To Wed A Viscount (9 page)

Still, the nerves that had settled during the carriage ride quickly began churning inside Faith the moment they started climbing the long circular stairway that led to Lady Dillard's ballroom. Faith kept her chin raised at an almost ridiculously high angle, determined to show no fear.

It was, however, impossible to keep her breathing even as the footman announced in a bored monotone, “Viscount Dewhurst, Lady Agatha Hastings, Lady Meredith Barrington, and Miss Faith Linden.”

Faith had expected hushed whispers and stares, perhaps a finger or two pointed accusingly in her direction. Yet it seemed that no one in the elegantly crowded ballroom was the least bit interested in their party's arrival, aside from a few lush-looking females. And their gazes were rather blatantly directed at Viscount Dewhurst.

As the four approached the receiving line, Faith was relieved to note they were alone with their hosts. She managed a wobbly curtsy for Lord and Lady Dillard and braced herself for trouble, all the while praying she might yet escape a completely embarrassing explanation.

Then Lady Dillard cast a quizzical gaze at her that sent Faith's hopes plummeting.

“What? What did that dolt of a servant say? I apologize for my footman, Miss Maxwell. He's gotten your name wrong, the fool.” Lady Dillard turned and tapped her fan insistently on the sleeve of the elderly gentleman at her side. “I think the servants have been getting into the wine again, Lord Dillard. They are getting the guests' names muddled. Summon the butler at once, so he may give the man the severe dressing-down he deserves.”

“Can it not wait until after the party?” Lord Dillard inquired wearily.

“It most assuredly cannot!” Lady Dillard stomped her foot. “I will not have my guests insulted by foolish servants.”

Griffin raised a forestalling hand. “Please, Lady Dillard, there is no need to speak with your servant. He did not make a mistake. This charming young woman is indeed Miss Faith Linden, very soon to be the Viscountess Dewhurst.”

Lady Dillard's eyes narrowed. “I thought her name was Maxwell.”

“I'm afraid you must lay the blame for that at my feet,” Griffin said. He leaned closer and whispered in the older woman's ear. “We had a silly argument, and she thought to avoid me by hiding out in London. Fortunately, I was able to track her down and smooth her ruffled feathers. I so hope you will offer your felicitations. We are to be married tomorrow.”

Lady Dillard glanced again at Faith, but this time her eyes were alive with speculation. “Well, if you have chosen her, Lord Dewhurst, then she must be worthy in ways that are not so immediately apparent.”

“You have no idea,” Griffin replied. “Faith has taught me that in matters of the heart a mortal man has no recourse but to follow his emotions.”

It was precisely the right thing to say. Griffin's words expertly and cannily tapped into Lady Dillard's romantic side. She smiled her approval at the couple.

“I'm so pleased you were able to attend my ball,” Lady Dillard replied. “I hope you enjoy yourselves this evening.”

With a start, Faith realized the interview was over. She gave Lord and Lady Dillard a quick curtsy and clutched tightly on to Griffin's arm as he led her away. It was not until she reached the crowded ballroom floor that Faith realized she had not uttered a word directly to Lady Dillard. Griffin had done all of the talking and charming. Perhaps it wouldn't be so horrible to on occasion allow him to control a situation.

“Shall we dance?” Griffin suggested, holding out his hand.

“I do not have permission to waltz,” Faith cried out, as he pulled her onto the floor. “The last thing we need to do is create a scandal. I thought the purpose of our coming here this evening was to avoid one.”

“Ah, but this time we shall create a scandal together.” He favored her with a smile so wickedly handsome it made her heart leap. “That makes it all the more exciting.”

Faith rolled her eyes at his male logic. Yet she made no protest as he swept her into his arms and whirled her onto the dance floor.

Though she very much enjoyed dancing, Faith had done little of it in public. And never a waltz. But the excellent dance instructor her father had insisted on hiring had done his job well. She was able to follow Griffin's lead without treading on his toes.

