Colin scribbled his name on what was left of her dance card. “I am in your debt, Miss Davies,” he told her, offering her his elbow as the orchestra began tuning up for the next set.
“Are you?” Gillian replied, placing her gloved hand in the crook of his arm.
“Aye,” Colin answered, his voice a soft, rumbling burr.
“In what way?” Gillian curtsied as Lord Grantham bowed and the first strains of an old-fashioned minuet began.
“You spared my feelings by removing the names of all the other gentlemen who have signed your dance card.” He caught a whiff of a delicately tantalizing fragrance, and then lost it amid the stronger, overpowering scents of heavy perfumes and profusely perspiring bodies surrounding them on the dance floor.
Gillian looked up at him from beneath the cover of her lashes. His eyes were green, she realized. A crisp, gray green that sparkled with wit and humor and that challenged her to respond in kind. Gillian smiled her first genuine smile of the evening. “You undoubtedly know better than that, my lord.”
Colin arched his eyebrow in eloquent query.
“If other gentlemen had signed their names to my dance card, you and I wouldn’t be dancing now.”
“How so?” Colin asked the question, not because he didn’t understand but simply because he was curious to hear her answer. And satisfying curiosity was what a mission of discovery was all about.
“There would have been no need for Lady Harralson to prevail upon you to rescue me by asking me to dance.”
“I didn’t rescue you, Miss Davies,” Colin replied gallantly. “You rescued me—from a deadly dull evening.”
Gillian couldn’t contain her spontaneous burst of laughter. “How is that possible? Lady Harralson’s evenings are never deadly dull for those who love to dance.”
Colin grimaced.
Gillian laughed once again. He danced like a dream, flawlessly executing the intricate steps with aplomb. Yet he clearly pretended to despise it. “I vow that you’re a fraud, Lord Grantham. If you’ve no fondness for dancing, why have you come to Lady Harralson’s?”
Colin never missed a step. “I received invitations to Almack’s, Lady Compton’s, and here.” He shrugged his shoulders. “This seemed the best choice.” He had learned long ago that his best course of action was always to tell as much of the truth as possible whenever possible.
Unfortunately, his partner didn’t believe him. “Better than Lady Compton’s?” She feigned shock. “Now, I know you’re a fraud. Or the most virtuous gentleman in all of London.”
He arched an eyebrow in query, eloquently encouraging her to elaborate.
“I’ve yet to meet a man who would rather dance than gamble or pass up the best evening repast in town,” Gillian continued.
Colin grinned. “You appear to be most fortunate in your acquaintances, Miss Davies.”
“Indeed?” She arched her brow and did her best to mimic his expression and his tone of voice.
“Indeed,” he confirmed. “For an evening at Lady Compton’s is generally expensive, and my purse is not so fat that I would risk losing it on games of hazard against men with greater resources than I am able to muster. I only wager with friends who have always generously offered me the opportunity to recoup my losses.”
“Wise as well as gallant,” Gillian murmured, as the dance brought them face-to-face and palm-to-palm.
“Prudent,” he protested, fighting a sudden, aching need to feel her lips against his. “Not necessarily wise.”
The look on his face was mesmerizing. Gillian focused her gaze on his mouth, astonished to find herself wondering how it would feel pressed against her bare flesh. “One would guess that a gallant and prudent man is a rare, if not extinct breed. I doubt that there are many other men who would make that claim.”
He frowned at her unflattering assessment of English gentlemen. “Of course there are,” he assured her. “I’ve no doubt that there are a great many men like me—all equally prudent and gallant.” Colin thought of his Free Fellows League brethren and legions of brave soldiers who had died in the battles against Bonaparte.
“You believe in honor and nobility and chivalry and—”
“You don’t?” he guessed.
Gillian smiled a sad smile. “When one reads Sir Thomas Malory and the writings of Queen Eleanor, one is tempted to believe every man possesses such virtues or aspires to possess them—” She broke off when she recognized the look of wonder on Colin’s face. “What is it, my lord?”
