by Sandra Heath
"No?"
"No." She held his gaze. "Be honest, admit that having me as your partner tonight is beneath you."
"I will not admit any such thing, especially as I am about to show this ball that not only do I think you are its most charming belle, but also that I am certainly not demeaning myself by being with you."
She lowered her eyes. "You do not have to do anything on my behalf, Sir Greville."
He put his gloved hand to her chin, and raised her face to make her look at him. "You do both of us less than justice, Megan Mortimer. I have much to thank you for, not least that you have made me take a close look at myself. What I saw did not please me, and I am resolved to improve. Tell me, do you think you can be an accomplished actress for an hour or so?"
"What do you mean?" His thumb moved softly against her skin, and she suppressed the pleasure that tingled through her.
"All will soon be revealed. We are going to return to the ball, and once there I want you to follow my lead. We're going to give Brighton society something to really gossip about. Come!"
In the ballroom at that moment, Oliver was standing in glum isolation behind the Radcliffe House sofa. Chloe had rebuked him very sternly indeed for his disgraceful conduct during the landler. Now she refused to speak to him, and had even made a point of inviting Rupert to join her on the sofa. Evangeline and Sir Jocelyn, who were also highly displeased with him for the landler, took up the only other places. He would have been ostracized far more if they had all known the true extent of his odiousness that night.
He blamed Megan for his predicament, reasoning that if she hadn't halted as she did during the dance, he wouldn't have been goaded into losing his temper, so Chloe would still be smiling at him and Lord Rupert Radcliffe would not be making headway! That he had brought it all upon himself, and indeed warranted society's equivalent of excommunication, simply did not occur to him.
He was so preoccupied with his self-pity that Sybil Garsington and the tincture had slipped his mind, but at that moment she was sprawled on her parents' sofa. Her knees were apart in a most unladylike fashion, her turban was at a very peculiar angle, her face was scarlet, and she was staring ardently at him. Abandoned was the word to describe her, and her parents were thoroughly alarmed.
Sigismund was more furious than alarmed, for it was plain to him that this was more than mere inebriation. His sister had imbibed a drink that had been tampered with, and if he discovered who that person was…! His eyes were alight with violent intent, and he was already mentally deciding whether to gut the villain with a sword or puncture him between the eyes with a pistol.
Sybil suddenly gave a loud giggle, and got up unsteadily to wave across at Oliver. "Cooee!" she screeched, employing a new word from Australia that she had decided she liked very much. Still waving, she jumped up and down so that her generous bosom wobbled like jelly. "Cooee, Mr. March! Pleathe come and danth with me!"
Lady Garsington burst into floods of tears, and her husband stood there as if possessed of two left legs. Oliver was aghast. Dear God, his brew was working with a vengeance! Then her overheated gaze met his, and his heart plummeted as he realized he was once again the object of Sybil Garsington's desire.
Sigismund caught his sister by the arm. "It's time to take you back to the house," he said, but that wasn't what Sybil wanted at all. With another piglet squeal she broke free of him, then scampered across the dance floor, scattering couples in all directions. Sigismund set off in pursuit, but lost her near the supper room. He glanced around for a long time, then gave up and returned to his parents. Behind him, the tablecloth on one of the supper tables was raised, and Sybil peeped out. Then she exploded into hysterical giggles and drew back out of sight again.
A cotillion was announced, and it was at this point that Greville led Megan back to Evangeline's sofa. Evangeline and Sir Jocelyn immediately got up to make sure Megan had not been too distressed by what had happened, but there was no time to talk because Greville bent quickly to Rupert.
"I want you and Chloe to make up a foursome for this cotillion with Megan and me," he said quickly.
Rupert was startled. "So it's Megan now, eh?"
"Just do it, there's a good fellow."
Rupert got up, and seized Chloe's hand. "Come on, we're under orders," he said, and without a murmur she rose as well.
Greville held Megan by the hand to lead her on to the floor. "Remember, now," he said, "you are just to follow my lead, and I am not simply referring to dance steps." She looked inquiringly at him, but he said nothing more.
Chapter 26
There were renewed whispers as Sir Greville Seton and Lord Rupert Radcliffe escorted their partners onto the quickly filling floor, where numerous sets were seeking a space. But just as the dancers had sorted themselves out, there was a delay because the orchestra discovered a problem. A string had broken on one of the violins, and the violinist had to scurry away to get another.
