where dance partners spun in their own orbits and rotated
about the center of the ballroom in perfect measure.
Except one orbit was about to change quite drastically.
Having the foreknowledge that such an event was about to occur, George knew if he positioned himself just so, he would gain his own moon if he just held out his one arm at waist level and prepared to begin moving in the same direction as Lady Elizabeth. The Duke of Somerset’s misstep caused the man to lose his grip on Elizabeth’s waist. With her momentum still sending her in a circle, her spinning skirts adding to the effect, she was unable to stop without stumbling and had to let go of the duke’s hand. George managed to capture her waist against one palm while raising his hand to gently grasp hers in mid-air.
Anyone watching might have figured out the entire maneuver was carefully planned and executed, except that the duke was left breathless and apparently embarrassed at the edge of the dance floor, and George was suddenly enjoying himself. The duke hurried away, telling a nearby associate that his shoe’s heel had come loose, and he left the ballroom, presumedly to see about getting it repaired.
“Oh!” Elizabeth let out suddenly, her gorgeous eyes so wide George was sure he could climb in and drown in their aquamarine depths. She dared a glance over his shoulder as they spun away from those who stood near the edge of the dance floor and the scene of the hand-off.
“Are you quite all right, my lady?” George wondered, giving voice to his first concern after being sure he had them waltzing in a safe direction and to the actual rhythm of the music and not to the staccato beating of his heart.
Elizabeth stared at him and then blinked, as if she did not believe him to exist. “Why, I was quite sure I was going to end up on the floor,” she said in astonishment. She took a breath and looked about, realizing her new dance partner was doing all the work in keeping them moving.
Had she been unfamiliar with the waltz, she might have stumbled several times just since her new partner’s arrival. But this was her third Season, and he was a strong lead. “I must be unharmed as it appears I am dancing, although I must thank you for making all the effort. I have been of absolutely no help,” she replied finally, her eyes still wide as they took in the amused expression of her rescuer. Sable hair, cut rather short and combed forward in the latest style framed a face that was not particularly handsome. The bronzed skin suggested a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors—horseback riding, she thought as she considered his developed physique. Tiny lines at the edges of his brown eyes made her guess his age at somewhere near thirty. The straight, sloping brows were full at the base of his high forehead. His eyelids tucked under a stretch of skin that followed the line of his brows, making him appear just a bit sleepy. There was a hint of a hook at the end of his arced and somewhat crooked nose, making her think it might have once been broken. And he had an easy smile that displayed even, white teeth and laugh lines on either side of his mouth.
And it was his mouth that had Elizabeth mesmerized.
He had perfect lips. A lower lip that wasn’t too full and an upper lip with rounded triangles on either side. Some might call them chiseled. Kissable lips, she thought, her face coloring up as she made the assessment. She was suddenly reminded of the kiss the Earl of Trenton had bestowed on her in the garden and quickly put it out of her mind.
“I say, that was rather an abrupt departure on His Grace’s part,” George spoke, his eye brows furrowed in feigned disgust. “Are you sure you are unharmed?” he wondered as he regarded the young woman, her cream tulle and satin skirts swaying against his legs as the waltz ended.
Elizabeth Carlington smiled as she gazed up at him, the hand she had placed on his shoulder during the dance now laying against her beautiful bosom, just above the edge of her low-cut bodice and the swath of ruched cream tulle decorating the top of her gown. She struggled to catch her breath.
George was awestruck as her aquamarine eyes again met his, their long lashes framing the wide almond shapes topped by eyebrows that were arched into an expression of delight. Her brilliant smile, outlined by lips that he thought would be luscious to kiss, the straight nose, not too long and not too flared at the bottom, and high cheekbones were encompassed in a perfect oval with a hint of a widow’s peak at the very top. And that led to that gorgeous auburn hair, dressed into a mass of curls and adorned with baby’s breath and tiny cream rosebuds.
She was a luscious looking woman, George decided right then.
“I am,” she replied as she took another quick breath and gave him a nod of assurance. “His Grace may not be, I fear,” she added, her happy countenance belying her words. “He quite suddenly grew another left foot …” She stopped in mid-sentence, her face coloring up to a pink that was quite fetching. “Oh, please forgive me,” she breathed, the smile suddenly disappearing from her face.
Realizing what she was about to say, George allowed his own smile to broaden. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady. You made His Grace look a far sight better than he has in years,” he said as he regarded her, suddenly wondering if he should be so bold as to suggest he escort her to supper. Several couples were already leaving the dance floor and moving in that direction. “Forgive me. I am George Bennett-Jones, your servant,” he said as he hesitantly reached for her gloved hand, an eyebrow cocking as if to ask permission to kiss the back of it. He wasn’t yet used to introducing himself by his title. When he thought to add it at the last minute, he remembered Josephine’s instructions and did not offer it.
Her smile slowly returning, Elizabeth removed the hand from between her breasts and held it out to him. With it no longer covering the most beautiful cleavage George had seen the entire night, he was able to sneak a glance at the gentle swell of the tops of her rising moons as he brushed his lips over the back of the cream kid glove. He felt his loins tighten and had to swallow in an effort to regain control of himself.
