At least the man had the good sense to look embarrassed. ‘Both, I suppose. My statement was unfair.’
Slow seconds passed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He could never stay angry with Shacklesbury for long. ‘She’s in town, you know. Catherine.’
Quinn frowned and adjusted his waistcoat. ‘Yes, I heard.’
‘From your mother?’ Immediately he regretted his immature statement, but it was far too late to take it back.
‘I don’t get all my information from my mother, I’ll have you know. Likely I read it in the same paper you did. Does it really matter where?’ Quinn accepted a drink from a passing waiter before turning back to him. ‘After so many years on the continent, I was hoping she might never return. How do you plan to handle this situation?’
‘I don’t plan to do anything. Avoidance is too much work. I’ll simply pretend she isn’t there.’
‘Do you really think you can simply ignore her?’
He nodded. He had to believe he could do it or what was the point?
‘I vividly remember your last encounter. I don’t think it will be as easy as you seem to think.’
‘You have so little faith in me, Shacklesbury. It’s hurtful. Besides, that was years ago. My hide is much thicker now. Her taunts will simply roll off my back. Like water off a duck.’
‘I know you too well, Shelton. When it comes to Catherine, not even you know how you will react.’
This was true but he had to at least pretend he was more confident than he was. It was almost like preparing for the inevitable. It would be unpleasant, most likely bitter, but at the end he would still be standing.
‘Fear not. I have become accustomed to pretending not to see people when they want to be seen. Of making people move about like chess pieces without them even knowing it. I am the master of manipulation, remember? I’ll come up with something.’ He hoped. He was good at ignoring the twitters as he passed, the looks of disgust, the teary gazes.
It was an act, all of it, and not just on his part. Everyone in the ton played a part in the farce that was the season. He was a player like all the rest, it’s just that half of them had yet to realise it.
Unfortunately, he too remembered vividly his last encounter with Lady Brogdan. It had started off badly and ended up with him being blind drunk for a week. His liver had not yet forgiven him.
‘I suppose it is too much to hope she may have had a nice bout of smallpox sometime in the last few year,’ said Quinn
He blinked. ‘Shacklesbury! How unkind. How … unlike you.’ His good friend blushed, which made Robert smile. ‘I approve immensely.’
They both chuckled, even though they both knew that having Catherine back in town was no laughing matter.
***
Arabella and Isabelle stood with their mother at the side of the ballroom.
Arabella was distracted from the usual spectacle of magnificent fashions, her thoughts consumed with a certain marquis. He had surprised her this afternoon. The fluttery feeling, which had invaded her body when they had stared at each other in the rain, was again playing havoc with her insides. She pulled her sister a little further away from their mother. Isabelle raised a brow in question but followed without uttering a word.
Arabella was angry with her father for not being here, again. No doubt he had let himself be lured to the gaming tables of his club or some horrible gaming hell. Once there, he seemed to lose all track of time and forget any promises made. The fact that their mother didn’t seem to care, or notice, was worrying both her and Isabelle.
They had spoken at length about it and suspected that their mother was finding the pressure of their coming out more keenly than they had at first thought. She had been taking her nerve tonic more often. Not that she looked distressed right now. On the contrary, she was too relaxed. Smiling at everything and everyone, but most likely not thinking of her girls or even noticing where they were, which meant she would not be able to offer them sufficient security against Shelton or any other of his type.
Isabelle stood beside her, nervously fidgeting. ‘What is wrong, Izzy?’
‘Nothing, well actually, I am hoping Lord Shacklesbury will be here tonight.’
‘Do you? Intriguing.’
‘Oh, stop. It’s so he can ensure that Shelton behaves.’
‘Are you sure that is the only reason?’
‘Bella!’
‘I’m only teasing you.’
Arabella was conflicted. It was clear Isabelle was interested in Shacklesbury but she was valiantly pretending to be disinterested for Arabella’s sake. Hadn’t Shelton himself said he thought his friend smitten with her sister? Thanks to Shelton, she suspected every man who offered his hand for a dance to be after her virtue or her sister’s. Was it unfair of her not to encourage an affection between Isabelle and Shacklesbury?
‘I do promise to use caution around him, to be wary and attentive, as I would with any gentleman,’ Isabelle said. ‘I had hoped you would have a better opinion of him after the opera the other night.’
‘I thought he was very nice, but anyone can be nice,’ Arabella replied. Shelton had been very nice this afternoon, but she had seen his not very nice side too. ‘I will not be happy unless you have a man who is worthy of you.’
‘You are a dear heart. I would not marry for less than true love. Does that make you feel any better?’
She accepted her sister’s reassurances for no other reason than she had no reason not to.
Anxiously, she looked towards the entrance for Shelton. Her sister seemed to be looking for Shacklesbury, but unlike herself she was smiling. The longer she had thought about his behaviour this afternoon, the more she was sure it was just a ploy of his to get her to let down her guard around him. A tactic? Part of his game?
She was sure he would not have forgotten about their promised dance. She was not naive enough to hope that he might pick a simple cotillion. The deviousness of Robert Mallory’s mind would not allow him to choose any but the waltz. Oh, if only she hadn’t already been given permission to participate in the waltz, she could have at least used that as an excuse.
