Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  He shifted uneasily in his seat, keeping his face turned from her, though she sat across from him. If he moved his legs, just a little, their knees would brush and that would be all he’d need. Doubtless she was enjoying his struggle. When she had curtsied to him tonight, showing a quite immodest amount of bosom, she had had to know the effect it would have on him, or on any man. As a girl, Anne had been pretty. As a woman, she had an allure that made his pulse pound and his mouth go dry. And it wasn’t just the gown. That hair, so artlessly arranged. It made a man’s thoughts run wild, made him imagine it, shining gold satin in the candlelight, spread across a white linen pillowslip...

  Damn. Giles swallowed painfully and crossed his legs, to hide the effect she was having on him. It had been a very long time since he had had so strong a reaction to a woman, if ever. He felt like an eager, untried youth, unable to control his own desires. It wouldn’t do. Anne had hurt him once, and he had learned since never to let a woman get too close to him. He had learned not to let this woman get too close. How had she managed to get past his carefully-constructed defenses, to find the part of him that still ached for her? It was a part he hadn’t even known existed until tonight, and a weakness he despised. Come the end of the summer, she would leave him again. That she had made quite, quite clear.

  The carriage came to a stop and Giles rose, anxious to escape as quickly as he could. Damn these breeches, which felt so tight and which concealed nothing. Damn his own lack of control. He had hoped to gain some calm during the drive, but he hadn’t counted on the effect her nearness would have on him. The sight of her, the scent of her perfume, the awareness he had, all through him, of her, all conspired against him. This was madness. Thank God the ball was likely to be crowded. He would not have to spend overmuch time with her.

  The hall of the Old Ship was already crowded when the Tremont party entered and began to make their way up the stairs, toward the Assembly Rooms. Anne, her head held high, was aware of more than one curious glance in her direction, but not by any overt gesture was she either greeted or shunned. In spite of the crowd of people pressing about her with all their warmth and noise and scents, somehow she was very alone. She was quite cross with Giles. Of course she hadn’t had him in mind when she had bought this gown, but it had occurred to her to wonder what he would think of it. Now she knew. Foolish of her to hope that his eyes would rest on her with appreciation; he approved of little she did. That, she should have expected. Why it bothered her was another matter altogether.

  Someone passing down the stairs, having apparently already made his appearance and leaving, jostled her. Anne looked up, jolted out of her reverie. “I do beg your pardon,” a cultured voice said. “I say—Anne? It is Anne Warren, is it not?”

  “Ian,” Anne said in unfeigned pleasure, holding out her hand. “Ian Campbell, how wonderful to see you again.”

  “And you,” He smiled down at her, the crooked boyish grin she had once found endearing. It sat less well now on features blurred and thickened a bit by age and hard living, but still it had charm. The light in his eyes as they rested on her was balm to a spirit sorely wounded by Giles’s scorn. “I’d heard you were in Brighton, but I’d not thought to see you here.”

  “Nor I you. I thought such tonnish events bored you.”

  “Ah, but one must make an appearance. Tremont,” he added, carelessly.

  Giles, standing just above Anne with his hand on his mother’s elbow, nodded frigidly. “Campbell.”

  “I say, think I’ll stay for a while, after all,” Ian elbowed his way into the throng and took Anne’s arm in fingers that seemed overly warm. “I must say, Anne, you’re looking uncommonly well. Life in the colonies must agree with you.”

  “It does. I am quite happy there.”

  “I am glad to hear it. After all, you left so quickly.”

  Anne refused to rise to the bait, but smiled serenely. “Yes. And now I am back.”

  Ian grinned in acknowledgement of her answer. “Poor old Freddie. So he’s gone and left you a widow.”

  Something in his tone made her uneasy, and she raised her fan, opening it and fanning herself slowly. “Yes. ‘Tis warm in here, isn’t it? It seems as if all the world is here.”

  Ian glanced upwards. “All the world is. Prinny may put in an appearance, you know, and Brummel is here. Should be an interesting evening.” He looked at her. “Most interesting.”

