Nicole Jordan (23 page)

A sizzling heat spiraled upward through her body, nearly burning her.

Dropping her skirts swiftly, Diana let out another low curse and turned away. She wished to high heaven that Thorne hadn’t shown her the physical side of passion, for now he would only be that much harder to resist.

Since her chief concerns had centered on painting Venus and thwarting Reginald Kneighly—even before being distracted by Thorne’s shocking intimacies—Diana had failed to ask him how, with her dubious past, she could possibly be permitted inside Almack’s elite assembly rooms.

Suddenly recalling his pronouncement, she took extreme care to eliminate all traces of paint from her face and hands and then rushed home to Berkeley Square to bathe and dress in an exquisite gown of ivory silk. The patronesses reportedly were sticklers for proper appearance.

Amy and Cecily were beside themselves at being admitted to the hallowed halls of Almack’s, and lamentably, Diana found herself just as eager to attend. She fully understood the honor being granted her, even if she still could scarcely believe it. Gaining entrance to Almack’s was the highest distinction of social success achievable, even more coveted than a presentation to the Queen.

Thorne must have worked miracles to obtain a voucher for her from one of the patronesses—seven ladies who ruled the ton by controlling who received the cherished vouchers.

When Thorne arrived to escort his aunt and her charges, Diana took advantage of the girls’ excited chatter to ask him how he’d managed to have her included.

“Lady Jersey is rather fond of me,” was his wry reply.

Which meant, Diana suspected, that he’d employed his vaunted powers of seduction to charm the reigning sovereign of London society, Sally Jersey.

“She also,” Thorne added blandly, “has a soft spot in her heart for eloping lovers, since she herself married Jersey at Gretna Green.”

That helped to explain Lady Jersey’s benevolence, Diana conceded. But an hour later as they ascended the staircase to Almack’s ballroom, she felt an attack of nerves bordering on panic at having to face such haughty company. It would be mortifying to be cut dead by the denizens of this exclusive assembly—

She was absurdly grateful when Thorne’s hand pressed into the small of her back, his touch reassuring as he guided her through the sacred portals. When Diana glanced up at him, his grin was bracing, as if he understood her fears.

“Buck up, love,” he commanded softly. “You’ve done your penance, and you can hold your own with the best of them.”

She flashed Thorne a brilliant smile of gratitude. Perhaps her youthful transgression finally would be forgiven, or at least relegated to the past. But if not, then she would brazen it out. Thorne was right; she had nothing to be ashamed of now. Lifting her chin, Diana allowed him to usher her into the vast ballroom after the rest of their party.

Her newfound fortitude came just in time, since from the moment they entered, they were the focus of all eyes. The room was suddenly abuzz with polite whispers. Yet Diana soon realized Thorne’s presence was even more of a novelty than her own.

Lady Hennessy was the first to comment on it. “What did I tell you, dear boy? Everyone is atwitter at your appearance here. My nephew,” the countess confided in an amused undertone to Diana, “has attended Almack’s only once before this, and that was purely to oblige me. Until your betrothal, he always avoided respectable society as much as possible.”

“Certainly I avoided Almack’s,” Thorne acknowledged with a feigned shudder. “Possibly because it is considered London’s Marriage Mart. But now that Diana is to be my bride, I no longer need fear falling victim to the matrimonial nets cast here.”

As he spoke, he gave Diana a warm look that anyone watching would interpret as loving. He was showing the world that she had captured his heart, Diana knew, making their sham engagement appear real. Even so, her stomach fluttered with awareness as she met his hazel eyes, helpless to stop remembering the scandalous things he had done to her barely a few short hours ago.

Just then a lively, elegantly dressed woman glided up to them. Diana recognized Lady Jersey from the sketches in the newspapers.

The patroness air-kissed Lady Hennessy’s cheeks, welcomed Diana more coolly, greeted Cecily and Amy with gracious condescension, and admonished Thorne for letting years go by since he’d last graced their halls. “La, I thought we would never manage to lure the infamous Viscount Thorne here again.”

