Susan Johnson (36 page)

“Don’t I always?”

“My words exactly, my Lord. Lord Redvers is to be depended on, I told her.”

“How much did she lose?”

“Ten guineas, my lord,” the majordomo replied with obvious pleasure.

“Only women are always late, eh, Jerrold?”

“It rather seems the case, Sir. Would you like some of your usual vintage?”

“In a few minutes perhaps. And I forgot my damned gloves again.”

“I could procure some for you, Sir.”

Jack shook his head. “Hate those damned things. Peggy won’t mind.”

“I’m sure she won’t, my Lord. Since the Duchess considers you the finest dancer in the ton, she’ll be pleased to dance with you, gloves or not.”

“Well, then,” the marquis said, “I’m off to do my duty by my godmother.”

“Very good, sir.” Offering the young marquis an impeccable bow, he watched the object of his employer’s affection stroll to the staircase and ascend to the floor above. Then snapping his fingers for an underling, he saw that the marquis’s favorite champagne was sent up to him.

The Marquis of Redvers stood in the doorway to the ballroom, surveying the numerous guests twirling to the strains
of a waltz, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the gilded room, the glittering light contending with the sparkle of jewels, the shimmer of silken ball gowns and gleaming coiffeurs ornamented with flowers and feathers, the satiny glow of bared shoulders and decolletages—all the grandeur and brilliance of the fashionable beau monde assembled under the duchess’s splendid Tiepolo ceiling.

And one by one, those guests took notice of the gloriously handsome young marquis standing in the doorway. His splendid height was attributed to the Fitz-James connection with Charles II, as were his excesses, although his dark good looks, everyone agreed, came from his mother’s family. The DeLanceys had contributed beauty to England’s bloodlines since the time of the Norman invasion. The faultless hand of his tailor was evident in the fit of his evening rig, the fine wool smoothly flowing over his lean, muscled form, his damask waistcoat subtle in tone, eggshell rather than white, calling attention even inits understatement to his taut, honed torso. Eschewing the hirsute fashions of the time, he was clean-shaven, his bronzed skin evidence of his devotion to the sporting life. But what most attracted attention and gave him his special cachet beyond his notoriety were his eyes. He had gypsy eyes, black as ebony, sensual, magnetic; some said it seemed as though he could see right through you. But those who knew him best saw the laughter and mischievous sparkle more often than not.

“Darling! You’ve come!” The duchess’s jubilant voice rose above the diminishing hum of conversation as everyone regarded the infamous young lord who was here tonight, they hoped, to make good on their wagers. Arms outstretched, Peggy Hexton crossed the large ballroom with a beaming smile on her heavily rouged face. The duchess had been a great beauty in her day and retained the less subtle cosmetics of her generation. Her hair was brightly
hennaed and she wasn’t svelte anymore, but she was cheerfully enamored of life and embraced each day with enthusiasm.

“Would I stay away from you?” Jack replied, taking her hands in his and offering her a warm smile. “When my favorite waltz is playing?”

“Every waltz is your favorite, you sweet boy,” she lightly retorted, pulling him onto the dance floor. “And now that you’re here, I’ll have someone decent to dance with.”

The duchess had been on the stage before she captured the duke’s heart and while he was long dead and she could have any man with her fortune, she’d never remarried. She preferred her freedom, she always said, but Jack knew hers had been a love match and while he didn’t precisely understand the concept, he envied her the obvious bliss she’d enjoyed.

“I intend to keep you by my side for a good long while,” she warned as they moved into their first turn.

“I’m here as your cicisbeo, darling.” The marquis winked wickedly. “You may order me about at your will.”

“What if I order you to make amends to Miss Duras?” she archly said.

“I would, of course. But for what do I need to make amends?”

“She seems angry with you.”

“She’s here?” He’d not seen her, but then the crowded ballroom limited visibility.

“I had her beside me at dinner. She’s a very remarkable woman.”

“I’m not sure I like that particular tone of voice.”

“What tone?”

“That matchmaking tone. I’d recognize it in the roar of a hurricane.” Or on the last day of the apocalypse, he reflected, any inference to matrimony having the same effect on him as a vision of hell.