  Anne fanned herself more vigorously. “And the orchestra is good, I understand.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ian grinned, and Anne forgot for the moment her strange apprehension. “I’ve heard a rumor that will set the town on its ears. They may play a waltz tonight.”

  Beth, standing on Anne’s other side, gasped. “No! How shocking.”

  “Good heavens. Even in Jamaica we’ve heard of the waltz,” Anne said. She didn’t add that she had been taught it just last year by a visitor to the plantation, or that she had danced it at the last party she had attended before Freddie’s death. Her reputation was damaged quite enough as it was.

  Giles turned his head slightly. “I hope, Anne, you’ll have enough decorum not to dance it.”

  Anne’s fingers tightened on her fan. Of course she had enough decorum, not to mention common sense, but his casual assumption that she didn’t was annoying.

  “I agree, it is a shocking dance,” Ian said, but his eyes, looking at Anne, were inquisitive. Closing her fan, she let it rest for a moment on her right cheek. It had been a very long time since she had used a fan to convey signals to one of her flirts, but she hadn’t forgotten how. With that brief gesture, she had just cast discretion to the wind and agreed to waltz with Ian. It would serve Giles right.

  Once the Tremont party had entered the Assembly Rooms and had been greeted by Mr. Forth, the master of ceremonies, Giles drew Anne aside. The orchestra was playing, though one had to strain to hear it over the conversation and clatter of people. “I overheard you talking with Campbell,” he said, his voice low. “Be careful of him. He is not the same man we once knew.”

  “I find him charming. Really, Giles, I can take care of myself.”

  “Remember your reputation, Anne.”

  Anne twirled her fan in her left hand. “How can I forget it? You are continually reminding me.” Again she twirled the fan, and this time saw comprehension dawn in his eyes, as he interpreted the signal she had just given him. I wish to be rid of you.

  “Very well, madam. If you will not remember your own reputation, I hope at least that you will consider my mother and sister.” Giles bowed stiffly and then turned to take Beth’s arm, leaving Anne to stare after him, speechless with anger. As if she would do anything to hurt Beth! Did he really think so poorly of her, then? Pooh to him! She would enjoy herself tonight.

  Giles’s own anger was covered by the polite mask he had learned to don at will over the past years. Anne hadn’t changed. He was lucky he hadn’t married her. She always had been a flirt, and she still apparently was. What had been attractive in a young girl, though, was far less so in a woman. He hadn’t missed the interplay between her and Campbell, nor her adroit use of her fan. So, she wished to be rid of him? Well, she was. Never mind that Campbell, too, had changed since Anne had known him, that he was now a wastrel and a gambler, with a very bad reputation. As Anne had reminded him, she was not really his concern. Let her destroy her reputation, if she were so minded. He was far more concerned with his sister, and with making this evening a success for her.

  “Tremont seems somewhat discomposed,” Ian drawled, taking Anne’s arm. She started, and then smiled at him.

  “I had forgotten what it is like at a ton party,” she said, gesturing toward the ballroom and ignoring his comment. “I am no longer used to such crowds.”

  “Ah, yes, a sad crush. They are starting the cotillion. Come, let us join the dance.”

  “I’d like that,” Anne let him lead her across the room to where couples were forming sets for the dance, feeling an odd sense of unreality. It
had been so long, and yet it seemed like just yesterday that she had been part of society like this. And yet, so much had changed. There were faces she didn’t know, and those that she did looked at her coolly. No one had actually snubbed her, for which she was deeply grateful, but no one besides Ian had made an overture of friendliness, either. Instead the eyes that met her own were wary, calculating, coolly polite. Some were people she had once called friend, girls who had made their come-out with her, men who had been her flirts. She no longer had her giddy group of friends to giggle with, nor her reliable male escorts. She no longer had Giles.

  The cotillion passed in a blur of music and faces. Ordinarily Anne enjoyed dancing, but tonight she was tense, concerned as she had never before been about making a misstep, and all too aware of people watching her. Not Giles; she wasn’t certain where in this crowded room he was, but she doubted he was paying her much attention. And that, more than anything else, sent her spirits crashing down. At least when she and Giles argued there was some connection between them, and a goad for her to behave a certain way; thus she had agreed to waltz with Ian. Indifference, though, was a different matter. It meant he didn’t care about her one way or the other.

