His Secret Heroine (10 page)

Chloe jerked back. "Lord Vilheurs! Wherever did you get such a notion? He has not at all mistreated me!"

"Do you deny returning from his boat soaked from a terrible dunking in the sea?"

A chill shook her spine despite the heat of the crowded ballroom. How would he have known? Had he spied on her? Surely her imagination was running away with itself. Still, she could not let the man's affront pass without comment. "I do not deny being caught by a wave, nor being rescued, Lord Vilheurs, and I resent your attempt to make gossip of it. I shall expect your apology."

The dark eyes glared rage, first at her, then at Reggie. The same cold chill ran up her spine again, and the oddly bitter taste of the ratafia seemed to reverberate through her mouth. She raised her chin and turned to Reggie. "I am pleased you were able to come, Lord Reginald. I was afraid you had forgotten your promise."

She heard the tell-tale squeak in Lord Vilheurs's right shoe as he spun around and stalked away.

Amusement danced in Reggie's summer-sky eyes. He winked. "Such an error would haunt me all my days, Miss Englefield. No, I have waited most impatiently for this hour." He took her hand and placed it on his arm. "You are familiar with the new quadrille?"

"Yes,
My Lord." She wished it were a waltz.

"I have finished with my affairs," he announced, leading her to the floor.

"Indeed. And they were important to you."

"Yes. It bodes well for the future."

"I see." She did not. But men did not often share the details of their lives with women.

"Yes. Very much so." His voice draped over her like the softness of a
Kashmir shawl. How she had missed him!

Chloe danced with him through the lengthy set, and her heart raced faster each time he came closer to her, and felt bereft with each step of the dance that took him from her side. Reluctantly, she parted from him for two dances until the supper dance, the waltz she had coveted.

With the natural rhythm of a dancing master, Reggie led her in elegant whirls over the sleek polished wood floor. Perhaps it was the seaman in him that gave him such perfect grace. The gentle pressure of his fingertips curved into the indentation in her back. Chloe had the same feeling she'd had when he had kissed her, that she was where she belonged. Her heart raced and she felt like a silly schoolroom miss as she searched his eyes for proof that his affection matched hers.

And she found it. No, he had not forgotten his profession of affection. Reggie Beauhampton, son of a duke, was going to make her his bride.

Everyone else seemed to think so, too. Eagles' eyes followed their every move. The air was tense with the excitement of an
on dit
in the making. And why should she be surprised? He had the look of a bridegroom as he led her down to supper. She supposed she must be equally transparent.

Chloe thought the supper
, so late in the night that it was in the morning, was the silliest of all rituals. But somehow it had great significance in the minds of the gabble-grinders. He must mean for it to be that way, or he would not have paid her such particular attention, making of it his own ritual, each move a demonstration of his affection and intent. He was making his declaration clear to everyone present.

Instead of returning her to the care of her aunt after supper, as he more properly should, Reggie led her to a terrace door which had been flung open hours ago because of the heat, and more than one young couple had strayed through them to the well-lit gardens. Strollers were, in fact, everywhere, making it all quite proper, and they spent as much time nodding as in talking to each other.

Almost to the far corner of the grounds, he tugged her arm and pulled her behind an enormous rhododendron. He plucked a lusciously red blossom and tucked it behind her ear, then drew her next to him.

"The ladies of the South Seas wear flowers behind one ear to signify they are promised," he said. He ran a fingertip over the shell of her ear. "And behind the other ear if they are still looking." He traced the other ear in the same way.

"Which ear is which?" she asked, marveling in the dusky color of his eyes.

"The right ear means she's taken. Or the left. I've forgotten."

"What if she wears one behind each ear?"

"Some ladies might. But you must choose, my love." Reggie cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. Chloe felt like lightning pierced her, from tingling touch to her lips, through her body to where his hand slipped behind her and pressed her against him. He teased her with his tongue until she opened and let him in, and lightning struck again. She gasped at the wildness.

"Which is it to be, my love, the right ear or the left?"

"I cannot say
until I know which ear."

An oddly guttural groan escaped him, and he held her tightly against him. "Circe," he moaned.

"Circe?" Why had he called her that?

The air seemed to still about them.

"You are my Circe. You call to me like the siren of the seas." He laid kisses along the curve of her neck and down her shoulder. The sleeve slipped down her arm as his hand swept over the curve of her shoulder.

Chloe whimpered, feeling the caress over her shoulder, suddenly wanting it to go further, wishing to be touched in ways she had never thought of before.

He pulled back, then with a ragged breath, abruptly set her away from him. "Chloe, I believe we should discuss marriage."

He looked more storm-tossed than he had after the storm. She searched for words. What mere words could say how hungry she was for him at this moment, when she could hardly breathe?

"We don't have much time," he said. "I can get a special license and we can manage the entire thing in a few days."

"Don't have much time? But why? Are you going somewhere?"

Still breathing hard, he shook his head. "My father mustn't know. He wouldn't like it, you see."

Chloe pushed back. Something didn't fadge. "Why not?"

Reggie took a deep breath and stared down at the toes of his shoes. Chloe got the feeling he didn't really want to explain. She gulped.

Reggie cleared his throat. "He has in mind that I shall marry my cousin Portia, and he will hear of nothing else. In fact, if I do not come up to scratch in the next few weeks, he means to force it on me."

Chloe tugged her dress back into place on her shoulder, folded her arms and stepped back a little farther. "You mean to tell me you have been romancing this cousin?"

"No, Chloe, not in the least." He shook his head. "I do not quite detest her, but I have never given her the least encouragement."

