Huntleigh, Nick had discovered in the card room, saw nothing wrong at all, just a youthful, compliant, entirely respectable girl who did everything he asked. He had been nothing but generous in everything he said about her, though never as besotted as some old men become about their young wives. She was a veritable paragon, to hear her husband tell it—as hostess and nursemaid and housekeeper and opponent at backgammon. He probably didn’t even realize she might be pleasing in the bedroom.
Nick would be doing this poor young lady a service, paying her a bit of attention, he told himself, liven things up a bit. Every woman deserves to know when a gentleman thinks she’s pretty, and any husband unaware his wife is upset with him really had no right to keep her. Nick was flabbergasted Huntleigh didn’t realize they had been having a disagreement all evening, perhaps longer.
“I must apologize for requiring so much of Lord Huntleigh’s time. I had no idea you might not find other partners, or I would never have spirited him away.”
“It is of no concern. My husband only ever attends parties to advance his business, and I keep myself entertained. The Estermore’s picture gallery rivals any I’ve seen outside a royal residence or museum.”
“I shall make a point of viewing it, so we might have a topic of conversation next time we meet.” He paused, uncertain if his usual gambit would produce a positive result, but more impatient than usual in his pursuit. “Unless you should like to adjourn there to guide me through the collection.”
She took two blatant steps away, but couldn’t help her body turning toward him, eyes dropping. “I entertain myself, Sir, not gentlemen of my husband’s acquaintance.”
He immediately withdrew his impropriety, but not entirely the intent. “Such a shame you should have to entertain yourself in the absence of admiring company.”
She looked around at the crowds either staring pointedly away from her or talking about her behind their hands, and shrugged one shoulder. “I prefer my own society to the entertainments of the Season.”
“Do you?” He had seen the momentary longing on her face as she watched the couples dancing by, ladies dresses shimmering like precious jewels under the candlelight, but not half as magnificent as her hair. A few loose strands fell from her upswept coiffure, draping like antique gold down the side of her face, her eyes set like sapphires on a diadem.
She glanced toward him to gauge his sincerity, collecting her conversation. He saw the lonely young lady she must have been as a debutante, and prepared himself to carry the conversation, if he managed to make her nervous enough to lose her head.
“Surely you have heard I am the biggest wallflower on Earth, well familiar with the edges of a dance floor.”
“I have only heard you charmed your husband’s associates and the king’s ambassadors all over the globe,” he half-lied, “and you are as responsible as Huntleigh for his many successes.”
Her face turned away as a wall sconce flickered as though it would burn out. He could only be so lucky as to suddenly have a dimmer corner in which to carry out his quest.
“You will gain no advantage trying to please me. My husband will only take into account you tried and hold it against you.”
“Surely I am at an advantage among friends, and it behooves me to cultivate such relationships.”
“You are more likely to make me a friend, Wellbridge,” Huntleigh interjected as he limped toward them, not a moment or two before the lamp sputtered out, “by cultivating relationships with everyone else’s wife.” He turned to her. “Have we kept you waiting too long, my dear?”
She slipped her hand into her husband’s. “Of course not, darling, but I do so want to dance.”
Huntleigh looked like she’d suggested he take his shoes off to be filleted for his supper. “Did you not already—? I mean, people are dancing. Is there no one—? Er—?” He looked hopefully back at the card room. “Surely we agreed on—”
Her head dropped, “You did ask I only speak with Lord Anson, nothing more, but the Pinnesters are now in attendance so perhaps Lord Enstrom might—Just one set?”
She stopped before the gossip ran pêle-mêle across the room. “No one knows me anymore. I suppose I should be grateful.” All three of them knew the problem was too many people knew her. “Charlotte cannot be expected to entertain me all evening and Alexander—” She looked over at Nick. “I mean, Lord Firthley—”
“—is in the card room,” Nick finished. He looked over at her husband, pointedly taking in the cane and Huntleigh’s bad leg. “By the Knight’s Creed, man, I swear I have no sinful designs on your wife, but she has been waiting like a saint to dance, and her suffering is all down to me. I think it only right I partner her for the next figure, since I am a very good dancer, and she is tapping her toe. The music is winding down; a new set will start in just a few minutes. What say you, Huntleigh?”
