A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (109 page)

So he would have to settle for his two
dances—with one being a waltz, where he could revel in the feel of
her luscious curves pressed against his length, even if only for a
brief span of time.

Thankfully, when they had danced
earlier in the evening, she had maintained civility with him. That
was a step forward. Actually, it proved they had traveled several
steps in the few days’ time since the concert.

Once the concert had begun, she had
stared straight ahead at the performers and never once turned her
head to look at him, not even when he spoke to her. During the
carriage ride home, she had glared out the window to the darkened
streets of Mayfair instead of allowing even a tiny glimpse in his
direction.

Yes, being on speaking terms with Miss
Matthews this evening had proven to be a vast improvement over
their previous outing. One that he oddly desired to improve upon
even more than what he already had done.

The upcoming waltz should give him
just that opportunity—an entire set with her drawn tight in his
embrace, where she could neither escape nor ignore him.

At the moment, however, he was dancing
a quadrille with Lady Helene Fewster, an eighteen-year-old
debutante and the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Oldham. The
chit was everything Peter had intended to avoid as much as possible
this Season.

He should have forced Neil into
dancing with her, since the youngest Hardwicke brother had emerged
from his cocoon of a bedchamber just in time for Mama to snag him
and drag him along. It would serve Neil right to spend a dreary
half hour in the company of this chit fresh from the schoolroom and
practically still in leading strings—and an altogether dull chit at
that. Why should Neil, who could almost never be bothered to show
his face before the sun was making its descent from the
sky—reveling in his life of debauchery, it seemed—be allowed to
dance with Miss Matthews while Peter was stuck listening to such
drivel?

She seemed to have nothing more in her
head than a rather long list of gentlemen her parents deemed
eligible, and therefore, worthy of her attention and pursuit.
Frankly, it was rather lowering to discover himself placed on the
same list as some of the halfwits she’d named thus far. When they
turned another figure of the dance, Peter found himself
face-to-face with Lady Helene again.

“
Might you point out Lord
Prescott to me, sir? Mother insisted I should find a way to obtain
an introduction to him, even though it is usually done the other
way around.”

Prescott? Peter blanched. “Of course,
ma’am. As soon as he makes his entrance this evening, I am certain
you will recognize him immediately. He will be the gentleman gazing
at his own reflection in every available surface.”

Blast. It seemed he had
caught Miss Matthews’s penchant for speaking whatever passed
through his mind without thinking first. But truthfully, the man
was the biggest spendthrift in the
beau
monde
, and an utter dandy to boot. How Lady
Oldham thought Prescott should be even in the same league as he,
Peter would never understand.

“
Oh. I see.” The figures of
the quadrille sent them away from each other for several bars, so
he was pleasantly spared from any more of her drivel for the
moment.

Even after they came back together,
Lady Helene remained silent. He supposed that if he must make an
arse of himself, at least it had come to serve a good purpose.
Perhaps he had done quite enough with that solitary comment to
effectively remove himself from Lady Oldham’s list of potential
suitors for her daughter. He would much prefer to not be grouped
alongside men such as Prescott—especially when said list-maker
would encourage her daughter to go so far outside the realm of the
genteel by seeking her own introductions.

Now, if only the music would come to a
close.

Only a few (admittedly silent and
uncomfortable) moments later, his prayers were answered as the
quadrille trilled to a finish. Peter scanned the walls and found
Lady Oldham right where they had left her. He escorted Lady Helene
back to the marchioness’s side, trying not to make his rush to be
rid of her overtly obvious.

“
Thank you, my lady,” he
said as he bowed to them both. “It was a pleasure.” He pleaded with
God not to smite him down on the spot for such an outright
lie.

They merely nodded, Lady Helene with a
look of displeasure floating in her eyes, so he made his escape and
searched for Miss Matthews. Their waltz was next.

And from the state of his stomach, he
was fairly certain it must also be the dinner dance. Even
better.

She stood across the ballroom, near an
alcove that jutted out toward the gardens, surrounded by his entire
family—or at least, all the members of his family who were present
for the ball. Her smile was radiant, and it quickly spread to all
around her.

Montague, a widower seeking a new
bride to care for his two small children—and a rather eligible one,
at that, being a wealthy viscount with multiple country estates
spread through the kingdom—had just made his way over to their
group before Peter arrived.

Deuce take it, the man would be a good
match for Miss Matthews. Not only that, but she would likely be
just the type of female he would seek out. A touch older than a
typical debutante. Familiar and comfortable with country life.
Bubbly and vivacious. Good with children. Brave, even if a touch
foolhardy.

Evidently, Montague agreed with his
assessment. By the time Peter arrived at their group, Montague was
saying, “Miss Matthews, I wonder if I might be so bold as to ask
you to waltz with me. If, of course, you haven’t already promised
your hand to another.”

“
She has,” Peter said, a
bit more abrupt and menacing than he intended. “Miss Matthews will
waltz with me this set.”

The woman in question scowled at him
for the briefest moment—so short a time, in fact, that Peter was
sure no one else had noticed her reaction. It was intended solely
for his eyes.

“
That is true, Lord
Montague,” Miss Matthews said, with a hint of both consolation and
aggravation in her tone. “However, if you can wait until the next
waltz—the first after dinner—I would be most happy to
oblige.”

“
I’ll await my turn with
much anticipation, then, ma’am.”

Peter felt an intense
desire to plant the man a facer for some undefined reason. Surely
he was not
jealous
of the man. Envy over Miss Matthews? For what reason? The
thought was ludicrous—almost laughable.

