Candice Hern (84 page)

She found herself breathless after the lively country dance, and determined to sit out the next one. Lord Edmund Foote begged her company during the set, and she sent him to procure a glass of punch. As he left, Meg looked about for an empty bench, and caught a glimpse of Eugenia Willoughby talking with a group of ladies. Guilty for having abandoned Eugenia at the Grosvenor House reception, Meg went straight to her side. Eugenia was happy to see her and pulled her into the circle of conversation, which centered around the latest fashions.

After a moment, a tiny brown-haired woman came forward to greet Eugenia. Everyone seemed to know her, except Meg, who was introduced to the Marchioness of Pemerton.

"Oh!" Meg said as she bobbed a curtsy. "I have heard much about you, my lady."

"Indeed?" The largest hazel eyes Meg had ever seen smiled up at her. "And though I did not know your name, I believe I have heard much about you, Miss Ashburton. You are, of course, the tall red-haired beauty who has taken the
ton
by storm."

Meg shrugged and felt her cheeks color.

"Perhaps you would care to stroll with me for a bit," Lady Pemerton said, "and tell me what it is you have heard about me."

Meg smiled down at the diminutive marchioness. "I would love to." She nodded to the group of women as she stepped away with Lady Pemerton.

As they walked side by side, the marchioness began to chuckle. "My, what a pair we must make," she said. "The shortest lady in the room with the tallest." She laughed again. "Well, let them all stare and wonder what on earth we have in common."

"We have a friend in common, I think," Meg said. "Lord Sedgewick. While he convalesced at our farm at Thornhill, he spoke often of Lord Pemerton. He also mentioned his friend's delightful new bride. I believe you were only recently married?"

"Yes, only seven months ago," Lady Pemerton said, nodding at a passing acquaintance. "And you are correct. Sedge is one of Jack's closest friends. And now mine, too."

"Then, may I ask you something, my lady?"

"Of course," she said. She stopped and turned to face Meg. "But only if you agree to call me Mary. Since we have a close friend in common, we should be friends as well."

"Thank you, Mary. And my name is Meg."

"What was it you wanted to ask me, Meg?" the marchioness said as they began to walk again.

Meg looked down at her toes and hesitated. "I ... I heard something rather disturbing this evening. About Sedge, that is."

"Disturbing?"

"Yes. You see, I encountered his cousin, Mr. Albert Herriot, earlier at Grosvenor House. He indicated that Sedge had ... well, had become something of a ... a drunkard."

"Oh, dear," Mary said as they skirted a group of young men who were laughing boisterously and slapping one another on the back. She lowered her voice. "I hope he is not spreading that tale all over Town."

"To tell you the truth," Meg said, "he was a bit on the fly himself, so I was not sure how much to believe."

Mary placed her hand on Meg's arm and pulled her away slightly from the groups of people that clustered along the edges of the ballroom, so they could be more private. "I can only tell you that Jack had also been quite concerned about Sedge. He was apparently very depressed about … about something, and did seek solace in drink. But Jack assures me that Sedge has come around. He seemed to be more of himself when I saw him earlier this evening."

"You saw him this evening?" Meg's heart began to beat an erratic tattoo.

"Yes, we met him leaving just as we arrived here."

"He was here?" Meg's voice rose to something close to a squeal.

Mary smiled and patted Meg's arm where her hand still rested. "I am afraid you missed him, my dear."

"Oh." Meg felt like a deflated balloon. He had been here. Damnation, she had missed him. "But, if he was here, then Mr. Herriot must have been wrong. He is not sitting home alone, with the knocker removed, drinking himself into a stupor."

"Is that what Mr. Herriot said?"

Meg nodded.

"The idiot!" Mary exclaimed. "He had no business telling you, or anyone, such things about his own cousin."

"That was not all he told me."

"Good heavens," Mary said. "What else?"

"He said that Sedge had almost killed himself by setting fire to his bed curtains."

Mary's big eyes widened in surprise. "He told you that?"

"Yes. He seemed very ... very distressed by it all."

