Something In Red (Fancytales Regency Romance Series) (3 page)

“Your grandmother went out through here, Red. Any idea where she might have gone? Or if she planned to meet with someone else?” he asked, pulling her along with him without even bothering to ask her to accompany him or for her permission.

“Someone
else
? I don't understand...” Outside on the terrace now, Rhiad peered left and right into the darkness, searching for another presence.

Damien tugged at her hand. “Your grandmother asked me to take care of something for her tonight. I was to report here when the matter was done. I did so, but then your grandmother mentioned something about her pin, went back inside her room, and disappeared. Was she to meet with someone other than me before the ball, Red?”

Rhiad shook her head. “What did Grams want you to do?”

The smirk on his lips was barely detectable, here in the shadows as they were. “Save
you
, of course.”

He pulled at her hand again, but Rhiad refused to budge. “Save
me
? From what? Or whom? I would think Grams would rather be more interested in saving me from you!”

“Tsk, tsk, Red. We have already established it is I who should be worried about ravishment at your hand. It seems you have a habit of indulging in your little curiosities, as well. Lord Gant, Lord Sebreton, Lord Wallingsley....”

Rhiad raised her hand, fully intending to slap the censure in his tone away, but he caught it in his own, twisted it behind her, and forced her up against his chest. “You should have a care, Red. The ton is not known for silence. The gossip mills sing with a well-oiled hum, and your name is frequently among the lyrics.”

Pressed hard against his chest, Rhiad could not quite keep her thoughts on their conversation. Instead, her mind was busy cataloging the details her body reported in stunning detail. Like how soft his lips seemed at such close proximity, how hard his body felt, and how warm. How the rumble of his voice low in his chest caused an answering vibration within her she could not explain, and how the faint scent of man emanating from him merely added to the growing cacophony of reaction his nearness was causing through her senses.

“My, you certainly have an ear for gossip, my lord. Perhaps we should discuss a few of your current
friendships
.”

“We could, but it would surely be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, would it not?” A wry smile twisted his lips. He squeezed her closer, the action causing yet another riot of sensation. “Your grandmother is not in her rooms, Red. She left through those terrace doors while knowing I waited for her in the corridor. Why?”

“Perhaps she knew I was coming, my lord. I vow she has the keenest sense of hearing in all England. She likely knew Lady Marsden and Lord Wetherley were coming up the stairs as well.”

Encouraged by her deductive line of thinking, Rhiad began to tick her fingers against his coat with each point made. “She knew you would come inside to find her, knew I would see you, and--” her eyes widened. “My grandmother wanted me to be compromised!”

He released her so fast she would have fallen if he hadn't reached out to steady her. “Rubbish. If she wanted you compromised, why would she ask me to save you from that exact fate earlier this evening?”

Rhiad peered at him. “Someone wanted to compromise me?”

“Does the name Lord Woodhurst ring a bell?” He arched a brow. “The fellow intended to high-jack your carriage this evening and have his wicked way with you. By the time the two of you arrived together for your grandmother's ball, your fate would have been sealed.”

“Lord Woodhurst? Jaime?” Rhiad could not contain her laughter. “I do believe you are mistaken, my lord.”

His scoff, though muted, was obvious. “I am not mistaken. The boy announced his intentions at a well-known gentleman's establishment. Do you know odds were laid and bets placed?”

“I do hope you did not wager against me, my lord.” Rhiad couldn't seem to wipe the smile from her lips. Nor could she manage to ignore the way his scent made her want to curl up against his chest and nuzzle her nose in the warm, masculine smell of him.

He ignored her teasing. “If you've another explanation, Red, now is the time to give it.”

“My name is
Rhiad
, my lord.
Ree-add
. Learn to say it properly and perhaps I shall.” She stared up into his eyes, waiting. He said nothing. The silence between them stretched and was soon filled with the strains of a waltz coming from the grand ballroom inside. “We should join the others.”

