by Farr, Diane
To her surprise, everyone she met was extremely kind to her. Lady Paversham took Chloe briefly under her wing and introduced her to several persons, all of whom bowed and smiled and said something pleasant. There was such a racket of many voices all talking at once that Chloe caught none of their names. It didn’t seem to matter. After Lady Paversham drifted away, Tish guided her firmly by the elbow as they made their way slowly through the crowd, speaking first to this one, then to that, until all the smiling faces became a blur to Chloe.
The two girls finally arrived at a wall at the extreme end of the room, and stood their ground beside a set of French windows that opened onto a balcony. "It will be cooler here," explained Tish.
Chloe gratefully sank onto a tiny, spindle-legged chair. Despite the unexpected amiability she had encountered thus far, it was not her notion of entertainment to join a horde of well-dressed strangers who all seemed to be well-acquainted with each other, and listen to them converse, with gradually increasing volume, in an overcrowded room. It was obvious why this sort of gathering was called a "drum." Chloe’s ears were already ringing with the noise.
It was also becoming quite warm. Lady Paversham’s ballroom, or whatever this was, contained a vast quantity of candles and more people than Chloe had ever seen gathered in one place. Tish’s careful steering toward the windows had been an excellent idea.From the chair, Chloe hoped that her diminutive self would prove inconspicuous. For a time she sat quietly, watching the beautifully-gowned women and impeccably-tailored men swirl around her. She was not allowed to hide for long, however. Beside her, Tish was holding court. A steady stream of persons approached and hailed Mrs. Dalrymple, and Tish was soon thrown into the sort of infectious high spirits that Chloe irresistibly associated with impending disaster. During their childhood, whenever little Tish had burned with that reckless light she had inevitably run headlong into danger. Chloe’s uneasiness was not alleviated when she noticed that the majority of persons with whom her friend seemed to be intimately acquainted were gentlemen. She was pulled to her feet and presented to a score of them. All of them were young, most of them had an indefinable air of rakishness about them, and some of them evinced the high color and loud laughter of men who had been drinking something stronger than lemonade.
Chloe had never thought of herself as a prude, but although some of Tish’s acquaintances seemed agreeable, many of them made her hackles rise. She frequently found herself fighting an absurd urge to protect her friend, usually in the guise of wanting to pull Tish bodily away from the scapegrace who was frankly ogling her trim figure, or the drunken fool who was whispering something in her ear that made Tish blush.Chloe was kept busy chatting with the group that surrounded them, but she saw Tish’s eyes occasionally searching the room as if looking for someone. When she did so, there was a kind of pitiful eagerness in Tish’s eyes that went to Chloe’s heart. She found herself strongly tempted to give Robert Dalrymple a piece of her mind. Dinner at the club, indeed! She hoped, for Tish’s sake, that Robert would make an appearance after all and gladden his young wife’s heart. For all her popularity with this extremely fast crowd, Tish was unhappy, and Chloe thought she knew why.
Then, as she was watching Tish adroitly extricating herself from the encircling arm of an admirer, Chloe saw Tish’s eyes, fixed on the crowd, light up. With an intense feeling of relief, Chloe turned to welcome Robert Dalrymple. She was still looking for him when she noticed a stranger languidly approaching their group.
All thought of Robert Dalrymple fled. Chloe’s eyes, fastened on the unknown gentleman, caught and held like a fish on a hook. She stared. She could not help it. He was, quite simply, the most attractive man Chloe had ever seen.
He was impeccably dressed, but did not cultivate the formal, mannered stance of the other gentlemen in the room. He moved naturally, gracefully, like a panther. And, like a panther, he gave an instant impression of lethal power, carefully controlled. He seemed older than the callow gentlemen surrounding Tish, but that may have been a trick of air and manner. He moved with a sort of nonchalant assurance, and had the air of a man accustomed to command. He pressed through the crowd effortlessly. It almost seemed to part for him.
Chloe’s reaction to him was instantaneous, and shockingly physical. She was at a complete loss to explain it. He was not precisely handsome, at least not in the classical mode Chloe had been taught to admire. Dark hair, dark eyes, and strong features stamped with a faintly mocking expression were all she had time to note before he was upon them and Tish was performing introductions.
