"I just don't understand what he's still doing here," Marissa hissed as they ascended the steps of the Framershams' front entrance.
Aidan glanced down at her with an arch look. "He's my guest, and I am still here, so I gather that's why. The question, darling sister, is why his presence is causing you so much bother. Jude means nothing to you, or so you say."
It had been a week. A week of guilt and uncertainty.
Turning her head, she caught sight of Jude twenty feet behind her, gallantly escorting Aunt Ophelia up the steps. Cousin Harry followed with Beth and Nanette, and Edward had already swept Mother inside and out of the cold.
"He reminds me of something I should never have done. That's all."
"Well, I'm pleased you're capable of feeling regret, Marissa," Aidan drawled. "I wasn't sure you could. And I tell you, if I were your eldest brother, I would have turned you over my knee and paddled your backside for what you did."
She set her jaw and thought,
Hypocrite,
but she wasn't rash enough to say it aloud. Aidan's temper could crack like lightning, and she didn't care to face that storm in a public place. Once again, she felt the sharp loss for the brother he'd once been. "Of course I feel regret. I never meant it to affect any of you. I just want this incident to be over, and Jude reminds me that it is not."
"Good, because it isn't. It's not yet clear that the talk has died down, and we still have no idea what Peter White will say. If you're not feeling relieved, I'd say that's a sign of intelligence."
"Pardon me if I don't simper with gratitude at your assessment."
His bark of laughter was loud and harsh, but it was laughter, at least, and when he laid his hand over hers and squeezed, Marissa found that his eyes had softened. "You were born into this family, so you were bound to suffer a scandal or two. Let's hope this is the worst of them."
She longed to turn and hug him, but they were entering the hall now, so Marissa only smiled. "Will you dance with me tonight, Aidan?"
"I am here," he sighed. "I suppose I may as well dance."
"So gallant."
"As ever," he agreed, turning her for a kiss on the check before he walked away. She knew from experience that he was off to fortify himself for the evening with a few glasses of brandy. But Marissa was going to fortify herself with dancing.
A quarter hour later, and she'd already greeted the hostess and danced with two gentlemen she'd never met. The Framersham country ball was one of her favorites, for they always invited too many people and sent their footmen out in force with glasses of champagne punch.
In the mayhem, it was easy to lose sight of Jude and the reminder of the past two weeks of tension. Here, she was back to her old self, and when a beautiful young man approached her for the next dance, Marissa didn't have to fake her fluttering response. She'd met him twice in London, and his sky blue eyes and smooth cheeks had inspired several fantasies of kissing and more. So her enthusiasm was quite real when Mr. Erikson led her out into the center of the dancers. Her body tingled quite recklessly at the touch of his gloved hand on her back and the thought of him wrapping his arms around her. Oh, my.
When the dance called for separation, she took the opportunity to ogle his lean, graceful legs. But then something went wrong. The cut of his trousers was splendid, revealing the line of his thighs perfectly. But the line struck her as a bit. . . underwhelming. His coat was divinely constructed, but even with the expert padding in the shoulders... well, she certainly couldn't imagine Mr. Erickson picking her up and carrying her into a secret bower to make love.
Marissa forced herself to smile wider when he tossed her a flirtatious wink. It wasn't the carrying that mattered, after all. It was the kissing and the stroking, and surely none of that would be affected by the anemic color of his skin. That was only proof that he was always careful to wear a hat while riding.
His mouth looked made for kissing, after all, so rosy and lull. Yes, Mr. Erickson would give lovely, gentle, skilled kisses, she was sure of it.
But somehow as she slid past him and took the next dancer's hand, Marissa's thoughts of warm, skilled kisses twisted. Now she was thinking of being devoured. Of a mouth demanding that she open and yield. Of hands that lifted her into place and held her there for anything the gentleman might wish to do to her.
And when she swung back around toward her partner, he filled a disappointingly small area of her vision. But he
was
pretty. There was no doubt of that, and she could happily stare into his blue eyes for hours.
So that was what she focused on during the last steps of the dance. His eyes and the way the smiled at her, crinkling with delight at her attention.
By the time he escorted her off the dance floor, he seemed perfectly nice again. Not inadequate. Not disappointing.
Until she turned and found herself face to face with Jude Bertrand.
Her eyes traveled up and up until she met his dark gaze.
"Miss York," he rumbled.
"Mr. Bertrand."
"Are you enjoying the dancing?"
"I am. And you, sir?"
"Well, Miss York, I would en joy this evening more if you would grant me the honor of a dance."
"I... pardon?" The dazzling width of his shoulders must've turned her head. "A dance?"
"Yes, a dance. With your beloved. Surely that can't be too much to ask?"
"Of course not. No."
"May I claim the first waltz then?"
Could
he dance? She felt ungenerous when she thought of her toes, but more than anything, she was concerned for her poor heart, which beat a mad rhythm at the prospect of his hands touching her.
The first waltz. When would that be? A few moments from now? An hour? Marissa stared up at him, caught by his eyes. Finally, Jude offered that crooked half smile, and she realized that she'd missed it, missed that feeling of a secret joke that only they shared.
A throat cleared beside her. Marissa blinked and spun to face a gentleman who was offering a sheepish bow. "Pardon the interruption, but I believe this is my dance?"
"Oh, Mr. Jessup, of course." She took his arm with only a glance back toward Jude as she left, and did not let herself notice the delicate feel of the man's bones beneath her hand.
Jude Bertrand might be a friend, but he was not the type of man she intended to marry. Strong bones were nothing to recommend a husband. Nothing at all.
