The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (18 page)

Well, her exit to the country house was now a surety, at least until Worthington found his bride. She would have to see if Max had country connections for whatever it was he did.

And with that, they moved into the ballroom proper.

“Oh, my,” responded Aunt D.

Miriam stopped for a moment to take it all in. It was quite something.

A second-story viewing balcony ran over the entrance and on both left and right sides. On the far side of the room was a stage with the orchestra. A magnificent fresco was painted on the wall with some Roman scene of barely dressed nymphs, fauns playing pan-flutes or dancing along a stream with a grove of gnarled olive trees in the background.

Aunt D headed over to one of the sides with chairs and benches interspersed among large potted palms in shiny brass pots and tables holding more of those large polished urns from the reception room overflowing with flowers. There were so many pots of flowers that not one but dozens of greenhouses must have been denuded. A waiter came by and offered them punch. He wore some sort of livery costume with a white wig, as if they were in a Louis V event.

Well, Max was definitely not wearing that.

Looking around the room, she couldn’t see him. It was apparent he would not fit in with any of the staff, as they were clearly themed. Max had been immaculately presented. Even at the distance he’d stood from her, it was clear he had a tailor most men would pay to know.

That unsettling feeling rose in her belly again, just like that night in the garden when she spoke to him about his background.

She wanted a straight answer. She deserved one. He knew she was not stupid. He would not be able to say he was the wait staff. And she would not accept that he had borrowed his clothes. The cut was too perfect, as if he’d been sewn into them.

“Now, I want you to have fun, dear.”

A gentleman came up. “May I reacquaint myself to you, Mrs. Rothbury? Lord Persimmon. I would be honored if I could have the opening dance.”

“So would she,” Aunt D said; and in the next minute she was whisked out onto the floor.

Somewhere during the fourth dance, she realized she was enjoying herself. Friends she’d known before her marriage were there and those who had socialized with Freddy and her when they were in town. Without the horrors of Freddy, it was actually quite wonderful.

The supper dance was next.

The crowd moved, shifted, and there was Max, devastating in his confidence and physical beauty as he walked toward her. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast and the warmth of a flush moved up her chest.

Men stepped out of his way.

A part of her was dizzy with elation at the glory of him, her chest exploding with pride at his commanding presence; and another part sent a twisting into her gut, knowing full well what this meant. Max was a man of station.

“If I may cut in.”

It was remarkable how fast the mind processed things. In the few seconds that passed, every exchange she’d had with him seemed to pass between them and lay out every clue, every sign she should have seen and never did.

They were so comfortable because they had the same understanding of social exchanges; they were trained to cover the same social topics, the same meter of exchange and understanding.

In that moment, she knew she would forgive him that oversight; knew and understood his agitation at her insistence about men of her station and that he was different.

Max reached her, took her hand, and bowed over it.

Her previous dance partner bent his head at her. “Perhaps later I can have another if you are free.”

She smiled. “I’d be delighted, Lord Eldridge,” but her eyes were already moving back to Max.

Yes, Max would pay for the deceit; but her eyes were already softening. Max saw it too, knew her heart often before she did.

“I’ll leave you in the capable hands of our host.” Lord Eldridge nodded to Max. “Excellent crush, Worthington.” And he moved off.

Her legs understood before she did because they started to buckle just as Max’s hands came around her and the dinner waltz started.

She moved in some numb horror of a daze.

“You….”

“Just dance with me, Lily.”

“You’re Worthington?” Bile rose and she swallowed it down. Her chest seared with pain, as if it were ripped open. Raw and brutal, as though claws around her heart were slowly pulling it in two.

“How could you?” It was odd her voice sounded so normal, it in no way betrayed the devastation as everything crumbled around her.

Max held her as close as was permitted, the tension in him unmistakable.

This was her first major outing. If she made a scene, she could forget patrons. She could forget social invites. This was just like Freddy. He had manipulated her and revealed himself at a point where she had the least power.

“I want to hit you, you lying snake.”

Max… no, her jaw tightened… Worthington swirled her around as he looked at her. His beautiful blue eyes were dark like a winter storm on the sea.

