Passions of a Wicked Earl (15 page)

When Claire was finished, Beth continued to exclaim about the beauty of the gift and walked over to a lamp, turning her wrist one way and another to better admire it in the light. Claire looked at him, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“It’s your first ball of your first Season as well, isn’t it?” he asked, reaching back into the drawer and withdrawing another velvet box.

Tears welled in her eyes, and he watched as her delicate throat worked while she swallowed. “I wasn’t expecting …”

And he realized that made it all the more enjoyable to give it. Every other woman in his life had expected the trinkets and baubles.

“Well, open it, Claire, for pity’s sake, and let’s see what it is,” Beth demanded.

“Oh, yes, of course.” She’d managed to blink back the tears, but her hand was trembling when she took the box. Inside on a bed of velvet was a circlet of sapphires. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she whispered, in awe.

“You’d mentioned that you favored blue,” he said.

Smiling warmly, she nodded. “Yes.”

“It is lovely,” Beth said. “Pity you can’t wear it tonight, unless you change your gown.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Something this exquisite can be worn with anything.”

She began to lift it out.

“Allow me,” he said, taking it from her and draping it around her wrist. Although she wore gloves that rode up her arms and curled around her elbows, he could have sworn he felt her pulse thumping as he secured the clasp. Then he found himself looking down into her eyes, could sense her studying him. He didn’t know what had possessed him to purchase the pieces. He’d been shopping for something for Anne—a reward for her patience—when he’d spied the piece and thought of Claire. He didn’t want her to make more of it than she should, so he’d purchased a bracelet for her sister as well. “Just something to remember the night by.”

She stepped back, nodding once more. “Again, thank you.”

“May we leave now?” Beth asked, her impatience obvious.

He gave a low chuckle as he reached into his pocket for his gloves. “Without further ado.”

During the carriage ride, Claire couldn’t stop touching the bracelet. He’d given her a gift on their wedding day, but she was fairly certain it had been an obligation. This gift—what did it signify?

He’d taken her breath when she’d walked into the library and seen him in his tight black trousers, gray waistcoat, and blue double-breasted tailcoat. He looked magnificent. Even with his black hair styled, he still exuded a roughness that was appealing on a primal level. She couldn’t imagine that there was a woman in all of England who wouldn’t want him. She certainly did. But it was more than his good looks that appealed to her. She’d not expected the care and attention he took with Beth. She’d certainly not expected this slow shifting in their relationship.

She again touched the bracelet. In all honesty, she’d dreaded what tonight might bring for her. Pity, shame, gossip. But his simple gesture had laid all her worries to rest. She would make it through tonight. Beth would have her ball, her Season, and she would find someone to replace Hester.

Carriages were lined up in the drive leading to the Greystones’ residence, and it was several long minutes—during which Beth repeatedly suggested that they simply leave the carriage and walk—before they arrived at the front. A liveried footman opened the door and handed them down. Claire couldn’t deny the tautening of her stomach as she climbed the steps to the entrance. Her heart steadied when Westcliffe placed his hand on the small of her back. It was only a brief touch, but it was enough.

They left their wraps in the parlor before proceeding on to the grand room where the dancing was taking place.

Claire knew it was rude to gape, yet at her first sight of the room she seemed unable to help herself. The ballroom was far more magnificent than anything she’d imagined. The crystal chandeliers were alight with what must have been a thousand candles. So many flowers scented the room that Claire was fairly certain not a single bloom remained anywhere else in London. But it was more than the gilded mirrors, the orchestra playing from a balcony, the beautiful gowns, the glittering diamonds. It was the atmosphere of joy and gaiety. Here there were no worries. Nothing except fun.

She was startled to hear, “Lord and Lady Westcliffe and Lady Beth Michaels!”

Where before devastation at the reality of her position had engulfed her, tonight she felt an almost unheralded sense of pride as she descended the stairs with Westcliffe’s hand laying lightly, almost possessively, against her back. If the years continued to be as kind to him as they’d been so far, as he grew older, ladies would swoon from the mere mentioning of his name.

