"What happened
then?" asked Rowena, drawn in despite herself. Marguerite's words about
Alaric adding Marguerite to his collection had struck a nerve. The same thing
was being said of her, she knew. Was it possible Lady Bingham had been a
faithful wife when she had first encountered him?
"Alaric flew
into a tremendous rage. He swore to ruin both Malcolm and me. He arranged for
my husband to find out about our affair. I thought it would kill poor Bingham! He
was bedridden for days, and then refused to see me again. I was never allowed
to plead with him for forgiveness. And then Alaric framed Malcolm for Ingram's
murder. He must have been very happy; his revenge was complete."
Rowena considered
Lady Bingham's words; she seemed to be quite sincere. Was it possible, she
wondered, that Alaric was indeed the villain of the piece? She shivered
slightly.
Marguerite gave
Rowena a sly glance from under her eyelashes. It seemed her arrows were
striking their mark. "I tell you this only because you asked about Malcolm
and because I wish to protect you. Do not make the same foolish mistake I did,
Lady Rowena. Brayleigh is never to be trusted."
"Lord Brayleigh
is nothing more to me than a casual acquaintance," said Rowena promptly. "While
I appreciate your good will, I have no need of the warning. My heart is quite
whole, I promise you."
"I hope it may
remain so," said Marguerite quietly. "If you should ever wish to talk
more, child, I would be delighted to do so. And perhaps sometime I can tell you
more of your brother. But if I speak to you too long, Brayleigh will doubtless
become enraged. He has told me in no uncertain terms that I am to stay away
from you. He was quite terrifying."
"He has?" Rowena
looked at her with surprise and a sense of rising annoyance with Alaric. He had
no right to meddle in her life this way.
"Certainly. He
feels I may corrupt your innocence." Marguerite chuckled. "I gather
he feels only he has that right."
Rowena flushed and
looked away. She had no intention of letting Marguerite know exactly how close
she had become to Alaric.
Marguerite eyed her
sharply. She thought that perhaps she had said enough on the matter of Alaric
for tonight. It wouldn't do to press the point too far.
"In the
meantime, I approached you for quite another reason," she said. "Lord
Voxley is most anxious to dance with you."
Rowena gave Lord
Voxley a doubtful look, as he was lounging negligently against the wall,
watching the passers-by, and showed no sign of any great eagerness to join
them. However, at Lady Bingham's words, he stepped forward, a charming smile
covering his face.
"I have been
wishing for an opportunity to approach you since we met at the opera," he
said. "I have long admired your skill on the dance floor. Will you honor
me with this waltz?"
Rowena hesitated. There
was something about Lord Voxley that she did not quite like, and his presence
made her feel as though she had just touched something slimy. She began to
formulate a graceful excuse, but as she did so she saw Alaric bearing down upon
her, wearing a somber black domino. His face was unmasked, but was covered
instead with a look of towering fury.
Rowena turned to Lord
Voxley with a pretty smile. "I thank you, I would be delighted. There is
nothing I enjoy more than dancing with a handsome gentleman." She took
Lord Voxley's arm and allowed him to whisk her out onto the dance floor just as
Alaric arrived, clearly infuriated
He swung toward
Marguerite, his face like a thundercloud. "I thought I told you to stay
away from Rowena," he snapped.
Marguerite smiled. "I
was merely honoring Voxley's request that I urge her to dance with him. Derrick
is quite charmed by her beauty, as are so many others, of course."
"What game are
you playing, Marguerite?" demanded Alaric.
Marguerite gave him a
look of injured innocence. "Why, no game at all, Alaric. I believe the
fact that Lady Rowena is dancing with Lord Voxley shows the truth of my claim."
Alaric frowned as he
watched Rowena circle the room clasped in Voxley's arms. The sight made him
want to dash across the floor and punch Voxley, and then drag Rowena away. He
made an annoyed sound.
"Voxley is no
fit companion for a young lady," he said coldly. "You should have
known better than to introduce him as a suitable partner."
Marguerite raised her
eyebrows. "I believe Lady Rowena makes these decisions for herself. After
all, she chose to be your friend, Alaric, and one can hardly think that her
aunt encouraged her in that. She appears to be a rash young woman."
Alaric glared at
Marguerite and then turned his eyes back to the dance floor. Rowena seemed to
be enjoying herself immensely. Her fair head was turned up towards her partner's,
her huge violet eyes sparkling behind her mask, and she gave a merry laugh at
some witticism of Voxley's. Alaric's hand clenched into a fist. Perhaps Rowena
did prefer gentlemen who were slightly dangerous. She apparently had no qualms
about associating with him, despite the tales of his past and his previous
interactions with her family. And Voxley was known as a dangerous rake and
libertine. Was Rowena simply intrigued by men of that stamp?
Alaric thought of how
readily she had responded to him when he had kissed her in Lady Belmont's
garden, and the way she had shivered in his arms, her passion so warm he had
thought it might scorch him. Would she respond that way to another man? To
Voxley? He gritted his teeth. She would not be given the opportunity.
Marguerite gave him a
curious look. Alaric was obviously furious, which suited her purposes very
well. By the end of the evening his infatuation with Lady Rowena should be at
an end. However, it was necessary to distract him in order to allow Derrick to
complete their plan. She smiled up at Alaric gently.
"Come Alaric,
surely you did not think the girl had a
tendre
for you? You are far too
old for her, and her family would never permit you to marry her. If she has
encouraged you, you may be sure she is laughing at you behind your back."
