“I must go,” she said desperately.
“Good day, Salcombe.” Arthur eyed Brandt with a look of distaste. Most likely disgusted by Brandt’s dusty clothing. Arthur probably could not conceive how any gentlemen would ever be seen in such a condition.
“Good day, Ralston.” Brandt merely looked amused. “Are you staying in Devon? Or did you merely stop by to have a word with Chloe?”
“Quite the contrary. I am to escort Lady Chloe,” he said with heavy emphasis on ‘lady’, “to a house party.”
“Not today, I trust.”
“Naturally not. We will leave two days after Lord and Lady Haversham’s ball. However, I am certain you will wish to dress for dinner so we must not detain you. Chloe, come with me.”
“No.”
“I have not finished with you.”
Brandt shifted towards her. “Apparently she has finished with you. And, as you pointed out, it is time to dress for dinner.”
His defence steadied her enough for her to say, “And did you not point out my clothing is in disarray?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then I will see you at dinner, Cousin Arthur.” She gave Brandt a brief smile. “Thank you.” She turned and started up the stairs before Arthur could detain her.
Once in her chamber, she shut the door and leaned against it for a moment. Her stomach began to churn again. Lord Denbigh. Even his name made her shudder. She had no choice; unless she brought Sir Preston up to scratch tomorrow, she would either be forced to marry Lord Denbigh or Mama would scarcely have a farthing to her name. Her latest letter from Mama had been full of news of purchases of lace and ribbons and two gowns; one a lilac crepe; the other a pale yellow cambric she could not do without. There had been a very small loss at whist as well. She so hated to ask Arthur for funds, for he would scold her terribly and threaten to cut off all her allowance entirely, so if Chloe had a very small sum…
And now if Chloe refused Denbigh, there would be nothing for her mother at all, which was why she must marry Sir Preston. Once she was married, Arthur would no longer control her fortune. True, it would then be in Sir Preston’s hands, but she somehow doubted he would begrudge her the amounts she sent to Mama.
Chloe moved from the door. She really had no choice. Just as her friend Serena had done with her man, Chloe must encourage Sir Preston to make her an offer.
Her only chance would be tomorrow night. At the Havershams’ ball.
Chapter Four
“Chloe? Are you ready?” Chloe jumped when she heard Belle’s voice. She nearly knocked her fan off the dressing table and caught it just in time. She snatched up the French shawl from her bed and draped it around her shoulders. She certainly did not want Belle to see her bodice; not until they were at the ball at any rate.
She turned and plastered a shaky smile to her face. “Yes. I did not realise it was time to leave.”
“The carriages are below.” Belle stepped into the room, lovely and elegant in rose silk, diamonds at her throat and ears. Her smile was warm when she saw Chloe. “Oh, Chloe! How beautiful you look and so grown up! I sometimes forget you are no longer a child until times such as this and I realise you are a young woman.”
“And nearly on the shelf according to Arthur.”
Belle made a face. “He is ridiculous. You must put him from your mind. Do not worry, I will not allow him to ride roughshod over you. Come, let us go downstairs.” She paused and looked at Chloe’s face. “Are you all right?”
“Perhaps I am a trifle nervous.”
“Surely not after facing the patronesses of Almack’s! Anyone who can win praise from Lady Jersey for her “’pleasing manners’” should not feel the least apprehensive about a country ball.”
She tried to return Belle’s smile and followed her from the room. She could hardly tell Belle she had made up her mind to kiss Sir Preston. Or more to the point, to encourage him to kiss her. If a kiss had worked for Serena, then perhaps it would work with Sir Preston as well. If not, she might be desperate enough to propose to him.
—
Justin, Brandt, and Arthur waited for them in the drawing room. They stood near the mantelpiece in well-fitting dark coats and satin knee breeches. Although not as tall as the other two, even Arthur was not unattractive in his evening clothes.
Her gaze fell on Brandt. Tonight he was the elegant London lord, just as he had been this past Season. For some odd reason, she could not help but notice how well his corbeau coat fitted his broad shoulders or how his knee breeches and silk stockings emphasized his strong, muscular legs. Or that despite his civilized appearance he suddenly looked as male and dangerous as he had when she had crashed into him in the hall yesterday.
