by Hope Tarr
He stared at the half-full champagne flute in her hand and wondered how much it contributed to this new gay Callie he scarcely recognized but very much wanted to get to know. "A glass of punch, then?"
Not giving her a second opportunity to refuse, he took her elbow and steered her away to a relatively private spot on the other side of the room. Releasing her, he said, "You look perfectly lovely tonight."
She looked down at her bosom, restored once more to porcelain perfection. "What I feel is perfectly naked but thank you."
Not yet but soon, Callie. Soon, he thought but dare not say. "Glad you came?" he asked, his smile hinting he already knew what her answer would be.
Beaming, she answered, "Need you even ask? Tonight has exceeded any expectation I might have had. And . . . being here with you is the very best part."
He grinned, charmed by her shy-eyed admission. "In that case, dance with me."
She surrendered her champagne to a passing waiter and turned to him. "Very well, but if I lame you, mind you refused to heed my warning."
"Duly noted, but if you lame me, you'd best be prepared to nurse me back to health. I'll wager you'd look almost as fetching in a sister's bibbed apron as you do in that dress."
Laying her right hand in his, she followed him out onto the floor just as the orchestra struck up the strains of a waltz. She stepped into his arms and he settled his other hand on the small of her back.
She smiled up at him, the electric light from the chandelier overhead playing on the red hues in her glossy coil of dark hair. "I regret to inform you my schedule doesn't allow time for spooning up broth to self-indulgent libertines."
"Ouch." He made a show of mock hurt before turning serious once more. "Any chance of your stealing away tomorrow afternoon for an hour or so?"
The little telltale frown line appeared on her forehead, a sure sign that duty and pleasure were once again warring inside her. "I have a committee meeting in the afternoon and then I've to run through what I'll say to the prime minister with Harriet." He groaned when she shook her head. "I could break away around teatime."
He smiled, relieved. A quiet meal before the fire would be the perfect setting for a seduction but even better, it would be his best opportunity to discuss with her what Gavin had said. If Callie was being steered toward activities that might lead in her arrest--or worse--he meant to do all he could to keep her safe. Persuading her to see reason would be his first tactic, not that he held out much hope for its success. She was a stubborn woman and more passionately committed to her ideals than anyone, male or female, he'd ever encountered. For the second time in the last hour, a warning siren set off in his head. Just when had securing Callie's safety taken precedence over seducing her?
"In that case, I'll assemble a feast to tantalize your palate, delight your senses, arouse your--"
"Stop!" She brushed a gloved hand over the tightly cinched fabric at the waist of her gown. "Assuming I ever have the courage to wear this again, it will fit."
"In that case, what say you to toasted bread and cheese and a good bottle of wine?"
"I'd say that sounds heavenly." Something, or rather someone, beyond him caught her eye. Jealousy flared for a second time, doused by her exclamation, "Oh good heavens, there goes Lady Stonevale."
Whomever Lady Stonevale thought she was, or whatever she was trying to communicate, was irrelevant to Hadrian. He could have happily gone over, planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and not given the matter a moment's thought.
Apparently oblivious to his idiocy, she supplied, "Her husband, Lord Stonevale, is a front bencher in the Lords. Before inheriting his title, he sat in the Commons, one of Disraeli's key proteges."
"And you're no doubt thinking that a word in the ear of his wife may be just the chance you've been waiting for?"
"Oh, but Hadrian, our dance--"
"Will be the first of many more," he said, not at all certain that was true. He steered them to the perimeter of the dance floor and released her. At her hesitant look, he gently nudged her away. "Callie, it's your chance. Who knows, but it may be the very thing that tips the scales to victory. You've worked too hard to let it go by without trying. Now off with you."
She took a few steps away and then turned back. "Hadrian, are you sure?"
"Go." He shot her a wink to cover the inexplicable emptiness that had overtaken him the moment he'd let her free from his arms. Unlike him, Callie belonged to the larger world. These sweet, stolen moments with her were just that--stolen. Once she found out who and what he was, she wouldn't care to set eyes on him ever again. "I'll be waiting when you come back."
