Emily Hendrickson (19 page)

“You fear for him?” St. Aubyn inquired in a bemused voice.

“No,” she admitted with a flash of her eyes. “I would not have you bruise your fists or damage your beautiful coat for the world. Nothing he can say could injure me.”

“He could tell people he had been closeted with you in this library.” St. Aubyn watched the pair who confronted each other with something like bemused regard.

“Oh mercy,” Chloe said in disgust.

“But I do not think he will,” Julian continued. “For surely we can think of something he would not wish known—like he is in dire need of funds and all had best beware of him.”

“I say,” Sir Augustus sputtered while edging toward the door.

“Do you know, my clever papa had my inheritance papers drawn up so that my husband cannot get his hands on my money. It must be administered by my solicitors. I am not even certain that Grandmama knows about that clause.” Lady Chloe folded her arms, then tapped her foot on the carpeted floor, adding, “Was there something you intended to do. Sir Augustus? Perhaps you feel ill and find it necessary to retire to your bed? Otherwise, I imagine I could encourage St. Aubyn to punch you in that dreadful beak of a nose if you prefer.”

St. Aubyn obliged by removing his exquisitely tailored gray Bath cloth coat. He then began to roll up his sleeves.

“Anything to accommodate a lady, Dabney,” he drawled in the superior manner of one who is accustomed to winning every altercation.

Chloe was so fascinated by the sight of the shirtsleeves being rolled up over lightly tanned and very muscular arms that she quite forgot to keep an eye on St. Augustus.

Before she knew it he was at the door, pausing only to say, “I am dashed glad I don’t have to marry you, if truth be told. Had no notion you were such a termagant. St. Aubyn is welcome to you, although what he wants with you is more than I can see,” he concluded ungraciously.

That home truth hit Chloe very hard. It wiped out all thoughts of attractive muscles and intriguing mouths and twinkling eyes. Indeed, she felt very much like crying. She had just become aware of how very brave she was being and that St. Aubyn had pushed her to change from a frightened mouse into a tiger cat—and then reality crashed around her.

She stared after the fleeing Sir Augustus with a dazed sensation. Giving herself a little shake, she turned to thank St. Aubyn for coming to her rescue. “It was exceedingly kind of you to bother with me, Mr. St. Aubyn,” she began politely. “Why my aunt felt she had to arrange an assignation—or whatever you might call it—with Sir Augustus, I do not know, but I appreciate your rescue more than I can possibly say.” She cast her gaze on the carpet, trying to stem the bitter tears that longed to flow.

“I believe I have made it plain that I care about what happens to you, my girl,” Julian said with a rueful look at the precious peach package standing before him looking as though she had lost her last pence and friend.

“Oh, St. Aubyn,” she sobbed, “I feel utterly wretched! And this was to have been such a lovely ball,” she wailed.

Julian stepped forward to take her into his arms, comforting her with a soothing pat on her back and thinking he was playing with fire. A lovelier bit of baggage he had not seen in ages and to have her thrust into his arms when he wanted her was testing his code of conduct to the hilt. He did not seduce innocents. Although from the way Lady Chloe fit into his arms and snuggled against his chest he wondered a trifle.

“I am a silly goose,” she murmured, lifting her head to gaze ruefully into his eyes.

“Indeed,” he whispered.

Then Julian did what he had desired to do for some time and could not prevent no matter how he reminded himself that he ought not. He kissed the tempting Chloe.

He was totally unprepared for the strength of her response.

When they drew apart, Julian stared down into her face, totally at sea with her as well as his own emotions.

“I do not feel the least like sneezing,” Chloe murmured for no apparent reason Julian could see.

“I ought to apologize,” he began.

“Why? I found it utterly delightful and if you dare apologize I daresay I might kick you in the shins,” she said with charming candor, marveling that she dared to be so bold with him.

“I must say I had not expected to hear a rejoinder like that,” Julian said with a laugh.

She leaned against him for a moment, then withdrew from his arms, walking toward the door with head held high, hands clasped before her. At the door she paused, then said, “I also daresay we ought to leave this room, charming though it might be. What stood regarding the danger with Sir Augustus holds true for you as well. You might not need the money, but you most certainly do not wish a wife.”

