by Jaimey Grant
“Put it on me, quickly,” her ladyship commanded breathlessly.
It was actually a little too soon to dress but Verena wanted to see it. She remembered purchasing the dress, although she had never worn it.
She hoped it would be flattering without being considered fast. Being damned as the lightskirt her father claimed she was would be horrifying. But being thought a puritan equally so. It was reassuring that Connor’s sisters and mother had been with her at the dressmaker’s and encouraged her to purchase the gown. She couldn’t have three more knowing women to look to for fashionable advice.
The dress touched her skin with an imitate caress. She tingled as she thought about her husband and how she wanted to be in his arms again. She had spent every night in his bed since that first time and every time she was amazed that she had been so foolish to waste so much time.
As she thought this, she couldn’t stop the shiver of fear that coursed up her spine. Even after several nights of experiencing the joy her husband could bring, she still had to force the fear back. She had learned fairly quickly that fear such as she had known for so many years would not just disappear overnight. Part of her plan to grow away from her nightmare, she had decided, was to tell herself over and over again that what she wanted more than anything was to be in Connor’s arms again.
As if conjured by her very thoughts, Connor strode into the room. He took one look at his wife and ordered the maid to leave.
Verena stood nervously, watching him. He said nothing but walked forward and reached for her wrist. She couldn’t read his expression. He held her arm out and looked at her dress, his sweeping gaze making her body feel warm and flushed.
“Is something wrong, Con?”
“Yes,” her husband replied. He met her eyes and she saw the devilish twinkle there. His mouth stretched into a wicked grin. “You have far too many clothes on, my love.”
He took her in his arms and all she was able to say was “In the middle of the day?” before her lips were claimed in a bone-melting kiss.
*
Twenty-Six
Verena sat in the ladies’ withdrawing room and stared at her reflection. Everything had gone well so far. Lady Jersey had declared to one and all that she quite doted on Lady Connor, much to Verena’s surprise. Even Connor didn’t know that Sally had taken an actual liking to the mild-mannered Verena and was pleased to help restore her reputation.
The only bumpy spot was when Lady Mari and her mother had declared in strident tones that it was a sad state the world was coming to when a scheming adventuress was welcomed into high society. Verena took little joy in the crushing setdown those two ladies received from Lord Charteris and the snub they received from Brummell and three of the patronesses of Almack’s Assembly Rooms.
Two young women, whom Verena recognized as Lady Lucy Knowles and Miss Emma Parker, entered the withdrawing room chattering excitedly. Verena was in one of the little segregated areas where they couldn’t see her. She could observe them through a crack in the screen that separated her from the excited conversationalists.
“Did you see how handsome he is? I vow, if he even glances my way, I will positively swoon,” said Lady Lucy.
“He will ask me to dance because Papa and he are old friends. I hope I do not trip over my own feet and embarrass myself,” Miss Parker replied, her face flushed.
“I would love to waltz with him,” Lady Lucy murmured with a rapturous look on her face.
“Lucy!” Miss Parker gasped in a scandalized whisper. The waltz was still considered a trifle fast in some circles; evidently, Miss Parker belonged to that circle.
Mrs. Parker swept into the room in a flurry of silk and lace and urged her daughter to accompany her immediately. “Beverley has asked your father for permission to dance with you, you silly puss. Come quickly.”
Within moments, Verena was left alone. Beverley. So, she would finally meet the heir. She realized with a start that her husband never talked about his elder brother. How peculiar.
A sick feeling of foreboding clamped her stomach. She shook it off, thinking she must be sickening for something.
Connor felt a vague shiver of unease. There was menace in the air but as he looked around, he saw only the glittering throng of revelers dancing, laughing, and drinking, much as usual. He glanced again toward the door where Verena had disappeared. She walked back into the ballroom at that moment.
He made a move to intercept her but was forestalled by an old friend he hadn’t known was even there and hadn’t seen in nearly four years. When he was free again, the dance was well along and Verena was on the floor.
With Viscount Steyne. Connor had to stifle the urge he felt to stride across the floor and beat the man to a pulp for daring to touch her. But Verena had a smile on her face and appeared to be enjoying herself so he went to the refreshment room instead. He at least wouldn’t have to see her dancing with another man.
Poor Verena was trying desperately to enjoy the country dance but every time she came together with her partner, he had some insulting comment for her, alluding to her supposed immoral propensities.
How she despised the man! Despite everything, he seemed unaware of who she really was. His insults were based on the rumors he refused to discount. He saw nothing in her of the servant he’d assaulted at Feldspar’s.
She just smiled inanely at all his words and tried to look happy despite the urge to stomp on the irritating man’s foot.
The dance was finally over and Steyne offered his arm to promenade with her, as was the custom after a dance.
“Oh, dear!” Verena exclaimed. “I have torn my flounce. I’ll just go repair it.” She darted away before he could notice that her dress had no flounces.
