Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride (10 page)

“Well,” the earl said as they passed the French windows to the delicious coolness of the balcony, “do you like Mr. Pope?”

“Oh,” she said with a laugh, “I have not had a chance even to open the book yet. I have been busy.”

“Preparing for a ball,” he said. “And the result has been worth every minute.”

He looked down at her, warm appreciation in his eyes, and she was very aware of the low cut of her gown, a cut she had protested during her fittings. But even Aunt Agatha had approved the low décolletage and called it fashionable. She had, of course, worn something slightly more demure for her come-out ball. But not tonight. Jennifer was very well aware that she had more of a bosom than many other women. It was a physical attribute that made her uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I suppose,” he said, “that almost every moment of every day is taken up with busy frivolity. Are you enjoying your first Season?”

“It has hardly begun yet,” she said. “But yes, of course. I have waited so long. Two years ago when Papa was planning to bring me out we had to change our plans because Lord Kersey was attending his sick uncle in the north of England. We have been intended for each other for five years, you see. And then last year I was unable to come because my grandmother had died.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “Were you close to her?”

“Yes,” she said. “My mother and her own mother died when I was very young. Grandmama was like a mother
to me. She apologized to me when she was dying.” The memory could still draw tears. “She knew that she was going to spoil my come-out, as she put it, and cause my official betrothal to be put off yet another year.”

“You are positively ancient,” the earl said with a smile.

“I am twenty,” she said and then remembered that a lady never divulged her age.

“But at last,” he said, “you have achieved your dream. You are enjoying a Season.”

“Yes. And with Samantha. That at least has worked out well. She is almost two years younger than I.” It was not so much the Season she was enjoying, though, as what it meant. Lionel. An official betrothal. Marriage. “Frivolity is good for a while. I do not believe I would like it as a way of life.”

Most of the other couples who had been strolling had returned to the ballroom. The music was beginning for the second set. The Earl of Thornhill made no move to take her inside, and Jennifer was tempted by the coolness and the escape from the squash of guests inside the ballroom.

“Ah,” he said. “You are not frivolous by nature, then. How have you spent your life until now? How do you envisage spending it after your marriage?”

“In the country, I hope,” she said, “That is where real life is lived. I have managed Papa’s home for a few years since Grandmama became too infirm to do it for herself. I like visiting my father’s people and doing what I can to make life more comfortable for them. I like to feel useful.
I was born to wealth and privilege—and to responsibility. I look forward to managing my husband’s home. I am glad I have had some experience.”

They had strolled along the balcony and back. He drew her now to sit on a bench and she knew that he had no intention of joining the set. She did not really mind, though she did wonder if her absence would be noticed. They were not alone, though. There were a few other couples still taking the air rather than dancing.

Jennifer took her arm from his when they sat down and rested her hands in her lap. He said nothing for a while. They listened to the music and the sounds of voices from beyond the French windows.

“What do you do?” she asked. “When you are not in London, that is. Or traveling on the Continent.” She wished when it was too late that she had not asked. She did not want to have her ears regaled with shocking improprieties.

“I have led a rather useless life,” he said. “For several years I gave myself up to every conceivable pleasure, imagining that I was really living, that everyone who led a more staid existence was to be pitied. The proverbial wild oats, one might say. That life was curtailed rather abruptly and thereby perhaps a few more years of my life were saved from uselessness. My father died a little over a year ago and precipitated me into my present title and all that goes with it. My estate is in the north of England. I have not been there since my return from Europe. But there are enough duties awaiting me there to keep my life staid and blameless for the rest of my days, I believe.”

Wild oats. One of those oats was far worse than the typical indiscretion of young men, if Lionel was to be believed. But he had changed? The death of his father and the responsibilities it brought had caused him to turn over a new leaf. But the
ton
could be unforgiving, she knew. She wondered why he had come to London when he might have gone straight home to begin his new life—if indeed he was serious about doing so.

“Why have you come here instead of going home after such a long absence?” she asked. “And if there is so much to do there.”

