Helena’s mother watched in fascination as the color stained her daughter’s cheeks. She had never thought to see the day when her own Helena responded to a compliment with anything but a politely dismissive smile and a scornfully raised eyebrow. Was she at last suddenly becoming aware of all the delightful possibilities that existed between men and women, or was it only this particular man delivering this particular compliment that was having such an effect on her? Certainly Major Lord Brett Stanford was one of the most charming men the princess had encountered, and one who was extremely skilled at making a woman feel irresistibly attractive. Of course, the fact that he was devilishly handsome added to his appeal, but chiefly it was the way he made a woman feel that set him apart from other men. If he had such an effect on her, Louisa von Hohenbachern, as wise in the ways of the world as any woman, then it was only natural that his effect would be doubly devastating to a young lady who had no experience in such things whatsoever and who tended to dismiss flirtation and all that it entailed as foolish, useless, and highly overrated.
In fact, the princess was so enthralled by the unexpectedness of the entire scene unfolding before her eyes that she quite forgot that it was her own particular admirer who was having this astounding effect on her daughter.
“That is very kind of you to say, Major.” Helena at last found her tongue. “But I assure you that the only effort I put forth was to stand like a block for hours on end while the dressmaker worked her magic on me. Mama continues to insist that despite the hundreds of people who attend the balls at the Hofburg each week, I shall stand out if I appear in the same gown more than once. For myself, I do not care, but it would never do to have such a thing said about someone connected to the eternally elegant Princess von Hohenbachern.”
“I am sure that the princess’ reputation for exquisite taste, which is redoubled every time she appears, would remain supremely unaffected if she were accompanied by a dowd, which she is not.” Brett’s eyes drifted admiringly over the princess’ own magnificent gown, but oddly enough, though her décolletage was far more daring than her daughter’s, he barely noticed it. He found himself paying far more attention to the skillfully executed trimming of net lozenges ornamented by pearls than to the woman underneath it. There was no doubt that the princess was the picture of fashionable beauty, but lovely as she looked this evening, she did not have the effect on him that her daughter did. There was something about the half-shy, half-proud way that Helena carried herself which was more appealing to him than all the sophisticated charms of all the widely accredited beauties in the ballroom that evening. Her consciousness that she looked her best, coupled with her hesitancy as to what to do with it gave Helena an air of naturalness more provocative than the most revealing of gowns.
Brett found it nearly impossible to take his eyes off her. He longed to lead her to the dance floor, to move as one with her to the music, to feel her warmth under his hands, but he could not dance with the daughter without dancing with the mother, and he could hardly leave one woman alone as he led the other to the floor.
He was saved by the appearance of a gangly young officer who, bursting at last through the crowd of people around them hurried toward them, an eager smile lighting his large bony face. “Princess von Hohenbachern, Miss Devereux, at last I find you.”
“Why, Wilhelm, what are you doing here? You have good news of my husband, I trust?”
“Oh yes. The prince enjoys excellent health and sends his warmest regards to both his ladies.” The gangly young man beamed at both mother and daughter.
“Baron von Wolffling is aide to the Prince von Hohenbachern and an old family friend,” the princess explained.
“And he was been sent to Vienna expressly by his commander to make sure that his ladies are enjoying themselves and to find out any news from the Congress. We hear rumor after rumor, but they all come and go so quickly and are so contradictory that I have come to get to the truth of the matter.”
“Which changes from day to day,” Helena informed him sardonically. “But tell me, how is Papa doing? Has he heard from Sophie and Augusta?”
