The Outrageous Debutante

by Anne O'Brien

  Meanwhile Nicholas fought against an equally strong torrent of anger. So this was his aunt’s plan, in spite of his warning. It had all the hallmark of Beatrice Faringdon about it: devious, persistent, interfering. Introduce him to a débutante, wait for the knot to be tied and, in the event of any harm befalling Hal and the young boy in America, the Faringdon succession would be secured to her satisfaction. Furthermore, a débutante whose behaviour had been indecorous in the extreme. Well, he would not. He would not give Lady Beatrice the satisfaction of falling in with her plans. He might keep his face politely bland, his eyes flat, but inside he fumed.

  Never had a meeting between lady and gentleman in a ballroom been so fraught with overtones and supposition.

  ‘Why don’t you invite Thea to dance, my dear Nicholas?’ Beatrice remained oblivious to the passions seething around her.

  ‘Of course, Aunt. It would be my pleasure.’ His lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but there was no warmth in it. He fixed his gaze on Theodora. ‘Although I presume that you do not waltz, madam,’ he remarked as the musicians struck up.

  ‘I do indeed, my lord.’ Equally cool.

  ‘Ah.’ His raised brows were not quite a criticism.

  ‘I have waltzed in Paris and Vienna, my lord. My mama sees no objection and I have every reason to believe that I have the blessing of the Princess Esterhazy. So I will willingly accept your invitation.’

  ‘Then I shall be honoured.’ Nicholas bowed in acknowledgement, led Thea on to the dance floor without further comment, where he turned her with one arm around her waist and began to circle to the music. She fit perfectly against him and moved smoothly, gracefully, through the simple demands of the dance. And as in Hyde Park he was stunned by his physical reaction to her. It was a body blow, like a fist to his gut, a tingle along his veins, an outrageous desire to lift her face and cover that enchanting mouth with his own. To kiss her slender fingers in a formal salute was simply not enough. No matter that the whole world might be watching—in that moment he did not care.

  And then: I do not want this! His expression as he glanced down at her was almost fierce. Together with the overwhelming wave of lust came the knowledge that this girl was dangerous and his reaction to her was too extreme for comfort. He set himself to resist. He knew that her conduct could be far outside the acceptable and he could not afford to tolerate that. There had been enough scandal in the Faringdon family of late to last a lifetime. He must resist at all costs!

  And Theodora? She was aware of none of these thoughts. Aware of nothing but the weight and strength of his arms around her, the clasp of his hand on hers, cool skin against cool skin, the slightest pressure of his body as it brushed hers in the demands of the dance. The memory of the touch of his lips on her hand still burned as a brand. She had waltzed with other partners with mild pleasure. But never anything like this. Lord Nicholas Faringdon quite simply caused her heart to beat against the confines of her bodice like a wild bird in a cage, until she was sure that he would feel the force of it against his chest when he held her close. Just as he had destroyed her composure when his hand had closed around her wrist with such mastery in Hyde Park.

  This was no good! Thea knew that she could not remain silent.

  ‘I have to thank you, my lord.’ Thea raised her eyes to his as they settled into the rhythm of the music. Her colour was a trifle heightened, he noted as dispassionately as he was able, tinting her cheeks a delicious rose, but she was not shy. All he could think about was the sensation of holding her in his arms. He did not want this attraction.

  ‘Why?’

  She was taken aback by this somewhat curt response. And were not his eyes unsettlingly, chillingly grey rather than blue? Perhaps she had simply mistaken it and struggled to find the right words. ‘I am not unaware of the debt I owe you. It would have been most uncomfortable for me if you had revealed the … the circumstances of our previous meeting. You deserve my gratitude, my lord.’

  ‘It is not necessary.’

  And … and I should apologise for my … behaviour towards you,’ she persisted. ‘It was most regrettable.’

  ‘There is no need.’

