She was not aware that while she danced, the Duke of Stanhope had relayed the rest of Ian’s instructions to Jordan, and so she felt no warning tremor when Jordan tipped his head in acknowledgment of Ian’s signal and abruptly said to Anthony Townsende, “I think the ladies would enjoy a stroll out on the balcony.” Alex gave him a swift, questioning look but placed her hand on her husband’s arm, while Elizabeth obediently turned and allowed Lord Anthony to offer her his. Along with the Duke of Stanhope, the party of five moved through the ballroom— an honor guard to protect Elizabeth, arranged in advance by the same man who had caused the need to protect her.
The wide balcony was surrounded by a high stone balustrade, and several couples were standing near it, enjoying the refreshing night air and moonless night Instead of walking out the French doors directly forward to the balustrade, as Elizabeth expected him to do, Jordan guided their party to the right, to the farthest end of the balcony, where it made a sharp right turn around the side of the house. He turned the corner, then stopped, as did the rest of the party. Grateful he’d sought some privacy for them, Elizabeth took her hand from Tony’s arm and stepped up to the balustrade. Several feet to her left Jordan Townsende did a similar thing, except that he turned sideways and leaned his elbow atop the balustrade, his back blocking them from view of anyone who might decide to walk around the side of the house as they had done. From the corner of her eye she saw Jordan grin tenderly and speak to Alexandra, who was standing beside him at the railing. Turning her head away, Elizabeth gazed out at the night, letting the restless breeze cool her face.
Behind her, where Tony had been standing, shadows moved, then a hand gently grasped Elizabeth’s elbow, and a deep, husky voice said near her ear, “Dance with me, Elizabeth.”
Shock stiffened her body, slamming against the barricade of numbness that Elizabeth was trying to keep intact. Still gazing straight ahead, she said very calmly and politely, “Would you do me a great service?”
“Anything,” he agreed.
“Go away. And stay away.”
“Anything,” he amended with a solemn smile in his voice, “but that.”
She felt him move closer behind her, and the nervous quaking she’d conquered hours before jarred through her again, awakening her senses from their blissful anesthesia. His fingers lightly caressed her arm, and he bent his head closer to hers. “Dance with me.”
In the arbor two years ago, when he had spoken those words, Elizabeth had let him take her in his arms. Tonight, despite the fact that she was no longer being totally ostracized, she was still teetering on the edge of scandal, and she shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Nothing we’ve ever done has been wise. Let’s not spoil our score.”
Elizabeth shook her head, refusing to turn, but the pressure on her elbow increased until she had no choice. “I insist.”
Reluctantly she turned and looked at him. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, smiling tenderly into her eyes, “I’ve already danced seven dances, all of them with ugly women of unimpeachable reputations, so that I’d be able to ask you, without causing more gossip to hurt you.”
The words, as well as his softness, made her wary. “What do you mean by the last part of that?”
“I know what happened to you after the weekend we were together,” he said gently. “Your Lucinda laid it all out for Duncan. Don’t look so hurt—the only thing she did wrong was to tell Duncan rather than me.”
The Ian Thornton who was talking to her tonight was almost achingly familiar, he was the man she’d met two years ago.
“Come inside with me,” he urged, increasing the pressure on her elbow, “and I’ll begin making it up to you.”
Elizabeth let herself be drawn forward a few steps and hesitated. “This is a mistake. Everyone will see us and think we’ve started it all over again—”
“No, they won’t,” he promised. “There’s a rumor spreading like fire in there that I tried to get you in my clutches two years ago, but without a title to tempt you I didn’t have a chance. Since acquiring a title is a holy crusade for most of them, they’ll admire your sense. Now that I have a title, I’m expected to use it to try to succeed where I failed before—as a way of bolstering my wounded male pride.” Reaching up to brush a wisp of hair from her soft cheek, he said, “I’m sorry. It was the best I could do with what I had to work with—we were seen together in compromising circumstances. Since they’d never believe nothing happened, I could only make them think I was in pursuit and you were evading.”
