Revealed (16 page)

Whereas average young ladies would cower and cry from such words from Mrs. Phillippa Benning, Lady Jane Cummings was not so easily daunted. “Indeed? I do thank you for your counsel. You must know that I am a champion of taking unsolicited advice to heart. Not many are, understand.” Her eyes narrowed. “For instance, I could tell you that the amount of beadwork on your bodice is an obvious and poorly done attempt to emphasize an area of your person that is severely lacking, but unless you asked me my opinion on it, I’m certain you should pay no attention.”

Phillippa quirked up a brow. “You are correct, Lady Jane. I pay you no heed whatsoever.”

“To your detriment, I’m sure,” she snapped back.

“Very possibly. I don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Phillippa, look, I see Nora; let us join her,” Totty broke in, before the claws really came out and ruined their gloves.

“Oh, do excuse me, Mrs. Tottendale. I see my next dance partner coming to collect me. And I see a waiter with a tray of champagne coming toward you, so I’ll get out of your way.”

With that, Lady Jane gave the most perfunctory curtsy possible, slighter than Phillippa’s, and headed to the floor for the quadrille with an exceedingly handsome young colonel.

“Well!” Phillippa exclaimed, once Lady Jane was safely on the floor and out of earshot.

“That certainly was a delightful skirmish,” Totty said, downing her glass of champagne in one go before reaching for another.

“She has always been mean to me, ever since school. That I’m accustomed to. But she’s never been so low as to insult you before!”

“Insult me? How?” Totty asked blankly, causing Phillippa to simply shake her head.

“Nothing, dearest.” Phillippa’s eye was caught by an extremely tall man (Was it Mr. Worth? But no, it was just Lord Forrester standing on a chair, looking for his wife.) as she mused on her nemesis’s recent change of strategy. “So, Lady Jane steps up her game, becomes more vicious. I wonder why.”

“Perhaps she knows she is losing Broughton to you,” Nora’s voice came from behind them.

“Hello Nora, Lady De Regis!” Phillippa kissed Nora on the cheek gave a happy nod to her mother, who nodded regally back before seeing a friend beckon her from the other side of the room. Since Nora was safely deposited with Phillippa and Totty, Lady De Regis excused herself from the group to join the other.

“Nora, what a lovely gown. Is the pattern the same as the gown I wore to the Winters’?”

“Yes, I sketched it out for Madame Boudreaux, and she managed to adjust it for someone my height. Do you like it?”

“Very much; the color couldn’t suit you better.”

Indeed, Nora did look lovely in the lightest of lilacs, which set off her pale olive skin and made her seem to glow. Phillippa was used to having her dress patterns copied, and even though she would prefer if Nora would try to be somewhat more original, she couldn’t deny that the cut of the gown worked on her small frame very well.

“But what did you mean, Lady Jane is losing Broughton? She’s the one who managed to wrangle the first dance with him. The little cow must have been waiting for him at the door.”

“Yes, but why else would she be so cruel? If she were winning, she wouldn’t need to be. She must know that Broughton prefers you.”

Phillippa looked at Nora suspiciously. “An interesting theory. But if that’s the case, where is he? I’ve been here five whole minutes, and he has yet to seek me out.”

Nora smiled slyly and pointed discreetly toward the far side of the room, where Broughton was weaving his way through the masses, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“He came up to me before you got here, obviously wondering as to your whereabouts. Why are you so late, anyway?”

“I simply couldn’t choose a gown, the ones that arrived this week are all so fine.” It was the truth as far as it went, but the reasoning was so much deeper. How did one dress to encounter a world-famous spy? Especially when action on his (or her) part would possibly be called for. Do you wear your most stunning, fitted satin creation imaginable? Or do you aim for wider cambric skirts and practicality? In the end, Phillippa had decided on her latest Madame Le Trois, a jewel-toned satin, with a fuller skirt, facilitating movement, and a bodice elaborately adorned with gold beads and sapphires. Best of all, Madame Le Trois had given the gown discreet pockets at Phillippa’s request. It was the best compromise she could imagine.

