Enticing the Earl (6 page)

Apparently there was hope.

“Thank you, no,” the earl told her, his voice firm. “I am engaged to dance with Mrs. Smith. And I'm sure that my brother would be devastated to lose the pleasure of your company.”

“Er, right,” Carter said at once, under the pressure of his brother's glance. “If you would allow me the privilege?”

The contessa gave in with good grace. She accepted Carter's hand and allowed him to lead her toward the dance floor.

“You don't have to dance unless you wish it,” Lauryn muttered, meanwhile, as the earl led her in the same direction.

“I have every intention of dancing with you, Mrs. Smith,” her escort said, his tone even. “Do you object to dancing?”

“No, no,” she said, flustered at once. “I mean, I only thought—”

Instead of a formal set, where she stood up in a line of females while he took his place with the gentlemen, he pulled her into his arms, taking one of her hands in his, and putting his other hand on her waist.

To her alarm, she saw that it was that most fast and frivolous of all dances, the waltz.

He must have seen her confusion because he raised his brows.

Keeping her voice low, she said quickly, “I have only practiced this dance a few times, and never in company!”

She thought her face must have flushed, or else gone quite pale. She could feel her pulse jumping—he was so much pure male and the heat of his hand on her waist, the subtle odor of soap and clean linen and his own unique male scent teased her senses, and she was so aware of his nearness—

But they were supposed to be dancing and surely everyone was looking—

What if she made a muddle of it in front of all his guests? He would be angry, and she would be mortified!

“Don't concern yourself, it's not that taxing,” he answered her, also in a quiet voice. “Just take a deep breath and follow my lead.”

And then the notes flowed from the musicians' instruments, and they were off. With one hand on her waist, the other gripping her hand, and with his firm guidance, and the lilting melody of the music to observe, Lauryn found she was not as lost as she'd feared she would be. In fact, she forgot to think at all; she simply allowed her body to float across the floor, swaying with the earl, who was remarkably light on his feet for such a tall man.

With his hand at her waist, his firm pressure gave her warning when they were about to turn, or step forward or back. With this help, she soon caught the rhythm of the dance. She felt almost as if she were flying across the dance floor, and she forgot to be afraid of disgracing herself or him and only delighted in the pleasure of the graceful and rhythmic movement.

When the music faded to an end, she was conscious of a distinct disappointment. The earl spun her once more, then they came to a halt.

The earl looked down at her sparkling eyes and slightly parted lips. He wanted to kiss her so badly it was a physical pain, made so much worse by having to hold himself back. He became aware that she was speaking.

“You are a very fine dancer,” she said, smiling up at him. “Thank you for guiding me so well through my first waltz, my lord.”

“You are more than welcome, my dear,” he told her. “You dance very well, indeed. It was my pleasure.”

He thought of all the other activities he wanted to guide her through, for the first time, or almost the first time, he rather thought that it might be. He ached to find out! And how long would this damn party last? When could he send these yammering guests upstairs to bed?

Releasing her with the greatest reluctance, he wiped a drop of perspiration off his forehead and knew it did not come from the effort of the dance.

The next tune denoted a country dance, and they had to move several paces apart as they flowed in step with the parallel lines of ladies and gentlemen. Lauryn smiled at him from a few paces away, and he smiled back, forgetting the rest of the dancers and almost missing the hand of the woman he had to circle.

The dance continued, and Marcus had to focus hard to remember the steps, and that was unheard of because Mrs. Smith was quite right: he was a good dancer. But tonight he was in no mood for any dance except the ultimate one of two bare bodies engaged in delightful coupling. His body tingled with the thought, and he had to wrench his speculations away yet again. How many more minutes would this torture continue?

He was obsessed, he thought. How long had it been since he had felt this way about a woman? Had he ever felt this intently? One thing he knew for certain—if he did not get her alone soon—He should not have even come down. He should have pretended not to be in the residence, his “guests” would likely not have known he had come in—if he had told Carter to keep his mouth shut—a pity his half brother could not keep a confidence!

As if his thought had conjured him up, when this dance ended, his brother popped up again, and again the contessa was there at his elbow, both unflaggingly cheerful.

“Now may I ask the lady for the pleasure of a dance?” Carter demanded.

Marcus glared at his brother, and he must have looked murderous because his sibling took a step back. But he didn't retreat totally, only lowered his voice and continued, “Now look, old man, people are going to talk if you don't allow her to dance and talk to others. You can't keep her to yourself all night—might as put her in a golden cage. They'll have you committed to Bedlam, don't you know?”

The earl clenched his jaw, wanting to argue but knowing that Carter, who knew social niceties if nothing else, was right. And he did not want to make her the subject of more talk than she already would be, simply by being here.

So with grudging agreement, he nodded when his companion said, her voice firm, “I should be happy to dance with you, Mr. Elton.”

“Happy to hear it,” Carter said, offering his arm. The two walked off toward the dance floor.

Marcus watched them go, and didn't care if his frown deepened. For one heart-wrenching moment he thought the musicians were striking up a waltz. He would kill Carter if he had told them to play another waltz so soon! If his brother touched her waist and pulled her close, he was a dead man!

No, no, the melody was not right; it was only a country dance.

The earl let out his pent-up breath. The contessa was watching him. “Are you not going to ask me to dance, Marcuz? Ve make a good partnership, too, you must remember!”

