Duel of Hearts

by Farr, Diane

  He did not immediately reply. To Lilah’s intense mortification, his gaze appeared riveted to what her squirming had placed directly in his line of vision: her chest. The rigid bodice of the old-fashioned gown bared the top half of her breasts and mounded them high above the neckline. When she bent at the waist, they bulged nearly to her collarbone. For an instant, she was afraid they would pop out entirely and spill right into his face. Something in his expression indicated he would not object to that.

  “Lift me down,” she ordered, albeit unsteadily.

  “Not on your life.” His eyes gleamed as his gaze traveled slowly up her throat, lingering briefly on her lips before continuing up to meet her eyes. A shock of heat shot through her when their eyes met, as if electricity had leaped from his eyes to hers, searing along all her nerves.

  “You are blushing,” he said.

  His voice was so soft it should have been inaudible, but somehow she heard every nuanced syllable. It was as if her ears were instinctively attuned to his particular pitch, and when he spoke she hummed and quivered like a piano tuner’s fork.

  “Of course I am blushing,” she said, with a fair assumption of hauteur. “You are embarrassing me.”

  “Why? You look beautiful up there. Like a Dresden figurine.” His teeth flashed in a brief grin. “Just strike a pose and hold still.”

  “Strike a pose? You wretch, I cannot even stand.”

  “Yes, you can. You are perfectly safe. I will catch you if you fall.”

  “What a horrible man you are,” she observed, resigned. “For pity’s sake, at least give me your hand.”

  He complied, and she rose rather shakily to an upright posture. Raucous cheering immediately broke out among a group of interested spectators nearby, all of whom seemed to be men. Since she had not noticed the small crowd their behavior was attracting, Lilah was so startled she nearly fell. Drake’s hand steadied her.

  “Careful,” he warned under his breath. “Steady on. Remember your role.”

  “What role?” she gasped, mortified. “Drake, let me down at once!”

  “Excellent,” he said approvingly. “Now hit me with your fan.”

  She promptly complied.

  “Ouch,” he muttered, rubbing the top of his head. “Very convincing.” He looked over at the knot of hooting men and flashed a broad grin. “I told her I’d put her on a pedestal,” he called to them. “And worship at her feet.”

  Laughter and applause greeted this sally. One of the men shouted, “The lady had something better in mind, my friend!”

  Lilah wanted to sink through the floor. Through the haze of humiliation she felt Drake’s hand squeezing hers reassuringly. She looked down at him, almost sick with shame, and saw that he was trying to signal her with his eyes. Pompadour, he mouthed.

  She understood in a flash. Lilah had forgotten, for the moment, that she was in disguise. It was not Delilah Chadwick who stood on the pedestal, vulgarly displayed for the entertainment of strangers. It was La Pompadour.

  She doubted if Madame de Pompadour had ever done anything this undignified, but never mind. Whatever Lilah did this evening, her reputation—and La Pompadour’s, for that matter—would survive, for neither lady was actually present. She immediately breathed easier.

  Under the cover of rude male laughter, Lilah tossed her head and frowned prettily. “Voyons!” she exclaimed, in her mother’s clear, carrying voice. “Your homage does not please me, m’sieur. I shall find another worshiper.”

  The men immediately rushed the pedestal, vying, with much laughter and horseplay, for the honor of becoming her new acolyte. One of the crowd was her wine-stained sheep; she was glad, now, that she had not spoken to him. Let him think she was French. Let them all think it.

  Feeling much more secure, Lilah—or, rather, this unknown coquette she had become—dropped Drake’s hand and balanced daintily on her perch. She smiled and pouted, gestured with her fan and clapped her hands, doling out encouragement to one gentleman and discouragement to another as the fancy struck her. At the same time, she spared some attention to study the room spread out before her.

  It was amazing what a difference a few feet of height made. Even with a gaggle of fatwits distracting her and crowding round her knees, she could see everyone and everything in the ballroom from here. The orchestra was placed in a low balcony on the opposite side of the room, where she could see them sawing away like mad. Dancing couples swirled and bumped in the center of the room, their agility impeded by their costumes. She saw several men who might be Papa, but could be certain of nothing. There was so much movement and so many masks, it was impossible to pick one man out of the throng.

