Maria beamed. “I knew you would agree with me. Travis is always most uncomplimentary.”
Travis, for once, was showing some sense.
Moving closer, Maria lowered her voice. “You know, Travis would prefer you not spend time in the company of Viscount Ogden.”
Victoria stiffened. She had not missed the earl’s glowering countenance across the room while Ogden paid his respects. It seemed that she was aware of him no matter where he was. While her gaze always seemed drawn to him, rarely did he look her way. She wished Ogden had stayed longer if it annoyed him. Although, if she was honest with herself, sometimes there was something about the way the viscount looked at her that made her uneasy. Foolish imaginings. How could she think ill of a man who had been nothing but kindness to her on his visits to Michael. “Viscount Ogden is my friend.”
Seemingly oblivious to Victoria’s annoyance, Maria fluttered her ostrich feather fan with a trill of laughter. “If Ogden has any idea at all about marrying—and I’ve not heard he is on the marriage mart—he needs to marry money. The Du Plessys never have a feather to fly with. Gamblers, all of them. It is said his father gambled his last farthing on the turn of the dice.” She frowned. “Or perhaps it was a horse. You know what I mean.”
A father could certainly set the tone for a son. “I do not see that Travis is any different.” Victoria once more caught sight of the earl across the dance floor with his friend the Marquess of Deveril, who was fraction taller than Travis, and broader, and as blond as Travis was dark. It made her think of a Viking god next to a dark, implacable angel.
But of the two of them, it was Travis’s presence, his athletic grace and dark, enigmatic looks that drew her focus. Dressed in black evening dress, his coat hugged his elegant form as if it were sewn in place. His dark hair, swept back off his broad brow, emphasized the hard planes of his face. On rare occasions, he could be warm and charming, like now, when a brief smile lit his face as he parted company from Deveril.
Usually, he maintained an aloof expression, as if he preferred to keep the world at a distance.
“Nonsense.” Maria snapped her fan closed then open again with a deft flick of her wrist. “Travis never gambles recklessly. Why, he’s known for his luck at the tables and the racetrack.”
The devil’s own luck they called it. As if that made it any better. Bitterness rose in her throat. The words summed up Simon St. John very nicely. A dark fiend who profited from other men’s foibles as he had profited from those of her brother.
Not true. If it were, it would be easier to forgive Michael, but her brother had been in trouble long before the earl came along. The lawyers had been very clear on that point. No matter how much she had wanted to make Travis the villain, Michael was solely to blame for her current state of poverty.
She could blame the earl for his threat to provide a husband if she didn’t choose one for herself. With no money, she had few alternatives. Yet the thought of being tied to another male who cared nothing for her made her feel physically ill. She would not do it.
Julia was her only real hope. Not her aunt, who would likely also try to marry her off. No. Victoria would enlist her friend’s aid to find a suitable situation. From henceforth she would control her own destiny.
The crowd around the dance floor ebbed and flowed. Travis strolled toward them, carrying two glasses of something pink. He bowed and handed one to her and the other to Maria. Victoria looked at it askance.
“Fruit punch,” he explained.
“Thank you, my lord.” She had promised herself she would be cool and polite to her self-appointed sponsor. She preferred the word sponsor. It sounded less personal than guardian. Less official.
“Maria, I assume you were successful in seeking approval for Miss Yelverton to waltz?”
Maria’s cheeks swelled into rosy apples as she smiled. “Naturally. And I obtained tickets for Almack’s.”
“Every maiden’s dream.” His dispassionate gaze ran over Victoria as if she were a prize heifer on market day.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. If he intended to put her out of countenance, he had succeeded admirably. She smiled with all the sweetness she could muster. “Do I have a smut on my face?”
His gaze locked with hers and something warmer than arctic frost flickered within the winter blue of his eyes. He stepped back a little. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You were staring.”
“I was simply paying attention to your words.”
