Bound By Temptation (12 page)

C
lara held her spine straight as she walked away. The books her governess had once tried to balance on her head would have stayed there now without a wobble. It was important that she not let him see how much his words had upset her.

A waiter passed, and she grabbed a glass of champagne, drinking half in a single gulp. She refused not to enjoy herself simply because
he
was here.

She would dance and laugh and have fun—but all in a most respectable way. It was only Masters who offered the temptation to stray from the proper path. She could not even manage to thank him without resorting to flirtation.

When one of her past admirers swept up and asked her to dance, she answered with a gracious nod. “I would love to dance. I think it’s just what I need.”

Only it wasn’t. She twirled. She stepped. She smiled. She flirted. She curtsied. She twirled again. It should have been a delight.

It wasn’t.

She wasn’t even sure whom she had danced with. Each gentleman blended with the next without leaving a firm impression. It was hard to even pretend an interest.

At least she had resisted looking for the blasted man. She did not allow herself to peer through the crowd seeking him. It was enough to know he was here.

Although, maybe he had left. It was still early, but he had not seemed to be overcome with the joy of the evening. He was good at leaving.

She must not think such things. She was here to have fun, and fun she would have.

As if in answer to a silent prayer, Clara spotted Anna Struthers standing alone at the side of the room, the woman’s soft brown curls and light green dress fading into the elegant fabric that swathed the wall. Anna had been one of Clara’s dearest friends before her marriage, and she was determined that would not change now.

“Anna, I am so glad to see you,” Clara said as she walked toward her friend. “I feared that handsome husband of yours would sweep you off to the continent for a wedding trip.”

“No, Struthers decided it was best to stay in Town for the season.” Anna spoke without her normal joie de vivre.

Clara was unsure of the circumstances surrounding her friend’s marriage. Anna had simply mentioned it in a letter as if it had no more importance than buying a new hat. The two women had
shared many a proper and many a not-so-proper adventure over the last few years, and Clara could not help wondering at the little information that Anna shared.

“Are you well?” It was a simple question, but Clara hoped for a more forthcoming answer.

“Yes, I am well. And you?” Anna’s answer left much to be desired.

Clara considered. She did not like to pry, but neither did she like to see Anna looking so alone. “And Struthers, he is well also?”

“Yes.” It was like pulling teeth from a hen.

“I was surprised to hear of your nuptials.” She would be more direct. There was clearly no other course open. “I did not even know that you were acquainted with the man. I played cards with him on several occasions and he seemed an—an unusual choice as a spouse.”

Anna stilled. Clara could see her choose her words with care. “You mean you charmed him into throwing in his last penny?”

“No, not at all,” Clara answered. “I never played a game requiring deep pockets with him. His play was far too serious for me.”

“Struthers does take his games seriously. All of them.”

Clara could tell that there was much more to be said. Those few words revealed so much and so little. “You still have not mentioned how you met.”

For a moment she did not think Anna would answer.

Anna shifted her feet and turned to look at a large potted palm. “We became reacquainted at Brisbane’s house party. We had known each other years ago.”

Brisbane. That would explain Anna’s reticence. Both women had been lovers of the young duke—although not at the same time. There were some things Clara had no desire to experiment with. She had always thought their friendship had been made stronger by the joint experience, but perhaps it was difficult to discuss being introduced to one’s husband by a past lover.

“I haven’t spoken to Brisbane for months,” Clara replied. “His aunt still writes frequently.”

“Does she fit as many words into her correspondence as her conversation?” Anna was clearly glad for the chance to steer the conversation away from her marriage.

Clara lifted a brow and gave her a clear look. “You know Lady Smythe-Burke. What do you think?”

Another couple joined them, and the conversation drifted to general talk of the season and the coming year. Clara smiled and nodded and made the appropriate comments before drifting away. Social discourse had never been difficult, but neither had it been a favorite pastime.

