Enchanting Pleasures (18 page)

She was absolutely frozen, but perhaps—perhaps this was a good time for their first kiss? Gabby smiled.

She drifted closer to Peter, who looked up in surprise. “It’s quite, quite cold, Peter,” Gabby said. She didn’t want to ask him for a kiss. Peter should kiss her the first time of his own initiative.

Peter peered at her. “Would you like to go inside, then? Have you woken up? You mustn’t look sleepy in the ballroom, Gabby. A lady should always look lively and refreshed, even when in the throes of exhaustion.”

Gabby was now standing so close to Peter that she could easily touch him. She was aware, given the arctic temperature, that her nipples were readily visible through the bodice of Madame’s gown. She had a clear memory of Quill’s groan at discovering the same physical fact in the drawing room.

But Peter was showing no signs of looking at her chest, or of kissing her, for that matter. In fact, he was looking rather discomforted. “Peter,” Gabby said in her sweetest, most docile tone. “Since we are to be married, I think it would be acceptable for you to kiss me.”

Peter practically recoiled. “Absolutely not! No such action is acceptable at a ball, under any circumstances.”

There was an awkward silence.

Gabby swallowed hard. “Do you really mean to say that you don’t wish to kiss me?”

Peter thrust his hand through his brown curls. “Of course I want to kiss you, Gabby.”

Gabby looked at him mutely, appeal in her eyes.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Peter exclaimed. He tipped up her chin and put his lips on hers.

Gabby stood still and closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself by being too forward.

But Peter showed no inclination toward great intimacy. His lips pressed on hers slightly, and a second later withdrew. Gabby opened her eyes. Peter was smiling at her.

“Well, that’s over,” he said jovially. “I expect that was your first kiss, wasn’t it, Gabby?”

Gabby hesitated, and then threw herself against his chest and pasted her lips to his. Luckily he was considerably shorter than Quill and she was able to reach his mouth.

Peter gasped in shock.

She thought he was opening his lips, precisely as Quill had taught her was the fashion in kissing, and so she followed suit.

But Peter’s hands did not wrap around her. Instead, he grabbed her bare shoulders and furiously pushed her away.

“My God!” Peter was appalled. He was disgusted. His stomach was churning. “Are you crazed?” He looked at his betrothed. Her hair was tumbling down again, and her nipples were—by God, she was precisely what Prinny had said. When Prinny had called her a dasher, he didn’t mean a person of style, but a coquette. Prinny was warning him! Prinny was his friend, and that was no compliment—it was a
warning!

“You are, that is, you’re debauched,” he managed to choke out.

Gabby wrapped her arms around her shivering chest. Peter was the most punctilious person she’d ever met in her life. After all, Mr. Barlow showed every intention of kissing her on the balcony, until she ducked under his arm and returned to the ballroom;
he
wasn’t overwrought about propriety.

“And your hair! You even look tawdry!”

“Peter,” Gabby said in her most reasonable voice, “we are engaged. I am persuaded that no one would cry scandal if we briefly embraced.”

Peter cast a haunted look at the open door. “Anyone could have seen us! And if they had, you would be an outcast in London society.”

Gabby bit her lip. “I feel that you are exaggerating,” she said carefully. “But I shall retire to the ladies’ chamber.” She walked through the door. Then she popped her head back onto the balcony. “Would you have kissed me in the carriage on the way home?”

Peter’s stomach churned again. “Absolutely not! Do you think Lady Sylvia wouldn’t notice?”

“Well, would you have kissed me if Lady Sylvia wasn’t there?”

“Lady Sylvia or my mother will always be with us, until we are married,” Peter retorted. “It would be most improper for us to be unchaperoned.”

Gabby disappeared, presumably taking herself off to fix her hair. Peter took a deep breath and touched his cravat. Luckily it didn’t appear to be too crushed.

