kiss she could imagine while not being him.
William moved his mouth, and then the tip of his tongue touched the seam of her lips. Unthinkingly, she parted them, and he slipped his tongue inside. Briefly, she felt him touch her tongue and then he withdrew. In that instant, though, something changed in her. Low, between her hips, she felt a flush of warmth. Just as with Finn.
Before she could react, to push him away or pull him closer, he broke it off. They stared at each other for what felt like forever. Was that surprise on his face as well? She knew she ought to slap him for what he’d done, but she didn’t want to. She wanted him to kiss her again.
Perhaps something in her face expressed this, for he took in a quick breath and started to lower his head once more.
“No,” she whispered.
He froze at the single word she’d uttered, and then he drew back. She said nothing more, still trying to regain her senses and decide how she felt.
“I ought to apologize, I suppose,” William offered, though she could tell he didn’t intend to, nor would he mean it.
Besides, how could she demand an apology when she’d not only enjoyed the kiss but practically invited a second one?
“I think I had better return to the dance,” she said, wondering if he was going to want to form an attachment to her. She hated to dash his hopes, however she could not imagine becoming a couple so quickly on the heels of him and Maeve, or him and Sarah before her, or him and . . .
God, what an idiot she was! And why was she thinking of becoming a couple? This kiss meant nothing to William Woodsom, and he was not about to start asking for her hand. After all, she was a widow. And he? No doubt he fancied himself quite stellar, working as he did for their esteemed lieutenant governor. However, his political position meant nothing to her.
“You need to release me, at once,” Rose added, realizing his hands were still on her.
He hesitated, then drew his hands back to his sides.
She pushed past him down the last step, hurried across the landing and continued her descent. The hallway was empty, thankfully, for he was close at her back.
“Let me go first,” she hissed, imagining her brother’s expression if he saw them entering the ballroom together.
“Rose,” William began, reaching out to detain her.
She would not be one of his conquests. She made sure to stay out of his reach and hurried away.
“Rose,” he said again as they entered the ballroom. “May I have the next dance?”
She barely paused in her desire to put more distance between them.
“I think not,” she said, and then looked back at him. Was he surprised by her refusal?
“I do not dance,” Rose added to soften her words, holding up her wrist as if he could see that every dance on her detested card was unclaimed by a gentleman’s name. Then she thought she’d better put him back in his place. “And
I am Miss Malloy to you.”
Or Mrs. Bennet, she amended silently, unable to tamp down the guilt at letting another man kiss her.
She hurried to find Claire.
Should she tell her friend what had occurred? Absolutely not! Would she? Most likely.
***
In a group made up of Rose, Claire, Franklin Brewster, Claire’s brother, Robert, and Rose’s young niece and nephew, Lily and Thomas, with Claire’s housekeeper as chaperone — they made up a merry roller skating party.
After a heated discussion as to whether to go to the Cyclorama or the large rink on St. James’s Avenue and Clarendon Street, the group sat on the benches at Winslow’s rink in the Back Bay and strapped on their skates. For nearly a decade, Rose had been a skating enthusiast since first trying it out in New York on vacation with her middle sister, Sophie, who had gone only because there was an orchestra playing every night at the Albany rink.
Despite being quite adept, Rose let Robert hold her arm as they went around.
“Faster,” Rose urged.
Robert gripped her arm more tightly.
“I think not,” he said as Claire and Franklin whirled past them.
Oh, for goodness sake! Rose rolled her eyes. She found him to be old beyond his years and stuffy, so unlike his amusing sister.
“Even little Thomas is going by us, and he’s not yet eight,” she complained to Robert before yanking him along willy-nilly. “Full speed ahead!”
Two seconds later, Claire’s twin brother stumbled, let go of her, and crashed into the rink wall.
Thank goodness he’d released her, she thought, looking at his crumpled form. Claire and Franklin helped him up.
“I think I’ll sit for a little while,” Robert said, heading for the gate and the nearest bench.
“So sorry, Robert,” Rose called after him, glad to be free and unfettered.
She and Finn had skated at this very rink at midnight, fleeing only when the night watchman eventually showed up. A little surprised by her daring nature, Finn had nevertheless matched her speed. Together, they’d raced around, laughing like little children. She’d felt perfectly safe holding Finn’s hand.
An Inconceivable Deception Page 3