He bowed and kissed Lady Jersey’s hand. “With such charming inducement as you, Sally, how could I resist?”

Laughing flirtatiously, she rapped his knuckles with her fan. “Well, pray remember, I expect you to fulfill your promise.”

“I shall. Directly after my lovely Diana honors me with her hand for a set.”

When the patroness had left, Diana glanced up at Thorne. “What promise?”

“I agreed to dance with the wallflowers.”

In exchange for her voucher, no doubt.
“How noble of you,” Diana said lightly.

Thorne’s acknowledging grin was odiously smug. “Indeed.”

Yet it
was
noble of him, she reflected, caught by the laughter dancing in his eyes. Thorne was here solely for her sake, because he knew how important the evening was to her social success; her attendance here would likely assure her acceptance by the ton.

It was during the next quarter hour, however, that Diana began to comprehend the full extent of his sacrifice. From the first, Thorne attracted considerable attention, with countless people coming up to greet him and fawn over him. Yet he took their obsequiousness in good stride, even when they begged to introduce their daughters. Flushed and smiling, the young ladies seemed dazzled by his virile, golden elegance, but not by a flicker of an eyelash did he display his desire to be elsewhere. Instead he wielded his irresistible charm in equal measure.

Until, that is, a tall, dark-haired gentleman approached.

“Present me to this delectable creature, Thorne,” he demanded, eyeing Diana with his quizzing glass.

With obvious reluctance, Thorne made her known to his friend, Baron Boothe.

Bowing low over her hand, Lord Boothe barely contained a lecherous grin as he measured her bosom beneath the modest cut of her gown.

Then he spoke to Thorne as if Diana weren’t even present. “Quite nice, old trout. I was shocked by the announcement of your betrothal, but I can now see the appeal. I should have known you would choose a beauty.” He finally lifted his gaze to Diana’s, but there was a smirk on his lips that made her want to shudder. “Pray, do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Sheridan.”

Thorne’s smile was cool as he preempted her response. “I’m afraid Miss Sheridan’s card is full.”

Boothe frowned. “I see your problem. You are jealous as a hound.”

“I commend your acumen,” Thorne replied. “But I’ll warrant you understand why I don’t want to share my intended bride.”

The baron gave a wicked chuckle. “You fear I will steal her away from you.” He shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of poaching, you know. You are far too good a shot.”

Boothe bowed again to Diana, drawling, “Your servant, Miss Sheridan,” before wandering off.

Diana was heartily glad to see him go, but curious about Thorne’s motives. “Why did you claim my dance card was full when you knew it wasn’t?”

“Because Boothe is a rake of the first order, and it will do your reputation no good to be seen dancing with him.”

Her eyes widening, Diana stared up at him with droll amusement.

At her pointed look, Thorne broke into another grin. “I do grasp the irony. I, pretending to be the arbiter of what is proper. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t want him touching you. Now, come, dance with me before I must immolate myself on the altar of Sally Jersey’s dictates.”

As Thorne led her onto the ballroom floor for the minuet, Diana found her tension easing for the first time this evening. His show of jealousy was perhaps an act to reinforce their pretense of a love match, but it was still extremely pleasant to be under his protection when confronting society’s roués and rulers.

By the time the set ended and Thorne returned her to his aunt’s side, Diana felt fully able to face the rest of the evening on her own. When he didn’t immediately leave her, she assured him that she had found her courage. “You needn’t remain here and play chaperone. I can manage from here.”

“Yes,” Lady Hennessy added, amused. “Go fulfill your obligation and dance with the wallflowers, Thorne. I will see that Diana has proper partners, just as I will for Cecily and Amy.”

Thorne grimaced but turned away, prepared to do his duty.

