Lord Will & Her Grace (17 page)

"You allowed me little choice,
chérie
,
given your refusal to see me. I thought the plan moderately clever,
actually. Separating a gentleman from a lady must be handled
delicately." He stepped closer to her. "You should be thanking me.
I exposed him for the chicken-hearted individual that he is."

"I'm sure he'll send someone out for me.
You'd best be prepared to go."

"We shall see. Most men of his ilk rarely
expose their weaknesses to others, especially if a lady is at
stake."

"How true, Lord Will. You taught me that
quite well."

William's mind raced, trying to find the
words necessary to bring her about. His memorized speech fled as
she lowered her mask and he gazed into her beautiful face. A patch
next to her full lips glittered in the moonlight.

"Sophie, are you with child?"

"Ah, is that what this is about? No. I am
sorry to snatch your last shred of hope for a most advantageous
marriage. I suppose this means the Dowager Marchioness of Heathern
did not accept you?"

"Sophie…" William closed his eyes. He had so
hoped there would be a child.

"Ah, I see, no."

"Sarcasm does not become you."

"And grasping does not become you, my
lord."

"Sophie," he said again, taking hold of her
cold hand. She instantly retrieved her fingers from his. "I realize
my motives appear suspect to you, and I should have explained it
all to you sooner, but you must understand that—"

"You are a fortune hunter?" she interrupted.
"Yes, I must say I never could understand why you took such pains
to hide the fact from me when so many marriages involve matches
much like ours would have been. But I dislike duplicity. I can
forgive it once, and in your case, I did. But no one likes to be
played the fool twice."

"And that is why I am here, Sophie. To
apologize. Will you at least allow me that?"

Sophie looked down to find Mrs. Tickle
scratching her buckled shoe. She kneeled down to gather the pug in
her arms and scratch behind her ears. "I don't know."

"Then may I be allowed to explain it all to
you?"

"No. I'm tired of hearing all the various
reasons why gentlemen are in need of funds. But I think I will
accept your apology for deceiving me. I think if only because I
must thank you for teaching me more than anyone the machinations of
the upper circles."

William felt wretched, watching her. She had
the same cynical yet charming countenance he had caught on his face
many a time. He had put that expression on a face that had only
ever been open and honest in the past. He hardened himself to his
resolve. He would restore her.

"And," Sophie continued, "as I am always
generous when gratitude is in order, I shall offer a serious
candidate to help you solve your dilemma."

"Unless you're willing to reconsider my
proposal, I assure you that you will be unable to tempt me with
someone else," William said.

"No, it is not I. It's Lady Mary Russell, the
Earl of Shanet's daughter."

William grimaced.

"As you might have heard, she was left at the
altar a fortnight ago and the poor dear confided in me that she's
in search of a fast marriage of convenience as she cannot bear the
pitying looks. I think the two of you would suit. An added benefit
is that you'd be forced to move to her father's estate in Surrey,
well away from the lure of the vices that tempt you in town."

William knew she wouldn't believe any attempt
he made to cleanse his character. In fact, she'd assume it was all
a pack of lies. Unconsciously he reassumed the façade he'd taken
more than two decades ago. "I suppose you've tired of the idea of
wearing men's pantaloons, despite tonight's intriguing display,
then? If I wed this jilted bride, this might be the last time you'd
be able to wear them, my dear, in case you've forgotten." When he
saw the question in her eyes he continued. "The wager. How soon
they forget."

"No, I haven't forgotten wagering is of prime
importance in your life. But I wouldn't be so sure of your success
in this particular gamble."

A flicker of fear snaked up his spine.
"You're not betrothed, Sophie, are you?"

She looked straight at him through
half-shuttered eyes. A look that filled him with grief anew, so
much did it look like a mirror of himself.

"Why, yes. Yes, I am, most assuredly." She
wore a half smile on her lips.

"To whom?" he whispered.

He finally forced her to break contact with
his gaze.

"Why, I haven't decided, precisely," she
replied.

He exhaled with relief. "So you've more than
one prospect?"

"I thought you knew. And I shall select one
by the end of the month."

"So you've not given your word." It was more
of a statement than a question. "And who are the lucky
bastards?"

"Now, now, my lord, such language."

"Sophie, it will not do. I shall have you in
the end, my darling. I shall slay whosoever dares to assume my
place. You became mine in the music room at Villa Belza."

Sophie stiffened. "You presume too much. By
your reasoning a goodly portion of the women in England and France
are yours as well."

If she would just allow him to hold her once
again, he was confident, over time, he'd be able to convince her of
his honest feelings and intentions. He must change tactics.

"Miss Somerset, you are too good. Thank you
for granting me this quarter hour and your forgiveness of past
events. I'll not trouble you any longer, I promise, if you'll grant
me the final pleasure of a farewell kiss."

"No."

"Then a set of dances?"

A long pause heightened his hopes.

"Perhaps. But only if you promise never to
seek my acquaintance again."

"Agreed." He would say whatever was necessary
to get her into his arms again, fire and brimstone be damned.

Sophie handed the dog to him and walked
resolutely back to the ballroom. At the last moment, Will touched
her slim arm. "I shall seek you out for the next waltz."

He turned on his heel before she could
respond, then went in search of Lady Jacqueline and Mornington.
William discovered them cooling their heels in the front entrance
hallway, their heated whispers echoing within the arches.

"What's going on here?" Will asked.

"I'm leaving," Mornington ground out.

"Old fiddle-faddle got a mite peeved when I
found myself in a most uncomfortable situation," Jack replied,
lifting his chin in the air.

