Passionate (9 page)

“Would you have gone if he had asked you?”

Reggie waved his hand dismissively. “Leave the civilized comforts? Those journals cannot be found. However, I have access to a villa in Italy and an arrangement with a very enthusiastic opera singer. I’m sure she would be eager to meet a rugged, handsome fellow like you. Think James, the soft caress of a willing woman, the sound of fountains in the courtyard. The smooth skin of her lips, her breasts, her thighs. When was the last time you had a truly beautiful woman? Why waste your time in Tunisia when you could spend it so pleasantly in Rome? We could go together, coz, patch up our differences after all these years. What do you say?”

“You play the tempter very well—but I have no desire to share your favorite prostitute. There are better ways to resolve our differences.” James set his empty glass on the table at his elbow. “I’m not interested in going to Rome.”

Reggie shrugged, though his expression had tightened. “I was merely offering alternatives. As your cousin, it would pain me to see you suffer through this exile alone. Consider it, James. I am well acquainted with the terms of Grandfather’s will. It is completely vague on where he stashed his blasted journals. Locating them is impossible.”

“That may be true, but I’m going to Tunisia to search for the valley of purple flowers, whatever the outcome. Grandfather’s letters at least provide a place to start.”

Reggie went very still. “Letters?”

Blast. Could it be that his cousin had not seen them?

“They are nothing important. As you said, the entire quest is a fool’s errand.”

“I would very much like to see those letters.”

James crossed his arms and stared into the fire.

“Damnation!” Reggie slammed his glass down. “I am the heir. Somergate is mine. I will not have it taken away by Grandfather’s mad whims—or your scheming.” He fixed James with a glare. “I am certainly not going to let you go off to Africa and return with some forgery. That’s it isn’t it? You intend to forge the journals and steal the inheritance. You have always sought more than what you are entitled to—more than you deserve.”

James rose abruptly. “Your company—and your accusations—are growing tiresome.”

He could feel Reggie’s gaze burning his back as he strode away. Why hadn’t Lord Denby told his son about the letters? James needed no favors from his uncle—especially ones that set Reggie at his throat. Well, the harm could not be mended now. Nothing to do but keep pressing forward with his plans, and hope that Reggie would not interfere.

Chapter 8

Lily paused in Isabelle’s doorway, smoothing the burgundy tulle skirts of her ball gown. Her cousin sat at the dressing table, surrounded by bottles of perfume, hair combs and strands of beads while a maid dressed her hair into artful golden curls.

“Lily! Do come in.” Isabelle sprang up and embraced her.

“My nerves are all aflutter. This is my first
real
ball, you know. I need your steadying influence, not to mention your wonderful eye for color.”

“Oh, Miss, see what you’ve done.” The maid waved the curling tongs in distress, but Isabelle only laughed.

“I have every faith that you can set my hair to rights in a twinkling, Lucy. You have such a skilled touch. But, Lily, how fine you look.” Isabelle skipped back and gave her an approving glance. “That neckline is rather daring—is it the current mode?”

“Mother’s modiste says, ‘Enough plunge to imply naughtiness without actually committing to it.’” Lily glanced down at her tightly fitted bodice, trimmed with dark green satin ribbon.

“I think she has quite succeeded. You will make heads turn tonight. Especially Mr. Huntington’s—which is fortunate, for I have decided that, while quite handsome, he is too old for me. Besides, it is clear he is taken with you.”

“Really, Isabelle. He is not.” Lily paced toward the window, catching her reflection in the wavy glass panes.

She did look well this evening, and though she did not care to admit it, a part of her wanted Mr. Huntington to notice. The same treacherous part that summoned up his image at night while she waited for sleep. After painting his portrait, she could evoke him in perfect detail, his face and form, the clean line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled. Of course, she could do the same with flowers she painted—it was merely the result of gazing so deeply at a thing.

All the same, no flower had ever kissed her.

That kiss still haunted her, evoked by any passing, sensuous moment—the slide of her sheer night dress over her skin, the long, silky strokes as she brushed out her hair, the saturated fragrance of the conservatory.

She turned away from the window. “Even if Mr. Huntington were, as you say, ‘taken with me,’ anything between us would be impossible. We are going to be working together. A scientific expedition is no place for romantic folly.”

