“N-No, I’m fine,” she said, striving to regain her composure. “And the punch is dreadful, by the way.”
Opening her fan, she waved it in front of her face, hoping Maris and anyone else looking would attribute her heightened color to the room’s warmth.
Dear heavens, what is the matter with me?
she scolded.
I have no business, no business at all, standing at a dance—next to my innocent young sister—fantasizing about Rafe Pendragon! Obviously, he is turning me wanton.
Before she had time to castigate herself further, a new gentleman made his way toward her and Maris—Burton St. George, looking elegant and urbane in a formal black coat and knee breeches, his white shirt and cravat impeccable.
“How do you do this evening?” the viscount greeted, executing a smart bow.
This was the first time she and Maris had encountered him since that night at the theater. She shivered, telling herself the reaction must be a bit of residual embarrassment from her recent musings.
“My lord,” Julianna said, compelling a smile.
The three of them exchanged the usual round of polite small talk before Middleton directed his attention toward Maris. “Miss Davies, might I request the pleasure of the next dance?”
Maris appeared surprised. “Oh, I’d be honored, my lord, but it sounds like the musicians are preparing for a waltz, and I haven’t yet been given permission to engage in that particular dance. Perhaps my sister would enjoy a turn about the floor.”
“Maris,” Julianna replied, “do not be foolish. I am fine right where I am. You know I rarely dance.”
The viscount smiled, appearing not at all disappointed by the proposed change of partners. “Then let this be one of those occasions, madam. I should be delighted to share the next dance with you.” He held out his arm.
“Oh, do go on, Jules,” Maris encouraged.
“But what about you?”
“I see Sandra Conniver across the room. I shall visit with her for a while.”
Trapped with no polite way out, Julianna agreed. Laying her fingers on the viscount’s sleeve, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.
The musicians soon struck up an energetic tune, setting all the couples in motion.
Tipping back her head in order to see his face, she couldn’t help but notice the viscount’s height. Without question, he was taller than most men, but not as tall as Rafe, nor as broad in the shoulder. And although his movements were smooth and coordinated, she suspected his ability came from practice rather than natural grace. Such would not be true of Rafe, she mused. A confident, physical man like Rafe Pendragon would always know the exact spot to place his feet without having to first consider his steps.
Realizing she needed to redirect her thoughts away from Rafe once again, Julianna searched for a conversational opening. “I must tell you, my lord, you surprise me.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“I would not have thought to see you here this evening. Almacks has never struck me as the sort of entertainment gentlemen of your tastes generally prefer.”
He raised a sandy-colored brow. “Gentlemen of my tastes, Lady Hawthorne? And what exactly would those tastes be to which you refer?”
“Something a bit more lively than tame country dances, bland punch, and the chance to play penny-a-point whist.”
He gave a short laugh. “You have caught me out, my lady, and are quite correct. Almacks, despite its illustrious reputation and elegant company, isn’t one of my usual haunts.”
“Your appearance here this evening has quite set the rumor mill ablaze with speculation, I must tell you.”
“Has it, indeed? A good thing, then, that I’ve never been one to shy away from attention.” After a pause, his face sobered. “I have been a widower for some while now. Four years and three months nearly to the day since I lost my own dear Eleanor. Having lost a spouse yourself, you must know the kind of sorrow I’ve endured.”
“Yes,” she murmured, a twinge of guilt pinching at her.
Her marriage to Basil had in no way been a love match. Her father had wanted her to marry him, and being a naïve eighteen-year-old and a very dutiful daughter, she’d done as he had asked. But sorrow? No, she had felt no real sorrow at Basil’s passing, only regret and relief.
She considered the viscount’s words. She’d had no idea he had harbored such deep feelings for his wife. He must have loved her a great deal to still mourn her so keenly after all this time. Over the years, she’d heard a few murmured asides about his supposed profligate ways, despite the fact that he was a respected member of the nobility. Perhaps he was one of those men who hid his grief in work and occasional bouts of wild living.
“Thus my appearance here tonight,” he continued. “I have decided, somewhat reluctantly, to surround myself with eligible ladies to see if I might by chance cross paths with a girl who can engage my affections. Single life grows lonely after a time, I’m afraid. And a man in my position has need of a family. My dear Eleanor and I were not fortunate enough to be blessed with children before her untimely demise.”
More sympathy rose inside her, since she knew first-hand the pain of being childless.
“An accident, was it not?” she murmured. “Her death?”
A quick flash of pain shone in his blue eyes. “Yes, a tragic accident. She was afflicted with sleepwalking, and—” He broke off, involuntarily squeezing her hand as they continued to dance. Swallowing, he collected himself. “She stumbled on the stairs…I’m sorry, I don’t like to speak of it.”
“Of course not. I should not have inquired.”
“No, no, it’s quite all right. But perhaps we should talk of more cheerful subjects.”
“Yes, I quite agree.”
He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts and emotions before continuing the conversation.
“The Season seems to be off to a fine start,” he said. “Already London is brimming with elegant Society, and your sister appears to be enjoying herself. From what I understand, she’s already making a bit of a splash among the Ton, if it’s not too forward of me to say.”
“Yes, she is taking very well.” Julianna smiled. “But then I knew she would. Maris is a sweet girl and cannot help but be liked. Even the queen commented on her delightful, unaffected manner.”