“Lady Elizabeth … Carlington,” she responded as she curtsied, not taking back her hand with any kind of haste.
The sound of a stuttering snore tore George from his reverie, and he dared look to his left. Lord Witherspoon had fallen asleep, no doubt suffering from the same boredom the rest in the House of Lords seemed to be experiencing before the Lord Chancellor finally moved to the next order of business. The boredom drove him back into his daydream.
With his first sight of Elizabeth, George knew she was her own glorious sun, her smile and auburn hair radiating light and warmth as she moved effortlessly across the ballroom floor. Unfortunately, at the moment he saw her for the first time, her planet was Wellingham. With his butter blond curls, bright blue eyes and once boyish features finally hardening into handsome lines, the young earl was a perfect contrast to Lady Elizabeth’s coloring. Given their families’ status in the ton—her the daughter of a marquess and him the Earl of Trenton—they were a perfect match.
George found himself wondering when the engagement would be announced.
And quite suddenly, a curl of jealousy formed within his belly. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that had him feeling a bit annoyed and a bit off-kilter and just a bit … possessive. What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered suddenly. I only danced with her. And he planned to send a contribution to her charity, anonymously, if her father wasn’t funding it as George suspected.
But there had been that wonderful conversation during the supper, and the look in her eyes when he had rescued her from the duke, and the way she had said, “George.” A man could do no better than Lady Elizabeth Carlington, he had found himself thinking the night before, just before the second waltz.
And the Earl of Trenton had apparently come to the same conclusion.
The thought again rankled George. Why should he allow the earl to court Lady Elizabeth unfettered? I have as much right to court her as any other unmarried man in the ton.
Well, he did if her father gave his permission. And if she allowed him to, of course.
And who was he to think he could court Lady Elizabeth when the Earl of Trenton seemed ready to ask for her hand? George was merely a viscount. With a net worth maybe a third of the earl’s and an ugly puss for a face …
Well, ugly might be a strong word, he amended, remembering that Josephine thought him quite handsome when he smiled.
But he certainly couldn’t hold a candle to Butter Blond’s fair complexion, blue eyes and those curls that seemed to have all the young ladies of the ton batting their lashes at him. George wondered if they did it in order to create enough wind so that his hair might be blown out of place, forcing him to notice them as he strolled by.
The Earl of Trenton was the epitome of what the ladies of the ton found most appealing.
The very first Season George spent time in London—he was two-and-twenty that year—his own hair was more in vogue, its dark sable lit with a few hints of gold. But without the facial features the young ladies seemed to favor and no title at the time, he found very few willing dance partners and even fewer with whom he wanted to spend time. He eschewed the ballroom and parlors in favor of learning to fence and to shoot pistols and muskets, taking great satisfaction in becoming an expert marksman with a sword as well as with a gun. As a result, his body was lean, well muscled, and certainly more suited to the current fashions than most.
Lady Elizabeth certainly seemed to think so, he thought. Once their introductions were complete, he had asked if he might escort her to the supper, realizing the now-departed Duke of Somerset was probably expecting to do so before he supposedly grew his additional left foot.
“I would like that very much, Mr. Bennett-Jones,” she replied with a shy smile, her gaze never once leaving his to look for the Butter Blond that probably expected to dine with her if she wasn’t with the duke.
George offered his arm, and Elizabeth placed her gloved hand on it. A frisson passed through his arm as he felt her light touch. He noticed the contrast of her cream kid gloves on the sleeve of his black satin tailcoat. This was a woman he wanted on his arm at every event, he thought suddenly.
What the hell am I thinking?
They made their way to the large supper room. Set up with a long, well-stocked buffet table and dozens of round tables dressed in white linens and crystal and chargers, its centerpiece was an ice sculpture. A swan bobbed in its own pond atop the main buffet table, its neck towering over the roast pig below. Footmen served a variety of foods from several locations as well as carried trays with glasses of champagne.
George searched for a table set away from the growing crowd, noticing one in front of a wall of windows that looked out onto a terrace and garden. Paper lanterns lit the gardens beyond the windows, giving the area an ethereal feel unlike the rest of the supper room. “Will this do for my lady?” he asked as he moved to pull out a chair.
“Of course,” she replied without hesitation, her smile never seeming forced. She took the chair that George held for her and glanced up at him with an appreciative nod.
George still expected someone to come claim her.
“Might I fill a plate for you? Or would you prefer to join me at the buffet table?” he wondered. He noted there were very few woman in the line, and those that were in line were dowagers; most men seemed to see to their lady’s meals.
Lady Elizabeth blushed. She blushed! “Oh, I do not need an entire supper,” she answered, turning to take a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “Perhaps I can just help myself to some nibbles from your plate?” she suggested, her teeth suddenly catching her lower lip and her eyes widening as if she had caught herself saying something not quite acceptable.
Nibbles!
It was nearly his undoing. Besides the sudden humor George felt at her comment, his cock was responding as if it wanted to be one of those nibbles. George tried hard to suppress the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth and found he could not. “You can help yourself to nibbles from my plate any time, my lady,” he said with as much humor as he felt, deciding a bit of flirtation and his easy smile could only help his cause.
