by Amy Sandas
Lord Terribury and his youngest progeny.
Rutherford tensed out of habit, a learned reaction to the appearance of an unmarried Terribury chit. He studied the girl who had so brazenly entered his bedroom that morning. Though he had escaped the incident unmarked, due in large part to Simmons, he was not convinced she was as innocent as she had claimed.
Not statuesque like her mother and sister, Miss Terribury took after her father, who was more average in height. She wore a gown the color of a robin’s egg with green trimming, a bold choice when most debutantes chose pastel hues as a representation of their youth and innocence. Her light-brown hair was parted in the middle, but instead of being pulled tightly to the sides and forced into unnatural ringlet curls in the current style, it was dressed in a more relaxed fashion at the back of her head with soft tendrils falling against her cheeks.
Apparently, the youngest Miss Terribury was not one to follow the trends. A point further supported by the fact she did not immediately join in with the other ladies who stood by the ferns chatting effusively. She stood back with her father and looked about the ballroom with an expression denoting a sort of removed interest. As if she observed for the sake of observation itself. A small smile softened her lips and Rutherford found himself pricked by curiosity.
What was she thinking as she scanned her surroundings in such a way?
Her perusal of the ballroom was thorough, and as such her inspection soon reached the spot where he stood. He tensed again, but her gaze passed right over him as if he were just another presence in a room overflowing with strangers.
He frowned.
A moment later, she tilted her head toward her father and made some comment that caused him to laugh and nod in agreement.
“What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” Rutherford resisted his friend’s interruption but knew Grimm could be persistent when properly motivated. He pulled his focus back to the man beside him.
“About the ring,” Grimm insisted. “How will you get it back?”
“I will have to think on it. Unless you have changed your mind and will simply admit to the woman you made a mistake.”
Grimm looked as if he had swallowed a toad. “I cannot do that. She will think me thoughtless and fickle.”
Rutherford raised his brows but did not reply.
He glanced back to the youngest Terribury in time to see her quickly averting her gaze. But she had been looking at him. He was sure of it.
And why did that confirmation cause such a swift rush of triumph?
The weekend party was made up of the Blackbourne’s close friends and some business associates, which was how the Terriburys had managed to be included. An avid sponsor of thoroughbred racing, Lord Terribury had been a loyal client of Lady Blackbourne’s racing stables for many years.
Once Lady Terribury had discovered the Marquess of Rutherford would be attending the party, it did not matter that the London season had already started and a long weekend in the country would take Eliza away from the epicenter of the social whirl. Her mother readily tossed all other opportunities aside for a chance to thrust her daughter into a more intimate setting with her main target.
And if Eliza had been in any doubt, the incident that morning had convinced her she needed to be more diligent if she were to thwart her mother’s efforts. She had hoped the weekend at Silverly would afford her a little respite from the months of preparation she had endured prior to her come out. She had planned to take advantage of the slower pace and serene atmosphere of the Essex countryside to devote several hours to her latest project.
Unfortunately, she now realized she would have to be on high alert for any other strategies her mother may devise. Eliza had no intention of being caught in a marital snare of her mother’s design, and she was starting to see just how attentive she would have to be in order to make it through the season unscathed and unbetrothed.
Immediately upon entering the ballroom, Lady Terribury and Eliza’s older sister, Judith, had swept across the waxed parquet floor toward a group of ladies they knew from town. Eliza and her father had been left to follow at a less enthusiastic pace.
The exact antithesis of his wife, Eliza’s father was not an overly social sort. His interests revolved around the manly pursuits of hunting, fishing and horseracing. He had been more than happy to leave all details of his daughters’ upbringing, education and so forth in the capable hands of his wife.
Eliza comprehended at a very young age that if she wished to spend time with her father she had to engage in his pastimes. It was not so much that she enjoyed such activities, but she did enjoy her father’s company. So, before her skirts had reached her ankles, she was running after him through the woods when he took his hounds for a walk. She stood casting beside him in the rushing trout stream and talked with him about the latest winners on the track over lengthy games of chess.
With her mother was otherwise engaged in catching up with her friends, Eliza kept to her father’s side and grasped the opportunity to examine the details of her setting. She loved to tuck away little bits and pieces of descriptive material for later use. She never knew when she may need to describe just such a party in one of her stories.
Silverly held around fifty guests for the weekend, and the countess had arranged for a dance and late dinner that night. The modest-sized ballroom was lit by glittering chandeliers and was decorated with hundreds of yards of white tulle twined with long strands of ivy. It was a simple scheme, but the effect was ethereal and dream-like while keeping the entire aesthetic perfectly casual as befitted a country party.
Feeling as though she’d gotten some wonderfully descriptive phrases pinned down in her memory for when she would have a chance to write them down, she took to perusing the guests. Although she knew it was inevitable, she was not at all prepared for the sight of Lord Rutherford standing across the room in elegant evening finery. It was almost as viscerally devastating as seeing the man in full nude splendor.
No, that wasn’t true at all, she admitted immediately. His nude form was far more impactful. The man concealed an exceptional physique beneath the layers of excellently tailored clothing.