Huntleigh’s delight at avoiding even the question of dancing warred with concern about Nick’s prurient interests. In the end, he waved away any worry with a misplaced sense of confidence.
“Dearest, if you would like to indulge Wellbridge in a dance, you may, but you needn’t entertain his addresses if you prefer not. He is entirely too brazen, but you have always proven quite capable of keeping a nobleman in his place.”
Lady Huntleigh’s fear of anyone observing her notice of the Duke of Wellbridge, especially the duke himself, crossed her face faster than gossip through the ladies of the ton. She couldn’t hide a bit of what she was thinking. Nick was charmed again, though he felt a twinge of guilt finding himself pleased by the pained expression. And he was well aware her husband had seen her flashes of interest and was now rethinking his permission.
Before he had the chance, Lady Huntleigh said, “You must not be so familiar with the duke, husband,” looking back and forth between them, “but if you would like me to dance with your business associate, of course, I will make no objection.”
As the orchestra took up the next selection, Nick held his hand out for her. “What luck for me. A waltz.” She placed her gloved hand in his, and he felt a trembling she couldn’t control.
“Behave yourself, Wellbridge,” Huntleigh admonished as Nick settled his hand at Lady Huntleigh’s waist, and they swept into the current of the ballroom.
Of the many activities he shared with women, dancing was high on the list, though his reputation said otherwise. Because he avoided debutantes, and they often surrounded him to the exclusion of all others, it was thought he disliked the pastime, but in truth, the music always teased his senses, particularly when it was slow and intimate, as this set would be, allowing him and his partner to also tease each other. If only Lady Huntleigh would.
“I think you are making a mockery of me, Sir. You are flirting shamelessly at every party, and now right in front of my husband. You must desist.”
“Nick, please—Wellbridge, if you prefer—and you are entirely correct. I would much rather flirt with you behind his back.” He leaned in closer to her ear, “When we are in front of him, I am afraid your sweet blushes will give us away.” The scent of flowers rose from her hair. Lavender. Maybe lilacs. Maybe both. He breathed deeply. Definitely both. “I cannot allow you to expose our secret, Lady Huntleigh, for I have sinful designs on you.”
Bella’s slipper caught on the waxed floor. Taking advantage of her instability, he held her waist more firmly, drawing her close to encourage her shivers and gooseflesh.
“You said you had no designs on me! You swore by the Knight’s Creed!”
He leaned in to murmur, “I am not a knight, my sweet.”
With less wallflower and more worldly woman, she laughed, “Sir Satyr, I’m sure, charter member of the Order of Rakehells, pledged to lead me down the path to depravity.”
“You’ve caught me.” He stared down at her ripe mouth. “Would that we were not in a crowded ballroom.”
She bit her lip as they danced right past her husband, but by the time the music worked its way through a crescendo, she seemed to reg
ain herself.
“I am not the type of woman one takes as a mistress.”
Her frown meant to put paid to his indecorous intentions, but he had seen such glowering before, always from women he eventually took as mistresses.
“What type of woman is that, my lady?”
She stumbled again, muttering a reply; if he wasn’t mistaken, “Deuced gentlemen and their accursed flirting.” He asked her to repeat herself, just to see if the forbidding look would appear genuine. Oh, yes, it was certainly authentic.
“Would you rather,” he asked quietly, a whisper across her earlobe, “a lifetime of only Humdrum Huntleigh?”
Her face momentarily softened, with the same brief look of longing he had seen as she watched the dancing, but just as he almost missed it, her expression grew as stony as gravel shore.
“Lord Huntleigh is a wonderful man who has just made me a countess… And I know perfectly well no man like you could possibly be interested in me.”
