Brenda Hiatt (8 page)

She favored poor Sir Hadley with a brilliant smile, causing him to miss his next step and earning him a glare from the young lady whose hand he had been supposed to grasp just then. Sir Hadley did not appear to notice.

Her next dance was with Mr. Galloway, and it was quite clear from Prudence’s raised eyebrows that she did not approve. Nessa merely gave her sister a slight shrug, telling herself as she had last night that she’d set aside time for guilt later on.

Mr. Galloway proved a bit of a disappointment as a dancer, however, his conversation far more practiced than his steps. Still, he flattered her at every opportunity, lightening her mood considerably.

“Having discovered you have two such talents makes me eager to uncover any others,” he said as he led her from the floor.

Nessa knew she should blush at such a statement, but somehow Mr. Galloway did not cause the same delightful confusion she felt when Lord Foxhaven used similar words. Still, she brought her fan into play, fluttering it between them in mock rebuff.

“La, sir,” she said, trying for a flirtatious tone, “Were
I to fathom your meaning, I’m certain I should be quite shocked.”

“Shall I speak plainer?” Mr. Galloway asked, his eyes beginning to smolder.

A deep voice from behind Nessa spoke, “I’d advise against it. Shocking a lady is a far worse offense than confusing her.”

Nessa whipped around toward the speaker to find Lord Foxhaven regarding her with apparent amusement. Now her color did rise, as those shared moments in the Park that afternoon came flooding back.

He continued, speaking to Mr. Galloway rather than to her. “I know whereof I speak, believe me. Unexpected pronouncements may lead to equally unexpected results.”

Rather to Nessa’s irritation, Mr. Galloway appeared intimidated by this new arrival. Dropping his arm from under her hand as though it had suddenly become hot as a poker, he bowed.

“Foxhaven. I must acknowledge you the authority in such matters. My lady.” Bowing again, he hastily decamped, leaving Nessa to stare after him in surprise.

“Is this how you intend to handle all rivals?” she demanded of Lord Foxhaven. “I presume you must be a crack shot, to have frightened poor Mr. Galloway so.” She could not help being nettled by that young man’s abrupt defection, after all the flattery he had heaped upon her during their dance.

Jack chuckled, exasperating her further, even while something within her thrilled at the sound. “I probably
have that reputation, yes. And once a reputation is established, I have found, little action is necessary to maintain it.”

Nessa regarded him uncertainly. Was he trying to tell her he was not a rake after all? Or, at least, not anymore? “I should imagine that depends on how thoroughly one’s reputation was established to begin with, and through what means, my lord.”

“My lord? I thought we were Jack and Nessa now—or have you reconsidered?” The look in his eyes, even more than his words, recalled to her again the events in his phaeton that afternoon—and the feelings that had accompanied them.

“Er, yes, of course. I mean, no, I haven’t reconsidered,” she amended hastily, wondering if he alluded to his offer, as well as their use of Christian names. As her disjointed response elicited further amusement rather than disappointment, she decided not.

His smile was knowing now, as though he divined the nature of her conflict, but he only said, “Good. I should hate to have to retake the ground I had already gained.”

She had no idea how to respond to that, so turned slightly from him as though to observe the room, in an attempt to display that aloofness Miss Leverton had advised. What an abysmal failure as a flirt she was turning out to be!

“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, and she wondered if she imagined the slight edge to his voice.

“My sister,” she replied, only belatedly realizing
she’d have done better to name another gentleman. She didn’t want Lord Foxhaven feeling too secure of her, particularly if he intended a renewal of his “honorable” courtship. “I’ve been trying to convince her to waltz,” she added by way of explanation, as the orchestra struck up the opening strains of that very dance.

“Then allow me to do the same with you. ’Tis time for your next lesson, I believe.” Jack held out his hand with a smile and Nessa responded by placing hers into it after only the slightest hesitation.

As they took their places, she finally spotted Prudence and Lord Creamcroft, moving toward one of the curtained arches leading into the hallway, rather than the dance floor. As she watched, the pair disappeared through the arch.

“Are you so proficient at the waltz now that you can dance it with your head turned backwards?” Jack’s question brought her belatedly back to her own situation.