"You watch her," a soft voice said from behind him. Jude turned to see Patience Wellingsly smiling softly. She'd decamped a week ago, but she'd only-moved to a cousin's estate a few miles away, so he wasn't surprised to see her.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"Your fiancée. You watch her. As if there were no one else in the room."
He inclined his head.
"I wish someone would look at me that way," she sighed.
"Come now, Mrs. Wcllingsly. You're beautiful. Lovely. Don't tell me that men haven't looked at you that way."
"Not the right ones."
She looked so lonely in that moment, so lost, that Jude sighed and offered his arm to lead her to a pair of chairs against the wall.
"If you'll allow me to speak plainly . .. ?"
She looked surprised. "Of course."
"You've no business entertaining Aidan York if you want a man who'll cherish you. You're clever enough to realize that."
He watched her eyes slide toward Aidan. The man leaned against a wide column, looking bored and faintly disgusted.
"I know," she whispered. "It's only that I'm lonely. I've been lonely a long time." When she looked back to him, her face softened to tender sorrow. "Can't you understand that, Mr. Bertrand?" Her hand touched his, and she tried to hold it, but Jude eased his away.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
Jude saw the circles under her eves and the paleness of her skin, and he wasn't as angry as he might've been. "If you want a man to look at you that way, you want love, Patience, not the comfort of someone in your bed."
"Of course." Her elegant neck bowed.
"Tell me you're not in love with Aidan."
"No. Not him."
The hair at his nape prickled in warning. "You're not saying—"
"Do you love her?"' she interrupted. "Miss York? She seems very young."
"She's an exceptional woman, and she'll be my wife. And that is all I intend to say to you about her."
"I understand. I apologize. Truly, I do. You're a good man."
He stood when she rose, and she walked calmly away, despite the tears swimming in her eyes. Christ. Did she believe herself in love with him? It seemed impossible. Yes, she'd pursued him in London, but he'd never even spent a moment alone with her.
Still troubled by the miserable solitude in her eyes, Jude watched her make her way across the room to the door beyond. From a distance she looked as cool and regal as ever. Up close she'd never looked so sad.
He knew that most of the ton wouldn't believe a woman as beautiful as Patience Wcllingsly could be lonely. But Jude wasn't fooled. His mother's profession was made up almost entirely of incomparable beauties who had never truly been loved.
In fact, in a different time, with a different family, Marissa could easily have been on of those women, betrayed by her own lovely wildness.
The song that Filled the room began to draw to a close, and Jude glanced toward the dancers to find that Marissa was leaving the floor on the arm of yet one more adorable pup.
She smiled up at the boy, both her hands wrapped around one of his arms. But when she looked in Jude's direction, her smile became a vicious glare.
Marissa was angry, and there was only one reason for that. She'd seen him talking with Patience.
Good. If he had to watch her dance and flirt with a thousand young gentlemen, she could face the truth that he was hardly undesirable himself.
Over the past weeks, he hadn't felt jealous. Not when she danced, not even when she stared at men's legs as if they were ham hocks laid out for her feasting. He hadn't felt jealous, because he'd known that, given time, he could turn Marissa's head in ways she wouldn't expect. He'd meant to tease her to the point of madness, draw out her natural lusts until she thought of no one but him. He'd meant to show her that looking at pretty boys was good fun, but the serious business of lovemaking was best left to men.
But now ... now he was out of time. He'd rushed his seduction. Marissa had dismissed him. And he had no idea how to proceed.
Hell and damnation.
He was stuck with
dancing.
He watched Marissa stroll stiff-necked through the crowd of fashionable folk and knew he had no choice on the dancing. Any interaction would now be on her terms, not his. And he refused to give up on whatever small chance he might have of turning this false betrothal into a genuine marriage.
Marissa approached her brother and stole the glass of brandy from his hand. Her eyes cut toward Jude before sliding away.
Oh, yes. She was angry, and that cheered Jude immensely, but not so much that he forgot his mission. When he spotted her best friend hurrying by, he stepped into her path and offered a bow. "Miss Samuel."
"Oh! Mr. Bertrand!"
Her lashes fluttered nervously, and she blushed as she did each time he spoke to her. Miss Samuel was shy and soft-spoken, and he was beginning to understand Marissa's worry that she would not find a husband. She was pretty enough, but between her brazen cousin and the vivacious Miss York, Miss Samuel faded into the woodwork.
"Might I trouble you for a dance later?"
She stammered out an answer that seemed to be a yes, and Jude stepped out of her way to give her the chance to escape. Then he approached Marissa.
"I believe the waltz is next," he murmured. She stiffened and said nothing, and Aidan offered him a taunting smile.
"Lover's quarrel?"
"I'm not sure. Have I offended you,
mon coeur?”
"Of course not," she snapped. "I'm only thirsty. Would you play the gallant and find me a glass of lemonade?"
"I assume 'lemonade' is code for wine?"
She was still drawing in an outraged breath when he retreated to find her a glass of wine. He found a lemonade too, just in case she'd been honest about that. But when he returned to her, she look the wine and left him with the warm and watery lemonade. She said nothing, and Aidan watched them both as if he were waiting for a play to begin.
Jude offered a quick glare, warning his friend to stay out of it, but he was Marissa's brother, after all, and he couldn't be dissuaded.
"So, have we picked a wedding date yet?" He smiled at the two sets of eyes burning a hole through him. "Everyone is aflutter about the match. I think we might charge for entrance to the nuptials, if we wanted. People are curious."
Marissa casually turned to look behind her, and she saw the same thing that Jude did. If the watching eyes were any indication, people really were curious. Marissa look the warning and smiled widely, but her words belied the grin. "Do you think they'd enjoy it if I boxed your ears?"