The Most Wicked Of Sins (12 page)

He smiled at her as he leaped in place like a fish fighting the line. “The
Sauteuse.
I learned it just today. Very fashionable, I was told.” Dominic suddenly began to move in 2/4 time instead of the 3/4 tempo the sedate waltz required. He enthusiastically galloped her across the floor, managing three exaggerated turns directly into the path of two dancers who were gracefully turning in time with the music.

“Lord Counterton!” Ivy shrieked. Her warning came too late. Dominic backed straight into them like a ramrod, sending all four tumbling into a mass of crumpled skirts and lost wigs on the floorboards.

The music stopped. The crowd gasped.

Dominic scrambled to his feet, splitting one knee of his new breeches in the process. “Dear God, are you injured, Lady Ivy? I am so dreadfully sorry.”

Ivy sat on her bottom in the middle of the floor. And a laugh barreled up inside her throat and rang out into the otherwise-silent room.

Dominic offered a hesitant smile as he assisted Ivy to her feet, and then the couple he’d barreled into as well.

When he returned, Ivy was waiting for him with a raised eyebrow. “So I assume the answer to my question ‘do you waltz’ is
no.”

Envy eats nothing but its own heart.

German proverb

Take this.” Grant pressed a glass of lemonade into Ivy’s hand the minute she approached him at the refreshment table. “You look exhausted—and you must be aching from your waltz with Counterton.”
p. Ivy laughed. “Well, if he did not have the attention of all of Society before, he certainly does now. Thankfully, our accident happened so quickly I do not believe it will be attributed to a lack of skill.” She gratefully accepted the lemonade and drank it down, but her gaze trailed after Lord Counterton, who had, at her direction, set out to find and greet Lady Winthrop—to verify that he was still in her good graces after the fall. Of course, according to Ivy’s plan, his path would take him in the vicinity of Miss Feeney—his true destination.

It was evident that Miss Feeney had been watching Dominic all evening, for as he began to cross the ballroom in her direction, she gestured to the refreshment table and stepped away from Lord Tinsdale. Then she set out on what Ivy knew would be a purposeful course that would lead her into Dominic’s path.

“You know, Ivy, I like Counterton quite a lot,” Grant admitted.

“Well, you also know,” she leaned close and whispered, “that he is not truly Lord Counterton.”

“Still, I enjoy his company, so much more than dreary Tinsdale’s,” Grant added. “Counterton is the proper size for a man. No need for padding in his coat or anywhere else. Probably a Scot on his mother’s side. You should inquire about that.”

“Why, pray, should I do such a thing? I do not wish to know anything about him that I might accidentally blurt out in conversation,” she snapped, “and risk ruining everything.”

Grant snatched a glass of wine from a passing footman’s tray. “I just thought if he was a Scot—and gads, look at the size of him, he must have some plaid in him somewhere—Da might be more accepting of him.”

Ivy looked up at her brother, fully confused. “Why, pray, would I ever mention his possibly being a Scot to Da?”

“Well, Counterton is quite taken with you.” He chuckled. “Ivy, everyone in this room can see that.”

Ivy chortled. “Believe me, Grant, one thing I do know for certain is that you are entirely wrong on that point. He is simply a very talented actor. His lovelorn appearance is part of our plan. I assure you.”

Ivy could not help but watch Dominic’s progress with Miss Feeney. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see his face, but judging from the dreamy expression on Miss Feeney’s, he was doing quite an admirable job of charming her.

“He is perfect,” Ivy muttered to herself.

“Still,” Grant said in a most matter-of-fact manner, “I fear Da will never see you marrying a stage actor as
reforming.”

“Marrying Dominic?”
Ivy yanked her head around, astounded. “Gads, who mentioned anything about that?”

A slow grin spread across Grant’s face. “No one needed to say anything. One needs only see the way the two of you look at each other when you do not realize you are being watched.”

Ivy’s mouth fell agape, and she stood staring in disbelief at her brother. Was he insane? “I mean to marry Tinsdale,” she said flatly. “That is the only reason I have established an association with this so-called Dominic Sheridan.”

“Perhaps it commenced that way”—Grant exchanged Ivy’s empty glass with a crystal of wine—“but I know, with all certainty, that the two of you are falling in love. Your feelings for one another are as transparent as the air.”

