by LeFey, Liana
Papa and Catherine both expressed pleasure over her apparent success with Ravenwood, who had come to speak with them again while she danced with another gentleman. Their joy was tempered, however, by her burgeoning friendship with Lady Montgomery. Between dances, the beautiful redhead introduced her to many of her acquaintances, further broadening her circle. But the fact that she so obviously approved of a match between Eden and Percy was not to be forgiven. Catherine said nothing, but her lips thinned every time the woman’s name was mentioned.
Privately, Eden was elated to have Lady Montgomery as an ally—especially when she extended an invitation to join her for a casual weekly visit. No doubt Percy would be there, as well. And her stepmother. Still, it meant she’d get to see him more often and on friendly ground.
The final dance was called, and Eden found herself once more paired with the handsomest gentleman in England. For a moment, she allowed herself to dream. If they married, she would never again have to endure separation at the end of a ball. She’d ride away with him in their carriage. The curtains would be drawn to conceal the many scandalous kisses they’d share on their way home, and when they reached their destination…
“Your eyes betray your thoughts,” murmured Percy as they joined hands. “As does your pretty blush.”
“You claim to know my thoughts now, do you?”
His gaze intensified. “If I said you were remembering a kiss, would I be wrong?”
“Are you an oracle now to be reading my thoughts as words on a page?” she asked, emboldened enough to laugh despite the warmth creeping up her neck.
A glittering smile lit his whole face at her answer. “I’m pleased you feel no need to deny it.”
“Such presumption,” she teased, careful to keep her voice low enough others wouldn’t overhear. “You assume it is your kiss I recall.”
His grin broadened. “It is not presumption, dear lady, but certainty,” he countered as he turned her about. “I’ll temper my arrogance by telling you I suffer a similar affliction of the memory.”
A thrill shot through her. “Do you?”
“I do.” He fell silent as they interleaved with another couple, but resumed speech after they rejoined. “And a most vexing affliction it is. My thoughts are interrupted with alarming frequency throughout the day, and my sleep is plagued so I awake in such a state of longing that I cannot again find slumber.”
Searing heat unfurled deep in her belly. Despite the sensation, she maintained her light tone. “I’m not entirely certain you should be discussing this malady with me when perhaps a doctor might better serve you.”
“The only physician I require is you,” he murmured, the gravel in his voice betraying his desire. “You are my singular cure, Eden.”
That she should feel so positively indecent in the middle of a crowded ballroom was a measure of his effect on her. Had they been somewhere private, she would have obeyed the impulse to make her dream a reality and kiss him.
Perhaps even more than just kiss.
It struck her how easily she’d made the transition from naïve miss to shameless wanton. Inside her thoughts, at least. Outwardly, no one would ever know how much this man made her want to do sinful things.
No one but him. She suspected he knew exactly what was going on in her head. Another wave of heat rose to engulf her as she wondered whether he was having similar thoughts.
The song’s ending brought their time together to a close. A curtsy, a bow, and it was over.
Desire clung to her like a thick fog as he led her back to her father’s side. The touch of his hand over hers on his sleeve instilled in her a kind of aching hunger. Not gentle but fierce, a need almost. It was as if she would starve without him.
No one else had ever inspired such feelings in her. And she was convinced they never would. It was a sobering thought. Could she bear to marry someone else?
The question lingered in her mind as she watched Percy disappear into the crush. Inside, in her heart of hearts, a tiny voice whispered never.
Chapter Twelve
It took every ounce of Percy’s strength to overcome the urge to turn around, go back, and bend knee right then in front of God and everyone else in the Sheffields’ ballroom. The only thing that stopped him was the need to be sure of her answer before doing so.
Her heart must wholly and beyond all doubt belong to him. He wanted to hear the words from her lips and see the truth of them in her eyes. Then and only then would he declare himself.
As he turned, he spied his would-be rival Ravenwood standing amid a group of dandies. That he himself would likely be considered a dandy didn’t bother Percy at all. There was a fine line between vulgar ostentation and presenting oneself as a fashionable example of good taste—and he was careful to always remain on the right side of the line.
Most of the men in Ravenwood’s circle appeared to have erred on the wrong side. In his yellow silk, Ravenwood stood out like a beacon even among such peacocks. The man clearly craved attention.
But though the ladies nearby looked at the fellow with much the same eagerness Percy had himself for years both enjoyed and endured, Ravenwood appeared truly oblivious to their presence. Any other man in his position would be flaunting his wares with the aim of taking full advantage of the resulting admiration—as were several of his comrades.
Yet Ravenwood didn’t.
Some men affected dispassion as a means of whetting a woman’s appetite—everyone longed for that which they thought unattainable. But instinct told him this was not the man’s intent.
Had Percy been in his place, he’d have casually turned to the side and rested a fist on his hip, pulling back his jacket to proudly display his manly figure—particularly the well-filled front of his breeches. Then he’d have flashed an occasional smile at the ladies to spur hopes and whip them into a frenzy of feminine preening.
Not once did Ravenwood cast even a glance at the women, much less a smile. For a man dressed in bright yellow and reputed to be a younger version of himself, he seemed somewhat less than keen to garner female notice.
