Emma tried to suppress a mischievous grin. “Really, it needn’t have been such a big fuss.”
“You’re absolutely correct,” Belle stated with noticeable sarcasm. “And it wouldn’t have been, not if Ned hadn’t been hopelessly infatuated with the chit.”
Emma looked away innocently. “Well, how was I to know that? I haven’t made my debut yet, you know. I’m not privy to the latest gossip.”
“He only mentioned her name a hundred times a day.”
Emma “humphed” and gave her cousin a supercilious look. “Really, it all worked out for the best. Now we all know what a conniving little you-know-what Clarissa is. When it comes right down to it, I saved your brother from a terrible fate.”
“I suppose,” Belle conceded, “but Ned was so heartbroken when he professed his love for her, and she flatly stated she was holding out for a duke with lots of money.”
“I think he was more upset that she wasn’t the paragon he’d imagined her to be than he was because she didn’t return his feelings. But enough of that. I’ve learned my lesson—no more interference in Ned’s romantic life. Even if I am doing the right thing. So tell me, why isn’t Sophie coming tonight?”
“I’m not sure. Probably because her husband is away on business in the West Indies for a few months. I think she misses him. It was a love match, you know.” Belle sighed romantically.
“It’s probably for the best—even if you do have to miss seeing her shocked face. She’d get the surprise of her life if she saw me tonight. I’m sure it will be easier for everyone if I simply call on her tomorrow morning.”
“You’re probably right. Do say I can go with you, though. I so want to be there when she sees you.”
“Fine, fine, of course you can—Ouch!” Emma hollered as Meg tugged on her hair a little too vigorously.
“Quit your complaining, Miss Emma,” Meg scolded. “It takes hard work and a little bit of pain to be beautiful.”
“Goodness! If it’s going to require that much pain, I really don’t need to be beautiful. Just leave my hair down. It’s much more comfortable that way.”
Meg looked agonized. “I couldn’t do that. It’s not at all fashionable.”
“Oh, all right, do whatever you like with it, Meg. Just try to keep the discomfort at a minimum.”
Belle laughed. “Oh, Emma, I don’t know how you’re going to make it through an entire season.”
“I don’t know, either. I can never seem to remember how to be correct.”
“Stop shaking your head!” Meg yelled. “Else we’ll be here all night, and you’ll miss the ball.”
“With the way my head hurts, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Emma muttered.
“Did you say something?” Belle asked absently.
“It was nothing.” Emma didn’t want Belle to know how large the lump on her head really was. Belle was sure to tell her mother, and Emma knew that her aunt would be worried sick. The evening would be ruined unless she ignored the pain and smiled her way through the party. “Why don’t you tell me more about Sophie?” Emma said, just to make conversation.
“Sophie? She’s a lovely person. Talks a lot, though.”
Emma giggled. “I noticed.”
“She and her husband are terribly devoted to one another. I know she just misses him dreadfully.”
“Does she have any family?”
Belle arched her brows at Emma’s interest.
“I just want to know how many people are going to know about my little escapade,” Emma said hastily.
“One mother. One brother.”
“Really?” Emma tried to sound casual, but her voice came out breathy and excited.
“Yes, I think he must be about nine-and-twenty now. He’s absolutely beautiful, with thick black hair and the greenest eyes you’ll ever see.”
Emma felt pangs of jealousy but quickly suppressed them. The man was an arrogant, overbearing boor, and she was sure she wasn’t interested in him in the least. It didn’t matter if his kiss had been the most exciting thing that had happened since she’d arrived in London. “You sound quite interested in him, Belle,” she said cautiously.
“The Duke of Ashbourne? You must be joking. He’s a handsome rascal, but he is positively dangerous. He never consorts with ladies, only women, if you know what I mean. Actually, I barely know him at all, but”—Belle leaned forward conspiratorially—“I’ve heard that he’s left broken hearts all over England. And the Continent.”
“He sounds quite interesting.”
