Her right nipple was squeezed teasingly by the quilted dimity of her corset. Then the left. She clasped her hands to her breasts, aching for his touch. “Jack! If we go to bed and I ruin my dress and hair, Celeste and her maid will never forgive me!”
“Don’t worry, your gown is safe.” Brow furrowed with concentration, he tightened the corset on both nipples at once. They hardened, throbbing urgently.
“Are you sure this is wise?” she said unsteadily.
“Probably not.” His intense gaze moved lower on her body.
Under her silk gown, the sheer fabric of her chemise glided provocatively across her thighs. Pleasure shimmered over her skin, stimulating her body in astonishingly intimate places. “I’m not worried about the ball now,” she managed to say. “Instead, I ache for you. Is that better?”
“Much better, for I can soothe that ache.” He stepped close and bent to kiss her throat just above the sapphire necklace inherited from her mother.
Fire shot through her, pooling in her loins. Dizzily she reached for his shoulder to steady herself.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and raised her skirt with his other hand, careful not to crush the silk. She moaned as his hard, knowing hand slid upward between her thighs. As soon as he touched the moist heat between her legs, she began writhing against him as frantic spasms rocked her. She would have fallen if not for his support. He filled her world, his tenderness even more shattering than his passionate skill.
As her body stilled, she found that her forehead rested against his shoulder. Though he supported her, their bodies weren’t crushed together. “You spared the gown,” she said with a choke of laughter. “But what about you?” Her hand moved tentatively down his body.
He caught her hand and raised it to his heart. “I will collect my reward later,” he said, his voice a rich rumble. “Are you relaxed about the ball now?”
“So relaxed I can barely stand upright!”
“You’ll be grand, lass.” He kissed her hard on her mouth. She felt strength flow from him into her, and with it some of his confidence.
She felt ready.
The mundane business of standing in a receiving line and being introduced to what seemed like half of London eliminated the last of Abby’s nervousness. The members of the ton she met were mostly pleasant. And if a fair number of the men studied her figure with frank admiration—well, that wasn’t so bad, not with Jack standing protectively beside her.
“Lady Cynthia Devereaux.” The announced name caught Abby’s attention. Wasn’t that the girl Jack had admired? Abby kept most of her attention on Lady Castlereagh, the foreign minister’s wife, who was welcoming Abby to London, but she did look out the corner of her eye at the female who was approaching him.
Lady Cynthia looked…just like Celeste. No, not just like her—their features and expressions were quite different. But both were petite, exquisitely dressed blondes who looked as if they belonged on pedestals. Beside Lady Cynthia was a taller, darker blonde who must be her sister, and who was almost equally attractive.
As Lady Castlereagh inclined her head and moved away, Abby heard Lady Cynthia say to her companion, “I see that Frayne decided to marry a great cow.”
The other young woman tittered maliciously. “She must have a huge dowry. There couldn’t be any other reason he’d marry such a creature.”
The words were a stiletto through Abby’s heart. She had feared such contempt for her person almost as much as she feared being revealed as a wizard.
Had the comments been meant to be overheard? She hadn’t had much experience with malice. In Melton Mowbray, everyone liked her, or they concealed it if they didn’t. Welcome to high society.
“Lady Cynthia, it’s good to see you. You’re in your best looks, I see.” Jack must not have heard the comments, for his smile was friendly. “And Lady Jane, you also dazzle. I believe I saw a notice of your engagement in the newspaper last week?”
“Yes, I’m soon to marry Lord Mortensen.” Lady Jane’s smile was very close to a smirk of satisfaction. She had won a major prize in the Marriage Mart and would marry before her sister. Abby wondered if Mortensen knew his intended was mean-spirited. Perhaps he wouldn’t care, since she was wellborn and pretty.
More important was whether Jack still cared about Lady Cynthia. There was no sign of special interest in his face or in his aura. His greeting was what he might offer any old friend.
The line moved. While Lady Jane and Jack exchanged a few more words, Lady Cynthia stepped up to Abby.
