by Regina Scott
He approached the lady, her creamy skin in beautiful contrast with the red tint in her thick, dark hair. He bowed over her hand, placed it on his arm, and led her to the floor.
They began the waltz without yet speaking. She fit remarkably well in his arms, just the right height, not exactly eye level, but he imagined he could rest his chin on her head in an embrace. He stepped closer, his body tingling with a new awareness. His hands were aware of every shift of her fingers in his, of the rise and fall of her breath under his palm at her back. Suddenly the very air around them created a sensation on his skin.
She cleared her throat.
When he met her eyes, he was surprised to see a raised eyebrow and an aura of expectation.
He had been so caught up in these new sensations, perhaps he had assumed she was equally taken away. “You look lovely tonight.”
She smiled. “Thank you.” Her smile lit her face. A soft pink colored her cheeks. The prospect of courting and marrying this woman became more enticing to him the longer she danced in his arms.
Strange she didn’t say more.
He tried again. “I’m happy you could come.”
“Thank you. My grandma arranged it for me. It’s a lovely ball. I’m quite taken with the décor.”
Her grandmother. He thought they had sent the invitations to her father. He nodded absentmindedly. Something about this lady’s eyes, a spark of intelligence, intrigued him. Certain she could talk of much more than ballroom décor, he asked, “Have you been to any of the operas lately?”
“Oh yes. I go to every one I can.” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Do you also enjoy the opera?”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I, too, enjoy the opera. Of course we shall attend together. And the museum? Art? What are your other interests?” Perhaps their courtship would be less tedious than he thought, were he to court her. The more he thought on a life with this beauty in his arms, the faster his heart picked up.
But her face did not look as pleased as he would hope. Her eyebrows lowered, and a cloud of confusion darkened her eyes.
As they twirled through the room, he nearly stumbled at the sight of his mother’s deep scowl. He glanced back, and the pinched disapproval of his uncle’s face surprised him. All around them, covered whispering mouths clustered together, and wide eyes tracked his movement.
On the other side of the room, others held an abnormally strong interest in him and Lady Fenningway. He would expect to create a bit of a stir to declare his interest by dancing the first set with the lady, but the reactions in the room were not positive, and his mother’s face was most disturbing of all. Was he not doing her bidding?
The lady in his arms tilted her head, seeming puzzled.
He cleared his throat. “We’ve created quite a stir.”
“I imagine we would.” She titled her head to the side as if it were obvious.
He frowned. “Why is that?”
“We haven’t been introduced, for one—”
“Haven’t been introduced? Of course we have, admittedly as children. Or rather, who did you suspect that I was?” Could she not remember? They had actually met. Years had gone by, naturally, but that didn’t signify. They had agreed to the first set this evening.
“I’m sure we haven’t. I would remember.”
He raised his eyebrows, and she blushed prettily. She looked so charming, perhaps he could overlook her absentmindedness.
She waited, again expecting something from him. When he continued in silence, unsure what she would have him say, she huffed. “Well, I’m Lady Catherine . . .” She paused.
He sucked in a breath. “Lady Catherine? Are you certain?” How could she be Lady Catherine?
“Yes, quite. And you are . . . ?”
He stammered. Hadn’t his mother pointed to this very woman? He looked for his mother. Her frown, still present, created deeper lines on her face. A mealy, pasty woman stood at her side, eyes red and swollen. He turned his attention back to the woman in his arms. “So you are not Lady Fenningway?”
She laughed. “No, I’m most decidedly not Lady Fenningway.” She indicated the mealy, pasty woman.
His affront grew. “But they announced you as Lady Fenningway. If you are not her, then why are we dancing?” He couldn’t have anyone pretending to be his intended if she were in fact going to become his intended. Great disappointment increased his irritability past the bounds of politeness. His new hope that the word intended would forever describe this new beauty in his arms was dashed unfairly in a matter of seconds.
“You ask why we are dancing?” She scoffed, her breath coming faster. “Because you placed my hand upon your arm without a word and dragged me out on the dance floor.”
“What! I did nothing of the kind. We had it all arranged. I merely came to collect you for our dance.”
“If I had agreed to dance with you, that would make perfect sense.”
They continued their waltz, the obvious surprise of many in the room beginning to settle unnaturally in his stomach.
She cleared her throat. “And you still haven’t told me who you are.”
“Confound it, you don’t know. I’m the eldest Harrington, Duke of Salsbury.”
She gasped. “You’re a Harrington? Salsbury himself?” She paled and stopped dancing, pulling away.
“Well, we can finish the dance.” His arms longed for her, the sudden distance between them chilling him.
Another couple whirled by them. Not expecting anyone to stop, they nearly ran into the duke.
“Here now, let’s move off the floor in a respectable manner.”
Her face had whitened, and she made a great effort to swallow. “Don’t come near me again.” She whirled around and ran from the room.
