He brought out the worst in her, and she refused to be cowed by his attitude. As a result, the caustic sparring that was rapidly becoming the norm between them sprang up. It appeared to hugely entertaining his sisters, but why that should be Clarissa could not have said.
Chapter Four
Luc was in the drawing room on the evening of the ball, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he awaited the arrival of the ladies. Dressed entirely in black, relieved only by the crisp white linen of his shirt and the midnight blue silk of his waistcoat, he was indifferent to the fine figure he cut. Instead he was deep in contemplation of Clarissa Hartley, at a loss to understand what it was about an unfashionable country widow that so attracted him. In a perverse attempt to discover the answer, he mentally listed her faults.
She had no idea how to behave in tonnish society and would doubtless embarrass him with the enormous appetite she never sought to conceal. Her hands were a mess, her hair was unfashionably styled, she was impertinent, spirited and far too ready to express her opinion. If all that wasn’t sufficient to earn his disdain, she also crawled about his floor in an undignified attempt to charm his dog. Luc curled his lip. Her beautiful face was her only saving grace. He had yet to see her body, it was true, but he’d decided that it had to be unremarkable, given her healthy appetite.
Luc sipped his drink and reviewed his list, attempting to be fair. Were the traits that he’d identified really faults? Had he not been wondering of late if he was fed up with the artificiality of the ton himself? That being so, it ought to be a refreshing change to find someone who was not even faintly willing to pay lip service to its absurdities. As for Mulligan? He was already devoted to her, following her all over the house…and Mulligan didn’t usually like anyone.
Most women ate large meals before going to balls so as to appear in public as though they had the appetites of sparrows. He somehow couldn’t imagine Lady Hartley condoning such ridiculous behaviour. And her hands were the result of what he’d now discovered to be her single-minded determination to keep her father’s and her husband’s lifework intact. A cause for admiration, surely?
As for her body, did it really matter? Luc shrugged and refilled his glass. She would be gone from his life in another week, and he would soon forget all about her.
The door opened. Lady Hartley walked in, and Luc almost choked on his whiskey. Putting his glass hastily aside, he found himself openly gaping at her for the second time in as many days.
“Good God!”
“Good evening, my lord.” When he didn’t — couldn’t — immediately respond, a frown invaded her brow. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong, Lady Hartley?” He was aware of an appreciate smile spreading slowly across his face. “Indeed not. You are incredibly beautiful!”
It sounded more like an accusation than a compliment as, for once, Luc’s poise deserted him. His eyes ran the length of her body, and he wondered how he could have got it so wrong. Her figure was certainly not slight, as was the current fashion. It was, however, temptingly curvaceous. Her breasts were full and firm. Delicate silk glided smoothly over her waist and displayed the outline of long, slender limbs that set his heart racing and his mind wandering in all sorts of forbidden directions. The gown was perfect for her; Nicole had obeyed his dictate and persuaded her to choose sea green silk. He had just known the colour would be right for her.
Her beautiful face was still unadorned by powder and paint, but her hair had been freshly trimmed, relieving the severity of her previous style. It now fell in simple, natural waves around her face, emphasising the extent of her devastating beauty.
Luc reached for her gloved hand and raised it to her lips. “May I hope that you will favour me with the first dance this evening, my lady?”
“Ah, well, that could be a problem.” Clarissa extracted her hand and looked away from him in obvious embarrassment.
“You do not wish to dance with me?” Luc affected a hurt expression.
“It’s not only that.” She blushed, but didn’t deny that she found the prospect of dancing with him less than inspiring. “It’s more that, well…” She hesitated, then tilted her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “You see, the thing is…what I’m trying to say is that I don’t actually know how to dance.”
She maintained her regal stance and sent him a challenging look, clearly expecting him to have a good laugh at her expense. But far from laughing, Luc felt intensely sorry for her.
“My dear Lady Hartley, you can have no idea how sad that makes me feel. Why has such a simple pleasure been denied to you? Surely they dance in Northumberland?”
“Well, of course they do! I can manage country dances,” she conceded. “We had those sometimes on the estate when my father was alive; and I can waltz — after a fashion. My father taught me. But I’m rather out of practise, and I should hate to step all over those shiny shoes of yours,” she added sweetly. “But as for those cotillion things, I confess they are quite beyond me. I always seem move the wrong way. I don’t really see the point of them anyway, all that twirling and swaying. What a waste of energy. No, there will be no dancing for me tonight. I shall remain with your mother and observe the activities from the sidelines.”
Luc knew that she had as much chance of keeping herself apart as he had of avoiding Emily Stokes. One look at her and half the fortune hunters in the room, to say nothing of those with baser intentions, would be surrounding her. Luc frowned at the prospect, feeling absurdly protective all of a sudden. She knew nothing of tonnish ways, and would be easily taken in. It would be far better if she remained with him. She was his mother’s guest, so it was beholden upon him to keep her safe.
Luc’s silence appeared to unnerve her, and she spoke again. “Besides, Lord Deverill, I’m usually taller than the gentlemen I meet, and that tends to make them uncomfortable.”
