Vanquished (24 page)

"Who's the goddess?" Gavin asked Hadrian, looking across the chandelier-lit ballroom to where Caledonia stood deep in conversation with a clutch of evening-clad gentleman.

"Caledonia Rivers," Hadrian supplied, sipping from his flute of champagne.

They were standing in the main opera room of the Covent Garden Opera House, the great crystal chandelier in the center of the dome and myriad incandescent burners ablaze with light, the tiered boxes festooned with flowers, the floor a veritable crush of London's well-heeled. Earlier that evening, the queue of carriages had extended down Wellington Street and far up the Strand. It had taken beyond a half hour for the Rivers' driver to wend their way to the entrance. He felt as though he'd been holding his breath ever since he'd entered.

As for Callie, since they'd made their way through the receiving line the hour before he hadn't been able to get close enough to her to say two words. The sight of her looking sleek and beautiful, laughing and relaxed, sipping champagne and seeming utterly at ease should have pleased him enormously. This was what he'd wanted for her, after all. Nonetheless, the fact that his caterpillar had blossomed into a splendid butterfly without so much as a glance his way bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Gavin's blue eyes widened.
"The
Caledonia Rivers? The suffragist?"

Against all reason, Hadrian found himself bristling "Yes, what of it?"

"Not a thing, my friend. I quite admire the lady protestors' dedication even if at times I question their methods."

"Meaning?" In an instant, protectiveness blossomed into full-blown alarm. If there was trouble brewing, Hadrian meant to find out from his friend all he could and warn Callie.

"There's a small but militant branch of the movement that espouses employing such tactics as hunger strikes and property destruction to advance their cause. There were several women from Manchester arrested last year and who, when taken, declared they would embark on a hunger strike until released."

"Were they released?"

Gavin hesitated, and then nodded. "Eventually but in the interim to prevent them from starving themselves, they were subjected to force feeding. As you can imagine, intubation is a ghastly experience and some of the women claim to have sustained lasting damage to their throats and digestive organs. I would hate to see your Miss Rivers become mixed up in any such unpleasantness."

Hadrian thought back to the episode at the match factory, to how selflessly Callie had set aside any consideration for her own wellbeing to pitch in and help the strikers, and a chill swept over him. That day he'd been there to hurry her away to safety, but what if the next time . . .

"Callie has too sound of a head on her shoulders for that," he said reflexively, hoping that were indeed the case.

"And a verra handsome set of . . .
shoulders,
they are, too." Grinning, Rourke sidled up to join them.

Against all reason, Hadrian felt jealousy rising. "She's off-limits, Rourke."

Pulling at his starched cravat as though it were a hangman's noose, the Scot gazed out onto the packed floor. "Dinna fash, man. Bonny as your Miss Rivers is, I've set my cap elsewhere."

Hadrian followed his friend's open stare to where Lady Katherine Lindsey held court amongst a circle of bedazzled admirers. Hadrian had photographed her any number of times, but this was the first he'd seen of her out of his studio. Though she stood a full head shorter than the men surrounding her, there could be no doubt that she was in complete possession of both herself and them. All in all, she was just the woman to give his friend, Rourke, a fair run for his money.

Turning his attention back to Rourke, Hadrian was taken aback by the look of raw longing on the Scotsman's rugged face. Wrenching his gaze away from Lady Katherine, he turned back to them and added, "If you'll excuse me, there's a lady who's promised me the next dance . . . only she doesn't know it yet."

Gavin's eyebrows rose. "Pardon me for asking but since when do you dance?"

Rourke grinned and backed away. "Since now."

Watching their friend push a path through the crowd as the orchestra struck up a waltz, Gavin and Hadrian exchanged amused glances. Hadrian had to admire the way Rourke inserted himself dead center into Lady Katherine's circle and then proceeded to steal her straightaway. It seemed that street cunning won out over blue blood at least on this occasion. Lady Katherine laid her slender gloved arm atop his and followed him out onto the dance floor without a backward glance to the men staring balefully after her. As for Rourke, Hadrian doubted he'd looked any more triumphant when he'd acquired controlling shares in his railway company, perhaps not even then.

Gavin turned to Hadrian. "It seems Cupid's arrow has found purchase in our friend's crusty heart."

Hadrian chuckled. "Patrick has a heart?"

"Apparently . . . as well as two left feet." Frowning out onto the dance floor, Gavin added, "I only hope he doesn't crush her toes, at least not before she's had the opportunity to discover his finer qualities."

"Call it artistic instinct if you will, but I have an inkling she has on some impressively high-heeled slippers this evening and isn't above using them to stomp on Rourke's foot, especially if he manages to put it in his mouth first."

"I rather see her as more the knee-to-the-groin type, but then I'm only a barrister, after all." Gavin's amused gaze left Hadrian to settle on a spot at the far end of the room. "The delectable Lady Katherine isn't the only one to draw an entourage of admirers this evening. Your Miss Rivers seems to be making quite a splash. I suspect that within twenty-four hours that rather striking gown of hers will be copied by every dressmaker in London."

Feeling inexplicably on edge, Hadrian shot back, "She's not my Miss Rivers and if you must know, the gown is a copy of the one worn by Madame X in the Sargent painting."

"I thought it looked familiar though I don't recall Madame X looking nearly as sumptuous."

"If you'll excuse me, I had better go and rescue her."

"Indeed." The mirth flickering in Gavin's gaze did little to lighten Hadrian's mood. Turning, he forded his way across the packed room.

