by Eloisa James
After the dance, he led her into the refreshment room. She thought he would leave her then, but he did not.
She kept expecting him to announce that it was time to be about the evening’s work, but he lingered among the potted palms, where they sipped their punch and talked for a long time. His conversation was clever, and they laughed easily.
She had the card where he had written his name. He reached out and looked at it. No one else had approached her to put their name down.
“I marvel that the men in London are so stupid,” he said.
She looked down at his neat printing. It made her happy to see his name there. “It is known I do not dance. It is I, not them, who are to blame. I always decline requests for dances.”
“Good heavens, why?”
“I did not have time for such things. It was Cassandra’s successful launch into society that was the priority,” she said, but the excuse sounded weak. She bowed her head, ashamed to look at him.
“You do not really believe that.”
“Perhaps it was an excuse.” She met his gaze. “Who would look at me, anyway, when there was Cassandra?”
His gaze was warm, and he smiled, as if to find this a silly question. She considered that it might have sounded as if she were fishing for compliments, and she blushed profusely.
“Miss Alt,” he began, then stopped. The beginning strains of a song began to play, and he started. “I believe I have to be going. I lost track of time. We will speak later.”
“Thank you for the dance,” she said. She held up the cut glass. “And the punch.”
He touched her face, brushing his fingertips along her chin. It was a shocking thing to do out in the open, where who knew who could be watching.
Remembering himself, he dropped his hand. “Thank you, Miss Alt, for the dance.”
He took his leave with a bow. Bemused by the entire episode, Jenny stood a moment until her sensibilities began to creep back upon her. Without Miles by her side, she felt alone and exposed; certain people were stealing glances at her with speculation in their eyes.
There would be talk, no doubt, about the fact that Miss Jenny Alt’s first dance in months had been on the arm of the newly arrived Earl of Hatherleigh. Countless jeers would be tossed over that bit of gossip. No doubt it would be branded a kindness on the earl’s part, done out of pity.
She threaded through the crush, seeking the comfort of her friends, and found them at last gathered around a pianoforte in the music room. Amy saw her enter and motioned her over excitedly. Standing beside Amy was Lord James Errol, and he seemed to be smiling a great deal, his eyes watching Amy closely.
It pleased her that Amy might have found a beau. She was attractive and sweet-natured, but did not thrust herself forward as most of the other girls did.
Almost immediately after her arrival, Lord Errol excused himself. Jenny glanced uncomfortably at his retreating back. “I hope I didn’t intrude, Amy.”
“He knows I wish to speak to you alone. He has just told me something very disturbing that he heard this evening. It concerns you.”
Jenny was taken aback. “Me?”
“You see, he has heard terrible things about you being against marriage, that you were a . . . a . . . Oh, Jenny, I hate to say this, but he said he’d heard you had sworn never to marry. What is more, you would cut down any man who dared approach you.”
Jenny placed a hand over her thudding heart, taking a long, agonizing moment to assimilate this. “What? But . . . my goodness, I did not realize I had given so bad an impression.”
Had this been what Darlington had alluded to the other day after church? She realized it must have been.
“No, don’t you dare think that. It is obvious someone has been spreading lies.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cassandra, of course.”
“Cassandra? Why would she bother to malign me?” Jenny replied. “I’ve never vied for any attentions with her. Quite the opposite. Oh, here comes Lord Errol! I can’t face him, or anyone right now. Please, make my excuses. I’m going to the retiring room.”
“I’ll come with you,” Amy said.
“No, please. I don’t want you to. I need to be alone. Stay with Lord Errol, Amy, I think he likes you. I just need to think.”
As she began to rush away, a large figure blocked her path. She started, her nerves raw from what she had just heard, and saw it was Lord Darlington standing in front of her.
In his hand, he held a champagne glass, but by the ruddy color in his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes, it was not his first libation of the evening.
“Please, excuse me,” she murmured. She was in no mood to handle his clumsy flirtations.
“Did you enjoy your dance?” He spoke bitterly.
That brought her up short.
His lips curled in a gesture that was more sneer than smile. “I thought you did not dance. At least you never danced with me.”
“I think you are not yourself,” she said carefully. “Please let me pass.”
“Of course, Miss Alt, of course. I would not wish to delay you. It would be such an imposition to prolong our conversation, keep you from other, more interesting matters.”
“Lord Darlington, please do not take offense. I . . . I have something on my mind.”
“Something? Or someone?” Spite was thick in his voice. “You smell so nice, Miss Alt.”
“Please, you are making a scene. Step away.”
“Yes, we can’t have that, now can we?” He shrugged, but his mouth remained twisted in discontent. “Oh, no, not a scene! Not the proper and oh so very aloof Miss Alt, who spares her precious time for no man.” His face changed then, crumpled from anger into grief. “But you have smiles and adoration in your eye for Lord Hatherleigh when you danced with him. Why him? Dare I guess he is your lover?”
“You insult me!” Jenny shot back sharply. Her heart was hammering wildly, and she feared she was going to weep. The night had been a rush of mad emotions, from the exhilaration of Miles’s attentions to the crush of hearing that her reputation was being blackened by rumor. This was the last straw. “Now remove yourself, or I will call for help.”
