“Sit here, my dear. You were gone so long, we were beginning to worry about you. I sent Phillip to find you, and now that you’re here, you can join us.”
Erienne disliked the reminder of what had ruined her father, yet after her recent experience with Lord Talbot, she was eager to accept the security of the woman’s nearness. “I’m afraid I know nothing about the game.”
“Triumph is quite simple, my dear,” Anne assured her gaily. “ ’Twill take you only a moment or two to learn, then you’ll never want to stop.”
The statement did not ease Erienne’s qualms about the wickedness of cards, but considering them a lesser evil than what Lord Talbot had planned for her, she agreed to play. They entered the game, and though Erienne tried to concentrate on learning the rules, she was wary of those who paused to watch, until she was certain that none wore the silver satin that readily identified his haughty lordship. After playing a few hands, she was quite surprised to find that she was actually enjoying the game. She suffered a twinge of uncertainty, however, when Phillip returned to their table and requested a private word with his wife. Assurances were made of their quick return, and Erienne forced herself to relax as Anne excused herself. A new hand was dealt as another woman took the vacant seat.
The newcomer laughed apologetically. “I’m not very good at this.”
Erienne smiled at the elegantly attired woman. “If you were, I’d be in trouble.”
The two who completed the foursome exchanged confident nods. This promised to be an easy game for them.
“I am the Countess Ashford, my dear,” the woman murmured with a gracious smile. “And you are…?”
“Erienne, my lady. Erienne Saxton.”
“You are very young,” the countess observed, studying the creamy visage. “And very lovely.”
“May I return the compliment?” Erienne replied without guile. Though perhaps between an age two score ten and three score, the countess possessed a serene beauty that the oncoming years could not tarnish.
“Shall we get started?” the man in their group suggested.
“Of course,” the countess readily agreed, collecting her cards.
Erienne took the first bid and studied her cards intently until she sensed a presence at her back. Cautiously she paused, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a lean, darkly garbed leg and a black shoe. Her qualms eased. As long as it was not Lord Talbot, she was free to concentrate on the game. Not overly confident with it, she was worried over making the right play and thoughtfully fingered the knave of diamonds in her hand as she considered the possible repercussions for playing it.
“You’ll do better with the king, my lady,” the man behind her advised.
Erienne froze for an instant of time as the familiar voice scattered her thoughts. Her heart began to hammer wildly in her bosom, and her cheeks grew flushed. She had no need to see the man’s face to know who stood at her back. She now felt his presence with every fiber of her being, and despite her shock, a growing, comforting warmth suffused her, thawing her stilted wariness. She quickly attributed the sensation to a feeling of security with him close at hand, though the idea was contrary to her earlier experiences with the worldly Christopher Seton.
She glanced up to see if any of her companions had taken note of her discomposure. The gently smiling eyes of the countess rested on her, and in a soft voice, she reminded, “Your play, my dear.”
Erienne dropped her gaze to her cards. Her family could attest to the fact that Christopher was knowledgeable at cards, and his advice could be trusted. With sudden decision she thrust the knave back into the hand and played the king. A queen fell, and when all the cards were down, she had won the round and the tokens.
The Countess Ashford chuckled. “I think I would do well, sir, if I let you play this game. I have always preferred to watch people matching wits against each other and not against me.”
“Thank you, madam,” Christopher flashed the woman a charming grin as he dragged up a chair beside Erienne. “I hope I shall prove worthy of your confidence.”
“I have no doubt that you will, sir.”
Erienne sent a cool glance skimming over him as he took the seat beside her. The memory of his intrusion in her dreams was not dimmed when she saw how crisply tailored and handsome he was in the dark blue silk and flawless white shirt.
Christopher’s eyes gleamed as they lightly caressed her in return, and he gave a brief nod of greeting. “Good evening, my lady.”
Erienne stiffly inclined her head. “Sir.”
He introduced himself to the others and, taking up the pack, began to shuffle the cards. His lean, brown fingers worked with dexterity, giving Erienne cause to believe that her father was either blind or a fool not to have recognized the man’s skill. But then, perhaps Avery had been too intent on cheating to notice anything.
“What are you doing here in London?” she asked, carefully guarding her tone so it might sound gracious. “I thought you would be in Mawbry, or Wirkinton…or some such place.”
Christopher began to deal, but his attention never strayed far from her. She was quite lovely in her finery, and his gaze eagerly feasted on the beauteous fare. “I saw no reason to stay when you weren’t there.”
Erienne’s eyes swept about the table surreptitiously, finding the two other players occupied with their cards. The countess calmly sipped a sherry that had been brought to her and for the moment seemed distracted, allowing Erienne the opportunity to frown a warning at Christopher. He smiled leisurely in reply, showing incredibly white teeth, and gestured to her cards.
