Rebecca (28 page)

Smoothly, he steered her through the circle which formed around them at every step. When he knew it was useless, he stopped and spoke to those intent on fawning over them. Watching him, Rebecca learned quickly the needs of being politic. She smiled and allowed the men to kiss her fingers as they bowed to her. Sternly she controlled her shock when the ladies dipped in a brief curtsy when she was introduced to them.

Nicholas's arm slipped around her shoulders. To the man he had been speaking, he said, “Excuse me, Lambert, for I hear the orchestra getting ready for the next dance. Rebecca, would you like to dance?”

“Yes, I would, thank you,” she answered calmly. Only in her eyes could he see her relief that the many questions would be halted, at least for a short time.

He kept his arm around her as they walked to where the dancing would be. “You are doing beautifully under the most horrible circumstances. I don't know why all of these people seemed compelled to try to impress us. Before I left six years ago, I saw Brad going through the same gauntlet each time he entered a room. I didn't realize then how ridiculous this whole situation is. It will calm down when the season reopens in London. We will no longer be the latest topic of gossip.”

“Let's dance,” she urged.

“If you feel any strain on your leg, you must drop out immediately. We will be attending other dances.”

When she promised, he led her out to the dance floor. She was glad that it was a very simple minuet so that she could follow the steps easily. Her smile was lovely as she held her husband's hands and twirled gracefully through the pattern of the dance. When they switched partners, she recognized the man but could not remember his name. It was fortunate that he was willing to carry the majority of the conversation. Once again her plan of simply listening with a pleasant expression worked well. She dipped in a curtsy as the dance demanded and took the fingers of the next man along the line.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked into the face of her newest partner. She did not know him, but the way he ogled her gave her a sensation as if some insect was crawling along her skin. He held her fingers too tightly so he could draw her closer than necessary. When his arm went around her waist very briefly, she could feel his fingers stroking her audaciously through the fine silk of her gown. Outraged, she twirled away. When she broke the pattern of the dance, the others stopped to regard her. Rancor burned in her eyes as she stared at the unknown man. A hand on her arm made her spin about forcefully.

“Lady Foxbridge, is there some problem?”

She regarded the face of her host, who was clearly upset with the disruption. When Nicholas pushed through the other dancers, she was spared having to lie. In a frigid voice, he stated, “My dear Carrollton, you may have forgotten that unfortunate incident when Rebecca was injured, but you needn't confront my wife in this ungracious manner. If she doesn't want to dance, she can step out at any time.”

“It is all right,” she said quickly. “Please, may I sit down? I don't feel like dancing now.”

All eyes centered on them as he took her hand and placed it on his arm before leading her to a small room which was little more than an alcove off the main room. He sat her on one of the padded benches. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?” His voice was gentle with his concern.

“I'm fine. It is just that I'm not used to being pawed while dancing, and I didn't like it. I don't know your English customs, Nicholas, but if that is one of them, I do not wish to dance any more.”

His eyes grew black with fury. “'Tis a custom that no gentleman would practice. Who was so crass, my love?”

She sighed and stroked the curve of his cheek. “Don't worry about it. I'm not hurt. There is nothing you can do to change what happened. I don't know the man, but I will avoid him from now on.”

“You must learn that society here is far less puritanical than in America, sweetheart. It is not unusual for a beautiful woman like yourself to have a whole court of admirers and lovers surrounding herself.”

“I don't want that!” she vowed.

Nicholas framed her face with his hands and drew her close as he kissed her hungrily. His fingers caressed her cheeks where the rose color had deepened when his tongue had wheedled her lips to part so he could savor the varied textures of her mouth. “My Rebecca, I wouldn't want you to have any lovers but me,” he whispered as his lips brushed hers.

She felt her body melting against his as the flame in her soul burned outward to bring the blossom of her love for her husband into full flower. Her hands slipped beneath his coat to feel his virile body through the silk of his shirt and waistcoat.