He looked up and his gaze met hers. Awareness shot through her and from the expression that leapt to his eyes, she knew he had felt the same jolt. She tore her gaze away, completely confused.
She felt no less confused when she found him at her side as they stepped out of the front door into the pleasant evening. “You are to ride in my carriage,” he said.
“I am?” She looked up at him and wished she were a few inches taller. Or he was shorter. Although he was not the tallest man of her acquaintance, he was tall enough that she had to look up to him.
“Belle will ride with us as well so you will be adequately chaperoned.” His eyes were laughing at her again, no trace of the earlier moment in his face. “I thought you would prefer my company to Lord Ralston’s, but perhaps I was mistaken.”
Usually she would prefer anyone’s company to that of Arthur, but tonight she was not so sure as she glanced up at his face. Again she felt that disconcerting awareness of him.
She realised he was waiting for an answer. “Of course.”
“Of course what? You would prefer my company?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You only suppose? I look forward to the day when you have a definite preference for my company. Over Ralston’s, that is.”
He was teasing her again. However, she was too distracted to even think of a response. He helped her and then Belle into the carriage. But as it rattled down the drive, worries about Sir Preston overtook any reaction she might have to Brandt. She would need to lure Sir Preston to somewhere private. What did one do next? She had no idea how to go about encouraging a man to kiss her. She would move closer to him as Serena had done, but what if that did not accomplish what she wanted? Should she—?
“Chloe, Brandt has just asked whether you are looking forward to the ball.” Belle’s voice cut into her thoughts.
Chloe blinked. “The ball?”
“The ball we are about to attend. Or perhaps it has slipped your mind,” Brandt said.
“I…no.”
He still watched her with that disconcerting intensity. “Then do you look forward to it?”
“I…yes.” Thank goodness, they were already entering the arches of the drive in front of Haversham Hall. Brandt alighted and then helped them down. Justin took Belle’s arm and Chloe found herself on Brandt’s. Arthur trailed behind them up the marble steps to the entrance. The footman admitted them and another stepped forward to take her shawl. She reluctantly turned, and Brandt’s gaze fell to her bodice. Her cheeks flamed at his blatant astonishment. She pulled her gaze away, telling herself that he had no business staring at her bosom in such a bold way. Even if it had expanded.
Thank goodness, Belle did not seem to notice anything amiss or Justin. Or Arthur, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Once they entered the ballroom, now lavishly decorated with fresh greenery, pots of plants and bouquets of flowers, her attention turned to finding Sir Preston. She spotted Emily straight away, looking like an overblown white rose in lace and flounces, and then she saw Sir Preston.
He looked quite splendid in his dark blue evening coat and black silk breeches. Yes, she could quite see herself on his arm in the future. Perhaps he was not the tallest man in the room or the most handsome, but he had a certain distinction that she foun
d—
“Chloe, Brandt has just asked you to stand up with him for the first set.” Belle’s gently amused voice broke into her thoughts.
“I…that would be very nice.” She found his gaze on her, but with a certain watchfulness she had noted in his eyes the past few days, particularly when they were in company. For some reason, it made her uneasy.
“Good.” He held out his arm. “Shall we proceed then?”
“But the ball has not yet begun.”
“No, but I thought we could take a turn around the room.” His voice was still polite, but there was a certain note that told her he would not allow her to refuse.
She certainly did not want a scene. Rather resentful at his insistence, she rested her gloved hand on his arm. She would much rather seek out Sir Preston, but perhaps she should not make her move too soon. The ball would last for hours so there would be plenty of time.
—
Chloe was not so certain two hours later. She had not been able to even get near Sir Preston. He seemed to either be with a group of gentlemen or gone from the ballroom. Once she saw him talking to Emily and his mother. Then Emily had left and Chloe had started across the room. She was nearly there when Brandt appeared at her side. He had insisted she needed a lemonade and by the time she convinced him she did not, Sir Preston had vanished. She could barely conceal her impatience with Brandt. He had been in her way so much this evening, she would have accused him of following her if it weren’t for the fact he would probably laugh at her. She could think of no reason why he would want to do so anyway.
