Imposter Bride (21 page)

At the top of the ballroom stairs, they paused to be
announced. Sophie waited, her gaze on the glittering crowd below as
the dancers twirled to the gay music that drifted up to meet her
through the glittering crystal chandeliers.

“How beautiful!” she remarked.

She felt Edward’s stare on her profile. “Yes,” he
agreed.

She wished she could return his obvious regard for
her, but she was no fonder of him than she had been a fortnight
ago. His remarks bored her with their predictability, and his habit
of disdaining or criticizing everything and everyone had the effect
of dampening her usual good humor. Often his observations were on
the mark but always carried with them a barb, which only the most
astute of listeners comprehended. Sophie thought his remarks were
unnecessarily cruel for the most part, and underhanded for those
too innocent to catch his true meaning. She wondered why he felt
the need to cut other people at every opportunity. She had begun to
wonder what Edward thought of her, and what comments he made about
her behind her back. Fortunately for her, she would not have to
marry the man.

Sophie heard her grandmother’s name and title
announced and then it was her turn to descend.

“Miss Katherine Hinds and Lord Edward Metcalf, Earl
of Blethin.”

She felt Edward tug her forward, sweeping her down
the staircase, guiding her into a world she could never have
imagined, never having viewed such luxury before, and never having
dreamed it existed. Down the steps she went, feeling as if she were
in a fantasy, aware of the faces turned her way, the smiles of
delight, the fans fluttering, but all was just a blur, as she still
found it hard to believe she had so easily been accepted as a
member of this society.

Out of the crowd, she suddenly glimpsed a familiar
face, that of Captain Ramsay, and at the sight of him, she felt the
ballroom shift into a sharp clarity. He stood at the edge of the
crowd, his back to a huge marble column, standing with Charlotte
Metcalf who chatted to him animatedly, unaware that Ramsay looked
past her, his gaze locked with Sophie’s as she stepped onto the
ballroom floor.

Her heart rose to her throat at the sight of him,
after two long weeks of aching for his company—the sound of his
voice, the warmth of his hands, and the dryness of his quick wit.
He was dressed formally in black velvet and silver waistcoat with a
sapphire glinting in his cravat. Once again, she had to remind
herself not to stare.

“Katherine?” Edward inquired, urging her forward
again.

“Pardon me,” she murmured, knowing she must seem a
ninny, standing at the stairs and gaping at a man across the
floor.

Lady Auliffe reached back and motioned with her fan.
“Come Katherine, there are so many people you must meet!”

Sophie glanced over her shoulder at the captain to
reassure herself that she hadn’t been imagining him. He remained by
the column, his attention returned to Edward’s sister. She wondered
how he’d managed to wrangle an invitation to such an exclusive
gathering, and couldn’t wait to talk to him. However, she also knew
that with her grandmother, business must come first. She followed
Lady Auliffe to a table laden with sweetmeats and cheeses where a
group of older people stood talking. What were a few minutes delay
after an entire fortnight?

She never would have dreamed a few minutes would
turn into a few hours. Not until the clock struck one was Sophie
able to disengage. She excused herself to get refreshment, having
been barraged by scores of dancing partners and relatives of the
Carlisles and Metcalfs who wished to meet her. The ball had been
quite different than what she imagined, being far more work than
pleasure. The past few hours of meeting so many strangers and
sustaining witty conversations with them had exhausted her. She
fled to the nearest refreshment table, hoping for a cool drink and
a moment of solitude, preferably somewhere in the shadows where she
could close her eyes and take a deep breath.

Just as she reached for a cup of punch, she sensed
someone step up behind her.

“Surviving the onslaught?” a dry voice asked.

The sound sent a warm shimmer through her and
banished her fatigue. She turned, smiling, sure of whom had spoken.
“Ian!” It was all she could do to keep herself from flinging her
arms around his neck.

He grinned and gazed down at her, the reflections of
candlelight and silver dancing in his eyes. She raised her hand,
wanting his kiss, craving his touch and the connection they’d once
shared.