Without waiting for him, she walked away, down the steps and onto the cobblestones leading to the front of the house. After a moment, his footsteps sounded behind her. “Separately, my lord. Go back through the terrace doors and down the back stairs. From there, go to the carriage house and have Selbert prepare a mount for you. I am sure you have much more important
affairs
to attend this evening than acting as my protector or searching for my matchmaking grandmother.”

“Don't be absurd, Red. It is dark. You are a defenseless woman, alone. You need my protection. I won't leave you until I am sure you are safe.” He caught her arm. “What do you mean, your
matchmaking
grandmother?”

Rhiad halted, turned, and smiled. Slowly, she reached up to smooth her hand along his shoulder and then down his arm, where she caught his hand and entwined her fingers with his.

“Isn't it obvious, Lord Wolfe? My grandmother planned this ball for a reason, you see. To announce my forthcoming wedding,” she explained.

His furrowed brow said she had only added to his confusion. “You are betrothed?”

Rhiad chuckled. “No, my lord, I am not. But I should have been well and truly compromised by now, wouldn't you think?”

“Yet, you are
not
compromised.”

“Precisely.” Keeping her fingers twined with his, she started along the path once more, forcing him to walk beside her. “And my darling grandmother seems to have disappeared, leaving you to save me, yet again.”

The sounds of gaiety from inside the manor grew louder and Rhiad slowed her pace. It really would not do to be caught alone with the man at her side. Although...

Shaking her head at the dangerous turn her thoughts had taken, Rhiad said, “While I do so hate to spoil your sense of heroism, Lord Wolfe, Jaime would never harm me. But he would not be above pretending such a thing, were someone dear to ask it of him.”

When he still showed no sign of accurately assessing the situation, she halted their stroll to explain, “My grandmother knew arriving with a man who was not a relation would ruin me, my lord, so she did the only thing she could, under the circumstances. She made a choice.”

“She chose, and then you went and spoiled things by having the forethought to make sure our arrival together was not witnessed by others.” Her eyes sought his in the darkness so she might better gauge his reaction. “You see, Lord Wolfe, the only fellow you have managed to save me from is--”

“Me.”

Chapter Six

Damien waited a full quarter hour after seeing Rhiad safely inside the ballroom to have the majordomo announce his arrival. His unadorned, plain black domino in place, he scoured the crowd, searching for – and finding – the countess.

In the time it took for him to move from the receiving line into the ballroom, she had maneuvered herself onto a newly erected mock-balcony which acted as a raised dais near the front of the ballroom. The railed fabrication allowed her to stand heads and shoulders above the milling crowd.

The sound of priceless silver against expensive cut crystal drew the attention of her guests, and the countess smiled with seeming pleasure before passing the goblet and spoon to a passing servant. She lifted her hands toward the crowd, palm up, somehow giving the gesture the warm appeal of a group hug.

“There is nothing more heartwarming than being able to share wonderful news with friends,” she said at last, speaking from her lofty position to the assemblage of guests, friends and family below.

The countess certainly seemed to be enjoying the effects of her theatrics, Damien thought, but his gaze searched the crowd for a now-familiar red, gold, and black half-mask. Some faint feeling of alarm in his gut told him whatever the countess's announcement may be, her grand-daughter would not like it.

Where was she?

“My dearest friends, thank you. Thank you for coming here tonight, to share in our happiness over this most special occasion.”

His senses prickling with warning, Damien began to move through the throng, searching for Rhiad. She had said her grandmother planned to make an announcement tonight, and it now appeared she had been correct. But, he wondered, had Rhiad been right in guessing which announcement the countess would make?

“Tonight, I am utterly delighted and positively thrilled to announce the betrothal of my lovely grand-daughter, Rhiad.”

He huffed a very inappropriate snort at the countesses revelation. He and Red had side-stepped her clever machinations more than once this evening, yet his relief at finding himself unscathed barely matched his curiosity now.

To whom would Rhiad now find herself betrothed?

Despite being unwilling himself to be caught, Damien found he could not help but wonder which chap here tonight had had the misfortune to fall into the countesses clever scheme. His other reaction, prickles of annoyance which bore a startling kinship with jealousy, were not to be examined.