He didn’t move for several moments, couples dancing past him, as he watched her retreating form. Confound the woman. His arms ached to hold her. And he puzzled. What had gotten into her? He had never experienced such a look of fear and abhorrence from a woman. He was left with a decided discomfort and yearning. He was torn between retreating to his study and running after her, pleading her return.
Chapter Two
Confound it all. A veritable army of people greeted him off the floor with frowns and accusatory stares. His mother’s lip trembled. It seemed the goodwill of the Christmas season beginning tomorrow was no match for whatever caused this discontent.
He made his way to Lady Fenningway. Her eyes still red-rimmed and swollen, she stared at her slippers. “I do apologize for neglecting our dance. Perhaps we could finish it out . . .”
The small voice that responded lacked life, vibrancy. Perhaps it was unfair to compare her to the bright and interesting Lady Catherine. Who could appear favorably when next to her? But he hoped Lady Fenningway would prove to be an interesting conversationalist.
Alas, he had never had a more tedious dance, even a waltz. “And what are your other interests?”
“Needlepoint.” Her small voice wavered. She spouted off the typical list. Nothing uniquely intriguing caught his attention. He sought Lady Catherine’s rather remarkable tresses. She had disappeared from the room. Staring at the top of Lady Fenningway’s dull and lifeless hair, listening to her silence, he found himself dreading any future moment with the woman. But to make up for his mistake and to please his mother, he secured the supper set.
In between sets, his mother pulled him aside. “How could you?”
“Mother, I’m fixing the problem. Lady Fenningway will be fine. I cannot understand everyone’s deep shock at such a thing.”
“Can you not? You can’t understand why I would be hurt, torn apart even, by your dancing with an Aster?”
His mouth dropped open. “An Aster?”
She eyed him and nodded. “Of course you would not know.” With a pat on his arm, she led him farther back into a corner. “Though we have worked to avoid such a thing all these years, you have just been introduced to the eldest Aster daughter.”
Of all the most wretch
ed circumstances in which to find himself. The one woman with any spark of interest to her would turn out to be an Aster. “How could I know, then, if I had not been introduced?” He saw no reason for his mother to be so accusatory. Naturally, now he knew who she was, there would be no repeat sets. Though he sorely wished that were not the case.
“You’ve been away. She walks with a different set. I should have known you would not know her, as distracted as you always are at any social function.” Her exasperated face made him smile.
“I am not so very distracted.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? And could you name even five of the ladies in this room?”
His eyes flicked with disinterest to the people milling about the room. “No, why would I need to be able to do that?” He had never been intrigued by a single one—until today.
She laughed. “I do wish you would pay better attention. You created quite a stir.”
“People need to concern themselves with their own lives and leave mine well alone.”
His mother shook her head. “And that they will never do. It’s quite all right. We shall weather the curious and biting tongues.”
Regret shuddered through him as he saw his mother lift her stoic chin. Of course she would bear the brunt of the wagging of even sympathetic tongues, as surely the talk would force her to relive her own husband’s death multiple times throughout the night.
“I apologize, Mother. If you wish, you could find your way upstairs with a headache.”
“And give them more reason to cackle behind our backs? No. I will stand with strength until the last of them leaves these doors.”
“You are an angel, most undoubtedly sent from heaven.” He placed her hand on his arm and led them in a walk around the room. “Now come, Mother, the decorations. I have been admiring them all evening in an effort to avoid human interaction.”
She laughed, and his heart was comforted at the sound.
“Lovely. I don’t know how you acquired the greenery here in London, but it does you credit.”
“Thank you, son. We have our ways, you know.”
“Ah yes, women and their ways.”
Three approached, and his mother greeted them. He made his bows.
The first, a woman slightly older than the dowager, said, “Oh my dear, how are you holding up? People are sure to talk, the shock of it all.” Her eyes flicked to him, standing at her side. “Forgive me, your grace. But that dance was nothing if not the most shocking thing we are likely to see this season. The books are going to be filled at Whites with all the wagers.”
The lady at her side added, “A Salsbury and an Aster on the dance floor. I never thought I’d see the day.” She whipped out her fan and began furiously puffing the ringlets under her cap out around her face.
He kept his face impassive, but inwardly his irritation brewed. Could they not let the old rivalry go? Not just his ridiculous family, but the rest of the ton as well. There is nothing they loved more than scandal. If he could just talk to the new Aster duke, young as he was, surely they could come to an agreement and move on from the decades-long ill feelings.
The concern in his mother’s eyes told him it wasn’t likely, but he refused to think that he and future generations would be controlled by this deeply held prejudice.
Chapter Three
Lady Catherine refused to acknowledge all the scowls and looks of shocked surprise. She must leave before her uncle—
A firm hand gripped her upper arm with vicelike talons. “What do you mean, dancing with Salsbury? Have you lost your mind?” Her uncle’s voice raged in its whisper tone.
