The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  “Is everything all right, Miss Chadwick?”

  Lily drew her focus back to Mr. Campbell as they made a turn about each other. Recovering her composure, she gave him a light smile. “Yes, I am sorry. I just saw someone unexpected. That is all.”

  She wondered if she should alert Emma to the fact that Mr. Bentley was here. It was not in Lily’s nature to interfere in other people’s personal business, but something in Mr. Bentley’s expression, the torment in his gaze when he looked at Emma, sat heavily in Lily’s heart. Something had to be done.

  “If you do not mind, I would like to call on you tomorrow. I hope to speak also with Lady Chelmsworth and your elder sister.”

  “Yes,” Lily replied, “we should be receiving callers at the usual time.”

  She took advantage of a turn in the dance to look back toward where Emma stood beside Angelique. Her sister deserved far more than what she had resigned herself to. Lily could no longer stand by while Emma refused to acknowledge the obvious connection that existed between her and her former employer.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Campbell said. The joyful relief in his tone and his wide grin finally caught Lily’s full attention.

  She had a feeling she may have missed something in their conversation. Not wanting to hurt his feelings by admitting she had barely been paying attention, she just smiled back at him.

  The song ended some time later, and Lily was swept up by her next partner. A niggling concern continued to poke at the back of her mind in regard to Mr. Campbell, but she was forced to ignore it as the next dance required all of her attention. It was a waltz with the frightfully clumsy Lord Teshem.

  Lily was turning precariously about the room, focusing all her effort on keeping her feet, despite Lord Teshem’s seeming determination to send her flying, when a ripple went through the crowd around them. It was the kind of shock wave of gasps and twitters of nervous laughter that resulted only from an exceptionally scandalous occurrence. Lord Teshem twisted his head one way and then the other, apparently more interested in what had happened to cause such a reaction in the crowd than in keeping himself from smashing Lily’s feet.

  Lily bit her lip to keep from doing a little hop step as Lord Teshem came down on her tender toes a second time.

  “What now?” he said under his breath just before he stopped dancing completely, leaving them both standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Is that…?” he began as he angled his squinted gaze across the dance floor. “Yes, I do believe that is Lady Chelmsworth.”

  Oh goodness. Lily turned to look. What on earth was Angelique up to?

  What she saw caused a nervous laugh to bubble up from her chest, though if she was fully honest, there was a definite dose of delight in her humor as well.

  Angelique was causing the greatest stir since…well, Lily wasn’t sure exactly what past spectacle could compare to what she was witnessing.

  The dowager countess—at an age when ladies were expected, no, practically required to sit demurely in their seats along the wall—was at that moment waltzing about the room on the arm of a young gentleman whose expression was formed into a perfect depiction of shock.

  Shock, because Angelique was not just managing the vigorous steps of the waltz, she was mastering them with the grace and skill of a trained dancer.

  “If you will excuse me, please,” Lily muttered to her dance partner.

  Lord Teshem merely grunted in response as Lily strode quickly from the dance floor to make her way around to where she had last seen Emma. If anyone knew what on earth had prompted such a fabulous display, it would be her.

  She could see Emma up ahead. Her sister’s mouth was actually open in stunned surprise as she watched Angelique.

  “Isn’t it just wonderful?” Portia said, coming up alongside Lily.

  Lily turned to see her sister’s face split into a grin that did nothing to conceal her glee.

  “What on earth?” Lily muttered.

  “I have no idea,” Portia replied, “but I cannot wait to find out.”

  Emma did not even notice their approach. Nor did she budge when Lily and Portia took up their places on either side of her. All three sisters stood in silence for several minutes, watching Angelique swirl about the dance floor as though her feet had wings. Pure pleasure flashed from the lady’s brown eyes, and her smile was more beautiful than anything Lily had seen in a long time.

  “Do you think perhaps her many tales of being a ballerina in Paris prior to her marriage may not be imagined after all?” Lily whispered.

  “And if those fantastical stories are true,” Portia added, “what of all the others?”

  Emma still could not seem to drag her gaze away from the dance floor. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Poor Lord Nicklethwaite,” Lily offered with smothered amusement. “He seems a bit dazed.”

  “He appears to be holding on for dear life,” Portia suggested boldly, not bothering to hide her own amusement.

  “What could have prompted such a fantastic display?” Lily asked.

  “She wanted to show me that everyone can dance,” Emma replied in a dazed voice. Their staid and proper, always composed oldest sister was locked in shock.

  “I believe she proved her point,” Portia declared, and when Emma did not reply, she added smartly, “So, are you?”

  “Am I what?” Emma asked, finally turning to look at Portia.

  “Going to dance.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Why not?” Lily asked, readily taking Portia’s cue.

  “Because I am a spinster. I am not seeking suitors.”

  It was the same argument they had heard from Emma for months, but Lily knew something that might succeed in shaking her older sister out of her self-imposed little cage.

  “What if Mr. Bentley was here?”

  “Why would you mention him?” Emma asked lightly. Her expression and manner were so evasive it hurt to observe.