As the ball waited, Greville caught Megan's eyes and smiled. Evangeline and Sir Jocelyn had resumed their places on the sofa, and when they saw that smile, Evangeline's eyes brightened. "I do believe one of my plans is on the point of success, Jocelyn."
"Only one? My dear, there are two plans in that set."
"So there are." She glanced behind to bestow an unsympathetic glance upon Oliver, who was glowering at Rupert as if hoping he would vanish, then she turned back to Jocelyn and lowered her voice. "And plan three stands to the rear of this sofa! I have resolved to see our Mr. March sent packing, which I do believe is what will happen after his shabby behavior tonight. When I think of how he conducted himself in that landler, I vow I could box his obnoxious ears!"
"Chloe will soon box them for you, I fancy. By the way, she is asking questions about Miss Mortimer."
"Questions?"
He nodded. "It has not escaped her notice that you are showing your new companion a great deal of favor. I happen to know she has asked Rupert, but he says he and Greville know nothing. They are all very curious about your marked interest in Miss Mortimer."
"I'm sure they are, but until I tell Miss Mortimer herself, I have no intention of confiding in them. You are the only one I have trusted with the truth."
"I'm flattered."
She looked toward the dancers, who were still awaiting the violinist. "I was desperately afraid that Greville's detestation of companions would prove too great a stumbling block, but to know her is to be charmed by her. She has spirit too, which he has always liked in a woman. Oh, Jocelyn, I have all my fingers and toes crossed for this, because it would be the match of my dreams. She is the daughter I could have had, should have had…"
He smiled fondly. "My dear, she is very fortunate to have such a fine mother-by-proxy."
"What a very cumbersome title, to be sure." Evangeline drew a long breath. "To be truthful, Jocelyn, I am unsure what to say to her. I will have to tell her soon, but it will not be easy; after all she is really nothing to do with me. With hindsight, I wish I had been open from the outset, but I dithered, decided to tread carefully by pretending I was in need of a companion, and now I am in a quandary. What if she regards me as a meddling busybody?"
"I think your motives are laudable, Evangeline, and when Miss Mortimer learns them, I am sure she will think so too. She has every reason in the world to be grateful to you, and if your hopes for her future are successful, as they do indeed seem likely to be, then she will have benefited quite considerably from your meddling."
Oliver's attention had now been drawn to the two on the sofa. What were they talking about so secretively? he wondered. It was obviously something very confidential, and if he stepped just a little closer, perhaps he would be able to hear… But as he began to edge forward, a shrill voice made him freeze.
"Cooee! Cooee, Mithter March!"
Sybil Garsington! Oliver glanced right and left like a hunted animal, then took to his elegant heels toward the entrance hall.
Laughter rippled around the ballroom as Sy
bil gave hot pursuit. "Mithter March, Mithter March, I mutht have wordth with you! There ith thomething vewy important I have to tell you! It'th tewwibly pwivate! Oh, pleathe wait! Cooee! Cooee7"
Lady Garsington was so dismayed by the public exhibition her daughter was making of herself that she fell into her husband's arms in a swoon. Sigismund stood in stunned disbelief, a glass of champagne poised halfway to his lips as he watched his sister charge out of the ballroom like a magenta Valkyrie, still cooeeing at the top of her lungs.
The ballroom was abuzz with speculation as to what Sybil Garsington could have to say to Oliver March that was so terribly private. Then it became Chloe's turn to be subjected to undisguised scrutiny, for everyone knew that Oliver had been laying siege to her in recent weeks. Not by so much as a nicker did she display any interest, but instead leaned closer to Rupert to say something at which they both smiled.
Sir Jocelyn nodded approvingly. That's my girl, he thought, and then returned his attention to Evangeline. But he hesitated before speaking, as if unsure whether or not to say something. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it lovingly. "We have mentioned plans one, two, and three, my dear, but I think we both know there is a plan four as well, don't we?"
She looked at him. "Plan four?"
"Yes, and it is very much along the lines of one and two, but definitely not along the lines of three."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Oh, come, now, Evangeline Radcliffe, you are too much the woman to play the coy girl."