How should she behave? Take the high ground. Spitting in the little minx’s face wouldn’t help Abby’s reputation. She summoned her warmest smile. “Lady Cynthia, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so glad you were able to attend tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have missed the chance to meet Jack’s wife,” Lady Cynthia purred, her use of his given name implying deep intimacy. Though her words and tone were civil, there was malice in her eyes. “I heard that he was injured in the Shires and you nursed him?” Her eyes flicked disdainfully over Abby. Without saying a word, she implied that Abby must have taken advantage of Jack’s weakness to snare him.
“He was brought to my father’s house after the accident.” Abby added a dash of magic to her smile, wanting to project profound marital satisfaction both in and out of bed. “The way we discovered each other was like a miracle.”
Lady Cynthia’s mouth tightened to a hard line, and there was little civility when she said, “How fortunate for you both.”
The mental energy saturating her words was so vivid that Abby understood in a flash what had happened. The previous year, Lady Cynthia had hoped for an offer from another man, a marquess who was a better catch, but she had encouraged Jack’s attentions and considered him a good second choice. She’d assumed he would be hers for the asking if she wanted him.
But she hadn’t succeeded with her first choice, Jack was no longer available, and wealthy, titled men were in short supply. Though she was beautiful, every season brought new beauties to town, and her prospects were not as good as they had seemed the previous year. Of course she hated Abby.
Feeling rather sorry for her, Abby said gently, “Fortunate indeed. I hope you enjoy the ball, Lady Cynthia.”
Anger flashed through the other woman’s face for a moment. Then she schooled her features to superficial social charm and moved away. As Abby turned to greet the next guest, she wondered how many years would pass before that angry spirit would be written on Lady Cynthia’s face for the world to see.
A few minutes later, the duchess announced, “I think most of the guests have arrived, so now we can dance!”
She was stunning in a white gown whose sparkling crystals echoed the spectacular diamonds at her ears and around her throat. But Abby noted that she and her husband still weren’t looking at each other.
Alderton wore impeccably tailored black coat and breeches with a white-on-white embroidered waistcoat, but his expression was sober. Sad, even. Though he was always polite to Abby, she had no sense that she really knew him. She was unable to resist a gentle mental touch to see what she could read in his personality, but she felt only the shield of a powerful anti-magic charm. To attempt to look deeper would be an invasion of privacy, not to mention out of place at a ball.
Jack glanced down at her, his hazel eyes golden. Lord, he dazzled in that uniform! Still another reason for Lady Cynthia to resent the woman who had become Lady Frayne. “Shall we dance, lass?”
“I would love to.” The set forming was for a country dance where men and women lined up opposite each other. Partners couldn’t converse easily, but the dance was great fun and an old favorite of hers. Jack was light on his feet for a large man, and he gave every evidence of enjoying himself.
By the end of the set, she was flushed and laughing and full of confidence. She should have known that this ball couldn’t be as bad as she’d feared. When Ashby asked her for the next dance, she accepted with pleasure while Jack left to a
sk his sister to stand up with him.
“Only in London could I dance with two dukes in one night,” she told Ashby as the new set formed.
He laughed. “Alderton is a better dancer than I. Are you enjoying your stay here, Abby? Jack looks not only healed, but happy.”
“I know,” she said with satisfaction. “To be honest, I was worried about this visit, but all is well. Jack’s sister is wonderful, and so is her modiste.”
“Indeed.” Ashby let his gaze move over her with deep masculine appreciation, the kind an honorable man shows to a good friend’s wife.
The music began and Ashby proved to be a better dancer than he claimed. Later in the evening Abby stood up with Alderton, who did indeed dance beautifully. She wondered giddily if there were any other dukes present so she could try for three. Probably just as well not to hope for that—most dukes were elderly and gout ridden.
No matter. There were plenty of other men who wanted to dance with her. As Madame Ravelle had predicted, Abby danced every set and was in no danger of lung fever despite her décolletage.