  Ian took her hand. “A trifle warm in here, I’d say,” he said, smiling at her, “and no terrace for us to repair to.”

  Anne tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. “As if I would go out there with you, sir,” she said, smiling. How easy it was to fall into the old flirtatious ways, and to use them as a mask for one’s real feelings.

  Ian seemed not at all discomposed. “A man can but try. Come, may I offer you some refreshment, if we can make it through this crush?”

  “I’d like that. And then I really must find the duchess and Lady Elizabeth.”

  Ian’s hand on her back, guiding her toward the refreshment room, was hot and moist. “Why?” He hailed a passing waiter and took two cut crystal glasses of punch. “You’re hardly a debutante who needs must stay with her chaperon.” He smiled at her over the rim of his cup. “On the contrary, my dear. You are a mature, beautiful woman.”

  Something in Ian’s gaze made Anne profoundly uneasy. It was as if he were looking straight through her gown, and she didn’t like it. “Why, thank you, sir. But Tremont is concerned for Lady Elizabeth. This is her first real time in society, you know.” She smiled brightly. “I think I would like to see how she is getting on.”

  For a moment something flashed in Ian’s eyes, and then he bowed. “As you wish. Though I’ll return to claim my waltz.”

  “As to that, Ian—”

  “Listen!” Ian paused as they reentered the ballroom. “They are playing it already. Excellent.”

  “Ian, I don’t think—”

  “Crying off? I would not think you so craven.”

  “I’m not, but—”

  “Come, my dear, you wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

  No, she was trying to prevent one, apparently in vain. Ian had her arm and was leading her onto the floor. Her second thoughts on the waltz had come too late. If she pulled away from him now, she would only cause the kind of comment she most wanted to avoid. There was nothing else she could do.

  Across the room, Giles was in conversation with Lord Ravensworth about the King’s health, and the possibility that the Prince of Wales might have to stand in as regent. As absorbing as he usually found this topic, however, tonight Giles’s mind was elsewhere. It was Anne who occupied his thoughts. She had done so all evening, especially since she had left the room with Campbell. Campbell, of all people. It should have been him. If he had not antagonized her, it would have been him.

  He had been aware of her all evening. How could he not be? She was easily the most beautiful woman here. Not the most stylish, perhaps, or the most daringly dressed, but the only one who drew his eye. She was so alive, so real. No languid posings for Anne, no affectation of the boredom which everyone else considered de rigueur. She appeared to be enjoying herself thoroughly, and why shouldn’t she? She had what she wanted, a man to hang over her and flatter her. A man to leer at her, damn him. Didn’t she see the way Campbell looked at her, with a predatory gleam in his eyes? Didn’t she notice the way his eyes drifted down to her bosom, not once, but often? She had been away from society so long she might well have forgotten about loose screws like Campbell, or how to deal with them. The man was a cad, not above taking advantage of the coolness with which everyone else treated her, to get what he wanted. Giles was in no doubt as to what that was. Damn the man, if he hurt Anne, Giles would call him out.

  “I say,” Ravensworth said, breaking Giles out of his thoughts. “They really are playing a waltz.

  “Are they?” Giles said, and looked up in time to see Anne being led out onto the floor by Ian Campbell.

  Chapter Nine

  Giles’s first impulse was anger, goading him to cross the room and separate the two. Almost, he did, but the habits of the past years took over automatically. Bad enough Anne was waltzing, and with Campbell, of all people, when the waltz was considered scandalous and anyone who engaged in it, fast. The damage was already done. If Giles went to them, he would only make matters worse by drawing attention to them. Damn, he’d thought Anne had more sense.