She stared at him, then went bright pink. "I-I still don't know what you mean."
He gave her an arch look, and released her hand. "Then, perhaps I should not say any more."
"Oh, please do, Jocelyn!" she said hastily. "Maybe if I change the wording a little and say that I hardly dare hope what you mean?"
He smiled then. "That is infinitely more pleasing to my ears, my dear. Still, truth to tell I am not in any position to criticize, for I too have been hovering around this very thing. By Gad, it is easier to face Boney's navy than to pluck up the courage to tell you I love you!"
Tears of joy sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Jocelyn, if you only knew how I have been yearning for you as well, but I was afraid you only saw me as an old friend…"
"Ditto, my dearest." He chuckled, and raised her fingertips to his lips. "There are no fools like old fools, mm?"
Her fingers curled elatedly in his, but then the cotillion began and her gaze darted to the sea of dancers. "Now, let us pray for plans one and two," she murmured.
"Ditto again," he murmured.
"Jocelyn, there is something I want you to know, something I haven't yet told anyone. It concerns Radcliffe House."
"Yes?"
"I have decided to sell it to Prinny."
Sir Jocelyn stared at her. "But, Evangeline, you love that house!"
"I know; nevertheless I have decided upon a new start. Now more than ever."
"A new start?"
She smiled. "Yes. As you know, HRH has been pestering me to sell for some time, and suddenly it seems right to give in to him. I fear this will be my last Christmas in Brighton."
He was startled. "You mean to leave Brighton as well?"
"Yes. When I said a new start, I meant it."
"And do I figure in this new start, Evangeline?"
She gazed at him. "Do you want to?"
"Of course. In fact, I'll take a damned dim view if you toddle off without me! However, we cannot toddle off together and remain within the bounds of propriety, so it seems to me you will just have to marry me," he declared.
She smiled through tears of happiness. "And I will just have to accept," she replied.
He squeezed her hand again. "I cannot wait to tell them all."
But her fingers tightened urgently over his. "Not just yet, Jocelyn. I want everyone else to be settled first, then we will tell them."
"Whatever you wish, my darling, whatever you wish."
The orchestra played the opening chords, and they both settled back to watch as the dance began at last. The cotillion was a vivacious measure involving the giving and taking of forfeits, and as the sequences brought Megan to Greville for the first time, he caught her hand to kiss it on the palm. There was nothing fleeting about the gesture; it was calculated to rivet surrounding attention. She felt herself become rather hot, but then glanced up and became more hot than ever, for the kissing bough was directly overhead. The dance proceeded, and gradually the steps brought her together with Greville for the second forfeit. This time he put his lips to her cheek, before the dance took them apart again.
Other sets nearby were no longer concentrating upon their own steps, for they were too intent upon what Greville might do next. Soon it seemed to Megan that their set was the only one still dancing, and then only just, for Chloe and Rupert were so astonished by Greville's behavior that several times they almost missed their turn.
Megan's trepidation increased as the cotillion moved inexorably toward the third and final forfeit. What would the forfeit be? First he had kissed her palm, then her cheek; next… her lips? Would he go that far to prove his point? Perhaps the real question was, did she want him to go that far? The thundering of her heart overwhelmed the playing of the orchestra, and then even her heart seemed silenced. She moved as if in a wanton dream, conscious only of him. Yes, she did want him to go that far, she wanted to know the warmth of his lips upon hers… Suddenly they were right beneath the mistletoe, and she felt him take her hand for the last forfeit. He pulled her close, and the entire ballroom gasped as Megan Mortimer, a mere lady's companion, instinctively raised her lips to meet those of one of the beau monde's most sought-after and eligible gentlemen.
Greville was a man of considerable experience, but was still unprepared for the sensations that engulfed him as he kissed her. Desire ignited through him like a flame, catching him unawares with its intensity, and searing his heart with its heat. He already knew that his loathing for Megan had turned to liking; now liking had in turn become something much more. Her perfume filled his nostrils, subtle, inviting, gentle, and he longed to crush her soft contours against his body and feel the warmth of her nut-brown hair spilling over his hands; longed to make passionate, exquisite love to her. He had never known anything like this before, it was mistletoe mischief indeed…
The orchestra died away and silence hung over the ball. Greville was shaken by the wonderful sensations that were still washing through him, and Megan felt as if the brilliant beam of light from Evangeline's Laterna Magica were directed solely upon Greville and her, except that there was nothing phantasmagoric about the mortifying blush that illuminated her face! Please let it be a dream, for she couldn't have really been so unprincipled as to…! But she knew she had. No wonder everyone was speechless!