“Oh! I beg your pardon.”

With that encouragement, he led her into the steps of the dance. It really
was
as simple as she’d told Prudence, if more unsettling. Taking his hand from her waist, Jack twirled her for the first time, quite successfully. Her confidence rose.

“I meant what I said about refusing to surrender,” he commented then, as though it stemmed from their current conversation.

Though they were attempting no fancy steps at the moment, Nessa nearly stumbled. “I beg your pardon?”

Instead of repeating his statement, Jack asked a question of his own. “You like me, do you not, Nessa? You implied as much this afternoon.”

Nessa blinked. “Why…yes, of course, Jack. I find you quite, er, amiable.”
Interesting
or
exciting
would have been nearer the truth, but she settled on a safer word.

“Then perhaps you’d care to share your reasons for refusing my offer? If you find me
amiable
”—his emphasis on the word gave her the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading her thoughts—“then surely you must agree that we would deal well together.”

She focused on her steps for a moment before answering. “As well as could be expected in marriage, I suppose.”

“It sounds as though you have a poor opinion of the wedded state. While I have frequently encountered that attitude among those of my own sex, it is surely an unusual one for yours.”

Nessa met his quizzical gaze directly. “I can’t imagine why. In my experience, the institution of marriage is tailored to serve the needs and desires of your sex rather than mine. For most women, wedlock is little more than indentured servitude, often to a capricious and exacting master.”

It was his turn to blink, rather to her satisfaction. She was also proud to note that she had not missed a step during the exchange. He twirled her again, and again she completed the turn successfully.

“Are you not basing your opinion on a somewhat limited sample, my lady?” he asked then. “What mar
riages have you been in a position to observe, other than your own and that of your parents and sister?”

She had no answer to that. Her life had been so sheltered until three weeks ago that she had no more than a passing knowledge of any others—as he seemed well aware.

“Are not those enough?” she finally responded. “Surely you are familiar with the Scottish saying, ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’? I should like to think I have learned from my experience, limited as it may have been.”

Looking up at him, she saw he was smiling. It provoked her into adding, “And as limited as my experience of marriage might be, my lord, I’ll warrant it is greater than your own—or are you hiding a wife somewhere?”

He laughed aloud, drawing a few curious stares from other couples in the dance. “If I were, I would scarcely have made you an offer! But I acknowledge your hit, Nessa. I have no
firsthand
experience of the married state. Will you not consider tutoring me, in exchange for the dancing lessons?”

She grinned at his absurdity in spite of herself. “Hardly a fair bargain, Jack. A dance can be taught in a few hours.”

Forcing herself to greater sobriety, she continued, “I can’t think why you should be so eager to wed, in any event. Surely the need to produce an heir cannot be terribly urgent to a man of your age and health.” Though faintly shocked at her own plain speaking, she
awaited his response with interest—though why it should matter so vitally, she was uncertain.

“Is it so impossible to believe that I am smitten by your charms?” He twirled her yet again. They were really getting quite good at it. “I must marry eventually,” he continued before she could answer, “and I prefer to have the matter settled sooner rather than later. You seem an ideal choice, for a variety of reasons.”

Nessa still felt sure he was not telling her all. His response was too glib to bespeak a true attachment to her. “Might I know a few of those reasons?” she prompted, realizing belatedly that she might seem to be fishing for compliments.

“You are lovely, of course, and intelligent,” he replied seriously. “I quite enjoy your company, in fact. And, as I intimated to your sister, I am endeavoring to reform my ways. I believe you might help me to do so.”

To Nessa’s relief, the dance ended just then. She was not certain she could have continued it, so chaotic were her thoughts. He wanted her for her
respectability?
She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or slap him across the face. If she had repented of her earlier refusal for even an instant, it was now clear she’d made the right decision. Such a marriage would be far worse than the worst she had imagined!

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she began in a cold voice, but he had not finished.

“I had hoped to secure your consent in the conventional manner,” he continued, “but make no mistake that I shall obtain it nonetheless.”

She gaped at him. “You seem remarkably sure of yourself for a man who has been unequivocally refused.”