“I had something to prove,” he said. “I would not have it said that I was afraid to show my face here.”

Ah. Then there really was something beyond just the ordinary. She looked down at her hands.

“And under the circumstances,” he said, “I am very glad that I am here.”

His voice was softer. He did not explain his meaning. He did not need to. His meaning spoke loudly in the tone of his voice and in the silence that followed. But she was betrothed. He knew it. Perhaps he was merely speaking with meaningless gallantry. Perhaps he thought she liked to be flattered. And indeed there was treacherous pleasure to be gained from his unspoken words.

“The music is loud,” she said—the first words she could think of with which to break the silence between them.

He stood up and offered his arm again. “So it is,” he said.

She assumed, when she stood up and set her arm
along his again, that he intended to stroll along the balcony with her once more. Instead he turned to the steps leading down into the garden and took her down them. She went without protest, knowing that she was allowing herself to be manipulated again, knowing that she should very firmly hold back and demand to be taken into the ballroom. Even her absence on the balcony might be construed as an indiscretion. Especially considering the identity of her partner and the heinous sin that everyone else except her seemed to know of.

But she went unprotestingly. It was so difficult to make a stand when one did not know exactly why one was supposed to do so. The garden was lit by lanterns. It was intended for use by guests during the evening. And it was not deserted. There was a couple seated on a wrought-iron seat to one side of the garden. The earl turned her to stroll in the other direction.

“There is something about England and English gardens,” he said, “that is quite distinctive and quite incomparable. One can see brighter, gayer, larger flowers in Italy and Switzerland. But there is nowhere like England.”

“You did not stay away so long out of choice, then?” she asked. She was prying, she knew. And rather afraid that he would answer all her unasked questions.

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling at her, “entirely from choice. Sometimes there are more important things to be done than admiring flowers. And new places and new experiences are always to be welcomed. I came back as soon as there was no further reason to be away.”

“I see,” she said, watching the patterns of light and shade the lanterns made on the grass before her feet.

“Do you?” He laughed softly. “At a guess, I would say that they have not considered the lurid details fitting for a maiden’s ears but have hinted at dark crimes and bitter exile. Am I correct?”

She wished the darkness could swallow her up. He was quite correct. But she felt foolish, young and gauche. She felt as if she had been caught searching his room or reading through his letters or doing something equally incriminating.

“Your life is none of my concern, my lord,” she said.

He laughed again. “But you have been warned against me,” he said. “Your aunt and your father will scold you for granting me this set. They will be even more annoyed that you have allowed me to take you from the ballroom. Kersey will be angry too, will he not? You must not allow this to be repeated, you know. You will be in serious trouble if you do.”

He echoed her own thought—and gave her the opportunity she needed. She should agree with him, tell him that yes, this had been very pleasant, but she really must not dance with him or converse with him again. But his words made her feel as if she were a child instead of a woman of twenty. As if she could not be trusted to act for herself within the bounds of propriety. He had done something dreadful, but since then his father had died and he had been forced to grow up and change his ways. He could not go back and change whatever it was he had done wrong. But surely he should be allowed a
chance to prove that he had changed. And surely she was old enough to make some decisions for herself instead of obeying blindly when no reason was given for restricting her freedom.

“I am twenty years old, my lord,” she said. “There is nothing improper in my dancing with you or even strolling with you in a designated area.” At least, she did not think it was improper. Though she had the uneasy feeling that others might not agree. Like Aunt Agatha and Lionel, for example.

“You are kind.” He touched a hand lightly to hers as it rested on his arm. He had long, elegant fingers, she saw, looking down. It looked a capable and powerful hand. She resisted the instinct to pull her hand away. She would look like a frightened child after all. He spoke softly. “Is there anyone in this world whom you envy so much that it is almost a physical pain?”

