Until You (25 page)

Ashleigh too, seemed quite popular with the exalted members of the
ton
.  Those individuals who had not met her during the
Sethe's
hunting weekend or at the theater in London, seemed eager to meet the Earl of Dexter's granddaughter, and those who
had
met her appeared eager to further their acquaintances. 

She was instantly besieged with dance requests and before she knew it she was swept out into the midst of a waltz by none other than Julius Caesar.  Her partner was actually Lord Montville, an older gentlemen whom she learned was a friend and close neighbor of the
Sethes
.

The viscount was a friendly fellow who had been widowed three years earlier.  He had four children, all girls, the eldest just sixteen and he spoke of little else as they danced.  He was obviously a loving and devoted father and she liked him immensely.  Although, as he spoke so fondly of his daughters, Ashleigh couldn't help but wonder about the future of
her
unborn child.  Would her baby grow up without the love and affection of his or her father, without Nicholas?  It was a disheartening thought.

From what she had observed herself, and from the information she had gained from others, Ashleigh knew that Nicholas had a fondness for children.  Shortly after her arrival at
Sethe
Manor she had watched from an upstairs window as he had lead the butler’s young grandson, four-year old Timmy, around the front drive seated atop his prize thoroughbred.
 
The child had been shrieking in delight as Nicholas had led him about, smiling indulgently the entire time.
 
He’d clearly been enjoying himself almost as much as young Timmy.

Lost in the memory, Ashleigh had not heard Lord Montville's last comment and she looked up guiltily as he repeated the question.

“I merely asked if you were enjoying yourself, Lady St. John.”

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, Lord Montville,” Ashleigh began with an apologetic smile.  “Please excuse my inattention, I am afraid that this is my first masquerade and I must admit to being a bit overwhelmed,” she lied prettily.  “And my yes, I am enjoying myself immensely.”  She then forced herself to concentrate on her partner, once again engaging in polite conversation as he spun her about the room. 

Nicholas wasn’t surprised to see that the masquerade was already in full swing when he entered the crowded ballroom.  The air was filled with a combination of music, laughter and lively conversation, yet he dreaded the upcoming hours, for he knew that he would have to contend with Isabelle's amorous advances, as well as the overabundance of feminine attention that he generally garnered at events such as this.  However, with his handsome and charming younger brother in attendance, the eligible young ladies would have a much more willing target to focus their attentions upon he realized, which in turn caused his spirits to lift slightly.

As he stood watching the dancers gliding across the floor, he caught sight of Ashleigh as she twirled by in the arms of Roger
Lyndwich
, smiling brightly as she gazed at her partner in rapt attention.  He hadn't seen her since Christmas morning, the morning she had given him the incredible pocket watch.  Even now the watch rested in the inside pocket of his black evening jacket.  At first, he’d been stunned by the thoughtfulness and generosity of her gift, but then his cynical and suspicious mind had once again taken over, causing him to wonder if it had been just another desperate attempt to capture his attention.  Although he still didn't know the depth of the relationship between Ashleigh and his brother, he couldn’t forget the intimate scene he had witnessed firsthand.
 
It was driving him mad, for as always, she still had his emotions rioting in a vexing tumult.

Turning away, intending to locate his grandmother and brother, Isabelle suddenly appeared at his side.

“Nicholas, you are here at last,” she said, smiling widely.  “Come, dance with me,” she commanded boldly, grasping his arm and pulling him toward the dance floor.  He assumed that she was still miffed that he’d avoided her in London, but she didn’t allow it to show.

Disguising his irritation behind an agreeable smile, he took her in his arms and swept her into the midst of the dancers.  As they turned about the floor, he couldn't keep his eyes from straying toward Ashleigh and Montville.  He was distracted however, when Isabelle pouted and asked him why he hadn't commented on her costume.  Making a suitably gallant reply, he kept his true thoughts carefully hidden behind an amiable façade; that the white of her gown made her skin appear pasty and sallow and that the petulant pout on her lips made her look like a spoiled child deprived of a sweetmeat.
 
Instead, he assured her that she was the most beautiful woman present, as always.  She accepted the complement with a seductive smile and pressed her body more tightly against his, yet another blatant invitation.

Ashleigh was doing an admirable job of focusing her attention on the viscount, or rather; she had been until she caught sight of Nicholas holding Isabelle
Taryton
in his arms.  He wasn't wearing a costume, only a black domino that covered the upper part of his face.  Much to Ashleigh's dismay, she immediately trod upon Lord Montville's foot and felt a rush of color flood her cheeks.  She only managed to finish the waltz without further incident by keeping her eyes firmly locked upon the viscount's kind face. 

As the evening progressed, Ashleigh chatted with several young ladies close to her own age.  Most were friendly and courteous, but a few cast resentful and malicious glances in her direction and whispered about her behind their fans.  She obviously colors her hair said one, while another professed that her maid must have spent hours yanking on her corset strings in order to make her waist appear so deceptively narrow.  Whenever Ashleigh chanced to overhear such unkind remarks directed at her, she simply lifted her head a little higher and smiled a little brighter to hide her inner feelings.  Becoming the latest member of the
ton
wasn't entirely a bed of roses, she thought with a sigh.  She knew that no matter how long she associated with her exalted peers, she would always feel more comfortable living in the country and donning her breeches for an early morning ride than waltzing the night away at one ball or another with a group of self-important bluebloods. 

As Ashleigh accepted yet another glass of punch from one of her ardent suitors, she forced herself to remain focused on the conversation around her, but it was difficult.  She was beginning to feel ill and her feet ached from dancing nearly every dance that evening.  She suddenly longed to flee the perpetual hum of conversation and the crush of the overrun ballroom.  After a few more minutes had passed, she began to plan her escape.  Madeline had adjourned to one of the anterooms where several of the older guests were engaging in games of whist and she briefly considered joining them. 