  ‘But I hurt you!’ Her eyes snapped up to his in some confusion. She could not read his expression behind the bland mask. No, she realised, it was not bland but icy with controlled temper. ‘I see the evidence of it on your hand—you cannot deny it.’

  ‘Very well, then. Yes. You did. Unnecessarily, as it happened. I had no intention of either harming or molesting you, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’

  ‘I realise that … I should explain.’ She was getting nowhere here. ‘There were circumstances …’ What should she say? She did not wish to bare her soul over the matter of her past experiences, her innermost fears, and certainly not in the centre of a ballroom with a partner who had an amazing effect on her senses and who was less than accommodating to her attempts to make remission. She had apologised and he was totally insensitive to the fact. What could she say? How could she explain? In the event she did not have to.

  ‘I need no explanation, madam.’ If his eyes froze her, his voice would reduce her to an icicle if she allowed it. ‘You reacted as you saw fit.’ Why did those words have all the air of a snub rather than a soothing offer of forgiveness? She could not be mistaken. There was a cold condemnation in that smooth voice and she did not know what she had done to deserve quite so harsh a judgement. ‘I do not need to know,’ Lord Nicholas continued in preparation for launching the final deadly arrow. ‘But at least you are more conventionally dressed tonight than when we last had the misfortune to meet.’

  Any number of sharp replies coming into her mind, Theodora opened her mouth to utter them. Then closed her lips. Since when are you free to comment on what I might or might not wear, my lord? She could not say that aloud, of course—or not here! This was not the time or place to create a scene. The fact that she had indeed been in the wrong ruffled her temper further but she kept a firm hold on it. She smiled, a miracle of control, and chose her words with deadly precision. ‘Yes, I believe that I am, my lord. Everyone who has danced with me has complimented me on my stylish dress à la mode and the appropriateness of this particular creation. Madame Therese is a true artiste, is she not?’

  He could not deny the delicate gloss of sarcasm over her words and had the grace to wince a little. But only inwardly.

  ‘I am delighted that you approve my appearance, my lord. It gives me so much confidence. Without your approval I should be desolate indeed.’ Thea did not let up. But why was he so cold? Perhaps she must accept that, in all truth, being struck by a riding whip would make him so. She had read the contempt in his eyes as their first meeting drew to its unfortunate ending—an infinite quality of disdain—and there was no difference now. But she denied his right to taunt her!

  ‘I think that you do not lack for confidence, madam.’

  A flash of anger darkened her eyes at this lethal sniping. She bit down on any further sharp response. She could not understand the reason for it, but gathered all her social skills about her.

  ‘Perhaps we should talk of something less controversial, my lord? A ballroom is no place for such a frank exchange of views.’ The smile was still in place. She would keep it there if it killed her!

  ‘Of course, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’ Nicholas, too, bared his teeth in what could have passed for pleasure if anyone was observing the handsome couple. ‘What do you suggest that we might have in common to discuss?’

  Before she could think of anything polite to reply to this challenge, the waltz had drawn to an end and he escorted her with frigid good manners back to where her parents and the Faringdons were ensconced. He bowed to her, and with equal chill to Lady Beatrice. Thea’s hand was soon claimed. She saw Lord Nicholas treading the measure of a country dance further down the set with Judith.

  Nicholas made no attempt to approach Thea for the rest of the evening. Theodora made sure that her eyes did not follow him as he danced with other
ladies of his acquaintance.

  ‘Nicholas is quite my favourite cousin,’ Judith observed in a deceptively neutral voice in an interval between dances.

  ‘Is he?’ Thea studied her dance list intently.

  ‘And he is so handsome. Do you not agree?’

  ‘Certainly. I doubt any woman here tonight would disagree.’

  Judith gave up, not a little surprised at the lack of interest between them. Nicholas had not set foot near Thea since that one first waltz. But there would be time and enough for them to get to know each other. She would see to it that they did.