“Good God, Jack, she’s more than a match for you. She doesn’t want to be married either. You should have heard her at dinner. Although she was completely charming, there was no doubt of her disinterest in marriage.”

“Are you humbugging me?” he said, swinging them in a double twirl with flawless precision. “There isn’t a woman born who doesn’t want to be married.”

“She wouldn’t agree with you.”

More than intrigued, for he’d not stopped thinking of Miss Duras since their meeting, he debated the possibility that she might be available for a liaison outside the normal courting rituals. Not that he hadn’t perfected evasion of those rituals to a fine art, but were her disinterest in marriage true, how much more pleasant their relationship could be.

He didn’t question his ability to persuade her to become closer friends. Only the timetable was in debate.

“You’ll have to introduce me then.” His smile lit up his face, for he knew his godmother’s propensity for gambling. “I suppose you have some money riding on this.”

“Perhaps a little.” Gazing up at him, she lifted one hennaed brow with a dramatic flare reminiscent of her days on the stage.

“I hope it’s not more than a pony,” he challenged. “I can’t guarantee swift results.”

“Or any results, some are saying,” she murmured, playfully tapping his shoulder with her fan.

He scrutinized her for a moment. “Did you bet on the lady?”

“What if I did?”

“Traitor.” But he was grinning.

She made a small moue. “I didn’t, of course. Knowing you so well.” She refrained from saying the beautiful, intelligent Miss Duras would give him a merry chase though. He’d find that out soon enough. It was about time someone
resisted the young boy’s surfeit of charm. And on the obverse side, the young lady might find Jack’s unconventional attitudes refreshing.

At base, of course, she really couldn’t resist a bit of matchmaking.

While all the guests at the duchess’s ball waited with bated breath for the marquis and the Frenchwoman to meet, the lady in question, unaware of the speculation rife in the air, was enjoying the evening. She loved dancing and the duchess, so warmhearted and cordial, had become a comrade of sorts at dinner. She seemed to understand what so many nobles didn’t—that the poor deserved respect, compassion and, rather than moralizing, a decent chance to earn a living. The duchess had also donated a generous sum to Venus’s latest charity hospital being built in Paris.

Additionally, she’d offered her men to relay the new hospital equipment Venus had ordered at the Great Exhibition from the warehouse to the docks, saving on dray fees.

During dinner, too, when a female guest had rudely asked Venus about her lack of a husband, the duchess had come to her defense. “Don’t mind Clara,” the duchess had said, sotto voce. “She’s green with envy over your looks.” And for some time they’d spoken quietly about the advantages and liabilities of marriage, agreeing that if a woman had her own fortune, there was little reason to marry simply to be married.

“Wait until you’re swept off your feet,” the duchess had counseled, and when Venus had remarked that that was highly unlikely considering the men she’d met and known, her hostess had winked and said, “Sometimes it happens when you least expect it.”

When the dancing began, Venus was besieged with partners and while all the men she danced with were solicitous and affable, some gallant to the extreme, none touched her
emotions. But then no man ever had. On occasion over the years, she’d questioned her lack of interest, concerned she was some aberration of womanhood. Not tonight, however. She was having a marvelous time dancing and if her suitors didn’t spark her fancy, they certainly were offering her immense pleasure.

Shortly after one, her escort conducted her into the supper room where buffet tables had been set up for the guests’ refreshment. After seating her at a small table, he left to bring them chilled champagne. Leaning back against a gilded chair, Venus gently fanned her heated cheeks, her gaze surveying the extravagant display of colorful ices on the nearest buffet table.

“Darling, bring us all some of that pineapple ice.”

Hearing the duchess’s voice, Venus turned around with a smile that froze on her face when she saw the man beside her hostess.

“Go now, Jack, and do my bidding as you so gallantly promised you would.” Peggy Hexton shooed him away with her ivory and silk fan. “You look as warm as I feel,” she went on, dropping gracefully into a chair beside Venus. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She wanted to say,
Until now
, but in the interests of courtesy, answered instead, “Yes, very much. Your musicians are wonderful.”

“You dance well.”

“I like to dance.”

“Then you should dance with Jack. He’s the very best.”

“I’d rather not.”

“He’s really quite harmless, my dear. And you’ll enjoy his skill immensely. I always insist he come to squire me at my balls.”

