Dancing With A Devil (15 page)

“
No,” she immediately lied, feeling no qualms about it. Father had not talked. He had demanded.

Mr. Shelton’s eyebrows bunched together. “Hmm. I’m surprised, but I’ll say no more.”

“
That’s probably best,” she said, struggling against the instinct to clench her hands. “Father really likes to do things on his own terms.”

“
Understandable,” Mr. Shelton agreed. “I like to do things my own way as well.”

She did not care for his suggestive tone, but she cared even less for the slow slide of his beefy hands down her back. He came to a stop just above her derriere. Glaring at him, she arched her back away and stepped back a pace. “I believe you have lost control of your hands,” she snapped, turning her face purposely away from him. Not even to keep the peace with her father would she allow this man to maul her. She swept her gaze around the outer edge of the ballroom, past the refreshment table, the line of wallflowers, the chairs of six staring matrons and toward a shadowy alcove near the hall that she knew led to the portrait gallery.

Either it was her imagination, the flickering candlelight or something had truly moved. She held her breath, a strange feeling consuming her and her heart beginning to race. The notes of the waltz picked up pace and Mr. Shelton danced them closer to the alcove. She squinted, unsure, and then her breath caught. Her gaze locked with Trent’s. He leaned casually against the wall, but his rigid stance and fisted hands at his side bespoke of anything but calmness coursing through him at this moment. A happy thrill shot through her body. She grinned and gripped Mr. Shelton’s hand tighter. When he squeezed her hand back, she immediately lessened her hold.

The rest of the dance passed in silence and when the song ended, Mr. Shelton led her back to Whitney, her husband, Sally and the duke. Squeezing her hand with entirely too much familiarity, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“
Perhaps,” she said, so as not to seem too unsociable. Whether things went her way or not, she would never dance with this man again. When he departed she turned to Whitney and Sally. “Trent is here!”

“
Where?” Sally demanded, gazing out toward the dance floor.

“
Not there.” Audrey cocked her head toward the alcove. “Over there, but do not look at―”

Before she could get the rest of her warning out for Whitney and Sally not to look at once so they would not indicate they noticed him, both women had turned to stare at the alcove and then began to wave Trent over.

Audrey huffed out a breath. “I had hoped he would come to me on his own accord.”

Sally patted her hand as she exchanged a smile with her husband. “I’m sure he would have, darling, but this way we have just hurried things up a bit. No need to waste perfectly good time waiting for a man to be sensible when they so rarely are.”

Sally’s and Whitney’s husbands both grunted in unison.

He approached slowly. Too slowly, as if reluctant, but aware that to ignore his own cousin would be a terrible faux pas. Something was not right. Audrey’s stomach flipped. Perhaps it was her imagination. The closer he came, his facial expression grew clearer. His eyebrows slanted into a frown, but in four more steps he had smoothed them. Audrey clenched at her dress, then forced herself to release it as he came upon them. She tilted her head and forced a trembling smile to her lips. “Lord Davenport, I’m so glad to see you well once again.”

“
Thank you,” he mumbled.

She frowned. Trent didn’t mumble. He’d never mumbled once in all the time she’d known him.

“
Oh, the quadrille,” Whitney exclaimed. “How lovely. Audrey was just saying this is her favorite dance and she luckily still has it free.”

Audrey gaped at Whitney, not sure whether to be thankful or angry. If Trent was trying to avoid her, she did not want Whitney forcing his hand, no matter how much she longed for his strong hands to belong to her. Forever.

When Trent scrubbed a hand over his face, Audrey’s stomach flipped again. It was not her imagination. He did not want to be with her.

Heat singed her cheeks and she peered down at her slippers for momentary respite. She’d say she needed to freshen up. That was what she would do. Then she would go home and bury herself under her covers. She glanced up to make her excuse, and his gaze was on her.

An uncomfortable silence stretched as he stared and she cursed the burning shame no doubt made evident by her flaming skin.

His expression darkened before softening. “One last dance can hurt no one.”

Last dance? Was he upset with her? Was that this sudden change? Had she gone too far in flirting with Lord Thortonberry? As all the couples headed to the dance floor, she determined to ask him. Once they took their places in the dance line, she hurriedly tried to speak with him before the quadrille began. “Trent, are you upset with me?”

“
No.”

That was it? No. One word, nothing further! The man was infuriating. The tempo of the music started to rise, signaling that soon she’d have to move. “Are you jealous? Is that why you’re acting so different than last time I saw you?”

His brittle smile softened slightly. “I’ll always be jealous when another man touches you.”

Everyone around them started moving. Blast, blast, blast. She went through the motions while counting the seconds she’d be with Trent long enough to continue their conversation. After a few beats they came together and she hissed, “There’s no need to be jealous. You must believe me.”

The dancers moved again, forcing Trent to step away from her. She watched him for a moment and when he appeared to think she was no longer looking she caught him staring at her with the special look he’d given her before
―the one that pierced her to her soul and branded her his. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as her hope was renewed.
Absently, she finished the dance and curtsied to him at the end. Now they could talk. “Trent―”

“
Lady Audrey,” a low voice said behind her. “This next dance is mine.”

She sighed and turned to greet Lord Tilly. She would throttle her father if she could for requiring she accept any lord who asked her to dance tonight. “Yes, of course, Lord Tilly. Let me just say goodbye to Lord Davenport.”

Lord Tilly smiled kindly at her. “He’s left, Lady Audrey.”