Phillippa caught a glimpse of Totty rolling her eyes, as Nora continued. “I spotted you first, but that odious Lady Jane was with you, so I sent Broughton off to gather some champagne. And now, here he comes.”

Phillippa had to smile at her friend’s quick thinking. “Well done, Nora.”

“I thought so,” she said, self-satisfied. But then a sneer contorted her lips. “Ugh, I do hope he doesn’t get waylaid by Penny Sterling. She had the gall to ask me where she could get ices near Westminster Abbey. Can you imagine? As if I would go to Westminster, ever.”

Phillippa indeed saw Penny Sterling, who, with her friend Louisa Dunningham, had been witness to her fateful encounter with Lady Jane in the Winters’ retiring room. Penny wore a dress cut just barely wrong for her, and Louisa should not eat so many sweet things, Phillippa thought objectively. The girls nodded sweetly to Broughton as he passed. He, of course, did not notice, such was his intention. But Penny just giggled into her hand and said something to her friend. Penny Sterling was young and silly, yes, but there was no harm in her. Taken under someone’s wing, she’d do quite nicely.

Phillippa was about to say as much to Nora, when Broughton, glasses of champagne in hand, appeared directly before her.

“Miss De Regis, you are a naughty little thing,” he drawled. “I am sent at your direction to the punch table and come back to find you gone. I was left all alone.” He languidly handed a glass of champagne to her, and she giggled coyly in response.

“Indeed, my lord, but as you see, I found something you were looking for,” Nora replied, indicating Phillippa to her right.

“Mrs. Benning,” Broughton said, bowing with offhand grace and offering her his second glass of champagne. “I quite despaired for you. I hoped against hope you would save the quadrille for me, but alas, it has passed.”

Phillippa took a bare second to allow her gaze to rake over the Marquis of Broughton. Was there a finer specimen of masculinity in existence? His clothing was impeccably tailored, his blond hair rakishly styled, the cold glint of his blue eyes projected a calculated boredom, and his every movement was casual. No man in the Whitford Mansion, nay, no man in London, was so perfect an example of what it was to be Ton.

And he was Phillippa’s for the asking.

If only her mind wasn’t so keenly occupied by someone else.

Surely she could at least try to forget Mr. Marcus Worth and his prophecies of danger just for a moment and enjoy Broughton instead.

She took a small sip of the champagne, and with a slight quirk of her brow, replied, “A pity the quadrille has passed, but the waltz has not, I understand.”

His quirked brow matched hers. “Indeed, it has not.”

“Is that the chord of the waltz being struck now?” Nora interjected. “Dear me, I must go find Lord Sterling; he has this dance. I believe I saw him upstairs earlier.” And with that and a secret smile, Nora handed her half-drunk glass of champagne to Totty and bowed her way to go search for her dance partner.

“Well, Mrs. Benning, will you do me the honor?” Broughton asked, a cold glint of challenge in his eye.

“Happily,” Phillippa replied, handing her glass of champagne to poor Totty, who now had to contend with three half-filled glasses. She did this admirably by emptying one into another, and emptying the third into her mouth.

And with that, Phillippa allowed the Marquis of Broughton to lead her to the floor.

The music surrounded them as they stepped into the circling, swirling couples. People made room for them. People who were before invested solely in each other now watched Phillippa and Broughton as they danced. People gave them the light and the lead.

And they were cool, calm, and perfect.

His hand at the small of her back exerted the gentlest of pressure, pulling her to his rhythm and command.

“Now, the last time I had you in my arms like this, the experience was rather . . . invigorating.”

He flexed his hand over the cloth at her back, obviously recalling the dress where such cloth was missing.

“Indeed?” she replied. “Such a statement implies that you are not finding this dance particularly invigorating. I do hope that’s not the case.” She tried, she truly did, but she could not stop herself from scanning the crowd for Mr. Worth. It was getting late. Surely he was coming?

