Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride (6 page)

He was all ice blue and silver and white. And blond. He made her heart turn over and beat with uncomfortable rapidity. She savored the moment with all her heart. It was the moment she had so long awaited. She would remember it for the rest of her life, she decided quite deliberately.

“You look extremely lovely tonight,” he murmured to her as they waited for the sets to form around them and the music to begin.

“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled, realizing that she had been about to return the compliment and stopping herself just in time. Though the thought struck her that she should be able to say such a thing to her betrothed. But she had seen so little of him. They would grow more comfortable in time. Now that she was out and could move freely in society, they would be together almost daily. Soon they would be comfortable together. They would be friends. She would be able to speak her thoughts to him without having first to stop to consider if they were proper.

Now, at this moment, she was in awe of him and despised herself for being so. She was being gauche and rustic. She was behaving like a seventeen-year-old fresh from the schoolroom. She consciously put on her cloak
of quiet dignity, and decided to enjoy the moment for what it was worth. Everything else that she longed for would come in its own time. She must not spoil the present by longing for what would come if she but gave it time.

They danced the steps of the opening country dance in silence. Jennifer was partly glad of it. Although she had attended numerous assemblies at home and was an accomplished dancer, nevertheless she had never before danced in such surroundings and in such company. And she felt eyes on them, as was only to be expected since this was her come-out ball, and Samantha’s. She was thankful for the absence of conversation so that she could concentrate on her steps. And of course the intricate patterns of the dance separated them frequently so that any sustained conversation would have been impossible.

As she became accustomed to the steps and relaxed a little, her eyes sometimes strayed beyond the confines of the set in which she danced. All these grand and richly clad lords and ladies were gathered in her honor and Sam’s. It was a heady thought. And a wonderful one. At last. At last she was in London and out and officially betrothed. Her betrothal would be publicly announced in two weeks’ time, and in six weeks’ time she would be married.

She glanced again at the splendid blond god who was to be her bridegroom. How all the other young ladies must envy her. She wondered how general was the knowledge that they were betrothed and guessed that it
was very general. Not many things remained secret for long in London society, she had heard. And this was no little thing.

And then beyond her betrothed her eye was caught by that one point of incongruity in the ballroom—by the black-clad figure of the Earl of Thornhill, who stood alone on the sidelines. No, not really alone, she saw when she focused her eyes on him. Two other gentlemen were standing with him, including Sir Albert Boyle. He just appeared to be alone because he looked so different from everyone else around him. So tall and so dark. He was watching her quite steadily, she realized. She lowered her eyes hastily and returned her attention to the dance.

He was the very antithesis of Lionel. It was so remarkable that she wondered foolishly why others were not exclaiming about it. Day and night. Summer and winter. Angel and devil. She smiled again and again wished that she was comfortable enough with her betrothed to share the joke with him.

K
ERSEY
! T
HE
E
ARL OF
Thornhill noticed him a few moments after he had finished teasing Lord Francis Kneller about his lavender and silver evening clothes and then could not understand why he had not noticed the man immediately. His eyes narrowed on the viscount and he felt an unexpected surging of hatred for him.

Perhaps, he thought, he should have left London for the North and home after all. Perhaps London was not
big enough for the two of them. But he would be damned before he would allow himself to be driven away by the likes of Kersey.

He forced his attention away from the man and continued his light, bantering conversation with his friends.

But his attention did not remain diverted for long.

“The devil!” he muttered when the whole assembly seemed finally to be gathered and the members of the receiving line entered the ballroom and the orchestra began its final tune-up. The first set was about to begin and the two young ladies whose come-out ball this was were being led first onto the floor by their partners. He spoke another obscenity beneath his breath.

“I could not agree more, Gabe,” Sir Albert said, mock gloom in his voice. “Graham has cut me out and broken my heart. But that is not what ails you, is it? Kersey has done the like for you. Perhaps we should go home and put bullets in our brains.”