He carried her hand to his mouth, all the while
gazing into her eyes and drawing out the moment until she thought
she would burst if he did not say something. And then his warm lips
were pressing the back of her hand, and she was staring at the top
of his head, thinking how it would feel to stroke his coal black
hair, and all the while wondering that the entire crowd hadn’t
fallen silent in witness of this moment, which she had fantasized
about for the past two weeks.

Then he straightened and looked down at her, and she
saw his gaze slip down her throat to the low décolletage of her
gown. Her skin tingled as if he had reached out and touched her,
quickening her pulse.

“You were a vision coming down those stairs.”

“Thank you,” she replied, barely above a whisper.
She drank in the sharp lines of his face, knowing his presence at
her side this evening was nothing short of miraculous.

“How did you manage to be here tonight?” she asked
at last.

“I was invited.” He smiled.

“Really,” she teased, “A provincial such as
yourself?”

“You cut me to the quick!”

“But you told me once that you are not acceptable to
this crowd, nor they to you.”

“True. Still,” he offered his arm, “Here I am.”

“I’m glad.” She took his arm in both her hands,
loving his height and the strength she felt beneath his sleeve.
Standing next to him was a different experience than linking arms
with Edward. She had never wanted to pull Edward close to her
breast or lay her cheek against his shoulder as she did with
Ramsay.

“Care for some air?” he asked.

“I’d love some.”

Suddenly the magic of the evening became real to
Sophie. The light strains of the music tinkled into her heart and
lifted her spirits. What had been mere glittering costumes and
carefully crafted repartee suddenly merged into a fairy tale
backdrop to the main event of the evening—that of sharing the
moment with this understated, confident man. His was the only
conversation that seemed real, the only presence there to enjoy the
moment with her, not stand in judgment of her.

This was the time to tell him who she really was,
the time to put their friendship to the test, the time to declare
her heart before marriage to Edward Metcalf divided their paths
forever. She might never have a chance like this again.

Together they strolled past the dancing couples and
out to the veranda which was lit by new gas lights and decorated
with wreaths of holly, raffia and red berries. Though the winter
night was chilly, the cool air felt wonderful after having been
trapped in the hot ballroom for hours upon end. A servant passed
by, offering a tray of drinks.

“Care for a glass?” Ramsay inquired.

“Yes, I’m dying of thirst. All that talking!”

He selected two flutes of champagne and gave one to
her, raising it up in salute.

“To the most beautiful woman here,” he said.

She blushed and watched him take a sip.

“I am not accustomed to flattery from you, Mr.
Ramsay,” she chided.

“‘
Tis not flattery. I meant
it.”

“Then I thank you.” She raised her glass to him
while a lively minuet struck up in the ballroom behind them. Most
of the couples drifted back to the house, leaving them alone.

“So my grandmother invited you,” she mused, still
marveling at his presence.

“I gather she did.”

“I think she fancies you.”

He smiled. “Should I be alarmed?”

“I’m surprised you accepted.”

“And why is that?”

“You strike me as a man who has better things to do
than stand around listening to gossip at a ball.”

“I did not come for the gossip.”

“No?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Why then?”

He sipped the champagne as if deciding upon a
fitting reply. Then he looked out across the garden beyond. “I came
to see how you were faring.”

“Oh.” She fingered her glass, wondering how far this
conversation would go before he broke it off. “And what is your
opinion on the matter?”

He looked back down at her, his gaze raking over her
from her powdered coiffure to the hem of her silk petticoat.

“I see that I need not have worried.”

His concern warmed her. “You were worried about
me?”

“Of course.” He set aside his glass and leaned
closer. “You know what I think of this lot. They’re a pack of
wolves. Dressed like royalty, but with claws under all the
finery.”

“I’ve been treated very well by the pack so
far.”

“That I am glad to hear. May their good behavior
continue.”

She chuckled. “You’re a pessimist.”

“No, my dear. I’m a realist.” He sighed.