When had she stopped referring to him as Shelton? She reprimanded herself severely and squared her shoulders. She must make it clear that despite his kindness this afternoon, she would not comply with his plans.
Isabelle was first to see the pair.
Arabella gasped and quickly ushered her sister to the safety of a pillar, or rather, behind the pillar.
Her sister gave her and odd look. ‘Is this where we are to hide for the rest of the night?’ she asked, poking her head around from behind the column.
Arabella pulled her back, anxiously.
‘Yes, I don’t want him to see us. Me.’
‘Well, you can hide if you wish, but I want to have a moment to watch. See how the women all turn to look at them?’
‘That is because they are all looking for an escape route.’
Her sister ignored the sour statement. ‘You are being oversensitive. Shelton would not dare do anything ungentlemanly in such a public place. You’ll see.’
Arabella turned her sister to face her. ‘I wish I had your confidence. I just want you to be careful too.’
‘I have every intention of furthering my association with Lord Shacklesbury. I find that I don’t want to pretend indifference towards him. I have no reason to.’
‘He hasn’t given you any reason because he is dull as dishwater and loyal as a hound to his master. Can you really have fallen for the man, based on his looks, title, and one pleasant night at the opera?’ Arabella regretted her statement immediately when her sister’s lips turned down and she looked away. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out so. I was out of turn.’ Shelton was turning her into a shrew. She was disgusted in herself.
‘I will pretend I didn’t hear you utter such nasty comments. I sense that Lord Shacklesbury is very different from your Lord Shelton. I admit I like him. But I feel I am not the type of
woman he is looking for in a wife, if indeed he is even looking for a wife. But how will I know if I don’t give him a chance?’ She paused to grasp Arabella’s hand. ‘Perhaps... perhaps you may find that if you spend some time with your Lord Shelton that he may be more smoke than fire.’
Arabella was shocked. ‘My Lord Shelton? More smoke than fire? Ha! Have you gone mad? Do you not remember what he said that first night? In our parlour? I don’t think the man has had a good intention since he could shave.’
‘I distinctly remember him saying he wasn’t interested in ruining us.’
‘He might not have said it but our ruin is certainly what he intends. I know he doesn’t care one whit about getting to know me.’
Suddenly Isabelle looked ill, then Arabella heard his deep timbre behind her.
‘On the contrary, Miss Arabella, I would like very much to get to know you,’ he whispered in her ear.
She froze, her face heated. How did he find them so fast and how had she not noticed? Her whole body trembled with a mixture of dread, excitement, and awareness. She could practically feel the heat of his body behind her. Was it him making her skin feel on fire, or simply her embarrassment?
***
He couldn’t believe he was shaking with the need to touch her. He would have, except for the fact that Isabelle was looking at him with horrified eyes the size of the moon. He supposed she had a right to look that way, considering the very uncomplimentary things her sister had said.
It would have all been so easy had he picked Isabelle instead of Arabella. He doubted Isabelle had so much as one suspicious bone in her whole body. She would have been so easy, but easy was boring. Arabella was a challenge and he loved a good challenge.
Quinn searched for Isabelle, clearly with affection rather than with intent. What would it be like to, for once, not have the pressure to conquer? To win? To be able to enjoy a woman’s other … charms? His mind was taking him to places that he had strictly avoided since … Catherine. He snapped his thoughts back to where things at least made sense, where things were safe.
‘No smile of greeting for me, my two little minxes?’ he asked, bowing.
‘It is not safe for us to be with you without our mother present. We will leave you now.’ Arabella took a step back.
‘Just one moment, Miss Fleming. You think I do not wish to know you, yet you run at the least excuse. Are you the one being false here?’ he asked. She lifted her chin. Ah, he did so love it when she did that.
‘How can I be false when you are the one professing one thing, when really you want to ruin me.’ Her voice rose, like a crescendo of anxiety.
He cautioned her with a finger to her lips. ‘If I were, which I am not, I would prefer to call it educating.’
‘Well, I don’t wish to be educated by you,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t even know you and you certainly don’t know me.’ She raised her chin again.
Quinn arrived. His eyes were on Robert. ‘What’s happening?’
Isabelle answered. ‘They are having a tiff.’
Both he and Arabella spoke at the same time. ‘We are not having a tiff.’
‘We are simply having a difference of opinion, Isabelle,’ he said, before addressing Quinn. ‘Miss Arabella seems to think she can read my mind.’ He turned back to Arabella. ‘If you could read my mind, Miss Fleming, I assure you, you may think very differently.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying your intentions are pure, Lord Shelton?’
‘I’m simply trying to help you to navigate through the season without succumbing to men like me. In fact, you could say I am being your champion, your knight in shining armour ready to fly your colours, your—’
Arabella rolled her eyes. ‘Oh please.’
Quinn turned to Isabelle ‘I, ah, believe the dancing has started. Miss Fleming, if you would do me the honour?’ Isabelle gave him a look of pure relief.
‘What a grand idea, Shacklesbury. Miss Arabella owes me a dance.’
