Lions and Lace (25 page)

"I got here as soon as I could. To no avail," he added sharply.

"Please don't be angry, Anson." She looked up at him, her emerald eyes full of contrition. "There was no other choice."

"You had me as a choice!" he whispered furiously.

She watched as he nodded to Joanna
Varick
, who was staring at them from across the ballroom. When his attention turned back to her, Alana said, "As perfect as you are, Anson, you weren't right for me, and you know that. I told you that before."

"And that
mick
is?"

His words made her miss a step. She stumbled briefly, and he caught her in his strong arms.

"Alana, we had everything in common—our families, our backgrounds, our ideas. You should have married me before it was too late."

"You know nothing about me, Anson. It would never have worked."

"I know nothing about you!" His face turned thunderous. He looked around and carefully remolded his expression. "And Sheridan knows you better? In a week, he knows you better than I? I ought to kill him. I know exactly what that bloody
mick
did to get to know you better."

"Don't call him that," she
said,
her face unable to keep up the pretense any further. "Don't call him that word ever again."

He stared down at her, unable to believe her anger. "You defend him? Caroline Astor told me you were practically dragged down that aisle to his side. She wants you to think about an annulment." He pulled her closer. "I do too."

"I'm not going to get an annulment, Anson. I don't know what else to say. I've married Trevor Sheridan. I'm staying married to him." That
was,
of course, only a half-truth, but she didn't want to explain that when her marriage was dissolved, she would still reject his offer. There was no point in hurting him further.

"Are you going to have that vile Irishman's baby?"

She looked up in shock, her cheeks suddenly burning with shame. "Is that what everyone thinks? That I had to get married because Trevor—"

He almost laughed in bitterness. "And what are we supposed to think? Sheridan forces you marry him, but it couldn't have been just for the money because I have money.
A lot of it.
You could have married me, Alana. But regrettably, I always played the gentleman." Not missing a beat of the music, he roughly pulled her around, taking the corner.

She was silent for a long time, letting herself follow him unconsciously in the waltz. Softly she said, "It's not what you believe, Anson. Things will prove differently in a few months."

"Yes, nine months." His hand roughly gripped her waist.

"I didn't marry him for that reason."

"Then why?" He tilted back his handsome blond head and laughed. His anger renewed, he pulled her against him. "Don't lie to me and tell me you love him, because I'll never believe that."

As she stared up at him, she suddenly knew why she and Anson could never have been happy. For all their superficial compatibility, they were different spirits entirely. She wanted love. He wanted what society deemed best. She wanted acceptance; he wanted perfection. She wanted to cry on a man's strong shoulder and unburden herself of all the tragedies that tore at her heart. He wanted to spare his expensive cravat.

"Go on, tell me you love Sheridan," he demanded sharply, smiling at the guests around them.

She only stared at him.

He smiled. "I knew you wouldn't." Triumph filled his deep-blue eyes. "You couldn't love a man like that."

"I'm drawn to him. I was, from the very moment I saw him." She didn't know why she felt the need to explain. She wondered if it was more for her understanding than his.

"Ah, fine. But that's not love."

"No."

"So tell me you love him, Alana, and I'll leave you alone. Don't, and I'll hound you for the rest of your days to get that annulment."

"I love him." Alana refused to look at him, suddenly overcome by a swell of emotion. It was the worst lie she'd ever told, yet it didn't feel like a lie. It felt worse than a he; it filled her with a wild, searing panic.

Much to the guests' shock and delight, Anson stopped right in the middle of the ballroom. He grasped her to him, for the moment unmindful of scandal. "You're telling me that you've fallen in love with a common goddamned
Irisher
? That you've rejected me because you'd actually prefer to be with that—
mick
?"
he whispered furiously.

"Yes," she gasped.

There had been very few times in Anson Vanbrugh-
Stevens's
life when he'd been told no. Alana supposed her rejections of his suit had been most of the reason he'd been so persistent. The idea of losing was difficult for him to accept, but watching him now, she knew he would finally have to. He'd been confident he'd get what he wanted. The worst had happened.

Without another word, he bowed to her and shoved his way through the crowds. He left, stony-faced, not bothering to even thank his hostess.

Alana felt the stares at her back as if they were knives. With tears threatening at any minute, she fled to the balcony, taking in the sea air in great heaving breaths. She couldn't stop herself from crying. She hated hurting Anson. For all his faults, he still had a right to be indignant. She had treated him callously with her quick marriage. Now she had lied to him. But had she? More tears came, and she forced herself not to think about the reasons. It wasn't true, of course. She couldn't love Trevor; she hardly knew him. But for the first time she saw the possibility of falling in love with her husband. The idea left her breathless and afraid.

"You shouldn't fret so, Alana. Mara's success has been swift. You'll be back in his arms in no time."

