Her breath caught and Raelyn followed the path of her gaze. Her sister stepped back and Amanda took the smallest step forward.
A smile curled his lips and, unless it was a trick of her mind, the din of conversation surrounding her muted to a murmur of observation. He continued to approach and her breathing stuttered into rhythm. What was she thinking? Were her father to see them converse…
He reached her before she managed the thought and she threw a glance over her shoulder to locate her father in the crowd. The last thing she desired was for him to cause a scene, say something unwelcome or remove her from the event because they remained at cross-purpose. Her heart urged her to find him, but she turned straight into a footman, his tray of crystal and champagne clattering to the marble floor tiles in announcement of her blunder.
A hush of shock suspended within the room and it seemed as if every guest stared at her in judgement and horror.
‘I…’
Until Crispin was there. He was talking loudly though it was difficult to hear what he said.
‘Pardon.’ He reached for the footman and helped the servant to stand. ‘I’m clumsy this evening. One look at Lady Beasley and I’ve had stars in my eyes. One can only hope they’re not permanent. Blinded by love, isn’t that how poetry describes it?’
A collective sigh composed of romantic appreciation and high regard embraced the room before an abundance of lively conversation filled the void.
‘May I have the first waltz, Lady Beasley?’
She gave her head a shake and brought about her senses. ‘My father is here. I can’t dance with you.’
‘Huntingdon is about. Excellent. I need to speak to him. Is your father in the card room?’ A sly smile curled his lips.
‘I don’t know where he is, but we can ask my aunt. Here she comes.’ Amanda almost rolled her eyes. How was it Aunt Matilda knew whenever Crispin was near?’
‘There you are.’ Matilda extended her hand and Crispin grasped it in greeting. ‘The whole room is abuzz with your heroic rescue of my person.’
‘Who told them all?’ Amanda tried to keep her voice down, though it was necessary to raise it somewhat in order to be heard.
‘I did, of course. The look on Lady Pembler’s face was worth every word.’ Aunt Matilda smiled brilliantly. ‘But the latter part, where Crispin put his life at risk and subdued that horrid man amidst fire and mayhem, that was your own doing, Lord Hastings.’ She swatted him on the shoulder in a gesture of congratulations and affection.
‘Fire and mayhem?’ Amanda made no effort to buffer her voice now.
‘Stokes is in the hands of London’s finest runners. That’s all that matters.’ A half-smile turned Crispin’s lips as if he couldn’t help but allow a modicum of pride to leak out.
‘Tell me everything, please.’
‘Not tonight, Amanda.’ Crispin leaned in a little closer and her gaze dropped to his mouth. ‘Let’s just enjoy being together without worry.’
The orchestra launched into a high-spirited melody and Crispin reached for the empty dance card dangling from her wrist. ‘Allow me, Lady Beasley.’
She fumbled through her reticule for the pencil, smiling a secret grin when she moved the king of hearts aside. She handed him the pencil and he signed her dance card.
‘My father will be livid.’
‘I’m not so sure of that.’ He flashed a wide smile and winked. The devil. ‘I’m off to speak to him now. Try not to charm every gentleman in the ballroom while I’m gone. I’ve had my fill of fisticuffs for a good long while. I’ll be back for our dance.’