Callie found her aunt sipping a glass of punch in the shadow of a potted palm and talking animatedly to a dashing older gentleman with white whiskers and a lance straight stance. Hating to interrupt, she turned back before Lottie caught her eye and beckoned her forward.
"Callie, dear, there you are." Turning to her companion, Lottie said, "Allow me to present my niece, Caledonia Rivers. Callie, this is a dear friend of mine, Maximilian St. John."
Callie fancied the older gentleman looked at her with something less than approval, but, no doubt for her aunt's sake, he managed a stiff smile and bow. "Miss Rivers, you must know your aunt is your most devoted admirer."
"That is so," Lottie said, looking between the two. "But then again there is much about Callie to admire."
"My aunt is, as usual, far too kind to me." Callie acknowledged the gentleman's courtly bow with a smile and a nod. Turning back to her aunt, who looked rather flushed she thought, she said, "Auntie, I hate to interrupt but might I beg a word with you alone?"
"Certainly, dear," Lottie replied. "Max, if you will excuse us?"
"But of course," he said though Callie didn't miss the reluctance with which he backed away. When he was out of earshot, Callie leaned in and whispered, "I was hoping you might introduce me to Lady Stonevale."
"Of course, where are my manners? I should have offered before now." Taking light hold of Callie's elbow, she ferried them across the ballroom.
Elegant in a gown of amber silk, Lady Stonevale held court amidst the milling crowd, a tall, dark-haired young man at her side. As they approached, Lottie explained that the gentleman was her eldest son, Simon, so-named after his father. Unfortunately Lord Stonevale had come down with the head cold and his eldest had stepped in to serve as host in his sire's stead.
Introductions made the rounds and then Lottie tactfully withdrew along with Lady Stonevale's son, who promised to return with glasses of punch. When they were alone, Lady Stonevale turned to Callie. "Miss Rivers, what an estimable young woman you are. I have been following your progress in the newspapers." Her ladyship's speech carried the hint of the West Country in her vowels.
"Your ladyship." Callie hesitated, wondering if a curtsy might appear a tad overdone.
She was saved from awkwardness by Lady Stonevale, who proffered a satin-gloved hand and a gracious smile. "Please, call me Christine."
Warmed by the unexpected familiarity, the complete lack of artifice, Callie shook hands. "I would be honored. And I am Caledonia, though my family and friends call me Callie."
"As I hope we shall be very great friends indeed, with your permission I shall call you Callie." Again that soft smile, the antidote to any awkwardness. "I'd like to hear more about this cause of yours."
"As I would like to hear more about your school."
Lady Stonevale inclined her head toward a velvet-covered cushion ledge. "In that case, let us sit, shall we?"
"It would be my honor . . . Christine."
"The purpose of the school is the betterment of our fallen women through education, both academic and practical. But having spoken with you, it occurs to me that education may be only one piece of the puzzle."
Seated at Lady Stonevale's side, Callie nodded, feeling she'd met a kindred spirit. "Indeed, milady, among women disenfranchisement knows no class boundary. A woman is still largely under the control of her husband o
r father, be she bred to great wealth or the gutters, educated or unschooled." Callie stopped herself. "Oh dear, I've gone rambling again."
Lady Stonevale shook her head. Threads of silver shone in her simply dressed honey brown hair, but her smooth face was that of a much younger woman. "On the contrary, I find your candor refreshing. Tomorrow is my 'at-home' day, as these Londoners love to say. You must call on me if you are free. I will arrange for my husband to be there as well. The poor dear man is abed with the head cold, but hopefully by tomorrow he will be sufficiently recovered."
"I would be delighted." She stood as Lady Stonevale's son returned with a glass of punch in either hand.
Lady Stonevale rose as well. "In that case, two o'clock would be best. Accepting the punch glass from her son with a smile, she said, "In matters of politics, my husband and I do not always see eye to eye, but I can assure you he is the most reasonable and feeling of men. Make your argument to him as you have done to me, and I would be highly surprised if he didn't throw his support behind your bill."