"Then why would he want you to marry her?"

"That's the way my father is. He is king of his own domain, and demands absolute obedience. He does things like this just to prove he has complete control over everyone."

"Oh, surely he cares more about your feelings than that."

He slipped a hand around her waist, but Chloe scooted away.

"Chloe, he doesn't care a fig for anyone's feelings. Everything he does is to enhance his own power over others. I have no way to stop him unless I am already married."

This was sounding worse by the minute. "Oh, I see. You wish to marry me to prevent marriage to this cousin Portia." Her heart was racing again, but for a thoroughly different reason.

"No, Chloe, I want to marry you because I want you and no one else, but if I don't do it now, I will have no chance. You don't know my father. He is beyond stubborn. As it is, he will cut me off without a farthing."

She gulped. "With nothing? Not a feather to fly with?" No! He couldn't do this to her!

"Sweetheart, we can contrive. I have another expectation."

"Nothing? But you have a trust of your own!"

"And he controls it. It might well take years to get it through Chancery, and I will eventually win it, but until then he can do as he pleases and he knows it. Listen to me, my love! If we can get by on your funds for just a little while, I have a source—"

He had nothing! And worse, he wanted her to help turn his father against him! With an aching moan, Chloe turned away. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Chloe, what's wrong? Can't you have a little faith in me?"

He put his hands on her arms, but she shook them off. "We can't live on my funds. I haven't got any."

Even the air became deathly still.

"You have twelve thousand," he said, his voice dull.

"I used to have twelve thousand, before my guardian spent it all. Then he died, so I have not even Chancery Court to force him to give it back."

Beside her, Reggie stiffened, and he stepped back. "Ah. I see. So you thought you were marrying a hefty competence. Is that what I am to you, Chloe? Money?"

"And what was it you wanted, Lord Reginald? Money? Oh, more than that. You wanted me to save you from your cousin because you don't want to stand up to your father."

"Oh, I'll stand up to him all right. It will simply do me no good."

"And I'll wager you won't waste a moment finding yourself another rich bride. Well, sir, I think you'd best get at it." She whirled around to run.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Chloe, wait."

"For what?"

Reggie ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more ragged than it had been before. "We don't have to part this way. It's obvious we won't suit. I mean, we'd do fine if it weren't for the blunt. But with nothing at all
, it would not do. If there were a chance, I'd ask him, Chloe. But I know him all too well. When anyone defies him, he cuts them off cold, in the most painful way he can find."

"But why would he do that? You're his son."

"And so is Robert, his heir. But he doesn't even allow Robert's name to be mentioned. He has even persuaded himself Robert will be killed in the Peninsula, so he treats me like his heir, even though I'm not. Chloe, could we not at least cry friends?"

Her throat closed down. All her dreams. Ashes, as if they had never existed. And he looked at her as nothing but a fortune hunter, an adventuress. Did it matter why? No, he had not even asked. All he cared about was how big her portion was and how quickly he could get to it.

But she did not want to lose him entirely.

"Friends?" she asked, not quite able to hide the bitter edge to her voice. "Yes, I suppose we may be friends. There must surely be someone you can marry who will serve your purpose. I am sure Lady
Lavington would be willing."

"Chloe
—" He reached for her, but she stepped out of reach. With a sigh, he dropped his arms to his sides. "I would rather not. But even she might be better than Portia. I hope you do not consider Vilheurs."

The hairs on her neck bristled. "Why not Lord Vilheurs? He seems perfectly acceptable."

"Not if it's money you want. He's notoriously tight in the pockets."

Once again she folded her arms. "I don't believe you."

"Oh, Chloe!" Reggie wrapped his arms around her.

She shoved him away. "And you shall not turn me up sweet now!" This time, she escaped, skipping rapidly along the gravel path, with his voice trailing off behind her. But soon she slowed, and he ran up beside her.

"Love, wait, you cannot go in looking a fright. Just take a moment. It will do neither of us good to look cross as crabs." He tugged and twisted her blue ball gown into place, patted her hair, and removed the red blossom from behind her ear. "I suppose it should go to the other ear. If I could remember which one, that is. Perhaps we could help each other, love."

The last thing she wanted was to have him help her find a husband. There was nothing for it, though. She needed all the help she could get. Chloe nodded and blew her nose on the handkerchief he gave her, then placed her hand on his arm, trying to pretend nothing had happened. But the devastation must have shown on her face, for it reflected back in the astonishment in faces as they passed through the ballroom.

Reggie patted her hand where it lay atop his arm, a tender touch that meant to reassure, but it jabbed instead. His eyes hid behind lowered lashes as he raised her fingers to his lips, seeming to concentrate on the tiniest detail of her fingertips.

Then, like a wild animal breaking free of a trap, the blue eyes darted up to catch and impale her gaze. The torment she saw in them stabbed her, embedding in her a pain she thought would surely never heal.

Chapter Seven

Tears sprang from Chloe's eyes the moment the
coach door closed behind her, and between sobs she poured out her story to Aunt Daphne.

"Oh, my dear!" Daphne pulled Chloe into her arms, thankfully saying little.

The coach bumped along almost in rhythm to her sobs and gulps until she finally sniffed and righted herself. Daphne handed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed at her eyes.

"Perhaps you should reconsider, Chloe," Daphne said in a voice that seemed oddly far away, for Chloe thought her ears were as stuffed up as her nose. "Ought there not to be some way to persuade the duke? Your Reggie is only a second son, after all, and surely it would not matter as much if he does not marry precisely as the father dictates. Perhaps if the duke could be made to see his son's happiness is at stake
—"