Dangerous Alliance

by Jennieke Cohen

  Tom could only nod. His mother was in half mourning, and she could attend balls and social gatherings if it pleased her. Yet she had told her sons to say she was still grieving.

  “You will tell her I asked after her?” the duchess asked.

  “Of course.”

  As she nodded and moved to dismiss him, Tom realized the answer to his problem stood before him.

  “Duchess, would you be so kind as to introduce me to some of your guests? I admit I have no acquaintance here.”

  The duchess raised a single eyebrow at his question.

  “My dear boy, you surprise me.”

  Tom couldn’t fathom why. He had been abroad for nearly four years. “Do I?”

  “I know for a certainty there are two ladies of your acquaintance here tonight.”

  Tom nearly groaned aloud. Was the duchess referring to whom he thought she was? “Indeed?”

  “Lady Oakbridge and her daughter.”

  “Ah, certainly. And which daughter, pray?” Let it be Althea.

  “Lady Victoria.”

  Of course it was.

  “I’m sure they would be happy to introduce you to some of my guests as I am still rather busy.”

  She surveyed the room, and Tom tried to think of a way out of the blasted situation. The last thing he wanted to do was impose on Victoria and the countess. During their encounter last week, Vicky’s mother had been short with him, and the earl had been polite in an aloof sort of way. Tom had gone away with the distinct impression they’d both be glad to see the back of him.

  When Tom was a boy, the Earl of Oakbridge had taken more interest in his endeavors than his own father had. The thought that more had changed in Tom’s absence than he’d realized had kept Tom from returning to Oakbridge to inquire after Victoria’s health. Within days of the incident with the bandit, Tom’s mother had told him the Astons had removed to London. Tom had departed for Town soon after. Yet for some foolish reason, it had not occurred to him that the Astons might be present this evening.

  The duchess pointed across the room. “Ah, there is Lady Victoria! Near the refreshment table.”

  Tom’s eyes followed her bejeweled hand to rest upon Vicky. She wore a flattering, pale purple gown and stood between two men, one of whom towered over her. Obviously, Victoria had recovered from the other day without any lasting effects.

  “Go over there,” the duchess commanded. “I shall find you later when I have some time.”

  Tom swallowed hard. He really should tell the duchess no. This was bound to be terribly awkward. Instead, he bowed and hoped he’d disguised his grimace.

  Tom moved farther into the ballroom. He couldn’t walk directly toward Victoria as the musicians had finished tuning their instruments, and many of the guests were making their way to the center of the room, taking their places in the line of dancers in order of precedence.

  The violinist began to play, the flautists joined him, and couples bowed and curtsied to each other.

  Skirting a golden urn overflowing with red and orange flowers and a knee-high, papier-mâché figurine that appeared to be an elephant with the shaggy tail of a deerhound, Tom started around the perimeter of the ballroom. He searched the crowd thoroughly, hoping for salvation in the form of an old school friend or someone similar, but no one materialized.

  He would simply have to ask for Vicky’s help in a civilized fashion. Surely she wouldn’t refuse to perform a few introductions.

  He cleared his throat. He didn’t like asking her for a favor. Tom maneuvered around a group of giggling girls who frantically fanned themselves as he passed.

  If he couldn’t make his hotel work . . . well, he couldn’t consider that possibility now. And if swallowing his pride by asking for Vicky’s help with something trivial was the only way, then so be it.

  All around Vicky, heads turned curiously toward the staircase.

  Any thoughts of Dain and Mr. Carmichael disappeared as the air fled her body and her left hand flew to the base of her throat. Tom couldn’t be here. She wanted to look, but her neck felt frozen. What was he doing in London? He hadn’t mentioned he’d be taking part in the season.

  She frowned. Then again, they hadn’t really spoken of anything commonplace that day at Oakbridge.

  Hoping it wasn’t true, she craned her neck toward the grand staircase. Tom walked down the stairs and into the ballroom.