She smiled and nodded more as she made her way across the floor. A waltz had begun, and she had to step quickly through a doorway to avoid being asked to partake. She was not in the mood to be held, no matter how gently and politely.

Standing halfway into the next room, she looked back at the dance floor. Violet and Peter were dancing the waltz in perfect time. Their eyes locked on each other. She could almost see the small world that existed for only the two of them.

It was bittersweet to watch them when she stood so alone.

She stepped back farther into the room. It was a small sitting room, and she was surprised to find it deserted. Glancing carefully around, she checked every corner. She did not wish to interrupt anyone who had come here seeking quiet—or seeking anything else.

There was no one here.

She sat in the half light—she had left the door open a crack—and wished she were home.

She gave herself five minutes. She counted the seconds.

Then she stood, fluffed her skirt, and turned back to the door. She would dance three more dances and make one more round of the floor, wish Wimberley and Marguerite well, and then she would leave.

She wondered if her staff had put the knocker back on the door. If they hadn’t, she might leave it off for days and pretend she’d never been here.

The energy that had filled her for the last weeks was seeping away and did not feel as if it would ever return.

She placed her palm against the door, took one deep breath, and…

His voice carried through the wood panel. “Social frivolity is nice, but one should always have two ready conversations before attending any affair.”

Masters must be standing on the other side of the door.

A soft feminine murmur answered.

He spoke again. “No, I do not believe that knowing what the weather was like yesterday counts as a subject of conversation.”

Another quiet reply.

“But you must have read a book in the last months, seen an exhibition…” His voice trailed off.

Clara was not sure whether he had stepped away or was debating what other activity his partner might have engaged in. Unable to help herself, Clara edged to the side of the door and peered out.

All she could see of Masters was a gesturing hand. He had not stepped away.

The girl, however…Clara did not believe that she herself had ever been that young. The girl barely reached his shoulder and was buried in a dress of endless pink ruffles. She was blond, very blond, and definitely slender. Perhaps Masters was hoping she would still grow.

“Gothic novels”—he was speaking again—“are fine as a topic if one has something to compare them to. I myself have even skimmed through those…books…published by the Minerva Press. I am ready to discuss their value as entertainment and their lackings as literature.”

Was this how Masters proposed to conduct a courtship? The poor man had no idea. The hapless girl’s eyes were glazed, and it was clear that she had no thought but of escape.

Clara considered for only the briefest of seconds. She pulled the door open and stepped through.

Perhaps she would be able to even the debt she owed to Masters, after all.

Where did that blasted woman keep coming from? Masters watched as she stepped through the door, the red of her gown vivid even against the dark wood. It was bad enough that she was here at all, but now she was interrupting his interview with Miss Pink—and just when it had been going so well. The sweet girl had been so enrapt in his conversation that she’d had little of her own to add. He turned to her with an approving smile.

Why had she dressed in that gown? It was not the first time he’d had the thought that evening. Indeed, every time he addressed her, he found himself wondering. If they ever did proceed with a courtship, he would have to give her some advice on fashion. He did not normally have strong opinions on the subject, but there were some standards that must be maintained. He knew Miss Pink would be delighted to have someone to offer such valuable advice.

Clara cleared her throat, drawing his attention to the delicate lines of her neck. He could see her pulse beating rapidly.

He forced his eyes up to her face. “Lady Westington, what a surprise to see you again.”

“I don’t see why it should be.”

“I suppose I am not used to seeing you coming out of dark rooms—although perhaps I should be.” He had not meant to say that last.

Her eyes narrowed as he spoke, and then she smiled. It was not a kind smile. “Mr. Masters, you must introduce me to your charming companion.”

“Lady Westington, let me make you known to Miss Pink. Miss Pink, Lady Westington.”

“Miss Pink.” There was nothing but politeness in Clara’s tone, but Masters could not miss the devils that danced behind her eyes. “Let me say how wonderful it is to make your acquaintance. And wherever did you get that dress? I have never seen quite its like.”

