Faith continued to sit in silence, so he went on. “The first contact I ever had with you was a short, terse note ordering me to remind Trevor Caldwell that his business reputation would suffer if it was shown he couldn’t handle your sister. At the time, I thought it a brilliant piece of deductive reasoning—and, of course, it worked.”
Faith finally stirred at this reminder of the role he’d played in almost ruining her sister’s relationship before it even began. “Given the fact that it was your impetuous and ill-placed wager in White’s betting book that nearly cost my sister the only man she’s ever loved, I felt it necessary to help you bring them back together.” She gave Gareth a smug, superior look.
The marquess’s voice grew soft. If Faith had known him better, she’d have become immediately alarmed, for any of his family and close friends could have told her that his tone indicated his otherwise rather generous supply of patience was at an end. “And so, princess, in the hope that you’d forgiven me, as your sister and brother-in-law have, I spoke to you at their wedding reception. I’d hoped to tell you how impressed I was with your strategy, but my attempts at conversation were clumsy, and you left me no chance to make it up.”
Faith raised her eyebrows. “The topic you broached that evening was neither suitable to me nor apparently relevant to the subject you say you wished to discuss, my lord.”
Gareth ignored her words. His smile turned mocking as he expertly brought the vehicle around to exit the park and return to the Caldwell town house. “You can imagine how pleased I was, then, to find myself alone with you last night on that balcony. It was the perfect opportunity to impart to you what I’d meant to say all those months ago.” His voice softened again, this time turning husky and deep. “I hadn’t counted on your being so lovely in the moonlight, or on the wistful expression in your eyes when you heard that waltz.”
Faith caught her breath and turned again to face him, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His expression in rugged profile was hard as he looked out at the road before them, and his brown eyes weren’t soft and warm any longer. They lapsed into silence.
Too soon, they pulled up in front of the Caldwell town house, and Faith felt a moment’s remorse as Gareth jumped down and held a hand up to help her disembark the carriage. She placed her gloved hand lightly in his and stepped down, halting him briefly when he started to escort her up the steps.
“My lord, I didn’t realize your intentions at my sister’s wedding.”
His face remained impassive, so she turned to walk up the steps, feeling helpless in the face of his withdrawal. He fell into pace beside her.
At the door she tried once more. “Lord Roth, I do accept your apology.” She stopped awkwardly as Wilson opened the door.
Gareth tipped his hat then took a step back. “Never mind, Miss Ackerly. If you’ll recall, you never gave me a chance to offer it.” And with that, he turned and strode down the steps, leaving a bemused Faith to step inside.
Wilson closed the door behind her.
Six
Don’t tell me you’ve come to appreciate that monstrosity!”
Faith smiled faintly as Grace appeared next to her with little Christian nestled on her shoulder. She was standing next to the tree Gareth had delivered, contemplating just how she could make up for the misunderstanding that had arisen between them. She’d decided she’d been more stubborn than the situation required, even if her assessment of his previous impropriety remained unchanged. “I can’t say I like it, no. But I do appreciate the spirit in which it was given.”
Grace peered at her sister’s troubled face. “Let’s go sit down,” she suggested. “Christian’s only a month old, but he grows quite heavy when I hold him for long periods of time.”
They walked into the drawing room, and Grace settled into the rocking chair that seemed so out of place among the other delicate pieces of furniture scattered about. Despite her fears to the contrary, Grace had immediately fallen in love with motherhood and insisted upon caring for Christian almost exclusively. Her decision had prompted Trevor, who adored his spirited young wife, to place a sturdy rocker in all of the rooms that Grace frequented, including his study.
Faith sat down on a padded stool close to her sister’s chair. “You know the marquess a great deal better than I do,” she said.
Grace nodded. Gareth Lloyd was a close friend of her husband, and she’d grown quite fond of him, despite the incident during their courtship which had almost resulted in destroying Grace and Trevor’s burgeoning relationship. She had long since forgiven him for placing a public bet in White’s famous betting book that had nearly humiliated Trevor and destroyed Grace’s reputation. The event was now something about which they frequently teased Gareth.