“You’re not taller than me.” He reclaimed her hand and stood very close to her. He could detect panic in her eyes as she looked up into his face, now looming dangerously close to hers. He was aware of his predatory smile, and there was nothing he could do about the lethal intent in his eyes. He prowled round her, still holding her hand as he took in her appearance from every angle. Slowly he permitted his smile to broaden. “Well, then, my lady,” he said quietly, “it seems I must curb my impatience and wait for the first waltz before we can take to the floor together.”
“Are you sure you want to risk it?”
“Oh, yes, m’dear. I’m willing to risk a very great deal for your sake.” He raised her fingers and brushed his lips across her knuckles, just as the door opened and his mother entered the room.
“Ah, yes, Clarissa dear, just so!” She gave a deep, satisfied sigh before clapping her hands briskly. “Now, come along, my dears, I do so dislike having to sit in the carriage for an age whilst we wait for others to disgorge.”
In spite of the countess’s best intentions, they were not amongst the first to arrive. By the time their carriage had trundled its slow way to Lady Cowley’s door, the ballroom was almost full. Clarissa descended the stairs on Luc’s arm, her posture elegant and erect, an expression of polite interest gracing her beautiful features. As they progressed there was a decided lessening in the conversations around them. Many people turned to stare at them openly. Others moved a little closer, raising quizzing glasses.
“Why are so many people looking at us?” she asked.
“They’re not looking at us, Lady Hartley. They’re looking at you.”
“Oh, Lord, have I committed some sort of faux pas already?”
“Not at all.” He briefly covered the trembling fingers on his arm with his free hand. “They’re looking at you because you’re new. The denizens of the ton are incurably nosy, you see, and everyone wants to know who you are. The ladies are insanely jealous because you’re so beautiful, and all the gentlemen wish to dance with you — and more.”
“But that’s ridiculous! There’s nothing remarkable about me.”
&nbs
p; Luc laughed. “Allow me, and the rest of this throng, to be the judge of that.”
No sooner had they reached the bottom of the stairs than they were accosted by Luc’s friend, Felix Western.
“Good gad, Luc, who do we have here? Who is this charming creature?”
Luc sighed, resigned to the fact that the rest of the evening would continue in the same vein.
“Lord Western, allow me to present Lady Hartley. My mother’s god-daughter,” he added, in answer to Felix’s unspoken question.
Felix executed an elegant bow, and Clarissa was smiling broadly when he raised her from her curtsey. Something about Felix clearly amused her, which didn’t surprise Luc; it was ever thus with the charismatic Felix.
“See, Luc, I’m making the lady smile already,” Felix said, smugly. “Perhaps you should entrust her to my care?”
“Not a chance!”
“Speaking of which, Lady Hartley,” Felix said, ignoring Luc’s interruption and flashing a devastating smile, “the first dance is about to form up. Can I persuade you to stand up with me?”
“Lady Hartley is saving herself for the first waltz, Felix.” Luc affected a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “And,” he added laconically, “it’s promised to me.”
“Luc, you naughty boy!” Their conversation was interrupted by an elegant lady with a profusion of white blond curls. She wore her ball gown with a casual familiarity that suggested such garments had adorned her person for her entire life. “Where have you been and why haven’t you answered my notes?”
“Evening, Emily.” Luc suppressed a sigh. Since his tryst with her at Felix’s last party, he’d deliberately avoided the places where he knew she was likely to be. He had hoped that by so doing she would realise he had no serious interest in her and save herself from public humiliation. Obviously not. “Lady Hartley, may I present Mrs. Stokes.”
Emily offered Clarissa an appraising glance and dismissive nod before focusing all of her attention on Luc. “Come along, Luc. I’m sure Felix and Lady Hartley will excuse us. You must dance with me.”
“On the contrary, Emily, I must do no such thing.” Luc’s tone was decisive, bordering on rude. “Now, if you and Felix will excuse us, there’s someone I would have Lady Hartley meet.” Luc placed Clarissa Hartley’s hand on his arm and led her away, leaving Emily and Felix gaping at their retreating figures.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Nothing of importance. Now, come on, I’ll introduce you to some of the leading lights amongst the ton, if you think you can withstand the excitement.”
“With pleasure, but I did promise I’d seek out your sisters.”
“Never fear,” Luc said resignedly. “They’ll find us soon enough.”
Of course, they did. Both girls swept down upon Clarissa, kissed her and declared themselves delighted with her gown. They flooded her with questions, wanting to know how she was enjoying the ball, with whom she had thus far spoken, and so much more. Their husbands were scarcely less verbose with their compliments, causing Luc to glower and his sisters to dissolve into fits of giggles.
It was a half-hour before the first waltz struck up.
“I believe the pleasure is mine, Lady Hartley,” Luc said, bowing before her.
He offered her his arm, led her to the floor, and swept her into his arms. After an unsteady start, when she almost made several wrong moves that were elegantly covered by Luc, they settled down. He held her tightly and led her firmly into the steps, making it almost impossible for her to go wrong.
“Relax, Lady Hartley, you’re doing fine. Enjoy it!”