Denial closed her throat as she swiveled around to empty air. Trent had slipped away without so much as a goodbye. There was no denying something was dreadfully wrong. The teasing, laughing man who had kissed her at the picnic and the one who had stared longingly at her a week ago at Whitney’s wedding breakfast was gone. Along with her hope for a marriage filled with love between the two of them. Tomorrow, her time was up with her father and once she disobeyed him she’d be kicked out of his home and become an outcast in Society.

The pounding on her bedchamber door early the next morning did not wake Audrey up, because she had never actually fallen asleep. She had spent the night worrying. “One moment,” she called as she dragged herself out of bed, threw on her dressing robe and went to the door. She gasped in surprise to see her Aunt Hillie, her mother’s sister, standing there. She threw her arms around her aunt and hugged her. “When did you arrive? I did not know you were coming for a visit.”

Her aunt gave her a firm hug back. “I just arrived and I did not know I was coming for a visit either, until my financial circumstances became so dire that they took my home yesterday.”

“
Oh, Hillie,” Audrey murmured, pulling away enough to look at her aunt in the face. “I’m so sorry.”

“
Don’t be, dear,” Hillie said with a cheerful note. “I get to visit with you and I’m certain I’ll be all right. I somehow always am.”

Audrey nodded and took in her aunt’s appearance. A bit of dust clung to the outrageous ensemble her aunt wore. Audrey bit her lip. Clearly, her aunt’s unusual way of dressing had not changed, even if her financial circumstances had. Seven feathers of various hues of green adorned Hillie’s hair, and her gown was two sizes too big, in an altogether outdated fashion and made of Hillie’s signature color of carrot―according to her. In truth, the color clashed horribly, as it always had done, with Hillie’s red hair, but Audrey happened to know orange had been Uncle Fred’s favorite color.

Audrey took her aunt’s hand at patted it. “How long have you been here?”

“
Not even twenty minutes,” Hillie said while reaching up to straighten one of her feathers. “I went straightaway to speak with your father, but after assuring me I could stay, he refused to hear the rest of what I wanted to say. He told me to come fetch you, because he needed to speak with you and then he said he would endure listening to the mess I had made of my life later.”

Audrey squeezed her aunt’s hand. “I’m sorry, Aunt.” Her father had never liked Hillie. He said she was dicked-in-the-nob, but Audrey knew that wasn’t true. Hillie was different, with her insistence on every gown she owned being orange, never wearing less than seven feathers in her hair and adding a proverb to almost every conversation she had, but being different didn’t bother Audrey. She knew firsthand Father’s lack of tolerance for anyone who didn’t fit the mold Society expected. Audrey tugged her aunt inside of her room. “I’m glad you have finally come for a visit, despite the circumstances.”

“
As am I,” Hillie said, warmth infusing her tone. “I would love to visit with you now, but your father demanded you come right away and I’m to get my chance to plead my beggarly case afterwards.”

Audrey nodded as she plodded over to her wardrobe, chose a gown and went behind her dressing curtain. “You are never a beggar with family,” she called from behind the screen.

“
Hmph,” Hillie replied. “That’s not what your father thinks. But enough about me for a moment. Do you know what your father wants to speak with you about?”

Audrey came out from behind the dressing screen and turned her back to Hillie. “Would you fasten me?”

“
Of course, dear. Where are the servants?”

“
Gone,” Audrey replied as Hillie tugged on her gown. “Father has gotten rid of them. I believe we may be on hard times.”

“
Oh, my,” Hillie murmured. “Is that what your father wishes to speak with you about?”

She faced her aunt and shook her head before retrieving her brush and pulling it through her hair. “Heavens, no. He does not deem me sensible enough to discuss such things with. Believe me, I have tried several times to find out what is happening only to be met with derision. No, Father is trying to force me to marry a man I do not love. Actually”―she set the brush down and slipped her feet into her shoes―“I rather detest the man.” She quirked her finger at her aunt. “Come, let us walk before my tardiness makes matters worse for me.”

Her aunt fell into step beside her. “We can chat as we walk. It is not fit that whilst good luck is knocking at our door, we should shut it.”

“
Who said that?”

“
Thomas Shelton,” Hillie answered with a sly smile.

Audrey nodded. No one who was simpleminded could recall proverbs word for word and tell you who said them. “I think you’re rather smart, Aunt Hillie.”

Her aunt smiled. “I’ve always thought so too, dear, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

As they descended the marble stairs and entered the portrait gallery, they paused in unison in front of her mother’s portrait. Staring at her mother, she noticed what she always did, that even though there was a well-placed smile on her rosy lips sadness filled her green eyes and made them tilt unnaturally downward. Of course, the painter had not known her mother did not always look that way. Audrey sighed. “It was not well done of Mother to die before she could tell me whatever a lady is to do when her well-thought-out plan goes awry.”

Her aunt clicked her tongue. “Taking her life was not well done either, but we cannot complain to her now. Bless her. I hope she’s happier now.”

Tears stung the backs of Audrey’s eyes as she whispered, “I hope so too.”

“
Dearest.” Her aunt turned to her. “What was your plan for your life? Does it involve a gentleman other than the one your father wants you to marry?”

Audrey swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “It did. I wanted to marry for love like you and Uncle Albert did, and not have an arranged marriage of loveless quiet desperation like Mother and Father’s.” A shudder passed through her at the idea of such a marriage. “I’d rather be dead than stuck in a loveless marriage.”