“I’m afraid I’ve offended him rather deeply. I was hoping to rectify that situation.”
Grace smiled. She knew her sister well enough to hear what Faith wouldn’t say aloud. “You’d prefer finding a way do it without seeming supplicating and undignified, yes?”
Faith hesitated, then nodded.
“Do you mind if I inquire as to the circumstances?” Grace asked gently.
After a moment’s hesitation and several halting starts, Faith recounted the tale from the beginning, starting with the letter she’d written to him the previous year, when he’d placed the ill-fated wager, the snub she’d delivered at Grace’s wedding, and the way she’d reacted to his words while they danced on the balcony. She blushed a little as she described their stolen waltz, but knew she could tell her sister nearly anything.
“The worst part is,” finished Faith miserably, “he tried several times to apologize to me during our drive, but I didn’t let him.”
Grace looked thoughtful. “It isn’t at all like you to have such strong reactions.” She smiled wryly. “After all, he didn’t call you an ice princess himself, merely stated he found it hard to believe Society does so.”
“That actually wasn’t what really bothered me,” Faith admitted, her face coloring a becoming shade of pink. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “It was the way I let him hold me. I…I wanted him to, Grace. I even found myself wishing he would kiss me.” She swallowed hard, fighting the strange knot of emotion that lodged in her midsection every time she considered her reaction to the unsettling marquess. “It isn’t at all proper. It makes me feel all…achy.”
Grace leaned back in her rocker and settled Christian in the crook of her arm, trying to hide the smile of satisfaction on her face. “Well, what’s wrong with feeling achy?”
Faith fidgeted, entirely uncomfortable with the topics of feelings and kisses, even though it was Grace in whom she was confiding. “Everything’s wrong with it. He’s not my husband, my fiancé, or even my beau. I want to be with someone who loves me the way Trevor loves you.” Her face softened. “His eyes go all warm when he sees you.” Faith gave a brief tremulous smile, and her sister watched it fade. “Gareth’s not that sort of man. And I shouldn’t have such feelings about him.”
Grace tilted her head, pondering all Faith hadn’t said, and wondered if it was physical intimacy she feared. Gareth’s reputation was that of a man who did not hide his interest in fulfilling his physical needs, and she couldn’t imagine he’d be different with someone about whom he cared. And with the marked attention the marquess was paying Faith, despite her every effort to discourage him, Grace was beginning to suspect he had a genuine interest in her sister, one that might even blossom into affection. “You know,” she remarked, “Trevor touched me and made me feel achy long before we ended up together.”
Faith fidgeted, confirming her sister’s belief that she was uncomfortable with thoughts of physical affection. “But he wanted you from the very beginning. Honorably. You never had a reason to question that.”
“No. But Trevor certainly had reason to question my feelings for him.” Grace smiled. “Why don’t you give Gareth a chance?”
“Because he’s known as nothing but a disreputable rake with o
nly the worst of intentions, no matter what Amanda Lloyd believes. People don’t change. Not really. A leopard can’t change its spots, you know.”
Grace looked thoughtful. “I disagree. People can change. He hasn’t been spoken of in connection with a woman, gently bred or otherwise, in over a year.”
“Likely because he hasn’t been in London in that long,” interjected Faith dryly.
“In fact,” continued Grace as though her sister had not spoken, “although I did not witness it, cooped up as I am here these days, I heard he turned a very cold shoulder to Evelyn Hedgepath when she practically threw herself at him in the middle of the dance floor.”
Faith chewed on her lip. “Last night? At the ball I attended?”
Grace nodded. “According to Aunt Cleo.” She gave Faith a pointed look. “Perhaps that’s what made him seek out a quiet moment, away from all those opportunities to be a ‘disreputable rake,’ there on that balcony. A quiet moment with you that he enjoyed so much that he came here today. To see you.”
Faith looked up. “I’d just like to set things right between us.”
