The Wedding Trap (30 page)

She shook her head and gave him a gentle smile. “You could try, but my answer would remain the same.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Then there is someone else. Ah, I can see from your expression that I am right. I assume this affection is serious, and you have expectation of an offer forthcoming from this man?”

Lowering her gaze, she traced the edge of an embroidered flower on her skirt. She didn’t know why, but she decided to be honest. Lord Maplewood deserved that much.

“I hope he will make me an offer,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Although I do not at present have the right to say I have a firm expectation of one from him. He and I…we are…still courting.”

Maplewood scowled. “Well, he is a fool if he does not come up to snuff and make you his wife. I suppose you love him? He is not a penniless scoundrel, is he? Someone who may be taking advantage of your kind nature?”

“Oh, no, my lord. He is a most honorable man, and you have no cause to suspect such a base motive of him. And yes, I do love him.”

Shoulders lowering in defeat, he glanced away.

She stood. “My lord, I am so very sorry. I never intended to cause you sadness or distress. And I meant it when I said you are a wonderful man. I know you will find a woman one day who is worthy of your admiration and affection.”

Emotion softened his strong features. “I believe I already found such a woman, but her heart, it seems, is otherwise engaged.” Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips and brushed a kiss across the top. “I wish you every happiness. Adieu, Miss Hammond.”

On a nod, he exited the room.

Not long after, she heard the front door open and close, then the sound of his team of horses moving away down the street.

With his departure, she flopped onto the sofa.

Violet arrived less than a minute later, rushing in with a look of barely suppressed excitement enlivening her features. “Well, what did Lord Maplewood say? And why has he left already? I thought surely he would stay long enough for the two of you to share your news. You do have news, do you not? I mean, I wasn’t mistaken that he came to propose?”

“No, you were not mistaken.”

Violet clasped her hands to her breasts. “And?”

Eliza repressed a sigh. “And I refused him.”

Violet’s hands fell to her sides. “But why? I thought you liked Lord Maplewood. You always seem to have such a fine time in his company, and the two of you share so many interests, including a love of literature. He struck me as a splendid match for you.”

“He thought so too. And I do like him. He is a very amiable man. But…”

“But?” Violet encouraged gently.

Eliza gazed into her friend’s ocean-tinted eyes. “But I do not love him.”

“Oh.”

“Is it so wrong of me to want to love the man I marry?” She jumped to her feet. “Am I so desperate I must accept any gentleman who is not a villain or a gargoyle?”

“No, of course not, and I never meant to imply as much.” Violet came forward and wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders. “You have every right to expect love, even to demand it in the man with whom you will spend the rest of your life. I had not realized but I have been quite inconsiderate. I cannot conceive of being married to anyone but Adrian, nor know how I would go on without the joy and reassurance of the bond he and I share. It was wrong of me to imagine you could be contented with any less. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She returned Violet’s hug. “At the start of this matrimonial hunt, I said I wanted a man who is pleasant and kind, and not a fortune hunter. Lord Maplewood by far fits those requirements, truly he exceeds them and would make a most excellent husband. But I find that I want more, I want to love and be loved in return.”

“And so you should.” Violet squeezed Eliza’s shoulder before lowering her arm to her side. “Is there any particular gentleman among your suitors for whom you do have a special affection?”

Eliza hesitated. Should she tell Violet? Reveal the depth of her love for Kit and her quest to win him and his elusive heart? As always, the urge to share with her friend rose within her.

“Not exactly,” she said, “but—”

“What is this I hear?” Kit interrupted, striding into the salon. “Do I understand correctly that Maplewood paid an unexpected call upon Eliza this morning?”

Violet swung toward him. “I see the house grapevine is working with its usual blistering speed and efficiency. But yes, you are quite right. Lord Maplewood was here.”

His gaze flew to Eliza. “What did he want?”

Was that anxiety she read on his face, or was it only her own wishful thinking? Eliza wondered. She drew a breath and unconsciously straightened her shoulders. “He asked me to marry him.”

“Did he?” A scowl creased Kit’s dark brows in a way that made her glad.

“I did not accept,” she added in a soft voice.