She stood in one corner and looked around the room and then her heart skipped a beat. Sir Preston stood near the wall by a potted plant. For once, he was alone. She started forward, only to have Lydia grab her arm. At the same time, Brandt suddenly appeared.
“Chloe,” Lydia began and then her eyes widened when she saw Brandt. “Good evening, Lord Salcombe.”
Chloe bit back a groan.
“Good evening, Miss Sutton.” He glanced at Chloe. “And Chloe, of course.” His expression was rather mocking.
“I do not want to be rude, but I am feeling rather warm. So if you will excuse me I believe I will go to the garden.”
He held her gaze, a slight smile at his mouth. “Did you not promise me this dance?”
“I do not remember doing so.” She was too frustrated to be polite. “Besides, I do not care to dance now.” She glanced at Lydia who was staring at her, undoubtedly taken aback by Chloe’s rudeness. “However, I am quite certain Miss Sutton would like to stand up with you.”
“Oh! No…I…I…” Lydia stammered, turning pink. She managed to recover. “I…I would be most honoured to stand up with Lord Salcombe.”
For a dreadful moment she thought he would refuse. He did not. “I would be honoured as well, if you will favour me with the next dance, Miss Sutton.”
“That will work out quite well, then.” Chloe gave him a cold smile and marched off. Sir Preston was much where she had last seen him. His face creased in a smile as he watched her approach. “Lady Chloe, haven’t yet spoken to you. Seems you are always occupied. Hope you are enjoying the ball.”
“Oh, yes.” Her hands suddenly felt clammy and her stomach had started to churn. “I…I am. And you? Are you not dancing at all? Even after the lesson?”
He grimaced. “Fear it will take more than one or two lessons. Decided I didn’t want to risk any lady’s feet tonight.” He glanced out at the floor. “Looks to be a waltz. You should be dancing.”
A waltz? She had hardly noticed. She spotted Brandt and Lydia straight away. Brandt had just placed his hand at Lydia’s back and Lydia looked as if she had just swallowed a cream pot. Thank goodness, she had managed to evade waltzing with him, Chloe thought. She dragged her attention back to Sir Preston. “Actually, I feel rather over-heated. Do you think it is hot in here?” It was not exactly a falsehood, for she was becoming quite hot.
“Rather.” He looked concerned. “Should I fetch the Duchess? You do look a trifle peaked.”
“Oh, no! I was rather thinking of a change of air. Perhaps I could walk to the gard—” Then she remembered she had just told Brandt that was where she wanted to go. “Conservatory. I do not suppose you would care to accompany me?”
He hesitated. “Most certainly. Wouldn’t do for you to go alone.” He held out his arm and Chloe laid her hand on the sleeve of his coat.
She could not complain he was overly forward or flirtatious, which was fine with her. She led him from the ballroom and down the picture gallery, which connected the ballroom to the conservatory on the other side of the house. At least it should be private, which was what she needed for her plan.
No one else was there, thank goodness. A lamp was lit near the entrance, but the rest of the glass room was in shadows. The sweet scent of jasmine mingled with gardenias drifted up. Her partner shifted uncomfortably and sneezed. “Beg pardon. Flowers make me sneeze.”
Hardly a promising start. “We can sit on a bench,” Chloe said. She walked towards a wrought-iron seat on the other side of the room. He followed her. She sat down and patted the place next to her. “You can sit here.”
He took the other side of the bench. Chloe frowned. Sitting this far apart would not do. She rubbed her arms. “I fear I am getting rather cold.”
Sir Preston’s gaze went to her low neckline for a second before he averted his eyes. “Best return to the ballroom then.”
“Oh, no! I wanted to enjoy the flowers for a few minutes longer. Perhaps if I sit closer to you.” She shifted so her thigh just touched his.