"And the situation was?"

"He was going to relieve himself in the
ladies' withdrawing room, for Christ's sake," replied
Mornington.

Will bit back a grin.

"Thank heavens a delightful— You would have
found her amusing, I'm sure," Jack said, looking at Will through
his lorgftette. "Anyway, a delightful little French maid, by the
name of Mademoiselle Karine Marcher, took one look at me outside
the withdrawing room and led me to a nice secluded place where I
could take care of my needs. She was most entertaining. We've
become the best of friends."

William blinked. "Petite, with a cynical,
razor sharp wit?"

"Exactly."

"Miss Somerset's ladies' maid," William
stated.

Jack clapped his hands excitedly. "How
convenient. By the way, I agreed to give her a small token of
appreciation, which I am sure one of you will happily supply."

Mornington sighed.

"Have you proposed to Miss Owens?" Will asked
his friend.

"Absolutely not. This has been a complete
unmitigated disaster between Jacqueline's needs and flamboyant
dancing, and I haven't been able to find Miss Owens. I think she
was so crestfallen when she saw me with
Jacqueline
that she
disappeared."

"Come on now, back to the ballroom. I saw her
and the Cornwallis relation next to the hosts just a moment ago.
Time for us both to face the music," Will winked and handed Mrs.
Tickle to Jack.

"And what am I to do then? I refuse to be a
wallflower. A girl has to have some fun once in her life," Jack
said, then looked down at his pug. "And have you had any fun, my
love? I do believe you have if that"—Jack sniffed the dab of yellow
on her snout—"curried egg on your nose is any indication."

The crush was miserable tonight. All the
young misses must have begged their relations to accept so they
could wear something besides the modest white dresses that were
their badges of innocence. Why, oh, why had she agreed to a set of
dances with him? Normally her card would've been full but her
costume had worked against her in the end. Her admirers hadn't
recognized her in gentleman's dress or were lost in the uproarious
crowd.

She feigned interest in her aunt and Mari's
less than scintillating conversation all the while considering her
situation. After glancing at Mari's pallid countenance, she'd
determined to ask her aunt for an early leave-taking. But Lord
Coddington's father approached and preceded her request by
soliciting the great lady's hand for the next set, giving rise to a
giddy expression on her relation's face.

Sophie sighed. How in heaven was she to get
through a waltz with William? She'd thought when she'd agreed to a
set that it would be a minuet, or a country-dance, but he'd
disappeared into the crowd before she could refuse.

She'd barely maintained her controlled façade
in the garden. And it had almost slipped entirely when he'd taken
her hand. As it stood, the only reason she was able to slip inside
this caricature of feminine charm and wit extraordinaire was for
the noble purpose of pleasing and aiding her family, and perhaps,
just perhaps, if she was honest, it was a way to hide her hurt and
mortification.

The first swelling notes of a waltz filled
the air.

All thought of good deeds fled with the
notion of dancing with William. A cowardly act looked tempting
indeed. Maybe she would retreat to the ladies' withdrawing room and
face Karine's inquisition.

Sophie turned and a hot swirl glided along
her tightly corseted waist. She glanced down to see the familiar
bronzed and long fingered hand she knew all too well. William
pulled her against the solid wall of his chest.

LOOKING for an escape,
ma chérie
?" he
whispered in her ear. "I'd not thought you capable of breaking your
word." He gently nipped her lobe then kissed the side of her neck.
His mask tickled her hairline.

She was trapped. The crowd, if anything,
enlarged, making it almost impossible to move let alone put
arm's-length distance between them. And amazingly, everyone was
laughing and amusing themselves to such a degree that no one paid
any attention to what he'd just done to her. Now Sophie understood
why the high sticklers frowned upon masquerades. Camouflage
encouraged the taking of liberties.

William grasped her hand and made a path
through the mass of people to the dancing area. His right arm
curved around her waist as he assumed the correct posture for a
French waltz. He glided into the first step and suddenly Sophie
forgot the rest of the people in the room, so thoroughly lost was
she to anyone save William.

Sophie held her breath as the intense
awareness of the raw, physical sensuality of him flowed through her
in waves. She was sure he was holding her much too closely but when
she looked, if anything, he was being overly correct.

Music had always been her one great delight.
Sophie loved feeling the music and rhythm wash over her, become
part of her. She had never encountered a powerful, brilliant
partner who sensed the music as she. He led her with a strong,
self-assured command, allowing her to completely trust in his
mastery and lose herself to the music.

And suddenly, they were traversing the room
using a thrilling series of intricate steps her aunt's short, thin
dance instructor had shown her but once before. William led her
into a balletic leap followed by a flowing French movement in which
his hips and thighs rolled against her own in the most shockingly
sensual of all the proper motions of the dance. The pallid
instructor's version of the steps compared to William's was like
water to chocolate, or if she was truthful, like being kissed by
her cousin versus being possessed by a man.

Sophie could not tell if she was dizzy from
the fast pirouettes or drunk with the power of the emotions he
evoked in her breast. She had never danced with anyone like this.
It was as if he had worked his way past her mind into her very
soul.

As she gripped his powerfully broad back,
Sophie dared to look up into his face and saw only his mysterious,
serious eyes surrounded by the black mask. It was mesmerizing
Within moments the full spectrum of her many encounters with him
flashed before her. She saw his glistening, hard muscles naked from
the bath, his laughing eyes behind the fan, the humorous
nonchalance he had displayed in his valet's clothes, his unwavering
charm toward the fairer sex, and then the intensity of the depths
of his pain and passion when he had possessed her.