A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (98 page)

Sophie sucked in a breath and
harrumphed as a few more young ladies joined their group. One of
them—a refined lady with lovely blonde curls, no longer wearing the
pastels of the unmarried—spoke first. “Your Grace, Sophie,
Charlotte… And, may I assume, Miss Matthews?”

Sophie grasped the blonde’s hand and
squeezed, then winked at Jane. “Yes, this is our dear cousin Jane.
And Jane, may I introduce you to one of my dearest friends, Lady
Golding and her sister, Miss Lily Fairfax? And more dear friends,
Miss Patience Marlborough and her sister, Miss Theodora
Marlborough.”

Ah, the famous Theodora. Jane had
hardly ceased hearing of her from young Charlotte. “Yes, of course.
It’s lovely to meet you all.” She smiled graciously.

Lady Golding took a look around the
ballroom and then dropped her voice, bobbing her head over to Jane.
“Was that Lord Utley I saw over here a moment ago? Pray tell me I
was mistaken.”

Jane groaned inwardly. Maybe Sophie
was right about all of this. “Yes, that was Lord Utley.” Dear lord,
she must be in quite the pickle now. Drat. “Is there a
problem?”

“
Oh dear. We were afraid of
that,” said Miss Fairfax with serious eyes and a dour
tone.

“
Do tell us you haven’t
agreed to dance with him,” Miss Marlborough feverishly whispered as
her younger sister’s eyes danced with devilry. Theodora Marlborough
was a gossipmonger in the making, if Jane had ever met one.
“It
would
be
rather unseemly to back out once his name is on your card, but I
fear it must be done, if you’ve agreed.”

“
I
have
agreed,” said Jane sheepishly.
Double drat. Why must there be so many complications with such a
simple thing as selecting dance partners at a ball? “But I can’t
refuse to dance with the man now. Why, there’s really no reason
other than a bit of gossip, is there? And aren’t all men entitled
to a second chance—an opportunity to redeem themselves?”

Second chance for what, though, might
be a good question to ask. For some reason, Jane had an inkling she
might be better off without the answer to such a
question.

Drat, drat, drat. This was
only her first
ton
ball, and already she was becoming the center of gossip...and
possibly scandal. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done but
dance with the man. After all, it
is
only a dance,” she said more
emphatically than she’d intended. Might as well put on a good show
of courage, even if she didn’t quite feel so sure of
things.

But nothing disastrous would come of a
simple dance.

~ * ~

Peter watched as Utley, one
of the most vile cretins in all of England
,
slithered across the ballroom
toward his mother, sisters, and Miss Matthews.

Surely the bastard hadn’t overheard
the sum he was offering as Jane’s dowry when he’d mentioned it to
Sinclaire and the small group of eligible gentlemen gathered around
him—eligible gentlemen who admittedly, at least for the most part,
would be rather more than interested in such an advantageous match
when a sum of that nature was involved.

Even if Utley had heard, it was
unthinkable that his mother would grant the man an introduction.
Mama knew as well as anyone that the lecher was a scoundrel in
disguise as a gentleman, and she should keep all of her charges as
far away from him as possible.

There was no reason to
worry. Peter pushed the matter from his mind. Even if she didn’t
know of Utley’s role in Peter’s marriage to Mary, Mama knew of his
reputation within the
beau
monde
. She would handle matters with him
with decency and decorum and send him on his way. She simply
must.

Before he could return to his
conversation with Sinclaire and the others, Lady Broederlet sidled
up to his side. She wore a gown in a daring shade of red, cut
entirely too low over her bosom to the point that her breasts
practically spilled over the top. Her lips, somehow, came close to
matching the hue of her gown as they stretched into a lurid and
languid smile. A pink tongue darted out to wet them and spent far
more time about it than necessary.

Blast it, he would have to at least
speak to the woman. Not a task, he might add, that he was overly
fond of accomplishing. “Lady Broederlet, I trust you’re enjoying
yourself this evening. Is Broederlet in the card room, then?”
Please God, let the earl at least be present.