She almost turned to watch him go, but aware most every flibbertigibbet in the ballroom measured her reaction, she held her chin high and kept her attention on the spiralling dancers before her. Lost in the warm delight Crispin caused, she allowed a genuine smile and relaxed into the evening. She hardly noticed the pinch of her slippers any more. All the ton were out in their glory this evening, the ballroom a kaleidoscope of colour and fashion. Crispin certainly looked the most dashing in his black kerseymere coat and breeches, his tasselled Hessians polished to shine, his cravat folded to perfection. No other gentleman compared. She searched the ballroom to prove the point but a flash of a man’s face, untoward and menacing, appeared on the other side of the waxed tiles. When she squinted her eyes to narrow her vision, the gentleman had disappeared. Still, as when she believed her mother whispered in her ear, a note of caution lit inside her. The very last thing she desired was to commit a mistake that would ruin the magic of the evening.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Crispin found Huntingdon in the card room, an ironic place considering recent events, but as the soiree was in full swing, it was customary for older men and those uninterested in dancing to seek refuge in other entertainment. The vision of Amanda as he’d viewed her across the ballroom lived in his mind’s eye, offering him fortitude he’d convince Huntingdon of his feelings and return to claim their waltz. Waiting for her agreement had caused him to perspire and he took a deep breath before he entered the study. Several other gentlemen played at tables, though Ferris was nowhere to be seen. Most likely the count explored an assortment of other entertainments offered.
Crispin drew the notice of a few men who nodded and acknowledged his entry. It would appear they held no condemnation. His actions at the Underworld bolstered his speculative return if nothing else. He could only hope no one interfered to sully his name.
‘Good evening, Huntingdon.’ He approached the wing chair where the earl sat enjoying a brandy. The other chair was vacant. ‘May I have a moment?’
‘I doubt there’s anything you can say to persuade me you deserve my daughter, if that’s what you’re about.’
A tone of patient authority accompanied the statement, though the man didn’t mince words. An admirable trait.
‘I love her.’ He could speak as plainly when necessary.
‘So you say,’ Huntingdon fired back with scrupulous composure. ‘And before you expound on how you saved my sister and acted heroically against that madman at the gaming hell to prevent a worse tragedy, I commend you on your efforts. Still, I won’t place my daughter in the hands of a man who finds trouble at every turn, nor one with a background of questionable judgement. Amanda often finds herself in the middle of folly, and endearing as it is to those close to her, I’m not convinced the two of you would suit.’
‘Your interpretation of my past is debatable and I won’t use what little time I have with you this evening to defend my past actions, although I take full responsibility for each of them.’ Crispin held the earl’s steady gaze. ‘I’m sincere in my attention. I love Amanda and I believe she loves me. Would you have your daughter unhappy?’
It was the latter statement which gave the earl pause. He rose, straightened his coat and waited what seemed like too long a time.
‘Let’s join Amanda in the ballroom. A discussion is due. You claim my daughter has acquired an affinity of emotion for you. I’ll hear it from her, before I believe it.’ Huntingdon’s expression gave away little, but any goal set to return him to Amanda’s side suited Crispin.
They re-entered the ballroom and several gentlemen were quick to begin a conversation. Topics ranged from his voluntary exile to his unexpected return, although most men wished to know more about the fire at the Underworld. Crispin kept an eye on Huntingdon’s reaction, hoping the earl heard the positive more than the negative.
‘Knowing Stokes meant to cause harm, I’d already informed the owners of the hell and we planned as best possible to confront the situation. No one could have predicted Stokes intended to light a fire by igniting himself, and he failed in his efforts. Once I tackled him, the flames were extinguished and he suffered little more than surface burns, although he may have suffered greatly at the hands of Sinclair and his comrades.’
They shared a chuckle and Crispin noticed a rare modicum of esteem in Huntingdon’s expression.
‘Stokes was taken away by the runners Sinclair had had the foresight to have in place before the peril unfolded. Now I’m more interested in getting on with my future than thwarting a villain.’
‘Well done of you, Daventry.’
‘Good to have you back.’
They moved beyond the gentlemen and closer to the dance floor. Crispin hadn’t forgotten about Amanda’s promised waltz and he had no idea where the orchestra was in the set list of songs. Amanda, with her sister and aunt, stood at the foot of a grand staircase on the far side of the room. While the Frankleys wished for elaborate décor, it left the ballroom crowded, the ornate pillars and petite tables taking up room that would have been better used making room for the large guest list.
A single, prolonged note ended the orchestra’s song and people cleared from the dance floor. Perhaps now, in the absence of music, they could speak to Amanda. He needed to be near her if nothing else.