  Eventually she caught Drake’s eye and gave him a tiny shake of her head. He had drifted back to the outside of her ring of new admirers, but at her signal he immediately shouldered his way through them to her side. “That’s enough,” he commanded. “None of you are worthy of my goddess.”

  “Nor are you,” said Lilah pertly. The men all laughed, but parted good-naturedly to let Drake claim her. She supposed they thought him her acknowledged suitor. Perhaps some of them recognized the earl and didn’t care to annoy a man of his rank. Or bulk. At any rate, the men all took their leave of her and wandered off in search of additional sport.

  Drake held up his hand. She looked down her nose at him for a moment, refusing to take it. “You, sir, are unconscionable,” she informed him. “What if those dreadful men had done me a mischief? They smelled very strongly of spirits.”

  “You seemed to be holding your own,” he said dryly. “I take it you did not recognize your father?”

  She shook her head. “It is impossible.”

  “We should get out into the center of the room. Come down and we’ll dance.”

  She frowned. “Stop ordering me about. It makes me cross.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. Force of habit. Please come down and we’ll dance.”

  She cocked her head. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

  “Ah. Please come down. May I have this dance?”

  “Much better.” She placed her hand in his and hopped.

  He caught her. Suddenly the music seemed to swell; it filled her head with sweet swirls of melody, deafening her to all other sounds. Drake’s impossibly strong arm held her at the waist, crushed against him, his face inches below her own. Her feet dangled, useless; she was suspended in the air with nothing between her and an ignominious fall but Drake’s solid muscles. She balanced there against his broad chest and stared into his upturned face. There was a peculiar roaring in her ears—or was it the orchestra? Dizzy, she gazed into Drake’s eyes, framed by the slits of his black silk mask. Devils danced in their depths.

  “Put me down,” she said. Her voice sounded nothing like her own.

  Laughter rumbled in his chest; she could feel it vibrate beneath her. “Stop ordering me about,” he said, mimicking her. “It makes me cross.”

  She tried to look severe. “Please put me down.”

  He did, but with obvious reluctance. She slid all down his frame. When her feet touched the floor she stepped hastily away, shaking out her skirts. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She wished she had a bigger mask. The flimsy scrap of silk she had employed disguised her features, but did little to hide her blushes.

  Drake did not comment on the pinkness of her complexion. He merely offered his arm. “Shall we? Your French accent is very good, by the way.”

  “My mother was French.”

  “Ah, yes. How could I forget?” His eyes had returned to the crowd around them. “Eugenia’s speech must strike your father as sadly flat, compared to his first wife’s pretty accent.”

  A pang shot through Lilah at the thought. “Let us hope so. My mother did have a lovely voice.”

  “You must take after her.”

  Lilah glanced up at her companion in surprise. Was Drake complimenting her? Before she could decide, he seemed to catch himself, appearing vexed that he had spoken without thinking. “
But Eugenia’s voice is pleasant enough, in its way,” he said gruffly. “And she has other virtues.”

  They had reached the edge of the dance floor. Drake did not, however, pull her into the melee. They stood, irresolute, watching the red-faced, whooping couples. The dance in progress was some sort of country dance that involved men and women galloping about in concentric rings, trying to locate their partners among the horde. The dancers’ fields of vision were severely limited by their masks, most of them had been sipping champagne for several hours now, and many of them were wearing costumes with tails to be stepped on or protrusions that struck glancing blows to dancers in their immediate vicinity. The result was much hilarity and little actual dancing.

  “I would need something stronger than champagne to enjoy this mess,” remarked Drake. “Let’s withdraw and think of another plan.”