“I would never presume to consider dancing with you anything other than stimulating,” Broughton replied easily, coolly. “But I would imagine we could find ways to make the evening . . . noteworthy.”

Noteworthy? Phillippa nearly harrumphed in reply. To her mind, the evening already had the hallmarks of noteworthy. If only Mr. Worth would arrive and . . . and allay her fears. Let her know she wasn’t being silly to believe him. Suppose he had been stopped at the door. The invitation Lady Whitford issued was verbal; it was possible she neglected to inform her major domo of the addition to the party—

“There has to be a corner of this house that’s unoccupied. That’s waiting for us.” Broughton continued, his blue eyes forcing hers to steady on him, to fall into their depths.

She didn’t find the depths very deep.

“My lord,” Phillippa began, a pretty blush spreading delicately over her cheeks.

“Please, call me Phillip,” Broughton replied.

His name was Phillip? She paused a moment to digest that before continuing smoothly. “Phillip. Surely we’d be missed. Everyone here is watching us—”

“No one missed us at the Fieldstone affair. Besides, a packed house like this? No one will notice if you and I are missing for fifteen minutes. They’ll simply assume we’re in one of the other rooms.” He leaned down to her ear, allowed his warm breath to dance over the curls at her temple, the line of her jaw. “Which we will be.”

Phillippa wasn’t about to leave the room, not when she still didn’t see Marcus Worth, not when she was certain Broughton’s intentions did not include a hand of whist or a game of chess. He must have seen her skepticism, because the wolfish smile he wore at the edges of his mouth suddenly faded into his usual cold facade. “Losing heart in our little game already? Tsk tsk. I had more faith in you.”

Phillippa cocked a brow. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen minutes is all we’d require,” Broughton replied, that cool smile coming back to his eyes as the music ended.

“All you’d require maybe. I would want
hours
,” she breathed, her gaze never leaving his, and she had the pleasure of watching those eyes go dark with want, smolder with anticipation.

“Mrs. Benning—” he began, as he led her slowly off the floor.

“Phillippa, please,” she smiled back at him.

“Phillippa, next weekend is the Hampshires’ Racing Party. You are planning to attend?”

“Of course,” she replied, her ear to him and her eyes to the crowd. “I enjoy a good house party. So pleasant to get out of the city.”

“Indeed.” Broughton took a step closer, pitched his voice low. “It occurs to me that at a weekend house party, we would have
hours.
To ourselves. To do as we pleased.”

“Hmm,” was the noncommittal reply. Phillippa smiled like a cat that swallowed the cream. “That’s certainly a possibility. In the meantime, why don’t you call on me for tea tomorrow?”

“Call?” Broughton’s brow creased. “For tea?”

“Come now, Phillip, have you never called on a lady for tea before? Never fear, we don’t bite.” She leaned up to his ear and whispered, “Should I wager for you or against you?”

And with that, she dropped an elegant curtsy and turned away from Broughton, leaving him gobsmacked, staring after her with his jaw on the floor. Phillippa sent him a smirking glance over her shoulder as she walked away, before she allowed herself to take a deep, steadying breath.

She had done it. She had enticed Broughton further, kept his interest. But she was playing so deep now that he might actually expect her to make good on her chits.

A nervous thought.

But she let go of it with a slight shake of her head and crossed from the ballroom into the card room. She would ponder that little difficulty later. Right now, she wanted to find the ladies’ retiring room and put a little water on her face before she began to scour every nook and corner of the Whitford Mansion for that impossible, unbelievably tardy—

“Please tell me that scowl you wear is for someone besides me. Otherwise, it’s a very daunting greeting.”

Mr. Marcus Worth.

Marcus could see she was shocked, as he suppressed the urge to touch the ends of his sideburns. He could only hope that shock did not portend displeasure from Phillippa Benning.