He stepped away, sullen now, and watched her pass with a glare in his eyes that held a chilling promise.
Chapter Six
Miles was in the middle of a sentence when he saw Jenny rushing through the throng of guests. He watched her take a short hallway to the rear of the house. Pausing outside a door, she glanced around rather furtively and disappeared inside the room.
With a muttered excuse to his companions, he set off after her, not questioning the urge that put him in motion.
He located the door she had used and listened for a moment before opening it. It was a private, informal withdrawing room used for casual company and family evenings, dark and empty this night with only one lamp lit and no fire in the grate. The air was noticeably cooler in here. Jenny stood in the middle of the room. When she heard him click the door shut, she turned.
“What do you want?” she demanded in a voice quite unlike her.
His eyes moved, taking in the shadows. There was no one else here. He had experienced a piercing jealousy at the thought that she might be meeting someone.
Seeing she was alone, his mood eased. “Don’t you know girls lose their good reputations when they skulk off to dark rooms?”
She let out a small cry and turned her back to him. To his amazement, she buried her face in her hands and appeared . . . Good God. She appeared to be weeping!
For an uncertain moment, he considered retreat. He detested female hysterics. Marianne had used them like emotional blackmail, and in their early days together, it had been effective in getting him to do whatever she wished. He’d grown immune quickly enough, even disdainful whenever a woman was moved to tears. But he couldn’t summon the appropriate amount of distaste for Jenny’s distress.
Taking out his handkerchief, he approached her and held it out, keepin
g his distance. “What did I say?” he asked gruffly.
“M-m-my . . . you said . . . my reputation!”
He pulled her hands away from her face and shoved the handkerchief at her. “I can’t hear a word you are saying. What is this about your reputation?”
She raised a mutinous look to him. “I thought you couldn’t hear me.”
“I could hear you. I can hear you better now, however.” She wasn’t using the handkerchief, so he took it from her and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Now tell me what is the matter.”
She looked at him with heart-stopping misery. “I thought it was because I was plain. I n-never really wanted to frighten any of them away. It was Cassandra’s season, not mine. You see that, don’t you?”
None of this made any sense to him, but he said, “Of course.”
“How could she be jealous of me? What am I to do now? My aunt and my cousin are the only family I have.”
He still wasn’t sure what had happened, but he could guess. The words, the look of her, the broken, stammering voice brought on a surge of protective fury. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t seem to turn it away.
There was inside him the most undeniable instinct to wrap her in his arms. It was a dangerous idea. However, even as he thought sensible, ordered thoughts about the folly of such a thing, he gave in to it and pulled her close.
She leaned against him, taking his strength, without so much as peep of resistance.
“Hush,” he said. He could think of nothing else. It seemed inadequate, and yet it stilled her. He held her like that until she fell quiet. It seemed the right thing to do.
He stroked her hair and murmured, “Don’t you see how you outshine her?”
She shook her head, a childlike gesture that made him smile. He was acutely aware that she was not a child.
His thickening blood was clouding his reason. It was dangerous to hold her this way, but he could no more let her go than cut off a limb.
Reaching down, he gently pulled her chin up so he could see her face. Her eyes swam in moist pools of pale blue behind her eyeglasses. Her pert nose was red on the tip, and her mouth was parted slightly.
“These spectacles are no good,” he said, and he pinched the middle piece resting on her nose and drew them off. “You remain blind despite them.”
There she was. So incredibly lovely, like a flower. Pretty and honest and untainted. She blinked back at him, those gorgeous pools of blue as wide and as deep as any ocean. A man could drown in them. A man could crave it.
Before he could stop himself, he kissed her. It was to be a gentle, quick kiss before he sent her away, a selfish indulgence that had no place in his comforting her but one he could not resist. But he was so hungry for her, and once he tasted her, he couldn’t stop.
Tilting her head back, he opened her mouth to him and stroked her tongue with his. He felt her respond, heard her small moan of helplessness, and his gut twisted like a cinched rope. His mind went blank, and heat crawled over his skin.
The madness of wanting took over, and he realized the power of the feelings he had tried unsuccessfully to keep in check. He wanted her with such fierceness that his body shook under the strain. The savage thought warred with protective instincts he had never known he possessed.
Dragging his mouth from hers, he shoved her from him with strength he was surprised he still possessed. “That is quite enough.”
Her lips were swollen and red from their kiss, and she appeared dazed. God, he felt like that, too. His body thrummed with life, and he had to step back quickly before his last sensibility, weakening under the desire to hold her again, gave way altogether.
Jenny stared at up at him. Confused, she could only wonder why he looked so hard, even angry. The gentleness of moments ago was gone. She touched her fingers to her throbbing lips. They felt scalding hot.
“I apologize,” he said. His tone was crisp. It wounded her after his gentleness. “That was completely uncalled for. I . . . forgot myself.”
“You do not think I am cold,” she blurted. “You kissed me.”
“I kissed you because it is what I have wanted to do since the first day I saw you.”