“You are as mad as…our father,” she ground out beneath her breath. Whirling around, she started across the saloon. She did not wish to hear any more of Grant’s nonsensical—and completely erroneous—ramblings.

Because he was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

Ivy was fully halfway across the length of the grand saloon when she heard a gentleman speak her name just behind her.

“Lady Ivy,”
he said again. Louder this time.

Tiny wisps of hair on the back of her neck rose up as she recognized the voice. Oh dear. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t seen him coming.

Ivy slowed her step and halted, then drew in a fortifying breath and affixed a pleasant smile to her lips. Then she turned. “Tinsdale?” She looked around him.

Miss Feeney is not with him. That is something to be thankful for just now.

“Ivy.” His tone was honeyed, not chilly, the way it had been when she had Grant present him to Dominic earlier this night.

Hmm. Could it be my plan is working so soon? Hardly likely, but then…

“Have you misplaced Miss Feeney?” Ivy laughed, hoping she sounded jovial, not desperate. “Alas, I have not seen her since the two of you were presented to Lord Counterton.” She glanced around the saloon again. “She might have quit the saloon and gone outside for a breath. It is terribly warm this night, do you not agree, Lord Tinsdale?”

“Ivy,”
he said yet again, while peering at her in the queerest manner.

“Lord Tinsdale, what is it?” She gently laid her hand on his coat sleeve. “Is something the matter? You have spoken naught but my name four times within the past minute.”

He paused, as if thinking about whether or not anything was wrong, but then he shook his head. “No, nothing. I only wished to…apologize. There, I have said it. I have been meaning to, and now I have.”

“Apologize?” Aye, he
did
owe her an apology for discarding her like a wedge of moldy bread. Well, she wasn’t going to let it go with him voicing just
a wish
to apologize. He was going to have to have to truly say the words.
I apologize. I was a complete pompous fool. I want you to forgive me. I want you to marry me.

“Yes, dear Ivy. I know that you heard me, even over the drone of the guests.”

Ivy eyed him most seriously. “Did you spill something on my gown?”

“No.”

“No? Well, if you passed wind, you could have foregone an apology. The saloon is so crowded, no one would have guessed it was you.”

“No, I didn’t.
Ivy,
please, stop these games.”

She had to concede that perhaps that was a bit much. But he deserved it after the way he humiliated her before all Society. “Well then, what do you wish to apologize for, my dear lord?” Ivy batted her eyes innocently, as if she did not know exactly why he
needed
to apologize. “Do tell me.”

Tinsdale was having a dickens of a time forming the words. Why he was very nearly sputtering. “Ivy, I—I must beg your forgiveness for appearing to cast you off in favor of Miss Feeney.”

“Oh, you are apologizing for
the appearance
of doing so? So, you in truth, you did not actually cast me off in favor of her then.”

“No, I mean, yes, I did. Damn it, Ivy, you are not making this easy for me.” He rubbed his jaw, almost as though speaking of this pained his mouth.

“And should I make this easy for you? I do not believe you gave me the same consideration when you tossed me aside for Miss Feeney.”

He lifted her hand from his sleeve. “I admit my wrongdoing. I slighted you, but not intentionally. She stole my heart. I was helpless, I tell you.” Tinsdale shoved his fingers through his yellow hair in frustration, then looked deep into her eyes. In his gaze, Ivy saw sincerity. “I apologize for hurting you, Ivy. Doing so was never my intention.”

It was as though someone were squeezing her heart. She feared at any moment tears would bud in her eyes. She had to leave before she embarrassed herself and revealed her continued vulnerability to him.

“Och, Lord Tinsdale, dinna fret. You did not hurt me in the least,” she exclaimed, lifting her false smile into place once more. “In fact, I should thank you, for had you not pursued Miss Feeney so passionately, I might still have believed there was a chance for us for to be together—and not allowed myself to come to know Lord Counterton’s heart.”

“So, you are not upset with me?” Tinsdale swallowed the truth she had provided like a bitter pill.

“Och, no. Not in the least.” She struggled to hold the tears inside her eyes. “In truth, my dear friend, I wish to thank you.”