A cheerful voice broke into his thoughts. “Knew it had to be you out here, Peter, my lad!” One of his friends, Lord Simon Putney, walked through the door and took out a small cigar. “Saw your betrothed leaving the balcony. Never thought you’d do so well for yourself. She’s a beauty. Her breasts!” Simon kissed his fingers. “I always thought you’d marry one of those icy types, if you married at all,” he continued genially. “But you’ve caught the best one of the Season!”

Simon lowered his voice and gave Peter a manly sort of look. “You know what I mean. She looks as if she’ll liven up your bedchamber, old fellow.”

Peter did. In fact, he was so gloomily aware of the truth of his friend’s assessment that he stayed out on the balcony for a half hour, smoking one of Simon’s cigars. Normally he would never do such a thing, given that the pungent odor of tobacco was so difficult to remove from clothing. But it was comforting, under the circumstances.

The only problem was that Simon proved to be intoxicated, and he waxed more and more enthusiastic about Gabby’s prime feature—her breasts. Peter restrained himself from saying irritably that if he wanted to buy a cow he would have gone to the country. The pure unkindness of the remark was not fair. Gabby’s chest was not her fault.

Gabby, meanwhile, was sitting in the ladies’ chamber having her hair pinned up yet again when Sophie Foakes, the Duchess of Gisle, entered the room.

“Miss Jerningham!” Sophie exclaimed with delight.

“Do forgive me for not rising, Your Grace,” Gabby said with a smile. The maid still had some twenty hairpins to apply, and if Gabby moved, the whole process would have to begin again.

“Oh, surely we needn’t be so formal,” Sophie exclaimed as she plumped herself into a chair next to Gabby. “Now, are you enjoying London, Miss Jerningham?”

“Please, will you call me Gabby?” The question was impetuous, but the duchess seemed very friendly.

“I would adore to,” Sophie replied promptly, “as long as you call me Sophie. We shall scandalize the old biddies.”

“Why would it be scandalous?” Gabby felt a bit wary about causing scandal, given Peter’s admonishments.

“Oh, it isn’t really, Gabby. It’s just that women of my mother’s generation who have known each other since the cradle are still greeting each other as Lady Such and So. Now, why haven’t I seen you in Hyde Park or at my reception? I sent you a card.”

Gabby looked about. They were the only ladies in the chamber at the moment. “I had to wait until Madame Carême’s clothing was delivered,” she confided. “Peter was most adamant about my remaining in the house until I was properly attired.”

Sophie frowned. “That doesn’t sound like sweet Peter.” Then she thought for a moment. “Well, of course, your appearance would be most important to him. You look splendid, by the way. I wear a good deal of Carême myself. Tomorrow I intend to
demand
a small train on the gowns she is making up for me. I fully expect that you will start a rage!”

“Perhaps,” Gabby said, and then chuckled. “I think it’s more likely that I shall start a scandal. I am not persuaded that this bodice will stay in place.”

“Oh, it will,” Sophie assured her. “We have approximately the same figure and I have never had a problem in that respect. Madame has a magical touch. Goodness, I’m tired!” she added, fanning herself idly. “I always find this point in the evening simply unbearable.”

Gabby looked at her curiously. “Why not go home, then?”

“Oh, it improves,” Sophie replied. “They’ll call for the supper dance soon. After eating, most people find a second wind. And, of course, by then the gentlemen in the card room have become quite inebriated. That always creates some interest,” she said with a mischievous twinkle.

“How are drunken men of interest?”

“They garner their courage.”

At Gabby’s questioning look, she continued. “They approach women who are not their wives, or they begin absurd arguments and get themselves into a primitive display of male temper.”

“That does sound more interesting,” Gabby observed.

“Ladies, too, throw caution to the wind and wander off into the garden unchaperoned. That wakes up my mother and the rest of the more severe dowagers.” She smiled impishly. “I used to count the evening quite wasted if I didn’t give my mother at least one reason to scold me on the way home.”

Gabby smiled back rather uncertainly. Then she asked, in a near whisper, “Were you ever kissed on a balcony? I mean, before you were married?”

Sophie grinned. “Yes, of course, I’ve been kissed on a balcony—many balconies, as a matter of fact.”