Viscount Kersey was leading out the delicious redhead—Miss Jennifer Winwood. The devil himself, looking rather like an angel in his pale splendor, was bending over innocence, murmuring something into her ear. Lord Thornhill found that he had clamped his teeth together. He wondered what Nordal would do if he knew. Probably nothing. It was, after all, merely a dance, even though Kersey had been chosen to partner Nordal’s daughter in perhaps the most important dance of her life. Anyway, there were not many men who would condemn another for making sport with someone else’s
wife. To say it was common practice was hardly to exaggerate. It was not even uncommon for one man to impregnate another man’s wife. The only unpardonable indiscretion would be to do so before the wife had presented her husband with a legitimate male heir. Kersey had not been that indiscreet, although Catherine herself had borne no other child. And of course, far more unpardonable was to make sport with one’s own father’s wife. Kersey had not done that either.

“They look rather like something come straight down from heaven, do they not?” Sir Francis Kneller said at Lord Thornhill’s side. He nodded in the direction of Kersey and Miss Winwood. “While the rest of us ordinary mortals have to settle for what is left. A lowering thought, eh, Gabe? Though there is nothing ordinary about you, it must be admitted. The choice of black tonight was inspired, old chap. You look positively satanic. The ladies will think it very appropriate—and will doubtless be panting all over you.” He chuckled merrily.

“One wonders,” the earl said, his eyes following the couple as they began to dance, “what Kersey has done to be so in favor with Nordal that he has been granted such an honor. Apart from being rather beautiful, of course.” He did not try to hide the contempt in his voice. It really was not difficult to understand why Catherine, married to his elderly and infirm father, had fallen so recklessly in love with the viscount.

Sir Francis laughed again. “You have not heard?” he said. “It is a crying shame, if you were to ask me, when she is one of the few beauties in this year’s crop. But it is
ever thus, is it not?” He sighed and raised his quizzing glass the better to watch Miss Winwood dance.

“What is ever thus?” the earl asked. “Never tell me she has the pox, Frank. What a waste.”

“Betrothed to Kersey,” Sir Francis said gloomily. “Wedding to take place some time before the end of the Season, if gossip has the right of it. At St. George’s with the flower of the
ton
present, I would not doubt. Of course, there is still her cousin, the equally delectable Miss Newman. More delectable, in fact. I have always had a soft spot for blondes, as what red-blooded blade has not? She has a more than respectable dowry too, so I have heard. It may be just a lure, of course, and will dwindle alarmingly as soon as one has committed oneself to showing a definite interest.”

“The blonde is spoken for,” Sir Albert said. “I spoke her name—though actually I did not know it at the time—in the park two weeks ago, did I not, Gabe? Do you think I should slap a glove in Graham’s face at the end of the set?”

“Why wait until the end?” Sir Francis asked and the two men chuckled with hearty amusement.

The Earl of Thornhill was not listening to them. Betrothed! Poor girl. He pitied her deeply. And felt a certain anger on her behalf. She deserved better. Though perhaps not. He did not know her, after all, and had been given the impression of a certain haughty reserve both in the park and in the receiving line tonight. Perhaps possessing Kersey’s title and fortune and beauty would be enough for her. Perhaps she was in love with him.
Probably
she was in love with him. There was something in the way she looked at him that suggested it.

And perhaps he loved her, the earl thought cynically, or the dowry that would come with her. Nordal was reputed to be wealthy enough. Perhaps Kersey was now ready to settle into a dull and blameless married life. It would not be difficult to settle for the redhead of the long legs, the earl thought, his eyes watching that last feature as she danced. Long and obviously shapely as outlined against the soft silk and lace of her high-waisted gown. And surely it would not be difficult to be satisfied with such loveliness and such voluptuousness for a lifetime.

Yes, perhaps it was appropriate, he thought, as he continued to watch them dance. They matched each other in beauty and in a certain icy aloofness.