The first strains of the Polonaise could be heard from the orchestra at the end of the room, and Brett, who was determined to share a waltz later with Helena, seized the opportunity to lead her mother to the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
As the line of dancers snaked its way around the floor, Brett smiled and went through the motions of the dance with the princess, but his eyes were all for her daughter, who was deep in conversation with her father’s aide-de-camp. Head tilted to one side, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, occasionally emphasizing her remarks with a decisive sweep of one gloved hand, Helena stood out in a room filled with laughing, flirtatious women. Where they smirked and fluttered fans, she conversed seriously and intently, listening and speaking with an energy and a purpose that made those around her seem like so many flitting butterflies wafted here and there by the capricious breeze. What was she discussing with this old friend of the family? Surely he was only that and nothing more? She had never mentioned any suitors or admirers.
With an effort Brett forced himself to return his attention to his partner. What did he care after all if Helena Devereux was deep in conversation with another man? He was here to amuse himself with a beautiful woman who knew how to enjoy life without taking it seriously, not to involve himself with someone who invested everything she did with an intensity and concentration most people, if they exerted such effort at all, reserved for a few rare and critical moments in their lives. Not Miss Devereux. Whether it was riding or discussing politics, she threw herself headlong into the endeavor, immersing herself in it, while it lasted, to the exclusion of all else.
Brett ignored the uncomfortable little voice in him pointing out that it was not Miss Devereux’s intensity that was bothering him, but her conversation with another young man, a young man she had quite possibly been friends with since she had arrived in Europe. Until now he had never thought of her as being at all connected with any man, and he was rather disconcerted to discover that he even cared, but he did. He had enjoyed his and Helena’s moments alone together in the Prater sharing their thoughts and ideas, and he took great pleasure in thinking that it was his influence that was responsible for the new gown. He liked to think that he was the only man she was close enough to be influenced in such a way.
“What?” He started uncomfortably as he realized that his partner was addressing him. “Yes, I do see the Princess Bagration looking in our direction. Yes, I have made her acquaintance, but I am sure that she has very little interest in a simple English soldier. At any rate, she knows, as everyone else does, that I prefer the company of a lovely Englishwoman to that of a dangerous Russian beauty.” He smiled down at his partner in a way that caused even the Princess von Hohenbachern’s jaded heart to skip a beat.
“Flatterer.” She shook her head dismissively, but was pleased, nonetheless, by his evident lack of interest in the beautiful Russian. “I have seen the way she smiles at you. I am more than seven, you know. I have lived in this world long enough to know when a woman is casting out lures.”
The music stopped, and, just as Brett had hoped, couples were beginning to pair up for the waltz as he and the princess returned to Helena and the Baron von Wolffling. Conscience clear, now that he had danced with the princess, he turned to her. “I am sure that you have a great deal of news to catch up on with the baron, and I hope that he will accept my apologies for having snatched you away so precipitately, but I shall remedy that by asking Miss Devereux for the next dance and allow you time to speak with one another.” Brett bowed to both the princess and the baron as he held out his hand to Helena.
“There is not the least need for you to ... I mean, you must not feel that politeness requires that you ask me to dance simply because you asked Mama or to give her time to speak with the baron in private.”
“And who says that it is politeness that is making me do so. Miss Devereux? Surely we have spoken together enough that you know me to be as stubbornly independent as you are. I do things because I choose to, not because politeness dictates that I do. And it pleases me to ask you to dance.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Not entirely convinced by this, she glanced at him warily.
“Besides, how do you know that it was not your mother whom I asked to dance for politeness’ sake so that I then could dance with you?” He felt a surge of satisfaction as Helena, unable to sustain his gaze, dropped her eyes. So she had wanted him to ask her to dance. Good. He had been aching to hold her from the very moment he had entered the ballroom. It was an ache that had only grown in its intensity when he saw her conversing so animatedly with the Baron von Wolffling.
“I count myself as one of the fortunate to lure you onto the dance floor. In fact, I count myself doubly fortunate since I know that you avoid dancing.
“Oh?” Helena glanced up at him curiously. “Well, it is true that I rarely dance,” she replied honestly, “but”— she lifted her chin daring him to say anything more—”I, like you, do as I choose. And if occasionally I am tempted to dance, why, then, I do. The music is exceptionally fine tonight.”