  Empathy flooded her awareness. Lily suspected she knew at least a little bit of what her sister was feeling. “Because it is clear you miss him.”

  Portia leaned forward and, after briefly catching Lily’s gaze to confirm agreement, got right to the crux of the matter. “You are obviously in love with the man.”

  “That is ridiculous. I am not in love with Mr. Bentley.”

  “You are a terrible liar, Emma,” Portia said with a laugh. “If you could have seen what I saw that morning after you spent the night at his club, you would not bother to deny it.”

  “What did you see?”

  Emma’s question held a note of uncertainty Lily had never heard from her before. Her confident sister, the one who always knew what to do, who was always in charge, did not know how to manage matters of the heart any more than Lily did.

  “He cares, Emma,” Portia answered. “The whole time he stood in our parlor, he watched you. Every slight change in your expression caused him to tense. He strained at the bit in his effort not to go to you. It might have been amusing if it hadn’t been so sad, since you barely acknowledged him until it was time to shoo him out the door. Do not try to deny how gloomy you have been since you stopped going to the club. Your mood has been quite depressing. It is obvious you have been heartsick over the man.”

  “That is ridic—” Emma began.

  “It is not ridiculous.” Frustration made Lily’s voice harder than she intended. “Must you be so full of pride, Emma? The man loves you, and you love him. What exactly is the problem?”

  “And don’t you dare say it has anything to do with us,” Portia added sharply.

  After only a moment, Emma conceded. Perhaps she was tired of denying it. “You are right. About me, anyway. I do love him.”

  Portia asked pointedly, “And what are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I do?” Emma aske
d, exasperation in her tone. “You both know his position in society. He is barely accepted in most circles and downright rejected from others.”

  Portia’s expression tensed as she narrowed her gaze at their sister. “And? Tell me that is not your reason for denying your feelings for the man.”

  Emma sighed. “Of course not. I honestly could not care less about what ninety-nine percent of the people in this room think of me. But I do care what they think of the two of you. Such a thing could ruin both of your chances for a great match.”

  Lily could not allow that. Especially considering how greatly her circumstances had changed. She would not be the cause of Emma’s continued unhappiness, even indirectly.

  “Enough, Emma,” she declared. “I know I speak for us both when I say none of that matters a whit to either of us. We will manage quite well with fewer invitations and a closer, more loyal group of friends.”

  Portia leaned in to add saucily, “Besides, we will still have Angelique, the great example of virtue and propriety that she is, as our sponsor.”

  With perfect timing, Angelique waltzed by at that very moment.

  Lily studied Emma’s face, willing her sister to take a chance. Silently begging her to claim her happiness. While she watched, Emma’s expression shifted, and the tension she had been carrying for weeks seemed to simply slide away as she declared calmly, “I have to go back to the club. Right now. Tonight.”

  “Oh, I would not do that,” Lily interjected quickly, holding back her smile as warmth spread through her heart.

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Bentley is not there.”

  “How on earth could you know that?”

  “I saw him enter the game room about an hour ago,” Lily answered brightly. “I am quite certain he is still there.”

  Emma stared across the ballroom to the small antechamber. Lily could see the fear, uncertainty, and finally, resolution cross her sister’s face. When Emma looked back to Lily and Portia, new life shone from her eyes.

  “Would you girls mind having one more eccentric in the family?” she asked. “I am quite certain I am about to do something rather shocking. Scandalous even.”

  “Excellent.” Portia was clearly thrilled.

  Lily was more than that. She was… She honestly wasn’t sure what emotion was swelling inside her so intensely, but she couldn’t help adding, “Perhaps we shall become an entire family of eccentric women.”

  Emma narrowed her gaze at the cryptic statement, but Lily refused to say more.

  As her older sister crossed through the crowd and out of sight, Lily’s joy shifted unexpectedly into something dark and sad. A complex mixture of fear and yearning and loss swept through her.

  What she wouldn’t give for the same opportunity to risk it all for love.

  As though she had conjured him from the pure force of her longing, Avenell crossed through her line of vision. Lily’s heart seized with a sort of pleasure-pain. In an instant, everything within her stretched and expanded on a breath.

  He walked as he usually did—his shoulders strong and forbidding, his gaze dark, and his manner cold.

  But Lily felt the heat in his presence, the fire in his glance as it swept past her.

  She stared after him as he continued through the main entrance, exiting the ballroom in long strides. Energy flooded Lily’s bloodstream, infusing every corner of her awareness.

  She hadn’t expected to see him tonight. Was he there for her?

  No, of course not. He had his own social responsibilities. It would be the height of foolishness to think he had chosen to attend this particular party because she was there. They had a plan to meet later that night—there was no reason for him to seek her out now.

  Such was what the practical side of her brain explained. But the impractical side, the side ruled by instinct and emotion, simply acknowledged that the man she loved had just passed through her vicinity. And she was not content to stand still as he walked away.

  “I have to, ah…” she stuttered, having started speaking before knowing what she was going to say. “I have to go…”

  “Visit the necessary?” Portia offered dryly.

