by Julia London
“Had I known I would be required to parade about a dance floor, I would have never agreed to this ridiculous ruse.” He put her hand on his arm. “But Mr. Black was practically salivating on your décolletage as it was.”
“Your flattery is overwhelming me.” Kate smiled serenely at him.
Darlington covered her hand with his and squeezed it lightly. “You may think that smile will charm me, madam, but you are quite mistaken.”
“Please endeavor not to be quite so gallant, sir, for I may swoon.”
A soft smile of amusement lit his face. “I beg of you, Kate, please do not swoon, for if I am forced to revive you, that will derail all my attempts to deny our acquaintance.”
Kate blinked with surprise. “I beg your pardon, but was that a flash of humor, Your Grace?” she asked gaily. “I scarcely recognized it coming from you.” With a laugh, she turned to join the dance queue.
Chapter Twelve
I f there was one thing Grayson despised more than opera, it was dancing. It was almost impossible for him, what with his inability to hear music properly. He so rarely danced, in fact, that he had to endure several looks of stark astonishment from acquaintances as he led Kate onto the dance floor and took his place in the dancer’s queue across from her.
He could just imagine the titillation that would spread like a scourge in salons across Mayfair on the morrow. The Duke of Darlington, so famously close-guarded, so famously opposed to dancing, had not only come to the Twelfth Night Ball in the company of a renowned courtesan, he had bloody well kicked up his heels and danced with the grace of a milk cow. He wasn’t even certain why he was doing it; he could very well have passed her off to someone other than Black. But there was something provocative in Kate’s bright smile, something from which he could not back down.
Bloody hell, he hoped he remembered the figures; it had been so long since he’d attempted to dance.
As the music started and the ladies curtsied and the men bowed, Grayson could at least be thankful that Diana was not here to see this. Lord Eustis had come to town unexpectedly, and Eustis did not suffer fools lightly—which meant he did not care for George’s tendency to excess. He had refused the invitation to the ball on behalf of him and Diana both.
Diana had been distraught, of course, but Grayson had been relieved. Seeing Kate tonight—as she took her steps toward Grayson to curtsy, then skip back again—would have sparked quite a lot of trouble with Diana.
The men went next, including Grayson, who felt stiff and foolish, his feet confused by the tinny music that fell on his ears. He moved forward, he bowed; he somehow made it back to his place.
Whatever he had done, Kate looked surprised. She stepped forward and up on her toes, twirling around his back, then going down on her heels as she walked back to her place. When Grayson took his turn around her, Kate’s expression turned from surprise to amusement.
They next met in the middle to lock arms and turn together—in the direction Kate tugged him, actually, as Grayson started off on the wrong foot. They turned twice, returned to their places, and joined hands above their heads as a couple danced down the two rows of dancers. Then they proceeded to repeat the steps.
As Kate danced around him, her smile lighting the entire dance floor, she said, “You might have mentioned you are a horrible dancer.” With a laugh, she skipped back to her place.
“How kind,” he said as he took his turn around her.
“Did you think I would rejoice in your two left feet?” Kate teased him as they met in the middle and twirled one way, then the other. “I would never have agreed to this arrangement had I known!” They stepped back and joined hands above their heads.
“Perhaps I should have mentioned that my lack of dancing skill is the unfortunate result of being quite tone-deaf,” he said before letting her go and stepping into place.
Across from him, Kate blinked. She skipped forward. “Tone-deaf,” she repeated. “What is that?” She skipped back.
Grayson moved forward. “It means one cannot hear music.”
Her smile faded. She looked at him differently now, and Grayson suddenly felt very annoyed and vulnerable. It was obvious that this courtesan felt pity for him. For him.
She didn’t say anything else until the dance was over, but continued to smile and dance lightly on her feet. She was an excellent dancer, in truth. Grayson envied her ability to move as elegantly as she did. But he was eternally thankful when the music ended, and quickly bowed, then held out his hand for her.
Kate slipped her hand into his and as he guided her off the dance floor, she asked bluntly, “Why can’t you hear music?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I only know that I can’t hear music as you can, nor can I follow but the simplest steps, obviously,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Music sounds like a lot of noise with no rhyme or reason to me.”
“I’ve never known anyone who can’t hear music,” she said, looking at him curiously with vivid green eyes. “It must be rather unsettling to see people enjoying music and not be able to hear what they are hearing.”
He thought that rather astute of her. “Yes, indeed it is.” Friends and family who knew of his affliction were convinced that he could hear music if only he would listen properly. But there was nothing Grayson could do to make sense of it. As a lad, he’d gone through one music instructor after another until his father had given up in frustration.
Kate suddenly smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know if I am more surprised to learn of such an unusual affliction, or that you actually have a slight imperfection.”
He lifted a brow.
“Slight,” she emphasized, “but an imperfection nonetheless.”
She was teasing him. “Then you have discovered my secret,” he said. “In spite of all appearances to the contrary, I am merely a man.”
A slow, sensual smile curved her lips. “And a very interesting man at that,” she said. She gave his hand a slight tug. Grayson realized he was still holding hers. Her smile seemed to deepen, and Grayson detected a bit of supposition in it, as if she expected him to hold her hand. As if she expected him to fall victim to her charms.