  Lilah could only be thankful. They fought their way back through the crowd to a high-arched doorway. Drake halted in it and they took their stand against the lintel. Lilah protested that they could see very little of the ballroom from here, but Drake’s superior knowledge of the house and his great-aunt’s party arrangements prevailed; he informed her that this exit led to both the ladies’s and the men’s cloakrooms. Anyone needing to visit the necessaries would pass directly in front of them. Lilah congratulated him on an excellent stratagem, and he bowed an ironic acknowledgment.

  It was pleasant to have a respite from studying the crowd, a difficult task for a petite female. Lilah turned her attention to studying Drake instead. He had placed her with her back against the lintel and was leaning one hand negligently on the smooth wooden surface behind her, thus giving the impression that they were deep in a private flirtation and averse to being disturbed. His eyes were not on her, however; his gaze flicked past her to whoever approached the doorway. A chuckle rose in her as she watched the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes. She strongly suspected that he was having the time of his life.

  “Are you fond of hunting, Drake?”

  He glanced down at her in surprise. “Rather.” A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You’re a perceptive chit.”

  Drake was not a man who smiled often. One could not help returning such a rarely-glimpsed smile. She felt an answering smile waver across her face, and devoutly hoped she did not appear too fatuous. Something about his smile made Lilah conscious of how close his body was to hers, and her attraction to this exasperating man was making her feel remarkably foolish.

  “I’m perceptive enough when provided with clues,” she said lightly. “I wonder—” She stopped, biting her lip. Oh, dear. She mustn’t pry.

  But Drake cocked his head as if listening, appearing approachable for once. “What do you wonder, I wonder?”

  Very well. She would plunge ahead. “I wonder why you wish to marry Miss Mayhew. And why she doesn’t seem to know it.”

  Drake’s approachable expression immediately vanished. He scowled at her. “Of all the deuced cheek—”

  “It isn’t cheek.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I need to know. It seems very strange, to me, that a lady who—” It seems strange that a lady who could have you would marry anyone else. Lilah gulped, shocked at her wayward thoughts, but rallied. “Strange that a lady who could marry an earl would choose to marry a baronet instead.”

  Drake’s scowl darkened. “And that baronet not in the first blush of youth, either.”

  “Yes.” Lilah decided not to take offense. It was, after all, what she had meant. Sort of. “Is it possible that Miss Mayhew does not know your intentions?”

  He appeared to be struggling with whether or not to answer her. He must have decided that the question concerned her after all, as the daughter of Miss Mayhew’s supposed fiancé. He finally gave her a grudging nod. “All right. I’ll tell you what I think.” He cast about for a moment, seeking the right words. His mouth finally twisted in a rueful look; to Lilah’s astonishment, he actually seemed embarrassed. “I think she’s playing a game with me. And I think she’s winning.”

  Lilah was fascinated. “But—how can this be? A lady would not encourage another gentleman’s suit as part of a game.”

  A crack of cynical laughter escaped Drake. “What an innocent you must be! Women execute these sorts of maneuvers every day. I just didn’t think Eugenia was the kind of woman who would try it. Somehow I misjudged her. The more fool I.”

  “Do you love her?” Lilah blurted. She was immediately ashamed of asking such a personal question, but Drake did not seem offended by it. He was scowling, but not necessarily at her.

  “Of course I love her,” he growled. “We’ve been friends since childhood. I’ve always meant to marry her one day. I never said anything, however, so she evidently grew tired of waiting and decided to teach me a lesson.” He dropped his hand from behind Lilah and thrust it through his hair, unwilling laughter shaking his shoulders. “Eugenia’s not stupid. She made a clever move. It worked, didn’t it? When I heard about some middle-aged chuff pursuing my girl, I thought it was a pretty good joke. But when I learned that she was ready to accept him, I dropped everything and ran hot-foot to London to thrust a spoke in his wheel.”

  Lilah frowned. “But—does my father know that Miss Mayhew really intends to wed you, rather than him?”

  Drake shrugged. “Who knows? The result will be the same, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Possibly it matters to him! If you are right about this, Miss Mayhew is playing my father for a fool. He will look ridiculous if she jilts him to wed you. He may even suffer a heartache.”

  Drake stared down at her in exasperation. “What difference does it make? Isn’t that exactly what we came here to accomplish?”