For once, Chloe made sure she caught the man’s name.
"Chloe, pray allow me to present George Carstairs, Lord Rival. Lord Rival, this is my friend, Miss Littlefield."
The man turned to her. His eyes raked her, and something in her appearance caused his keen gaze to sharpen. One brow shot up. Then he bowed, murmuring something polite. At least, Chloe assumed it was something polite—but then she noticed his mouth turning down at one corner, and this assumption was instantly cast into doubt. His expression, one brow flying high and his mouth simultaneously curving up and curving down, conveyed both salacious admiration and sardonic amusement. She had never seen anything like it.
There was something shockingly intimate in his gaze. Chloe felt as if she just been stripped naked. Completely nonplussed, she offered Lord Rival a stiff little curtsy.
His eyes, so dark they were nearly black, bored into hers. "Miss Littlefield, is it? I’ve heard a great deal about you."
His tone was perfectly polite, yet somehow conveyed an impression of mockery. And there was nothing one could reply to such a remark, of course. He had not given any indication of the sorts of things he had heard, nor where he had heard them.
It seemed he awaited a reply. "Really?" uttered Chloe, feeling like an idiot.
His eyes flicked over her again and his smile widened. His mouth was firm-lipped, muscled and sensuous. She caught herself staring at it, and blushed.
"Will you allow a stranger to wish you happy?"
So that was what he had heard! She turned to Tish, stammering and agonized, mutely begging for rescue. But no rescue was forthcoming. Tish appeared to have heard nothing. She was gazing at Lord Rival like a besotted schoolgirl.
With a shock, Chloe realized she had completely misinterpreted her friend’s restless behavior all evening. She had not been hoping against hope that her husband would arrive. It was Lord Rival, not Robert Dalrymple, who had lit the glow of excited welcome in Tish’s eyes a moment ago.
Chloe’s stammerings halted. She sucked in her breath sharply, and turned to look at Lord Rival with new eyes. He seemed to have forgotten all about Chloe Littlefield; he was now smiling softly at Tish and bowing caressingly over her hand.
The mystery of Tish’s unhappiness was solved at one stroke.
This man was the toad who was poisoning the well.
Chapter 5
Lord Rival murmured something inaudible, for Tish’s ears alone. Tish uttered a breathless little laugh and touched his lordship’s sleeve. The gesture was fleeting, over in an instant, but Chloe felt as if she had just witnessed something shocking. Sick at heart, she wondered bitterly what she would tell Gil. It might be more than a brother and a friend could do, to rescue Tish from such a dangerous diversion. And neither Chloe nor Gil had any expertise in this particular game.
She watched in mute frustration as Tish, her eyes now bright with excited happiness, flirted and preened for the amusement of this languid stranger. Lord Rival’s enjoyment of Tish’s infatuation was obvious, but Chloe could not rid herself of the impression that the caressing manners he adopted, and the sly intimacy his every gesture implied, were false. Standing to one side, observing Tish and Lord Rival without being able to catch the actual words of their conversation, Chloe was vividly aware of the unspoken messages Tish seemed unconscious of. There was mockery beneath Lord Rival’s smooth and well-practiced attentions, she was sure of it. Mockery, contempt, and boredom, a
ll barely beneath the surface. Why, the man scarcely bothered to conceal them. One moment his eyes sought Tish’s, hot and filled with scandalous promises. The next, they flicked away to idly scan the crowd, as if seeking better entertainment elsewhere.
Chloe felt anger growing within her. Tish may fancy herself a woman of the world, thought Chloe, but at heart she is still the innocent schoolgirl I used to play at jack-straws with! And this terrible man is amusing himself at her expense.
As if hearing her thoughts, Lord Rival suddenly glanced in her direction. She had that odd sensation again, as if he could see right through her—or at least right through her clothes. Eyes sparkling with anger, she lifted her chin at him, then pointedly turned her shoulder.
