Lord Satan (23 page)

Her eyes widened, and a hint of smile tugged at her lips.
She remembered, too, he would swear. He could sense the attunement of their
minds.

He gave his attention to Tom. Tonight he was going to dance
with Miss Bishop. Tonight he would make one memory to store up against the
lonely nights to come.

He laid his campaign carefully.

First he danced with the guest of honor, Sybille Bassett.
Elizabeth’s hand was solicited by one of the farm boys. As Neil and Sybille
moved through the figures, she gazed flirtatiously up at him. And then, while
they waited out their turn, she asked, “Do you remember the night of the rout,
when you refused to dance with me?”

“I remember, but that is not precisely the truth. I was
trying to protect you from being harmed by my tarnished reputation.”

“You are making mock of me.” Sybille tapped his arm with
her fan. “And does my reputation not concern you now?”

“Now, you will find, as a betrothed woman, soon to be
married, you have more freedom. Your credit will withstand being seen with me,
especially in such a crowd.”

She accepted his explanation, he saw, some of the pain
smoothing out of her stance. Neil had recognized her hurt at the time, but he
had to deal with her blatant attempt to set her cap for him. He was safe now,
and she and Jonathan made a good match. The country-dance ended, and he brought
her back to Mr. Bassett, who stood with Jonathan. He spoke with them awhile,
wondering, as he often did these days, if Jonathan was the man attempting to
kill Trevor. Neil could not entirely accept that possibility, but could not
eliminate it, either.

Perhaps, if Jonathan had previously thought only inheriting
Trevor’s title and wealth could ease his financial distress, Mr. Bassett’s
fortune now made such a drastic solution unnecessary.

Neil did not relish the thought of Jonathan—if it were
he—getting away unpunished, but if the attempts now stopped, and Trevor was
safe from further attacks, it would be enough. Not that Trevor was safe, going
back into battle. With a grimace, he forced aside the thought. He renewed his
survey of the guests, then went to ask Mrs. Murray to dance.

After Mrs. Murray, he danced with both Marble sisters, then
a couple of farmers’ plain daughters, and spinsterish Miss Sidney. Without
seeming to pay attention, he noticed Elizabeth was in demand, finding a partner
for every dance.

He had sufficiently masked his purpose, he decided. As the
music struck up for another country-dance, he headed straight for Elizabeth.
She stood with another farm lad—not Wat Perkins, Neil noted. In fact,
although his parents were attending the ball, Neil had not seen young Perkins
this evening.

He bowed. “Will you dance with me, Miss Bishop.”

She lit up, a dazzling smile flashing across her face and
her entire presence assuming a glow. His knees almost gave way, followed
instantly by a surge of power charging through him.

“Oh, but,” Elizabeth cast a crestfallen look at the young
swain beside her, “I am bespoke for this dance. Mr… .“

“I’m sure he will excuse you, will you not?” Neil barely
glanced at the boy, taking Elizabeth’s arm and leading her to the floor,
hearing the dismayed exclamation behind him.

As other couples joined the set, Elizabeth dispatched a
resentful look his way. “That was high-handed of you.”

He grinned. “How I’ve missed hearing you take me to task.”

She glanced away, a blush spreading across her cheeks. The
movements of the dance began. Elizabeth laid her hand upon his, insulated by
the gloves they both wore, and glanced up at him, her expression full of
doubt.

He felt the warmth of her body next to his, not touching but
close enough to touch should he shift just a little. He inhaled the light,
flowery fragrance of her. Absorbed the sight of her sparkling blue eyes, the
tendrils of red-pink hair curling against the graceful curve of neck, the
slight ridges of her collarbones above the decorous bodice of her gown. The
other curves, covered from his view, but not from his imagination.

All at once Neil was grateful for the layers of leather and
cloth that protected them from contact. He had never felt this close to losing
his vaunted self-control. One touch of his skin to hers and he would ignite
like a pile of dry brush. What a fool he was to play so dangerous a game. He
would ruin everything he worked for, and only for a momentary indulgence that
changed nothing.