She caught a glimpse of Lady Cynthia Devereaux occasionally. The petite blonde never lacked for partners. Perhaps too many balls had left her jaded, for her rosebud mouth had a petulant cast. Though she managed to make pouting look pretty, Abby could feel the sourness underneath.
The last dance before supper ended and Abby looked around for Jack, since they had planned to eat together. He wasn’t in sight and the guests were milling about as they searched for supper partners, so she decided to stand still and wait for him to find her. She had a sense that he’d left the ballroom, so she sent out a mental call.
A dozen feet away, Lady Cynthia was talking with a middle-aged man. He said something that caused her to gasp with surprise and glance at Abby. Her expression of pleasure was alarming.
Abby moved away, the back of her neck prickling. Where the devil was Jack?
After another swift exchange of sentences with the man, Lady Cynthia moved forward and blocked Abby’s path. In a voice designed to carry through the ballroom, she asked, “Lady Frayne, is it true that you are a wyrdling?”
Chapter XXVI
Burn, witch, burn. The words echoed through Abby’s mind, reinforced by the expressions of the people around her. Lady Cynthia radiated vicious satisfaction while other guests showed shock, fear, and avid curiosity. Worst of all, the Duke of Alderton stared at Abby, his face appalled.
Feeling ill, Abby wondered if the duke would throw her from his house. Guests edged away and the ballroom was eerily silent as everyone waited to hear her reply.
For one cowardly instant, Abby was tempted to lie and claim that the rumor of her wizardry was wrong. She wanted to turn back the clock to the moment before, when she was an unexceptionable new bride having a wonderful time at her first London ball.
But there was no future in lying when the truth would be confirmed quickly. She would not deny what she was. “The polite term is wizard, Lady Cynthia,” she replied, hoping her voice was steady. “Yes, I’m a healer.”
Abby could feel the mood of the crowd, and it was volatile. As Jack had said, there would be no burnings in a ballroom, but she might never again move freely in these social circles. Where was Jack? She urgently needed him to come to her and show that he supported his wife.
Lady Cynthia narrowed her eyes, not willing to drop the subject. “Being a healer gives a woman wonderful opportunities to enchant men when they are at their weakest.”
“No enchantment is necessary when the woman is beautiful, charming, and kind.” Jack’s voice boomed through the ballroom as he entered from the terrace and came to Abby’s side, smelling of the fresh evening air. He touched the small of her back with tender possessiveness. “Abby saved my life. The fact that she agreed to become my bride was a bonus that still awes me.”
Lady Cynthia wilted under his unflinching gaze, perhaps realizing she had sacrificed any fondness he might have had for her. Struggling to save face, she said, “’Tis a most romantic tale.” The words seemed to stick in her mouth. “I wish you very happy.”
Abby noted that Jack didn’t mention his own magical gifts. Just as well under the circumstances, since that would cloud the issue. What mattered was that he defended her.
Celeste moved forward to stand by her brother. “Isn’t it marvelous that we now have a healer in the family?” She glanced fondly at Jack. “I had begun to despair of my brother taking time enough from the army to find a wife. Abby was like a gift.”
The duchess’s smile was radiantly untroubled, but Abby saw that her aura thrummed with tension. She was risking her own social credit by publicly supporting her wizardly sister-in-law. Would her acceptance protect Abby—or would Abby tarnish Celeste’s position?
Ashby ambled forward to join them. “A gift indeed. I shall always regret that before I had time to plan a courtship, Lady Frayne was already promised elsewhere.” He smiled at Abby, his green eyes warm. “Next time I meet a beautiful healer, I shall move more quickly.” She knew that he was acting, he’d had no romantic interest in her, but she almost wept with gratitude at his gesture of friendship.
The mood of the crowd became less volatile. A duke and a duchess had declared their support, and as wizards went, healers were more useful than most. After tonight, Abby would probably be more or less accepted by the ton. It was damnable that it took the support of a viscount, a duchess, and a duke for that to happen, but it was a step forward for the cause of wizardly acceptance.