“I declare, you are starting to sound like Mrs. Hodges. Admit it, Lily, you find him handsome.” Isabelle tilted her head so her maid could fix the last pins.

Lily did not reply. It would only encourage her cousin.

Isabelle pushed aside boxes of jewelry and delicate scent bottles. “Earbobs. The blue or the silver?” She held them up, one to each ear and turned her head back and forth.

“The blue. Most definitely. They contrast nicely with your gown, and match the bows at the bottom.” Isabelle’s dress was a pale rose silk moiré that fell gracefully from her bare shoulders. The pointed waist of the bodice accentuated the full, belling skirts.

“And, of course,” Lily added, “they make your eyes sparkle all the more.”

“Do you think they will inspire Charlie Thomas to
finally
dance with me? I hope so—most anxiously. He never does at the Assembly rooms, only watches me with such a wistful look. It is quite sweet.”

“More than sweet, if your blush is any indication. No wonder you are leaving the agéd Mr. Huntington to me.”

Isabelle’s flush deepened. “Well, Charlie Thomas
is
sweet—unlike my brother. Do you know what Richard said this afternoon? He vowed he would never partner Anne Riding again, as she treads far too heavily and yanked him all about last time they danced. Isn’t he a wicked one? And poor Anne, she moons after him so.”

“He will have a hard time avoiding poor Miss Riding tonight.”

“Yes, it would be easier to escape his own shadow. Still, I should like to see him trying to take cover beneath the refreshment tables. ‘Oh Anne’ I would say. ‘Come and try the ladyfingers. They are divine! Dear, my fan has dropped directly beneath the table! Would you be a sweetheart and fetch it for me?’”

Lily laughed. “Isabelle, I think you are the wicked one. Wouldn’t you aid your brother?”

“Only if he bribes me handsomely.”

There was a knock at the door, and Aunt Mary entered, elegant in a blue satin gown. “My, you both look lovely this evening. Lily, I would like to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Aunt.”

“Would you be kind enough to allow Mr. Huntington to escort you this evening? He is a stranger here, and you know most of the local gentry. It will help him feel at home.”

“Certainly.” Lily kept her voice even. Spending the ball on Mr. Huntington’s arm was not going to make for the most comfortable evening. It was difficult enough maintaining light conversation across the dinner table. His gaze had an alarming tendency to snag and hold hers longer than was proper, making her forget what she was about to say.

Still, if they were to travel in company to Africa, now was the time to establish the boundaries of their association.

The coach carrying their party drew to a halt in front of the gaily lit facade of the Thomas residence. Footmen in green livery hurried to throw open the door and set the steps. As the gentlemen disembarked, the unseasonably warm evening air wafted the perfume of blooming hyacinths into the coach.

Mr. Huntington handed her smoothly down. He cut a handsome figure tonight in his black and white evening kit. Even his shoes were polished to perfection.

As they mounted the stairs behind Aunt Mary and Uncle Edward, Lily kept her eyes fixed ahead, trying to ignore the tension fizzing along her nerves. There was no call to be nervous. It was just a ball, for goodness sake.

The front rooms of the Thomas residence were crowded with people talking and greeting neighbors. It would be difficult to mix paints to match the varied hues displayed there. Bright jewelry adorned the older ladies, amethysts, sapphires, and diamonds glinting and refracting the lamplight. The richly colored gowns were paired with even richer textures—silks and satins, velvet and tulle—all thrown into relief by the starker evening wear of the gentlemen. She did spot one or two bright coats circulating through the crowd, relics of another era—but then, that was part of the charm of a country ball.

Squire Thomas, a tall, lanky gentleman, and his wife, Sarah, greeted arrivals at the entrance to the ballroom. They welcomed the Strathmores warmly.

“And welcome, Mr. Huntington,” Sarah Thomas said. “We are glad Sir Edward has seen fit to introduce you to the neighborhood. It is always refreshing to have a new face at one of our gatherings. Miss Lily, so nice to see you again. I must say, the two of you make a handsome couple.”

Lily felt warmth touch her cheeks as she dropped their hosts a curtsy. Did they have to carry on so? She was only doing her aunt a favor.