Giggling so that a dimple showed in one of her cheeks, Lady Elizabeth took a sip of champagne and watched as George made his way to the buffet. He felt her eyes on him while he chose foods most easily eaten with fingers, including an array of sweets. When those that recognized him nodded or made comments, he acknowledged in kind but did not initiate any conversation that might keep him from Lady Elizabeth’s side any longer than was necessary.
When he returned to their table, he was almost surprised to find her still there, although Lady Charlotte was leaning over Elizabeth’s shoulder, speaking in hushed tones. He heard only a snippet of their conversation as he moved to his seat on the other side of Elizabeth, but the snippet included the name of a man who had recently inherited a dukedom.
Chapter 14
Thoughts on a Ball Overcome Boredom
George pulled his attention back to the Parliament chambers and allowed his gaze to drift to Edward Bingham, Earl of Ellsworth. He grimaced as he thought of Bingham’s daughter, Charlotte. A good friend of Lady Elizabeth’s, she had been betrothed to the Earl of Grinstead.
Poor thing.
With his recent death and that of his father’s in a horrible house fire, she was probably now betrothed to Grinstead’s younger brother—the new Duke of Chichester. Joshua Wainwright had survived the fire, but lay nearly comatose in a London hospital. If one believed the on-dit spoken in parlors throughout Mayfair, the young man’s body was entirely covered in burns that would leave him disfigured for the rest of his life. His Grace with half a face, he had heard someone say at the ball the night before. To hear Lady Charlotte speak of him, though, one was led to believe he would be fully recovered in a few months and ready to take on the duties of his new title.
George decided the truth was somewhere in-between.
And he also realized that Lady Charlotte seemed quite satisfied with the change in future husbands. Given Grinstead’s penchant for bedding whores even while employing a string of mistresses, George could understand why.
Joshua Wainwright’s only vice, on the other hand, seemed to be gaming hells. He favored faro but was known to limit his bets to those he could cover with his own allowance. Given Lady Charlotte had been training to be a duchess her entire life, Joshua Wainwright might make a fine duke with her by his side.
George returned his attention to the Lord Chancellor, managing to follow his discourse for nearly a half hour before boredom forced him to glance around the chambers again. He noted that the Marquess of Devonville seemed especially attentive, his scowl suggesting he disagreed with what was being said.
The marquess had held court the night before in the card room at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. He complained of being confounded by his daughter, Lady Hannah Slater. Due to two years of mourning—both her mother and then an aunt had died quite suddenly—she was finally having her first Season at the ripe old age of twenty. And despite being a beauty, with tight spiral blonde locks surrounding a complexion that was the epitome of flawless porcelain and lips that were quite full and the color of almost-ripe berries, she had yet to secure a husband from the half-dozen young gents who called on her. She claimed to prefer the company of one Harold MacDuff, an unfashionably large Alpenmastiff that followed her everywhere and left gobs of slobber in his wake.
“She insists she wants a man
only with whom to have children,” Lord Devonville complained as he lit his second cheroot of the evening. “Says that men only love their mistresses, and so she is only interested in a husband for the children he can give her.”
George had listened intently, surprised that a woman of only twenty could already know what it took most women in the ton years to figure out—mistresses were a man’s passion while wives were merely the mothers of their children.
Perhaps Lady Hannah’s mother had explained it to her when she was younger.
But as George thought more about it, he realized he did not really love his own mistress. At least, not that in the romantic, passionate way in which he thought Lady Hannah meant.
The way he felt about Elizabeth.
Josephine Wentworth had become his best friend and confidante, it was true, but he could not claim to be in love with her.
And he hadn’t bedded his mistress in several weeks.
“It sounds as if your daughter knows you too well,” the Earl of Torrington teased the marquess from his place at a card table. “And her dog is very intelligent.”
Devonville pointed his cheroot in the earl’s direction. “Damn you, Grandby, you know I never loved any of my mistresses,” he shot back, although there was no animosity in the rebuke. The comment was followed by light laughter, but George noticed the look of hurt in Devonville’s eyes as he resumed smoking. The marquess might have married for convenience, but, by the time he had lost his wife to a sudden fever, he dearly loved her.
And the man hadn’t employed a mistress in a very long time.
George thought of Josephine and wondered when he might see her again. These days, to say he employed her as his mistress would be stretching the truth, he knew. At one time, he had looked forward to his twice-weekly visits with the elegant, older woman, enjoying a tumble or two and a glass of brandy at a townhouse in Westminster which he at first rented and then later purchased on her behalf. But after his uncle’s death and his inheritance of the viscountcy, George found he looked forward more to the time they spent in conversation than the time they spent in her bed. Now, during his visits, which tended to be during tea time, they met in her parlor and spoke of politics, gossip and the arts of seduction and sex. These last topics sometimes led them upstairs, where she tutored him in kissing, foreplay and how to make love while in a variety of positions. The last time he had shared her bed was more than a month ago, when she had taught him how to use his tongue on her most intimate parts in order to send her into ecstasy. Her lesson proved so effective she succumbed to la petite mort, leaving George wondering what he had done wrong.
Love Regency Style Page 203