“You surprise me,” he answered.
“In what way?”
“By engaging in philosophical discussion of Malory and the poetry of Eleanor of Aquitaine.” He met her gaze. “I expected...”
“More?” she asked.
“Less,” he said.
“Oh, well...” She blushed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Lord Grantham, but I am a learned woman and as such, I am quite capable of forming and expressing intelligent opinions—”
“Who said I was disappointed?” The light in his green eyes burned hotter.
“Aren’t you?”
“Not at all.”
She blushed even redder, glanced down at her feet, and resumed the threads of their abandoned discussion. “I believe in the ideals of honor, nobility, and chivalry. I just don’t believe they exist in pure, incorruptible form.”
“You can be assured that they do,” Colin said softly.
“It would be nice to think so,” Gillian mused, curtsying once again as the music faded away and the dance came to an end. “But—”
“But someone hurt you—” Colin interrupted.
“But I gave up believing in chivalry and fairy tales long ago. My experience has led me to conclude that you are unique among your peers. No one else could possibly be the sort of gentleman you appear to be.”
Colin knew she was mistaken, but in the case of one impostor, he prayed she was right.
* * *
“Why didn’t you ask me to dance?”
Jarrod turned at the sound of the softly spoken question and discovered a pretty, brown-eyed redhead looking up at him. “Whom?”
“Gillian,” she answered. “Gillian Davies, the woman dancing with Lord Grantham. The woman at whom you’ve been staring for the better part of a quarter hour.”
“Davies?” Jarrod frowned in concentration. “Any relation to—”
The young woman nodded. “Baron Davies is her father. And despite the fact that her father is richer than Croesus, Gillian is quite nice. Unfortunately, she seems to be in disgrace.”
Jarrod lifted his eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes,” she answered, lowering her voice to make certain no one could overhear. “The story is that she’s been visiting relatives in the country for the past month. But there’s a nasty rumor circulating around town that she wasn’t in the country at all, but that she eloped to Scotland with a bounder who left her there.”
“Do you believe the story or the rumor?” he asked, staring at Gillian Davies once again. Was it possible? Could she be the one?
She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip for a moment. “I find it difficult to believe that Gillian would ever do anything to disgrace her family. But then again, no one goes to visit relatives in the country at the beginning of the season.” She looked up at him. “I’m sure it’s just a rumor. I’m sure Gillian’s reputation is beyond reproach.” Her voice quavered. “She’ll make you a wonderful marchioness.”
Jarrod whipped around, focusing his full attention on the young woman standing at his side. “What makes you think I’m interested in making Miss Davies my marchioness?”
“Because you’re the Marquess of Shepherdston, and because you’ve been staring at her most of the evening.”
“I only noticed her because she wasn’t dancing,” Jarrod answered honestly.
“And you were trying to summon the courage to ask her to dance with you...”
“Not at all,” he argued.
She arched one pal
e reddish blonde brow in disbelief. “Then you’re staring at Gillian because she’s beautiful.”
Jarrod frowned. He wasn’t accustomed to being contradicted, and his blue eyes flashed fire as he turned his gaze on her. “Not true.”
“Gillian isn’t beautiful?” she asked hopefully.
Jarrod shook his head. “She’s quite beautiful, but so are a great many other ladies here tonight. I noticed Miss Davies because I found it strange that she wasn’t dancing.”
“Lucky Gillian,” the young woman muttered. “Because I haven’t been dancing, Jarrod, and you didn’t pay me the slightest bit of attention until I spoke to you.”
She’d broken the rules of etiquette by speaking to him and by daring to call him by his given name. And that daring finally captured his full attention.
“Are we acquainted?” he asked.
She presented him with a mysterious smile. “I’m well acquainted with you, my lord. But apparently, you are unable to say the same.” She looked him up and down and then gave him a dismissive glance. “I apologize for interrupting your search for a marchioness, Jays. And when you dance with her, please, give my best to Gillian.”