And then his eyes met the girl’s across the room as she danced. She did not immediately look away and he deliberately held her eyes with his own until she did. Lord, she was a desirable woman. There was a certain incongruity between that glorious red hair and well-endowed body on the one hand and the virginal white and the air of aloofness on the other. Miss Jennifer Winwood did not look either virginal or cold. At least, she did not look as if she should be. That hair should be loose and spread over a pillow. Those breasts should be bared and lifting from a bed to touch a man’s chest.

Of course, she would not be virginal for much longer. That hair would indeed be released and those breasts bared and those legs twined—about Kersey’s. There was something almost obscene in the thought, and definitely
unseemly. His mind was not in the habit of wandering into other men’s beds.

He wished Kersey and Miss Winwood happy in their forthcoming marriage, he thought, his eyes narrowing on them. Or rather, to the contrary, if he was to be more honest with himself, he wished their marriage to the devil. Unwilling hatred festered in him as he watched them dance and his two friends continued to chuckle over the witticisms they were exchanging.

What he would really like was to see Kersey suffer as Catherine had suffered, Lord Thornhill thought. Or even a fraction as much as she had suffered. He would like to see the redhead break his heart or otherwise make his life miserable. Though that hardly seemed fair to her. His eyes rested on her again. He did not know her at all and should take his own advice about looking beyond outward appearances to the character within, but she was gloriously beautiful. Kersey did not deserve the happiness of possessing such beauty.

The earl watched the girl for the rest of the set, his eyes narrowed in speculation. He was certainly going to dance with her himself before the evening was out if it could possibly be arranged. The beginnings of an idea were niggling at the corners of his mind.

Yes, he thought, revenge would be sweet. Even just a little revenge. And there just might be a way to get it.

“I
S THIS NOT THE
most heavenly night you have ever lived through?” Samantha asked Jennifer later in the
evening during one of the rare moments when they were able to exchange a private word. “Four sets and four different partners apiece. Mr. Maxwell is going to dance with me again later. He is not the most handsome gentleman here, Jenny, but he does make me laugh. He says the most outrageous things about everyone around us.”

She was glowing, Jennifer saw, and looking even lovelier than usual if that were possible. Only someone with Samantha’s modesty could possibly have doubted that she would take the
ton
by storm, as the saying went. There was not another lady present to match her in loveliness.

“Yes, so is Lord Kersey,” she said with a sigh. “Going to dance with me again, that is. I hate this rule that one can dance with the same partner no more than twice. It was the first dance and I was nervous and watching my steps. I feel as if I have spent no time with him at all.” In imagination, in her dreams of what tonight would be like, she had danced the night away with Lionel, both of them aware only of each other. It had been an enchanted night—in her dreams. But of course she had known that propriety would keep them apart much of the evening. Sometimes she almost hated propriety.

Viscount Kersey had danced with Samantha and then had disappeared, presumably to the card room, which everyone knew no one but the dowagers and elderly gentlemen were meant to use. But even if he had stayed in the ballroom, he could not have danced with her again. Or if he had, she would have nothing left to look forward to for the rest of the evening.

In her dreams too she had pictured them alone together. Just for a short while. Just long enough so that they could smile into each other’s eyes quite privately and exchange their first kiss. Ah, it had been a wonderful dream—and a rather silly one, she supposed.

But perhaps it really would happen later in the evening. Perhaps he would claim the supper dance—surely it would be strange if he did not, and the supper dance was next. And perhaps he would contrive to lead her from the dining room a little sooner than everyone else.

She had looked at his mouth as they danced. She had imagined his lips touching hers and had felt hot all over at the thought. It was ridiculous. By the age of twenty she should at least know what a man’s lips felt like.

And then her thoughts were very effectively distracted. A gentleman was bowing before her and soliciting her hand for the next set—for the supper set. A tall gentleman dressed all in black and white. The Earl of Thornhill. Jennifer looked around, startled. Her aunt had brought all her other partners to her. But Aunt Agatha was some distance away, her attention monopolized by a very large and imposing elderly lady in purple.