She considered. “No,” she said. “Sometimes there are aspects of appearance or behavior that I envy, but never seriously so. I am happy with my person and with my life as they are.” It was true, she thought. For years, since she was fifteen, she had been happy, and now her happiness had reached its culmination. Or almost so. There were a few weeks during which to enjoy Lionel’s company and to get to know him better. And then their wedding and the rest of their lives together. Happiness was soon going to turn to bliss. She felt an unexpected twinge of alarm. Life could not be that wonderful, could it? Or proceed quite so smoothly?

“Well,” the Earl of Thornhill said softly, “I have felt
such envy. I
feel
such envy. I envy Kersey more than I have ever envied any man.”

“No.” She looked up at him in some distress, her lips forming the word rather than expressing it out loud. “Oh, no, that is absurd.”

“Is it?” His hand had closed about hers.

But in drawing her hand free at last and turning to make her way back across the garden and up the steps to the safety of the balcony, she made the mistake of turning in toward him. And of looking up into his eyes. And of pausing. And of noting that there was gentleness and something like pain in his eyes.

He kissed her.

Only his lips touched hers. His hands did not touch her at all. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to break away. But she stood transfixed by the wholly novel feeling of a man’s lips against her own. Slightly parted. Warm. Even moist.

And then he stopped kissing her and she realized the full enormity of what had happened. She had been kissed. By a man. For the first time.

Not by Lionel.

By the Earl of Thornhill.

And she had not stopped him or pulled back her head.

And she did not now slap his face.

“Come,” he said, his voice very quiet, “the set must be almost at an end. I will escort you back to the ballroom.”

She set her arm on his and walked beside him just as
if nothing had happened. She neither protested nor scolded. He neither justified himself nor apologized.

Just as if a kiss was a normal part of a stroll a man and woman took together instead of dancing.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps she was even more naive than she realized.

But of course it was not. A kiss was something a man and woman shared when they were going to marry. Perhaps even only when they were actually married.

She was going to marry Lord Kersey. She had looked forward so eagerly to his kissing her for the first time. To his being the first—and only—man ever to do so.

And now it was all spoiled.

The earl had timed their return very well. The music was just drawing to a close as he led her through the French windows to Aunt Agatha’s side. He bowed and took his leave, and she stood beside her aunt feeling like a scarlet woman, feeling that everyone had but to look at her to know.

Everything was spoiled.

V
ISCOUNT
K
ERSEY FOUND THE
Earl of Thornhill outside the ballroom, at the head of the staircase. He was apparently leaving even though the ball had scarcely begun.

“Thornhill,” the viscount called. “A moment, please.” He smiled his dazzling white smile at Lady Coombes, who was passing on the arm of her brother, and joined the earl on the stairs.

“Yes?” The earl’s hand closed about the handle of his quizzing glass.

Lord Kersey reined in his temper, conscious as he always was of his surroundings. “It was not wisely done,” he said. “You must know that my betrothed, my soon-to-be wife, is not to be seen in your company, Thornhill. Certainly she is not to be seen stepping out of a ballroom with you.”

“Indeed?” The earl’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps it is with Miss Winwood you should be having this conversation, Kersey. Perhaps you have some influence with her.”

“She is an innocent.” The viscount’s nostrils flared, but he recalled the fact that they were in full view of anyone both abovestairs and below who cared to look. “I know what your game is, Thornhill. I am on to you. You would be wise to end it or it will be the worse for you.”

“Interesting.” The earl raised his glass to his eye and surveyed the other unhurriedly through it from head to toe. “You mean there will be a challenge, Kersey? The choice of weapons would be mine, would it not? I have a little skill with both swords and pistols. Or would you merely ruin my reputation? It cannot be done, my dear fellow. My reputation has sunk as low as it will go. I am reputed to have seduced my stepmother, got her with child, and run off with her, leaving my father to die of a broken heart. And if that was not quite devilish enough, I then abandoned her in a foreign land, leaving her among strangers. And yet here I stand as an invited guest at a
ton
event in London. No, Kersey, I do not believe
there is a great deal you can do to my reputation that you have not already done.”