  His face was somber, but he held his head high. He wore a black coat and trousers that contrasted perfectly with his cream-colored waistcoat. A closer examination proved impossible, for when the staircase ended, Tom disappeared behind the crowd. Vicky forced herself to lower her hand to the side of her body.

  Thanks to Tom’s mother, Vicky’s family knew the old Lord Halworth had banished Tom and prevented him from returning to Halworth Hall, but Tom’s exile was not common knowledge. Society knew the heir to the Earl of Halworth had been abroad for many years, but nothing more.

  Unfortunately for Tom, that made him a social oddity. Eldest sons of the peerage were kept close to home where their fathers could monitor their behavior—not sent to live on the Continent in a time of war before they’d even finished school. Many in society likely thought Tom had been at fault.

  From what Vicky had seen the last day they’d spoken in 1812, Tom’s father had certainly thought so. She’d known Tom too well to think the worst of him, but the fact that he’d refused to see or speak with her afterward had shaken some of her confidence in him. Now she didn’t know what she thought.

  Many young ladies tittered behind their hands; Vicky could hear some of them murmuring Tom’s name. Meanwhile, the matrons bent their heads to gossip and throw predatory looks in Tom’s direction. Vicky pursed her lips. It was fitting that Tom, who had made no forays into society in the entire year since he’d returned home, should get more attention tonight than he probably had in his whole life.

  Encountering Tom unprepared twice in the course of a fortnight seemed the height of injustice. She took a deep breath. At least she was suitably attired this time.

  As she turned back to face the gentlemen, she remembered she had been about to tell Dain to go to the devil. That or run for her mother’s skirts like a frightened child. If only she could use Tom’s entrance as an excuse to leave, but a young lady could not leave her companions to greet a gentleman without the company of a chaperone. Mr. Carmichael would think her forward or ill-mannered. Or both.

  She raised her chin. She would handle this situation as Elizabeth Bennet would. After Mr. Wickham had run off to London with Elizabeth’s sister Lydia, the couple returned to Longbourn. Elizabeth had been polite to Wickham but had also made it clear she knew what kind of scoundrel he was.

  Vicky could do the same to Dain. As she stretched to her full height, she realized Mr. Carmichael’s blackish-brown gaze centered on her. She could not guess his thoughts, but unfortunately, there would be no further help from that quarter. Mr. Carmichael had no claim on her that could keep her from a family member.

  Mr. Carmichael locked eyes with her just as Dain pulled her arm into the crook of his. Vicky’s lips tightened into a line. Blasted, beastly brother-in-law . . .

  Dain nodded to Carmichael and led her away.

  She glanced back at Mr. Carmichael. He watched her, a small crease forming between his brows. Vicky searched for her mother once again, but she had disappeared.

  “Well, my dear, dear sister,” said Dain. “You look stunning this evening. A new gown, I take it?” His amber eyes traveled up and down her body.

  Vicky’s stomach lurched. “You swine,” she spat. “How dare you look at me in such a fashion?” So much for being polite.

  “Why, Lady Victoria, such language,” he mocked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “But then, I suppose I’ve answered my own question,” she continued. “Swine are too bestial to have a conscience. Indeed, they enjoy wallowing in the mud.” Elizabeth Bennet’s subtlety had deserted her, but blast it. Dain deserved to know what he
was!

  He put his free hand on her arm and squeezed. The motion would look like fraternal devotion to any onlooker, but it was becoming more and more painful by the second.

  Vicky gasped.

  He chuckled deep in his throat.

  How had he hidden his cruelty all these years? She tried to move away, but his grip tightened. She suppressed her grimace.

  She spoke through clenched teeth. “Take your hand off me.”

  “Or what, dear sister? What can you possibly do?” He smiled again.

  Bile rose in her throat. So this was the monster Thea had lived with for two years. But his question remained: What could she do? What if he took her out of the ballroom? Who knew what he might do to her if they were beyond the gaze of prying eyes?

  Vicky’s heart drummed in her chest. Maybe she could knock him in the face with her reticule, or if worse came to worse, somewhere more painful, but she couldn’t do that in the ballroom without appearing mad. If she waited until he took her somewhere private, there was no guarantee she’d be able to break free of him.