Before she could open the door, it flew wide, admitting the Dowager Lady Dancy in high dudgeon. When she saw St. Aubyn instead of whoever she expected she was thrown off stride, but only for a moment.

“St. Aubyn, this is unpardonable, to find one like you secreted with my granddaughter. I demand satisfaction.”

“Lady Dancy,” Julian replied with sinking heart, “I was about to come to you with the request for Lady Chloe’s hand in marriage.”

“Oh no!” Lady Chloe whispered.

Chapter 11

“Indeed, ma’am.” Julian felt his heart sink to his toes. Lady Chloe appeared to be horrified at the mere thought of being married to him. While he knew he had a reputation as a scoundrel and perhaps a bit of a rake, he did not think he was
that
dreadful.

Elinor Hadlow and Lord Twisdale pushed forward from where they had been standing behind Lady Dancy. Laura Spayne and Theo followed them into the room, and Julian wondered if everyone attending the Sefton ball would come following after them.

“Where is the cavalry?” he murmured to Chloe, who had drawn close to his side.

“Perhaps the Horse Guards?” she shot back in a strained whisper.

“Why, Mr. St. Aubyn,” Elinor purred, giving him a look of loathing, “I fear you find yourself in a slight dilemma.”

“Gone too far this time,” Lord Twisdale pronounced in his most pompous manner. “No man would have a young gel once she had been compromised by
you.”

“He did nothing, I tell you,” Lady Chloe said in a shaken voice, taking a step in her grandmother’s direction and quite overlooking the sweet kiss she had shared with St. Aubyn. “Mr. St. Aubyn has always behaved with the utmost propriety toward me. Of course, he views me in a different light from more available females,” she concluded somewhat recklessly, Julian thought. It did not help matters that Chloe glanced pointedly at Elinor.

“Chloe!” Lady Dancy declared, looking even more scandalized at her granddaughter, if that were possible.

Laura hurried across the room to stand by Chloe’s side, turning to face the others with a defiant glare. “I know my dearest friend. She may execute wicked little sketches, but she would never do anything so bold as to meet with a gentleman in a sequestered situation. I think she must have been…”

“Your defense of your little friend is admirable,” Julian inserted before Laura could finish her challenge. He had just caught sight of Mrs. Robynhod entering the room, and he did not wish the worst sort of gossip to circulate through the ton.

Laura frowned at him, but subsided, putting a protective arm about Chloe.

“I will confess to you all that I have found Lady Chloe to be a delightful and most charming young woman,” Julian said with a slight bow in her direction. “She is everything my father asks in my wife and certainly meets my criteria as well. And, although it is not the least fashionable, I also confess that I am quite taken with her. You may as well know that the marriage will be an affair of the heart.”

Julian took immediate note of the expressions on those in the room. Theo looked skeptical; Laura appeared willing to believe what he said if Chloe concurred. Grandmother Dancy looked fit to be tied. Mrs. Robynhod’s protuberant eyes gleamed with the thought of the choice gossip that she alone could pass along. Chloe had sketched her as a predatory cat; now Julian could see why.

Elinor and Twisdale had drawn together as enemies uniting forces. The beautiful Elinor could well explode if someone did not remove her from the room. Her face had alternately turned pale and purple with anger and fury. He would not bet on her stability at the moment.

Twisdale was another matter entirely. He was furious, yes, but he was giving Laura a thoughtful stare that quite chilled Julian. There could be nothing to come of any interest from him, for surely Laura’s mother would forbid such a match for her only daughter. And then maybe not, he considered when he thought of Twisdale’s fortune, homes, and title. That was a difficult position to deny to an eager mother bent on seeing her child well established.

Julian moved to Lady Chloe’s side, gathering her trembling hand into his own firm grip. With another glance at his reluctant bride-to-be, Julian turned to Lady Dancy and said, “I imagine you will wish a private ceremony. I will notify my father at once, and procure a special license as soon as may be, if that is your wish.”

“Not at all,” the dowager said with a sniff, surprising Julian. “I wish nothing havey-cavey thought about this marriage. It will be done with a proper calling of the banns and you will be married in church. Anyone”—and this she said with a glance toward an enthralled Mrs. Robynhod—”may attend the ceremony. I trust this will also be more agreeable with your father, for it will allow him time to come down to London in style.”