He chuckled lightly in her ear. “This isn't the time or the place, darling. I think we should remember that we are far from alone here.” He kissed her swiftly, but there was no lack of desire in the slight touch. “A glass of champagne?”

“That would be very nice,” she replied quietly. She was still overwhelmed by the opulence of the sensations she experienced in his arms. Perhaps a glass of the cooled wine would take the heat from her face.

He kissed her cheek. “Wait here. I will be back in just a few minutes.”

Rebecca's eyes followed him as he crossed the salon to where the champagne was being served from a fountain by the edge of one of the many gardens. When he disappeared among the crowd, she closed her eyes and savored the fantasy of joining her husband in his bed. If she could have guessed the hell waiting for her, she would have clutched more tightly to her dreams of heaven.

Chapter Fourteen

Content with her dreams of love, Rebecca gazed at the other guests attending Sir Alec's party. No longer the center of attention, she could stare without anyone realizing she was watching them. The men were dressed as ornately as the women with brocade coats which rivaled the hues of the gowns. It appeared as if there was a contest to see who could pile their powdered hair higher. Rolls of false hair and pinned-on curls augmented the hair styles taller than her Aunt Dena's best hat and, in Rebecca's opinion, just as silly.

She looked at her gown, which had seemed too ornate when Eliza had helped choose it. She was dressed more plainly than most of the other guests, although the material of her gown was as fine as any in the room. Only the servants in their livery were drabber than she was. She was not concerned, for she had no desire to mimic the outrageous clothes.

From her early years, when times were most lean, she had been taught that the changing fancies of style were only for those who had no sense of self-worth. She did not know if that was true, but she had learned that the personage of Lady Foxbridge commanded enough respect that she would not be censured for not following the dictates of the
haute monde
.

With the orchestra playing again, some of the guests were dancing, but most were talking. What they spoke of, she had no knowledge. The well-established parameters of polite conversation remained a mystery to her. She did not understand the rules of what was flirting and what was cause for her husband to call out her admirer. Eliza had tried to teach her some of the rules, but she found them incomprehensible.

“My dear Lady Foxbridge!”

She frowned as she saw her host approaching her haven. It added further to her discomfort that by marrying Nicholas she had assumed a rank above most of these people. In a country where title was secondary only to wealth, she had wed a husband who possessed both and had gained the same level of prestige instantly. Struggling for something to say to this man reputed to be a lecher, she smiled. “This is a lovely party, Sir Alec.”

“Far more lovely because of your ladyships's presence,” he replied smoothly, as he bent over her fingers. His lips lingered in an obvious question on her hand.

She blushed before she pulled her hand away. “Thank you, sir, for your kindness.” Disappointment shone in his eyes as he accepted that she was not intrigued by his invitation for a dalliance.

Carrollton had not expected Lady Foxbridge would be interested in him when she had her dashing husband who clearly was devoted to her. There had been no stories of the reemergence of the love affair between him and Clarisse Beckwith. If Lord Foxbridge was keeping a mistress, it was a secret. As he gazed at the loveliness of the lord's wife, he doubted if Foxbridge would desire anyone else.

His thoughts were interrupted by a man clearing his throat, and he recalled the promise he had been forced to make. As he stepped to one side, another man entered the small room. “Allow me to introduce my friend Baron Halsey Royce. Royce, Lady Foxbridge, Rebecca Wythe.”

Rebecca gasped as she saw the man who had dared to caress her in the midst of the minuet. Her gaze flew past him, but Nicholas was nowhere in sight. She could not know that he was being delayed seemingly innocently by one of the baron's friends at the far side of the ballroom.

Royce lifted her fingers to his lips. She raised her eyes as he did not release her hand. He was not a handsome man, for his face was pitted with scars from the pox. Like all the men at the ball, he wore his hair powdered so she had no idea of its color, but his eyes were a lighter blue than hers.

“How do you do, Baron Royce?” she asked coldly.