“Interesting, yes. Suitable, not at all. Mama and Papa would have a fit if I set my cap after him. He’s a confirmed bachelor. He won’t marry for years. I’d bet my pearls on it. And when he does, it will be to some stupid little chit who can be easily managed and then ignored once she produces an heir.”
“Oh.” Emma wondered why she suddenly felt so depressed.
“He won’t even come tonight. I’m sure of it. He’s invited, of course. He gets invited to everything, but he never attends unless his family absolutely forces him to. He’s probably got scores of fancy mistresses tucked away all over London. Besides, I’m sure you won’t want to meet him. He wears a perpetual frown on his face and would probably bite your head off if you said two words to him.”
“Goodness, he’s beginning to sound most unpleasant.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call him exactly ‘unpleasant.’ Ned has only praise for him. They belong to the same club, you know. He says that all of his friends look up to him. More likely they want to be him.” Belle shrugged. “He’s sinfully rich, you know, and even more sinfully handsome. I think it’s just that he so hates the social whirl—hasn’t got the patience to pretend otherwise, so he just scowls at anyone who doesn’t interest him. Most of my friends are terrified of him—when they’re not plotting out how to get him to the marriage altar.”
“He must be quite remarkable to wield such power,” Emma commented.
“Oh, yes, it’s really quite disgusting how he always gets his way. It seems that everyone panders to him.”
“Why?”
“Well, there’s his title for one thing; he is a duke, you know. And as I mentioned, he is exceedingly wealthy. But if you saw him for yourself, you’d know what I meant. He positively exudes power. He’s quite a specimen.”
“Belle!” Emma laughed. “Your mama would swoon if she heard you talk this way.”
“Mama swoons about as often as you do.”
“Then she’s due for a good fainting spell any minute now,” Emma joked. But inside, she breathed a sigh of relief at Belle’s assurance that Alex wouldn’t attend her ball. Her head still ached, and she felt utterly exhausted. There was no way that she’d pander to the arrogant duke, but with her injury, she just wasn’t up for another round with him.
Chapter 4
“Ashbourne! This is a surprise. I can’t believe I’m seeing your ugly face here.”
William Dunford, one of Alex’s closest chums since his Oxford days, strode across the Blydon ballroom and slapped the duke affectionately on the back. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d categorically sworn off all such gatherings.”
“Believe me, I have no intention of remaining at this little soiree for more than another ten minutes.” Alex kept his tone light, but underneath his temper was starting to flare. The moment he’d entered the ballroom, a hush had fallen over the crowd. Everyone had been utterly shocked to see the Duke of Ashbourne walk through the door in his elegant evening attire. Nervous mamas forced their daughters to swear they’d steer a wide path around the notorious rake (all the while secretly hoping he’d single their charges out for attention), while everyone who wasn’t in some way connected with a marriageable female immediately made his way to Alex, preening at the rich, titled gentleman.
Alex sighed. He had no patience for the insipid chatter of the ton. All he really wanted was to find Meg, assure himself of her welfare, and leave. His latest mistress was tucked away in a cozy townhouse
, and Alex was looking forward to a long, lazy night with her. An evening with Charisse would surely rid him of this strange obsession with the Blydon’s kitchen maid.
Alex almost went weak with relief when he saw Dunford striding across the ballroom toward him. At last, some decent conversation.
Dunford was not quite the rake that Alex was, but he came damn close. Most of the ton, however, were more than willing to forgive him his tarnished reputation because he was insufferably charming. Alex had never quite learned to follow his friend’s example. His cronies praised him as an eminently affable fellow but had to allow that the Duke of Ashbourne bore little tolerance for most of society. He rarely hid his boredom when he was forced into conversation with anyone he found dull, and he gave the most icy stares to those who caused him displeasure. Rumor had it that more than one young lady had been sent scurrying in terror across a room at one of his scowls.
“Do tell, Ashbourne,” Dunford laughed. “Why are you here?”