Almost.

But the fact remained that Peter was
drawn to this woman, even if he had no understanding of why such a
thing should be.

He must be suffering from an acute
case of misguided lust. Nothing else could explain the sudden need
to take her into his arms and whisk her away from any other
man.

Finally, after what seemed ages but
was likely only a moment or two, Montague inclined his head, first
to Miss Matthews and the other females, then to Peter, and then he
backed away.

At last, he could touch her again
without worrying about who might see. He could hold her close and
smell the faint hint of peaches and woman that followed her about,
wafting in her path, leaving him aching to taste.

It would be thirty minutes of torture
and pleasure, all combined in one thoroughly aggravating
woman.

He held out a hand to her, ignoring
his mother, sisters, and brother, and focusing only on her. “I
believe this is my dance.”

She hesitated for the briefest moment,
but long enough that he worried she would change her mind and
refuse him. Which, he must admit, she quite possibly could do—he
often thought she loved to goad him as much as he enjoyed pricking
at her temper.

But she placed her hand in the crook
of his arm and allowed him to escort her to their place on the
dance floor. Something twinkled in her eyes, lending them a sense
of mischief.

A very intriguing, even intoxicating
mischief.

He took her into his arms with neither
saying a word, and the music began. They swirled about the room,
and everything but the two of them and that moment faded into the
background.

~ * ~

“
You waltz very well, Your
Grace.” Jane’s heart beat a frantic pace as they traversed the
ballroom. Between the music and the proximity of him, she had
somehow lost control over her body’s reactions.

“
Peter,” he said quietly.
That odd look was back in his eyes—the look he’d been giving her
since the concert a few evenings before. “Call me
Peter.”

“
All right. You waltz very
well, Peter. It surprises me a bit since it is rather a new dance,
and your sisters tell me you haven’t been to many balls in recent
years.”

Everything between them had been odd
since that night, in fact. He had kept his promise—or had it been a
threat?—of staying close to her. But the animosity between them had
settled, at least for the most part.

Instead, a new tension existed. No—she
had better be out with the truth of it. She was only lying to
herself. This tension wasn’t new. Far from it, in fact. It had been
there since the very first ball of the Season. Ever since he had
kissed her in the gardens.

Only now, it had
intensified.

When they were in each other’s
presence, heat radiated between them and threatened to burn her at
the core. She had the simultaneous desires in his presence to run
as far from him as possible and to get as near as possible. The two
ideas constantly warred with each other to dominate.

Right this moment, in fact, this
tension took on new proportions. There was something about their
nearness as they waltzed, with his arm about her waist and his hand
holding her hand—with their bodies brushing against each other, his
hard planes and angles firm against her softer, smoother
curves.

It was a miracle she could
breathe.

Then he laughed at her with his eyes.
That joy in his eyes was such a lovely change from the hard, cold
look they so often held when he looked upon her.

But, oh dear, she must have been
woolgathering. Drat, why could she not keep her head about her when
she was with him?

“
I apologize. What did you
say?” Heat rose in Jane’s face, and she had absolutely no means to
stop it. “I was woolgathering, I suppose.”

“
I can see that.” He
grinned, a wolfish, amused sort of grin with a sparkle in his eye.
“I said that my sisters are correct. Since Mary passed, I have
rarely gone to balls other than when Mama has dragged me. Until
this Season, that is.”

“
Mary was your wife? Sarah
and Joshua’s mother?” Such a very sad thing for those children to
lose their mother while they were still so young. Jane had grown
quite fond of them in her time in London—Sarah, in particular. The
little girl was a treasure.

“
Yes. She was my duchess.”
Peter’s eyes lost their laughter, and she longed for it to
return.

“
I’m so sorry. I didn’t
mean to upset you.” Even his arms had tightened about her a little.
“You must have loved her very much.”

His eyes became vacant, a bit distant.
Cold. “No. We didn’t have a love match.”

“
Oh.” Jane looked away.
What else could she say?

“
We married out of...out of
necessity.”

“
She was with child?” Jane
bit down on her lip and fought to hide the shock from her face,
though it was a hopeless cause.

“
No. Not with child. But
she faced ruin.” Peter’s face had blackened with anger.

She wanted desperately to change the
subject to something happier, something less painful for him. Her
curiosity, however, threatened to eat at her until she discovered
the part of the story left untold. Peter—the perfect, unfailing
duke who never did anything improper—had caused his wife’s ruin and
was forced into a loveless marriage in order to protect
her?

Surely Sophie would know the details,
so Jane only said, “Oh.” No need to disturb him further when she
had other sources to ease her curiosity. Now she merely needed to
contain it until she could corner her friend and wheedle her for
everything she knew.

Several moments passed with neither
speaking again, before Peter asked, “And where did you learn to
dance, Miss Matthews?”

“
Jane.” If she could lose
the formality with him, he should do the same. “I learned at home
in Whitstable. We had some community gatherings with dancing and
games and the like. Or occasionally, Lady Hinkley invited me to
accompany her and her daughters to an entertainment in Canterbury
or some other nearby village.”

“
You are friendly with a
Viscount Hinkley’s family? I would imagine very few peers live near
Whitstable.” Some of the anger had finally begun to dissipate from
his face and he relaxed a bit against her.

“
Yes. Lord and Lady Hinkley
allowed me to do a great deal with their daughters as we grew up. I
even took lessons from their governess alongside them.”