“Very well, my lady. I'm sorry your accident kept us from completing our portion of the dance.” He smiled as she drew her gloved fingers away in obvious disgust that he would dare to remind her of his boldness. “I have been anxious to meet you since your arrival with Lord Foxbridge. I had no idea that his lordship had decided to take a bride so suddenly.”

Her eyebrows arched in derision. She did not like this oily and falsely submissive man. “Our wedding wasn't sudden, sir. We will be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary next month.”

“Excuse me,” said their host, suddenly. Refusing to meet Rebecca's shocked eyes as she heard the urgency in his voice, he added, “I fear duty calls. I trust I will see you later, my lady.” He bowed again before he left her alone with the despicable man.

Royce did not seem in a hurry to leave. “Five years, Lady Foxbridge? I swear his lordship must have robbed the cradle to find a bride of such tender years.”

“That, sir, is none of your business,” she declared stoutly. Deciding he would not be brushed off by coldness, she rose. “If you will excuse me, Baron.”

“No, I don't think so, my lady,” he said in a totally different tone of voice. All courtesy vanished, to be replaced by a threatening stance.

“Excuse me?” she asked, astonished by the sudden change.

He grasped her arm and twirled her through a door at the back of the room. It led to the gardens which had been left purposely dark for those who wished a rendezvous far from the eyes of the gossiping gentry and suspicious spouses. She cried out for him to release her, but he did not pause until he reached an arbor deep in the gardens. He was not worried that anyone would hear her, for the music from the orchestra and conversation would drown out her terrified calls for help.

Putting his fingers on her cheeks, he turned her face from side to side so he could view it in the moonlight. She tried to pull his hands away, but he paid her flailing hands no attention. Quietly, he said, “So you are the souvenir Nicholas brought back from America. They told me how beautiful you are, but I didn't believe them. I admit I was wrong.”

“Will you let me go, sir? I don't understand why you have dragged me out here, and I shan't stay to listen to your apology!”

Royce chuckled with ill humor. “You are very much the backwoods provincial, aren't you, my lady? Why do you think I brought you here? Don't you Americans, as you call yourselves now, deal in flirtations?”

“I don't want any kind of flirtation with you, Baron Royce.” She looked past him, hoping to see a shadowed form moving through the thick shrubs. No one came into sight. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Do you forget I am a married woman?”

As an answer, he captured her mouth with his. Although her fists pounded against his back, he ignored them as he pressed her backward toward the ground. His fingers pulled the pins from her hair so it fell into a white cloud. As she struggled to escape, the powder billowed out like pale smoke around them.

She screamed as she felt her dress rip, but the sound was muted by his mouth. When she slipped to the ground, she could feel the dampness of the evening dew seeping into the fine material. His hand was placed over her mouth as his lips moved to discover the planes of her face.

Royce looked down into her wide, blue eyes and laughed in honest delight. “I met many women on my sojourn in America, my so-called Lady Foxbridge. You are all good for only one occupation. It was interesting how many daughters of patriots were willing to play the harlot for their hated masters. Did you do it for money, or is it that your Yankee Doodle lovers make you crave for the touch of a real Englishman? You are no different. You just captured yourself a man with a title.”

She shrieked as she felt his fingers examining her body with leisurely interest. By this time, Nicholas should have returned to where she was supposed to be waiting. When she was missing, surely he would look for her. Her heart sank as she realized he would have no reason to search in the garden.

The man continued to taunt her. “How old were you when you married, Lady Foxbridge? You could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen, but whores learn very young how to market their wares, don't they?”

In sudden rage, she clamped her teeth on one of his thick fingers. His cry filled the night. When he pulled back from the unexpected attack, she rolled from beneath him. Forgetting her slipper which had come off when he had pushed her to the ground, she ran back to the well-lighted house.

As she stepped into the ballroom, she heard a woman gasp and point at her. For a moment, she stared at the other guests. Then, from the depths of her tortured soul, she screamed, “Nicholas!”