“Why, indeed,” Alex muttered. “I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.” He’d arrived at the ball a full hour earlier, and during that time he’d scoured the mansion, surprising many a footman and serving maid and interrupting no less than three clandestine couples. Not a single sign of Meg. In desperation, he’d actually entered the ballroom, figuring that there might be a chance that Meg was tending to the refreshments. But he’d had no luck. The serving girl was nowhere to be found. And although he found the prospect of defeat bitter indeed, he was just about to give up his search. Alex sighed and turned to face his friend, happily turning his back on the ogling crowds.
“Fess up, chap,” Dunford prodded.
Alex sighed. “It’s a long story. I doubt you’d be interested.”
“Nonsense. It’s the long stories which are usually the most interesting. Besides, if this ‘story’ has actually brought you into the ranks of polite society, it must involve a female. And that means, of course, that I’m terribly interested.”
Alex turned to his friend and briefly recounted the story of how his nephew had been saved by a brave kitchen maid, omitting the part about the strong attraction he felt for her. “So you see,” he concluded, “you needn’t get so excited. My tale lacks both romance and lust. I’m afraid that you’re going to have to accept that my behavior tonight is completely above reproach.”
“How dull.”
Alex nodded wearily. “Indeed, and I can’t stand this crush. I think I’ll suffocate if one more blasted dandy comes up to ask me how I’ve arranged my cravat.”
“You know,” Dunford began thoughtfully, “I was just thinking that I might take my leave now as well. Why don’t we retire to White’s and have a few drinks? A good game of cards might be just the thing after your tiring sixty minutes of the social whirl.”
Alex smiled caustically at his friend’s sarcasm but agreed immediately to the proposal. “Good idea. I can’t wait to get—” He stopped short when he heard the sharply indrawn breath of his friend. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Good Lord,” Dunford breathed. “That coloring…”
“For Christ’s sake, Dunford, who is it now?”
Dunford paid no mind to his words. “It must be Emma Dunster. How could something so lovely have come from those godforsaken Colonies?”
“They’re not our colonies any longer, Dunford,” Alex muttered, remembering Meg’s tirade. “They’ve been free for several decades and should really be referred to as the United States of America. It’s only polite.”
Alex’s strange speech broke Dunford out of his reverie. He turned to his friend with an odd look on his face. “Since when have you become so sympathetic to our errant Colonies?”
“Since—oh, never mind. Who is this blasted woman who’s got you so paralyzed with desire?” Alex still hadn’t turned to face the ballroom.
“Look for yourself, Ashbourne. Not a classic beauty, I’ll admit, but she doesn’t look cold, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair with specks of fire, soft violet eyes…”
A singularly unpleasant feeling began to grow in the pit of Alex’s stomach when he heard Dunford’s description of Miss Emma Dunster. It couldn’t be…No, he assured himself, a gentle lady wouldn’t….Alex slowly turned around. There, across the ballroom, stood his brave Meg. Except she was no longer Meg, he corrected himself. She was Emma.
Alex reacted instantly. Every muscle immediately tensed to the point of near-pain, and he couldn’t decide whether he was furious over her deception or merely overcome with desire. He watched silently as Emma, unaware of his presence, smiled wearily at one of her suitors and rubbed her head absently. Damn, but what was she thinking, dancing the night away when she probably had a serious head injury? Alex scowled, thinking that he’d like to march across the dance floor, grab her by the shoulders, and shake a little sense into her.
But Lord, she really was lovely. Her petite body was wrapped in a gown of violet satin that bared her creamy shoulders and showed just the slightest swell of her breasts. Young women out for their first season were supposed to wear pale pastels, but Alex was glad that Emma had defied convention and chosen a more daring color. It matched her spirit, and, in a sea of washed-out insipid misses, she was a beacon of fire and vitality. She had left her hair unfashionably loose, having secured the front strands up atop her head with a clasp but letting the bulk of it flow down her back like a sheet of fire.
Her coloring spoke of a wild nature, and Alex well remembered her quick temper. But he could also see vulnerability in her eyes, and she was so achingly small. She looked tired, and Alex was positive that her head was still bothering her. Something about her made him fiercely protective, and he was enraged that she might be endangering her health with too much activity.