  Suddenly, an answer came to her. She spoke loudly so the guests nearby would overhear. “Oh, Lord Dain, the ribbon on my slipper has snapped. Pray excuse me. I am certain someone in the retiring room will be able to assist me.”

  He tutted with false concern, then gestured to the side of the ballroom. “There is a chair. I shall fix it for you.”

  She raised her voice again. “No, no. I’d much rather retire for a moment.” If she said much more, the entire ballroom would think she needed the privy.

  He pulled her to the edge of the ballroom. “My dear sister, I could not possibly part with your company.” His hand gripped her arm like a vise.

  Vicky narrowed her eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he could do this to her. “Take your hand off me, or I swear to scream the truth to the entire ballroom,” she whispered.

  “What truth would that be?” he drawled.

  “That you’ve been beating my sister to within an inch of her life and you’re taking me outside to do the same to me.”

  He laughed. “I’m afraid, dear sister, no one would believe you.” His lips curved into a sneer.

  His repeated use of “sister” made her itch to slap him. “Perhaps not now. Not yet.”

  He gripped her arm even tighter and angled his body to face her. “Just what does that mean?”

  Her stomach dropped. She’d said too much. Althea had only been in London a week and the lawyers couldn’t start the proceedings for her legal separation yet. Her mind raced for an answer to distract Dain. “That you will reveal your own character. Just as you have tonight.” She glared at him, refusing to blink.

  His lips twisted in a snarl. “Do not try my patience,” he said, anger infused into every syllable.

  Before she could say another word, Dain abruptly released her arm and stepped back.

  “Lady Victoria. How lovely to see you again.”

  Vicky’s throat went dry. She turned and saw that, to her simultaneous joy and dismay, Tom stood beside her.

  Tom smiled and took Vicky’s hand.

  She could hardly believe it. He’d sought her out amongst the hordes of people here? She blinked several times, trying to guess his reasoning. A short stillness ensued until Vicky realized she’d left her hand in his grip a hair longer than was proper. She pulled her hand back and cast her eyes down, hoping her heated cheeks weren’t noticeable.

  “L-Lord Halworth, what a surprise.” Unsure of what to do, Vicky forced a polite smile.

  “I suppose it must be. No doubt you thought me still in Hampshire.”

  Vicky frowned. Was he implying her family should have called at Halworth Hall to say goodbye when they’d left for London? Perhaps they should have done, but they’d all been so rattled about Althea’s situation and their impending removal to London, it hadn’t occurred to them. At least, it hadn’t crossed her mind. She couldn’t speak for her mother. And it wasn’t as though he had called to see after her health.

  “And Murton,” he addressed Dain, “it has been a long while. Not since Eton.”

  Vicky raised her brows. She hadn’t been aware they knew each other.

  “It’s Lord Dain now, Halworth,” Dain answered smoothly. “I’ll admit I never thought to see you at an assembly such as this.”

  “No more did I,” Tom replied with an agreeable smile.

  Vicky frowned. Had Tom thought he wouldn’t return? His father couldn’t have lived forever.

  “The fellows laid odds as to the mystery of your disappearance for months,” Dain continued.

  “My uncle fell ill abroad. I was the only one who could be of use to him,” Tom rattled off easily.

  “I have no doubt,” Dain said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “What a prolonged illness it must have been.”

  “The war made my immediate return rather difficult.”

  Dain seemed to have no reply. Vicky bit her lip to hide her smile.

  “But I am here now and, to celebrate my return, I am of a mind to dance.”

  Vicky tipped her chin to the side. This new amiability was so at odds with his stiff demeanor the other day.

  He inclined his head toward her. “Would you do me the honor of partnering me for the next set, Lady Victoria? I believe it is about to begin.”

  Her eyes widened as her lips formed an “Oh.” Had he really sought her out before any other lady in the room for a dance? “I would be delighted, Lord Halworth.” Not that she’d forgiven him for, well . . . anything. But what cared she for his motives when he’d given her an escape from Dain?