“I believe ’tis your bid, my lady.”
Erienne tried to concentrate on the cards, but the effort proved futile. She decided no bid at all was better than making a fool of herself.
“Pass.”
“Are you sure?” Christopher asked solicitously.
“Quite sure.” She pointedly ignored the mocking gleam in his eyes.
“You’re not going to win that way,” he chided. “Besides, I expected more of a challenge from you.”
“Why don’t you bid?” She arched a lovely brow, daring him in return.
“I thought I would,” he replied easily and spoke his choice to the other couple. “Three.”
“Four,” the man responded with a sly grin.
The woman shook her head, and the bid came back to Christopher.
“You don’t make it easy for me, sir,” he stated with a chuckle. “Five it is!”
“You’re very bold with your bidding,” Erienne pointed out.
“When I’m allowed to be,” Christopher agreed, dulling her meagerly veiled barb. “I am not easily dissuaded, and I usually take the initiative if I think I can win.”
“So ’twould seem with cards.”
His eyes glowed as he smiled at her. “With everything, my lady.”
Erienne did not dare contradict his statement. Had they been alone she might have reminded him that after he had asked for her hand in marriage, he had accepted the outcome of the roup quite congenially. He had been like a passive church mouse who had lost a coveted portion of cheese to a more determined rodent and then had blandly continued on his own way, content in recouping his debt.
Seeking some way to undermine his ambitious bid, she watched the game carefully. He led out with an ace of spades and waited for the other cards to fall. The other man slammed down a king and groaned in mock frustration.
“ ’Tis your good fortune that I have no other spades.”
In his next play Christopher won her knave with his queen. His ten of spades saw the last of theirs, but he played a nine in the same suit for good measure. Erienne held the ace of diamonds to the last, hoping she would find a flaw in his strategy. As he laid out his last card, he grinned at her.
“An ace of hearts, my lady. Have you anything better?”
Declining comment, she tossed out the solitary diamond with a slight show of irritation. He seemed in jovial spirits as he gathered up the card
s. He accepted the tokens from the couple and as the two turned to speak with the countess, he faced Erienne with a hint of a mischievous smile.
“I believe you owe me a token, my lady. Or do you wish me to extend credit?”
“What, and have you claim I owe you some further recompense?” she declined with a scornful laugh as she flipped him a wooden chip. “Definitely not!”
Christopher sighed in exaggerated disappointment. “Too bad. I was looking forward to collecting.”
“You always are,” she murmured as he leaned forward to pick up the chip.
“You can hardly fault me there.” His tone was equally soft as his eyes caressed her warmly. “You sorely test my restraints, my lady.”
“Restraints?” She raised a delicate brow in disbelief. “I have seen no evidence of such.”
“Madam, if you really knew, you’d think me a scoundrel.”
“I already do.”
“I don’t suppose your husband has let you come unescorted.” He waited expectantly for a reply.
“You may relax, sir. I’ve come with the Leicesters this time.”
“I was hoping for a turn of fate, but I suppose I must accept the fact.” He came to his feet and extended his hand to her. “I should like to treat these wealthy peasants to a taste of real beauty. The Leicesters can hardly protest if you enjoy yourself, and the music is most entrancing. Will you pleasure me with this dance, my lady?”
A piquant denial was ready on her lips, but the swiftly flowing strains of the music drifting from the ballroom made her want to move to its rhythm. For a breathless moment she envisioned herself following the steps of the contredanse on his arm. The tutoring she had received from the schools and her mother had included many hours of instruction on the dances. Until now, she had found little opportunity to put her skill to practice. A thrill went through her, returning the spots of color to her cheeks, and she could no more deny the moment than the arm her erstwhile tormentor offered.
She rose to her feet and laid her hand lightly upon his sleeve. Christopher smiled into her eyes and made their excuses to the others, giving a brief nod of farewell to the countess. Slipping a hand beneath Erienne’s bare arm, he escorted her to the hall where the guests were gathering. As they entered the contredanse, he showed a leg, and when he straightened, the warm, glowing light in his eyes made her heartbeat quicken all the more. She sank into a deep curtsy, feeling positively wicked. She was a married woman, newly wedded at that, and here she was with a man who had to be the most envied rake in all of London. She suffered a momentary twinge of conscience when Lord Saxton’s darkly masked face loomed up in her mind, and she wondered what he would say of a wife who cavorted like a mindless maiden on the ballroom floor with such a man as Christopher Seton.
“You dance divinely, my lady,” he observed in passing her. “May I ask who was your instructor? Some handsome suitor, perhaps?”
Erienne’s lashes lowered as she gave him a sidelong glance. How he liked to tease her about the poor assortment of petitioners who had plied for her hand. “In the main, my mother, sir.”
“A great lady, no doubt. Did you inherit your beauty from her?”