“
Why yes, Your Grace, I’m
having a sensational time. I’m afraid my dear husband has stayed
abed at home tonight, however. He was not feeling quite the thing,
and requested that I not stay at home fussing over him. He
practically pushed me out the door, saying that it would be a shame
to waste my assets on an evening at home, so I must be sure to
share them with some worthy gentlemen.” Her eyes narrowed to sultry
slits that virtually undressed him right there in the ballroom. She
continued with a husky, lowered tone. “I would be glad to share my
assets with a man such as you.” One long-fingered, gloved hand
snaked up the sleeve of his coat, trailing fingertips along behind.
“You would not want to disappoint me, would you, Your
Grace?”

Thankfully, the discordant cacophony
of the orchestra preparing their instruments on the dais came to an
end at just that moment. “Pardon me, my lady. I believe the first
set will begin momentarily and I don’t want to offend my partner.”
He backed away from the brazen woman and performed an elegant bow.
“I must bid you good evening.”

She cast a belligerent glare in his
direction. Peter ignored it and slipped through the hubbub of
revelers to find Miss Matthews, changing his course slightly,
taking a circuitous path, when he caught sight of the Dowager
Marchioness of Glanville slipping toward him. Blast it, this was
turning into exactly the type of evening he had expected. And he
had an entire Season ahead of him yet.

Mama must have put the word out
already that he had resumed his position on the marriage mart,
because everywhere he turned, the calculating, eagle-eyed gazes of
lonely widows and mamas with lofty goals for their daughters
followed him shrewdly about. He would far prefer to face the devil
himself than to suffer through the attentions of all of these women
who would soon be dangling after him. Good God, why had he ever
agreed to Mama’s plan?

Finally, he arrived at feminine
titters surrounding his sisters and Miss Matthews. She was
positively glowing in the candlelight. Her mess of curls had been
tamed into soft, blonde waves. Her brown eyes—yes, he could finally
determine their color—were warm and smiling. How had he ever
thought her an antidote? She was about as far from it now as any
lady had a right to be. For a moment, he stood and stared, even to
the point of gawking.

Snapping his jaw closed and pulling
his mind back where it ought to be, he bowed as their laughter
subsided. “Miss Matthews, I believe this is my dance.” Peter
reached for her hand to escort her to the floor.

A rather becoming flush graced her
cheeks as she smiled up at him. She ought to smile more often. Or
perhaps she did, but not when in his presence. Hmm.

“
Oh dear, is the dancing to
begin already?” Miss Matthews asked. “You’ll have to excuse me,
ladies.” She placed her hand gently on his arm and followed him
into position as the lines formed.

Standing across from him, she beamed
as she looked all around. With each new place her eyes landed,
another twinkle formed in her eye, or an excited gasp came from her
lips. She acted as though she’d never seen such a thing in all her
life.

“
Is this so very different
from Whitstable, Miss Matthews?” Idiotic question. Blast, she’d
arrived at his home only a fortnight ago. Of course such splendor
would overwhelm her. Mama had performed nothing short of a miracle
in preparing the woman for presentation to society in such a brief
amount of time.

“
Ah, yes and no, Your
Grace.” Her voice trailed off as the first strains of the opening
quadrille filled the hall. She waited until they were within
earshot of each other before finishing her rather odd statement.
“We do have assemblies and other sorts of entertainments, but they
are rather less lavish than this. I daresay only the Countess of
Rhoades would have a gown as ornate as the ladies here all wear,
and I’m quite certain she only has one that would be appropriate.”
The figures of the dance separated them again, and it was a few
moments before she could continue. “And our assembly halls, while
more than adequate for our needs, are not nearly so
decadent.
Some
of
the villagers might find such profusion to be ostentatious...a sign
of pomposity, perhaps.”