He had been staring and his reaction said he knew it, too. She repressed a childish urge to poke out her tongue.
The corner of his mouth kicked up in an odd, little half-smile as if he guessed at her thoughts and...well...found them humorous. A crack in his chilly reserve that had her smiling back. In that moment, something changed. It was as if she was seeing a man beneath the layer of frost for the first time. Warmth and vitality. Even as the realization dawned the expression faded. Gone. Snuffed out of existence as if it had never been. If it had ever really been there at all.
A figment of her imagination? Or worse yet, wishful thinking? Surely she, a spinster of almost twenty-five summers, had more sense that to be drawn in by a rake? Likely, it was her horrid situation causing her to lose her grip on reality.
The orchestra struck up the first notes of the waltz. He took her glass and handed it to a nearby lackey. “Shall we?”
“Why not?” She loved to dance, although she had never danced a waltz in public and likely never would again. This would be the high point of the evening. Something to remember.
Her hand disappeared inside his large one, his warmth penetrating the double layer of their gloves. Effortlessly, he swept her into the dance.
His leg brushed her skirt, inducing a sensation far too intimate for comfort. The spicy scent of his cologne enveloped her as they whirled around the turns. A flush of warmth drifted up her body. Despite the lightness of his touch on her hand and shoulder, he controlled her movements as they swirled around the floor.
His eyes gazing at her glittered like sapphires caught in a beam of sunlight. No one else existed, only the two of them and the music. Her heart forgot to beat.
Again, the urge to lean on his strength, was overpowering. She longed to hand over the reins, not just of the dance, but of all the things weighing down on her shoulders—the fears, the regrets, the guilt. It would be so easy to give in. So very easy.
“You dance well, Miss Yelverton.”
His low, intimate tones rippled pleasantly over her skin, sending a shivering tingle down her spine. His compliment warmed her. Gave her confidence as if she really was out of the ordinary. For a moment, she felt special.
Remember his reputation. Ogden’s parting words. Simon St. John was not a man to be trusted. His only goal was to get her off his hands.
She gave him an arch look from beneath her lashes. “Surprisingly, so do you.”
A wary expression came into his eyes. “Why would you be surprised?”
“I didn’t think you would bother with such boring, social activities. After all, dancing with unattached females on the marriage mart is a rather dull obligation for a ...”
A muscled flickered in his jaw and his expression darkened.
She had gone too far. A fault she exhibited only with him. The urge to make him see her as a person, not simply a nuisance, had pushed her far beyond what was acceptable.
His eyes, warm and friendly moments ago, held cold remoteness. His lips flattened. The strangest sense of having hurt his feelings squeezed in her chest.
“A what, Miss Yelverton?” he asked, his tone insistent.
The heat of embarrassment traveled up her neck and face. “It was nothing. I have forgotten.”
He swung her around the end of the dance floor, avoiding an elderly couple who had turned in the wrong direction. “What could you have intended to say, I wonder?”
She dared not look up, he sounded so derisive.
“Let me see,” he s
aid. “Perhaps you had in mind the words dissolute libertine.”
The words she had spoken in rage and anguish. It had been rude when the man had been nothing but respectful, even if she did wish he would cease interfering in the ordering of her life.
Now she had let her unruly tongue run away with her and spoil their dance. “I beg your pardon. I should not have spoken as I did. I would be obliged if you would escort me back to Maria.”
“Courage, Miss Yelverton. You only have a few more minutes of my dissipated company and it will be over. Surely you can manage that?” The bitter edge to his voice cut like a whip.
He was right, to leave the floor in the middle of the dance would draw unwanted attention upon herself and cause him some embarrassment. Not that he would care. But strangely she did, on his behalf. She took a deep calming breath and concentrated her gaze on the diamond pin in his cravat and her mind on the movement of her feet. Anything not to see the anger she sensed, though his steps remained smooth, his grasp on her hand relaxed. It was there though, sparking between them, making her skin tingle and her breathing far too rapid. Every nerve had sharpened to taut awareness.