Granted, her considerable charms would be difficult for most men to deny. But he was not most men and he dropped her hand. “Perhaps we should repair to the—”
“Your Grace, there you are!”
He swallowed down the niggle of annoyance George’s voice caused in him. He turned slightly; a path had cleared behind him, guests curtsying and bowing as the prince and his entourage made their way to him and Kate. Grayson dutifully stood back and bowed, too.
“Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Bergeron?” George asked, his gaze roaming her.
“It is divine, Your Highness.”
“I don’t suppose I might entice you away from Darlington for a dance?”
She gave the prince a brilliant, heartwarming smile. Perhaps she esteemed him, Grayson thought. She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so. “I could not possibly be more delighted, Your Highness.”
“You won’t mind, will you, Christie?” George asked, his arm already extended to Kate.
“Of course not.” Grayson watched Kate put her hand on George’s arm, watched George cover it with his thick hand and lead Kate to the dance floor.
As they lined up for the next dance, Grayson watched the prince’s ravenous gaze boldly take Kate in as if she were a turkey leg.
Kate smiled and said something to make the prince laugh.
“Your Grace!”
God grant him patience; Grayson was certainly going to need it now. That voice belonged to one of his mother’s closest friends, the dowager Lady Babington, and she was presently eyeing Grayson through her lorgnette. She was wearing a purple gown, which, given her generous bosom, made her look a bit like a giant plum. She was in the company of Miss Francesca Boudine, who Grayson knew was hoping for a match with Lady Babington’s son, if Prudence could be believed.
“Lady Babington,�
� he said, inclining his head. “Miss Boudine. How do you do?”
Miss Boudine curtsied; Lady Babington did not. “I am doing quite well, thank you!” Lady Babington boomed, and lifted her lorgnette, peering closely at him. “How do you fare, Your Grace?”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Lady Babington fancied herself the reigning matriarch of the ton and never missed an event. Though she was rich as Croesus, she never managed to host a society event, but she was always available to attend. Somehow, she thought it was her duty to keep her many, many acquaintances abreast of everything she saw and heard. Prudence swore Lady Babington was the source of many of the on dits in the society pages of The Times.
“You will make me a very happy woman indeed if you tell me that you’ve escorted your dear mother to the ball,” she said, lowering her lorgnette, apparently satisfied with Grayson’s appearance.
“Regrettably, I have not. She doesn’t care for the late hours of balls.”
“Yes, they do go very late. You will give her my regards—”
“I’d be delighted to do so. Miss Boudine,” Grayson said, trying to make a clean escape, but Lady Babington was too quick for him.
“Then have you come alone, Your Grace, or have you brought along your darling sisters?” she asked loudly.
“Alone.” He nodded again, tried to turn away again.
“But did I not see you dancing, Your Grace?” Lady Babington asked in an incredulous voice.
The woman was a worthy adversary.
“I saw you dancing,” she continued before he could answer. “I remarked it immediately, for I said to Miss Boudine, ‘I cannot recall the last time I saw Darlington stand up,’ to which she said, ‘He rarely stands up with any lady,’ which I thought passing strange for surely I’ve seen you dance, have I not? But upon further reflection Miss Boudine and I agree—you so rarely dance!”
Miss Boudine’s pale white face was suddenly flushed; she looked down at her feet.
“I danced this evening, yes,” Grayson said shortly.
“Who was she?” Lady Babington asked.
Her effrontery astonished Grayson. “Who?”
“The lady you stood up with!”
“She was … a lady.” Grayson made the mistake of looking back to the dance floor. He spotted Kate instantly—the ice blue of her gown stood out, as did her pale blonde hair. She appeared to be enjoying herself.
Lady Babington raised her lorgnette and followed his gaze to the dance floor. The woman was unconscionably bold, and Grayson couldn’t help but wonder if he had even a prayer of keeping this from Diana. But as he was a betting man, he would have to bet not.
“If your curiosity about my dancing has been gratified, ladies, please excuse me. I am wanted in the gaming room.” He moved this time, unwilling to let Lady Babington detain him further.
It was quite a bit of work making his way across the room. The throng was very thick, and many of his acquaintances stopped him to express their good wishes for a new year. When he’d put enough distance between himself and the troublesome Lady Babington, he risked a look at the dance floor.
Kate was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the prince. Grayson guessed that he’d whisked her away for a private tête-à-tête. That was, after all, the reason they were here, wasn’t it?
Grayson walked on to the gaming room.
Chapter Thirteen
The prince was an excellent dancer, and as long as Kate politely looked the other way whilst he looked at her bosom, she was very happy to dance with him.
When the dance concluded, however, her enjoyment of him diminished dramatically when he escorted her from the dance floor to an area to the side of the musicians. “I find it unbearable to be so close to you as this and not touch you, ma petite,” he said softly. “Do you see that door there?”
Kate looked in the direction he indicated. It was a rather dark corner, really, which seemed odd to her, given how well lit the ballroom was.
“Behind the footman,” he said impatiently.