“Well, then,” Grace pointed out, “tonight might be the perfect opportunity. Gareth is certain to be at Amanda’s annual ball. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a moment to apologize to him. He’s really a very good-natured person, you know. In fact, his temperament often reminds me of Trevor’s.”
“Who reminds you of me?”
The Earl of Huntwick stood in the doorway, a smile of possessive pride on his face as he looked at the child cuddled in his wife’s arms.
“Gareth, my lord.” Grace smiled, her face taking on the glow it always did when her husband was around.
He looked from his wife’s smugly smiling face to Faith and saw her discomfort. “Does this have anything to do with that rather odd-looking tree in my foyer?” he asked, then was obliged to rescue his tiny son as his wife dissolved into irrepressible giggles.
Faith glared at her.
Trevor lifted the baby over his head and looked up into the child’s angelic face, strolling in amusement out of the drawing room. “Perhaps we should warn Roth his life is about to be turned upside down,” he suggested to the little bundle. Christian appeared agreeable.
Suddenly, Trevor recalled Gareth’s role in his courtship of Grace. Grinning widely, he decided it would be far more entertaining to watch his friend learn everything on his own.
Hello, Faith!” called Cleo Egerton from within her carriage. “My, don’t you look lovely? Do try to hurry, dear. I can already see the line of carriages backed up down the street!”
Faith and Grace leaned forward to look at the snarl of traffic. Grace stifled a giggle and asked her sister, “You don’t suppose she’d be willing to leave her carriage here and walk the two blocks to Amanda’s, do you?”
Faith gave a look of mock horror. “And arrive on foot? Scandalous! Maybe I can convince her to go on without me, and I shall wait until she’s almost there. Then I can walk down and get into the carriage just in time to arrive at the door.”
“Faith Marie, how long do you plan on just standing there?”
Faith rolled her eyes at the shrill voice of her aunt and obediently descended the steps.
“Remember what I told you,” called Grace.
Faith waved without looking back and disappeared into the conveyance. Grace turned to go back into the town house but jumped, startled to find her husband standing behind her wearing a wide grin.
“My goodness, Trevor! Must you skulk around like that?”
He pulled her into his arms. “Aren’t you the least bit upset you’re going to miss all the excitement?”
Grace waved a hand in the air. “I have every confidence Faith will handle everything with her usual aplomb.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Ah. But will Gareth?”
Grace shook her head. “There won’t be any excitement.” An impish gleam lit her blue eyes, and she stepped closer to Trevor, tilting her face up to his. “Unless you’re up to creating some here…”
Her husband gave her a wolfish leer, and the occupants of several carriages rolling past on their way to the Lloyds’ party later recounted their astonishment at seeing him sweep his wife, who was loudly shrieking with laughter, off her feet, kick open the door to their town house, and disappear inside. The older ladies of the ton frowned and clucked their tongues in disapproval at yet another example of outlandish behavior by the Countess of Huntwick, but the younger ladies sighed wistfully. They didn’t care that Grace was now a married mother who ought to behave with more decorum. They each hoped to find someone as dashing and romantic as her husband.
For most, their dreams now centered on the Marquess of Roth.
Seven
Faith stood at the far end of the crowded ballroom, surreptitiously watching the top of the elaborate staircase for the Marquess of Roth to appear. She’d already turned down several requests to dance, pleading a slight headache so prettily that each rejected gentleman had promptly offered her some form of assistance. Several had disappeared to bring her refreshment, others to find different debutantes with whom to dance. A few of her most ardent admirers remained to talk quietly with her, however, so she was attempting to keep up the pretense of enjoying their conversation while not really listening.
Her distraction became evident to a couple of the more astute young gentlemen after she agreed to accompany young Lord Pinkerton when he raced his brand-new phaeton with Lord Ivanly, who’d just boasted that he’d never been beaten. It was a move most uncharacteristic of the very correct young lady. In fact, Pinkerton had just asked Faith whom she thought the better racer—a question that, without a doubt, could not have a correct answer. She was furiously trying to come up with the most diplomatic response when Gareth Lloyd finally stepped into view.