Jarrod frowned as she turned to walk away. Only one person in the world had ever had the temerity called him Jays. And she had been a scrawny, knock-kneed, flame-haired, precocious five-year-old girl named Sarah Eckersley. “Sarah? Is it you?”
She turned on her heels and beamed at him. “All grown up and in the flesh.”
Jarrod eyed the creamy expanse of flesh displayed above the fashionably squared neck of her evening gown. The shockingly bright orange-colored hair she’d despaired of as a child had darkened over the years, mellowing into the soft, rich color of burnished copper, and the freckles that dotted her pale skin had all but disappeared, leaving a scant few paler freckles to decorate the bridge of her nose.
Only her eyes were the same. He should have recognized them if nothing else, for Sarah Eckersley’s big, almond-shaped eyes had always been more gold than brown and had always seemed much too large for her face. Years ago, she had been a funny little kitten with full-grown cat eyes. But now, it seemed, the kitten had filled out and grown into a breathtakingly lovely queen. “How long has it been?”
“Long enough for you to forget about me and look for someone else.”
His breath caught in his throat. “Sarah, I’m not—”
“Looking?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I beg to differ, Jays.”
It took a moment for Jarrod to recover his speech. “It’s not what you suppose. I’m not interested in dancing with Gillian Davies or in making her my marchioness.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“I don’t happen to be in the market for a wife,” he answered.
“Then what are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Would you believe I came to dance?”
She didn’t believe it for a moment. “You don’t appear to be dancing.”
Jarrod grinned at her. “Only because you haven’t asked me to.”
* * *
“What kept you?” Jarrod inquired after Colin managed to make his way through the crush of people surrounding the refreshment table.
“Nothing kept me,” Colin told him. “I’ve been here well over two hours.” He watched Jarrod deposit two soiled buffet plates and two empty punch cups on a large tray near the refreshment table for removal to the kitchen.
“I didn’t see you arrive,” Jarrod admitted.
“I was here when you got here,” Colin explained. “Over there—” He nodded toward the far end of the ballroom, where chaperones sat on a row of chairs keeping close watch on their charges. “Talking with my mother.”
“Your mother is here?”
Colin nodded once again. “Chaperoning my younger sister.”
“It doesn’t seem possible that little Liana’s ready to come out.”
“She’s seventeen,” Colin confirmed. “And looking forward to her first real season.” The rounds of parties heralding the little season had begun several weeks ago, but the real season didn’t start until parliament began its session in May.
“Why aren’t they at Almack’s?”
“They haven’t received vouchers. And frankly, my mother was relieved, because she didn’t know how she was going to finance Liana’s debut. Especially when everyone knows my father has gambled everything away.” A flush of color rose from Colin’s neck to the tips of his ears, and he glanced down at the floor. “She needs my help.”
Jarrod sighed. Lady McElreath routinely needed Colin’s help with the day-to-day expenses of running a home and rearing his siblings. “Seasons are damnably expensive,” Jarrod reminded him. “Do you have that kind of blunt?”
Colin looked up from his perusal of the polished leather top of his right shoe. “I’ve got some capital put away. It should cover the cost of a full season. It won’t leave me with much, but Liana’s a good lass. She deserves the chance to make a good match, and a full London season with all the trimmings is the best way to accomplish that.”
“I could—” Jarrod began.
“No,” Colin said firmly. “Thank you, but no. You do plenty.” He smiled. “I already owe you the roof over my head and a great many of the clothes on my back. I can’t accept more.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Jarrod protested. “And I have plenty of money. There’s no need for you to spend all of your capital on Liana’s coming out when I can easily afford to finance it.”