  She looked daggers at him. “It seems, to me, to make a great deal of difference,” she informed him. “It is one thing to relieve my father of a commitment made half-heartedly. It is entirely a different thing, to steal from him a lady he has grown to care for.”

  “I thought you were convinced that he only offered for Eugenia to give you companionship, or some such nonsense? Or to secure an heir?”

  “Yes, but what if I am wrong?” cried Lilah despairingly. “I was picturing two adults, discussing their future reasonably—and now you tell me Miss Mayhew may have been enticing my poor father while secretly intending to pique your interest. If she is playing some sort of undergame—”

  Drake looked fierce. “I keep telling you, Eugenia’s not capable of enticing anyone! She’s no siren. Why, she doesn’t even know how to flirt. She’s been very strictly reared—by my own mother, I’ll have you know! She lost her parents at an early age and was brought up at Drakesley. I know her like a sister. She’s a lady from top to toe.”

  “A game-playing lady!” Lilah snapped. “A manipulator! Or so you just told me.”

  Drake looked harassed. “Well, that’s the part I don’t understand,” he said abruptly. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it. I would have said Eugenia was the last woman on earth to set a trap for a man. Any man. Even me.” He hesitated. “Especially me! I can’t imagine her duping one man, let alone two, so perhaps your father is in on the plot.”

  Lilah struggled with this for a moment. “I hope so,” she said at last. “But I must say, it sounds extraordinarily unlike him. You say you cannot imagine Eugenia setting such a trap. Well, I can’t imagine Papa helping her to set it! He’s a very upright man. Such a scheme would strike him as sly and dishonorable. I know it would.”

  “Perhaps she appealed to his chivalry.”

  “Perhaps.” She looked doubtful. “But Miss Mayhew has only just met him. Why would she take him so deep in her confidence? Not to mention that part of the plan must entail her jilting him—making him the target of malicious gossip. Anyone would dislike that, but Papa would hate it even more than most.”

  They stared at each other as if seeking answers to the mystery in each other’s eyes. All they found was shared perplexity.

  A rueful
look dawned on Drake’s features. “I may have misjudged Eugenia, but I’ve got you pegged,” he said at last—softly, but with conviction. “You’re a straight arrow, just as I am. The problem is, neither of us is any good at understanding other people’s deviousness. There are those who are on the lookout for deception and expect it—and see it coming. You and I do not. It takes a gameplayer to understand another gameplayer. We’re out of our depth, Miss Chadwick.”

  “I’m afraid you are right,” Lilah sighed. “Much as one hates to admit being so…so simple. But I know exactly what you mean; there are people who would look at this situation and understand in a flash what was really happening. You and I are not among them.”

  They pondered this glumly.

  The ferocious look slowly returned to Drake’s features. “I’ll say this for us,” he announced, righteous indignation warming his voice. “Neither you nor I would construct an elaborate plot to trick other people into doing what we want.”

  “Certainly not,” said Lilah roundly. But then she added, with laughter quivering in her voice, “We would employ more direct methods.”

  Chapter 8

  It was bound to happen, Lilah supposed. Drake had made no real effort to disguise himself, and he was in a house that belonged to his family. Three giggling, chattering girls returning from the cloakroom pounced on him with shrieks of delight.

  “Ooh, la, a giant among us! Who can it possibly be?” Then, in a flirtatious sing-song: “I think I kno-ow!”

  “Lord Drakesley, is that you? It is! I know it is.”

  “Drake, you wretch! Where have you been hiding? I didn’t even know you were in town.”

  “A forfeit, a forfeit!” Much laughter and clapping of hands. “You must dance with me.”

  “No, dance with me!”

  “No, no, he must dance with each of us—or all of us at once! That will teach him not to ignore his friends.”

  It was all very well for Drake to look dismayed; it was quite his own fault that he had been recognized, and just what he deserved. Lilah, feeling seriously annoyed, pressed herself against the wall and tried to blend in with the wallpaper. But she needn’t have bothered. The girls had eyes only for Drake.