Any normal man would react to such patent dislike with chagrin. Even a coxcomb ought to have the good sense to recognize her hostility and keep his distance. She was horrified when Lord Rival’s response was exactly the opposite of what it should have been. His faint air of boredom instantly vanished. He dropped everything, walked away from Tish without a backward glance, and approached Chloe.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him advance through the knot of fashionable people. Chloe felt herself filling with wrathful astonishment. How dare he! But Lord Rival, she thought nervously, had the appearance of a man who dared anything. She hastily looked away, fanning herself and feigning disinterest.
She knew the exact moment he arrived at her side. He did not touch her, but it seemed to her that the air around this man crackled and sparked with palpable electricity. Neither of them spoke for what seemed a very long moment.
Rudeness was clearly called for. Chloe was unused to practicing deliberate rudeness, but Lord Rival made any other response impossible. She summoned it from somewhere, and began.
"Well?" she said coldly. And waited.
"Well what?"
She dared not look at him. She addressed her remarks to the middle distance. "Why have you approached me, sir?"
"I am come to offer my assistance."
Now she looked at him, surprised. He was taller than she had thought; she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. They danced with mischief. Really, the man was far too attractive! Small wonder Tish was making a fool of herself.
"Assistance?" she repeated blankly."Yes. You had the most extraordinary expression on your face just now." He leaned one hand against the doorjamb behind them and leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice. "I thought for a moment you had taken me in dislike. But of course that is impossible."
She stared into his dark, mocking eyes, feeling simultaneously transfixed and confused. Impossible? Impossible to dislike him? He was joking, of course. But Chloe was unable to smile. His words had hit too near the mark.
His voice became even softer. She had to strain to catch the words. "You couldn’t have meant that scowl for me. So there must be something else amiss. I came to discover what it is."
He had insinuated his body so close to hers that she could actually feel the heat radiating from his person. His voice was mesmerizing, teasing and intimate. And she desired nothing more than to hear it again.
When she tried to speak, her voice came out in a whisper. "I don’t know what you mean."
Dear heaven, that was the very look he had just given Tish. Now that she was on the receiving end of such a look, and felt her own reaction to it, Chloe’s face heated with a sudden blush. She looked away again, fanning herself more vigorously in her agitation. It was impossible to think straight while looking at the man.
A pair of long, brown fingers reached out and stilled the beating of her fan. He is not wearing gloves, she noted in a detached sort of way. It was distracting, somehow, seeing the power inherent in those lean fingers, and the way the muscles moved beneath the surface of his warm skin. The direction her thoughts had taken sent another flush of heat to her cheeks. She glanced fleetingly up at him, shamefaced.
"I am susceptible to drafts," he told her gently, indicating her fan.
Her blush intensified. She could think of nothing, absolutely nothing, to say. She did not believe for one moment that Lord Rival was susceptible to drafts. He had only said what he knew must embarrass her. The necessity of formulating some reply, and her complete inability to apologize for what she knew was a spurious injury, held her tonguetied. Then annoyance came to her rescue, lifting her chin and loosening her tongue.
"What a rapper!" she blurted. "You’re not susceptible to drafts—nor anything else, I daresay!"
Too late, she remembered his rank. Chloe froze, horrified. She had not only used a most unladylike expression, she had addressed someone far above her with unbecoming familiarity.
Up went his eyebrow. Down went his mouth. "Oh, Miss Littlefield!" he purred. Laughter quivered in his voice. "You misjudge me."
"H-how so, my lord?"
His eyes flicked over her. His mocking smile widened. "I am very susceptible indeed."
He had somehow invested the word with a different meaning. Chloe stared at him, completely flummoxed. She knew she was out of her depth, and sinking fast.
Tish suddenly appeared beside them, lightly brushing Lord Rival’s sleeve with her shoulder. The brief contact did not escape Chloe. She saw Tish’s tiny, compulsive caress, and instantly comprehended its significance. She knew exactly how Tish felt. She itched to touch him, too!
Appalled, Chloe recognized that the moment of hot, sick anger that had flared in her heart at the sight was only partially the protective anger of a friend, unwilling to see Tish victimized. Part of it was jealousy. She did not remember ever feeling the ignoble emotion before, but she recognized it at once. The shock sobered her. She watched with worried eyes as Tish recalled Lord Rival’s attention, eagerly divulging what she had just learned—that Lady Paversham had set aside some rooms for cards, and wasn’t that lovely?