The smile he slanted down at her held a steely determination she had never marked in him before. “Yes, I suppose I am…Monique.”

Nessa felt every vestige of color drain from her face. She must have paled visibly, for Jack tightened his grip on her arm.

“’Sdeath! You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

Though more than a bit disoriented by the sudden shock, Nessa found herself oddly touched by his obvious concern. Shaking her head slightly, she pulled herself together. “No, of course not. Unhand me, if you please.”

He did so, and she continued. “How long have you known? I presume you have been planning this…this bit of extortion all along.” Fully recovered now, her tone was as quelling as she could make it.

Lord Foxhaven appeared far from quelled, however. “Actually, though I had my suspicions earlier, it was not until this afternoon that I was certain. Though I may occasionally forget a face or a name, I never forget a kiss.”

Nessa felt her face flame. Fighting down her panic and embarrassment, she said, “You have no proof, my
lord. Do you honestly think anyone will believe your story, should you choose to tell it?”

Infuriatingly, he continued to smile. “A week ago, perhaps not. But given your more recent behavior, I suspect the truth would spread like wildfire. Such a delicious bit of gossip, don’t you think?”

Nessa’s heart sank, but she forced herself to speak bravely. “Do what you will, then. I will not be forced.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes harden, though his smile never wavered. “Indeed? Have you so little regard for your own reputation—and your sister’s—as that?”

Doubt crept in. “Prudence? What has she to do with it? I attended that masquerade entirely without her knowledge.” Belatedly, Nessa glanced around to ascertain that no one had heard her indiscreet words.

“Oh, come now, Nessa. You can’t be so ignorant of Society and its ways as all that. Surely you are aware that whatever you do, particularly while residing in your sister’s household, must reflect upon Lord and Lady Creamcroft.”

“I shall move out, then,” she retorted, her head held high. “I’d planned to do so anyway.”

Jack nodded sagely. “Of course you will. Your cousin, the present Lord Cherryhurst, will no doubt be quite willing to arrange it once he knows how you have comported yourself in London.” Nessa stared. “I’ve done my research, you see,” he explained.

She knew she was trapped. Tears threatened, but anger overcame them. “I will
not
be dictated to—not
by Cousin Filmore, not by Prudence, and most particularly not by you!”

He arched one brow. “Wherever did you get the idea that I intended to dictate to you?”

“You are doing so right now!” she flared. Then, deliberately calming herself, “You wish me to marry you, do you not?” She enunciated her words clearly, as though speaking to a slow child. “Husbands dictate to their wives. It is the way of the world.” Even as she spoke, however, it occurred to her that she had never heard Philip “dictate” anything to Prudence.

“The way of
your
world to date, perhaps,” replied Jack softly, as they were now near the crowd at the edge of the floor. Glancing quickly up, she was surprised to see that his expression had softened considerably as well. “Tyranny has no part in my plans for you, Nessa. In fact, you will almost certainly have more freedom as my wife than ever you’d have unmarried.”

Nessa frowned. “But you said you wished to marry me for my respectability. Surely you intend to ensure that I
remain
respectable after marriage?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly taken aback by her phrasing. “I did not precisely say that I wanted to marry you for your respectability—” he began.

“Not in those words, perhaps, but I well understood your meaning. I have played the paragon of virtue my entire life—first as daughter and then as wife. I had hoped to try my hand at other roles now.”

Before he could respond, Sir Lawrence hurried for
ward to remind her that the next dance was his. With great relief, she relinquished Lord Foxhaven’s arm and returned to the floor for the
contredanse
just forming.

She tried to concentrate on the intricate steps of the dance, to keep her mind from her dilemma. Unfortunately, Sir Lawrence’s conversation required little in the way of attention, consisting almost entirely of banalities.

Even had she not been burningly conscious of Lord Foxhaven’s eyes following her about the room, Nessa would scarcely have been able to keep her thoughts from the remarkable conversation which had just taken place. Marrying him was out of the question, of course. Surely his threats against her reputation, and Prudence’s, must be hollow, for he did not seem a vindictive man….