Not quite everyone, for on the Radcliffe House sofa, Evangeline gave a satisfied smile. "I should be outraged and disapproving of such impropriety, but I am too smugly delighted for such airs. Jocelyn, plan one has just come up trumps, or is it plan two?"
"Does it matter, my darling?"
"No." Evangeline smiled again, and her glance moved to Rupert and Chloe, who were as stunned as everyone else by what had just taken place under the kissing bough. "Now, then, Rupert," she murmured, "if you could just get on with things as well…"
To the relief of both Greville and Megan, the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of Sybil Garsington's raised voice coming from the entrance hall. "Oh, you beatht, you beatht! Thith ith what I think of you!" There came the thwack of a female fist striking a male chin, then a thud as someone fell to the floor.
Everyone turned toward the new interruption. Lady Garsington did not dare to look, for she shuddered to think what her daughter had done now, but Lord Garsington and Sigismund made all haste to the entrance hall, where they found Sybil standing over Oliver's prone body.
Mr. Mellish, who had witnessed everything, dashed back into the ballroom. "She's laid March out! As neat a bunch of fives a
s I ever saw!" he cried, and a babble of conversation broke out as everyone began to surge forward to see. This year's Christmas bal masque was by far the most memorable anyone could remember; indeed, when it came to scandal Brighton society found itself spoiled for choice!
Chapter 27
Brighton lay beneath a carpet of white, and street-lamps cast pools of warmth around the Steine as Evangeline's carriage drove back to Radcliffe House in the early hours of Sunday morning. Greville and Megan were avoiding each other's eyes, both feeling a little awkward now that the spur of the moment had passed. Neither of them quite knew how to proceed from here, and Megan feared that come the cold light of day he would rue choosing that particular way of proving all the whispers wrong. Evangeline, however, was well pleased with things, although she paid belated lip service to the rules of society by delivering them both a mild lecture on what was and was not an acceptable way of going on.
Rupert was in another world of happiness, because as far as he was concerned the night could not have gone better. The Old Ship's annual bal masque had finally degenerated into so many sparks and shocks that it resembled a fireworks display, but fortunately for Megan and Greville it was all due to Oliver and the Garsingtons. After giving Oliver a bruised chain and broken tooth, to go with the grazed forehead he had already received from the falling ladder, Sybil sobbed to her outraged family that he must marry her. She said she had succumbed to complete temptation in his arms, and therefore he must be persuaded to do the honorable thing. Lady Garsington had the vapors, and Lord Garsington shrieked to a footman to bring cognac, which when brought he drank himself, such consideration being a male trait in the family.
Oliver hotly denied everything, and accused Sybil of wishful thinking, for which insult Sigismund Garsington promptly gave him a bloody nose as well. By then Oliver looked so like a casualty from Trafalgar that Megan could almost have felt sorry for him-almost, but not quite. Besides, Oliver foolishly insisted on protesting his innocence, even though Sigismund Garsington looked on the point of tearing him limb from limb. To be fair to Oliver, there were a number of people who thought he was probably telling the truth. After all, they all knew that until tonight Sybil had been pursuing Greville; now, all of a sudden, she hinted of being in an interesting condition by Oliver? Everyone knew that Oliver had been the first man she had fallen head over heels in love with, and that tonight was the first time she had come face-to-face with him again since he ended matters with her in order to pursue Chloe. Perhaps seeing him again had made Sybil realize she was still in love with him. Whatever the truth, her claims smacked of female wiles; not that anyone would have dared suggest as much in front of Sigismund, who was only with great difficulty restrained from issuing a challenge. Sybil's brother confined himself to warning Oliver that his second would call if a proposal of marriage were not forthcoming by the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. He also warned him not to leave Brighton if he knew what was healthy for his hide. With that he grabbed Oliver's lapels, propelled him backward to the main entrance, and threw him out into the snow, where a sore rear end was added to the catalog.