She flinched from his touch but didn’t shove his hand away. “You don’t understand. What’s happening to me in there is no less than I deserve. I knew what the rules were, and I broke them when I stayed with you at the cottage. You didn’t force me to stay. I broke the rules, and—”
“Elizabeth,” he interrupted in a voice edged with harsh remorse, “if you won’t do anything else for me, at least stop exonerating me for that weekend. I can’t bear it. I exerted more force on you than you understand.”
Longing to kiss her, Ian had to be satisfied instead with trying to convince her his plan would work, because he now needed her help to ensure its success. In a teasing voice he said, “I think you’re underrating my gift for strategy and subtlety. Come and dance with me, and I’ll prove to you how easily most of the male minds in there have been manipulated.”
She nodded, but without any real interest or enthusiasm, and allowed him to guide her back through the French doors.
Despite his confidence, moments after they entered the ballroom Ian noticed the increasing coldness of the looks being directed at them, and he knew a moment of real alarm—until he glanced at Elizabeth as he took her in his arms for a waltz and realized the cause of it. “Elizabeth,” he said in a low, urgent voice, gazing down at her bent head, “stop looking meek! Put your nose in the air and cut me dead or flirt with me, but do not on any account look humble, because these people will interpret it as guilt!”
Elizabeth, who had been staring at his shoulder, as she’d done with her other dancing partners, tipped her head back and looked at him in confusion. “What?”
Ian’s heart turned over when the chandeliers overhead revealed the wounded look in her glorious green eyes. Realizing logic and lectures weren’t going to help her give the performance he badly needed her to give, he tried the tack that had, in Scotland, made her stop crying and begin to laugh: He tried to tease her. Casting about for a subject, he said quickly, “Belhaven is certainly in fine looks tonight —pink satin pantaloons. I asked him for the name of his tailor so that I could order a pair for myself.”
Elizabeth looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses; then his warning about looking meek hit home, and she began to understand what he wanted her to do. That added to the comic image of Ian’s tall, masculine frame in those absurd pink pantaloons enabled her to manage a weak smile. “I have greatly admired those pantaloons myself,” she said. “Will you also order a yellow satin coat to complement the look?”
He smiled. “I thought—puce.”
“An unusual combination,” she averred softly, “but one that I am sure will make you the envy of all who behold you.”
Pride swelled in him at how valiantly she was rallying. To stop himself from saying things he wanted to say to her tomorrow, in private, Ian looked around for another topic to keep her talking. He mentioned the first one he saw. “Am I to assume the Valerie I was introduced to earlier was the Valerie of our greenhouse notes?” He realized his mistake the instant her eyes clouded over and she glanced in the direction he’d looked.
“Yes.”
“Shall I ask Willington to clear his ballroom so you have the requisite twenty paces? Naturally, I’ll stand as your second.”
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath, and a smile curved her lips. “Is she wearing a bow?”
Ian looked and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Does she have an earring
?”
He glanced again and frowned. “I think that’s a wart.”
Her smile finally reached her eyes. “It’s not a large target, but I suppose—”
“Allow me. ” he gravely replied, and she laughed.
The last strains of their waltz were dying away, and as they left the dance floor Ian watched Mondevale making his way toward the Townsendes, who’d returned to the ballroom.
“Now that you’re a marquess,” Elizabeth asked, “will you live in Scotland or in England?”
“I only accepted the title, not the money or the lands,” he replied absently, watching Mondevale. “I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow morning at your house. Mondevale is going to ask you to dance as soon as we reach the Townsendes, so listen closely—I’m going to ask you to dance again later. Turn me down.”
She sent him a puzzled look, but she nodded. “Is there anything else?” she asked when he was about to relinquish her to her friends.
“There’s a great deal else, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.”