The cold voice
starded
her.
She looked up and found Trevor standing by her on the long dark balcony. Against her will, she shivered.

He gave a dark laugh. "I take it by Mr. Stevens's departure, however, that his greatest virtue is not patience."

"He wanted to marry me," she said quietly. "It was cruel not to give him notice of my marriage."

"He'll get over it."

His callous attitude chilled her. She wondered when it would be directed at her. She wondered if it would destroy her. "Anson's presence seems to have disturbed you, Trevor."

"He's everything I dislike in you,
á
mbúirnín
."

"And what
do
you dislike in me?" she asked angrily, hiding her hurt behind a well-bred facade. He'd called her something in Gaelic. Was it a curse?

"I hate your privilege. I hate the fact that you're from a set of exalted loins and therefore everything is your due, whether you've earned it or not. The Knickerbocker lack of hardship disgusts me."

She turned away, fury
tautening
her pale features, unshed tears glittering in her green eyes. "My family was destroyed in a house fire when I was but sixteen. My privilege did not protect me from that.
Nor from my uncle, if you will recall."

He
was
quiet for a long time as he stared down at her in the dark.
His
expression was strange, as if he were torn between vengeance and mercy. "That night when Didier brought you so wet and bedraggled to my doorstep was not
the
first time I saw you, Alana. I'd seen you before, did you know that?"

Her shoulders stiffened. Bravely, she wiped at her wet cheeks.

"It was about a year ago," he whispered, placing both his hands on her upper arms. "I was in
Delmonico
's. In one of the eating salons, I can't remember which one. Lorenzo walked up in the middle of my meal. He told Eagan and me a party was arriving fresh from their boxes at the Academy of Music. In the most apologetic terms he asked that we change tables." Trevor grew quiet. "Lorenzo, of course, has great tact, but both he and I knew why we had to change tables. These people were not in the habit of being seated
in
the same room
as
Irishers
." His hands felt like vises on her tender flesh. "And
do
you know who first entered the room upon our leaving? You and that bloody bastard who just stormed out
of
here. I'll always remember—when I passed you
in
the entrance, you didn't even
see me.
You were preoccupied with Anson. But I saw you. You were beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.
And most definitely the coldest.
I froze just looking at you." He pulled her back against his chest. "If not for
Mara
's sake, I would have
left
you alone, Alana. But by God, when I knew I had to
do
it, I enjoyed knocking you
off
that pedestal. I
've
finally brought this whole society to its knees. For once,
they
have to look up to
me."

Alana listened to Trevor's story, the irony
of
it piercing her heart. She didn't remember the evening, for there'd been many
at
Delmonico's
in
Anson's company. If the "undesirables" had been removed, it had not been at her
re
quest,
or
even with her knowledge. But the worst of it was how Trevor so completely misread the situation. He'd seen her on Anson's arm and believed her to be smugly happy with her lot in life. What a lie that was. She'd been in the company of a man she knew she could never love and endured another socially brilliant night only to spin fantasies around a faceless man in a simple white house. She'd dreamed of children and home and hearth, and found
Worth
gowns and loneliness. It was no wonder she seemed cold. She had so much to hide.
And no one to share it with.

"The pedestal was an illusion, Trevor. There was never anything beneath me but air," she whispered, her tears tracing down her cheeks.

"No," he answered confidently, "that was no illusion. Look at everyone's reaction to our marriage. Their goddess has fallen.
And all because of me."

In the quiet that followed his words the strains of "The Beautiful Blue Danube" could be heard through the open doors. The music of the violins lifted on the breeze and carried the sound far out to sea.

"Why don't you go back and dance. I know this is your favorite waltz." He dropped his hands and stepped back. "I don't want to stay much longer. I think it prudent that Mara leave too early rather than too late."

"I don't dance to this waltz." She lifted her skirt and made to leave.

He touched her waist and made her face him. "Why don't you dance to it?" he asked.

"I made a promise to myself a long time ago when I first heard it played. I promised that I would only dance to it with the man I love." She unwillingly lowered her gaze to his cane.

He seemed equally aware of the fact that he would never be that person. He commented acidly, "Now that Anson's gone, there seems to be nothing more for us to do other than to depart."

"No," she whispered, despair hidden in her voice. "Shall I fetch Mara?"

He nodded. She'd never seen his face so hard.

Mara watched them from the corridor—miles, it seemed, from where they stood. Her brother and his wife were saying good night at the other end of the long hall, Mara noting every detail and expression of their parting.

The
Varick
ball had ended too quickly, and they'd made a silent journey back to
Fenian
Court.
Mara
hadn't understood the oppressive atmosphere, but as she peered down the hall at her brother, she began to comprehend Eagan's fears.