For a long moment he stared, a glimmer of an emotion she could not interpret flickering inside his eyes. Then he gave a nod. “I should think not. No cause to take the first fellow who comes up to scratch, don’t you agree, Vi? Maplewood’s too serious for Eliza. He’d have the pair of them inurned in the countryside, prosing over boring estate business and reading to each other in the evenings before bedtime. Makes me yawn just thinking about it.”

Violet laughed. “Kit, you are horrible! Lord Maplewood is a delightful man, very considerate and good.”

“Didn’t say he wasn’t good, just that he needs to loosen up a bit.”

“Like you, I would imagine,” his sister-in-law teased.

“Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun every now and again.” With a shameless smile, he turned his twinkling gaze on Eliza and gave her a bold wink. “Is there, Miss Hammond?”

The force of his personality struck her like a fireworks display, leaving her simultaneously bewitched and bedazzled. Pulse points hammering inside her wrists, she fought not to show her reaction, aware that Violet was watching them both.

Eliza dipped her chin. “No, my lord, nothing wrong at all.”

The next evening, applause erupted inside the theater, startling Eliza from her private daydreams. Below on the stage, the actors took a quick bow before withdrawing behind the curtains to make ready for the second half of the play.

Viscount Brevard turned from his seat next to her. “How do you like it, then?”

She stared for a long second of incomprehension, finally realizing he must mean the play. Luckily this was not the first time she had seen
Othello.

“Very affecting,” she said, “though I never understand how Othello allows himself to fall prey to such an obvious deceiver as Iago. He would do well, after the interval, to put more faith in his bride, but alas I know he will not, yet again.”

Brevard gave a sad shake of his head. “No, I fear a tragic end yet awaits poor Desdemona. The fair lady is doomed to die.”

The viscount, his sister and one of Franny’s young friends, Miss Twitchell, had joined Eliza and the rest of the duke’s party at the theater tonight. Seated in the ducal box, Eliza had an excellent view of the entertainment.

She also had an excellent view of Kit, who had arrived solo, then sought out a group of his cronies in a box across the way. Despite her best attempts, the action on the stage had not held her attention, not enough to keep her eyes from straying time and again toward Kit. He’d been watching her as well, she was sure of it, though it was difficult to tell for certain in the dim theater lighting.

Now the interval had arrived.

Would Kit seek her out? Her senses throbbed at the notion before she told herself to put away her fancies. Kit might continue to “instruct” her in private, but he was always careful to project an air of the benevolent, platonic friend whenever they were together in company. Sometimes she wished he would forget his practiced facade and let his passion for her show. Of course, what she truly wished was that he would join the ranks of her suitors, then order all of them to be gone, declaring to the world that she belonged to him.

But until that time she would continue to play the game, continue to let gentlemen like Viscount Brevard shower her with their attention. With that determination in mind, Eliza met Brevard’s gaze and shared a warm smile.

He smiled back, eyes as blue as a June sky.

His sister, blond and pretty as a spring daffodil, appeared beside them. “Lance, may Jane and I have permission to go across to Lady Margate’s box? Her daughters are in attendance, and we should very much like to talk with them.”

The viscount looked between his sister and Miss Twitchell, both girls waiting with expressions of eager hopefulness on their faces. “Very well—” he began.

The girls interrupted with claps and whoops.

“So long as Miss Hammond consents to accompany me,” Brevard continued. “We shall walk behind the pair of you, so I can be assured you have arrived at the Margates’ box without incident. Most people here in the upper levels are quite well mannered, but one never knows when a ruffian may slip up the stairs to accost unescorted young ladies.” He turned to Eliza. “So what do you say, Miss Hammond? Would you care for a stroll?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes, of course. Miss Brevard and Miss Twitchell would be quite cast down if I did not. And taking a turn around the theater sounds vastly refreshing.”

The viscount stood, then extended his arm for Eliza to take. She paused to let Violet and Adrian know their destination, then the four of them were on their way.

The girls, Franny and Jane, preceded them out into the corridor, walking arm in arm as they chatted to each other. Eliza and Brevard strolled behind, careful to give the pair enough room not to feel crowded.