He jumped. “Er…” He looked at her face and she gave him her most demure smile. He swallowed. “I…I do not suppose you would care to kiss me,” she blurted out and then wished she could vanish when she saw his startled expression.
As if mesmerised, he swayed towards her. His kiss was brief, and hardly enough to tell her whether she liked it or not. He drew away as if the kiss had startled him. “Beg pardon. Not at all the thing to do.”
“I did not mind. I…I wondered if you could do it again. Longer, perhaps.”
He swallowed even harder. “Anything to oblige.” He leaned towards her and his mouth came down on hers. This time he prolonged the contact, his lips moving over hers. It was not all unpleasant, particularly when compared to Denbigh’s kiss. She would undoubtedly get used to it in time.
She tentatively kissed him back. A low sound issued from his throat and suddenly his tongue slipped into her mouth. She jumped. He pulled away, his expression stunned and then apologetic. “Sorry. Suddenly carried away. If we go on…be obligated to offer you marriage. Not that I would mind. Have been thinking it’s time to do the pretty. My mother would like it. Would be honoured if you—”
“I hardly think you’ve compromised Lady Chloe with one kiss.”
They both jumped at the sardonic voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. Chloe prayed she would disappear. Sir Preston half-rose. “The devil take you, Salcombe! What do you mean by stealing up on a man like that! Having a private conversation!”
Brandt stepped out of the shadows. He folded his arms and regarded them with a stony expression. “Lady Chloe is obligated to me for the next dance. I came to collect her.”
She had no idea whether she wanted to kill him or die of humiliation. Or do both.
“Er, had no idea.” Kentworth glanced at her. He looked confused. “Lady Chloe was warm and wanted to cool down. So we walked here.”
“I see.” Brandt’s hard gaze fell on Chloe and it took all of her will power to not look away. “I am loath to tell you, my dear, but a kiss is hardly the way to cool down.”
She lifted her chin. “Really.”
Kentworth took a step towards Brandt. “Now see here. Won’t have you insulting Lady Chloe. Will do my duty by her.”
“Why? I don’t intend to tell anyone of this incident, and I trust you are gentleman enough not to do so.” There was a hint of steel in Brandt’s voice that could
almost be a threat.
Kentworth’s hands curled. “Calling my honour into question, Salcombe?” He sounded equally menacing.
They couldn’t possibly be planning to fight, could they? That was not what she wanted. Brandt was deadly at fencing—she had watched him once with Justin. She suspected he was equally adept at handling a pistol. Sir Preston wouldn’t stand a chance against him. She could not have him wounded or worse on her account! Not after she was the one who lured him to the conservatory. She jumped up. “Stop this! No one is questioning anyone’s honour!” She glared at Brandt. “And none of this is your affair anyway!”
His eyes glinted. “It most certainly is. You are now part of my cousin’s family which makes you part of mine. Therefore, you are under my protection as well as my cousin’s.”
“I most certainly am not!”
“Must say he is right, Lady Chloe,” Kentworth said, suddenly joining the enemy’s side. “Feel the same way about my relations and their, er…relations. Has every right to object to my, er…embracing you. Should never have done so. Still willing to offer you my hand.”
The thought apparently gave him no pleasure. Whatever was she thinking of? Trapping poor Sir Preston into a marriage he obviously didn’t want only to save herself? With sickening clarity, she saw how selfish, childish and, yes, even wicked her plan had been. She could not have Sir Preston taking the blame for her actions. “That won’t be necessary, particularly since I threw myself at you. There is no reason for you to sacrifice yourself on my account. So, if you will pardon me, I believe I will return to the ballroom.” She turned on her heel and walked as quickly as possible from the conservatory.
But the humiliation hardly ended there. Emily stood outside the conservatory. She stared at Chloe, her expression contemptuous. “How dare you attempt to trap him into marriage, you wicked creature! I swear if you have hurt him I will make you very, very sorry!” Her mouth trembled as if she were about to cry.
The truth hit Chloe with blinding force. “You are in love with Sir Preston,” she said, stricken. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt him, or you.” She dashed away, unable to bear any more, and ran into the nearest room off the passageway.
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