Spirits high, Callie left Lady Stonevale and struck out in search of the ladies' retiring room. She needed a moment to gather herself before she returned to the ballroom--and Hadrian. Try as she might to minimize her feelings for him as base animal attraction, lust, whatever it was, it was on the verge of careening out of control and taking her with it. Indeed, she felt like she was living a fairytale--something as beautifully fragile as the bubbles rising from the bottom of her fluted champagne glass. Knowing that at any moment the bubble might burst, she vowed to enjoy every moment without reservation or regret.
A trio of women gathered about the gilded wall mirror, reticules lying open on the marble-topped dressing table. Instinctively Callie stepped back, but it was too late; they'd seen her.
"Ladies." She entered, stepping within striking distance of three sharp pairs of eyes.
"Why Miss Rivers, pray don't allow us to chase you away. We are only powdering our noses as an excuse to have a bit of a chat. Won't you join us?"
Callie recognized the speaker as Miss Isabel Duncan, eldest daughter of one of the Honorable Herbert Duncan III, a crony of Josiah Dandridge and one of the more vocal opponents of the suffrage bill.
Her sister, Miss Penelope Duncan, settled her unblinking gaze on Callie. "What a lovely gown, Miss Rivers. I meant to remark upon it earlier. I for one wouldn't have the courage to wear something quite so . . . revealing." Miss Penelope's gaze settled unmistakably on Callie's breasts and her rosebud mouth formed a smirk. "But then again I suppose daring not to care what others may think is the privilege of age."
The third woman, a gaunt blonde swathed in pale pink, chimed in with, "Indeed, given your choice of color, one might wonder if perhaps you'd suffered a recent loss."
The elder Miss Duncan let out a peel of laughter that cut Callie to the quick. "The only loss Miss Rivers suffered occurred a good ten years ago when her fiance cried off, is that not so, Miss Rivers? But then given Miss Rivers's unfeminine proclivities . . ." She let the word hang in the air a full moment, before adding, "Who can fault him for it?" The kittenish pout she'd exhibited earlier in the ballroom when gentleman were about twisted into a sneer.
The Callie of ten years before would have fled the room in tears. Instead she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. "I very much doubt that sacrificing independent thought for feigning so-called womanliness parades as any great virtue. As for age conveying certain privileges, you have the right of it. I call on it now in allowing myself the liberty, the pleasure, of telling you all to go to the devil."
"Well, I never," one of them sniffed although Callie neither saw nor cared whom. One by one, they turned and filed out of the room, noses pointed north.
From the door of the lavatory, a loo flushed. "Brava! What a pack of bitches. Were I you, I shouldn't mind a single word any of them said."
A petite and very familiar-looking brunette sidled up to the counter, dipped her hands into the bowl of rose water, and then accepted a linen hand towel from the attendant standing silent as a statue in the corner. Callie recalled seeing her briefly in the ballroom on the arm of one of Hadrian's friends, the Scottish chap with the charming brogue and the laughing eyes.
Turning to Callie, she smiled and said, "I'm Katherine Lindsey, only do call me Kat. That is how my family and friends address me, and I have a suspicion you and I will be great friends indeed."
Callie took a moment to study her latest acquaintance up close. A delicately molded but slightly longish nose added interest to otherwise symmetrical features. Honey-brown curls piled high and artfully arranged around a pearled tiara afforded the illusion of height.
Drained after taking her stand, Callie sank down onto the tufted pink velvet settee. "Why is that?"
Lady Katherine joined her. "We're both rebels in our way, you because of your politics and I because of my refusal to become leg-shackled to some man simply because every woman of a certain age and station is told she must."
Leg-shackled--now here was a kindred spirit. The warmth in Lady Katherine's intelligent brown eyes invited confidences. Shoulders drooping, Callie admitted, "I feel such a fool. I shouldn't have lost my temper as I did."