Mystified, Elizabeth turned her attention to Viscount Mondevale.
Alex watched the byplay between Elizabeth and Ian but her mind was elsewhere. While the couple danced, Alex had told her husband exactly what she thought of Ian Thornton who’d first ruined Elizabeth’s reputation and now deceived her into thinking he was still a man of very modest means. Instead of agreeing that Thornton was completely without principles, Jordan had calmly insisted that Ian intended to set matters aright in the morning, and then he’d made her, and his grandmother, promise not to tell Elizabeth anything until Ian had been given the opportunity to do so himself. Dragging her thoughts back to the ballroom, Alex hoped more than anything that Ian Thornton would do nothing more to hurt her good friend.
* * *
By the end of the evening a majority of the guests at the Willington ball had drawn several conclusions: first, that Ian Thornton was definitely the natural grandson of the Duke of Stanhope (which everyone claimed to have always believed); second, that Elizabeth Cameron had very probably rebuffed his scandalous advances two years ago (which everyone claimed to have always believed); third, that since she had rejected his second request for a dance tonight, she might actually prefer her former suitor Viscount Mondevale (which hardly anyone could really believe).
22
Bentner carried a covered platter of scones into the morning room and placed it before Elizabeth and Alex, who were seated at the table discussing last night’s ball. Lucinda, who rarely ate breakfast, was sitting upon a narrow window cushion, calmly applying herself to her needlework while she listened to their conversation.
The morning room, like all the other rooms in the spacious house on Promenade Street, was furnished in what Julius Cameron called “serviceable colors”—browns and grays. This morning, however, there was a bright rainbow of color in the center of it where the girls were seated at a table covered with a maize linen cloth, Alex in a dusty-pink day dress, Elizabeth in a mint-green morning gown.
Normally, Bentner would have beamed approvingly at the pretty portrait the girls made, but this morning, as he put out butter and jam, he had grim news to impart and a confession to make. As he swept the cover off the scones he gave his news and made his confession.
“We had a guest last night,” he told Elizabeth. “I slammed the door on him.”
“Who was it?”
“A Mr. Ian Thornton.”
Elizabeth stifled a horrified chuckle at the image that called to mind, but before she could comment Bentner said fiercely, “I regretted my actions afterward! I should have invited him inside, offered him refreshment, and slipped some of that purgative powder into his drink. He’d have had a bellyache that lasted a month!”
“Bentner,” Alex sputtered, “you are a treasure!”
“Do not encourage him in these fantasies,” Elizabeth warned wryly. “Bentner is so addicted to mystery novels that he occasionally forgets that what one does in a novel cannot always be done in real life. He actually did a similar thing to my uncle last year.”
“Yes, and he didn’t return for six months,” Bentner told Alex proudly.
“And when he does come,” Elizabeth reminded him with a frown to sound severe, “he refuses to eat or drink anything.”
“Which is why he never stays long,” Bentner countered, undaunted. As was his habit whenever his mistress’s future was being discussed, as it was now, Bentner hung about to make suggestions as they occurred to him. Since Elizabeth had always seemed to appreciate his advice and assistance, he found nothing odd about a butler sitting down at the table and contributing to the conversation when the only guest was someone he’d known since she was a girl.
“It’s that odious Belhaven we have to rid you of first,” Alexandra said, returning to their earlier conversation. “He hung about last night, glowering at anyone who might have approached you.” She shuddered. “And the way he ogles you. It’s revolting. It’s worse than that; he’s almost frightening.”
Bentner heard that, and his elderly eyes grew thoughtful as he recalled something he’d read about in one of his novels. “As a solution it is a trifle extreme,” he said, “but as a last resort it could work.”
Two pairs of eyes turned to him with interest, and he continued, “I read it in The Nefarious Gentleman. We would have Aaron abduct this Belhaven in our carriage and bring him straightaway to the docks, where we’ll sell him to the press gangs.”