*

Libbetty felt Lord Neil’s subtle withdrawal. They had
merely started dancing—the realization of a long-held dream for her, and it
began magically. Her heart pounded and her body heated and tingled to his
proximity. He smiled at her with what she could have sworn was delight at
being in her presence. What had she said or done to change matters between
them so?

“I saw you dance with Miss Bassett,” she essayed when they
paused, searching for some reaction that might give her a clue.

“I believe I danced with several ladies.” His lips
twitched. Surely that indicated the subject was not painful?

“I merely wondered, that is, whether you were disappointed
at her betrothal to your cousin.”

His smile grew more pronounced and he looked fully at her.
“And you wonder if I am manfully trying to hide my broken heart. No, Miss
Bishop, I think Jonathan and Sybille are well matched, and my own feelings were
not in the least engaged in her.”

“Good. I mean,” she felt her blush appear again, “I am glad
you didn’t suffer any disappointment.”

They became the active couple in the dance again, offering
no further opening for conversation. As they moved through the figures,
Libbetty frantically sought for some topic that would engage him again and keep
him by her side when the dance ended.

When they reached the other end of the set and again stood
out, she said, “Have you been back to call upon Mrs. Marble?”

“In fact, I girded up my courage and did so just the other
day. I had promised, you know, and could not like to think I had failed in my
duty.” Lord Neil’s smile invited her to share in his self-deprecation. “My
knees quaked, let me tell you. I was afraid she would mistake me for her son
again and whisk me up to bed without my supper for staying gone so long. As it
happened, though, she was in a very different humor. She didn’t recognize me
at all, either as her son or as my own self.”

“The poor old lady,” Libbetty murmured. “Miss Anemone told
me that it was losing both her husband and her son that caused her mind to
become disordered. She does have days when she is quite rational, but they
happen less frequently as time passes.”

“Ah, Elizabeth, how you put me to the blush, with your kind
heart and refusal to say a mean thing about another person.”

“Oh, but I never meant to imply you said anything mean. You
were making a joke at your own expense, I believe.”

“It was my intent, but it echoes in my own ears as mocking
an unfortunate old person.”

They joined the dance again at this point, to Libbetty’s
distress. She again had blundered, saying words that seemed to criticize when
she only wanted to prolong their conversation.

The music was drawing to a close, and she feared she would
have no further chance to speak to Lord Neil privately. She wanted to
apologize for times she had practically accused him of attempting his nephew’s
life. The dance ended, and he led her back to Mrs. Hayes, and bowed, thanking
Libbetty formally.

He was gone. He didn’t leave the room, however. Libbetty
watched as closely as she could, called back into the dancing by her next
partner. Lord Neil asked another woman to join him in the set. Libbetty
decided if he disappeared from the ball, she would go in search of him. She
had to have one last private conversation with him.

He gave her no opportunity to do so. In contrast to the
rout, where he had scarcely danced, he took the floor with every set this
evening. He danced the supper dance with Irene Bassett, and stayed with her,
Sybille, and Jonathan during supper. Later, he danced with Mrs. Hayes, and
they conversed animatedly.

Jonathan Colton requested a dance of her, and she belatedly
recalled her intention to investigate whether he was the person behind the
attempts on Lord Cauldreigh’s life.

Unfortunately, the dance was a fast contra, which gave
Libbetty no chance to question him. When it was over, she said, “I am
perishing of thirst.”

He politely offered to bring her lemonade. Thanking him,
she accompanied him to the table where drinks were set out. “Were you close to
Lord Cauldreigh while growing up, Mr. Colton?”

He handed a glass to her and took one for himself. “No, I
am actually of the same generation as Lord Neil and his older brother, Lord
Cauldreigh’s father, although younger—several years so compared to Lord Tipton
and only a few to Lord Neil.”

“Then you were friends with Lord Neil.” She sipped from her
glass.

“I scarcely saw any of them, Miss Bishop. Our fathers had
quarreled, so our families had no congress with each other until I was grown
and sought out Lord Neil to repair the rift. Tipton was already dead by then,
and Cauldreigh still a boy living at his aunt’s.” He finished his glass in
several long swallows. “Are you ready to return to Mrs. Hayes’ side?”

