by Regina Scott
Could he see the fear behind her scorn? “You have a high regard for your own abilities, Mr. Whattling.”
He grinned. “Yes, Miss Welch, I do.”
She fought to answer the grin. “I thank you for your concern. But I’m not going to Almack’s, even for the countess’ special ball, so you may save your breath.”
“I cannot believe you are truly afraid of them,” he persisted. “And I know you are perfectly able to carry a conversation. Your natural curiosity must have been piqued. What exactly is it about Almack’s that you think will be so horrid that you refuse to go?”
She scowled at him for several seconds, then threw up her hands. “Oh, very well, if you must know. I can’t dance.”
Kevin raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t dance. And they will all expect it of me, especially if I show up on your arm. Oh, I can manage a country dance or two, but nothing beyond it. I will stand there, the epitome of the spinster, exactly the prudish bluestocking they expect me to be, and I cannot bear it!” She could feel the tears welling and turned away from him to hide it.
“Miss Welch,” he murmured, stepping closer. He bent his head to her ear. “Jenny, please don’t distress yourself. If that is all that is stopping you, let me help. I would be delighted to teach you to dance.”
She sniffed, brushing him away from her hair with a movement of her hand. “Why would I want you to do that?”
“Because it would be educational, my dear,” he replied, and she could tell he was trying to lighten her mood. “And I do believe that is one area in which you excel, is it not?”
That won a reluctant smile. “You know very well it is.”
“Excellent. Then I suggest we start tomorrow and continue until next Wednesday, when it will be my pleasure to escort you to Almack’s.”
–
George Safton traced figures on the mahogany table with the base of the crystal wine goblet. Anyone watching him would have thought him an idiot or drunk to be so easily amused. He was neither. He was highly frustrated, and the simple act was all he could manage without betraying himself.
Wagers were being placed. Several had already been recorded in the famed betting book at White’s. Kevin Whattling was moments away from becoming engaged to Eugennia Welch. There didn’t seem to be a thing Safton could do to stop it.
The matter was becoming urgent. Twice in the last week he had attempted to arrange fights, but no one was willing to put up the purse. In fact, he hadn’t found many willing to play cards or interest themselves in his newest thoroughbred either. If he didn’t find a willing body soon, his pockets would be as empty as Kevin Whattling’s.
He was still sure that discrediting Whattling was the best approach, but each attempt to involve himself in Whattling’s or Miss Welch’s affairs had been thwarted. Whattling hadn’t taken her out in public for days (not that he blamed Whattling in that regard), he hadn’t been able to catch them in the park even though it seemed he haunted its lanes, and she was avoiding Curzon Street altogether. Cloistered as they were, he had no opportunity to observe them and hence none to make his mark.
The one small bit of information he had heard was the Miss Welch had evinced a sudden interest in boxers. He would have loved to have taken her money for one of his pugilists, but he didn’t think even going through her solicitor would hide his involvement, and she was hardly likely to put money into anything connected with him. So far, he had not been able to think of a way around the difficulties. He just needed to give it more thought.
It was ironic, but perhaps the very sport that had made him suspect would serve to clear his name. He would simply have to wait and see.
Chapter Seventeen
Jenny wasn’t sure whether to be excited or dismayed at the prospect of learning to dance. Her father had hired a dance master when she was younger, but she had never managed the complicated steps he tried to teach her. Coordination, it seemed, was not so easily learned from a book. She didn’t like the idea of showing her worst side to Kevin, but she had to admit the thought of spending time with him was invigorating.
Unfortunately, he proved to be singularly useless as a dance master. He knew the dances well enough, but she found it impossible to remember the steps when she never knew when the touch of his hand would send tremors through her. She simply could not concentrate with him so near. By the end of the first hour, she had completely lost patience.
“You are trying too hard,” he told her when she stepped on his boot for the third time. As she wasn’t heavy and his boots were sturdy Hessians, perhaps the accidents didn’t bother him. But surely he could tell they bothered her greatly.