  Lily accepted the excuse readily. “Yes, the necessary.”

  With a near-desperate breath of hope, Lily took off after the earl.

  Twenty-five

  Avenell needed to get away.

  The pressure of the crowded ballroom, the pressure in his chest, in his head, in his heart…

  He couldn’t take any more.

  When he’d first arrived at the party, no more than thirty minutes earlier, his mood had been light with anticipation. His decision to attend had been based solely on his desire to be near Lily. Though they’d arranged to meet later in the night, he found it difficult to go so many hours without seeing her smile and feeling her presence.

  He’d noticed her the moment he stepped into the ballroom.

  She had told him once how she had grown accustomed to blending in and going unnoticed beside her sisters or in a crowd. He did not know how it was possible for anyone not to see the treasure that was Lily. Her unique and subtle brand of grace and charm accented her every movement and filled her expression with warmth. Men should be falling at her feet in hopes of gaining her favor.

  Avenell found a place along the back wall of the ballroom where he was away from the flow of guests as they moved about. Though he nodded to passing acquaintances, he knew his expression likely warded off any inclinations to converse. He was not here to socialize. He was content to pass the time watching Lily dance, knowing he would have her in his arms before the night was through.

  The evenings they had spent together over the previous week made him feel as though he existed in a dream. The physical pleasure stunned him, but not nearly as much as the quiet contentment that wound around him in the hours when they were not making love. The low tones of her voice soothed as they discussed everything from topics of great importance to casual observations of daily life. When she smiled, his chest would fill with something akin to joy, and in her eyes, he saw more depth and understanding than he had ever known before.

  He hadn’t realized how much that contentment terrified him until he stood in the ballroom, watching as Lily talked and smiled with her partner on the dance floor. She appeared so carefree, so at ease among the other swirling guests.

  The lovely image she presented existed in stark contrast to the way Avenell stood stiffly on his own, his back nearly to the wall in an instinctive effort to avoid unintentional contact with people around him.

  Fisting his hands at his sides, Avenell shifted his focus to Lily’s dance partner, Mr. Arthur Campbell. At the sight of the other man’s quiet confidence and staid air of self-possession, Avenell experienced a hot rush of jealousy. Though he’d never felt it before, he knew the emotion instantly by how it twisted his insides and made his blood pump heavy through his veins.

  He had no right to such a reaction.

  He extended his fingers, then fisted them again, even though the subtle movement was enough to send a series of prickling sensations up his arms. Avenell welcomed the reminder of his affliction, the reason he could not make his way out into the crowd to claim Lily as his own, to take her in his arms as he spun her about the dance floor.

  He wanted to. Damn, how he wanted to be the man who took her hand in his to lead her to the center of the crowd. She would smile at him the way she smiled now at Campbell, confident and relaxed as they weaved in and out of the other couples. He would hold her close…

  And there his vision ended.

  He could not hold her close without flinching with pain. And then everyone would know. They would see his discomfort and his struggle, and Lily’s joy would become overshadowed by pity and embarrassment.

  Fury at the unfairness of it all flooded through him. Pricks of fire across his skin fla
red in his agitation, and he shifted on his feet, trying to ease the sensations, but succeeded only in making them worse.

  Instinctively, his focus once again sought Lily through the shifting mass of dancers. In his distraction, he hadn’t noticed when the song had changed to a waltz. He finally found her twirling about in the arms of a new partner. The sight of Lily’s hand resting so casually on the other man’s shoulder sent a spear of denial straight to Avenell’s heart.

  He could not be that man.

  He could never be an equal partner to Lily.

  Suddenly, his position at the back of the ballroom felt too closed off. He took a long breath in an attempt to calm his rising anxiety, but it remained present in the heightened sensitivity of his skin and the suffocating tightness of his throat.

  It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake to think he could observe Lily in this environment without feeling too much.

  He shifted his gaze to the exit, and with as much self-control as he could muster, he began to make his way around the outer edge of the ballroom.

  But then something shifted in the crowd. There was a collective gasp followed by twittering murmurs as everyone around him made a push toward the dance floor. A group of young ladies excitedly pressed past him, giggling and craning their necks for a glimpse of whatever had caused the dramatic stir.

  Panic spiked.

  He couldn’t breathe from the pressure and the pain caused by repeated contact with the guests moving around him like the rolling waves in a tide pool. His mind spun in his efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy while his nerves rioted in a way they hadn’t done since he was young. In the end, he could do nothing but push back away from the tightening crowd in a desperate attempt to get some space.

  In his haste, Avenell did not see the footman with his tray of champagne until he slammed into the fellow and a blast of fire spread across his back from the sudden contact. Crystal glasses crashed to the floor as the servant lost his balance.

  Avenell froze. His muscles locked in position as he stared at the scene he’d caused, waiting for the jeers and sly glares of those around him. The fire raging across his skin was an intense contrast to the ball of ice that formed in his chest. It was his worst fear come to life. Now, everyone would see him for what he was.