Though her heart sped into an irregular cadence, Eliza forced her gaze to pass quickly over Rutherford’s imposing figure. An essential move since he was staring straight back at her.
She continued her assessment of the ballroom, though she took no further note of any details and was terribly tempted to look back at the marquess to see if he still watched her. She considered joining in the conversation with her mother and her friends, but she could barely follow the rapid exchange of opinions on the puffed sleeves being added to gowns that year.
Eliza leaned toward her father. “What do you suppose is the likelihood the trend will outlast their discussion of it?”
He chuckled as she intended but did not engage in conversation, leaving Eliza at the mercy of her own curiosity. She glanced back over her shoulder toward the marquess.
He stood talking with another gentleman and she only had a second to look at him before he turned his head in her direction once again. Did he not realize how dangerous it was to even acknowledge her presence let alone stare at her so blatantly? Her mother would pounce on such a show of interest in a second.
Eliza vowed to spend the evening vigilantly ignoring the marquess’s whereabouts.
Of course, Lady Terribury had other plans, and only a few more minutes passed before she turned to Eliza and beckoned her with a dramatic wave of her fan.
“Come, my dear, let us take a tour about the room.” Her mother linked an arm securely through Eliza’s and drew her into the flow of the other guests who milled about the room or strolled the perimeter while they waited for the musicians to start. There was no point in resisting, though Eliza knew her mother’s only motivation was to track down the marquess.
Eliza could only hope he had already gone to ground.
“I see you found your fan after all, Mother.”
<
br /> Lady Terribury slid a sidelong glance at her daughter while she steered them around a group of young men. That she didn’t even bother to slow down to allow for Eliza to be seen and hopefully admired was further testament to the fact that her mother had only one man in mind for her youngest.
“I did,” Lady Terribury replied easily. “And what happened to you this morning? When I send you on an errand, I expect you to complete it.”
Eliza had never been one to prevaricate. “I will not be used as pawn to force Rutherford into choosing between offering his hand or losing his honor.”
Lady Terribury whipped her head around to stare at Eliza with wide eyes. “Lizzie, I never—”
“You most certainly did, Mother, and I refuse to participate in your schemes,” she replied smartly. “You cannot think it appropriate to go to such dangerous and deceitful lengths.”
Lady Terribury increased their pace as she propelled them around a particularly tight group of guests. After a moment, she replied through clenched teeth, “Of course, I can. And I must. There is no other way Rutherford will be caught. He is charmed, protected by some…” she waved her hand dramatically above her head “…gypsy magic, or something.”
“It is unprincipled. Dishonorable,” Eliza insisted, determined to make her mother see reason.
“Women do not have the luxury of honor if we are to get what we desire in life.”
Eliza sighed. Reason was not one of her mother’s strengths. Not to mention she actually made a good point in that last statement. Eliza would never think her mother was justified in her actions, but the lack of power reserved for women to make their own choices was exactly the reason Eliza had no intention of ever marrying.
“Why can you not accept that the Marquess of Rutherford will not be caught and move on?”
Her mother looked down at her then, and Eliza saw something unexpected in her mother’s gaze. An odd note of apology. “Because I simply cannot.”
As her mother’s voice faded into a whisper, Eliza felt a firm bump against her ankle. It caught her just as she was about to take a step. At the same time, Lady Terribury shoved gently against her side, enough to send Eliza completely off-balance. Her legs tangled in her skirts as she made a desperate attempt to find steady footing with her soft-soled dancing slippers on the polished floor. She clenched her teeth and tensed with the certainty she was going to fall and the sharp suspicion her mother had tripped her on purpose.
But she didn’t hit the floor.
Strong hands grasped her upper arms as her feet went out from beneath her. Her upper body collided with a broad male chest and she thoughtlessly grasped the lapels of a man’s dress coat in tight fists. The crisp scent of citrus mingled with rich spicy undertones.
She bit back a groan of despair as she knew without a doubt who had saved her from a humiliating fall.
Chapter Four
Contact with the marquess’s solid masculine frame was shockingly brief. Eliza’s heart received a jolt and her temperature rose by a few degrees. She told herself it was embarrassment, but the truth was that the moment she realized whose body she was pressed against, she retrieved the image of that body naked and damp from a bath.
She only barely got her feet back under her when Lord Rutherford lengthened his arms and released her. She was lucky she didn’t take another spill from the force with which he set her away from him.
“Oh, my lord,” Lady Terribury exclaimed with exaggerated astonishment, “how noble of you to save my dear Elizabeth from a wretched tumble.”
Eliza allowed herself only a fleeting glimpse at the marquess, but a tiny glance was all she needed to note that his stern countenance was formed into an expression of stoic indifference.
“Miss Terribury, I hope you are all right.” Their host, the Earl of Blackbourne stepped forward from Rutherford’s side and smoothly released the marquess from having to reply.
Eliza nodded and pressed her palm to her abdomen to still the fluttering that hadn’t completely dissipated though the marquess no longer held her. “I am quite all right. Thank you, my lord.”