It seemed to Chloe that his lordship turned his attention to Tish very reluctantly. His eyes lingered on her own a bit longer than they should have. But then she recognized the thrill that secret knowledge gave her, and her native shrewdness reasserted itself like a dash of cold water. Why, he probably gave that impression to every female! It was an easy enough trick to do.
The realization was strangely depressing.Tish was inviting Lord Rival, whom she called "George," to play piquet. He favored Tish with a smile that somehow managed to convey both tenderness and wickedness. "Very well, but bear in mind that I consider the game peculiarly my own," he told her. "Do not expect me to let you win. I shall have no mercy."
His sinful smile turned Tish’s voice tremulous and heated the glow in her eyes. "I am not afraid of you, my lord."
"Brave girl." Even the suppressed laughter in his voice was a caress.
Chloe watched, her wits returned now that Lord Rival’s attention was claimed by another. She was amazed at the effect his smile had on Tish—and chagrined to acknowledge that it would have had the same effect on her, had she been its recipient. Oh, the man was a snake. Charming and evil and poisonously attractive.
Tish turned to Chloe, placing a beseeching hand on her arm. "Chloe, would you mind terribly if I disappeared for half an hour?"
The idea of Tish withdrawing to a private room with Lord Rival fairly made her hair stand on end. Chloe swiftly forced a helpless look, knowing well that her childlike features lent themselves to such an expression. "Well, I—I don’t know, Tish. What shall I do while you are gone?"
"Oh, dear." Tish’s eyes filled with concern.
Chloe spoke before Tish could think of something. "Might I come along and watch your game?" she pleaded.
"But, Chloe, that won’t be amusing for you at all. You don’t play piquet."
"I should like to learn. Oh, Tish, pray do not leave me out here with all these strangers! I promise I will not interrupt you. You won’t even know I am in the room."
"Impossible," murmured Lord Rival. Chloe refused to look at him. She bent all her powers on Tish, who seemed to be wavering.
"Well, if—
if Lord Rival does not mind. You don’t, do you, George? Poor Chloe! I really cannot leave her to the mercies of this crowd. It was silly of me to even think of cards tonight. Perhaps we had better postpone—"
"Oh, by no means!" said Chloe quickly. "Not on my account, Tish. I couldn’t bear it. I can stay out here without you. If I sit by the wall, I daresay no one will disturb me while you are away." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, assuming the look of a shy and shrinking violet who was trying to be heroic for her friend’s sake.
A low laugh escaped Lord Rival. "Clever Miss Littlefield!" he said, for Chloe’s ears alone. Then he raised his voice to include Tish. "Let us include her, my dear. I’ve no objection to your friend’s company." His eyes raked Chloe mockingly. "Quite the contrary, in fact. I look forward to bettering my acquaintance with her."
This outrageous man was flirting with both of them simultaneously! He was definitely playing Tish for a fool. And what’s more, if she let him, he’d do the same to her. Chloe felt a flash of anger, but did her level best to hide it. She bestowed upon his lordship the sort of smile she supposed he expected from females—wide-eyed and adoring. "Oh, thank you, my lord!" she simpered.
An arrested expression crossed his features, but Tish seized his arm and began chattering happily, pulling him in the direction of the card rooms. He offered his other arm to Chloe and she took it silently, dropping her eyes in what she hoped was an expression of docile modesty. In fact, laying her hand on Lord Rival’s sleeve caused her heart to pound with excitement. What was it about the man? The heat of his body seemed to warm her fingers, even through the layers of cloth that separated them.
Soon the threesome was ensconced in an intimate little room containing only one small table and a single branch of candles. It was awkward for Chloe, but she donned what she hoped was a sweet and simple-minded expression and pretended to be unaware that she was enacting the role of chaperon. She feared at first that Tish would see through her charade of innocence, but Tish’s attention was clearly elsewhere. So Chloe drew her chair off to one side and watched the play, feigning absorbed interest.