The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (25 page)

The silence increased until even Durham noticed it. He shifted uneasily, then said, “I, ah, I meant to say that you look ravishing tonight.”

“Ravishing? In this gown?” She was wearing the pink atrocity that Meg had chosen simply because she’d been too disheartened to order another. The reason she was so distraught crept back into her thoughts and she had to blink back tears.

Durham pulled back a little. “It’s a truly lovely gown,” he said earnestly. “And you do look wonderful.”

No, she didn’t. Royce had been right; it was too frilly and the color was unattractive, at best. “What about my hair? Do you like it?” Meg’s French maid had specially prepared her coiffure. It was twisted and pinned until she felt as if her eyes had been pulled back a full inch on each side.

“It is perfect,” he said without really looking. “Liza, I wanted to talk to you—”

“Do you think we’ll get more snow?” Liza said in a rushed voice. Anything to keep him from saying the words she dreaded. “Poor George has just recovered from one cold. If he gets sick again, I fear it could be fatal.”

Lord Durham smoothed his hands on the knees of his breeches. “You are quite fond of George, are you not?”

“Some people treat their dogs and cats as children. I suppose, in a way, that is what George is to me: a very sweet, noisy child.”

Lord Durham blinked. Once. Twice. He stood so suddenly Liza jumped. “It’s quite hot in here. I’ll fetch some orgeat.”

He was gone before Liza could say anything, which might have been his intent.

Disconsolate, Liza placed her piece of cake on his empty chair and looked about the ballroom. Meg had outdone herself. The whole chamber was draped in swathes of red and pink silk. And she must have ordered two or three thousand red candles that burned brightly on a number of tables, all of which were covered in white lace. The effect was magical.

Everything was perfect. Except that Liza was quite certain her heart was completely broken. She tried to tell herself it was her own fault. After all, she’d known a dalliance with Royce would lead to nothing but heartache. It was just that he was so damnably delectable that it was quite easy to forget that fact once he was near.

Not that she had any regrets. She didn’t. But having been in Royce’s arms, she was finding it very difficult to fall into Lord Durham’s. Worse, she found that she missed Royce’s arms almost every moment of the day.

She supposed that at some time, she was going to have to face him. It would be difficult, but she’d do it. She’d force herself to act normal, as if nothing had happened. And it would cost her dearly.

Durham returned at that moment and sat down beside her, a faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. “Here you are!” he said, handing her a small glass.

She hated orgeat. And it was just like Durham to bring her a drink that she disliked. Still, she supposed she should thank him. “Lord Durham, I appreciate—” Her gaze fell on the edge of his chair, where a bit of napkin stuck out from beneath his bottom. An unexpected burble of laughter tickled the back of Liza’s throat. Lord Durham had sat on her piece of cake.

Her strained nerves didn’t help, and a horrified giggle caught in Liza’s throat. It was probably squashed flatter than a piece of foolscap. She looked at Durham again and bit her lip. Strange that she hadn’t realized it before, but he was just the tiniest bit pudgy, quite unlike Royce, who was ideally fit. “Lord Durham—I—you—”

“Liza, I must say something.”

Good Lord, he was going to propose right now, this very second. Liza shook her head desperately. “Lord Durham, please. Before you say anything, you should know—”

“No. Let me speak first.” He wiped his brow with an unsteady hand. “I’ve made it no secret that I came to London to find a bride. I flatter myself that I’m a bit more sophisticated than the average landowner, and it seemed only fitting that I attain a higher level of wife than most. After much consideration, I have realized—”

“Please, Lord Durham, do not say another—”

“—I cannot ask you to marry me.”

She froze. “Can
not
?”

He nodded.

Relief flooded through her, and she pressed a hand to her heart. There was a God, after all.

“I can see you are upset,” Durham said gravely. “I want you to know there is nothing in your person that I find repulsive. Indeed, I believe you are a very charming woman.”

“Thank you,” she managed, wondering if Meg would notice if she slipped out now. She could go home this moment, throw this horrid dress into the fireplace, and slip into bed. All she wanted was to pull the sheets over her head and forget she had ever met a man named Royce Pemberley. A man she couldn’t have, but couldn’t seem to live without, either.