She had fully intended to go to the ladies’ withdrawing room but she saw a gaggle of females enter that room and she had an overwhelming need to be alone. A little further down the dimly lit corridor was an empty antechamber. She pushed open the door and heaved a relieved sigh at the sight of a small settee in one corner. Sinking gracefully onto it, she took several deep breaths.
After only a few minutes, Verena decided to return to the ballroom lest Connor become worried. Before she could even rise, the door opened and someone entered.
Her dismay reached new limits and her fear escalated when she recognized Viscount Steyne. He gave her an appraising look. She recognized that as well. She wondered a trifle dully if she was about to be raped again.
“How very obliging of you to meet me like this, my dear Lady Connor. I had thought you may have taken me in dislike over that little misunderstanding at Feldspar’s last fall.”
Surprise that he had indeed realized who she was held her silent.
He sat down beside her and she tried too late to leap to her feet. His long white fingers wrapped around her arm like steel bands, forcing her to stay where she was.
“I am afraid you are going nowhere, my lady,” he said with deadly menace. “You owe me something and I mean to collect.”
“I owe you nothing but contempt!” spat Verena with sudden anger. That she should be subjected to such a detestable and terrifying situation—again—was beginning to make her very angry indeed.
“I beg to differ,” the viscount growled right before he pounced on her.
Well, he tried to, anyway.
Just as he would have touched her, he was removed. She sat up straight with a dazed look and wondered what had happened. Looking around, she became aware of another person in the room. He was not much taller than Connor with broad shoulders and an exquisite coat that could only have been made by Weston. His clothes seemed to conceal a well-made form. She couldn’t see his face since his back was to her.
She looked down. Steyne laid in a heap at the man’s feet. This stranger had obviously just rescued her by tossing her attacker on the floor.
Steyne jumped to his feet, shook his head then nodded at the gentleman before him, and took himself off. Verena opened her mouth to thank her rescuer but he
turned around at that moment and the words stuck in her throat.
The gentleman smiled. A slow, predatory grin that gave his handsome features a truly evil cast in the flickering light of the candles in the room. She took a step back, unwisely showing her fear.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the delectable morsel of the wooded glade. I have thought often of you, my dear girl,” he murmured as he stepped closer. His words held a world of implication that made Verena feel the aftereffects of her rape all over again. “And what is a maid doing at a ton party, I wonder? Have you risen to the ranks of fashionable impure? Are you a guest of some fortunate gentleman? Could you be lured away, I wonder?”
Each question was punctuated by a pause, as if awaiting her response. Verena could only stare, her mind refusing to comprehend that she was once again alone with the very man who raped her.
“My dear, beautiful girl, have you thought of me often?”
Verena stood frozen. He was within arm’s length of her, having moved silently closer as she remained dumbfounded. She watched in fascinated horror as his hand lifted to stroke her cheek. It was the fascination of a mouse caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake. She didn’t flinch when he touched her, even as every instinct urged her to flee, slap him, scream, anything but stand there and do nothing.
The desperation, the years of anguish and deeply buried rage over circumstances she couldn’t control coalesced in her brain. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and a look of utter disdain settled over her pretty features.
She was a lady, not some helpless servant as he mistakenly believed. She was not some poor young girl who possessed no rights simply because of an accident of birth.
She was in a crowded house in the middle of a ball; there was nothing he could do to her there.
“Do not dare to touch me, sir,” she bit out, barely aware of the fury that coursed through her veins. “I am not who you seem to believe.”
Beverley, taken aback at her show of spirit, moved slightly away, his lips twisting into a sneer. “You are not? I believe you are. There is no other female on earth with hair and eyes like yours.”
Verena smiled thinly. “We have not been introduced and I refuse to stand here being insulted by a cur in gentleman’s garb.”
He then uttered a string of words so completely base and disgusting that she reacted without thought.
Her hand connected with his face, eliciting a satisfying crack. Then she spun on her heel and left the room, colliding with a pretty little maid who was on her way into the room.
Grasping the girl’s arm, Verena pulled her along the corridor with her, unwilling to allow another woman to be raped. “You mustn’t go in that room!”
Her harsh whisper made the girl tremble.
“I’m to snuff the candles in there, milady,” she protested.
Verena shook her, beside herself with anger and fear. “Do not. Please do not enter that room until the gentleman within departs. Do not let any of the other maids enter either. Promise me!”
The girl’s fear was reflected in her wide eyes. “Yes’m.” She bobbed a curtsy just as Verena stopped and released her. “I promise.”
Verena nodded and raced down the corridor.
She entered the ballroom in time to see her husband hurrying to her side. She wondered if he could tell by looking at her that she had just endured a horrific experience, but he gave no indication that he had.
Just the sight of him filled her with relief. In his presence, nothing could harm her. Nothing.
Reaching her side, he asked her to dance just as the band struck up a waltz. She suddenly recalled it had only been a few hours since the last time she was in his arms and then she recalled what she had been doing in his arms at that time.
She blushed, saying, “I have not received permission.”