Chapter 7
Robert found it almost impossible to hide his grin. Did Arabella just stamp her foot at his request for a dance?
‘I am not getting into a discussion with you,’ she hissed. ‘And certainly not on the dance floor.’
‘You are and we will. Come along.’
Quinn stepped forward. ‘We are at a ball, Shelton. There must be a better time and place for this.’
He hoped his glare would be enough for his friend to realise that he would not be backing down from this. ‘Unless, of course, Miss Fleming, you wish to go somewhere more... private.’
‘You are mad!’ Arabella hissed.
He was mindful of the couples that were now making their way to the dance floor for the first quadrille. ‘Don’t fight me on this, Bella.’ He sighed and leaned in close. ‘I don’t want to have to haul you over my shoulder. Just imagine what people will think then, hmm? So, what’s it to be, nice and friendly, or screaming like a banshee? It matters not to me. My reputation is not in question here. Think of your sister.’
‘That was a low blow, Shelton.’ Her eyes searched his. Was she trying to see if he was bluffing? He gave another tug on her hand and she let go of the pillar. Isabelle reached for her but Arabella shook her head. He nodded his approval of her decision; he knew she would make the right one, eventually.
The dancing started off well. Arabella did all the required movements but without making eye contact with him. He had hoped things would be different between them after this afternoon, but clearly she’d had time to think between then and now and had decided that, no matter how gallant he’d been, she could not accept his kindness for what it was. If it was the Collector of Hearts she wanted, to know he was more than willing to give her a taste, just so she would feel justification in her chin-raising. Shock her to her stockinged toes. He sighed, as he had really hoped it would not come to this.
‘At the end of this dance I am going to escort you to the balcony, from there we will leave Shacklesbury and your sister. At which point you can tell me exactly what I know you want to say.’
‘I am not going anywhere with you.’
Quinn stepped forward but Robert looked him in the eye. ‘I will bring her back, virtue intact. I promise we will be but a few minutes.’ With those words, Robert marched Arabella through the French doors onto the balcony and down to the well-lit garden beyond.
He pulled her reluctant hand through the crook of his arm as they strode down one of the paths through the crowd-filled garden.
‘It’s a lovely night. The garden is truly magnificent.’ He looked down at Arabella but she was gazing straight ahead and did not acknowledge his comment. ‘No praise for the obedient flowerbeds? How they all bow and scrape to grow in just the manner in which the gardener dictates? No? What of the moon then? The poets say a full moon brings lovers together like it brings the tide to the shore. Do you think they are right?’
Still she said nothing. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. She must be truly angry with him, but what did she expect? She was the one who had started all this. Had she but kept her thoughts on his person to herself, he would be leading her off the dance floor rather than down the garden path.
He made a few detours, waited several seconds, and then made a quick turn and they were in the conservatory. He shut the glass door.
Arabella whirled to face him. ‘What do you think you are playing at, Shelton, using her reputation to get me to comply? Both our reputations at risk here, because what happens to me reflects on her, on my whole family. This is insane. Do you care nothing for propriety?’
The conservatory was dim and humid, but the light from the garden allowed him to see her clearly. Arabella stood as if in front of a firing squad. She held herself very still, her glare hot enough to turn this glass room into a fiery purgatory. The only hint of distress was the way her hands systematically crushed her skirts.
Robert took a step forward and she took one back. He lowered his head and chuckled.
She was right. This was insane. He was insane. ‘You wanted us to know each other. Well, now I’m going to give you the chance.’
He sat on a small bench to await her response. The threat of them being caught alone was not lost on him, of course. Miss Fleming would certainly be ruined if she was found alone with the Collector of Hearts. The risk was very real, and ultimately, disastrous. Anyone could enter the conservatory at any time. There were some situations even he could not likely get out of. The danger of their position elicited a spike of excitement within him.
Arabella fled to the other side of the room. With a potting table between them, she picked up a small pot.
He laughed. ‘Are you planning on pitching that at my head?’
She looked at the pot in her hand and placed it back down, but still held on to it. ‘Let me go.’
Did tears shine in her eyes? Surely not. He shrugged. ‘I wish I could, Miss Fleming.’
‘Why? Why me?’
‘Believe me, my dear, this has not gone at all to plan. I tried to play nice but...’ He stood and took a few steps towards her.
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ She picked up the decorated pot again. ‘You stay right where you are.’
He bowed to her and resumed his seat on the bench. ‘Come, Bella, don’t be silly. We are just going to talk.’ Robert couldn’t believe he was committing himself to a deep and meaningful conversation with her, but apparently he was, and the Collector part of him was not pleased. It did, however, give her pause in her pursuit for the perfect defensive position. He was confident he could avoid any pots hurled his way.
‘I don’t believe you.’ She weighed the pot in her hand as if to show him she was prepared to throw it at any provocation.
‘So I see,’ he drawled and pulled on his sleeve. ‘I’m giving you the chance to ask me whatever you want to know.’
‘Whatever I want to know?’ He nodded.
She perched on the edge of the small potting stool. Her eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed back on him. ‘Do you care about anyone, other than yourself?’
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