Her eyes strayed to his position at the edge of the ballroom. To her dismay, she saw that he was talking to her sister and brother-in-law. Surely he would not—

“You dance like a feather on the wind, Lady Haughton.” Sir Lawrence took her hand briefly as the figures brought them back together. “You must have kept in practice while living secluded in the country.”

She merely smiled. In fact, she’d done very little dancing during her marriage, though it was an exercise she had always enjoyed. No doubt if Lord Foxhaven had his way, she’d be forced to give it up again. Though he
had
been the one to insist she learn to waltz…

Again she looked in his direction, but now saw only Prudence standing there. Jack was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps the Creamcrofts had sent him packing. She knew the thought should relieve her, but somehow it did not. Or—a horrifying thought occurred to her—suppose Philip had called him out for insulting her? She didn’t
think
her brother-in-law was the sort to react so, but suppose she was wrong?

The rest of the dance seemed to last an eternity, so impatient was she to discover what had passed between the others. It ended at last, and she wasted no time in hurrying to her sister’s side.

“Why are you not dancing, Prudence?” she began, uncertain how to broach the subject that obsessed her.

Lady Creamcroft looked at her in surprise. “I have danced twice already, Nessa. You know that I am not in the habit of romping at a ball.”

“No, no, of course not, Prudence. I, er, had not realized you had—that is, I’ve been so occupied myself—”

“Yes, I had noticed.” Rather to Nessa’s surprise, Prudence did not sound
quite
so disapproving as she had expected. “Really, Nessa, I cannot fathom why you wish to encourage that Mr. Galloway. He is not at all the thing. And as for Lord Foxhaven—”

Nessa held her breath when she paused.

“Well, I must admit that he has behaved unexceptionably in my presence, or almost so,” Prudence continued. “Had the stories about him not come from unimpeachable sources, I would doubt their veracity. But still, I pray you will be cautious.”

So he had apparently said nothing of consequence to her sister after all. Nessa let out her breath. “Thank
you, Prudence. I will endeavor to follow your advice.”

Mr. Pottinger approached then to claim the next dance and Nessa accompanied him willingly enough, her mind somewhat calmer. They had taken only a step or two, however, when Lady Mountheath swept up to Prudence, just behind them.

“My dear Lady Creamcroft,” she said in carrying tones, “I am most grieved by what I hear—and by what I have observed with my own eyes, as well.”

Nessa slowed her pace somewhat, though her escort gave no sign that he had heard. Prudence’s reply was inaudible, spoken as it was at a more seemly volume, but from Lady Mountheath’s response it appeared she had claimed ignorance.

“Oh, come, my dear. The whole room, nay, the whole of Society is discussing your sister’s scandalous behavior, and this very evening she has danced with more than one gentleman whom I’d have expected you to warn away from her. You know that you have always been dear to me, but of course I have my daughters’ reputations to consider. Therefore, I am confident that you will not take it amiss when I say that I will not be the least offended should you find you have another engagement on the night of my next dinner party.”

Nessa froze, and would have turned back, but Mr. Pottinger urged her forward. “Ignore her,” he whispered. “’Tis the only thing you can do. Otherwise you lend credence to her words.”

Mechanically, she began moving again. Rage, pain, and shame battled for mastery of her feelings. That hor
rible, horrible woman! Somehow, she managed to go through the opening movements of the dance, but surreptitiously peeped at Prudence as soon as she could. Lady Mountheath had gone, and Philip was back at her side, much to her relief. Still, even from this distance, she could see that her sister was greatly distressed. What else had that hateful woman said? Had Jack already begun spreading the story of the masquerade?

By the time the dance ended, Nessa had forced herself to face the full consequences of flouting Society’s rigid code. She had been deluding herself to think that she could live her life as she chose without serious repercussions. Her choices at this point were limited.

If she retired to the country, she would have to live under the watchful eye of either her Cousin Filmore or the current Lord Haughton. She shuddered. At any rate, leaving Town now might only serve to fuel the gossip further. Try as she might, she could think of only one thing that would save Prudence further embarrassment and, just perhaps, give her the freedom she craved.

Marriage.