“I didn’t know it was him. Please. Let me go.” His overbearing attempts to control her behavior were growing more alarming of late.
He shook her. “What do you mean, you didn’t know?”
“Unhand me.” She stood taller, eyeing her arm with great disdain. “How dare you grasp at me as though I were one of your maids?” She tore her arm out of his hands, trying to ignore the sharp sting and lingering sensation of bruising.
He released her as if he had been scorched. Then he bowed. “My apologies.” Over his shoulder, he added. “Your father would be most displeased.”
Didn’t he think she knew that? Was she herself not already most displeased? How could such a thing have happened? Who could confuse her with that sickly creature, Lady Fenningway? And why had she allowed herself to be led onto the floor by a stranger?
She shuddered. Because she had thought him handsome. The most handsome man of her acquaintance. The feel of her hand in his had sent gooseflesh up her arm and, she admitted, she was curious. When had a ball started in such an intriguing manner? Swept out onto the floor by a tall and handsome gentleman. A man unknown to her. The thought of it thrilled her even now. With every curiosity they’d discussed, she became more intrigued.
She fisted her hands. Until she had learned he belonged to that most evil of all families, the Salsburys. Curse their wretched name. The hurt in her mother’s eyes whenever their names were mentioned sank a knife deeper into Catherine’s own pain. Your father would be most displeased. Her uncle used comments like that to control her. She could not know how displeased, for she would never see him again, only hope for a thought or two, a wisp of familiarity at his graveside.
Almost to the front door, she told the footman to summon her carriage. She couldn’t stay here another moment, not when she had allowed hands sullied in her family’s blood to cradle her gently, to entice and excite her as they had. Bile rose in her throat. Curse her wretched attraction. A part of her longed for him still.
She stepped up into her carriage, the maid’s pale face startling her.
“Hannah!” Catherine halted in her entrance. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t fathom how her maid had come to be in the carriage so quickly.
“I summoned her.” Her uncle’s slippery voice slid over her like the icy wind on the moors. He stepped in to join them, sat in the opposite corner, and rapped on the ceiling for the carriage to start moving.
Catherine fell to her bench, nerves shaking and prodding, stealing her breath. “Uncle.”
His icy eyes narrowed. “You were wise to leave when you did.” His tone soothed.
She preferred the complimentary, colluding uncle to the harsh disciplinary one of moments ago.
He sat back, brushing off his jacket front. “Pity, though, that you couldn’t be introduced to His Grace.” He grimaced. “His other Grace.”
She nodded. “I know.” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears. The family sought an alliance with the Lennard family. The Duke of Halcor’s son had recently been widowed, leaving him with two children. She supposed him a decent enough man. He had treated his wife well. His father was ailing and would soon be passing his title on to his son. Her family wished the alignment of their two ducal houses to solidify their power in England. Her stomach tightened again in nervous energy. They told her of a great amount of debt, unpaid, and recklessness in her father. If she didn’t marry well soon, it might be too late for her to marry into a ducal house at all.
She bit back a groan. And now Salsbury sought Lady Fenningway, of the other ducal estate, with marriage potential. Such a combination of power would rival their own. She kept the new knowledge from her uncle.
* * *
One week after her fateful meeting with the Duke of Salsbury, she had seen him close on ten times. He passed by her at Vauxhall. He exited the tearoom as she entered. He even passed in front of the dressmaker yesterday after her fitting. She huffed out in frustration as she prepared for her day. And each time, he was more handsome than the last. He never acknowledged her again, but she saw it in his eyes: he wanted to. His gaze followed her where she went, and she drank in its delicious forbidden cloak as it shimmered over her skin. She shivered with the goose bumps that trailed up her arms. All night she couldn’t get thoughts of him out of her mind.
She had breakfast in her room, dressed early, and hurr
ied out of the house. She didn’t admit it, but she knew where her walk in the park would take her. For decades her family had lived on one side of the park, directly opposite from the Salsburys’ London townhome across a large field of green and several copses of trees. A part of her feared running into him, and the other part longed for an encounter even if they didn’t speak. She wanted to see him again, to see if she was still affected by him.
As young children, they had come across each other at the park, their nursemaids giving the other a wide space. But she hadn’t seen him for many years and had learned since that he went to Cambridge and was rarely in town. His tall, commanding bearing, strong jawline, and thick, dark hair made him just the kind of man she hoped to know better. His eyes, the interest he had shown in her, his plans for the opera, and a hint at great wit intrigued her all the more. She had already left a note for her mother that she wanted to attend the opera this week. She cringed at her own duplicitous nature. How could she be so captivated by a man from that family? A Salsbury. For years she had heard the stories. The Duke of Salsbury, this man’s father, had cheated their family. The Salsburys wanted them ruined, poor and destitute, or so everyone said.
The butler opened up the door for her, the brisk air interrupting her thoughts. “Perhaps I shall grab a scarf.”
“I’ll ring for warmer attire, my lady.”