Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride (29 page)

“You wrote the letter.” She was still whispering.

“I believe,” he said—he was chafing her hand—“I should summon your aunt, Miss Newman, and advise her to take you home.”

“No.” She snatched her hand away, brushed past him with ungainly haste, almost collided with the Earl of
Thornhill, remembered where she was, and hurried toward the ladies’ withdrawing room.

The music had come to an end before she came out again. She would decide tomorrow whether or not she should tell Jenny and Lord Thornhill what she now suspected, though really it was more than suspicion that she felt. Yes, she should tell them. But in the meantime there was the remainder of a ball to be enjoyed and partners to be danced with, and perhaps—yes, perhaps a husband to be chosen.

Although she had been in the ladies’ room for only half an hour, she felt as if she had grown up at least five years in that time. She was no longer a naive and innocent girl. She felt quite like a cynical woman of the world.

Never again would she allow herself to be so deceived.

Never again would she love.

T
HE EARL OF THORNHILL HAD BEEN DEEPLY AFFECTED by the letter from Switzerland. The very fact that it had absolved him in Jennifer’s eyes of at least one of the charges against him was no small matter, of course. But it was not just that. There were two particular points in the letter that had impressed themselves deeply on his mind.

She had begged him not to seek revenge. Her plea had come too late, of course. He had already sought revenge and failed to get it. He had helped rather than hurt Kersey, he firmly believed. Kersey had been quite happy to rid himself of the encumbrance of an unwanted betrothal. But the attempt at revenge had not been without result. Far from it. It had hurt two people—Jennifer and himself.

And he had been contemplating further and more vicious revenge. He had been half planning Kersey’s death—by provoking him into a duel, perhaps. And yet Catherine’s plea had somehow made him realize that hatred merely breeds hatred and violence. He had made himself every bit as bad as Kersey in the past month. Yes, every bit.

It was a chilling realization.

Especially in view of that other thing Catherine had said.
I was the winner of that encounter
. She really had been. It was true that she had suffered dreadfully, but the experience had matured her, and it had led her to find for herself the place and the life that would make her happy. She was about to remarry, it seemed. And most important, she had Eliza, whom she adored.

Yes, Catherine had gained in almost every way, while Kersey was still selfish and rootless and very possibly unhappy.

I was the winner of that encounter
. The words had haunted him all day. In his efforts to get some measure of revenge, he had severed Kersey’s betrothal to Jennifer and had been tricked and trapped into marrying her himself. Was he the loser of the encounter? Was he? Or was he the winner, as Catherine had been?

Was it in fact, in both their cases, a matter of loser take all?

It was a severe provocation when Kersey came to speak to Jennifer at the start of the ball. It was so obviously a well-calculated move. And the Earl of Thornhill would not have been human had he not felt furiously angry and even murderous. But he chose to make his wife his chief concern throughout the evening. He could never atone for what he had done to her in the past. But he could and would do everything in his power to protect her interests and look to her security and contentment in the future. It was all he could do.

He was relieved to find that she was not after all to be a social pariah. Frank, of course, came to pay his
respects as soon as the first set had ended and led her into the second set. And at the end of that Bertie brought his blushing and timid betrothed to present—with her mother’s permission, Bertie had whispered when the earl had raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at him. Bertie danced the next set with Jennifer while the earl was forced to lead out the terrified Miss Ogden. It took all of his charm and all of five minutes to draw the first smile from her and another two minutes to draw a giggle. When she relaxed and smiled, she was almost pretty, he thought. She certainly had a considerable amount of sweetness. He must remember to commend Bertie on his choice.

When that set was ended, Colonel Morris strolled over to talk and then bowed in courtly manner to Jennifer and asked for the honor of a dance. And after that the crisis seemed to have passed. It apparently became the fashionable thing to dance with the notorious new Countess of Thornhill.

Such was the fickleness of the
ton
, her husband reflected, watching her and not even trying to hide the admiration in his eyes. He had watched her with deliberate admiration while he had been seeking his revenge. Well, now it had become very real.