Durham took her limp hand and held it between his. “I don’t mean to offend you, Liza, but after spending time with you, it has become apparent that you are more of a…a monkey person.”

She blinked, wondering if she’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon. Did you…did you just say I was a ‘monkey person’?”

His cheeks bloomed a rich red. “I’ve noticed how you dote on that animal, while I cannot abide the creature.”

Liza tugged her hand free. Every bit of her discontent rushed to the fore, and, combined with her aching heart, led her to say with some asperity, “My monkey is very well behaved. Better, I daresay, than your cows!”

He stiffened, his neck turning a mottled red. “My cows do not bite! Furthermore, no matter how well behaved George is in the city, he would not be so agreeable in the country. That would be another matter all together.”

“Why would George be different in the country?”

“Because monkeys dislike cows. And if he were to bite one of them—”

“George bite a cow? Who on earth told you such a shocking whopper?”

“Why…I believe Sir Royce mentioned it at the theater, though I’ve been asking various persons and it seems quite common knowledge that monkeys can be quite aggressive. Lord Casterland almost lost his thumb to one.”

“Only because he poked it and scared the poor creature half to death.”

“Yes, well, I cannot risk the health of my herd.” He frowned. “Liza, it’s more than the monkey. I’ve enjoyed your company, but I feel as if perhaps…perhaps your heart is not available.”

None of her was available. Not to Durham, anyway. Liza’s irritation faded, and instead, she felt nothing but relief.

Her reaction must have been obvious, for Durham managed a weak grin. She eyed him for a long moment where he sat beside her, sweating in his stiff evening clothes, an apologetic smile on his broad face, a piece of cake squashed on his rump. For some reason, all those horrid facts made him seem very dear. “Lord Durham, you are right. We wouldn’t suit at all, but I do hope we can be friends.”

“Of course. Liza, it has been a pleasure, but I believe my time in London is done. I’m returning home tomorrow.”

“Your mother will be glad to see you.”

A wide grin crossed his face. “Yes, she will.” He patted Liza’s hand one last time, then stood.

Liza’s gaze was immediately drawn to the chair Durham had just vacated. There, sitting in solitary splendor, was her empty napkin. She leaned to one side and glanced at the floor behind him, looking for some sign that perhaps the cake was somewhere other than stuck to Durham’s slightly too tight pants. The floor was completely clean. “Lord Durham, you should perhaps—”

“There you are!” Meg stood before them, beaming brightly. “I left Shelbourne to tend the receiving line. Can you believe how many people have already arrived? Everything is going so well! The Duke of Devonshire specifically complimented me on the orchestra, and Lady Birlington said the cake was the best she’d ever had.”

“I personally can attest to the cake,” Lord Durham said gravely. “It was very light and airy.”

“I don’t know about airy,” Liza said with a dubious glance at the empty napkin. “Lord Durham, before you leave, I must tell you that you have ca—”

“Liza, please,” he said, holding up a hand. “We’ve said all there is to say. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is.” He gave her a very meaningful glance, then turned to Meg. “Good evening, Lady Shelbourne. I am sorry to inform you that I must leave your delightful party and return home with all possible haste.”

“Oh dear. Right this instant?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Meg glanced at Liza, who managed an encouraging smile. “I see.”

Durham bowed deeply, took Liza’s hand, and gave it a significant squeeze, and then he left, making his way through the crowd.

Meg frowned after him. “What has happened? And what on earth is that on his breeches? It looks as if—oh! There’s Royce!”

Liza leaped to her feet and saw Royce crossing the room, his dark blue gaze locked on her. He looked devastatingly handsome in his evening attire. Handsome and determined.

Liza’s breath shortened. She didn’t want to speak with him now. Not until she had time to shore up the weak banks of her own traitorous heart. It would take at least a bottle of brandy and perhaps an entire cake, maybe two.

“Liza, what’s wrong?” Meg asked, alarm on her face. “You look as if—”

“Might I have the pleasure of an introduction?” came a smooth masculine voice.

For just a second, Liza thought it was Royce. But a quick glance told her that her ears had played a cruel trick on her heart.