“Lady Westington, I am charmed to make your acquaintance. My mother had the dress made. She said that ruffles are all the rage this year.”

“I am sure that’s true.” Clara’s words were soft and she spoke with kindness. “Is that your mother there? In the peach satin?”

“However did you know?” Miss Pink asked.

“She is glancing at you with such care and attention,” Clara answered.

Masters was sure it had more to do with the peach satin dress, which seemed to be composed of nothing but ruffles, than any maternal glance, but he refrained from comment.

“Mother does always keep an eye on me.” Miss
Pink nodded to her mother. “She wants to be sure my behavior is above reproach.”

“Well, perhaps then you’d better not mention me by name,” Clara teased, with just that bit of a note that said she was serious.

“Does that mean you’re scandalous?” Miss Pink asked, her eyes growing wide.

“I am afraid I am.”

Miss Pink glanced at her mother nervously and then turned back to Clara with great interest. “Is it fun?”

That caused Clara to throw back her head and loose that full, deep laugh, that laugh that sent vibrations straight through him.

“Scandal should not be admired,” he said firmly, trying to pretend that he was not affected.

“Of course not.” Miss Pink dropped her eyes and eased away from Clara and toward him. It was good to see she was so malleable. And her movement indicated she already saw him as a protector. He felt his chest puff.

“I think your mother is gesturing for you to return to her,” Clara said, waving toward the peach dress.

“I do believe you’re right.” Miss Pink was gone before he could even say his farewells. She must truly have been frightened by the scandal that Clara might present.

He tapped his toe once on the hardwood floor. “I did not see any gesture.”

“I could argue and pretend that you had missed the motion, but what would be the point?” Clara
said. “The poor girl was uncomfortable and you only made her more so.”

What nonsense. Miss Pink had been fascinated by his discussion. “I don’t believe I agree—”

“You don’t need to agree, fact is fact. I was afraid she would turn into a great pink puddle on the floor if you commented even once more on how she should behave.”

“I don’t—”

“Of course, you—”

“If you interrupt me one more time I will sling you over my shoulder and toss you into the garden.”

Clara hoped her mouth did not gape open at his words. He was the most proper of proper windbags with everybody else, but the moment she spoke up, he showed a far different side of himself.

It was impossible to know whether to fight back or to laugh.

She laughed. It started deep in her belly and rose, filling her lungs until it just bubbled out. God, it was good to simply enjoy. It would be so easy to be frustrated with the man, but it was so much better to just enjoy the absurdity of the situation.

“You are attracting attention,” Masters said, glaring at her.

Or was he staring at her lips?

She hesitated, leaned slightly toward him, then replied, “Now that sounds more like you.”

He stiffened, but his eyes stayed on her mouth. That was very interesting. She licked her lips.
“Was that child on your list of possible brides? I would have thought you would prefer someone—someone taller.”

“Miss Pink is of excellent social standing. Her mother was the fifth daughter of the Duke of—”

“Daughter of a duke,” she chuckled. “That explains the dress. Only the daughter of a duke could be so confident of her own taste to the exclusion of all others.”

He did not answer for a moment but stood surveying the room. He turned back to her finally. “I believe we were actually getting along quite well. She seemed most interested in my company.”

“Most interested in escape, you mean. Do you really imagine that the way to court a young girl is to provide direction on every aspect of her life?”

“I was not aware I was doing so.” A blue fire lit his eyes as he continued to stare at her. “However, yes, I do think she would be grateful for it. Miss Pink seemed quite taken with my speech. She was so absorbed that she felt little need to add to it. The young must be taught how to behave.”

“When they are children perhaps, but despite my earlier comment, she is no longer a child, but rather a young lady.” She met his glare with one of her own. “Do you not think that you should be interested in finding out who she is, if you intend to make a lifelong commitment to her?”