At the sound, Sophie sobered and gazed at him fully
in the face, appreciating this conversation as she had always
enjoyed their talks. No chat with Ian Ramsay had ever felt like
small talk.

“I have missed you,” she said softly. When he made
no reply, she wondered if she had overstepped his boundaries again.
Still she had to ask, had to know if he had spent at least one
moment wishing she were still a part of his life. “And have you
missed me, Ian? Have—”

He cut her off with a finger to her lips, smothering
any more of her questions before they could be raised.

She stared at him and for a long moment his eyes
swept over her face, as if he were branding the sight of her onto
his memory.

“I had not expected to,” he replied at last, his
voice low and gravely. “But yes.”

His admission thrilled her. She kissed the finger
that pressed against her lips. She couldn’t help herself. She
didn’t care who saw them or if anyone heard what they were saying
to each other either. Shocked by her kiss, Ramsay stood unmoving,
his hand still raised as she kissed his palm and closed her eyes,
remembering how it had felt when he’d kissed her fully upon the
mouth so long ago, and conjuring up the rapturous feeling of that
night.

“Miss Hinds—”

His breathing seemed constricted. Good. Perhaps she
was not the only one out of her mind with loneliness, and not the
only one bursting with happiness that he was here with her now,
speaking to her like this. She kissed his wrist.

“Lord God,” he murmured. He reached for the side of
her face, and she thought he might try to stop her and push her
away. Instead, he cradled her cheek, his long fingers pushing into
the hair at her temple as he bent to her mouth. She felt his left
hand easing around her waist to draw her close, and then for a
long, glorious moment he kissed her—deeply and hungrily, his tongue
pushing into her until she thought she would swoon with desire for
him.

She embraced him, one hand still clutching the empty
champagne glass, the other at his throat, moving up to touch his
flaring, very masculine jaw. Her heart sang, and she was sure he
must feel it glowing, as she surrendered to him, melting in his
arms. Nothing in the world seemed as right to her as when she felt
this man’s arms around her and his mouth upon hers. She savored his
kiss, knowing—as she had known since the day she’d left his
house—that she was in love with him.

When at last Ramsay drew back, she opened her eyes
and looked up at his serious face, loving him for his lack of
pretenses and his true concern for her welfare. How would he react
when she told him of her deceit? Could she count on his feelings
for her to carry them through? She had to take the risk. If she
didn’t tell him the truth now, he might be lost to her forever.

“Ian,” she began, a lump in her throat choking her.
“I have something to confess.”

A shadow darkened his eyes, and she paused for an
instant, wondering why he would be reluctant to hear what she had
to say.

“Katherine—”

“No, please. Let me speak.” She put her glass next
to his on the balustrade, taking the time to bolster her quickly
faltering vow to tell him the truth and struggling to find the
right words.

“There is something I should have told you, right
from the—”

“Don’t,” he warned, touching her lips again.

“But it’s something you have to know.”

“No.” His eyes turned flat and hard. “There are some
confessions better left unspoken.” He continued to stare at her as
he slowly released her. Why wouldn’t he let her talk? Was he afraid
that she might say she loved him? The sudden cold air between them
was like a slap on her cheek.

“Ian, please!”

“No. Not now, Katherine.”

“Yes, not now, Katherine,” a third voice echoed near
the doorway.

Sophie whirled to see her grandmother standing on
the veranda, clutching her fan in front of her like a punitive
instrument.

Sophie’s heart plummeted. The last person she would
have wanted to witness these past few minutes of passion was Lady
Auliffe.

Ramsay stepped forward. “Don’t blame Katherine,” he
said. “I induced her to drink an entire glass of champagne. I took
advantage of her.”

“He did not!” Sophie bristled, hurt that he hadn’t
allowed her to confess. She wasn’t ashamed of her behavior, either,
and wasn’t about to make excuses for it. “And I am not
inebriated.”

“Captain Ramsay,” Lady Auliffe stood ramrod
straight, her eyes blazing. “Have you seduced my
granddaughter?”

“No, madam,” he replied. “Much to my regret.”