She moved with Mr. Huntington into the ballroom’s blaze of light and heat. Three large chandeliers were suspended from the high ceiling, cut crystal sparkling in the light of scores of candles. The walls were lined with mirror-backed sconces holding oil lamps, casting even more light over the throng. On a dais at one end of the room a string ensemble provided music for a swirl of dancers.

Lily and Mr. Huntington quickly became separated from the rest of the family by the crowd. Well, she knew her duty. It was up to her to keep the conversation going. She turned to him, intending to say something light and chatty, but when she looked into his eyes words abandoned her. The weight of the silence grew between them.

This would not do. She was supposed to help him feel at ease. Though he hardly seemed uncomfortable. His hand was laid firmly over hers, relaxed and warm. She was the agitated one, acutely aware of the conversations that hushed then resumed with vigor once they had passed. Young women glanced sidelong at Mr. Huntington and whispered behind their fans. Lily could imagine their talk.
Who is he? What are his intentions?

“Well, Mr. Huntington,” she said at last. “Did you ever encounter tigers in India?” Good heavens, what a foolish question. She braced herself for a long, tedious tale of a bloody hunt.

Mr. Huntington grinned. “Tigers? Far more than you might imagine. They tended to congregate in the ballrooms and parlors of my countrymen.”

Lily smiled. “It makes an amusing picture—tigers dressed in formal evening wear. There have been numerous sightings of such beasts in London. Did you escape intact from your encounters?”

“Just the usual bites and scratches. Are there any tigers here tonight, Miss Strathmore?”

“That remains to be seen,” she said, not quite truthfully. She had spotted several that would eagerly pounce on Mr. Huntington if given the opportunity. Lily tucked her hand more securely through his arm. She
had
promised Aunt Mary that she would look after him.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Mr. Huntington said after they had strolled on a bit. “You look more lovely than any flower this evening. That gown is…very flattering.”

“Thank you.” She tried to take the compliment lightly, though something in his voice made her feel warm. “You are turning a few heads tonight yourself. The Riding sisters over there have been giggling behind their fans ever since we entered the ballroom—and I assure you, I am not the cause. I have had tea with them on several occasions and never once did I evoke spontaneous fan giggling.”

“Fan giggling?” He glanced down at her. “I haven’t inspired that since I split my breeches dancing the mazurka in Bombay.”

“You didn’t.” Lily laughed.

“I’m afraid it’s true. I had been invited to a ball while visiting and had to borrow formal attire from a friend. Unfortunately, his build was somewhat slighter than my own. I assure you there was a great deal of fan giggling when the trousers gave way.”

“Mr. Huntington, if you wore trousers as tight as you imply, the fan giggling began long before you split your seams.”

Humor sparked in the warm brown of his eyes. “I believe you are right.”

“I frequently am.” She returned his smile. “Whatever did you do?”

“The only thing possible. I removed my jacket, fashioned it into a sort of kilt, and finished the dance—although in a somewhat more deliberate manner. Then I escorted my partner from the floor and dashed for the nearest exit. My friend never did forgive me for ruining his trousers.”

“I’m disappointed there is no mazurka on the program this evening since it is your specialty.” He laughed. “A waltz would suit me just as well. May I bring you something to drink in the meantime?”

“Burnt champagne would be lovely.”

Lily watched him move away, relieved that their conversation was going well. The evening was turning out to be civil and amusing—precisely what was needed.

Richard hurried up and took her hands. “Please Lily, dance the galop with me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Anne Riding.”

“What? My cousin actually begging me to dance? How the tables have turned. Your sister says you bribe handsomely. Is it true?”

“Yes, but Isabelle’s price is too steep—she wants my favorite horse! Please, Lily. You’re my only hope.”

“Oh very well. You’re lucky I am so filled with charity this evening.” She let him pull her toward the dance floor. “I’ll rescue you and your horse too.”

The two of them formed up in the long lines of ladies and gentlemen on the floor. Soon the strains of a lively reel had them whirling about and some of the younger folk made a show of kicking up their heels in the energetic dance. Richard danced well, never mind what Isabelle might say about his skills. When the music finally ended, Lily was breathless.