At the foot of the stairs, he formally introduced her and Beth to their host and hostess: the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. They were a handsome couple, and she had no doubt they adored each other—it was clearly telegraphed in each glance, every touch.

Westcliffe then led them over to an arrangement of chairs near some potted fronds. “I’ll return in a bit,” he said, and before she could respond, he’d walked away.

The reality of their situation began to take hold as no one approached.

“Do you know anyone to whom you can introduce me?” Beth asked after a while, and Claire heard the rising panic in the high pitch of her voice.

“I’m looking.”

“No one is going to ask me for a dance.”

“Be patient, Beth.”

But even she had begun to lose hope when the Duchess of Greystone walked over with a young gentleman in tow. “Lady Westcliffe, Lady Beth, Lord Bentley has asked for an introduction.”

His introduction seemed to signal a mad dash, because Beth was suddenly catching the attention of every eligible young buck in the room. Within half an hour, so many introductions had been made that her dance card was completely filled.

“Lady Beth, have I arrived too late to snag a dance?” The question was asked smoothly, as though an answer in the affirmative would be equivalent to receiving Cupid’s arrow through the heart.

Beth beamed up at Ainsley. “Your Grace, I fear you have indeed.” She waved her dance card in front of his face. “Can you believe it?”

Claire grabbed her sister’s wrist and pulled her hand down to her side. “Beth, don’t be obnoxious.”

“But I cannot believe how popular I am. Oh, listen!” Dramatically, she set her hand to her ear. “The first waltz. Lord Bentley.”

As though she’d summoned him with her excitement, Lord Bentley appeared and escorted her sister to the dance floor. After all of her worrying, Claire couldn’t believe that the night would go so well.

“And what of you?” Ainsley asked.

Claire shook her head lightly. “I’m not the one having the Season.” She touched his arm and held his green gaze. “Thank you so much. I know your promise to attend has helped matters where Beth is concerned. I didn’t expect you to appear.”

“My mother may not hold with the value of promises, but I do. And if my brother is too daft to ask his wife for a dance, allow me the honor.” Bowing slightly, he extended his arm.

She shook her head more vigorously. “Oh, no, that would not be wise.”

“Afraid he might get jealous?”

“More afraid, I think, that he won’t.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not even sure what I meant by that. But in either case, I believe one of us would get hurt.”

“By that logic, he should be storming over here now simply because I’m talking with you.” Leaning near, he winked. “I promised our hostess I’d dance once before I left. I’d rather it be a married woman. Don’t want to give any unmarried young misses hope. And if you don’t dance with me, I’m doomed to spend a rather boring evening here, and if word gets around that I’ve stopped attending—”

“Oh, all right,” she said, laughing. “Although in truth, Westcliffe receives invitations to balls.”

“But not as many as I garner.”

Unfortunately, the music ceased. Beth returned to her side, where the charming Earl of Greenwood made his appearance and whisked her away.

“He’ll be a marquess someday,” Ainsley said as he gallantly escorted Claire to the dance floor. “I suppose you know that already.”

With a proper distance between them, he took her into his arms, and they began to circle the dance floor.

“Actually, I’m acquainted with very few of the nobility—only those I met when we visited your estate and a few on my wedding day.”

“Old men, then.”

She smiled. “For the most part, yes.”

“Lynnie’s friends mostly.”

Lynnie. The Earl of Lynnford. Their guardian.

“Should you refer to him so informally?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve taken my place in the House of Lords. He would expect it.”

“What of Westcliffe? I suppose he’s sitting there now.” She’d never given it any thought before.

“He’s been there for some time. Takes his duties very seriously. It’s the reason he married you, isn’t it?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder if perhaps there was another reason?” he asked.

“Such as?”

“Perhaps he liked you.”

“He had a funny way of showing it. He never spoke to me.”

“He’s really quite timid, you know.”

Nearly bursting out with laughter, she caught the glimmer of teasing in his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure at this very moment he’s hiding beyond a potted frond.”