“
Ha! And would you be
amongst those who might find this to be a rather pompous affair?” A
wry grin worked its way to Peter’s features without his full
permission. He couldn’t seem to stop it from happening—an odd
occurrence. This Miss Matthews was having a decidedly peculiar
effect on him.

She lifted a brow and pursed her lips.
“Well, yes, if you must know. It all seems a bit overmuch,
especially when you consider how most of the people in the country
live.”

Such refreshing candor. They were
separated by the figures of the dance again before he could muster
a response. When they came back together, the swirl of air carried
the most intriguing—and seductive—scent to his nostrils...musky and
sweet, and somehow even a hint of peaches assailed him.

An image struck him, one of
rushing her off to the nearest secluded alcove to taste her skin in
order to see if her skin tasted as sweet as it smelled. Devil take
it, he had to stop this at once. Why would he even
think
such a thing? But
of course, he wasn’t quite thinking.

“
And how, pray tell, do the
majority live if not in such splendor?” Of course, he
knew
. But he had the
strangest desire to hear more of Miss Matthews’s voice. Such a
joyful sound.

Her delightful, lilting
laughter met his ears. “Well, to start with,
Your Grace
, most of us are not
addressed with such deference. Very few have titles, in the grand
scheme of things.”

Peter gave her a mocking smile. “So
we’re to be shunned because the unfortunate fact of our births
requires a specific form of address to greet us everywhere we
go?”

Again, the quadrille separated them
for a few moments. He danced a figure across from a young lady he
didn’t even recognize, but whom obviously knew exactly who he was.
Which just further emphasized his argument to Miss Matthews, but
Peter doubted she would see things his way. He hadn’t asked for his
title. Nor had he requested the obligations that came along with
it. Joshua hadn’t asked to inherit any of it from him, either. It
was simply the way of things.

Finally, he handed his momentary
partner back to her true partner, and Miss Matthews’s hand landed
upon his arm with a feathery touch. Mischief lit her eyes, a warm,
chocolate-brown that seemed to melt before him. “If the nobility
cannot be blamed for the prestige entitled to them for their
births, then how can anyone else be held accountable for their lack
of high birth?”

Question for a question. Blast the
woman. But there was something about her—an intelligence beyond her
breeding, a touch of wit and humor. He yearned to discover more,
which left him utterly befuddled. Had he not, only a mere fortnight
before, been ready to banish her to his stables for her vulgar
appearance and lack of social graces? A lady like Miss Matthews
could never fit in with his life or meet the demands which would be
placed upon her shoulders if she moved in the same circles of
influence in which he lived.

But yet, here she was, at
the first ball of the Season, seemingly at home amongst the highest
sticklers of the
ton
and making quite the debut.

“
Touché, Miss Matthews. I
suppose the world imposes certain boundaries upon all of us, and we
must merely determine how far to push against them.”

Her eyes flashed and she
elicited a rather indelicate and unladylike snort. It gave the
impression she might prefer to smash the boundaries about her to
bits. “So one should then submit to the limits imposed by society?
Or were they put in place by God?” With a toss of her head, she
scrunched her eyes together. “Why must one be forced into complying
with an outdated social system when one might instead push to
create a
new
order
of things?”

Two could play her game. Peter stared
at her with all the aristocratic hauteur he could muster. “And how
might one go about creating a new order? Must one buck against all
tradition and social order in order to achieve one’s goals? Or are
some social mores more acceptable than others, and therefore might
one engage in them while creating a new order?”

Again, she swirled away from him,
leaving a trail of that musky, peach scent in her wake. When she
faced him again, their eyes locked in a heated gaze.

His body screamed to move closer to
her, to pull her tight against him. This lust was damnably
intrusive and thoroughly inappropriate. She was his charge, for
Christ’s sake—his responsibility. He should be protecting her from
the unwelcome advances of rakes and rogues and not thinking about
tossing her over his shoulder to carry her as far away from prying
eyes as possible.