She saw it then—it was almost hidden, a door that was made to look like part of the wall. She nodded.
“Go there and wait. I’ll join you in a few minutes.” He turned on his heel and walked away from her.
Kate looked suspiciously at the door and slowly walked to it. The footman didn’t look at her, but kept his gaze straight ahead. With a quick look behind her, Kate pushed the door open and walked into a small room where linens were neatly folded and stacked on shelves almost to the ceiling. Another open door led into a hallway, which provided a bit of light. Kate could hear laughter and voices drifting down the corridor and peeked out—a few doors down, she saw a man and a woman emerge from a room; another gentleman passed them and went in. The gaming room, she guessed.
She looked around the linen closet impatiently. How long would she be made to wait? It was dark and close. After what seemed an eternity, she determined she did not like waiting in this room like a whore and in a moment of disgust stepped out, just as the prince was striding down the corridor toward her.
He smiled and pointed at the linen closet. “Inside, inside—be quick!” he whispered, and ushered her back inside. “Kate,” he said, his hands going to her shoulders, caressing her arms as his gaze greedily roamed over her. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered as he pulled her into his embrace.
He kissed her neck, her décolletage. “Are you as eager as I am for this accursed situation with the princess Caroline to be at an end?”
“More,” she whispered, and ran her fingers lightly down his spine.
The prince drew an uneven breath and ran his hands over her breasts. Kate arched her back and pressed herself against him as she kissed his brow. His grip on her breasts tightened. She hoped he did not intend to couple with her here, where she would undoubtedly be pushed up against the wall, as if they were standing in an alley.
“I cannot bear the wait,” he said breathlessly, and kissed her on the mouth. She returned his kiss with a show of ardor. It would not do to risk his displeasure in any way, no matter if she were forced to engage in relations in this linen closet.
The prince moved to the flesh above her bodice; Kate looked heavenward and stroked his head as his mouth moved on her skin. But then he straightened and, grinning, cupped her face. “Christie is the perfect accomplice, is he not?” he asked. “He’s a stiff collar, that one, far too concerned about propriety and decorum to be brought low by you.”
Kate suppressed a small gasp of indignation and turned her head from the prince’s seeking mouth. “Do you not fear I shall bring you low, Your Highness?” she asked sweetly.
He chuckled lustily. “You will bring me low enough,” he said, and shifted her about, so that she was pressed up against the shelves. Linens fell, knocking the door open a little farther. He groped for the hem of her gown and pushed it up, over her knee. Kate obliged him by wrapping a leg around his waist.
“Ah, Kate,” he said. “What a treasure you are.” She smiled and caressed his shoulders. He began to stroke the skin of her thigh, and Kate was not unmoved by it. She could feel her body warming, and she was resigned to what would come. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes as his fingers sought her warmth.
“Your Highness.”
Darlington’s voice startled Kate badly, and the prince, too. “Your intrusion is not appreciated, Christie,” he snapped.
Kate looked at Darlington, and he met her gaze. Even in the dim light, she could see the way he looked at her and the prince’s hand buried beneath her skirts. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but more than one of your guests has seen you enter this closet and has remarked on it. Have a care.”
Kate held his gaze, wondering what he thought.
“You wouldn’t want to be discovered here,” Darlington added softly. “One never knows who is looking.”
The prince sighed and lifted his head. “He’s right,” he said apologetically to Kate, as if she had instigated th
is assignation. “That bitch has spies everywhere. She’d have it all over London by the morrow.” He stroked Kate’s cheek, then leaned down and kissed her aggressively.
When he lifted his head, he ran this thumb along her bottom lip. “Ah, Kate, beautiful Kate … this situation cannot go on for long, you have my word. I have sent a letter to the king and I believe that even as we stand here, he is determining what course we shall seek to end this scandal once and for all. I expect a tolerable resolution is forthcoming, so I ask for your patience a little longer.”
Kate smiled softly; the prince groaned and kissed her once more.
“Be very good, ma petite, and you and I shall be together soon.” He stepped back and looked at Darlington. “I leave her to you, Christie,” he said, and yanked on the ends of his waistcoat.
He walked out, leaving Kate standing in the closet, Darlington outside. He didn’t look at her, but watched the prince. A moment later, he said, “He’s gone.”
Kate smoothed her skirt and adjusted her bodice. “I should like a retiring room. Will you show me where I can find one?”
Darlington turned his head to look at her, his gaze flicking quickly over her body. His eyes were full of … of what, concern? Pity? She expected to see disdain, but there was none in his expression.
“Kate—”
“The retiring room?” she asked again. “Please,” she added softly.
“This way,” he said, and put his hand to her elbow to draw her out of the closet.
In the retiring room, Kate took her time regaining her composure. When she felt sufficiently calmed, she splashed water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror. “All right, then,” she muttered. What was done was done. It was no secret who she was, particularly not to Darlington. So when she was certain she looked presentable, she walked out.
She’d assumed that Darlington would be waiting for her, but she didn’t see him. If he was there, she missed him as she got caught up in a stream of ladies coming and going from the retiring room, and was swept along a corridor.