They soon arrived at the Margates’ box, Lady Margate and her daughters cheered to receive them. A trio of handsome young gentlemen were also in the box. Another reason, Eliza surmised, that Franny and Jane had been so eager for the visit.

After a couple minutes of polite conversation, Lady Margate bid Eliza and the viscount farewell, promising to bring the girls back to the duke’s box before the play resumed. Assured of his sister’s and her friend’s safety, Eliza and Brevard resumed their stroll.

“Shall we continue on in the direction we have been walking before making our return?” Brevard inquired.

“Yes, let’s. There are several minutes left in the interval, and after so much sitting a stroll sounds just the thing.”

But their perambulations were slow due to the multitude of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen thronging the corridor. Conversation was also not as easy to conduct as one might imagine, the haze of noise so thick it drifted on the air like a cloud of smoke. Tiny, oil-burning wall sconces lighted the way, giving off a muted, almost golden light. She and the viscount stopped often, pausing to exchange pleasantries with one acquaintance after another.

They had made their turn at the end of the corridor, and were about halfway back to Violet and Adrian’s box when a tall, wiry man slithered through the crowd. With hair and eyes as black and flat as a bottomless chasm, he crept forward, his gaze scraping over her like the brush of an icy claw.

Philip Pettigrew.

She had not seen him since that unnerving encounter at Raeburn House the day he had practically demanded she marry him. Perhaps after that, he had gone away from Town. Obviously wherever he had slunk off to, he had now returned, dressed as usual like an undertaker in unrelenting black.

She considered turning away and pretending she had not noticed him. But there was nowhere to retreat and if she publicly cut him, the incident would cause a stir among the gossipmongers. Steeling herself, she kept a firm hold on Brevard’s muscled arm and forced a pleasant expression onto her face.

“Cousin Eliza,” Pettigrew declared, drawing to a halt before them. “What a pleasure to find you here this evening. I did not realize you were in attendance until I happened to spy you among the crowd only a moment ago.”

Now, why, she wondered, did she think he was lying? Shaking off the unsettling feeling, she nodded her head in greeting. “Cousin.”

An awkward instant of silence fell, Pettigrew quite plainly waiting for an introduction.

“Lord Brevard,” she said, “pray let me make you known to my cousin, Mr. Philip Pettigrew.” She paused, not meeting Pettigrew’s gaze. “Cousin Philip, Viscount Lancelot Brevard. I assume you gentlemen do not have a prior acquaintance.”

“No, I have not had the occasion. Pettigrew.” The viscount thrust out a palm.

The men shook hands.

“I didn’t realize Miss Hammond had family in Town,” Brevard remarked.

“Cousin Eliza does not possess many relations,” Pettigrew said, “her own dear parents having long since gone to their maker. Her aunt and myself were really Eliza’s only close relatives. But now that Mama is gone, God bless her sainted soul, there is only myself. A shame we do not see more of each other, is it not, Cousin?”

Eliza stared at him, fighting a frown. If she said “No,” as he surely must know she longed to do, she would sound churlish. And if she agreed, he might take advantage of the opening to ingratiate himself upon her again.

Taking the middle path, she made a noncommittal noise. “Good to happen upon you, Cousin, but I believe his lordship and I should be returning to our seats now.”

“Oh, there is still plenty of time remaining in the interval, enough to chat for another minute or two.”

She cringed inside, wanting to walk away regardless of Pettigrew’s assertion, but manners long ingrained held her in place.

“You must be enjoying the Season this year, Cousin,” Pettigrew said. “Your name is on everyone’s lips, remarking on the swath you’ve been cutting among the Ton.” He paused, showing his discolored teeth. “Quite a change from your prior Seasons. How many were there?”

A gleam in her cousin’s eyes showed her he knew exactly how many there had been.

She stiffened and refused to rise to his obvious bait. “I really could not say.”

“Well, however many it is,” Pettigrew continued, blinking in a slow, direct way that put her in mind of a reptile, “ ’tis commendable of you to maintain your optimism. Most women of your years would have donned a spinster’s cap and set themselves firmly on the shelf ages ago. All your success this Season must be gratifying. Although I confess surprise that I have not yet heard news of an engagement.”