“On the contrary, he’s in the corner, quite visible, glaring.”

She nearly lost her footing and stumbled over her feet.

“Don’t look,” he ordered, just as she began to turn her head.

“We should end the dance now,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. I’m enjoying it far too much.”

“You’re enjoying antagonizing him.”

“That, too.”

“Please.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m quite capable of looking out for myself.”

“He has a rather nasty punch.”

“Which he’d never use on you.”

“But he would on you.”

“Not if I stand up to him. That’s the thing about Westcliffe. Never takes his anger out on those who stand up to him. You should give it a try sometime.”

Thankfully, two beats later, the music ceased. With a great deal of relief, she allowed Ainsley to escort her back to the area where she would meet with Beth. Surreptitiously, she searched for Westcliffe, but she wasn’t as tall as Ainsley, and so many people were in attendance that it was difficult to see around them.

When they arrived at their spot, Ainsley took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thank you for allowing me to fulfill my obligations here. I know a lady who will very much appreciate my ability to arrive earlier than planned.”

A lady who was not at the ball? She idly wondered how much of a
lady
she could actually be, then chastised herself for doing exactly what she didn’t want done of her. “Does your mother know of her?”

He gave her a devastating grin. “God, I hope not.”

He left her then, and at that precise moment, across the ballroom, Westcliffe stepped into her line of sight. She did hope that Ainsley walked quickly, because based on her husband’s expression, he was fully capable of committing murder.

Westcliffe grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing footman. He’d only taken a few steps when Ainsley nearly collided with him.

“So, are you going to dance with her?” Ainsley asked.

“Her?”
Westcliffe repeated. “First ball of the Season, there are probably more than a hundred women in attendance. Did you have a particular
her
in mind?”

“Your wife.”

“You danced with her. I’d think that would suffice.”

“She’s quite accomplished.”

“So I noticed.”

Ainsley smiled, blast him. He’d wanted Westcliffe to notice.

“She didn’t want to, you know,” Ainsley murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Dance with me. She was afraid it would anger you.”

“Smart girl.”

“Not a girl. More of a woman I’d say.”

His jaw clenched, and he had to fight to unlock it. “I suppose you’d know, holding her as you were.”

“I was most respectful. Poor thing was afraid you might strike me.”

“I might yet.”

“No, you won’t. Enjoy the evening.”

As his brother strode away, heading for the stairs, Westcliffe regretted that he couldn’t go with him, that he had obligations here. He continued in the direction he’d been heading before Ainsley’s interruption.

As he neared Claire, he was struck once again by her beauty. When they’d first arrived, he’d been caught unawares by her amazement when her blue eyes had widened as they’d walked into the ballroom. Quite honestly, he didn’t understand why a woman would want a Season if she didn’t need one. Claire had been betrothed. Why go through all this nonsense? He’d thought he was saving her from a fate worse than death.

Just as he did, he suspected that many a man considered tossing a rope over a nearby chandelier and hanging himself when attending one of these affairs.

She smiled at him as he came to stand beside her.

“Champagne?” he asked.

“The last time I drank champagne, my judgment was not at its best.” Still, she took the offered flute and sipped delicately.

He was not yet ready to joke or tease about that night. It could still cut him to the quick, so he said instead, “I see your sister is dancing.”

“Yes, can you believe it? Her card is completely filled.”

“And what of yours?”

“Nary a name. Which is fine. I didn’t come here to dance. I just want to see Beth happy.”

The orchestra began to play another tune, one Westcliffe recognized. He’d known there was always a chance that someone would ask Claire for this dance before he did, but he had little doubt that one well-practiced look would have had the blighter scurrying away. His
practiced
look had even terrified his wife when she was a girl. Terrified everyone, in fact, except for his brothers. Perhaps because Stephen, damn him, had caught Westcliffe practicing in front of a mirror and shared his find with Ainsley. They’d both decided that pretended anger was no anger at all. Unfortunately, they’d yet to learn when he was truly angry and how to avoid bringing forth his wrath.