Following Huntingdon’s lead, Crispin crossed the waxed tiles.
‘Lord Hastings, let me thank you again for your insightful rescue last evening. It’s hard to believe what has occurred with so much at risk, and yet we stand here enjoying this wonderful evening together. I owe you a debt of gratitude.’ Aunt Matilda spoke with such sincerity, their grouping fell silent.
‘You owe me no gratitude. I acted as any respected member of the ton would. Besides, I could never allow you to be placed in harm’s path. Although I was surprised to see you among the patrons and suspect your appearance at the Underworld explains your burning interest in cardplay. I’ll assume I’m relieved of my duties in that respect.’
Conversation turned to a variety of things and, with careful planning and devious interception, Crispin manoeuvred around Huntingdon to gain a position at Amanda’s side.
‘Have I told you how breathtakingly beautiful you look this evening?’ He murmured the compliment, unsure how closely her father watched their interaction.
‘Thank you.’ Her words were simple though she gained a fetching blush.
‘I’m anxiously awaiting our waltz and the chance to hold you in my arms again. I’ve missed you. Terribly.’
She cast her eyes to her satin gloves where she ran a finger over the dance card dangling at her wrist. ‘I hope not too much longer.’
As if the universe heard and answered, the beginning notes of their dance rent the air and, with an elegant bow, aware Huntingdon watched his every move, Crispin bowed over Amanda’s hand and escorted her to the dance floor.
Amanda held her breath and smiled. The commanding touch of Crispin’s hand as he clasped hers and fixed it at his elbow sent a tremor of anticipation down to her toes. Awareness hummed over her skin. So much had happened, so much conspired to bring them to this point, she wanted their waltz to be perfect. The delicate melody began and, as he swept her into his arms, one hand in hers, the other at her waist, she looked up to his wonderfully blue eyes and lost herself in the dance. This man who held her, who held her heart, was everything she had ever wished for and more. She couldn’t believe her father would disallow their union, the moment too precious to crowd with doubt and worry.
They danced in unison as if they were part of the music and, with an unexpected flit of memory, she remembered her unsure steps aboard the galleon, how he’d almost fallen atop her on the bed in his quarters, and how now, she couldn’t wait to look up and see him above her.
They didn’t speak, though with every turn she drew closer to the wall of his chest, intensely aware of his heat, strength, the weight of his hand at the base of her spine and scent of his shaving soap. He was every bit the dashing gentleman tonight, and she the elegant lady, and with that epiphany she realized it wasn’t the ton she needed to impress nor the gossip-hungry. Her quest had been about self-acceptance, in understanding who she was, unique and individual, and not a comparison to the other ladies of the ton.
She couldn’t keep her smile inside and, when they matched eyes, if she hadn’t already loved him deeply, she’d have fallen quickly to the depths.
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ His voice was husky, as if he experienced the same degree of impact from their coming together.
‘Very much so. And you?’
His mouth hinted at amusement. ‘I haven’t had this much fun since Aunt Matilda’s drawing room.’
Laughter burst out of her and she bit her bottom lip before she drew unwanted attention.
They fell into silence and she compared the timing of her steps with the rhythm of her heart, both rapid and sure. They twirled and turned and she was breathless and giddy, and so very in love.
The music drew to a close and she despaired that the magical moment would end. With the strain of a final note the musicians put down their instruments and the couples surrounding them left the floor two by two. Crispin hesitated and she eyed him curiously. She could never allow another dance after the first. To dance two songs in succession made a bold statement and declared openly of affection. Without her father’s blessing, her future remained unsure. And, too, a scandal could ensue, posing another monumental mistake on an evening when everything proceeded swimmingly.
She pivoted, at the ready to return to her sister, aunt and father where they’d climbed the marble stairs to watch the dance floor from above, but Crispin caught her elbow and smiled, a spark of mischief in his eye. The dance floor remained empty, the musicians silent, and the hair on the back of her nape prickled to attention in warning all eyes fastened upon her.