Shaking her head in amused affection, Elizabeth said, “I. daresay he wouldn’t just meekly go along with Aaron.”
“And I don’t think,” Alex added, her smiling gaze meeting Elizabeth’s, “a press gang would take him. They’re not that desperate.”
“There’s always black magic,” Bentner continued. “In Deathly Endeavours there was a perpetrator of ancient rites who cast an evil spell. We would require some rats’ tails, as I recall, and tongues of—”
“No,” Elizabeth said with finality.
“—lizards,” Bentner finished determinedly.
“Absolutely not,” his mistress returned.
“And fresh toad mold, but procuring that might be tricky. The novel didn’t say how to tell fresh from—”
“Bentner!” Elizabeth exclaimed, laughing. “You’ll cast us all into a swoon if you don’t desist at once.”
When Bentner had padded away to seek privacy for further contemplation of solutions, Elizabeth looked at Alex. “Rats’ tails and lizards’ tongues,” she said, chuckling. “No wonder Bentner insists on having a lighted candle in his room all night.”
“He must be afraid to close his eyes after reading such things,” Alex agreed, but her thoughts had returned to last night. “One thing is certain—I was correct about having you go out in society. Last night was much harder than I imagined, but the rest will be easy. I have no doubt you’ll be receiving offers within a sennight, so what we must do is decide whom you like and wish to encourage. I think,” she continued gently, “that if you still want Mondevale—”
Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want anyone, Alex. I mean that.”
The dowager duchess, who had arrived to accompany Alex on a shopping expedition, swept in on the heels of an intimidated footman whom she’d waved off when he offered to announce her. “What are you saying, Elizabeth?” she demanded, looking extremely disgruntled that her efforts last night might be going for naught.
Elizabeth started at the sound of her imperious voice. Clad in silver-gray from head to foot, she exuded wealth, confidence, and superior breeding. Elizabeth still thought her the most intimidating woman she’d ever met, but, like Alex, she had seen past that to the reluctant warmth beneath the sound of disapproval in her stern voice.
“What Elizabeth meant,” Alex explained while the dowager duchess seated herself at the table and arranged her silk skirts to her satisfaction, “is that she’s only been back out in society for one day. After her unfortunate experiences with Mondeval
e and Mr. Thornton, she is naturally reluctant to misplace her affections.”
“You’re wrong, Alexandra,” said the dowager stoutly, scrutinizing Elizabeth’s face. “What she meant, I believe, is that she has no intention of wedding anyone now or in the future, if she can avoid it.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded, but she did not lie. “Exactly,” she said quietly, buttering a scone.
“Foolish, my dear. You shall and you must wed.”
“Grandmama is quite right,” Alex said. “You can’t hope to remain in society unwed without eventually encountering all manner of unpleasantness. Believe me, I know!”
“Exactly!” the dowager said, getting down to the reason for her early arrival. “And that is why I’ve decided that you ought to consider Kensington.”
“Who?” Elizabeth said, and then she recognized Ian’s new title. “Thank you, but no,” she said firmly. “I feel much relieved that things came off as well as they did, and grateful to him for his help, but that is all.” Elizabeth ignored the little tug on her heart when she recalled how handsome he’d looked last night, how gentle he’d been with her. He had caused her nothing but grief from the time she’d met him. He was unpredictable and dictatorial. Furthermore, having seen the special closeness Alex seemed to share with her handsome husband, Elizabeth was beginning to question the rightness of choosing husbands as if practicality were paramount. Elizabeth couldn’t remember much about the gay, handsome couple who had been her own parents; they had breezed in and out of her life in a swirl of social activities that kept them away from home far more than they were there.
“Grateful?” repeated the duchess. “I would not have used that word. Besides, he did not handle it so well as he might have done. He should never have asked you to dance, for one thing.”
“It might have looked more odd if he hadn’t,” Alex said reluctantly. “However, I, for one, am vastly relieved that Elizabeth has no interest in him.”