How delightful she has considered it, he silently preened.
“On the contrary, a woman who doesn’t give a tuppenny damn about Almack’s is of enormous interest. And what do you mean by ‘a man like me’?” He winked at her. “An incorrigible rogue?”
Bella blushed and turned her head away. She stuttered, “I just meant… a man of your… stature…” She gulped, “Your rank, I mean.”
“Is that what you meant? I am quite devastated you weren’t referring to my manly physique.” Nick grinned at her, and she dropped her eyes so he wouldn’t see her taking in his handsome face, instead resting her gaze on the stature in question. He involuntarily puffed out his chest to prove himself decidedly manly, no trace of youthful lankiness, but neither fleshy like Firthley, nor frail like her aged husband.
She let out the tiniest of instinctive whimpers and, satisfied he had made his point, he turned the conversation. “What has Huntleigh done to upset you? A disagreement?”
She spoke without thinking: “In the carriage. He said—” She stopped short. “No, it is disloyal to speak of my marital concerns with anyone but my husband.”
“Come now, you have been dying to have it out all night. What did he say?”
She huffed, “How do you know we had words?”
“The argument is all over your face, darling. And anyone with eyes can see he neglects you.”
“He is not neglectful, just not roman—” Her eyes dropped, but then her chin raised and she set her jaw. “Lord Huntleigh is a good husband and the very kindest of men. I will not have you disparage him.”
“I would never think of it. I just wonder how a man who is ‘not romantic’ manages to keep the interest of such a vivacious young lady. I mean, at home he can’t just fob you off on the nearest man in dancing pumps. As you are so quick to defend, he must have hidden charms only on view in your sitting room.”
Her giggle went past the point of politesse, bordering on an outright snort. However, she followed the minor calumny with, “Myron—Lord Huntleigh—and I spend more time in intellectual conversation than any two people I’ve ever known. We play backgammon and discuss politics and business, and he appreciates my intellect.”
“As I say, you are being neglected.” He ran his thumb across her wrist, and she almost choked. “You beautiful girl, poorly romanced by Humdrum Huntleigh in your very own drawing room.” His voice lost volume and an octave. “Bedroom, too, I wager. The worst sort of crime.”
She tried for dispassion, but her voice cracked. “I suppose being romanced by you in a ballroom is better?”
His smile was predatory. “How lovely of you to say.”
“I made no such—” She harrumphed, “You will turn around every word, I assume?”
“In recompense, if one appreciates a turn of phrase, I do write truly passionate love poetry.” She shook her head, loosening, but not losing, the unfocused gleam in her eye. He hoped quite sincerely she was envisioning him in a state of passion. Better yet, herself. In seconds, her jaw clenched and brows turned down.
“That is almost a good-quality judgmental look,” he teased. “It will convince at least a few people you spurn my advances, although not quite as forceful as it might be if you were not so curious. Perhaps if you turn your brows down just a bit more… there! That’s it.” He leaned over and said, almost silently, “Although, if you purse your pretty lips like that much longer, I shall be forced to kiss you, and all of our subterfuge will be for naught.”
Her mouth dropped open, astonished at the unabashed advance. “Your audacity knows no bounds!”
“No, none. Any man with a wife will tell you so.”
She couldn’t help laughing, but looked around to make certain no one was listening, and he could see her concerted effort to blank her expression.
“You have a very bad face for cards, my darling. Clearly, we must speak of nothing but the weather until the dance is over, or you will give away our lascivious intentions with your charming giggles. Your husband must believe you find me the most tedious man imaginable.”
She tossed her head and lied, “That will present no difficulty at all.” A few more strands of hair fell to her shoulders, drawing his attention. How he wished he could pull out the pins and run his hands through it.
“No?” he asked, one corner of his lips turned up.
“I find you deadly dull.”
His voice took on a rasp as he remarked, “You would find me much less so had you taken me to the gallery.”