“Look, there is your sister now,” Middleton observed.
Julianna turned her head, locating Maris among the crowd that lined the sides of the assembly room. Her sister appeared to be having an animated discussion with Major William Waring, a handsome, forthright young man who’d returned from fighting in Spain only a few weeks ago.
So sad about the loss of his arm, Julianna thought, noticing the one pinned-up coat sleeve. She had heard that due to his disability, he’d been compelled to sell his commission as a cavalry officer and retire from active battlefield service. Despite being the son of the Earl of Grassingham, he had two older brothers, a circumstance that must surely leave him few career options and little money. She supposed he might accept a position in the Home Office, or even in Parliament should he ever wish to run for a seat.
She watched Maris place her hand over the Major’s good arm and begin to stroll the perimeter. Her sister’s cheeks were flushed pink as June roses, her pale cream gown an attractive foil beside her escort’s dark attire.
“A remarkably pretty girl, your sister,” Middleton commented in an admiring tone.
“Yes, but young yet.”
“Not too young to be out in Society, though, or to take a husband.”
She stiffened, not quite liking the viscount’s obvious interest in her sister. “Maris has plenty of time to make her choice.”
He gave her a quizzical look.” You aren’t warning me off by any chance, are you?”
Part of her wanted to say yes, wanted to tell him he was too mature and too sophisticated for her innocent sister. But young or not, Maris had a good head on her shoulders, and would be capable of making the right decision about her own future.
Wouldn’t she?
If Rafe were there, Julianna would have sought his advice.
But he isn’t here and never will be,
she admonished, abruptly recalling the social chasm between them. Besides, family matters such as these were up to her to decide. What was she doing considering asking Rafe, anyway?
He is my lover, not my husband, after all.
No, she told herself, if Middleton courted her sister and Maris genuinely came to love him, then she would not stand in her way. After all, Julianna had promised herself not to interfere. So long as Maris was safe and happy, she would be content.
“Of course not,” Julianna said, swallowing her misgivings. “It’s just that I would ask any gentleman with an interest to have a care. Society is new to Maris. It’s possible she could be swayed by a charming manner or a handsome face.”
“Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment, you considering me both charming and handsome. But not to worry, my lady, my intentions toward your sister are strictly honorable.”
“Thank you, my lord, I am sure they are.”
So why do I still feel uneasy?
she questioned.
“I have your permission to pay my addresses then?”
She hesitated for one last second. “Unless my sister has some objection, yes, you are most welcome to call upon her.”
“So you’ll come again on Monday?” Rafe murmured the following afternoon as he tied the laces on one of her kidskin half-boots, her ankle propped on his knee as he knelt at her side.
“As early in the day as I can manage,” she promised. As she now understood, to deny him was to deny herself.
From her seat on the padded dressing-table stool, she gazed at his bent head. Without knowing she meant to do it, she sifted her fingers through his hair, then along the curve of his ear and jaw. A new growth of whiskers scratched faintly against her skin, the dark shadow giving him the look of a rake or a renegade.
He certainly ravished me,
she thought with a secret smile.
Yet even in the deepest throes of passion, Rafe was careful, always seeing to her pleasure, even if it meant delaying or denying his own. His consideration never failed to warm her heart or wring a smile from her lips. The more she knew him, the more she liked, his thoughtfulness but one of the qualities that had turned what might have been bondage into nothing less than bliss.
Despite being well satisfied from their energetic lovemaking, she still craved the connection of touching him, the satisfaction of maintaining the simplest of joinings. Moving her hand to his neck, she caressed the skin just under his cravat.
Finished tying the lace of her boot into a neat, snug bow, Rafe gave her stocking-clad calf a gentle pat. Easing her foot onto the floor, he lowered her skirts into place. Rising to his full height, he offered a hand to assist her to her feet. “Ready?”
She nodded, stifling a sigh at knowing she must leave.
Preceding him, she moved to the door.
“Wait,” he called. “What’s this?”
Crossing back to the bed, he bent down and retrieved something from the carpet. As he turned, she saw the slender length of gold and seed pearls that dangled in his hand. “Your bracelet, my lady. It must have slipped to the floor after I removed it earlier.”
“Oh, heavens! I don’t know how I could have been so careless. I would be most distressed if this went missing.”
He quirked a brow. “A gift, then? From someone special?”
“My mother. She gave this to me for my birthday the year before she died.”
His face grew solemn. “Then I am glad it has come to no harm.”
Taking her hand, he looped the jewelry around her wrist and fastened the clasp. With the bracelet secure, he raised her palm and pressed a kiss onto its center.
“I know I shouldn’t wear it,” she said, “since I would be crushed if it were to get lost or broken someday.”
“But where is the joy in keeping precious things locked up out of sight? Your mother would want you to enjoy her gift rather than let it molder away in a dark box somewhere.”
She smiled, his words echoing what she herself had always thought, and what so many others failed to appreciate. “Exactly so. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For understanding, that’s all.”
Dimples popped to life in his cheeks as his lips turned up.
Watching them, and him, her heart turned over.
Bending, he took her mouth in a last passionate joining. Closing her eyes, she hummed out her pleasure and kissed him back.