And yet all was not perfectly well. Of course it was not. It was only amazing that the evening was proceeding as well as it was. The earl danced the supper dance with her himself even though he had seen two other prospective partners approaching her. He was not quite
sure of what would happen at supper and preferred to be at her side to protect her if necessary.

He was very glad he had had the forethought to do so. He had seated her at a table with Bertie and Miss Ogden and two other couples of their acquaintance. The table adjoining theirs was empty, but three older couples were approaching it, among them the Earl and Countess of Rushford. And then the countess, who must have been in the card room all evening, saw them and froze.

“Rushford,” she said after a significant pause and in a very distinct voice, “find me another table, if you please.” She lifted her head and sniffed the air delicately. “There is something—putrid in the vicinity of this one.”

Rushford led her away and the other two couples trailed after them while the Earl of Thornhill lowered his head to his wife’s, made some mundane remark to her, and smiled. She smiled back at him.

Before supper was over, everyone in the supper room, and doubtless everyone else who had not come there, would have heard what the countess had said. Many would applaud her wit.

No, all was not yet perfectly well. And it was going to be difficult to forget about revenge when his wife was likely to be the butt of other sallies of wit like that one during the week before he would take her away to the peace and safety of Chalcote.

Henry Chisley danced with her after supper while the earl watched as usual. She was a woman of great strength of character, he thought with an unexpected twinge of pride. She was holding up wonderfully well
under circumstances that would have given most other women the vapors long ago and sent them into a permanent decline. Jennifer, he suspected, would not go into a decline even when the full reality of what had happened to her in the past few days finally hit her.

He remembered suddenly her asking him who Catherine’s lover had been, who Eliza’s father was. Was she suspecting the truth? He drew a slow breath.

But his attention was distracted.

He had been half aware of the fact that Samantha had left her aunt’s side and was approaching the doorway. There was nothing very strange about that, but his attention was caught when she stumbled against Kersey of all people. She hurried on past him and out through the doors, but no more than a few seconds later Kersey turned and left too.

The earl frowned. He had not had the chance yet to become well acquainted with Samantha, but she was Jennifer’s cousin and even younger than she. He did not see why Kersey would want to have anything to do with Samantha when he had just rid himself of Jennifer. But if he did decide to turn his charm on the girl, her youth and inexperience would doubtless make her easy prey.

He hesitated and looked back to his wife, who was still dancing with Chisley and saying something that had him chuckling. He hesitated a moment longer and then slipped from the room himself.

Yes, Kersey had accosted her and they were talking. He could see only Kersey’s back, but she looked considerably agitated. She appeared not to notice him as he
strolled closer just in case he was needed. Perhaps he had given up the idea of revenge, but he was not going to stand by while Kersey seduced an innocent young girl.

“… a lovely young lady,” he heard Kersey say, “and I have always appreciated loveliness. Perhaps I expressed some gallantry that you misinterpreted?”

The earl watched agitation give place to horror in Samantha’s face. “You wanted your freedom from Jenny,” he heard her say, though she spoke almost in a whisper. “You tried to use me. Oh!” The final exclamation was agonized.

It did not take a great deal of intelligence to understand what had happened. Kersey had obviously been playing two games at the same time in the hope that if he did not win the one, he would succeed with the other. And in the process he had quite heartlessly hurt two innocents.

The Earl of Thornhill felt again the murderous urge to get even. He stood where he was until Samantha pushed past Kersey, almost collided with him, and hurried on in the direction of the ladies’ withdrawing room. Kersey turned a moment later, a look of amusement on his face. The look disappeared when he saw the earl standing no more than a few feet away.

“Ah,” he said, “a soft-footed spy. Must I be looking over my shoulder wherever I go for the rest of the Season, Thornhill?”

“It might be arranged if I thought it would give you a few sleepless nights,” the earl said pleasantly. “I will have a word with you now, Kersey.”