Joy exploded in her breast, eclipsing the confused jumble of emotions that had driven her to seek solitude in this room.
She reached out her hand to him, and his closed over it. It felt large, warm, protective, and powerful. Drawing in a shaking breath, she lifted her gaze.
“Does that frighten you?” he inquired softly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “But I am glad, too.”
He smiled, then seemed to remember himself. Releasing her hand, he grabbed the hem of his jacket and yanked the smooth fabric into place. “We shall be missed,” he said, “if we are gone too long. Let us go before there is trouble.”
“Yes.” She placed her hand to check her hair.
“Let me go first and see if the way is clear.” He slipped out the door, then stepped back in and motioned her to follow.
As they exited, he perused the crowd, apparently satisfied that they had been successful in reentering the party undetected. “Go on. I will not risk damaging your reputation further. Go now. I will speak to you later.”
Jenny immediately headed into the card room, where she knew Aunt Iris was sure to be. On her way, she came across Cassandra draped on the arm of one of her suitors.
“Have you seen Miles?” she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone.
“No,” Jenny said. It was the first time she had ever lied to her cousin, and she did so without a blink of an eye, to her surprise.
“I wished to dance with him again. I am quite put out with him.” She strained to find him in the crowd. “He has been very busy tonight. I saw him out on the dance floor with Missy Hartley and Lady Veronica Swinton. I hope he is not considering either one of them for a wife.”
It was meant to be a jest, but the tension in her voice pounded the words flat.
Jenny took her hand to comfort her. “I very much doubt it. Have a good time, Cassandra, and do not worry about that.”
“Oh, I will make certain that he makes it up to me,” she said with a toss of her head, and she and her partner drifted off.
But during the carriage ride home, Cassandra was not so sublime. “Mama, he only danced with me once!”
“But you said he apologized, dear,” Aunt Iris noted. “He said he looked for you but could not find you.”
“He must not have looked very hard,” she said sulkily.
Jenny braced herself, seeing there was a storm brewing. Cassandra was crushed by Miles’s indifferent attention.
“Do you think he might have found someone else to amuse him?”
The carriage hit a rut, jostling them all soundly.
“Cassandra, dear, please . . .” Aunt Iris pressed her fingertips to her forehead, her tone conveying her deep dread of Cassandra making a scene.
“He paid me no special attention,” Cassandra declared. “None at all!”
She flung herself back into the squabs, her miserable expression sending Aunt Iris into a bout of nervous fluttering. Jenny, who hated to see her aunt like this, vaulted into action.
“Nonsense, Cassandra. He signed your card right off, didn’t you tell me so yourself? No doubt he was disappointed to miss a second dance with you, but he does have obligations.”
The words were automatic, soothing words that were not exactly lies but rosy suppositions to encourage her cousin away from hysterics. She knew how to assuage the rising temper, but this time, it was difficult to pretend.
“You are making this far worse than it is,” she said, soothing the girl, but Cassandra shook her head, refusing to believe it.
As soon as they were home, she told Aunt Iris to go on to bed and that she would see to Cassandra. She ushered her upstairs, leaving strict instructions with a maid to bring fresh water, and when she’d gotten Cassandra undressed, she sat next to her with cool cloths for her face.
“You mus
tn’t get overexcited,” she said. She sounded like herself, calm, reasonable, but she wasn’t feeling at all normal. She’d always thought of Cassandra first. Tonight she was thinking of herself, how she longed to be alone and reflect upon the fantastic things that had happened tonight.
Cassandra stubbornly refused to be consoled until Jenny said, “What if the earl calls tomorrow? Would you wish him to see you with your eyes all swollen and reddened from sobbing all night long?”
With this enticement, Cassandra managed to get hold of herself. She sniffed, giving Jenny the pathetic look that had always been effective in getting her way. “I cannot help it. I love him, Jenny. I do. I am mad for him. I cannot bear it if he found another.”
Jenny froze. The words were like a slap. She hadn’t thought it was so serious.
No. It could not be true. Cassandra flirted. She was dramatic and prone to exaggeration. She was like a child with a toy when a new man interested her—she was thrilled for a while, then forgot all about it when a shiny new trinket presented itself. With suitors, she liked the attention, and each new face was a conquest that once won, faded quickly.
She absolutely could not be in love with Miles. Because, Jenny just now realized, she was in love with him herself.
Sitting back, she thought about this. The idea was stunning and frightening. What could be a worse disaster than she and her cousin wanting the same man?
“You are very sweet to me,” Cassandra said, her hysteria subsiding. “I am sorry I was cruel to you. I was jealous. Silly, isn’t it? I do not know what I was thinking, only that I was nearly insane with frustration when he spoke to anyone else.”
“This is too much, Cassandra. It is not natural to be so obsessed.”
“I know, I know.” She looked like a child, her eyes wide and penitent, and Jenny felt a rush of affection. Cassandra was so impulsive that she never saw the predictable consequences.
“You must not treat him like the bucks who trip over themselves for the tiniest favor of your smile. You cannot expect the same puppylike devotion. The earl is a much different sort.”