“We can do that later.” His fingers tightened around her waist.

“There will be no later. There will never be a later.”

“There will always be a later with us, Lily.”

“There is no us. The man I lo—care for is not you.” Her heart twisted tighter and she looked out over his shoulder to stop the heat from forming in her eyes.

“Shh, you are getting all pink. I am not sure what I will do if you keep it up.” His face was tense, his jaw hard; but when she looked into his eyes, they burned.

“Just give me some time alone to explain.”

“Like you have done every other time we were alone. I don’t think so.”

“Don’t push me, Lily; this has been hard for me too.”

People were looking down at them. They would make a beautiful couple. Their coloring, his implacable face, and her small form.

The waltz ended. He held firm on her arm.

“I’ll guide you to supper.”

“I am leaving. You can guide me to my aunt.”

“I have organized for her to be taken into supper. She is most likely on her way, if not already seated.”

“I hate you; you know that?”

“So I’ve heard.”

They were greeted by numerous people as they made their way to the supper room. Introductions, niceties about the ball, questions to her well-being. Every time she heard his name, she wanted to hiss like a cat and run off. He must have known, as his hand tightened on her elbow.

Inside was so numb. Nothing of the sumptuous memories remained, nothing of the wild passion and blinding pleasure that made her body arch off the mattress. She could think of it and feel nothing. He had wiped it all out.

He guided her to a seat next to his mother and sat beside her. Aunt D was beaming as Miriam settled at the table of honor.

Supper was served with a flourish, but Miriam couldn’t taste a single thing. The warm space that was Max in her life was defiled. Yet, she was sitting with him in a world in which they both belonged. He was charming, attentive, commanding, and sitting fractionally too close to her.

Freddy had never let on who and what he was during their very brief courtship. It was true she had known Max… Worthington… longer and it was safe to say much better than she had Freddy when they married; but she learned a man was able to hide a great many sins of character.

The conversation was general. Until Max… Worthington said, “Mrs. Rothbury is seeking patrons for a rather worthy cause, I believe, Mother. It is something I think may be of interest to some of your set.”

Her heart beat hard in her chest. Was he really doing this? Now?

How dare he try to be nice, try to remind her of his support for her when she was busy writing him off?

“Perhaps you could relay the cause, Mrs. Rothbury?”

Suddenly, it felt like there was a tight hand around her neck. She pulled herself up straighter in the chair.

“I aim to set up a shelter for women seeking refuge from their marriage.”

The table was silent.

“Why would that be necessary, dear?” Aunt D sounded genuinely perplexed.

That look of incomprehension was what made it so hard to accept that you had drawn the short straw and that others had not. It was a look that unquestionably held up the reasonableness of the façade, that supported without doubt, the assumption that people did the right and proper thing.

Well, they didn’t.

“Not everyone is as fortunate as I was, Aunt.”

“But a woman’s family, they are always there.”

“That isn’t always the case.” Lily braced for more of the same.

“What an excellent endeavor, Lady Rothbury.” It was Lady Worthington. “I have heard of one such case in the last year. The woman was sent off to an asylum in Switzerland; we haven’t heard from her since.”

Lady Worthington looked at her with a hawk like, assessing glance. Any speculation on a connection between her and Max was the last thing she needed.

Miriam dipped toward the man she had imagined hating for the last few months.

“Well, I must return the favor of advocating for me so generously, Lord Worthington.”

His eyebrows came down as he looked at her.

Miriam beamed back at him.

“Your mother asked me to suggest a few women of my acquaintance you might find interesting in your wife hunting endeavors. I imagine as both you and I have traveled and lived abroad, she felt I might have an understanding of the conversation you may find enlightening in a wife.”

His face, although schooled, hardened as he raised a single eyebrow in his mother’s direction.

“Yes, dear. I thought Lady Rothbury might help; women ask each other these things, you know. You have been out of society for some time now. You know he left about five years ago.”