Thus it was to Percy’s surprise when he found the man a dutiful and determined caller at Eden’s residence the week following. Thrice did he encounter the fellow, once on the way coming in and twice on his way out. Each time, Ravenwood passed him by with barely a polite nod of greeting, his eyes hard and unfriendly.
It soon became apparent he was going to have to speak to the man and clarify his position. He hoped it wouldn’t result in an altercation.
Walking in the garden with Eden—under the watchful eyes of her stepmother who stood at the window overlooking them—he expressed his concern.
“She’s determined to force him upon me,” replied Eden. “I’ve told her I don’t want him, but she will have none of it. She continues to encourage him, and I cannot be rude to him without incurring her wrath. She has threatened to forbid your visits if I do anything to put him off.”
“If she does, I’ll find other ways to see you. No door in England is closed to me. At least not for long.”
“There is something else, too,” she said after a moment’s silence. “Ravenwood is a very strange man. The way he looks at me…”
“Yes?” Percy’s gut tightened. “How does he look at you?”
She squirmed a little. “Like I’m a curiosity or something to be studied. He’s very reserved for someone of his reputation. Mama is enamored of him, and they get on well, but I don’t…” She paused as though searching for words. “To be honest, I don’t think he actually likes me very much. Not—not in the same way you like me.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “Yet he continues to call.”
Her words touched on that nagging suspicion he’d had since observing the man at the Sheffield ball. “I wonder…” He peered at her sidelong for a moment. “Has he made any attempt to inspire romantic sentiments between you?”
“Most of our conversations have centered on French fashion, the addition of a new folly on his country estate, an
d his ‘extensive’ gardens.”
“No talk of marriage?”
She bit her bottom lip, a clear sign of reluctance. “Although there have been no violent declarations, he has begun asking leading questions of me—seemingly innocuous inquiries concerning preferences in décor. Last night Mama confided her suspicion of his intent to reappoint his house according to my answers. She believes this is in preparation for his proposal.” Again, she took that plump bottom lip between her teeth, tormenting it briefly. “She has demanded I accept his offer, should one be put forth. If we are to act, it must be soon.”
Bloody hell. “I am, as you know, hosting a party next week.” He struggled for calm. “I shall invite Ravenwood. I can expect him to attend, because you will be there and he won’t like the idea of me having your undivided attention. I shall at that time speak with him and see if I can persuade him to leave off his pursuit of you.”
“Do you think he will heed you?”
“I must make the attempt. If it goes ill…”
“I want no duels,” she said quickly.
“My intent is not to challenge him, but to warn him I cannot be dissuaded.”
“But he already knows you are his chief rival. He cannot have helped but see the difference in me when I’m with you, as opposed to him.”
“Yes, but he has not yet been directly threatened by me.” He stopped and looked into her stormy blue eyes. “He must know beyond all doubt that his cause is a hopeless one. After it’s been made clear there is no possibility of success, he’ll have little choice but to fish elsewhere for a bride. No man wants to wed a woman whose affections are already given to another.”
When she made no objection, he knew he was right, that it was he who held her heart. His own quickened its pace. If I were to ask her now, she would say yes.
And yet his heart rebelled against the idea. No. When she accepted him, it must be solely because it was what she wanted, not because she was avoiding a more unpleasant alternative. Pride would not allow escape from Ravenwood to be a factor in her decision to become his wife.
Then, too, there was her father to consider. Would he agree to the match against Lady Catherine’s objection?
It was still too soon. Better to eliminate the competition first in all respects, leaving Eden free to choose and Sir Geoffrey with no other immediate option. It was well into the Season now. If Eden didn’t soon become engaged, she would have to return home and very likely wait another year.
After bidding farewell to Eden and her stepmother, he went to see Loxdon. The man had not sent word of any news concerning Rowell and the missing Abigail, but he wanted to check in with him, anyway.
Fanny had been safely relocated with a local family in his debt until her sister could be found. He would’ve sent her to Raquel—Miss Trouvère, he corrected himself for the thousandth time—but there was too great a danger in settling her there without Abigail to anchor her. If she ran away with knowledge of the school and its origins and fell into the wrong hands, there would be no end of trouble.
“There is little activity to report.” Loxdon’s manner was apologetic as he made a place for his guest to sit amid the clutter in his office. “Rowell’s been sitting tight for some time, hardly putting his nose out of the door. It’s almost as if he knows he’s being watched, though it can’t be so. My men are the best. Not even you would know it if they were to be set on you.”
“I don’t doubt it. Keep at it. His nervousness may have nothing to do with us. Something else may have happened to make him fearful.” He hesitated to ask, but there was no other way, really. He needed information. “I have another job for you.”
Loxdon looked up from the papers on his desk. “Oh?”
“Lord Ravenwood,” Percy said, keeping his voice low. “He has begun pursuing Miss Eden Lowther, the lady I intend to make my wife.”
His friend’s bushy black brows rose. “I’d heard you were thick, the pair of you. I’d not heard you had a rival for her affection.”