“Will you?” Viscount Kersey smiled, at his ease again. “I believe I can be expected not to consort with the man who is responsible for my broken heart.”

“I shall wait, then,” the earl said, unruffled, “for you to return to the ballroom and then slap a glove in your face in defense of the honor of my cousin by marriage, Miss Newman.”

“You would simply make an ass of yourself,” the viscount said contemptuously.

“We will put it to the test.” The earl smiled at him. “I have very little to lose, after all. When reputation is gone, there is nothing much left to guard from public scorn, is there?”

Viscount Kersey looked nettled. “Well?” he said. “What do you have to say?”

“A few things,” the earl said, looking about him, “which I would prefer to say in some privacy. By a stroke of good fortune I see that the first anteroom is at this moment being vacated. Shall we go there?”

“Lead the way.” Viscount Kersey made him a mocking bow and extended one hand in the direction of the anteroom.

The Truscott mansion had been carefully built for social occasions. There was a whole series of small, cozy anterooms opposite the ballroom, all interlinked by doors that could be closed for privacy or left open for greater sociability. The understanding was that some guests would wish for a quieter place than the ballroom at some point in the evening and yet would be uninterested in cards. The understanding was too that young
couples who were involved in the marriage mart, as so many were during the Season, would perhaps wish a moment in which to steal a kiss without being observed by half the
ton
.

Closed doors were not the rule. Closed doors suggested clandestine goings-on and might arouse scandal if left closed for too long a time.

The Earl of Thornhill closed the door into the corridor outside. Viscount Kersey turned to face him, amusement in his face again.

“It is a pity gentlemen gave up the fashion of wearing dress swords a few decades ago, Thornhill,” he said. “We might have had a spectacular clash of arms in here, might we not?”

The earl stood just inside the door. He set his hands at his back. “I have to thank you, Kersey,” he said, “for making it so easy for me to acquire my wife. She is, I believe, the greatest treasure any man could hope to find.”

Lord Kersey laughed. “That good, is she?” he said. “Perhaps I should have tried her out for myself a few times, Thornhill. Broken her in for you and all that.”

“Have a care.” The earl’s voice was very quiet. “Be very careful, Kersey. The lady has been made to suffer indescribable humiliation, for which we are both responsible.”

“Come,” Lord Kersey said, still laughing, “you must admit that I was a better player than you, Thornhill. The letter was masterly. At least, in the humble opinion of its author it was. I did not expect you to take on a
leg-shackle with her, though. That fact will afford me amusement for many a long day.”

“I will be brief,” the earl said. “I came to say this, Kersey. You debauched my stepmother, you ruined the lady who is now my wife, and you have cruelly toyed with the affections of her cousin, another and even younger innocent. You have nothing to fear from me as I have discovered to my cost since my return from Europe that I have merely reduced myself to your level by seeking to punish you and have hurt innocent people in the process. But if you come near any lady within the sphere of my protection or affection ever again, or if you say or do anything calculated to cause them public humiliation, I will slap that glove I spoke of across your face in the most public place I can find. I will not ask if you understand me. I do not believe imbecility is among your faults.”

Viscount Kersey put his head back and roared with laughter. “I am in fear and trembling, Thornhill,” he said. “My knees are knocking.”

“If they are not now, they will be before this night is out.”

Both men turned their heads sharply to look in astonishment at the door to the next anteroom, which now swung open and crashed against the wall behind it. It must not have been quite shut, the Earl of Thornhill realized.

The Earl of Rushford stood there, his eyes ablaze, his face almost purple. Behind him Thornhill had a brief glimpse of the shocked face of the countess. The two
gentlemen with whom they had taken supper were hastily ushering their ladies out through the other door into the corridor.

“Father!” Viscount Kersey said.

A well-rehearsed melodrama could not have played itself out with half as much precision, the Earl of Thornhill thought. Well, so much for private rooms and private conversations. He wondered irrelevantly if the sound of a kiss carried from one anteroom to another.