“I don’t know how not to try hard,” Jenny maintained heatedly. “Let me alone for a moment.”
Martha obligingly kept playing at the polished pianoforte in the corner of Jenny’s music room, and he stepped back from her side, turning his body to avoid the music stands propped nearby. Truth be told, the room was not conducive to such practices, but they needed music and it held the piano. She had never thought the three rows of lute-backed chairs, two decorative tables, and music stands as being crowded, until Kevin had walked into the room.
She had to concentrate. Frowning, she stepped off the last few measures of the dance they had been practicing. Her puce silk rustled with her movements. Left then right, no right then left. Turn. Curtsey. Rise. She stopped.
“Go on,” he urged her encouragingly. “You were doing splendidly.”
She shook her head. “No, I just crashed into the second couple. I believe it was the gentleman.”
He grinned at her. “He will no doubt find it a delightful experience, and you will be besieged by other offers to dance. Brazen it out, and keep going.”
She nodded, returning to the figure again. She took three more steps and threw up her hands. “Blast!”
Martha stopped playing with a gasp.
“Sorry, Martha,” she apologized, blushing. “Now I’ve run into the lady. And don’t you dare say she will take it as a compliment, Mr. Whattling, or I shall laugh in your face!”
“Better to laugh than to cry,” Kevin countered, returning to her side. “Or to curse, shall we say. I think I shall play the stern teacher and tell you that we should stop for today. It was never my intention to upset you.”
“I upset myself,” Jenny declared, shaking her head in vexation. “You have been more than patient. I agree, let’s give this up as a lost cause.”
“Thank goodness.” Martha wrung her hands. “I don’t think I could have played much longer anyway.”
Kevin touched her arm, bringing her head up. “Only for today. I refuse to give up on you.”
“Why?” Jenny snapped. “I tried to explain to you that I cannot dance. Nothing you can do in two days’ time will change that.”
“Have you so little faith in me?” Kevin replied, catching her hand and pressing it. “Or so little faith in yourself? What you need is a change of scene. What say we go for a drive?”
“I suppose you brought the curricle,” Martha said with a sniff before Jenny could answer.
He grinned at her, offering a bow. “Regretfully true, Miss Tindale. But I will bring your mistress back unharmed. I promise.”
Martha sniffed again.
Driving somehow did not sound any more pleasant to Jenny than what they had been doing, but she found she could not gainsay him. A moment’s analysis told her why, and she went to summon Fiching for her pelisse and bonnet so that she could hide her blush. It was patently obvious that what she really wanted was an excuse to be alone with Kevin so that he might kiss her again. That wasn’t likely to happen in Hyde Park, yet she couldn’t help but feel her spirits rise as he helped her into the white curricle and they set out.
It was another balmy spring day, as if they were being rewarded for their choice of pastime. They drove slowly through the park, stopping frequently to converse with acquaintances. The people they met were pleasant, and Jenny found the drive less t
axing than she had expected. Perhaps she might master this social nonsense after all.
They had completed the circuit and were heading back toward the exit on Park Lane when she heard a hail from behind. Kevin slowed the horses once more.
“Can you stand another effusive greeting?” he asked her with a wink.
She smiled at him. “If you keep the conversation off the weather, your horses, or your cravat.”
He grinned back at her. “I promise, even if I have to be rude about it.” He pulled the horses to a stop and glanced over his shoulder at the approaching rider. That look was all it took for him to face forward and take out the whip.
“Mr. Whattling?” Jenny asked, gripping the sideboard as the horses jerked forward.
“It’s Safton,” he murmured, steering around a slow-moving landau. “Hang on, I’ll try to lose him.”
She nodded, throat constricting. They were in a public park; the man could hardly accost them there. Yet somehow, she could not convince herself of their safety. As they careened around the landau, a knot of riders appeared in front of them. Horses reared, and ladies cried out. With a puff of frustration, Kevin drew back on the reins.