Dunford chuckled as he watched myriad emotions pass across Alex’s face. “I can see that you agree with my assessment.”
Alex broke his gaze away from Emma and turned to face his friend. “Don’t touch her,” he said slowly. “Don’t even think about her.” He scowled as he noticed that he was not the only man in the room who’d succumbed to her appeal. The young bucks were practically lined up to gain an introduction to the American girl. He made a mental note to have a word with a few of the more eager ones.
Dunford drew back in surprise. “A little possessive when you haven’t even met the chit, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I’ve met the chit,” Alex growled. “I just didn’t know it.”
Dunford’s brow furrowed in thought until realization dawned. “I gather you don’t want to head to White’s just yet?”
Alex smiled rakishly. “This party has suddenly grown quite interesting.” With that, he scooted along the perimeter of the ballroom, assiduously avoiding Emma’s eye. He finally settled into an alcove directly behind her back. A heavy crimson drape shielded him from the view of the partygoers, but he could still hear every detail of Emma’s conversations. Leaning back against the wall, he could just barely see her through a crack between the drape and the wall.
“What the devil are you doing?” Dunford demanded just as soon as he appeared at Alex’s side.
“Will you keep your voice down? And get back! Someone might see you.” Alex yanked his friend back until they were both hidden behind the drape.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Dunford muttered. “I never thought I’d see the day when the lofty Duke of Ashbourne hid behind curtains to spy on a woman.”
“Shut up.”
Dunford snickered.
Alex glared at him before turning his attention back to more important matters. “I’ve got her just where I want her,” he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.
“Really?” Dunford asked sardonically. “I rather thought you wanted her in your bed.”
Alex glared at him again.
“And,” Dunford continued, “it doesn’t seem to me that you’re even remotely close to achieving that goal.”
Alex raised his eyebrows with supreme self-assurance. “Mark m
y words, I’ll be a hell of a lot closer by the end of the night.” He put his eye back to the crack of light, smiled triumphantly and, rather like a lion stalking its prey, trained his gaze on the flame-haired woman not five feet away from him.
Emma kept a polite smile pasted to her face as she went though another round of introductions. Her aunt had already declared the ball—and Emma— a glittering success. Aunt Caroline couldn’t believe the number of young men who had begged her and her husband for an introduction to their niece. And Emma had behaved beautifully. She was witty and bright and, thankfully, hadn’t done anything too outrageous. Caroline knew that her niece found it a trial to be continuously correct.
In actuality, Emma wasn’t finding her correct behavior overly burdensome. She was simply too tired to live up to her mischievous reputation even if she had wanted to. It was all she could do to keep up amusing banter with the many people she had met that evening. Even with a pounding headache, Emma refused to give London the misconception that she was a shy, retiring miss. It was her opinion that the ton already had far too many of those.
“Emma, dear,” her aunt called. “I want you to meet Lord and Lady Humphries.”
Emma smiled as she held out her hand to the plump pair. Lord Humphries, who looked to be about thirty-five years older than Emma, bowed courteously and kissed her knuckles. “I’m very pleased to meet both of you,” Emma said politely, her American accent apparent.
“Then it’s true!” Lord Humphries said triumphantly. “You are from the Colonies! Good old Percy over there wagered you were from France. ‘With a last name like Dunster?’ I said. ‘No, she’s from good English stock, even if she did defect to the Colonies.’ And I was right. I’m going to have to go and collect my wager.”
Before Emma could say anything more, he’d waddled away in search of his crony. Emma was somewhat surprised at the amount of attention being paid to her and more than a little flustered that people were actually making wagers about her origins. Ned had told her that the ton often made wagers to amuse themselves, but this was ridiculous. Didn’t they have anything more interesting to do with their time? She turned to Lady Humphries, who’d been stranded by her husband, and smiled weakly. “How do you do, Lady Humphries?”