“Yes,” Aunt D piped up, “it was right after your wedding, Miriam. You were at the wedding, I believe.” Aunt D. looked over at Worthington, who had gotten stiffer.

“Yes, I believe that was the case.” His voice was tight. The lips that were usually so full were now in a tight line.

“You were at the wedding, dear. I remember.” Lady Worthington leaned forward to Aunt D. Both of them oblivious to the fact that both she and Max—goodness, she just couldn’t think of him as Worthington—got stiffer and quieter.

“Yes, I remember. He insisted on leaving that night. Made a big fuss and was gone on the morning steamer out of Dover.”

“You were at my wedding?” She showed him her canines. “I’m surprised you were not the best man.”

“Your husband and I were not as close at it may have appeared.”

She scoffed under her breath.

Then she nearly squealed as his hand came over her knee under the table and squeezed.

“I need to attend to a few things,” he said to the table. He looked down at her, his hand moving up just enough to make her breath hitch. His eyes took it in with just the smallest sign of satisfaction. Blast him for knowing her so well. Blast him for being under her skin. And blast him for being the man she could never in her right mind trust.

“I would have the next waltz, Mrs. Rothbury.”

The table waited for her response.

“I… my aunt may need to leave shortly.”

“Then perhaps you will allow me to show you a painting your husband was particularly fond of. I would be remiss not to show it to you.” His hand squeezed again.

These were just the kind of manipulative games Freddy would play. Given, he was not pinching her at the table; but he was manipulating her to his will, and it irked her that she was being put through it again. It irked her even more that a part of her was softening, wanted to hear what he had to say, and hoped that he could redeem them in some way.

She gave a small nod and he stood. Picked up her hand and bent over it.

It was not necessary and, in fact, placed her as a special interest for anyone looking at his preferences.

Under his breath, he said, “I know this house inside out; if you slip away, I’ll take it as an invitation and challenge, Lily.”

With that, he stepped away and proceeded to move through the tables as host.

Max moved with such grace. The confidence as he walked and spoke, the bearing of his shoulders, it was all there. How she had ever believed he was anything other than a man who was bred for his elevated station in life seemed very shortsighted and foolish.

Argh, she had asked a Lord to have sex with her in a carriage, up against a wall in an alley!

When they started to move back into the ballroom, she grabbed her aunt’s hand.

“Auntie D, I really need to go home.”

“But your waltz. Oh, Miriam, he is so very handsome and very charming.” Aunt D glowed with pleasure as she said it. And she wasn’t wrong. He was exceptionally handsome.

“It’s too soon, Auntie. If he is interested, he will come back again later.”

Aunt patted her hand. “Nonsense. You’re braver than that, Miriam. Besides, I have a few friends I plan to speak with before we leave.” And with that, she moved off.

Miriam stood there, her emotions so confused so mixed she had no idea how or what she was feeling. Nothing prepared her for what was happening, nothing to reconcile the betrayal and anger coursing through her. Max was so much a part of her mastering her past. He was responsible for her new direction, had stood by her with her endeavor with the sheaths. If he had been any other man than Freddy’s roommate, his child hood friend, she could find a way through the anger and betrayal, her hurt pride. But he wasn’t another man. He was Worthington.

What a fool she was.

The music started up again and, in a few moments, she was asked to dance.

Two dances later, she found it impossible to smile at her partners and her small talk had totally evaporated. In fact, she had said something about flowers turning faster with the sun, much to her horror. A deft excuse and she was headed to the ladies’ room. The eternal refuge.

A string of women were there when she arrived. Women she didn’t feel she could face. How could she smile and offer light banter when inside her world had turned bleak? Perhaps she had changed more than she knew. Years ago, she could have feigned anything; now that was an impossibility.

Miriam exited the ballroom and found a softly lit corridor. In a few steps, she was walking down it and heading away from the music.

Max had misled her. He knew how she felt about Worthington and his relationship with Freddy.

Her mind was still struggling to make the jump that Max was Worthington. That Max and Freddy were friends throughout their lives, roomed together at Oxford. What she kept coming back to was that now they had both used her for their pleasure and each in their own way, broken her heart.