“Ivy,
you do not need to do this.” He reached out for her, but she stepped back. Her mask was crumbling. She could feel it breaking into pieces.

“No, you are wrong. I must thank you, Tinsdale. Do you not understand? Without your setting me aside for Miss Feeney, I might never have realized that Lord Counterton and I are truly meant to be together. And we are. Even you must see that. Everyone else does.”

It wasn’t true, of course, despite their contrived appearances, but still, she had to thank Grant for the idea of it.

“But Ivy, you and I—” Tinsdale began, but then he stopped trying to explain himself and closed his thin lips tightly.

Ivy didn’t know if he was having second thoughts about setting her aside or not, but she did know that it was not the time to wait to find out.

She raised her hand and waved at some invisible acquaintance behind him on the far side of the grand saloon. “Must be off now. Good evening, dear Tinsdale.”

She was shaking a little, and her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure he heard the rhythm as she dashed past him. From the periphery of her vision, she saw Tinsdale turn and drop his head as she ducked into the churning crowd.

She hurried through the throngs of ladies and gentlemen until she reached the Turkish Room. No one else was there, and so she allowed herself to collapse upon the nearest ottoman. She sucked a draught of air into her burning lungs.

Had she done it—had she both communicated that she cared enough to be hurt by being jilted and made him envious of Lord Counterton? Or, had she ruined everything?

She cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Lud, she wished she knew.

“I told you I saw her come in here!”

“Oh, there she is, Letitia. Such eyes you have, sister.”

Ivy lifted her head from her hands and looked up to see two elderly matrons dressed in identical gowns of pale purple.

“What luck, Viola,” exclaimed the heavier of the old women. “Now we will have all of the details before anyone else.”

“Good evening, Lady Ivy,” said the bonier of the two. “I do not know if you recall meeting us at the Haver-Smythes’ musicale last month, but we certainly remember you.”

As Ivy’s eyes refocused, she recognized the women as two of the London Society’s most notorious matchmakers, the Ladies Letitia and Viola Featherton of Hanover Square.

Ivy came to her feet and curtsied, meaning to leave as quickly as she could. The two old women were known particularly for cleverly converting military rules of engagement into stratagems for snaring husbands for their charges.

She could not have them interfering for their own amusement with her own strategy to win back Tinsdale’s affections.

“Good evening, ladies,” Ivy said, searching her mind for any viable excuse for quitting the Turkish Room. “Certainly I remember meeting you both. How are you enjoying the ball?”

Lady Letitia snickered at that, sending both of her chins wobbling. “Not half as much as you are, dear, judging from the smile on your face while you danced with young Lord Counterton.”

Oh God, the heat was already headed into her cheeks.

“How blessed you are to have so quickly hooked the most eligible bachelor in all of London,” Lady Viola added.

They were both studying her intently, as if waiting for a reaction. Unnerving her.

“H-his father was a school chum of my father’s,” Ivy stammered. “I suppose I was fortunate that he sought out our family to request an introduction into Society.”

“Oh, very fortunate, indeed,” Lady Letitia said, but the old woman’s expression told her she did not truly care in the least. There was something more she wanted to know.

And then it came.

“The way he looked at you, he is in love,” Lady Viola said.

“Which I am happy to see. It only proves that the rumors that preceded his arrival are just drivel.” Lady Letitia’s head shot forward in her expectation of a reply, startling Ivy.

“W-what rumors might those be?” Ivy looked at the thin woman, who didn’t seem as tricky as her sister Lady Letitia.

“Oh, I am sure they are nothing,” Lady Viola replied softly, “now that I have seen the man for myself.”

Hesitantly, Ivy redirected her gaze to Lady Letitia, who seemed to have her answer waiting on her tongue. “Please, what have you heard?”

“Well, I will tell you only because you may jeopardize your reputation and that of your family if you are not made aware of a possible risk.” Lady Letitia came closer and set her hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “Word is that the new Lord Counterton is a wicked scoundrel, adept at charming women, never once giving his heart in return for theirs. Instead he pitchforks them aside when it suits.”

A bubble of laughter welled up inside Ivy and burst from her lips. “I assure you, ladies, the rumor is quite unfounded. Lord Counterton is a very kind and thoughtful gentleman, though I must admit, he is very charming.”