“As you wish,” Julian answered. At his side he could sense a lessening of tension in the slender body of his betrothed. Not quite certain what could be the cause for this, Julian continued setting forth his plans. “We can be married in Lady Chloe’s church. Fortunately, I believe I reside in the same parish, so that will simplify matters.”

‘The rest of the details can be worked out at a more appropriate time,” the dowager said. With an imperious wave of her hand, she commanded, “Come, Chloe.”

“Yes, Grandmama,” Lady Chloe said with proper respect. As she took a step toward her now departing grandmother, Chloe whispered to Julian, “I must see you. Meet me in the morning for a ride, same place.”

Julian gave a faint nod of his head to let her know he would be at the Stanhope Gate awaiting her arrival.

Chloe trailed down the hall after her grandmother, then nearly bumped into that grand lady when she abruptly came to a halt.

“St. Aubyn,” she said, turning to face the man who sauntered from the library at his own pace, “you had best lead my granddaughter out in a dance. No one will believe the betrothal otherwise.”

Chloe did not point out that St. Aubyn had already danced with her that evening. She well knew the importance of appearances—she had it drummed into her often enough.

“With pleasure, my lady,” St. Aubyn said with a bow.

Chloe accepted his escort, placing her hand on his preferred arm with good grace. What a dilemma to be in, to be certain. She had just been ordered to marry the man she had tumbled into love with and knew he had not the least desire to marry her. He had said so when he sought her assistance to escape Aunt Elinor’s clutches.

He wanted time to be on the town, time for amusements, and he had no intention of becoming married for some years, or so he had thought. How ironic, Aunt Elinor had succeeded in pushing him right into her detested niece’s arms. Or would he…be in her arms, that is. Chloe chanced a look at St. Aubyn and wondered what sort of marriage they might have. Judging from his kiss, it had a wealth of potential. But, oh, Chloe felt so guilty, as though her unspoken wishes had brought about their entrapment.

She could hear Laura behind her muttering to Theo, and suspected that Laura was not convinced about the proposal as a genuine desire to marry. What a challenge to convince not only Laura and Theo, but all in attendance this evening and the rest of the ton.

Chloe’s dance card was in utter chaos; gentlemen were most likely denouncing her left and right for failing to appear when it came time for their dance. Perhaps the announcement of her betrothal would amend their opinion? At any rate, it removed one more girl from the marriage mart. One eligible gentleman as well. The hopeful mothers would not thank her for that.

While her grandmother marched regally over to where Maria Sefton kept an eye on the unmarried damsels in need of partners, Chloe stood by St. Aubyn, waiting for the present dance to conclude.

“The next will be a waltz, I believe. We shall have our dance after all. You disappeared for the other.”

“Aunt Elinor’s doing. I must say,” Chloe murmured. “She looked as cross as crabs when you announced our betrothal. I wish it were not necessary,” she added, commiserating with what must be his desire to be anywhere but at her side.

“There are some who would find fault with a fat goose. Just look at me as though you actually feel enthused about our forthcoming marriage,” he said with a snap.

“Very well,” she said quietly, suspecting that his patience was as tried as could be. Then she realized he also needed a slight reprimand and said, “You might try to look affectionate as well, you know, instead of looking as though you were going to a funeral.” She culminated that remark with what she hoped was an adoring gaze at him accompanied by stepping a bit closer to his formidable form. What fun to be openly flirting with this proclaimed scoundrel. It was a bit like playing with fire, she supposed.

He made no comment, but gave her an exceedingly thoughtful look.

Chloe watched the promenade of dancers after the conclusion of the country dance, feeling very much as though she were about to make a performance on a theatrical stage.

“Now,” he muttered, guiding her into the center of the floor with a hand firmly at the small of her back.

What followed was a dance like none Chloe had ever performed before. That scoundrel St. Aubyn gazed down into her face as though he wished to consume her. He held her closer to him than was proper, and he spoke soft words of romance every minute of the waltz. In short, he was making her feel deliciously confused, delightfully coveted, and delectably cherished…the scoundrel.