They completed the circuit of the large dance floor twice before she was able to glance at the other couples. Faith immediately noticed that the other women were not being held as intimately by their partners. Griffin's hand was firmly pressed into the small of her back, and mere inches separated their upper bodies.

“I think you are holding me improperly close, my lord,” Faith whispered.

“Do you object?”

She tilted up her head and gazed into his eyes. “Quite the contrary. I prefer it.”

He answered her saucy quip by pulling her even closer. Faith relaxed a little and smiled, enjoying thoroughly the feel of the muscled arms that held her, the view of the broad chest displayed before her, the freshly washed scent of his snowy white cravat.

“How are your nerves?” Griffin asked.

“Better, but not yet conquered. I'm hoping we won't have to stay long this evening.”

“If I know Lady Dillard as well as I think I do, the gossip about our impending marriage and your little prank to avoid me should be spreading through the ballroom like wildfire. It shall make our task far easier.”

“Good.”

“Ah, there is Lord Dunstand,” Griffin commented. “The man's an insufferable boor, but it would probably be wise to speak with him next, as soon as our dance concludes.”

Faith stumbled, but Griffin caught her, making a deft turn away from the gentleman in question. Faith sighed with relief. The easy victory with Lady Dillard had been accomplished by sheer male charm. Faith strongly doubted that tact would work with a gentleman such as Lord Dunstand.

All too soon the dance ended. Faith glanced longingly at the terraced doors on the opposite side of the ballroom, but made no move toward them. As if sensing her indecisiveness, Griffin leaned down and whispered in her ear. “After we speak with Dunstand, you shall dance with me again.”

Heat filtered through her and a fluttery feeling rose in her chest. She was about to comment that any more than two dances in one evening would be considered most improper, but the smirk on Griffin's face stopped her. It was almost as if he was daring her to protest.

“I shall look forward to our next dance with great anticipation, my lord,” she said, wondering suddenly if he would kiss her this evening. Perhaps later, when he said good night.

He had done no more than briefly brush her hand with his warm lips since the afternoon he had proposed, and she admitted to herself that she missed those melting kisses that seemed to ignite every nerve in her body.

She was so distracted by those memories, she didn't realize they were facing Lord Dunstand until his nagging voice broke into her fanciful thoughts.

“Ah, Miss Linden. Good evening. It is Miss Linden, is it not? Or have you decided to once again change your name?”

“I would have thought you had heard by now,” Griffin said casually. “Come tomorrow, she will be Viscountess Dewhurst.”

Dunstand raised one eyebrow and shifted his gaze to Faith. “Is that true?”

Faith managed a wan smile. “Yes. We had a small quarrel. Griffin followed me to London and quickly located me, despite my efforts to hide from him.”

“A small quarrel sent you fleeing from your intended? How very peculiar.” Lord Dunstand's superior sniff soon had Faith gritting her teeth.

“I felt certain a man possessing such wit as yourself would find Miss Linden's little prank most amusing,” Griffin added. “Only those individuals with superior breeding and intelligence can truly appreciate the irony.” He leveled a hard stare in Lord Dunstand's direction, a look that was filled with such dire warning, it left Dunstand with no choice.

He cocked his head rather sharply and said tersely, “I wish you both every happiness in your marriage. You seem a most well-matched pair.”

A great sigh escaped Faith's lips as she watched Lord Dunstand turn and stalk away. She was beginning to feel better. With considerably calmer nerves, she took Griffin's arm and set about to greet another gathering of guests.

After conquering Lady Dillard and Lord Dunstand, facing the rest of the noble assemblage was an easy task. Faith merely followed Griffin's lead, smiling at the appropriate moments, making only the minimal comments necessary. She was certain that people would think her a vapid creature, but for once Faith didn't care.

This was an alien world to her, and although Griffin had been away for many years, he fit easily into it. This was the society in which he had been raised, and as her father was fond of saying, noble blood will tell.

True to his word, Griffin stayed at her side for most of the evening. He spoke to anyone they encountered that knew her as Miss Maxwell, and before long had even Faith believing that they were a couple caught up in an emotional whirl, separated briefly by a silly misunderstanding.