“Not just now, forgive me. I have something I must do,” he told her, his tone vague. And despite the fact that now she was the one frowning, he walked rapidly away. He would warn the musicians that on no account, until he expressly ordered them differently, were they to play another waltz!

Lauryn found Carter also a good dancer, though she suspected he might not be quite as strong at leading as his older half brother. But he was also light on his feet, and in the line dances she knew what she was doing, only once finding an unfamiliar pattern, and she was able to follow the lead of the lady in front of her and avoid making a mistake.

After two dances, he took her—most correctly—back to her first partner, the earl. Sutton was still standing where they had left him, and had not danced with anyone else, to Lauryn's surprise but private relief.

They did not dance again, however, but stood at the side of the big room and chatted with others in the chamber. Lauryn met neighbors of the earl and deflected their veiled curiosity as much as she could.

“You are not from the Fens, I take it,” one matron pointed out. “Your accent is not that of southern England.”

“No,” Lauryn agreed, taking a sip of wine that a servant had procured for her.

Her expression expectant, the matron waited, but Lauren smiled sweetly without supplying more information.

“But you do not sound as if you are a native Londoner, either,” a second lady pointed out, her tone shrewd, “and, unlike some of the earl's—ah—previous guests, you do sound like a lady born.”

This made Lauryn narrow her eyes, but she took another sip of wine and hoped that she had bent her head in time to hide her reaction. Denial would likely only provoke more argument, however. “Of course,” she said in a moment. “Why should I not?”

This left her circle of interrogators at a quandary; they were standing too close to the earl to be deliberately rude to his current “guest.”

Who but the earl would so ignore social protocol as to host events and invite his courtesans and his neighbors? No, the party was Carter's idea this time, she told herself.

“I do find the Fens intriguing,” Lauryn added. “I had not visited this part of the countryside before. Have the canals ended the threat of flooding? If so, it must be a great boon for you.”

She already knew the answer from the earl's earlier comments, but it seemed a good way to turn the topic of the conversation away from herself. She felt like a lone kernel of corn surrounded by a flock of hungry, sharp-beaked chickens.

“Oh, gracious no,” the first neighbor said. “If you had been here last spring—I thought several times I should have to climb onto my own roof.” She narrated a harrowing tale of the dangers she and her family had survived, and then it seemed that all of the women had stories to relate, as well.

“Oh, that was nothing. If you had been at our house…” an older woman spoke up, waving her fan for emphasis.

Lauryn listened closely and made appropriate comments at the right times, glad to have, for the moment at least, diverted their attention.

The evening seemed to pass very slowly, and Lauryn was aware that she was weary from the long ride in the carriage, and that in some ways, the party itself—had she longed for parties?—was taking as much of a toll on her energy as the long trip had. The curious stares of the women, the sometimes openly licentious ogles of the men—trying not to blush, she stood up straight and was very glad that the earl stayed close by her all evening.

At last the butler appeared to announce that a light supper was served in the dining room. The musicians allowed their music to fade, and the crowd of guests surged toward the hallway. Of course, Carter had returned and cajoled his brother into sitting with him at supper, and to Lauryn's private chagrin, Carter's partner was the omnipresent contessa, who still seemed more determined to attract the earl's attention than Carter's, whom she seemed to treat as only second best.

The meal was set up on a long sideboard where one could pick and choose before sitting down; the array of edibles was quite amazing. She filled her plate with meats and cold salads and some delightful sweets, little cakes and ices and gelatos in the Italian style, and returned to sit beside the earl.

He stood as she was seated, and then a servant came to speak quietly in his ear.

“Please excuse me. I shall be back in a moment,” he told her, then bowed and left the table.

“Of course,” she said, as he left.

Carter was absent, perhaps still at the buffet table, and Lauryn found herself alone with the contessa.

“It seems you 'ave quite enthralled ze earl. My compliments, Miz Smith,” the contessa said, flashing her brilliant smile.

Lauryn looked the contessa in the eye. “My feeling is that you would like to be the one doing the enthralling,” she said, her tone courteous.

“But of course,” the other woman shot back, her smile widening. “The earl iz a 'andsome man—and a rich one. Both desirable qualitites, yez?”

Her frankness was disarming.

“I suppose so,” Lauryn agreed, grinning despite herself. “But there is more to him than that.”

“Oh, yez, he iz a magnificent lover,
aussi
.” The contessa licked a spot of butter off her finger, her tongue lingering for a moment on the tip.

Lauryn found herself flushing. “I—” She couldn't find words to finish the sentence.

“Ah, you 'ave not yet made
l'amour
? You vill find it most gratifying. He understands 'ow to please a woman.” The contessa sighed. “Few men have been so inspiring. But it appears I shall 'ave to find another lover this time.
Pauvre moi
!”

Lauryn found her mouth was open and shut it hastily. The contessa might be conniving but not–not duplicitous, she thought, a trifle wildly.

“Yes, no, I mean, yes,” she murmured. Since she had no intention of giving up the earl to another woman, yes, the contessa should look elsewhere.

She wasn't sure the contessa had heard, but when she looked up again, she saw the contessa's wry look, and she thought that they understood each other.

“I vill warn you of one thing,
jeune fille
,” the other woman said.

“Yes?” Lauryn answered, wary.

“
C'est vrai.
It is best to be candid in dealings vith him. He vill not stand for lies.” The contessa's glance was shrewd, and her tone seemed sincere.

“Oh,” Lauryn said, for a moment unable to meet the other woman's eyes. Here she stood using a fictitious name—how could she answer that? “I–I will remember.”