“You are married, Verena. That doesn’t matter much. Besides, I have already asked Lady Jersey. Now come along.” He led her onto the floor and swept her into his arms.
“I understand now why this dance is considered a trifle fast,” she said breathlessly.
“Why is that, love?” he whispered close to her ear.
She closed her eyes, shocked at the thoughts that his nearness provoked. It was unseemly to desire one’s husband while dancing at a ball.
She opened her eyes and sought to distract herself. “I heard Beverley is here. Why do you never talk of him?”
Any thoughts of lovemaking fled in the face of the sudden icy aura that emanated from her partner.
“What do you want me to say?” She could hear bitterness in his voice.
“Your parents, your sisters, not even your cousins ever mention him. Why?” Verena normally would have dropped the subject, but she needed to know why no one, not even his parents, spoke of his brother. It was very odd in a family so close. Besides, it kept her mind off matters far too traumatic for her equilibrium.
Connor’s reply was a trifle curt. “He is not worth mentioning. He is unprincipled, disloyal, and a licentious rake. I have not known him to be exactly criminal, but I also wouldn’t doubt it. He is a great disappointment to the entire family. Except, perhaps, Havard,” he added thoughtfully. “Havard toadies to everyone regardless of character.”
“That’s all very sad,” Verena said with a shiver. That strange feeling in her stomach was back and she worried if she was going to be ill.
Connor swung her around the floor expertly, holding her closer than the regulation twelve inches deemed suitable. Verena started to feel breathless again and wondered distractedly when they could leave.
She looked around, trying to distract her wayward thoughts. When had she become such a wanton? Her gaze swept across the room, encountered a familiar hard, mocking face, and she gasped.
Steady, she told herself desperately in an attempt to calm her swiftly pounding heart. He can’t hurt you here in a crowded ballroom. And Connor is here to protect you.
She was unaware that she was mouthing her bracing words and receiving odd looks from her husband and a few ladies standing near them.
“Take me home,” she whispered sharply.
Connor stared at her in surprise. “Do you not want to meet my brother?” He gestured toward the cause of her nightmares and commented lightly, “After all your questions, I would have thought you’d be eager to meet the black heir.”
Instead of a tart retort, Verena turned deathly pale and swayed on her feet. Her husband tightened his hold on her waist and hurried her toward the edge of the ballroom.
For one awful moment, Verena thought that perhaps her husband had known all along that it was his very own brother who had raped her. Then she remembered every tiny thing he had ever done to show how much he loved her and the disloyal thought dissipated.
Adam approached quickly, having just arrived at the ball. He met them as they were trying to exit the ballroom.
“Con, you have to take her home now. I discovered something that you need to know.”
Lord Connor gave him a look of annoyance. “We were just on the point of leaving, as a matter of fact, before you impeded our efforts.”
Adam’s pale eyes focused on Verena, narrowing slightly. She knew immediately, frighteningly perceptive as the man seemed to be, that he could sense her unease, nay, fear.
Despite her bravado in the face of her attacker, Verena was realistic enough to realize that if he managed to catch her alone again, she would not come out of the meeting alive.
Leaning closer to Verena, Adam told her, “I know who he is.”
Connor’s stance was deadly still. He leveled a blue-eyed glare on his best friend. “Who?”
Adam looked behind them. “It is already too late. Beverley approaches.”
*
Twenty-Seven
It was indeed too late. Adam glared at Beverley. Verena shrank against Connor, edging her way around him so she stood between him and Adam. Beverley was looking at her with a mocking look of recognition.
Everyone in the ballr
oom seemed to be watching them. They did not notice the sudden quiet. Connor frowned, watching his wife detach herself from his side and grasp Adam’s arm, whispering frantically to him.
“Well, brother, are you going to introduce me to your…friend?” The insult was deliberate and obvious. Connor wasn’t given a chance to answer.
Adam whispered urgently to Verena, stepped forward and said, “Lady Verena Northwicke, may I make known Lord Beverley? He is your brother-in-law.”
“Take me home,” Verena whispered desperately. She ignored the look from Connor and clung to Adam.
“Pretend, Verena. There are many malicious gossips here and they would love to talk about this,” Adam urged her sotto voce.
Verena summoned up her courage and curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she murmured dutifully.
Connor’s eyes swiveled to each person, finally settling on his wife. What they were all suggesting was monstrous. Yet, hadn’t he just told Verena that he believed his brother to be capable of criminal acts? Gazing upon the fear in Verena’s face and the smug superiority in Beverley’s, Connor knew without a doubt that this was the man he’d set Adam looking for.
The Duke and Duchess of Denbigh approached with their host, Lord Dashwood. “Gentlemen, please follow me. Our generous host has offered the use of his library so his guests can resume their dancing. Verena, if you would be so kind as to accompany Lady Denbigh.”
Verena followed the duchess, shooting one last miserable look at Connor before she was swallowed up in the crowd.
Connor was made suddenly aware that they were standing on the dance floor, surrounded by an avid Society who thrived on scandal and the misery of others.