Although he would readily admit to feeling more than his usual, passing desire when in her presence, he had no designs on Lady Rhiad Hoode, no matter how bad a Wolfe he might be.

A cacophony of chatter rose among the guests, shouted congratulations and applause mingled with curious speculation among the gents regarding the question of whom the lucky fellow might be while the ladies, married and unattached alike, seemed to hold their breath in anxious anticipation of learning just which of their eligible bachelors were about to be removed from (or, in the case of the marrieds, be entered into) the fray.

Catching a glimpse of red and gold in the crowd, Damien made his way across the ballroom. Poor Red, he thought. Despite the subterfuge which had brought the two of them together, he had found her to be quite like-able.

Her eyes danced with a sharp wit, one her tongue lacked no confidence for revealing. Her ready sense of humor made conversing with her a pleasure rather than a dead bore. Unlike most young ladies her age who simpered and smiled and spoke only of the weather, Rhiad had become well versed in the art of giving as well as she got.

“Come now, Althea,” someone from the crowd spoke up. “You cannot leave us in suspense. Tell us, who is the lucky gentleman?”

Damien found her at last, standing several feet beyond her grandmother's mock stage, her eyes wide and locked upon the countess. He watched her head move back and forth slowly and her mouth formed a silent plea. “No!”

He shook his head in regret. The girl scarcely deserved the future her grandmother was setting her up for. But there was naught he could do to stop it. Unless...

Taking a chance, he stepped onto the dais. He would pretend to have pressing news from the Earl, and demand the countess see him immediately. He dipped his head importantly toward the sea of faces below him and held out is hand apologetically requesting the patience of the all too curious spectators. He leaned close to whisper in an overly loud voice, so those closest in the crowd would be sure to hear his every word. “My lady, I must beg a word, if I may. It's important--”

“Damien.” The countess embraced him, and then stepped back to motion for Rhiad to join them. “Rhiad, please.”

He watched her move distractedly forward, her eyes dazed as she made her way to her grandmother's side.

“As you can see,” the countess continued, “the lucky gentleman is none other than our very own dashingly handsome and devilishly charming -- though deucedly difficult to catch! -- Lord Damien Wolfe.”

Damien's narrowed gaze pinned the countess and then Rhiad. He felt the heat of a seething fury start to burn its way up from his gut, but before it could manage to find an appropriate outlet, the countess concluded her little speech.

“Family. Friends. Join us, please, in a toast.” A servant brought champagne, and she lifted the flute high. “To
love
– and a bright future filled with happiness!”

* * *

Rhiad's horrified gaze met Damien's and held while her thoughts raced in an unstoppable, chaotic dance of pained disbelief. What was she to do? Burst into tears and flee to her room? Decry the engagement and denounce her grandmother, the Countess Ashwood, as a fraud and a liar before her peers? Or should she paste on a charming smile and pretend nothing underhanded or wrong had just happened here?

To her surprise, Damien clamped one hand on her waist and pulled her to his side. With the other, he took the countesses glass of champagne and raised it to the crowd before draining the contents in a single gulp.

Laughter mingled with applause, but Rhiad scarce noticed because suddenly, he was moving her, guiding her forward, down the few steps to the main floor and into the center of the ballroom.

“A waltz!” he demanded, and the musicians immediately began to play. Expertly, he led her through the steps, mouth tense and expression drawn all the while.

“Damien.” When he ignored her, but continued to lead her in a dizzying whirl through the steps of the dance, she tried again, louder. “Damien, I'm sorry!”

“Not yet, love,” he promised in a low murmur near her ear. “Not yet. But you will be.”

Chapter Seven

“Damn it, Liv, I won't have Rhiad married to that scapegrace simply because Mother decided to take her proclivity for matchmaking around the bend!” William Hoode blustered about, his feet wearing a widening path into the thick, Aubusson carpet beneath him as he paced irately before the Earl of Ashwood's desk.

“Oh, do calm down, William. I am sure the bounder will cry off, so there is no need to worry yourself over the matter,” her grandfather, Oliver Hoode, assured his son.