“Shush, I’m counting.”
Luc chuckled. “Just follow my feet. I won’t let you go wrong.”
“Why is everyone looking at us again?”
“For the same reason as when we entered the room. How many requests for dances have you turned down?”
“I’ve no idea.” She seemed surprised by the question. “One or two, perhaps.”
“More like a dozen, probably more, and now here you are dancing with me. Besides, people are curious and it’s the first opportunity that they have had to get a good look at you.” Luc motioned toward a cluster of matrons seated near the dance floor. They were observing them with differing degrees of interest and finding much that required discussion between them.
“Are you all right, Lady Hartley?” Luc asked as he raised her from her curtsey at the end of the dance. “You look a little flustered.”
“Not exactly. It’s so crowded in here, and so hot. Is there anywhere in this house where I might find a little space? A brief respite is all that I require.”
“Of course, come with me.”
Cutting a path through the throng, Luc led her onto the terrace. As soon as she was outside she lifted her arms above her head and took in huge gulps of fresh air.
“Thank you, that’s much better. I’m not used to crowds, to the constant press of bodies. And all that perfume too. I found it a little overwhelming. Give me a recalcitrant herd of sheep to deal with any day.”
Luc was highly amused by her refreshing candour. “Drawing similarities between a tonnish ball and a herd of sheep shows remarkable insight.”
“Actually, I’m in no position to judge, because I’ve never been to a ball before.”
“What, never? Not even in the country?”
“No, and I’ve never owned a ball gown before, either. Heaven knows what I shall do with this one when I return home.”
“Are you enjoying this ball, Lady Hartley?”
“Well…y-yes.”
“You don’t sound very certain.”
“Perhaps that’s because all those elegant ladies in there disturb me. They’re so delicate, and seem unable to do anything for themselves. They make me feel uncomfortable. I must appear as a clumsy elephant by comparison.”
Luc roared with laughter. “My dear, you greatly underestimate yourself.”
“And another thing: no one seems to talk about anything. It’s all so shallow! Oh, I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth with one hand. “I didn’t intend to criticise.”
“Not at all. Your views are most refreshing.”
“Well, then, perhaps you can explain what I did wrong earlier. Lord Sterling asked how I was enjoying my stay in town and what I thought of it, so I told him. He seemed very much surprised.” She frowned. “Why should that be?”
“M’dear, you are a breath of fresh air.” When it became apparent that she required something more by way of an explanation, he obliged. “You see, no one in the ton actually answers a question honestly.” He grinned. “Come to think of it, hardly anyone answers a question at all. You must have taken Sterling by surprise.”
“But why not? Why ask a question if you don’t wish to know the answer?”
Luc chuckled. “Tonnish people giving honest answers? Now that’s a thought to conjure with.”
Clarissa moved to lean on the balustrade, anxious to avoid Lord Deverill’s penetrating gaze. She was obviously behaving very provincially and he was having difficulty not laughing at her. Clarissa found that she had no desire to be laughed at, so she looked up at the clear sky, speckled with stars, instead.
“I tried to count them once, you know, when I was a child,” she said, surprising herself by making the admission. “My father caught me at it, and for nights on end we tried to manage it together. He warned me that we wouldn’t succeed because they stretched into infinity.” She sighed. “I wonder if he’s amongst them, now?”
“You loved your father very much?”
“Oh yes, above everyone. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father took responsibility for me almost single-handedly. I never had a governess, you know — he taught me everything himself. I could read proficiently by the time I was six. At ten we had political discussions and spent our evenings playing chess. But most of all he taught me to love and respect the land, to put back as well as taking out. He persuaded me that I could be anything I wanted t
o be. He was convinced that the only thing which stops people from achieving their dreams is the limit of their imaginations.”
“But he didn’t think to supply you with feminine things?”
“Why would he?” She was genuinely surprised by the question. “I was more than content. Agnes, my maid, often used to say the same thing, though.” Clarissa smiled at the memory. “She used to get quite cross and say that I needed to be introduced into society, to go dancing and meet young gentlemen. But I didn’t have any desire to do so, and so my father let me be.”
Clarissa was still observing the sky. “My father also taught me to recognise the constellations. Look.” She pointed upwards. “There’s the Bear. And the Plough is yonder.”
Lord Deverill stepped up behind her. A strange shudder rocked her body as he pointed upwards also, his hand skimming over her bare shoulder. “And there’s Orion, the Hunter. I can just make out his belt and sword — and can you see the hounds at his feet?”
“You know about the stars too?”
He smiled at her. “I have a little knowledge on many subjects.”
Clarissa moved away from him, distancing herself from the feelings of danger and excitement he seemed to engender within her whenever he stood too close. He said nothing, but his black eyes raked her face, leaving her with the distinct impression that he could see into her head and read her thoughts.
“Tell me about your Northumberland.”
He couldn’t have hit upon a subject more guaranteed to make her open up. “Oh, Northumberland,” she said dreamily. “Where to start? Have you never been there?”
“I’ve passed through Newcastle on my way to Scotland, that’s all.”
Lady Hartley's Inheritance Page 4