Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (16 page)

Her heart ached as she searched his beloved features. It was only at times such as this that she could stare at him without his awareness and the resultant frown of displeasure. Ever since the disastrous wedding night, she had seen nothing but frowning anger or disapproval written clearly on his face. Even tonight, the night of her debut in society she ached for a sign of reassurance, but he had done nothing more than nod to her politely as Jacko helped her on with her cape. It was Jacko who had winked conspiratorially and given her words of encouragement as she joined Aunt Nell and Pax in the carriage.

She knew from her brief forays into London that Lady Gresham's mansion was not far from Pax's house on the Strand. The closer they came, the more frightening the prospect of her imminent entry into the jaws of society. The horses slowed, ready to disembark their passengers. Leslie sucked in her breath as the door opened and a footman lowered the stairs. She closed her eyes in an agony of fear, pressing back into the corner of the carriage.

"Turning tail, my dear?"

Pax's soft drawl broke through to Leslie, and she stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes. Tilting her chin in the air, she slapped her gloved hand into Pax's opened palm, and descended the stairs to her husband's side.

With wooden fingers, Leslie unfastened her cape as Pax removed it to give to the waiting attendants. Her eyes widened at the wide sweeping staircase that ascended to the receiving line and the ballroom. They had timed their arrival for eleven-thirty when most of the guests would already be assembled. But now the scarcity of people made Leslie feel totally exposed and she shrank away from the ordeal ahead.

"Aunt Nell?" Pax extended his arm to the older woman then turned gracefully to Leslie, extending the other. "Your Grace?"

For a moment Leslie hesitated but under the steely glance of her husband she refused to cry quarter. She tried to control the trembling of her body, afraid that Pax would notice how terrified she was. Her satin slippers were soundless on the carpeted stairs as they ascended to the waiting throng.

"I must congratulate you, Aunt Nell, on your ensemble. Dowager black is quite new to your wardrobe. Most of your outfits rather shriek with color." Pax's amused tone was warm with affection. "However your turban leaves me quite breathless. Is it possible that was once a live bat caught so cunningly in the folds?"

"Really, dear boy, you will put me to the blush. Leslie should be the centerpiece for the evening. I wish to remain discreetly in the background." Nell grinned at Pax's snort of disbelief. "And yes to your question. I thought the bat was a nice touch. It reminded me of Lady Gresham and all the other busybodies waiting inside."

Leslie's steps faltered as they reached the top. Pax's grip of iron caught her elbow as she swayed. Her frightened eyes turned up to his, and he leaned toward her, for all the world like a loving husband soothing a nervous bride.

"It's not too late, Leslie. If you don't think you can manage the jumps, we can go back to the stables."

Pax's cutting words were all the goad that Leslie needed to put her on her mettle. A flush of color burned in her cheeks, and she quickly bit back the retort which rushed to her lips. Instead she snapped her closed fan against his wrist, satisfied at his wince of pain. She moved foreword, smiling sweetly as she passed him.

"Why thank you, your Grace, for such kind words," she said over her shoulder.

With Aunt Nell leading the introductions, Leslie found it relatively easy to get through the receiving line. However as she stood at the entrance to the ballroom her heart once again caught in her throat. It seemed to her that the conversation had come to a standstill with clusters of people staring at them, eyes narrowed with malicious intent. She felt frozen, an actress waiting for the curtain to rise.

"Good heavens, Leslie! Where do you suppose Cecily got that dress." Nell leaned close, indicating with a nod of her head Lady Cleavon standing at the edge of the crowd. "I daresay there isn't a ribbon or ruffle left in all of London. It looks like something that should be hanging at the window, not worn to a ball."

As she fought to hold back a giggle, Leslie's color heightened, giving an added sheen to her lovely skin. Much better, thought Nell. Can't have the girl looking like Marie Antoinette standing before all these harpies. Gad, but Leslie's beauty damn near takes one's breath away. In that slim sheath of emerald green, she'll put all those simpering debs in the shadows. Now if Pax only plays his part, we should scrap through the evening and carry the day.