“The Marquess of Roth!” boomed the Seth butler. A hush, identical to the one from the previous evening, fell across the room. The men surrounding Faith frowned as they watched her face light up in reaction.
Gareth stood still at the top of the stairs for a long moment, his eyes skipping quickly over the crowd assembled below. Faith caught her breath. She’d been so angry with him earlier that afternoon and so concerned about them being discovered the evening before, she hadn’t taken the time to really look at him. What she saw now quite simply took away her breath.
He was quite tall, of course, as she’d noticed when he first asked her to dance, but it wasn’t just his height that made one stop and stare. Indeed, other men of her acquaintance were as tall or taller. Gareth, though, had a presence he’d lacked the year before, an aura of power and command that hadn’t come from merely inheriting a title. It came from recognizing responsibility and living up to expectations. Some men simply assumed a title. Gareth Lloyd had become the Marquess of Roth.
It was no wonder, she realized, that the group of girls on the terrace the previous evening had been so silly and flighty over him. He filled out his black evening jacket and trousers in a way that the false padding used by so many ton dandies did not. His face was tanned, unlike those of most of his peers, as though he spent much of his time outdoors. Its planes were rugged without seeming harsh, making him almost unbearably handsome when he didn’t smile, and boyishly charming when he did. But most of all, his incredible eyes left Faith feeling rather weak.
Even from this distance they were amazing. Set under thick, brooding eyebrows the same dark color as his hair, they were a warm shade of light brown that could twinkle and dance when he laughed, glitter ominously with dangerous intent when he was angry, or glow a warm chestnut when he smiled. She also knew they could soften with aching tenderness at times, just as they had the other night when they danced their private waltz. That look had made Faith feel as though she were the only woman in the world.
And now those eyes found hers.
She’d carefully watched and waited all night for this very instant, wanting to see him arrive so that she could choose her moment and app
roach him when he seemed the most relaxed and open to what she had to say. But when he began to descend the steps with deliberate intent, his eyes never left hers, compelling her to remain where she stood. Faith realized then that the moment would not be hers to choose.
Gareth reached the ballroom floor and began crossing the room with ground-eating strides, making his unerring way to where she stood in the midst of her admirers. As he strode toward her, hundreds of pairs of eyes followed his progress, all eager to be the first to see who or what had captured Gareth’s attention.
Faith lost sight of him for a moment as someone blocked her view, but all too soon he reappeared, materializing in front of her as if from thin air. He flicked an impatient glance at the men standing around her. They instantly obeyed the unspoken command and moved aside, melting into the crowd that had suddenly found this corner of the ballroom fascinating.
And there he stood. Faith froze for a long moment, her eyes locked with his.
He bowed slightly. “Miss Ackerly.” His tone was warm, held none of dipped coldness from the end of their afternoon drive.
She inclined her head regally and sank into a proper curtsy. “My lord,” she murmured.
When she straightened, he held out his arm. Enveloped by a strange sense of unreality, Faith watched herself place a hand on it, allowed him to escort her to the dance floor, just as if he’d asked permission. Once there, she turned as if in a trance and stepped into his arms.
From around the room, curious looks and envious stares followed their progress, most wondering what had happened to cause this pairing. Very few people had observed their short drive in the park that afternoon, and nobody had witnessed their dance on the balcony. Nearly everyone began racking their memories, trying to recall if Faith and Gareth had ever even been properly introduced. Nobody found themselves able to recall such an occurrence, although with the friendship between the Lloyds and the Caldwells, it made sense, especially given her sister’s marriage into one of the families. Still, they had never interacted publicly, and certainly never in a way that made them appear so attuned to one another. Yet here they were: Faith Ackerly, the ton’s Incomparable Ice Princess, dancing with Gareth Lloyd, Society’s Most Eligible. And they were staring into one another’s eyes as if they were the only couple on the dance floor.
Faith Page 5