The ballroom was a maddening crush, and despite her enjoyment of the evening, Faith was more than pleased to take a walk in the garden when Griffin suggested it.

They spoke quietly of inconsequential matters as they slipped farther into the fragrant depths of the garden, beyond the elegant shrubs and blossoming bushes. The warm night air was heavy with the scent of flowers and the promise of the forbidden.

Finally they stopped in a secluded corner, where it was dark and quiet. The gentle silence of the night was broken by the sounds of rushing water from the ornamental fountain behind them, the melodic warbling of the night birds, and the strong, erratic beat of Faith's heart.

Griffin turned and faced her. She could just make out the steely gray of his eyes in the moonlight. They moved with undisguised heat over her body, making her feel womanly. Powerful.

The faint sounds of laughter drifted out to them, reminding Faith of the risk they were taking. Even though they were to be married tomorrow, it would be most unwise if they were caught out here. Alone. Oddly, the thought made Faith even more excited.

Yet her nerves soon got the better of her, and she began to chatter aimlessly, as she always did when her anxiety rose. “Did you meet Lord and Lady Martin this evening? They are a most fascinating couple. He is a member of the House of Lords and most active—”

Griffin cut off her words in midsentence with a fierce, possessive kiss. For an instant Faith stiffened, but she soon began to melt as he gentled his invasions.

Griffin's lips softened and molded themselves to hers. His tongue darted out for a swift, warm caress, sending a flash of heat to her stomach.

“I've been wanting to do that all evening,” he whispered.

“Truly?” she asked breathlessly, unable to believe that she could incite such desire in him.

“All evening,” he reiterated. His hand gently cupped the back of her neck, teasing the tender flesh with the warm tips of his fingers, stroking shivers up and down her spine. With his hand firmly planted in the center of her back, he drew her forward to start another, deeper kiss.

She melted into the embrace, tasting the warm inside of his mouth. Her knees felt weak, and she could no longer hear the sounds of the night above the thundering of her heart. Her entire being quickened with sweet anticipation. Faith could feel her breasts start to swell, the nipples straining against the silk bodice of her gown.

As if sensing her desire, Griffin's hands moved down to her chest, slipping inside the top of her low-cut gown to cup her roundness. Lightly, insistently, his fingers teased her nipples into tight, hard buds, the heat of his fingers inflaming her already aroused senses.

Faith's hands moved restlessly to the hard, muscular plane of his chest, then crept slowly around his shoulders. He buried his face in the nape of her neck, and she could feel his breath hot and eager against her sensitive skin.

Faith breathed deeply, filling her nostrils with his dark, musky, masculine scent.

“We should probably return to the ball,” she suggested weakly. “Merry and Aunt Agatha will wonder what has become of us.”

“Soon,” he whispered, nuzzling her temple.

She lifted her head to speak again, but he silenced her with another tender kiss. The faint shreds of protest fled quickly and Faith joyfully gave herself over to the passion, the excitement.

Griffin's teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear; then his moist lips began a slow, languid journey down her throat. A faint moan escaped her swollen lips as the liquid heat ran swiftly through her body.

He paused when he reached the tops of her breasts; then with a deep groan he lowered his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth. Faith gasped loudly at the tingling she felt, the sudden moisture that rushed between her legs.

Was that normal? Embarrassment made her face grow warm, but she soon forgot her distress as Griffin's questing mouth moved to her other breast. He rimmed the edge of her nipple with his tongue, then sucked hard on the bud until it tightened.

“My stars,” Faith whispered breathlessly. “My legs feel like rubber. I'm very much afraid I'm going to keel over.”

“Don't worry, sweet Faith. I won't let you fall.”

The tight bands of muscles in his arms told her he spoke the truth. Faith smiled. He would prevent her from collapsing, even though he was the cause of her weakness, with kisses and caresses that drove her senses to the very brink.

She let her mind and body drift, knowing by the timbre of sincerity in his voice that she could trust him to take care of her. It brought an oddly unfamiliar sense of comfort to her heart.