“Did it cause a scandal?”

“Oh, certainly,” Sophie said blithely. “Until I married Patrick, I was practically the most scandalous baggage in the
ton
. My mother used to lecture me all the way to a ball and then rant all the way home. I have some lovely memories.”

To Gabby’s mind, Sophie’s memories stood in direct opposition to Peter’s view of scandal.

“But Peter said—” Gabby stopped. She didn’t really want to confide the sneaking suspicion she had, that Peter didn’t want to kiss her anywhere, not on a balcony, nor in a carriage, nor anywhere else.

“Who tried to kiss you? Was it that dreadful Mr. Barlow? I saw you dancing with him.”

“Yes,” Gabby said gratefully. “He asked if I would like to see the balcony, and then …”

“He’s a loose fish. What did you do?”

“I elbowed him and walked out.”

“Well, Peter must approve of that,” Sophie observed. “I expect he was jealous. It’s my impression that Patrick takes great pleasure in interpreting my behavior as scandalous, and likely Peter is the same. But there’s no way you could have known that Barlow is such a turnip.” Sophie rose. “We should reappear in the ballroom, or my husband will search me out. He’s still absurdly besotted.”

And when Gabby smiled, the duchess added, “We haven’t been married long. I daresay we will grow tired of each other any moment.”

“I doubt it,” Gabby said, looking at the exquisite woman before her. “Your husband is a very lucky man, Your Grace.”

“You promised,” Sophie complained. “My name is Sophie.” She took Gabby’s hand. “Patrick would fuss if I left the room with Barlow. The man is a gross lecher. I’ll find you a perfectly unexceptionable escort so that Peter can’t complain.”

To Gabby’s pleasure, she and Sophie were met at the bottom of the stairs by Peter and Lucien Boch, who was, rather unexpectedly, escorting Phoebe’s mother, Mrs. Ewing.

“How lovely to see you!” Gabby said warmly to Emily Ewing.

“You missed the supper dance, Duchess,” came a deep voice to her right. Gabby turned to find Sophie laughingly tapping a very handsome man with her fan. Gabby rather thought he must be the duke, and when he cupped a hand around her new friend’s waist and dropped a kiss on her eyebrow, she was quite sure he was.

Five minutes later, there was a little flurry as the three men made certain that their respective escorts were comfortably seated in the supper room, after which they began to fight their way through the crowd toward the tables.

“This is splendid,” Sophie declared. “It will take them at least a half hour to snatch even the barest chicken wing, so we can become better acquainted in the interim. I must tell you, Mrs. Ewing, that although I have been positively thirsting to own Gabby’s gown all evening, I now find myself quite moonstruck over yours as well. It’s lowering to be so riveted by jealousy.”

Emily smiled, her blue-gray eyes uncertain. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Just then Lucien reappeared and touched Emily’s shoulder. She turned to look up at him, and her rather solemn face broke into a dimpled smile. “Mr. Boch?”

Lucien appeared to have momentarily forgotten what he meant to ask. “I…I merely wondered if you would prefer fowl or fish, Mrs. Ewing.”

“Fowl, please,” she replied. Lucien paused, and then caught sight of Sophie’s and Gabby’s interested eyes. He turned rather blindly into the crowd and disappeared.

“Goodness me,” Sophie said with a gurgle of laughter in her voice. “I have known Lucien Boch some five seasons, and I have never seen him struck dumb before this evening.”

A faint blush rose into Emily’s cheeks. “Mr. Boch escorted me to this ball merely as an act of charity. He is a very kind man.”

Sophie twinkled at Gabby. “What do you think? Could kindness explain why the sweetest-tongued man in all London suddenly began stammering at the mere sight of Mrs. Ewing’s smile?”

“Of course, I am not well-acquainted with Mr. Boch,” Gabby replied mischievously, “but he struck me as eminently logical before this evening….I wonder what could have turned him into such a noodlehead, if not your smile, Mrs. Ewing?”