“And now, Miss Yelverton, you will oblige me by addressing some unexceptionably commonplace remark to my face.”
Her breath hitched at the suppressed violence in his tone and she glanced up.
His lips curved in an ironic smile. The smile he hid behind.
She smiled back, determined to make amends for her rudeness. “The weather is quite warm for this time of year. Perhaps that is why it seems so hot in here this evening.”
He nodded. “Indeed. Perhaps you would like some air at the conclusion of our dance. We can step out onto the balcony, if you wish.”
She did wish. It would be dark out there, a chance to catch her breath and cool her blushes. An opportunity to apologize in private. “I believe I should like that, my lord.”
Remoteness descended over his expression. “It will be my pleasure.”
They circled the floor again, spinning and gliding between other couples. He moved easily through the crowd and as the music filled her mind, she relaxed and forgot her worries.
The last notes died away and he drew their dance to a close beside one of the open French doors. Retaining his hold on her hand, he led her outside.
A balcony ran the length of the rear of the house. Flaming sconces cast pools of light along the stone gallery and a couple conversed in low tones voices at one end. Travis drew her in the other direction and they stood silently in the shadows, looking out over the garden.
Shame pierced her. It was unlike her to be so mean-spirited, but his arrogance goaded her temper. “I’m sorry I was rude.”
His features cast in shadow and one arm leaning on the balustrade, he turned to face her. “A lot of it is ill-founded gossip.”
“’Tis said there’s no smoke without a fire.” Oh, her traitorous tongue. She’d spent too long speaking her mind to her father and brother and had lost the art of common courtesy. Overcome by remorse, she briefly squeezed her eyelids shut.
He smiled, a white flash in the dim light. “You are right. Not all of it is untrue.”
The timbre of his deep voice resonated deep in the pit of her stomach. Goose flesh raced across her shoulders and down her back, hot and cold and as confusing as his expression of regret. Was it possible he was disappointed in himself?
She made an attempt to lessen the sting of her words. “Nor is it surprising. Michael always disparaged stuffed shirts who prosed on about the evils of gambling and so forth.” Herself included. “He said it was a man’s duty to sample all life had to offer before he settled down to a family.”
His low brief chuckle sounded genuine and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I think your brother was a little too free with his opinion. While it is true a man is expected to sow his wild oats, the undertaking requires a cool head or one faces consequences.”
Victoria reached out and gripped the rail in front of her. The rough stone snagged the delicate fabric of her gloves. “Consequences, yes. But surely it does not have to be ruin and death?”
“Victoria, I’m sorry. I wasn’t speaking of Michael in particular. Your brother needed guidance he didn’t get.”
“I know.” She had failed utterly in her attempts to make him see the error of his ways. Quite likely she had made things worse. A hard lump blocked her throat.
He reached out, his warm hand cupping her jaw. He swore softly. The pad of his thumb grazed her cheek. “Don’t cry.”
Her laugh sounded shaky. “I’m not.”
He tipped her face toward the light and dabbed at it with the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “You have been so brave.”
His soft, encouraging words surprised her as much as his gentle touch. How would he know? She’d scarcely seen him since arriving at his house. She stared into eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. He was undeniably breathtakingly handsome. She felt the pull of attraction to his masculinity, a physical tug deep inside. She inhaled his spicy cologne mingled with smoke from the flambeaux. Her heart fluttered and skipped at his intoxicating nearness. If she had any sense, she would return indoors.
Engulfed by an overwhelming need to feel his hair where it waved silkily over his stiff white collar, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. For balance, that was all. The strength of him vibrated beneath her fingertips. Instinctively she knew that if he put his arms around her she would feel protected. The man exuded danger and for some reason she no longer cared. The knowledge rocked her foundation.
His head bent toward her, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. His hands closed on her waist, warming her through her gown. Inches from her mouth, his full sensuous lips held her gaze. She leaned into him.