Mr. Safton drew abreast on Jenny’s side. In his crimson riding coat and black breeches, he should have looked like the dashing Corinthian he pretended to be. But below the fashionable shock of untidy black hair, the dark eyes glittered with triumphant menace.
“Kevin Whattling!” he declared in ringing tones. “Pull up, man, we must talk.”
“Another time, Safton,” Kevin bit off. “As you can see, I am otherwise engaged.”
Jenny kept her eyes resolutely on the path ahead, determined not to so much as acknowledge the man’s existence. She could only hope that Mr. Safton would take the obvious hint and leave them alone.
But he persisted. “Petticoat be hanged. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You still owe me over two thousand pounds, and I want to know when I’ll see it.”
So much? He’d said he was in debt, but she hadn’t realized it was to the likes of Mr. Safton.
Beside her, Kevin tensed. “Not now, Safton.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. You’re the one who should be begging for favors. Ah, but then you are, aren’t you? How does it feel to earn your money at the lady’s expense?”
Jenny gave up her attempt at ignoring the creature. She favored him with her coldest glare. “That is quite enough, Mr. Safton. I think Mr. Whattling has made it perfectly clear that your presence isn’t wanted.”
His brows rose, as if he was surprised she had such spirit. But the smile he offered her was oily. “Well of course my presence isn’t wanted. You have the gentleman you’ve purchased. Tell me, my dear, do you pay him by the mile or for services rendered?”
Cold washed over her. If only she could find something to put the odious fellow in his place.
“That’s enough,” Kevin said quietly, anger lacing his voice. His blue eyes were chips of ice, and his hands gripped the reins so hard he threatened to snap the sturdy leather. “Take yourself off now. I’ll meet you at Watier’s later.”
“Very well, Whattling,” he said, smile showing his satisfaction. “Miss Welch, your servant. If young Whattling proves less than satisfactory, you may always call on me. A woman willing to pay for favors ought to get her money’s worth.”
Jenny gasped.
Kevin yanked the reins so hard that one of the whites reared in confusion. The horse’s movement effectively blocked Mr. Safton’s escape. As Jenny stared at him, he practically leaped over her to reach the ground at his enemy’s side.
“Apologize to the lady at once,” he growled through clenched teeth, “or I’ll rip that smile off your face at last.”
Jenny clung to the side of the curricle, words fleeing. Indeed, breath was hard to find as Mr. Safton controlled his black with difficulty. But now his chiseled features were paling, and she thought she saw fear cross his eyes.
“Don’t be a fool, Whattling. Dueling’s against the law. You ought to remember that.”
Kevin smiled up at him, and there was nothing of his usual warmth. It chilled Jenny to the bone to see it, and she thought she saw Mr. Safton swallow.
“Oh, I don’t want to shoot you,” Kevin assured him. “It would give me far greater satisfaction to beat you to death with my bare hands.”
A light sprang to Safton’s dark eyes. “A fight? You’re on. Jackson’s, Friday, three in the afternoon. I’ll make the arrangements.” He jerked his horse around, gave it the boot, and raced through the crush of carriages, cries of alarm and surprise echoing in his wake.
Kevin watched him go. Then he lowered his head as if to avoid Jenny’s gaze and strode around the carriage to regain his seat.
As he took up the reins and started the horses forward once more, the veneer of the Corinthian was gone. So was Hamlet and Puck and her pharaoh. In their place was a man who had just confronted his worst enemy, and the act had left him shaken but determined. Safton was a beast. But his insult to her did not warrant such a vehement response from Kevin. Something else was obviously driving him.
“You don’t have to go through with that,” she told him as the carriage at last reached the exit.
“On the contrary, Miss Welch,” he replied calmly as if nothing untoward had happened. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
“I believe that’s what you said about courting me, sir.”
His face was still pale and shuttered as he set the horses at a smart clip down Park Lane. “This has nothing to do with you, Jenny. Safton has been a thorn in my side for months. It’s time I excised it.”