  None of his thoughts showed on his face as he leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest. This evening had buffeted him with more emotions than he had felt in the past year, and at the moment he was merely tired. Tired of having all the responsibility, tired of always having to consider other peoples’ needs and give little thought to his own. That was life, of course; one grew up and did what one had to. But, as he watched Anne twirling about the sparsely peopled dance floor in another man’s embrace, his unruly thoughts took over. She was so beautiful in that dress, and so graceful, that she made waltzing look almost like an art. He wished, suddenly, that he dared to waltz, that he was the one whirling her about the floor, looking down at those cornflower blue eyes that held in them such an expression of—

  Fear. The thought made him straighten abruptly. For just a moment, as Anne had turned in his direction, he had seen something flicker in her eyes. Consternation, surprisingly; perhaps the waltz hadn’t been her idea. Annoyance, and that other elusive emotion he hardly dared believe he’d seen. Fear. But what had she to fear in a civilized ballroom in Brighton?

  Casually, so as not to attract attention, Giles began to move along the wall, idly greeting acquaintances but never taking his eyes off the couple on the floor. Anne was a whirl of satin and crepe; her partner, Giles noted disdainfully, resplendent in peacock blue satin. Both seemed now to be enjoying themselves, and Giles applauded Anne mentally. No matter what her real feelings might be, she was carrying this off with style, and her head held high. That was true courage.

  He didn’t stop to examine his change of opinion from censure to admiration, but instead continued his slow progress through the room. His forethought produced results; when the waltz ended and Campbell took Anne’s arm, preparatory to leading her off the floor, Giles was there.

  Ian drew himself up short to avoid colliding with Giles, and for a moment an expression almost like a sneer twisted his features. “Evening, Tremont,” he said, carelessly. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on making a scene over one dance.”

  Giles’s smile was pleasant, though it didn’t reach to his eyes. “Of course not. I am hardly Mrs. Templeton’s keeper. She is competent enough to make her own judgments in such matters. However.”

  “Ah. There is always a ‘however’.”

  “My mother requires your presence, Anne.” He looked at her past the other man as he held out his arm, and saw relief flicker in her eyes. “Shall we?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Anne murmured, the picture of demure propriety. “Good evening, Mr. Campbell.”

  “Good evening, Anne. My thanks for the dance. It was—pleasant.”

  Giles’s free hand tightened involuntarily into a fist, but he kept his smile in place. “You’ll excus
e us, Campbell,” he said, and turned, leading Anne away.

  Anne glanced up at him curiously as they crossed the room. She doubted very much that Julia wished to see her; this was a pretext on Giles’s part to separate her from Ian, and to prevent her from doing anything else unsuitable. She wasn’t deceived by his smile or his affable manner. Underneath, he was angry. The Duke of Tremont, usually so cool and unruffled, usually showing little of his feelings, angry? It was a fascinating thought.

  “I am surprised you’re not scolding me, Your Grace,” she said.

  Giles didn’t look at her. “I think I don’t need to. I suspect you’re already well aware of what you’ve done.”

  “A set-down, indeed.” Anne’s voice was rueful. “You are right, of course. That was a mistake. I’ll surely know better next time.”

  “Then why did you waltz with him at all?” he demanded.

  “Because you so obviously didn’t want me to. Good evening, Felicity. How wonderful to see you again.”

  “And you, Anne.” Felicity’s smile was wide and genuine. “You waltz so very well. Is it done in Jamaica?”

  “It’s not supposed to be.” Anne returned the smile. “I expect I’ll be hearing more about it later.”

  “Oh, no, you made it look a most attractive dance, and not nearly so scandalous as one would think. Though I hope you won’t take it amiss if I tell you that Mr. Campbell isn’t quite the thing.”

  “I’m glad you said that, Felicity, and not I,” Giles said. “Anne would cut up at me if I did.”

  “Perhaps.” Anne smiled up at him. “Ian has changed, has he not? He never used to be quite so hard.”

  “He delights in making mischief, and in destroying reputations,” Felicity said. “I wouldn’t allow him near my Susan.”

  “I should hope not. Are you enjoying this evening?” Anne asked Susan Whitehead, whose air of assumed boredom was at odds with the brightness of her eyes.