“The gallery?! As if I would—you are indecent!” She almost pulled away but must have thought better of the scene she would create, instead merely stepping back, clearing her throat and calming her voice, if not her tone. “I can only think you have some plot to make my husband jealous to advance your business.”
“If I make your husband jealous, I stand to lose twenty thousand pounds. I am plotting to advance myself with you, business be hanged. In no time at all, Huntleigh will think nothing of us using given names. Soon enough, I will be able to invite you to my home alone with your husband none the wiser.”
“I think that unlikely.”
“I have no doubt you do.”
“You need not bother conniving. You are not half as fascinating as you seem to think.”
“When my hands move beyond your waist…” One thumb brushed lightly along the edge of her corset under her arm, “or your wrist…” The other moved against her gloved palm. “When I do not have to restrain my kisses to your hand,” he leaned close enough to leave the heat of his breath on her ear, “I think you will find me very interesting indeed.”
Now he could see the attraction of the bright red blush. He made himself nearly drunk on the color rising, the white of her teeth against her lower lip.
“You have quite a high opinion of yourself. My husband would shoot you dead if he heard how you speak to me.”
“Then you must be sure to tell him, so I’ll stop.”
He pulled himself a half-step back from her, still in perfect tempo. “The music is nearly over now, and you mustn’t look sad to see it end.”
She made a good show of hiding her disappointment, and when the music stopped, they weren’t but a few steps away from her husband, so Nick delivered her without delay. She tried to give the impression Nick was tiresome, annoying, insignificant. She didn’t entirely succeed, but Nick was pleased she made the attempt. He was also thankful her false disregard seemed to fool her husband, too gullible for his own good.
Nick’s public behavior with her was immaculate outside the dance they shared, even while he engaged in speculation with her husband about the new cargo ship he had just agreed to buy outright. He left so little room for suspicion that he could see her wondering the rest of the night if she had dreamed his outrageous proposals. He didn’t touch her arm or shoulder, didn’t bring her ratafia, didn’t try to find himself alone with her in a corner or on the terrace, and he spent no more time with the Huntleighs than his other acquaintances in attendance. She might as
well have been a hundred-year-old dowager for all the notice he took while in public.
But when she sought him out at the end of the evening, with no reason but to say she and Lord Huntleigh would be leaving soon, he blocked her husband’s view, then everyone else’s, half-hidden behind a pillar, just on the right side of proper. While she kept her eyes from his face to make sure no one was watching, he gently tugged the glove from her left hand.
“I shall return this to you one day soon,” he said, placing it in the pocket of his tailcoat, “and until I do,” he ran his fingertip over the back of her hand, then dragged his fingernails across her palm, “you might consider what skin you next want to bare to me.” She gasped. “I have ideas of my own, of course, but I would hate to disappoint if you were longing for me to touch you elsewhere.”
Her face lost both its color and its objections, so he pushed his luck, moving his light contact from wrist to forearm to elbow, “How I wish it were your stocking I had just removed, and the back of your knee inviting my kiss, not the crook of your elbow.” She looked as though the breath caught in her throat might keep her from speaking the rest of her life.
Nick turned then, feeling Huntleigh’s eyes on them from across the room, and whispered, “Be careful, my dear. Everything you are imagining is all over your face.” He bowed properly above her gloved fingers, arranged her shawl to cover the hand he had denuded, then walked her calmly to her husband, speaking of nothing more volatile than the price of tea as they strolled across the room.
Nick’s speech to Huntleigh was designed to give Bella every reason to remain wordless and mortified from the tips of her toes to the top of her head; her husband would be suspicious had she not.
“I know how protective you are, Huntleigh, so I will put it to rest. I have done my very best to convince Lady Huntleigh to run away with me: offered her every shilling of my fortune, my undying devotion, the very cockles of my heart, and she would have none of it. My rotten luck she loves her husband. I shall have to muddle along a poor old bachelor another decade or two, I suppose, before anyone comes up to the mark again.”
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