The rest of the evening passed in an agreeable blur for Diana. She never lacked for respectable dance partners, and was even made to feel welcome by the countess’s cronies and several ladies nearer her own age, all of whom expressed surprise and admiration that she’d captured the elusive Lord Thorne.

Diana took greater pleasure in watching Thorne. He not only danced with the young wallflowers, but he did so with a purposeful display of enjoyment, with the intention, Diana suspected, of bringing them into fashion. If so, he was highly successful.

His tactics were the same with each young lady: flashing his most charming smile, focusing his sole attention on his partner, bending low to hear whatever she was saying, appearing to hang on her every word, and being delighted by what he heard. And the results were always the same: By the end of the dance, the awestruck girl was chattering happily to him, her blushing features so animated that she looked almost pretty. Thus when Thorne relinquished her, more than one gentleman instantly approached her to request a dance.

Diana shook her head mentally at the phenomenon. It was a foible of society that being singled out by a nobleman of Viscount Thorne’s consequence would virtually assure those young ladies of acceptance—just as Thorne had done for her. But she was still touched by his kindness, her heart warmed by tenderness.

“My nephew,” Lady Hennessy murmured beside her, “may be a wicked scapegrace, but occasionally he surprises me. I think perhaps he might make an admirable husband after all.”

Suddenly realizing Thorne’s aunt had been watching
her
watch
him,
Diana felt her own cheeks blushing. She couldn’t refute that Thorne would make some fortunate woman a remarkable husband…except that he saw matrimony as a fate worse than death.

For a moment Diana felt a pang of something very much like regret that their betrothal would never be real. But then she ruthlessly reined in her wayward thoughts.

She wouldn’t let herself dwell on Thorne’s virtues or lack of them. In truth, she was determined to stop thinking of him entirely, unless it concerned how to achieve her goal of painting Venus. He had promised he would decide how best to gain the madam’s cooperation in sitting for a portrait.

And that was all she cared about, Diana assured herself, ignoring the niggling notion that she was fabricating another deception to match their fraudulent betrothal.

Ten

D
iana’s first
impression, when she received Venus in the parlor of her studio house several mornings later, was one of awe. With her flame-red hair and statuesque figure, the madam was not only beautiful, but utterly compelling. She was also unexpectedly young, perhaps no more than thirty years of age.

Following Thorne’s instructions, Diana had written Venus requesting the privilege of painting her, using the excuse of needing a model for a new portrait to impress the academy. Diana was fairly certain Venus would respond to her invitation to call, if only out of curiosity.

After exchanging polite greetings, Madam Venus seated herself gracefully, her green eyes coolly surveying Diana. “I am flattered to be asked to sit for you, Miss Sheridan,” she said in a low, husky voice that bore a genteel accent, “but I confess surprise that you have chosen me.”

“I heard of your remarkable beauty,” Diana prevaricated. “And now that I see you in person, I realize how perfect you are for my needs. You are just the sort of model that the renowned Venetian artist, Titian, delighted in painting. The British Academy will doubtless take notice of so striking a subject.”

“I wonder that Lord Thorne approves of you associating with a woman of my profession.”

Diana returned a rueful smile. “Fortunately, I do not require Thorne’s approval. I was quite clear when I accepted his proposal. He is not to interfere with my art in any manner. And I am not to interfere in whatever pursuits he indulges in.”

“A very permissive arrangement,” Venus observed.

“Indeed it is. We have a mutual understanding and mean to have quite a liberal marriage. But in fact, Thorne himself told me about you, Madam Venus.”

That admission succeeded in eliciting a raised eyebrow from Venus. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Diana said easily. “Thorne informed me of the assistance you are providing for my troubling cousin Amy. I owe you a debt of gratitude, madam. Amy is very dear to me, and I was at my wits’ end, not knowing how I could possibly shake her infatuation for her fortune-hunter. But Thorne tells me your plan is proceeding exceedingly well—that Mr. Kneighly’s interest has definitely been ensnared by your employee.”