“I’m something of a curiosity in the family.” She waited until he came near again before continuing. “My mother was quite fair.”
His mouth tilted upward in a roguish grin. “You certainly bear no resemblance to your father.”
Her laughter bubbled to the surface like a fountain of crystal-clear water, fresh and sparkling, light and airy. The sound flowed as subtly as a gently flowing stream through Christopher’s mind, yet its eroding effect was devastating, washing away every thought but one. The fact that he wanted her was becoming a hard-pressing reality, and he found no way to ease his goading desires.
When the contredanse was ended, Lord Talbot appeared beside them almost magically and postured grandly before Erienne as he offered an apology, pointedly ignoring Christopher.
“If I offended you, my lady, I’m sorry. Your beauty makes me careless and, I fear, something of a boorish knave. Am I forgiven?”
The desire to reject his pompous excuse was strong within her, but the consequences to the Fleming and Saxton families had to be considered. The man’s power in the North country had been felt much too often not to give serious deliberation to it now. Stiffly she nodded the concession.
“Then you will allow me the pleasure of this next dance.” He stretched out his hand expectantly.
Though Christopher’s manner remained stoic, Erienne could sense his growing agitation with the man, for his eyes rested on the dandified lord with a total lack of charity. She knew Lord Talbot would not be above pressing the matter if she refused him, and she was just as aware that Christopher was not swayed by the man’s importance. Hoping to avoid an angry confrontation, she accepted the proffered hand.
Having won her, Lord Talbot raised a hand and motioned for the musicians to begin a waltz, a scandalous dance which had its beginning nearly a century before in the Austrian Court but still managed to raise more than a few brows in England. It caused Erienne some consternation when the man placed a hand on her waist and took her fingers into a firm grasp. She was stiff and mechanical for the first few sweeping circles until the graceful rhythm eased some of her tension.
“You are a very gracious and lovely lady,” Talbot commented. His eyes briefly marked Christopher, who stood watching them with his arms folded across his chest. Talbot had the distinct impression that the Yankee would not let the wench out of his sight, not even for a moment. “How well do you know Mr. Seton?”
Erienne did not trust Talbot, even when it concerned the one whom she had so often professed hatred for. “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering how he came to be here. Does he hold a title?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she answered uneasily as his hand crept up her side.
“Usually these affairs are only for titled gentlemen and landed lords,” Talbot stated with a lofty air. “He must be the guest of some erring soul.”
She pointedly replaced his hand on her waist as she gave answer. “The Leicesters said the assemblies are becoming more relaxed, that any gentleman of credible manners and means can attend with proper invitation.”
“Aye, ’tis so, and I am appalled that we must allow commoners to attend. They lack so many of the social graces. Why, the way that fellow came striding into the place and knocked me around, I shall be sore for a week.
“Christopher?”
“Aye! That bumbling buffoon,” Talbot sneered, then flinched as he tested his still-tender tongue.
Erienne glanced between the two men in amazement and remembered the glimpse she had had of deep russet hair and broad shoulders just before she had been thrust free. An amused giggle threatened to burst forth as the identity of her protector dawned.
“The man should be grateful that I chose not to call him out.”
She refrained from comment, considering he had made a wise decision for the sake of his own health.
“Look at him,” Talbot jeered in derision. “He’s like a stallion straining at the bit.” Intentionally Talbot waltzed her around in front of the mentioned one before sweeping her away again. He derived a certain pleasure at dangling the delectable sweetmeat before the other’s gaze, perhaps for the same reason one teases a youngling by holding a treasured bauble just out of hand’s reach.
Lord Talbot’s statement was not far from the truth, Erienne realized. Christopher’s brows were gathered in a harsh frown as he closely observed their flight about the room, as if he had some special right to be jealous when she danced with another man. Before the last note of the music quivered and died, he was there beside them.
“I claim the next dance.” His voice was flat, his statement blunt.
Lord Talbot was the one left frowning as the younger man led Erienne away. Much in the manner of his lordship, Christopher gestured to the musicians, and another waltz began. Laying his hand on her waist,
he faced her, and his eyes shone with a purposeful light as he swirled her about in wide, graceful circles. Like the man himself, his movements were bold and sweeping, with none of the mincing steps his lordship had demonstrated. Erienne was very much aware of his arm about her waist and of the strength and power of the shoulder that flexed beneath her hand. As they glided across the floor with seemingly effortless ease, others paused to watch in admiration. They were an uncommonly handsome couple, and muted whispers rose as the onlookers exchanged questions and conjectures about them. Between the pair, however, there was almost a stilted silence. Erienne would no longer meet his gaze and resisted being held too close, much too conscious of the magnetism of his powerful frame and the uneven beat of her heart.
“My lady is displeased over something?” he finally queried with a slight twist of a grin.
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