She wanted to take pleasure in the fact that he had used her pet name, but under the circumstances, she found it difficult. “I see. Then I am right in thinking that it truly didn’t matter to you that he insulted me just now.”
He stilled. “It matters a great deal. You might say it was the catalyst that made me see I must take him on directly. George Safton is a monster. I finally understand why some call him The Snake. I shall be only too pleased to shove that snake back under his rock.”
Jenny had a sudden image of a large cobra striking at Kevin. She shuddered and tried again. “I agree that he is odious, but he spoke no more than the truth in the eyes of the ton. For all I enjoy your company, you have never made any pretense as to what brought you to my door. Can you honestly say you’d be driving me through Hyde Park today if it wasn’t for my fortune?”
He turned to her, blue eyes blazing. “Yes. If I didn’t have these accursed debts and we had met under other circumstances, I’d still be driving you through Hyde Park today and I’d still be courting you every day until you agree to my suit. I happen to be in love with you.”
Jenny stared at him. Those were the words she’d dreamed of hearing him say, but his anger belied them. “I…I cannot have heard you correctly.”
“Why?” he demanded. “Because Corinthians aren’t supposed to have feelings? Neither are bluestockings, or so I’d heard. I’ll reserve the right to fall in love when I so choose, thank you very much. Despite George Safton’s poisonous tongue, my love doesn’t come with a price on it.”
“I see,” Jenny replied quietly, overcome. “It’s only your honor you wished me to purchase.”
“That is quite enough.” He took a deep breath, swelling the chest of his waistcoat, as if trying to regain his composure. “I do not understand why you insist on seeing yourself as the beggar in this situation. I’m the one who’s in debt, I’m the one begging for favors. There is no shame on you, I don’t care what anyone tells you. Instead of seeing your intellect as a handicap, perhaps you should begin to use it to your advantage.”
His words stung, but she could not back down. “It is precisely my intellect that tells me you cannot be courting me because you love me. I am scarcely a renowned beauty, you know that I cannot converse well in Society, and we both know how abysmally I dance. How can you possibly love me?”
“Do
you think those are the only things that count? What about spirit, madam, patience, generosity? How many women would put up with a companion as quarrelsome as Miss Tindale? How many women would struggle to learn all they can of the world around them?”
Jenny looked away from him as tears threatened. “Those things are far more important, I agree. I simply never met a gentleman who thought so.”
“Well, you’ve met one now.” He glanced over at her, and all his anger melted. She imagined she looked a sight, tears trickled down her broad cheeks, nose was turning red, and lower lip trembled pathetically.
“It’s all right, Jenny,” he murmured, reaching out to squeeze her hand beside him on the carriage seat. “I’m sorry I was so cross. You are quite right that this encounter with Safton has upset me more than I care to admit. I’ll take you home. And I promise to be a much more patient teacher tomorrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jenny could barely bid Kevin good day when he walked her to her door. He was trying to be his usual charming self, but all she could manage at his sallies was a watery smile. She let Fiching take her pelisse gratefully, in anticipation of retreating to her room for some time alone to try to understand her own feelings. Her handsome prince had just declared his love for her, although in a rather uncharming manner, especially for him. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or continue crying. She was therefore quite dismayed to find that she had a visitor.
“He says he wanted to thank you personally for your donation to his efforts to raise money for the British prisoners still in France,” Fiching explained. “Miss Tindale has been entertaining him for perhaps a quarter hour.” He nudged her toward the sitting room door with his elbow. “We don’t get many chances to meet the likes of Gentleman Jackson, Miss Jenny. Don’t you think you could go in and see him, at least for a short time?”
Jenny sighed. It was hardly Mr. Jackson’s fault that she was so preoccupied. Besides, given the upcoming fight between Kevin and Mr. Safton, she was already forming questions, questions a noted expert on the ring could surely answer.