Jack offered Abby his arm. “Surely it’s time for supper? All that dancing has given me quite an appetite.”
“I ordered your very favorite lobster tarts for tonight,” Celeste said indulgently. “They won’t last long, so it’s time to adjourn to the supper room.”
She gestured at the musicians in the gallery and they began to play quiet music suitable for dining. Then she took Jack’s other arm and personally escorted him and Abby into the adjoining room, where the supper buffet and tables awaited.
They found a prime table at one side and Jack headed for the buffet to collect food for them. Under her breath, Abby said, “I’m sorry your ball has been ruined, Celeste. I knew this might happen, but I didn’t expect it so soon.”
“On the contrary, tomorrow this ball will be the talk of London.” The duchess sighed. “It was naive of me to think you would go unnoticed for any length of time, not when you’re from Melton Mowbray and so many men hunt. It was a hunting man who told Lady Cynthia what you are.”
“She certainly delighted in exposing me.”
“Her attempt to cause you trouble had the reverse effect. You were a lady. She looked like a malicious cat, which she is.” Celeste shook her head. “The thought that Jack might have absentmindedly offered for her last spring gives me nightmares. As to your power being revealed tonight…” She shrugged. “In the long run, it probably doesn’t matter. You were wise to immediately say that you’re a healer, since they are the most accepted of wizards.”
A thin, elegant woman in her thirties approached the table. Though her face was composed, her blue eyes were haunted. “Lady Frayne, would you speak with me for a moment? In private?”
The woman must need healing for herself or someone close to her. Abby was unsurprised. Whenever her abilities became known, desperate people appeared like bees coming to flowers. Since Abby didn’t know this woman, she glanced at Celeste for guidance.
The duchess gave a slight nod. “You remember meeting the Countess of Roreton earlier, don’t you? She has four of the loveliest children you’ve ever seen.” For a moment, Celeste’s wistfulness showed. “Go ahead, and I’ll do my best to prevent Jack from eating all the lobster tarts.”
Abby rose, grateful that Celeste had told her the woman’s name. “Shall we go out to the terrace, Lady Roreton? I imagine that is empty now that supper is being served.”
Lady Roreton nodded and followed Abby through the empty ballroom and out the French doors to the terrace. It was
bitingly cold, especially for someone wearing only a ball gown. Abby shivered, but the other woman didn’t seem to notice. Abby studied her aura, which was a dark orange shot with muddy blue. “You need help, I think.”
Lady Roreton’s thin frame began to shake with silent, wrenching sobs. “I’m sorry, this is not the right time, but when I heard you were a healer, I…I had to speak with you.” Her hand went to her right breast. “There is a lump. My children are so young, Lady Frayne. They need me. What if I can’t be there for them?”
“Not all lumps are dangerous.” Abby guided the other woman to one side of the French doors so that they couldn’t be seen from inside. Though the countess was right that this wasn’t a good place, it was hard to deny someone so much in need. “If you like, I can make a quick examination.”
“Oh, please, if you would, I’d be forever grateful. I’ve wanted to visit a healer, but my family was appalled when I suggested that I might do that. I would have gone anyhow if I’d known where to find a good one.” The other woman bit her lip. “Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. If it is the worst kind of news, I will need time to ensure that my children will be properly taken care of.”
“Where is the lump?”
Lady Roreton touched the side of her breast. “Here, though it can’t be felt through my stays.”
“Will you allow me to touch you in a rather intimate way?”
The countess took a deep breath. “Do what you must.”
Abby centered herself, collecting her healing perceptions. When her power was in balance, she slid her fingers inside the countess’s bodice. There was something to be said for deep décolletage. She found the lump easily. It was sizable, with a slight resilience. She scanned deeply, not wanting to make a mistake.
When she was sure, she stepped back. “The lump is not a cancer but a cyst filled with fluid. Though it might be uncomfortable, it will not harm you.”
“Oh, thank God.” Lady Roreton buried her face in her hands and wept again, this time with relief. Her aura brightened noticeably, the muddiness clearing somewhat.