  Nicholas returned to Faringdon House in a thoroughly bad mood. He was furious with Beatrice. Even after he had warned her off, his aunt had produced a beautiful débutante—he could not deny her lovely face and figure—whom she considered suitable. Suitable? She had no idea! He was also furious with himself for taking out his ill temper on the girl. He might have kept the semblance of good manners, but his comments had been unwarrantable. And he was equally furious with Theodora Wooton-Devereux, whose presence in his arms had left a lasting and most uncomfortable impression on him. He resigned himself to an uneasy night.

  Theodora returned to Upper Brook Street equally angry and confused, despite the success of her first public occasion in London. How dare he treat her so! She did not deserve his damning opinions of her or his icy set-downs. And why should he react quite so violently against her? Was he so dull and hidebound that he should condemn her for one social solecism? Well—she did not care! But she determined as she removed the pearl drops from her ears that she would get the better of Lord Nicholas Faringdon!

  Chapter Four

  Since both Lord Nicholas Faringdon and Miss Theodora WootonDevereux moved in the first circles in London society, it was to be expected that their paths would cross with frequency. And they did. If they had not done so by accident, they would certainly have done so by design. For both Lady Beatrice and the Countess of Painscastle considered Theodora to be a most suitable and enlivening match for their uncooperative relative, and Nicholas an equally desirable husband for so delectable a débutante. The opinion of neither lady nor gentleman was sought.

  So they came quite naturally within each other’s orbit at the social events of the Season, whether it be alfresco breakfasts, riverboat parties on the Thames or the more conventional soirées and balls. Unfortunately for those most interested in the match, who watched the pair with keen eyes, it appeared that there would be little chance of his lordship fixing his interest with the lady. For there was a decided edge to their meetings from the very beginning.

  ‘Lord Nicholas.’ Theodora curtsied and smiled politely upon meeting his lordship as she descended the steps from the Painscastle Town House in Grosvenor Square, closely followed by Judith, two days after Lady Aston’s drum. ‘I had thought you might have returned to the country.’

  ‘My estate will survive a day or two without my presence.’ He bowed his head unsmilingly.

  ‘I expect it will.’ She unfurled her parasol with graceful expertise and only mild interest. ‘I understand that the land belongs to your nephew?’

  ‘Yes. He is the Marquis of Burford.’

  ‘Tom is hardly more than a baby and lives in New York.’ Judith added the explanation, struck by the unexpectedly stark confrontation.

  ‘And you administer it, my lord.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I see. A worthwhile occupation, I expect.’

  Lord Nicholas inclined his head. Now, why did he get the impression that she disapproved, that she had judged him as some variety of noxious parasite to live off the wealth and achievement of others? It ruffled him more than he cared to admit. But he strove with perfect success to preserve a courteous and faintly amused expression.

  ‘Does it not meet with your liking, madam?’

  ‘I am sure that it is no concern of mine, my lord, how you choose to live your life.’

  ‘Very true. It is not.’

  Accepting the put-down with raised brows, Miss Wooton-Devereux persisted. Of course he was ruffled. She would teach him to look at her with such arrogant superiority! ‘I would have thought a man would want to develop his own land, my lord. Not that of another, however close the relationship with the owner.’

  His voice became positively glacial, his eyes a distinct quality of arctic grey. ‘It is a responsibility to my family, and so it is my duty. I am trustee for the estate’s well-being.’ So, she would have the temerity to hold his lifestyle up for criticism, would she? And why was he actually explaining his views to the woman …?

  ‘Of course.’ Theodora simply angled her head and smiled.

  Nicholas felt the muscles in his jaw clench. Was she deliberately baiting him? Surely she was!

  Judith leapt into the breach. ‘You should know, Theodora, that Nicholas has his own estate at Aymestry Manor.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘He breeds horses.’

  ‘How interesting.’

  And although Theodora would have dearly loved to have entered into a discussion of the rival merits of English thoroughbreds against Arab bloodlines, she restrained herself. She would not admit to any similarity of interest with his lordship.