“Of course, my lord,” Meg said, quickly masking a frown. “Liza, Lord Halfurst. My lord—”

“Miss Elizabeth Pritchard,” Liza said. She stuck out her hand. To hell with trying to be all pink and frilly. It was uncomfortable and damned itchy. “Liza. Pleased to meet you.”

He shook her hand, a reluctant grin touching his mouth. He was actually quite a handsome man. Large and powerful, though he didn’t have Royce’s sense of style. She was beginning to realize that for her, no man could measure up to Royce.

Halfurst offered an easy grin. “A pleasure to meet you. Might I have this waltz, Miss Liza? If it’s not already spoken for, of course.”

Meg opened her mouth as if to protest on behalf of her brother, who was bearing down on them as they spoke, but Liza halted her with a sharp glance. If Liza danced off with Halfurst, Royce would be forced to wait for her to return from the dance floor. It would only stall the inevitable, but it would give her some time to calm her nerves and think up a good explanation for Durham’s obvious absence. And if she knew Royce, that would be one of the first questions out of his mouth.

Liza smiled blindingly at Halfurst. “I’m afraid I’m all yours, my lord.”

She only hoped she could remember how to waltz. The thought of the outcome of her one and only dance lesson made her stumble a little, and she trod heavily on poor Halfurst’s foot. “I’m so sorry,” she gulped, her cheeks heating.

“No need to apologize,” he said smoothly, reassuring her with a friendly smile even though his eyes were obviously watering a bit.

Well! He was far more pleasant than Lord Durham. Liza tried to relax, to let the music move her, when she caught sight of Royce glowering from the edge of the dance floor not ten feet away.

She immediately stepped on Lord Halfurst’s other foot. “Oh no!”

“No worries, Miss Liza,” he managed to say through a somewhat less robust smile.

“I should have warned you, dancing is not my forte. Perhaps if we counted the steps aloud?”

His lips quivered a little before a grin broke through. “The danger makes the adventure more worthwhile.”

Liza had to laugh at that, noting out of the corner of her eye that Royce was now making his way through the crowded dance floor toward them. She fixed her gaze upon her feet, determined to appear gay and carefree. “One, two, three. One, two, three—oh drat!” The flounce she’d just torn caught her heel and she hopped.

Halfurst narrowly missed stumbling over her and came to an abrupt halt.

But it wasn’t because of her stumble. Halfurst had stopped because Royce stood before them, blocking their way. “Might I cut in?” he said in a clipped voice.

Halfurst lifted his brows, and for an instant, Liza wondered if the young lord would relinquish her. But something happened—a fleeting sign of recognition seemed to flash between Royce and the younger man. And then Halfurst nodded and stepped back and Liza found herself in Royce’s embrace.

At once his arms, his scent, his heated gaze surrounded her. It was pure heaven and she found, to her shock, that she could actually dance without counting. Damn it, that was not fair. Dancing should
not
depend on the level of attraction one felt for one’s partner.

As they turned, he pulled her closer, his breath fanning her ear. “Liza, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but we must.”

“Why?” she asked, trying desperately to put into words the avalanche of feelings she’d been fighting. “Why can’t we just go back to the way we were? Royce, I want us to be friends again. Why can’t we—”

“Because we can’t. And you know that as well as I.”

She did know it. And the thought made her feel so lonely that tears threatened to choke her. He’d always been her best friend, and once his passion faded, there would be nothing left. She’d seen it too many times to hope for more.
Why
had she allowed her passion to ruin everything?

His fingers tightened over hers. “Liza, I’ve been thinking about you. Every day. Every night.”

“Have you?” she said, trying hard for some insouciance despite the fact her cheeks burned, her heart was beating painfully against her third rib, and her knees were threatening to buckle. “I haven’t thought of you at all.”

He drew back a little, a question in his dark eyes. “Not once?”

“Not one single time.” Except when she ate, drank, slept, walked, talked, or breathed. He invaded every moment of her day and every long and lonely hour of her night. The bastard. “I daresay you haven’t really been thinking of me, either. And why should you? Royce, let me make this easy for us both. We enjoyed a…what you would call a flirtation. And now it’s over. And that’s fine. I’m a mature woman who—” Her voice broke.

“Liza, don’t. You just caught me off guard. I’m not the marrying kind of man.”