“So it is and it is made even more fine by the fact that I am able to enjoy it with someone who dances as well as you.”
“I?” She was both gratified and annoyed by his remarks, gratified that he wanted to dance with her and annoyed by his somewhat unflattering assumption that she danced so little. And now he was telling her that she danced well. It was all rather confusing, and not a little unnerving for someone who prided herself on remaining cool and unaffected by what other people said or did.
“You sound surprised. But it is only natural that you should be an excellent dancer, for you move with such grace. Also, you are a superb equestrienne, which only goes to prove that you are as well aware of other’s movements as you are of your own and match yours to suit them.”
The blue eyes were teasing now, but there was a light in them that made the breath catch in her throat and her heart pound. Yes, she was aware of others. And at the moment, she could think of nothing but the warmth of his hands and the strength of his arm as he guided her smoothly and expertly around the floor, or the way he carried himself with a self-assurance and a purpose that very few people possessed. Yes she was aware, aware of every movement he made, no matter how slight. She was even aware of the slightest change in his expression, the tightening of his jaw, the fractional lift of an eyebrow, the humorous quirk at the comer of his mouth. In fact, she could think of nothing else, but him, feel nothing else, but him. It was both exhilarating and frightening to feel so closely in tune with another human being. And for the moment, the two of them felt like one.
Helena knew that she was moving in a trance, but she was powerless to stop it or to break the spell. Her mind seemed to have abdicated control over her body, which had taken on a life of its own as they glided around the floor. The crowded ballroom receded into the distance, leaving the two of them alone with the music and one another, and it was not until some minutes after the music stopped that the spell was broken.
Helena was the first to speak. Forcing herself to focus on her surroundings once more, she drew a long shuddering breath as though she were surfacing at last after swimming a great distance under water. “Thank you, Major. You, too, are an excellent dancer.” It was an absurdly inane remark, doubly so for a woman who ordinarily refused to resort to the exchange of social banalities, but she felt compelled to say something, anything to reestablish control over herself and the situation, to prove to herself that her mind continued to function, however poorly.
Brett grinned. “Why, thank you.” He had experienced something akin to triumph as he had observed the dreamy look dawn in her eyes and felt the languor seep into her arms. He was right after all. She was a sensual creature who could give herself up to the pleasure of music and dancing with as much abandon as anyone. But she was a sensual creature with a mind that kept her sensuality under tight control, and now her obvious efforts to reassert that control only called attention to its earlier absence. He had witnessed the brief spark of alarm in her eyes when the music ended and she once more became alive to her surroundings, and he knew what it meant. Helena Devereux was not a woman who gave herself up to her senses easily, quite possibly, she had never done so until now, with him.
It was Brett’s turn to gasp for air. Why should this particular woman have such an effect on him? Why should holding Helena Devereux in his arms make him forget everything—the Congress, all the other women in the room, his very reason for being there in the first place? He had sought out the safe, congenial, and un-threatening companionship of the Princess von Hohenbachern precisely so he could easily keep an eye on the more dangerous women at the Congress, and he had ended up by being rendered almost completely unconscious to it all in the company of her daughter. What was happening to him? He was a soldier, a man who routinely ignored danger, discomfort, and pain in order to accomplish his objectives, and now a simple waltz with a woman who avoided flirtatious interludes with men had made him oblivious to anything but her. The very fact that it was such a new experience for her made it a new and dangerously powerful experience to him as well.
Moving as slowly and deliberately as an automaton, Brett led Helena back to her mother who had fortunately been too distracted by her conversation with the young baron to pay much attention to her daughter’s state of mind or to the state of mind of her daughter’s partner.
Restored to her mother and Baron von Wolffling, Helena tried her best to join the discussion, but her mind refused to cooperate. She was too distracted even to listen, much less participate, and it all washed over her as though they were speaking some foreign language.