She had not learned what she wished. He said he was the one
to hold out the olive branch, for what that was worth. It might merely have
meant that he wished to exploit the wealthier status of the other side of his
family. Or he might have genuine family feelings which would prevent his attempting
to harm a cousin.

There was nothing of further interest to Libbetty in the
party. She was asked to dance by Lord Cauldreigh, Mr. Murray, and several
other young men. Always, she paid her partners what attention necessary for
politeness while watching Lord Neil. Don’t think of being disappointed. You
knew he would not suddenly change and want to be with you. Just one dance with
him is beyond what you dreamed. Such bracing sentiments did not raise her from
her depression.

Any day now, he would be leaving, and she could do nothing.

*

The next day, Freddy and George went out on still another
boys-only excursion, Alonso accompanied his father on his calls, and Catherine
asked Mrs. Berkfield to show her how to bake her celebrated almond tarts. As
Tom had not taken Concobhar, Libbetty decided to ride. She carefully headed a
different direction than The Castle or the abhorrent woodsman’s hut.

Riding farther afield than usual, she passed by Rose Farm.
With a sudden thought of the similarity between the names Whitelow and the
mysterious “White” who worked for Mr. Hedgesett, she rode up the drive leading
to the house. She tied Concobhar’s reins to a tree and knocked at the door.
Mrs. Whitelow herself answered. “Miss Bishop, is it not? How nice of you to
call. Won’t you please come in and take tea with me?”

A manservant came and took Concobhar to the stable, and Mrs.
Whitelow led Libbetty into a small, tidy saloon.

She surveyed the room, regretting the impulse that had made
her call but interested nonetheless. The saloon showed unmistakable signs of
its owner’s prosperity, yet Libbetty found the effect slightly garish. Fine
Persian carpets in shades of deep red covered the floor. Several paintings,
still lifes and landscapes, adorned paneled walls painted a soft rose. The
furnishings appeared comfortable and new.

Mrs. Whitelow summoned a maid and ordered her to bring tea,
then said, “Please sit down, Miss Bishop,” indicating a settee upholstered in
rose chintz.

Libbetty complied, already regretting her impulsive act.

Mrs. Whitelow wore a white muslin gown embroidered with red
roses. Her chestnut curls showed under a white lace cap. The older woman
fluttered about, talking of trivial matters.

It would distress her mother if she knew Libbetty sat with
the notorious owner of Rose Farm. The Coltons, as well, would feel betrayed to
see her here—Lord Neil especially had made his contempt and hatred for Mrs.
Whitelow plain. Oh, dear, she must not think of him.

The servant returned, bearing a silver tea tray and a plate
of biscuits, which she placed on a mahogany circular table. For the next few
minutes Mrs. Whitelow occupied herself with pouring tea and offering biscuits,
seated at one of several oval-backed armchairs upholstered in red damask.

Libbetty sipped her tea and gazed about the room. A
mahogany hanging cabinet displayed expensive porcelain bibelots.

Mrs. Whitelow said, “I did not know if you would speak to
me. I feared after we met at Sidneys’ several weeks ago, your mother would
have forbidden you my company.”

Libbetty set her saucer down hard, slopping tea. “I believe
she never thought to do so, because she did not foresee such an occasion,” she
was surprised into saying.

“That is an honest answer, at least,” the widow said. “I
have been lonely since I returned to Peasebotham. In America I had gained
respect, married to a wealthy man. We entertained—oh, their names would mean
nothing to you—but notable people in Charleston. Here, I am the wicked woman
who led Tipton astray. Do you know, I was around your age when I eloped with
him?”

“I will be eighteen soon,” Libbetty volunteered.

“See? I was seventeen when he seduced me away from my
family and home. I think, Miss Bishop, that you and I have something else in
common. I believe you have some knowledge that Colton men lead women astray,
not the other way around.”

“Whatever makes you think that?” Did she bear some outer
sign that she was at peril of ruin? Mrs. Whitelow could scarcely have seen her
with Lord Neil enough to realize Libbetty’s feelings for him. Mrs. Dalrymple
had given her a similar warning, and also Captain Forsyth.