"Nonsense, you'd every right to give that lot the dressing down you did but then again I'm known to have a bit of temper myself. As to the rubbish about your gown and looks, pay it no heed. You've managed to draw the undivided attention of every male in the room--the breathing ones, at any rate."
Callie angled her companion a sideways gaze. "Not quite every male, I should think."
Lady Katherine's lovely face took on a pensive expression. "If you're speaking of Mr. O'Rourke, I assure you I've done nothing to encourage his suit."
"It would seem you need do nothing at all. He is quite clearly smitten."
"Hmm, I rather think the same could be said of Hadrian. Oh, Mr. St. Claire, I should say."
Suddenly Callie recalled why the piquant face should look so strikingly familiar. "You're one of his PBs, Professional Beauties, aren't you? His bestseller, in fact."
Lady Katherine shrugged her slender shoulders. "It's a great deal of stuff and nonsense; but, then again, it pays the accounts."
Wondering why someone such as Lady Katherine would need to work as a photographer's paid model, Callie was too tactful to ask.
Lady Katherine popped up from her seat. "Shall we go back in? I for one could do with a drink."
When the call into the buffet supper came and Callie still hadn't returned, Hadrian grew restless. Though it was gauche and simply not done, he struck out in search of her. After going down more hallways and stairwells than he cared to count, he finally spotted her emerging from a side door with Lady Katherine. The two looked to be in deep conversation.
He walked toward them. Acknowledging Lady Katherine with a brief bow, he turned to Callie and said, "When the supper bell rang and you hadn't returned, I wondered if something might have happened."
Lady Katherine looked between them. "Supper, you say. Thank God, I'm famished." Turning to Callie, she smiled. "Miss Rivers, how glad I am we met at last. I do hope we shall see each other before long. Who knows, but one of these days I might even attend one of your rallies."
"I would like that very much."
Lady Katherine swept off in the direction of the supper room. Turning to Callie, Hadrian remarked, "You and Lady Kat look to be fast friends."
She nodded. "She's a bright, spirited woman with some refreshingly modern ideas. It's a bit premature to say, but I have a feeling we may become friends at some point. At least I hope so."
Gazing at her face, which had dimmed considerably from the short while ago when she'd left him on the dance floor, he said, "Something did happen, didn't it?"
When she didn't deny it, Hadrian lost no time in steering them inside a small sitting room adjoining the cloakroom. Closing the door behind them, he walked over to her and said, "Tell me. I want to know." If some man had dealt her an affront or worse
yet, touched her, he wouldn't rest until he had the cad's name.
She shrugged those lovely shoulders of hers, bare save for the thin sequined straps. "It's nothing really. Some silliness I took too much to heart. There were some women who said some unkind things, deliberately so."
"What sorts of things?"
She waved a hand in the air as if it were all of no consequence though her eyes told him otherwise. "Oh you know, personal comments on my gown, my age and er . . . size." The latter admission had her hedging her gaze away.
"Callie, look at me." Propping her chin on the edge of his hand, he lifted her face up to the light.
Feeling foolish, she tried looking away, but with her heeled slippers they were of a height and when Hadrian moved closer still there was nowhere to look but in his eyes. Giving in, she quickly told him what had transpired with Isabel Duncan and company.
"So, you see, it actually turned out to be a good thing. It forced me to confront some old demons I've never really had the chance to release, and now that I have I'm all right, really."
"Isabel Duncan is a silly goose, a little idiot without a brain in her empty head," he said, the ferocity in his voice surprising him. "She only said those things because she was jealous." He paused, gaze sweeping over her face, throat, the satiny flesh of her shoulders and high-sloped breasts. "And I can't blame her. You're stunning. When I led you out onto the dance floor, I was the envy of every man in that room. I could feel their eyes stabbing into me like sabers."
"You're being very good to me, very kind."
He shook his head, looking sad suddenly. "Don't you know by now, Callie, that I am neither particularly good nor kind? But despite my more obvious defects, I am still a man with two working eyes, a photographer's eyes. When I look at you as I'm doing now and tell you how utterly beautiful you are, you ought to believe me."