  Damn her! Nicholas watched as the two ladies made their way out of the Square. Why should it matter what Miss Wooton-Devereux thought of him?

  But it did.

  And became increasingly important as the days passed. Although he would have been the first to deny it, Nicholas could not help but be aware of the lady. Not that he approved of her to any degree! Her behaviour was always within the bounds of acceptance—yet not the demure and decorous demeanour to be expected of a débutante. Her appearance was noticeably unconventional with her short hair and striking gowns. She flirted outrageously, showing particular skill in the use of her fan and those miraculously long and thick eyelashes. Not that he had noticed them, of course! She was outspoken to a fault on all manner of subjects, from the politics of the day to the unfortunately corpulent and badly dressed figure presented by the Prince Regent.

  When she danced with the highly eligible and extremely rich Earl of Moreton, her mother’s chosen favourite in her plan to find a wealthy, titled husband for her daughter, Nicholas could do nothing but turn his back and invite another lady to partner him. He would not give her the pleasure of seeing him watch her circle the ballroom, however graceful and elegant she might be. He would not. And when his aunt once more invited him to take dear Thea into supper, or partner her in a country dance, he would bow and comply with firm composure as if it were a matter of no possible consequence to take that long-fingered hand in his—or else he would discover an instant excuse for his attendance elsewhere. But he would not single the lady out. He would not give the lady or Lady Beatrice the opportunity to gloat!

  But if that were so, why was he still in town? Nicholas refused to consider the implication of such perverse behaviour.

  Meanwhile, Thea refused to notice or to be disappointed when his lordship led another pretty débutante into a country dance set. Or failed to put in an appearance at Almack’s when she had chosen to wear a particularly flattering gown of emerald silk overlaid with silver-grey lace. Instead, she took every opportunity to be deliberately provocative—a task that she found surprisingly easy. Quite as effortless as Lord Nicholas in taking her to task for her somewhat slighting remark on the overbearing tactics of the Duke of Wellington in the government of the day.

  ‘Is that your own opinion, madam? Or that of Sir Hector?’ Unable to ignore her in so small a gathering, Nicholas handed her a glass of champagne at Lady Beatrice’s small soirée, his expression one of distinct disapproval.

  ‘My own, of course.’ Thea sipped the golden bubbles with a little smile.

  ‘I did not realise that your interests stretched to politics, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’

  ‘And should they not?’

  ‘It is not always to be expected in a débutante.’

  ‘It is important to be
well informed, I believe.’

  Lord Nicholas merely observed her without reply, one brow lifted a fraction of an inch.

  Well! She could not allow so negative and patronising a response go unanswered!

  ‘Can it be that you are criticising my upbringing and education, my lord?’ Thea’s brows rose in delicate arcs. She watched him over the rim of her glass.

  ‘I would not be so bold, ma’am.’

  ‘My upbringing has been impeccable,’ the lady informed him, ‘according to the advanced ideas of the philosopher Rousseau. And as advocated by Maria Edgeworth, no less, in her Practical Education.’

  ‘I can well believe it.’

  ‘It is essential,’ continued the lady, ‘that every child and thus every adult be treated as an individual to develop his or her innate talents and abilities.’

  ‘Most estimable, to be sure.’

  ‘Thus I would consider it necessary that every intelligent woman be aware of the policies of our government and the political figures who influence them. Which makes me free to be critical if I find the Duke’s approach not to my taste.’

  ‘As I would agree.’ Nicholas smiled with all the friendliness of a kestrel eyeing a tasty mouse. ‘But even Rousseau considered the opinions of the female sex to be far inferior to those of the male.’ He raised his glass in a little toast and drank from it. ‘I am certain that, educated as you are, you see the force of my argument.’

  ‘No! I do not, my lord!’ Thea felt a warmth of colour touch her cheek at his underhand tactics.

  ‘Now, why did I think that would be your answer?’

  Which left Theodora without a parting shot.

  And gave Lord Nicholas a degree of satisfaction.