Simon gazed at her beautiful, heart-shaped face, golden in the glow of the torches. An aura of light surrounded her. A light that drew his dark heart where it must not go. Yet it seemed he had no power to resist.
He wanted to pull her hair down around her shoulders, the way he had first seen it. He wanted to run his hands through its heavy waves, and see its ebony spread across white linen, across her naked skin and his.
Her lips parted, the whisper of her breath caressing his chin. He had only to lower his head a fraction to plumb the warm depths of her mouth, to feel her soft, slender shape against him. The scent of jasmine drifted around him, tempting him to press his mouth against her throat, inhale her perfume and her womanly scent. His heart drummed a heavy beat in his ears drowning out the music from the ballroom. Urging him on.
If he did this, there was no going back. He would be forced to make her an offer, something he had vowed never to do.
He shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be finding her a husband, not engaging in seduction. This glorious, fragile creature deserved a man of worth. A good man, not a licentious cur. And yet...
“A fine guardian you make, Travis.” Ogden’s words rent the quiet air.
Victoria jerked back, one hand to her mouth.
Simon bit back a curse.
“Ogden.” He turned to face the interloper. “What are you doing sneaking around in the dark?
“I might ask you the same thing,” Ogden sneered.
Victoria’s spine stiffened. Mortification filled her expression. Embarrassed to be found alone with him. Ashamed no doubt to be found alone with a notorious rake. Of all people, it had to be Ogden who discovered them. Simon’s bitterness knew no bounds.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said edging around Simon. She lifted her skirts aside to avoid contact with either of them.
Simon reached out to catch her arm. He wanted her to stay, not to run as if they had been engaged in something wrong. “Victoria?”
Hell. It sounded like a plea. He let his hand drop.
She hurried into the ballroom in a whisper of silk, the scent of jasmine lingering on the night air.
Simon eyed Ogden grimly. Damn it all.
What kind of idiot had he become? Even if she was damnably alluring, a lady like Victoria was not for him. And besides, she was too prim and proper by half.
“Wait till this bit of gossip is heard around the clubs,” Ogden jeered.
He clenched his fist, holding back his urge to strike out. “Why would her supposed friend want to ruin her?”
“This is not about her.”
Damn him. Simon sighed wearily. “What do you want?”
“I want Miranda, back where she belongs.”
“Not in my lifetime. You’ll have to think of something else.”
“Bastard! All right then. Keep your filthy hands off Victoria Yelverton or she will pay the price for your sins.” He flashed a wolfish grin at his own cleverness. “Oh, and you can send your man around to my lodgings with a hundred guineas. My luck at the tables has been quite out this month.”
Simon’s hands balled at his side, but he kept his expression blank and nodded his agreement. The sound of the departing Ogden’s mocking laughter stayed with him as he stared out into the darkness.
One day he was going to have to settle his score with Ogden. Permanently.
CHAPTER FOUR
The evening seemed interminable to Victoria. Several other men approved by Maria asked Victoria to dance. Men with perfect manners and pleasing open countenances. None of them set her heart fluttering the way the Earl of Travis had. Was it fear of him? Of his reputation? Or her own foolishness caused by the inexplicable shivers of awareness whenever he was close? Surely she was too sensible for such school-missish nonsense?
Thank goodness she had not seen so much as a glimpse of him since leaving the balcony. She had never felt so ashamed. And to be discovered in his embrace by Ogden, the only one who had stood by Michael until the end. It was just too much to be born. Ogden, too, had disappeared. He probably thought the very worst of her. A dismal notion.
“Who is she?” asked a debutante to Victoria’s right, one of several who lingered on the edge of the dance floor near where she stood watching the dancing. Victoria glanced across the room in the direction of the discreetly pointing fan. She shook her head. She knew few people present and certainly did not recognize the blonde beauty lingering beneath Poseidon’s trident.
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