As though conjured up by her thoughts, Pax suddenly appeared at Nell's elbow. He ushered the two women across the room, stopping occasionally to greet a friend and introduce his wife and aunt. Leslie flinched inwardly at the coldly speculative stares of the men and the rigid hauteur of the women. It was apparent that the Cleavons had spread the word of her unorthodox behavior among the
ton
. Under the steely eyes of her husband though, civility was observed.

Having settled Nell comfortably among her cronies, Pax led Leslie around the floor. With studied nonchalance, he maneuvered her through the crowd. Their path appeared aimless but Leslie was aware of his strong arm pulling her forward, a compass set on a specific course. Finally Pax stopped before a chattering group of dandies. Although there was nothing intrusive about their approach, the men fell away until there was a clear path in front of the woman on the sofa.

Leslie knew that all else had been a mere opening. Here was the main test. She did not recognize the woman, but suspected she was socially important by the very blandness of Pax's expression. Her gloved hand trembled on her husband's arm and through the satin material of his sleeve, she could feel the taut muscles indicating his own tension.

"Lady Jersey, I would like to present my wife, Leslie, Duchess of Ruhaven." Pax words were lazily drawled with a hint of mischief in the deep tenor of his voice.

On cue, Leslie dipped gracefully into a full curtsy, eyes downcast and breath held for good measure. Aunt Nell had warned her that she would have to be accepted by the patronesses of Almacks. Sally Jersey's nod would put the seal of approval on the Duchess of Ruhaven. Leslie faltered slightly at the sheer audacity of Pax's next words, but she managed to maintain her balance.

"I would have been delighted to introduce you several years ago," Pax said, his white teeth flashing in a charmingly mischievous grin. "But it is only recently that I became pleasantly surprised by Leslie's existence."

The quiet around the threesome was primed. It was as though everyone held their breath, waiting for an explosion of some kind. Every muscle in Leslie's body was frozen, waiting to respond with dignity if she received the cut direct. She promised herself she would show no emotion but would leave the ballroom with head high and her pride intact. As the older woman's eyes locked with hers, Leslie smiled gently, asking for nothing.

"Some say rakes make the best husbands. What think you, Leslie?" Lady Jersey asked.

"Since I have the best husband, I think then, he must be a rake." Leslie could feel the muscles in Pax's arm relax under her fingers. Perhaps she had given too pert an answer, but at least Pax approved.

Lady Jersey's shrill shout of laughter was taken up around her by the watchers of this little tableau. As the woman wiped the tears from her eyes, Leslie knew that she had passed the crucial test. Sally Jersey smiled with delight, and Leslie responded with an enchanting grin of her own.

"I suspect, Paxton, this little package may be more than you bargained for. I hope she gives you as much trouble as you deserve." She fluttered her lashes coyly up at Pax. "Run along now and enjoy yourselves."

After another curtsy, Leslie and Pax strolled around the edge of the floor until they found Nell, head bent conspiratorially to receive some choice tidbit of gossip. With much solicitude, Pax seated Leslie on a gilt chair beside his aunt, bowed to them both and was gone. Leslie felt bereft, watching his figure disappear, until she became conscious of Nell's soft hand patting her own.

"It's an accolade, my dear," Nell said bracingly as she took in the woebegone expression on the young girl's face. "He would have stayed if he felt you needed protection."

Although Leslie was less sure of that, she accepted the woman's kind words as well intentioned and promised she would try to enjoy herself as best she could. She was fully prepared to remain in the background, but apparently Aunt Nell had no such intention. She was introduced to a dizzying succession of men who were delighted to squire her around the floor. So intent was she on trying to remember the dance steps that she was barely aware of her partners for another hour.

"Are you feeling quite the thing, your Grace?" Captain Fitzhue asked.

Startled by her partner's voice, Leslie looked up into a pair of cheerful blue eyes. The man was dressed as elegantly as Pax, but there the similarity ended. Where her husband was tall and muscular, Captain Fitzhue was only medium height and his figure was more casually rounded. He wore his blond hair neatly cropped and, despite his slight plumpness, held himself with a natural military bearing. But it was his round cherubic face that won Leslie's confidence. His open expression was immediately pleasing to her. Up to this point she had met men whose faces were set in the artificial boredom decreed by society.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Most of the partners I've danced with have chattered away so I wondered if you were feeling well." His smile was broad but without a trace of mockery.