He approached in time to hear Callie say, "Yes, of course, Mr. Winston, I agree with you but only to a point. Far too many husbands do exert undue influence over their wives, including squelching their right, even their ability, to form independent opinions. That said, the same holds true of many fathers and their adult sons and yet the British government does not deny impressionable young men the right to vote. I therefore cannot comprehend how your argument can be used, in good conscience, to deny the franchise to women, be they single or married."

"She has you there, Winston." The man with the boyish face and ginger-colored side whiskers chuckled.

The man, Winston, sketched a brief bow that not coincidentally placed him at eye-level with her bosom. "Touche, Miss Rivers. You have bested me, and now I have no choice but to cede defeat and humbly lay my sword at your feet."

Reaching out, Hadrian tapped his pudgy shoulder. "You'd do well to keep your sword in your pocket, Winston, and while you're at it keep it buttoned up as well."

"Hadrian!" Callie's face was suffused with pink.

Watching all that lovely heat travel down the long column of her throat to beyond where the gown touched the high slopes of her beautiful breasts, Hadrian felt his groin tighten and his mouth go dry. Judging by the bug-eyed looks and clearing throats firing off around him, he was far from alone in noticing.

He reached for her gloved hand, not waiting for her to offer it. "Gentlemen, if you'll be so good as to excuse us, I believe this dance is promised to me."

It was a lie. He hadn't bothered to reserve so much as one. He'd assumed all her dances, if indeed she ventured onto the floor at all, would be his for the taking.

Callie turned her face up to his. Her mouth, tinted with a touch of pale rose paint, looked moist and full and infinitely kissable. "As I was just telling these gentlemen, who were kind enough to ask me, I'd really rather watch the dancing than join it."

He stared at the half-full champagne flute in her hand and wondered how much it contributed to this new gay Callie he scarcely recognized but very much wanted to get to know. "A glass of punch, then?"

Not giving her a second opportunity to refuse, he took her elbow and steered her away to a relatively private spot on the other side of the room. Releasing her, he said, "You look perfectly lovely tonight."

She looked down at her bosom, restored once more to porcelain perfection. "What I feel is perfectly naked but thank you."

Not yet but soon, Callie. Soon,
he thought but dare not say. "Glad you came?" he asked, his smile hinting he already knew what her answer would be.

Beaming, she answered, "Need you even ask? Tonight has exceeded any expectation I might have had. And . . . being here with you is the very best part."

He grinned, charmed by her shy-eyed admission. "In that case, dance with me."

She surrendered her champagne to a passing waiter and turned to him. "Very well, but if I lame you, mind you refused to heed my warning."

"Duly noted, but if you lame me, you'd best be prepared to nurse me back to health. I'll wager you'd look almost as fetching in a sister's bibbed apron as you do in that dress."

Laying her right hand in his, she followed him out onto the floor just as the orchestra struck up the strains of a waltz. She stepped into his arms and he settled his other hand on the small of her back.

She smiled up at him, the electric light from the chandelier overhead playing on the red hues in her glossy coil of dark hair. "I regret to inform you my schedule doesn't allow time for spooning up broth to self-indulgent libertines."

"Ouch." He made a show of mock hurt before turning serious once more. "Any chance of your stealing away tomorrow afternoon for an hour or so?"

The little telltale frown line appeared on her forehead, a sure sign that duty and pleasure were once again warring inside her. "I have a committee meeting in the afternoon and then I've to run through what I'll say to the prime minister with Harriet." He groaned when she shook her head. "I could break away around teatime."

He smiled, relieved. A quiet meal before the fire would be the perfect setting for a seduction but even better, it would be his best opportunity to discuss with her what Gavin had said. If Callie was being steered toward activities that might lead in her arrest--or worse--he meant to do all he could to keep her safe. Persuading her to see reason would be his first tactic, not that he held out much hope for its success. She was a stubborn woman and more passionately committed to her ideals than anyone, male or female, he'd ever encountered. For the second time in the last hour, a warning siren set off in his head. Just when had securing Callie's safety taken precedence over seducing her?

"In that case, I'll assemble a feast to tantalize your palate, delight your senses, arouse your--"

"Stop!" She brushed a gloved hand over the tightly cinched fabric at the waist of her gown. "Assuming I ever have the courage to wear this again, it
will
fit."

"In that case, what say you to toasted bread and cheese and a good bottle of wine?"

"I'd say that sounds heavenly." Something, or rather someone, beyond him caught her eye. Jealousy flared for a second time, doused by her exclamation, "Oh good heavens, there goes Lady Stonevale."

Whomever Lady Stonevale thought she was, or whatever she was trying to communicate, was irrelevant to Hadrian. He could have happily gone over, planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and not given the matter a moment's thought.

Apparently oblivious to his idiocy, she supplied, "Her husband, Lord Stonevale, is a front bencher in the Lords. Before inheriting his title, he sat in the Commons, one of Disraeli's key proteges."

"And you're no doubt thinking that a word in the ear of his wife may be just the chance you've been waiting for?"

"Oh, but Hadrian, our dance--"

"Will be the first of many more," he said, not at all certain that was true. He steered them to the perimeter of the dance floor and released her. At her hesitant look, he gently nudged her away. "Callie, it's your chance. Who knows, but it may be the very thing that tips the scales to victory. You've worked too hard to let it go by without trying. Now off with you."

She took a few steps away and then turned back. "Hadrian, are you sure?"

"Go." He shot her a wink to cover the inexplicable emptiness that had overtaken him the moment he'd let her free from his arms. Unlike him, Callie belonged to the larger world. These sweet, stolen moments with her were just that--stolen. Once she found out who and what he was, she wouldn't care to set eyes on him ever again. "I'll be waiting when you come back."