‘Amanda Beasley.’ His hushed voice met her ears and she stalled. ‘I’m about to get down on bended knee. Don’t leave me here for all society to view while you scurry away like a little mouse. I’m often the fodder of gossip, but that scandal would be the death of me or at least the death of my heart.’
His sincere declaration caused a shimmer of anticipation, though so many emotions crowded her she could hardly form a response. At last, the words came.
‘You mustn’t. Not without my father’s permission. I’ll never be able to accept if you don’t petition my father first and gain his blessing, and I’ll not decline such a delicious offer right here in the middle of the dance floor at the Frankley soiree when I can barely keep my acceptance contained.’
‘Then I’ll invite your father out here as well.’
‘I’ll fetch him so he won’t refuse. He needs to be here. In front of everyone so there’s no way any of this can be misconstrued.’ She whisked herself away from the dance floor, aware of ever-growing observation, but she minded not in the least. The thrill of knowing what was about to transpire coursed through her like a bolt of lightning. A marriage proposal. It was the last thing she’d expected from the evening and everything her heart desired.
She climbed the marble stairs, their dance floor display setting every tongue to wag. Above her, Father, Raelyn and Aunt Matilda moved towards the balustrade in unison. She turned for one last look at Crispin before she summoned her father.
A loud throat-clearing echoed in the ballroom and she glanced over her shoulder to where Crispin stood alone in the middle of the dance floor, his arms extended.
‘Will you marry me, Lady Amanda Beasley? Will you become my wife?’
The entire ensemble erupted in exclamation, laughter and surprise. And then it quieted almost as suddenly in anticipation of her reply.
All she could hear was the thrumming beat of her pulse.
Her answer, one word, three lovely letters, would seal her future.
The devil. He knew he’d have her father hemmed in if he proclaimed his love for all to witness. This was her moment.
She grasped the wooden rail to keep from floating away on giddy altitudes. Caught on the middle of the stairs, she turned, anxious to answer, though a movement below drew her reluctant attention. A man in black eveningwear emerged from the crowd and aligned with one of the ornate pillars, his presence partially hidden. He turned to face Amanda, his expression malevolent, the scar on his cheek
visible even at a distance, before removing a pistol from his coat and aiming it in Crispin’s direction.
‘No!’ she yelled at the top of her lungs, the ballroom suffocated into a resounding silence, their disbelief of her answer enough to cause the biggest scandal. She threw her arms outward in alarm, helpless to protect her would-be husband, though her palm struck the decorative column to her right, where a large urn of hothouse flowers rested above the sugary tribute to Princess Charlotte. The column swayed and toppled, dropped the urn and landed with a cascade of satin garland and abundant fabric plentiful enough to trap a would-be assassin in cloth and marzipan. In a tangled delay, the pistol fired through a high window and left everyone unscathed. Everyone aside from Stokes, who was wrestled free of the draperies and bound with the same cloth, to be hauled away to Lord Frankley’s study while the authorities were summoned.
It had all the markings of one of Amanda’s clumsy mistakes, but this time it was intentional: a mistake that saved Crispin’s life and captured a killer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Crispin returned to Bedford Square without Ferris, his friend set to continue on with the evening in search of pleasure and pursuit of adventure. Crispin had had enough. Exhausted, he dismissed Bootler, dropped his boots to the carpeting, removed his coat, and claimed the closest chair in the drawing room. What a night.
Two nights in succession actually.
At least one thing remained resolved. Stokes was gone, held in wait to be transported on the first ship bound for Africa. A wry smile curled Crispin’s mouth at the knowledge Stokes would have his own ship’s journey. How the cur managed to escape from the runners after his capture at the Underworld remained unclear. Crispin hoped the quarters holding Stokes on the outbound ship were secure, though if he tried anything nefarious the crew would likely drop him overboard.
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