“I’m afraid I generally avoid men of Redvers’ ilk.”

“I doubt you’ve ever known a man like Jack. Come, darling, it’s only a dance.”

How rude would she be if she continued to resist her
hostess’s coaxing? Would she be thought unduly rigid? Could the marquis really be as notorious as gossip attested? “We’ll see,” Venus evasively replied, taking note of the duchess’s piloting away of her returning escort with a stern look and a wave of her hand. She realized it wouldn’t be easy to withstand her willful hostess.

Satisfied with her maneuvering, the duchess was in good spirits, regaling Venus with humorous descriptions of some of her guests. When Jack returned with their ice she said, “I was telling Miss Duras about Lady Clara’s prim daughter, who, thank god, couldn’t come tonight.”

“Amen to that,” Jack lightly replied.

“Lady Clara has set her sights on Jack for her daughter, you see.” The duchess shot a facetious glance at her godson.

“Peggy finds humor in my misery,” the marquis observed, pulling up a chair beside his godmother.

“Surely you have to marry someday,” the duchess playfully said.

He cast her an oblique glance. “I see you’re bent on torturing me. I’m sure Miss Duras would prefer some other amusements.”

“Not necessarily.”

He found her sardonic smile captivating, but then everything about her was extremely fine, like a magnificent work of art. “Then consider me at your disposal, ladies,” he offered.

“I’m donating some money to Miss Duras’s hospital,” the duchess abruptly said, as though having seen the incipient rapport between the two young people, she wished to further put the lady at ease. “You’ve plenty, Jack. Give her some for her charity.”

He smiled. “That sounds very like an order, Peggy.”

“Damned right it is. You’re as rich as Croesus. Tell him how much you need,” she directed, nodding at Venus.

“That’s not necessary, really, but thank you, Lady Groveland.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” she snorted. “You needn’t be polite
with Jack. He likes plainspoken people—like me,” she added with a grin that creased the rouge on her cheeks. “And you need cash for that hospital.”

“Why don’t I send you a bank draft in the morning,” the marquis suggested, rescuing Venus from his godmother’s commanding enterprise.

“Make sure it’s sizeable.” The duchess struck his hand with her sorbet spoon.

“Yes, Peggy. Now are you through ordering us about?”

“Take Miss Duras for a dance and I’ll be silent the rest of the night.”

“There’s an offer we can’t refuse,” the marquis said, turning a beguiling smile on Venus. “Once around the floor, Miss Duras, and we’re free of Peggy’s interference.”

“Not forever, mind you,” the duchess quickly interposed.

“For tonight at least,” he countered with a piercing look meant to arrest her persistence. He didn’t need help enticing a woman.

“For tonight,” she reluctantly agreed, clearly in her element when ordering others’ lives.

“Would you mind, Miss Duras?” Rising from his chair, he offered his hand to Venus. “In the interests of calm and tranquility for the remainder of the night, I remind you.” An impudent light sparkled in his eyes.

Understanding her hostess wouldn’t be gainsaid, Venus capitulated. The beauty of the man was truly breathtaking at close range; dancing with him would be far from an ordeal. “A laudable reason, Lord Redvers,” she said, “I’m a proponent of calm and tranquility.”

But when her hand touched his, any probability of maintaining calm and tranquility vanished.

They both felt the same inexplicable thrill and his fingers closed over hers with more force than he intended. “Excuse me,” he instantly said, but he didn’t release his grip. Instead, he placed his other hand under her arm and drew her from her chair as though she were more fragile than moonbeams.

They stood very close for the briefest of moments before his better judgment roused itself, before he remembered where they were, before he moved back a half-step and said in a normal voice that took enormous effort to produce, “Come dance with me.”

The duchess was smiling as they walked away.

Venus wasn’t aware of walking into the ballroom.

Lord Redvers was particularly aware of the hush that descended on the room when they moved out onto the floor.

But a second later, all the gawkers and voyeurs and gamblers who were counting their winnings disappeared from his perception. She was smiling up at him, a temptress in flowered yellow mousseline and he felt it in more than the obvious places. He felt it like a jolt, a primal hammer of arousal and excitement and if Peggy wouldn’t be so smug, he’d tell her she was right tomorrow.