Colin managed a self-deprecating laugh. “I know you can. Hell, everybody in London knows you can.” His voice deepened to a low, rough burr. “I deeply appreciate your most generous offer. And, believe me, I’m very tempted to take you up on it, but I’ve managed to make a bit of money off the investments I’ve made for you and Griff. It’s not a big fortune, but it’s a tidy sum, and it will be put to good use in launching Liana into society.”
“Launching?” Jarrod smiled. “Unleashing is more like it.” Colin’s younger sister was a true beauty with a mind and a will of her own.
Colin grinned. “Aye, our Liana will cut a wide swath among London society. And we’ll get to enjoy watching her winnow out the lesser men and boys.”
Jarrod sobered. “We’ll have to be on our guard. We’ve a charlatan in our midst, preying on the hearts and purses of young girls and their families.”
Colin studied the expression on his friend’s face. “Was that the case with her?” He nodded toward the dance floor. “Did our impostor prey on her?”
“On whom?” Jarrod asked.
“The young lady you were partnering on the dance floor,” Colin replied.
Jarrod smiled. “No,” he answered. “Sarah is relatively safe from the likes of that charlatan.”
“Sarah?” Colin had never heard Jarrod mention a Sarah, and Jarrod seemed to be well acquainted with this one.
“Sarah Eckersley,” Jarrod answered. “Her father is the rector of the church in the village of Helford Green near my childhood home. Although Helford Green comes with an adequate living, Sarah would be of little interest to our impostor, for she has no fortune, and her only family is her father and her maternal aunt.”
“Then Liana should be safe from the impostor as well,” Colin said. “For it’s no secret that we’ve no fortune of which to boast.”
“Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the young lady you were partnering,” Jarrod said.
Colin didn’t respond.
“I wasn’t the only one dancing,” Jarrod reminded him with a twinkle in his eye. “I see Lady Harralson persuaded you to rescue Miss Davies.”
“Rescue?” Colin was genuinely puzzled. “From whom?”
“From the passel of jackals who’ve surrounded her all evening and from the ignominy of being ignored by the other gentlemen present.” Jarrod glanced at Colin and then turned toward the dance floor. “With one notable exception—of course.”
Colin followed Jarrod’s gaze to where Miss
Davies was dancing with young Lord Courtland. “It appears I’m no longer an exception.”
“No,” Jarrod agreed with a knowing smile. “You seem to have broken the ice.”
“That’s what Lady Harralson hoped would happen when she asked me to partner Miss Davies.”
“Lady Harralson certainly chose the right champion.” Jarrod struggled to keep from grinning at the irony. “Let’s hope Lord Davies is more impressed by your valiant rescue of his daughter from social humiliation than he is by your supposed elopement with her to Gretna Green.”
“What?” Colin was astonished.
“Unless I miss my guess, you just danced with the daughter of the man who hired Bow Street to find you.”
“Great Caesar’s ghost!”
“And then some,” Jarrod laughed.
“Are you certain she’s the one?”
Jarrod shook his head. “Not entirely. The story is that Gillian Davies just returned from a month spent visiting relatives in the country, but the gossip is that she eloped to Gretna Green with a mysterious gentleman.”
Colin ran his hand through his hair and frowned. “And marriageable daughters don’t normally leave London at the beginning of the season in order to visit relatives in the country. No matter how devoted. Especially when their fathers have just been elevated to the rank of baron.” He looked at Jarrod. “What say we arrange a meeting with the baron tomorrow afternoon?”
Jarrod nodded. “For your protection and the protection of the League, it would be best if the request for a meeting comes from the War Office.”
“Will Colonel Grant’s staff agree to it?” Colin asked.
“The information you supply to us in your work as Colin Fox is invaluable,” Jarrod reminded him. “Colonel Grant’s staff is very much aware of that and wishes to get to the bottom of this mystery as badly as we do. I’ve no doubt they’ll approve of a meeting with the Bow Street investigator and the baron in order to find out what they know. The question is whether you want to meet with them or whether you prefer someone else to do it?”