Suspecting the marquess would not accept a direct thank you, she intentionally uttered the words of gratitude so they could be applied to either the marquess for catching her or the earl for his concern.
“You are very kind, my lord,” Lady Terribury added effusively, nodding her head and sending her peacock feathers into an elaborate dance. “I do not believe my daughter has yet had the pleasure of being introduced to Lord Rutherford.”
Eliza cringed at her mother’s lack of delicacy, but Lord Blackbourne smiled, not appearing the least bit put out by her mother’s forward manner.
“By all means, allow me the honor. Lord Rutherford, may I introduce Miss Terribury.”
Eliza curtsied as was expected, voiced the appropriate words, “A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” and wondered if anyone else noticed that the marquess did not bother to say anything. Then again, perhaps such rudeness was typical of him.
The clear strains of a waltz drifted over the chatter of the talking guests.
Blackbourne lifted his gaze to scan the crowd. “It seems the musicians are ready to begin. I apologize for rushing off, but I must find my wife to start the dancing before she manages to find someplace to hide. If you will excuse me.”
He was gone before anyone had a chance to reply and suddenly it was just Eliza, her mother and Lord Rutherford facing each other in silence.
Rutherford looked as though he wanted to chase after Blackbourne and strangle him. Eliza swallowed hard to keep a giggle at bay. Poor man, snared by her mother and abandoned by his friend.
“What a pleasant surprise to run into you here at Silverly, my lord,” Lady Terribury declared as an uncomfortable tension fell around the trio.
Unfortunately, the marquess had chosen the exact same moment to break his silence.
“Would you join me in a dance, Miss Terribury?”
Though their voices overlapped, Rutherford’s were the only words anyone took note of.
Eliza glanced up at him in stunned astonishment, unable to imagine what on earth had prompted such an invitation. And when she looked back to her mother, she practically lost her grip on her composure.
Lady Terribury gaped at the marquess with her mouth hanging open in shock. “Of course, she will,” she stammered, finding her voice much quicker than Eliza would have expected. “Go on, Lizzie.”
Eliza would have loved to refuse, but even if she could come up with a good excuse, one did not simply reject an offer to dance when it came from the Marquess of Rutherford. Even when it was obvious he took no pleasure in the invitation.
It took her a while to realize that though her mother had already voiced her agreement, all that was needed really, the marquess was awaiting Eliza’s reply. “I would be honored,” she muttered as she lifted her gloved hand to rest it on his arm.
He led her onto the dance floor and they took their positions amongst others already dancing. To Eliza, it didn’t matter that they were not the only couple on the floor. A single quick glance around told her all eyes were on her and the marquess. His hand at her waist exerted subtle pressure as he guided her into the steps of the waltz. Refusing to meet the curious stares of onlookers, she lifted her eyes to her partner.
He held himself stiffly erect, his broad shoulders were squared beneath his black coat and his dark-brown eyes were trained over her head as he moved her about the dance floor in perfect time to the music. Eliza loved to dance and the waltz with its swift, sweeping movements was one of her favorites. She could tell immediately that the marquess was one of those gifted partners who managed to be graceful and strong at the same time and could direct his partner with the subtlest effort. His hand at her back was light but sure, and the other hand held her gloved fingers in an easy, comfortable grip.
If she allowed herself, she knew she could enjoy the dance far too much. And that was a dangerous thing to do.
“Please tell m
e this is part of some elaborate plan to lure my mother into a sense of false confidence so she eases up on her campaign, leaving us free to enjoy the weekend without her machinations?” Eliza’s tone was hopeful, but the scowl lines that deepened between his brows refuted her suggestion before his reply.
“No, it is not,” he answered, still without looking down at her.
When he offered nothing more in explanation, Eliza twisted her lips and narrowed her gaze.
“Perhaps you realized that deep down you have always yearned to be a part of the Terribury clan, and after meeting me this morning you’ve decided I would make the perfect marchioness and couldn’t wait another day to declare your intentions to the entire party?”
This suggestion garnered a bit more of a reaction as Rutherford arched his brows imperiously and gazed down his aristocratic nose at her.
A nose with a slight bump as if it had once been broken, Eliza noticed again. Surely the pretentious marquess had not engaged in youthful scrambles? Or was it a result of something more recent. A riding incident or an altercation over a lady…
Eliza gave herself a mental shake.
Do not create stories about him. He is not one of your heroes.
“It is a dance, not a declaration,” the marquess replied.
“Ah, perhaps you forget my mother?” Seeing his involuntary grimace, she gave a nod of her head, “No, of course not. Mother is not easy to forget. Then perhaps you do not realize she is probably already spreading speculative whispers as to the nature of our relationship.”
“Again, a dance, not a relationship.”
Eliza smiled at his obstinate assurance, the utter arrogance that suggested he could make something fact simply by stating it.
“You know, if my own future were not tied up in the details of this little debate, I might be amused by your determination to thwart the common perceptions of society. But you have put me at risk by dragging me out onto this floor, so I would like to know what intention was behind your rash decision to put us on display together.”