Mary heaved a sigh. "Listen to me, Meg. You must not repeat that story to anyone.
Not to anyone
. I am surprised Mr. Herriot told you. In fact," she said, her brows puckering up in concern, "I am surprised he even knew of it. You see, Jack was there when it happened. It was ... an unfortunate incident. Best forgotten. They had agreed it would be kept secret, to save Sedge from embarrassment." She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. "But Mr. Herriot is Sedge's cousin, after all, so maybe he confided in him. But the point is, it must go no further. If you care for Sedge,"—her hazel eyes bored into Meg's—"then you will not repeat what you heard."

"Of course not," Meg said, her cheeks heating up again. "And anyway, Mr. Herriot—"

"There you are!"

Meg turned to find Lord Edmund Foote holding two glasses of punch. Good heavens, she had forgotten all about him. "Oh, I am sorry, Lord Edmund," she said, offering a contrite smile. "I had not meant to disappear like that. I am afraid I became engrossed in a conversation with Lady Pemerton." She took the glass of punch he held out to her.

"Lady Pemerton," he said, bowing slightly, "may I offer you a glass of punch?"

"You are most kind, Lord Edmund," she said, flashing him a huge smile, "but I really must run my husband to ground. We are expected at Lady Dunholm's." She turned to Meg. "It has been a pleasure, Meg. Please call on me one day soon. We're at Hanover Square."

"Thank you, Mary."

The marchioness nodded and turned to walk away.

Lord Edmund raised his glass to Meg in salute and smiled. "Was that Albert Herriot I heard you discussing when I approached?" he asked.

"We mentioned him," Meg said.

"A friend of yours?"

"An acquaintance," Meg replied. "He spent some time recently at our farm."

"Ah, the famous Thornhill," Lord Edmund said. "Lucky devil."

Meg hunched a shoulder and took a sip of punch.

"Or perhaps not so very lucky just now," he continued.

Meg raised her brows in question, her glass poised midway to her mouth as she prepared to take another sip of punch.

"Frightful luck at the tables," Lord Edmund said. "Bad show, I'm afraid. Oh, I say, I hope that brother of yours ain't offering Herriot credit toward a bit of horseflesh. Couldn't pay if he wanted to. Up to his ears, I hear. Dun territory and all that."

"Oh, dear." Meg began to understand why Mr. Herriot might have been drunk and angry, if his life was in fact in such disorder. Poor man. Perhaps she had misjudged him.

"So, tell me, Miss Ashburton, would you like to drive in the Park with me tomorrow?"

"I would be delighted, my lord." Meg smiled at the anxious young man as he began to chatter on about his new curricle and pair.

* * *

Sedge had not found Meg on his first night out of the Season. He had heard of her, though. Everywhere he went, there were whisperings about the glorious Miss Ashburton. Her name seemed to be on the lips of every unmarried—and some married—gentlemen of the ton. She had certainly made her mark, his beautiful wallflower. He had known she would. He only wished he had been able to present her as his own, to lead her into a ballroom on his arm, acknowledged by one and all as his intended bride. Instead, if he was really interested in pursuing her, it appeared as though he would have to insinuate his way into her circle of admirers, and compete alongside the rest of them.

The notion of competing for her made him almost angry. He had courted her for weeks at Thornhill. He had stated his intentions. Despite the fact that she had turned him down, he felt he should have some sort of precedence. And what was she doing in London anyway? She had made it abundantly clear that she hated the very idea of another Season. He was at a loss to explain her actions. But obsessed enough with her to keep searching.

And luck was with Sedge on his second night out. From the moment he entered the Portland ball, he knew she was there.

"Did you see what Miss Ashburton is wearing?"

"Have you ever seen anyone so elegant in all your life?"

"Where do you suppose she's been hiding all these years."

"I think I am in love."

"Do you suppose Miss Ashburton would dance with me?"

"I have written a sonnet on the color of her eyes."

"She is
not
too tall. She is a goddess."

"Who is she dancing with?"

"Is she wearing yellow roses? I sent her yellow roses."

"I see The Ashburton has gathered her court."

"Will she throw us a crumb, do you think?"

