Almost Heaven (46 page)

Instead of smashing his face, Ian quirked an amused brow at him. “As I said, it was not for want of trying to get her off alone.”

Seven male faces gaped at him in disbelief that was turning to disappointment; a moment later that gave way to shocked gratification when the new marquess asked
their
counsel: “I wonder,” Ian remarked as if thinking aloud, “if she’d look with more favor on a marquess than she did on a mere mister.”

“Good God, man,” one of them laughed sarcastically. “The promise of a coronet will win you the hand of any woman you want.”

“The promise of a coronet?” Ian repeated, frowning a little. “I gather it’s your opinion, then, that the lady would settle for nothing less than marriage?”

The man, who’d thought nothing of the sort a moment ago, now nodded, though he wasn’t exactly certain how he’d come to agree.

When Ian departed he left behind six men who had the diverting impression that the Marquess of Kensington had been rebuffed by Lady Cameron when he was a mere mister, and
that
bit of gossip was far more delectable than the former gossip that he’d seduced her.

With democratic impartiality, all six of those men shared their misinformation and erroneous conclusions with anyone in the ballroom who wanted to listen. And everyone was more than eager to listen. Within thirty minutes the ballroom was alive with speculation on this new information, and several males were studying Elizabeth with new interest. Two of them hesitantly presented themselves to Ian’s grandfather and requested introductions to her, and shortly afterward Ian saw her being drawn to the dance floor by one of them, with his grandfather beaming approval. Knowing that he had done all he could to stem the gossip about her for one night, Ian then performed the only other ritual he had to endure before he could ask her to dance without exposing her to further censure. He asked seven consecutive women of assorted ages and unimpeachable reputations to dance with him first.

When all seven duty-dances were over, Ian caught Jordan Townsende’s eye and tipped his head very slightly toward the balcony, sending him the signal that Ian knew his grandfather had already forewarned Jordan to expect.

Elizabeth noticed none of that as she stood with the Townsendes, letting the conversations swirl around her. In a welcome state of calm unreality she listened to several gentlemen who seemed to have lost their aversion to her, but her only genuine feelings were of relief that the Townsendes were no longer ostracized, and a lingering frustration that when she had asked if she could leave, nearly an hour ago, Jordan Townsende had glanced at the Duke of Stanhope and then shaken his head and gently told her, “Not for a while.” Thus she was forced to remain, surrounded by people whose faces and voices never quite penetrated her senses, even though she smiled politely at their remarks or nodded agreement at their comments or danced with a few of them.

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 comer, 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 allover 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. “Its 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).

CHAPTER 22