Leslie smiled in return, then confessed, "I didn't mean to be rude, Captain, but I was counting."

"Counting?"

"Yes. I've just learned to dance and I was counting the steps." When she stumbled and stepped on his toe, she laughed ruefully. "I'm so sorry, but you would have me talk."

Fitzhue laughed in delight at the young girl's honesty. "The thing of it is, your Grace, you're much too tense. It's much easier if you just let me guide you to the music."

She did as he instructed and found that Captain Fitzhue was indeed an expert guide. It was delightful to relax and, for the first time since her arrival, Leslie found she was truly enjoying herself. Gratefully she smiled at her partner.

"You are surely a miracle worker, Captain."

"I enjoy dancing when my partner is featherlight and radiantly beautiful," Fitzhue said.

Leslie's face reflected her confusion at his words. "Please don't flatter me, Captain. I have had a surfeit of flowery phrases flung at my head this evening."

"It was not flummery, your Grace. I meant every word. I am not out for a light flirtation. Pax is a good friend of mine, and I only meant to be kind."

Leslie's eyes were sad as she said, "So that's why you asked me to dance?"

"No, your Grace. I asked you to dance because I knew your father," was Fitzhue's surprising answer.

"You knew the Captain? How wonderful!" Leslie's face glowed with pleasure. "In India?"

"Yes, in Lucknow. Just a month or two before his death. It was a pleasure to watch his command over the men, your Grace."

"Oh, please call me Leslie. I would like to think of you as a friend," she said ingenuously. "I have none here in England and especially none who have been to India."

"I would be truly honored to be your friend, Leslie," Fitzhue said in all sincerity. "And you must call me Fitz."

When the music faded away, Fitz laughed outright at the disappointed look on the girl's face. He led her back to her aunt, bowing punctiliously before the older woman.

"You are looking as contented as a fox among the chickens, Lady Titwiliver."

"Fustian, Fitz! Show a little respect for a woman of advanced years." Nell beamed at the young man's chortle of amusement. "Your mother is well, I trust?"

"Now that she's married off my youngest sister she's retired to the country where she can devote all her time to the hunt." Fitz winked broadly at Nell. "She hated the Season because it interfered with foaling. Never trusted the estate manager when one of her prize mares was ready to drop."

"Shameful fellow. Such talk." Nell fluttered her fan in mock horror. "The late Earl always said your mother had the best seat in the county."

"Perhaps you and Leslie would care to join me in the supper room so that I could regale you with hunting stories?" Fitz asked, cocking an innocently raised eyebrow at the older woman.

"It would serve you right, if I took you up on the offer," Nell chuckled throatily. "Since my rapscallion nephew has abandoned his wife for the lure of the cards, I will permit her to accompany you."

"She'll be in perfectly safe hands, ma'am," Fitz said. "It will keep the others at bay."

Leslie was delighted to relax in the company of the friendly officer. She had a momentary pang that Pax had so completely deserted her. Any residual feeling of triumph she had at being accepted by the
ton
had worn off earlier. By and large she was lonely, and the gentlemen she had met had not been the kind whose friendship she would seek. But with Captain Fitzhue, Leslie felt immediately at ease. Perhaps it was his acquaintance with her father or his military life which had been so much a part of her own early upbringing. Mostly she thought it was the open, honest face and serious eyes that held neither calculation nor a lingering disapproval.

"I thought ladies only picked at their food, Leslie?" Fitz asked eyeing the plate piled high with delicacies.

"I'm not a lady," Leslie responded naughtily, "only a Duchess!"

"Whether you know it or not, your Grace, you are both." Fitz's voice was devoid of sycophantic flattery. In the short time that he had known the girl, he recognized her inborn grace and intelligence. He knew they would deal well together; friends able to trade confidences and advice. In the social world they belonged to, this was a rarity, and Fitz was delighted. He talked easily of her father and his life in India.

"Are you on leave, Fitz?" Leslie asked.

"A month or two. As the only son I was needed for estate business. In the normal run of things, my mother can handle most everything. Since Bonaparte’s been routed, things were calm enough for me to return for a spell. Shortly I'll return to Vienna for the peace conference."