“I don’t.” Percy favored him with a grim smile. “She wants none of him, but the man still insists on courting her. He has her parents’ support.”
“And you don’t.”
It rankled mightily, but he could only nod agreement with the unpleasant statement of fact. “Her stepmother fears my reputation—not without reason, I comprehend, but her insistence on thwarting me is most unfortunate. Miss Lowther and I are ready to marry, yet she wishes her father’s blessing. Without her stepmother’s agreement, I don’t believe he’ll give it. She won’t elope for fear of the scandal’s effect on her family’s fortunes.”
“Mothers-in-law,” snorted Loxdon, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and pulled his pipe from a coat pocket. “Right, I know Ravenwood well enough. You’re not the first to inquire after him.”
Percy frowned at this. “Who else has been asking?”
“Lady Billingsley had me look into the gentleman’s affairs last Season when he made an inquiry concerning her daughter.” Loxdon knocked the pipe on the side of his desk, scattering ash and half-burned tobacco leaves onto the piles of paper stacked on the floor. “What I managed to turn up on the fellow was enough to send her into a hysterical fit.”
“What did you discover?”
“A penchant for gaming hells and the frequenting of a certain bawdy house serving only such as have a preference for the lads.” The man’s nose wrinkled as he stuffed fresh tobacco into his pipe. “There were a few other less-than-savory items of note, but that one was enough to stop all negotiations for the match.”
Percy’s own nose pinched with distaste. “One must assume he paid handsomely for Lady Billingsley’s silence, else it would be all over London. Does he know how she learned of it?”
“It wasn’t the first time she’d hired me. She only takes the best, and everyone knows I am the best.” A feral grin spread across Loxdon’s face. “I doubt very much your lady’s parents know about him. Might be interesting for them to find out.”
Interesting wasn’t quite the word he was thinking of. “Mmm. But getting such information to them might prove challenging. It’s my word against his unless I present them with the proof—which I would prefer not to do, as it would reveal our association and potentially lead to the exposure of our joint endeavors.”
“You could always bring it up to Ravenwood in, ah, private. I cannot imagine him denying you anything in order to guarantee your silence. Even a hint of this could ruin him. You don’t have to reveal your source.”
“Extortion,” he murmured. “I dislike resorting to such base means of persuasion—but I’ll not discount it. The danger is that if I do so, he might do a little investigation of his own. I’ve been careful, but any information is available for the right price. Were he to expose my involvement with the school—”
“Through which only good has been done,” retorted Loxdon, pausing in the act of lighting his pipe.
“Yes, but I doubt Eden’s parents would approve. No. I’ll wait to use this knowledge until uttermost need requires it. Hopefully, I’ll be able to persuade Ravenwood to leave Eden be and win her parents’ acceptance without using it.”
“If it comes to it, I’ll be happy to testify on your behalf.”
Percy smiled at his friend through the sweet haze of smoke. Loxdon was a good fellow, one of the best. “I’ll hold that in reserve. I may one day need your testimony, though I hope not for a very long time, if ever.” Flipping out his watch, he checked the time. “I’m going to be late,” he muttered, not looking forward to his next errand.
Bidding Loxdon farewell, he turned his thoughts and his path to the widowed Lady Sotheby, who’d written again of her—their—daughter’s desire to see her “Uncle Percy” for her sixth birthday. He’d put it off for as long as possible, but the time had come. The visit with Lillien would be bittersweet, as always.
The visit with her mother would likely prove bitter only.
Now there was one lady who didn’t take a re
fusal well. He deeply regretted their brief affair. He wasn’t the only one to lament an association with her, either. Of her five children, only the first had belonged to her husband. The rest had all been fathered by different men, Lillien being the last.
Today’s call must be perceived as one made only out of respect for the deceased Lord Sotheby, a courtesy paid to his widow. The portfolio he carried contained several financial documents she’d presented as an excuse to garner his last visit. The matters they represented could have easily been dealt with by a solicitor—in fact he’d had his own attend to them—but at least it provided a legitimate reason for him to darken her doorstep.
His approach to said doorstep was boldly made, as that of a man with nothing to hide. The opposite was true in every way. So many secrets, so much to conceal. His whole life was founded on the shifting sands of deceit. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be so for much longer.
Shown into the drawing room, he awaited his hostess.
“Uncle Percy!” lisped a soft little voice from the door. The elfin features of his daughter peeked around the frame.
“Who’s this?” he said in mock surprise. “I expected little Lilly to come and see me, but I know not this young lady.”
Her bright eyes lit with innocent joy. “But I am Lilly.”
“No! Surely you cannot have grown so much since I last saw you?”
“I have grown tall. And look, I have lost another tooth.” She came closer and opened wide to point to the gap in her teeth.
“I see. It only makes your smile that much more charming, poppet.” Reaching into his valise, he withdrew a package wrapped in linen and tied with a fat pink ribbon.
“Is that for me?” she said at once.
He clutched the gift to his breast in mock affront. “No, indeed. I brought this for Sir Brushbotham.” Sir Brushbotham, her cat, was a favorite guest at her tea parties—as his portly figure attested.