By the time Sedge had reached the ballroom, he was heartily sick of Miss Ashburton. Could this Incomparable possibly be the same intriguing young woman he had known at Thornhill? The one who shunned Society and convention, who dressed and behaved as she pleased? The one without artifice who seemed so unaware of her own beauty? Without having yet even laid eyes on her, he felt this new Meg Ashburton was not the same woman he had fallen in love with. Somehow, she had been transformed out of all recognition into a Society coquette, one who apparently dangled a court of admirers and caused a stir wherever she went.

Sedge wanted to turn and run and forget all about her. But he must see her first. Just one more time. Perhaps if he saw for himself what she had become, he could get her out of his system once and for all.

And then he saw her.

She towered above all the other ladies and most of the gentlemen, her red hair blazing like a beacon. She was standing in a corner of the ballroom, surrounded by a dozen young swains—Bellingham, Soames, Lamb, Cunningham, Foote, Marsden, and others he could not identify. Her profile was to him, and Sedge stared for several moments in admiration of the classic lines of her nose and jaw, the chin held high over the long curve of her neck. Her hair, burnished to a fiery glow by the candlelight of a nearby torchère, was worn higher on her head than usual, giving the impression of even greater height. He could see nothing below the tops of her shoulders, which appeared quite bare. All he could see was luminous white skin, tickled by curling coppery strands that escaped at her nape.

Sedge's heart hammered against his chest as he recalled the softness of that white skin beneath his lips, the seductive scent of wild violets lingering on that long, white neck. God, but she was beautiful. The very sight of her singed him all the way to his toes.

As Sedge watched, Sir John Cunningham's lascivious gaze slid from her delicious sherry eyes, to her full lips, and down over each shapely curve of her body. The blackguard! How dare the man denigrate his woman with such vile attentions?

But she was not
his
woman. She had rejected him.

He watched her from across the room before he began moving slowly, inexorably toward her busy corner. What would he say to her? What would she say to him? Based on their last encounter, Sedge could not be sure that she would not give him the cut direct.

I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot accept your offer.

Her words rang in his head as he came nearer to her circle. He watched as she threw back her head and laughed, then flirted with her fan with two young men standing near. How could she have rejected him so coldly, and then flirt so easily with all those young fribbles? Had she merely been toying with him at Thornhill? Practicing her wiles on him? Using him to hone her irresistible charms before descending upon London in all her glory? London, with its wider selection of willing gentlemen. Gentlemen more appealing than Sedge.

Sedge had wanted Meg Ashburton more than any other woman he had ever known. But she had made a fool of him. A thousand kinds of fool. As he watched her laugh and flirt and tease like the most accomplished coquette, he feared she might do so again. Was doing so now. Sedge suddenly felt almost sick to his stomach. He did not think he could stand to watch much longer.

* * *

Meg was enjoying herself. She had gathered quite a crowd of young men this evening. All of them were in high spirits, laughing and joking and flirting outrageously. None of them seemed the least bit serious, so she had allowed herself to join in their fun.

She turned her head to listen to something Lord Bellingham was saying, and her heart gave a sudden leap. Over a sea of heads stretching across the width of the ballroom, a shock of familiar golden hair rose above the rest and a pair of piercing blue eyes stared straight into hers.

The instant their eyes met, Meg's pulse began to race and a surge of heat coursed through her body. She experienced a giddy joy at the familiar and wonderful sight of him, more certain than ever that she had made the right decision. None of the gentlemen surrounding her now—these young men who had flirted with her, flattered her, danced with her, sent her flowers, wrote poems to her—none of them had made the tiniest dent in her heart. It belonged completely to this man who glared at her so intensely just now. And she must waste no time in telling him so.

"Sedge." She mouthed the name silently as he continued to stare at her with that strangely serious expression. She turned fully toward him and smiled, her knees ready to melt at the first sign of his own devastating smile.

But it did not come. Sedge did not smile. Meg raised her brows, beckoning him. But he did not even acknowledge her presence. Meg's heart began to pound with uncertainty and she clutched her fan tightly in trembling hands. What was the matter? Why did he just stare and stare like that, his forehead creased with a frown? Had her rejection of his offer of carte blanche angered him somehow? Or perhaps it was embarrassment? Or even disappointment that she should be so prudish and unsophisticated? Oh, but she must tell him he was wrong, that she had changed her mind. She must tell him!