  Tom offered his arm. She put her gloved hand on his forearm and stepped away from Dain. The contours of Dain’s face hardened, and then he wiped clean any expression. She silently thanked Tom for rescuing her.

  “Dain,” Tom said by way of farewell.

  Dain did not return the nicety.

  Tom steered them away. Vicky threw Dain a nasty look over her shoulder. His face did not alter. He continued to stand there as Tom led her to the center of the room.

  Vicky peeked up at Tom’s profile. “I must thank you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “For?”

  She paused. Saving me from a horrible brute. “You are the first gentleman to ask me to dance.”

  His lips twitched as he set her on the ladies’ side of the line of couples. He leaned in and murmured, “You are the first lady to dance with me at a ball.”

  “Am I?”

  His smile came on by degrees, each increment lightening the serious set of his jaw and brow. For the life of her, she couldn’t drag her eye away from her first glimpse of that boyish grin she remembered so well. “You didn’t attend balls abroad?”

  He shook his head, then turned to stand across from her, next to the other gentlemen. When he looked at her again, he’d erased all remnants of the smile from his face. How very reserved and changeable he was. Almost like Edward Ferrars at the beginning of Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps he too had a secret engagement? A commitment to someone on the Continent? She raised her glove to her lips to disguise a giggle. It would serve him right if he’d made an imprudent attachment to a girl who’d only chased him for his title—not that it would be any of Vicky’s business, of course.

  The dance announced was to be a quick country dance where partners changed frequently. There’d be little time for conversation. The music began and they stepped together. She clasped Tom’s gloved hand with her own across their bodies, and they switched positions. Holding his gaze unnerved her, and she was glad as they turned away from each other and weaved through the other dancers.

  How strange it felt to be near him in this way—to be dancing in a ballroom like proper adults—not fishing or riding or climbing a haystack. She bit her lip, dearly wishing she didn’t miss those days as much as she did.

  They met again down the line of couples. “I did care to ask you something,” Tom said as they joined hands. “But if you’d ra
ther not—” He broke off as two other couples danced between them.

  She tilted her head. What could he need?

  They turned and cast down the line. When they met once more, Vicky prompted him. “Yes?”

  But more couples danced between them through the line. Tom looked around and didn’t seem to care to say more. Vicky stayed silent and enjoyed the energetic movements.

  As the dance continued at a lively pace, Tom’s restraint drained away until he seemed to have forgotten whatever force made him so distant. On each occasion when he took her hand and caught her eye, she saw another glimmer of the boy she remembered: the boy who’d smiled easily and raced with her around the rose garden, in good spirits whether he won or lost.

  As the musicians struck the last chords and Vicky curtsied to Tom, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Her cheeks were pink with joy, her spirit brighter. The candlelight flickered, casting an inviting glow over Tom’s brow and cheekbones as he offered her his arm with a smile.

  She placed her hand on his coat. “You dance rather well for one who doesn’t attend balls.”

  He issued a strangled laugh. “I never said I didn’t dance.”

  She wondered when he could have learned, but she didn’t dare ask in case it made his good humor disappear. “True. Perhaps we could again?” She didn’t care how bold she sounded. The dance had been so pleasant. He’d actually looked happy. Then she remembered she wasn’t there to have fun; she was there to find a husband.

  It was just as well, for his smile faded. She looked forward. Fanny Price never would have asked a gentleman for a dance. Vicky pressed her lips together. Not even Emma Woodhouse would have exhibited such foolish disregard for the rules of society. Vicky glanced at Tom out of the corner of her eye, almost fancying he’d say, “It was badly done, indeed!” as Mr. Knightley said to Emma at Box Hill.

  Instead, he simply said, “Of course.”

  But he did have a very Mr. Knightley demeanor when he said it.

  “First there was something I wished to ask.”

  She nodded. “Yes, indeed. I had forgotten.”

  Tom cleared his throat. “Victoria, do you think, that is, would you . . .”