It was then that Brendon appeared at her side and requested his second dance of the evening.  She hadn't seen much of him during the masquerade and readily went into his outstretched arms.  She temporarily forgot about her aching feet as she looked into Brendon's smiling face.  The orchestra was playing a lively country dance and Brendon spun Ashleigh wildly about the floor, keeping pace with the other merry couples.  The dance didn't allow much time for conversation, but Ashleigh couldn't resist teasing him about his popularity with the ladies whenever the tempo slowed.  As the dance brought them to the far side of the room, Ashleigh noticed in silent frustration that Nicholas was once again partnered with the countess.

“Brendon, do you think we could step outside for a moment?"  Ashleigh asked, as Brendon escorted her from the dance floor several minutes later.  She was feeling a bit light-headed after the vigorous dance and for a frightening moment she feared she might faint, and immediately laid her hand on Brendon's arm for support.

Brendon apparently noted her pallor, even under the light dusting of powder she wore on her face, and obviously felt the tight, almost desperate hold she suddenly had on his arm.  Clearly worried, he quickly guided her toward the nearest set of French doors and out onto the terrace.

“Thank you, Brendon,” Ashleigh said, breathing deeply as she leaned against the marble railing that ran along the length of the terrace.  “I just need to catch my breath.”  The air was frigid, but it felt marvelous after the stifling confines of the crowded ballroom.

“I never should have let you spend so much time on the dance floor, not in your condition,” he declared, running his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture as he studied her face.

The action reminded her so much of Nicholas.  The two brothers had so much in common, not only in physical appearance, but in their mannerisms as well.  “Brendon, don't be ridiculous, I'm fine.  It was just so crowded in there and I am afraid the heat got to me a bit,” she said, as she gradually began to regain her composure. 

Brendon continued to look closely at Ashleigh's face.  “Are you certain you are alright?”

“Brendon, I am fine, honestly,” she insisted, giving him a reassuring smile, despite the fact that she was still feeling slightly unwell.  Ever since she’d told him about the baby he had been as overprotective as a mother hen, and she didn’t want him to worry.

Nicholas, who had been forced out onto the stone terrace by Isabelle's claim of being overheated, which indeed she was he thought sardonically, had been about to rebuff the persistent countess, when he caught sight of Ashleigh and Brendon out of the corner of his eye.  They were standing close together, too close it seemed.  Damn it to hell, he thought irritably.
 
A moment later, instead of repelling Isabelle's advances as he had intended, he reached out and drew her nearer to him.  When she lifted her lips for his kiss, he bent his head and accommodated her with feigned eagerness.

When Ashleigh turned to reenter the ballroom she noticed a movement to her right, deep within the shadows of the house.  She turned her head to see what had caught her attention and regretted it instantly.  Two people stood on the far side of the terrace, nearly hidden by a large marble pillar, but she could still see them.  Isabelle
Taryton
had her arms wrapped around Nicholas' neck, and the two of them were locked in an intimate embrace.  Unable to tear her gaze from the pair, Ashleigh felt the blood drain from her face, and in the next instant her body seemed to go completely numb.

Brendon watched in dismay as Ashleigh's features once again lost all color, her eyes fixed somewhere over his right shoulder.  He turned to see what she was looking at, anger and disgust crossing his features as he saw the Countess of
Dragmore
clinging wantonly to his brother.

It was all too much.  Ashleigh saw blackness closing in around her, and then she saw nothing at all.

Fortunately, Brendon reached out and caught her just as she sank to the terrace floor amongst a profusion of emerald and gold skirts.

Nicholas lifted his head from Isabelle's demanding lips just in time to see his brother catch Ashleigh as she sank into a heap at his feet.  Swearing profusely, Nicholas untangled himself from Isabelle's clinging arms and pushed her aside, much to her obvious displeasure.  By the time he’d completely freed himself from her determined grasp and strode to the opposite end of the terrace, Ashleigh had apparently regained her senses.  Had her faint been a pretense for his benefit, he wondered?  She was extremely pale though, he noted, and leaning heavily on Brendon's arm as he walked her toward the open French doors.

When Ashleigh saw Nicholas approaching, she summoned her strength and released Brendon's arm.  Picking up her skirts, she immediately fled into the ballroom.  She never wanted to see Nicholas Leighton’s face ever again, she thought angrily.

Brendon stood helplessly in the doorway, watching as Ashleigh made her way across the crowded room to his grandmother's side.  Sensing his brother's presence behind him, he turned, fury evident in his hostile gaze.

“Is she alright?”  Nicholas asked, looking over Brendon's shoulder and into the crowd.

“What the hell do you care?”  Brendon demanded belligerently.  When Nicholas remained silent, Brendon nodded his head in the direction of the countess, who was angrily approaching from the opposite side of the terrace.  “I think your whore is upset with you brother, why don't you concern yourself with her.”

Nicholas’ patience came to an abrupt end.
 
“Which whore are you referring to Brendon, the one approaching or the one that just left?”

Brendon's fist connected with his brother's jaw with incredible force, enough to send Nicholas crashing backward against the terrace railing.  Isabelle's shocked gasp went unheard as the two men stared at each other in taut silence.  As Nicholas straightened to his full height, Brendon stood flexing his hand for several seconds, struggling to maintain control of his raging temper.  “Damn you Nick.
 
She was right, they’ll be better off without you, you coldhearted bastard.”

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”  Nicholas demanded.

“Just stay away from her Nick.”
 
Brendon shook his head from side to side as he eyed his brother.
 
“I never thought I’d say this, but she deserves a hell of a lot better than you,” he stated angrily, before turning his back and reentering the ballroom.