Jack took a final puff from one of the fine cigars provided by Lord Hightower for his gentlemen guests in the library. He very much feared that Nessa would call his bluff—for bluff, he now realized, it was. He respected Nessa’s feelings too much to force her into marriage if the notion was truly repugnant to her. A most inconvenient scruple, in light of his situation, but there it was.

He tossed the butt of the cigar into an ashtray, nodded to the two gentlemen conversing on the other side of the room, and headed back to the ballroom. His first order of business must be to gauge her feelings, now that she’d had some time to think things over.

Lord Creamcroft, who had accompanied him to the library, had already returned to his wife’s side, but Nessa was not with them. Jack’s attention was caught, however, by the unusual pallor of Lady Creamcroft’s complexion, combined with her husband’s thunderous expression.

Jack’s heart sank. Had Nessa already told her sister of his ultimatum? That would certainly complicate things. For all he knew, Creamcroft might even call him out—which would be awkward in the extreme. Odd that such a scenario had not occurred to him before, during the course of all his careful planning.

Taking a deep breath, Jack headed toward the Creamcrofts, prepared to undo whatever damage he had caused. Restoring his respectability, or even gaining the balance of his inheritance, he realized belatedly, was not important enough to justify ruining anyone else’s life—most particularly Nessa’s. No, not even important enough for him to be easy about upsetting the prudish Lady Creamcroft or her more pleasant husband.

He would simply go to Paris alone, if need be, and endeavor to exert some self-control for the first time in his life. It could not be so hard as he imagined. Others managed it all the time.

When he was but a few strides away from Lord and Lady Creamcroft, he saw Nessa returning from the dance on the arm of some aging roué—Pottingly or something like that. She looked up just then and caught sight of Jack. Whispering something to her companion, she disengaged herself from his arm and hurried forward, intercepting Jack before he reached his destination.

“I’m happy to see you are still here, my lord,” she began breathlessly. “I feared…But that is neither here nor there. I have been thinking on what you said earlier.” She spoke quickly, as though to say something before she could change her mind, but Jack interrupted her anyway.

“So have I, Nessa.” He kept his voice low, but urgent. “I handled things poorly. If you would allow me to—”

“No, Jack, let me finish.” Her face set, she focused on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder. “I have decided I will marry you after all,” she said in a strained monotone. “You have only to name the date.”

Jack felt as if the earth had shifted on its axis beneath his very feet. A bolt of elation lanced through him, staggering in its intensity. “You…you have?”

She nodded, her pretty face still rigid and unsmiling.

Hard on the heels of his startling jubilation, doubt assailed him. Clearly she did not make this decision willingly. “Might I ask the reason for your
volte-face
?” he asked gently.

She did not quite meet his eyes. “Prudence. Lady
Mountheath was quite abominable to her, because of me. I—I have realized that I cannot allow her to be dragged down in disgrace on my account, after all of her kindness to me.”

Inwardly, Jack cursed himself for being such a bungler. He had successfully wooed dozens of women. Why had he botched it the one time it mattered? He should let the matter drop—allow her to live her life as she wished. It was the only fair thing to do.

As he opened his mouth to do just that, he suddenly recalled the letter he’d received only that afternoon from Havershaw. Fire had destroyed one of his tenants’ cottages. Until it could be rebuilt, a family of five would be homeless. Without that trust money…

“Do you not wish to marry me after all, my lord?” Nessa prompted as he hesitated.

“Yes. Yes, of course! I was simply…surprised by your sudden change of heart.” But he was all too aware that it was not truly a change of
heart
. Her expression was determined, resigned, but certainly not happy.

Sir Hadley came up behind her just then, no doubt to claim another dance, but Jack waved him away. “Lady Haughton is feeling overcome by the heat,” he said. “Be a good fellow and fetch her some lemonade. I shall escort her out onto the terrace, where it is cooler.” Sir Hadley bowed in some confusion and hurried off.

Jack led her through the French doors a short distance away, then paused. It certainly
was
cooler out here. In fact, it was downright frigid—not surprisingly, as it was late October. What had he been thinking?
What the devil had happened to his vaunted ability to plan for every contingency? Nessa shivered.