Alaric glowered at
her. "You think everyone is as depraved as you are, Marguerite. Fortunately,
there are still some who remain uncorrupted."
"Until you get
your hands on them." Marguerite shrugged and sighed. "Oh, Alaric, I
don't know why we quarrel. You would think two old friends such as we are could
get along."
Alaric tore his eyes
from Rowena and looked down at Marguerite. "We do not get along, my dear,
because you are never honest with me. You have lied to me since the day we met."
"That is no
reason we cannot be friends now," purred Marguerite. She moved a tiny step
closer to him and laid her hand on his arm. "After all, it has been so
many years. Can we not forget the past?"
Alaric's lips curled
cynically. He was quite certain Marguerite had an ulterior motive for her
sudden change of temper. However, he had learned long ago that it was best to
keep his enemies close, so as to know what they were up to. In addition, if
Rowena, as he half-suspected, was dancing with Voxley simply to spite him, she
would learn that two could play that game. He took Marguerite's hand.
"We can try,"
he said abruptly. "Shall we dance once, in honor of the past?"
A seductive smile
spread across Marguerite's face. "And if the dance goes well?"
"Then we shall
see."
Alaric led Marguerite
out onto the dance floor and swept her up into his arms. He was quite aware
that everyone would take notice of their dancing together. Their shared past
was still vivid in many memories. Gossip was sure to follow, but he was
unconcerned. Talk had never fazed him. He allowed his gaze to wander over
Marguerite's dark curls and sweep the room. Rowena was still dancing with
Voxley, giving every impression of perfect contentment. His hand tightened
slightly on Marguerite's waist.
"Is something
wrong?" she asked.
Alaric looked down
into her blue eyes. "Not at all. You dance beautifully, as you always did."
Marguerite smiled. Tonight
might turn out to be quite a success.
Rowena continued to
smile up at Lord Voxley, but she was hard-pressed to maintain the pose. His
lordship's conversation consisted mostly of commonplaces, with a heavy emphasis
on his opinion of her beauty, a topic that tended to bore Rowena. She had
attempted once or twice to steer the conversation to more interesting subjects,
but he resolutely blocked her, always veering back to the delights of London in
the Season, his horses, and her own charming complexion. It was only the
knowledge that Lord Brayleigh might think she was not entertained that kept her
from losing her temper.
She looked over her
partner's shoulder and was astounded to see Lord Brayleigh leading Lady Bingham
out onto the floor. Only two days before his lordship had lectured her sternly
on Lady Bingham's evil character; now he was dancing with her and giving every
impression of enjoying himself greatly. She pasted a smile on her lips, and
looked up into Lord Voxley's face, conjuring a laugh for the very dull story he
had just finished. She would show Lord Brayleigh that he was not the only man
in London who could amuse her.
Lord Voxley was
rather perplexed by his partner. Lady Rowena, while far too pert and
independent for his tastes, was very lovely, and she seemed to respond readily
to his flattery. He had thought she would be far more difficult to charm and
had anticipated perhaps having to trick her, but she appeared to be ripe for
the plucking. It would not be difficult, he thought, to carry out Marguerite's
plan. Soon all London would be speaking of how Lady Rowena Arlingby had been
surprised in Lord Voxley's arms.
The music came to a
close, and the dancers stopped. Rowena, with a great sense of relief, began to
search the crowd for her aunt, hoping to make her escape. But Lord Voxley
retained his hold on her hand, and carried it gently to his lips.
"I do not wish
this pleasure to end," he murmured, his voice seductive. "Will you
share a glass of negus with me? Perhaps we could repair to the anteroom where
we might speak more privately."
Rowena eyes widened. Unless
she was much mistaken, Lord Voxley was suggesting something highly improper.
"Thank you, but
no," she said promptly. Not even to annoy Brayleigh would she go off alone
with Voxley. The thought was absurd. "My aunt will be looking for me."
Lord Voxley was
surprised by her refusal, and momentarily confused. The young lady he had been
dancing with, who had been so encouraging, now seemed anxious to run away. His
brows drew together.
"But surely your
aunt has other friends to entertain her," he said. "I have only just
begun to enjoy your company."
"A pity,"
said Rowena blithely. "Nonetheless, I must return to her. She worries when
she does not know where I am. I would not want to bring on a spasm."
Lord Voxley frowned. He
was not particularly quick-witted, but he knew when a young woman was
attempting to avoid him. Quite deliberately he moved a step closer.
"I am
heart-broken," he said in a low tone.
"Nonsense,"
said Rowena. "You are escorting Lady Bingham and will doubtless have a
very pleasant evening. I thank you for the dance."
She disentangled her
fingers from Lord Voxley's and moved away. There was a sudden noise of fabric
tearing, and she looked down with surprise to see that Lord Voxley had been
standing on the flounce of her gown. A good two inches of it were torn away
from the dress.
"Oh no,"
she said. "How distressing."
"You must
forgive me for my clumsiness," said Lord Voxley immediately. "I fear
I have ruined your gown."
Rowena sighed. "It
is nothing that cannot be mended. I believe I have some pins in my reticule
that will repair the damage. I will take care of it immediately."
"Allow me to
help you," begged Lord Voxley. "It is the least I can do for causing
you such annoyance. I am altogether too clumsy. I hope you do not think badly
of me." He took her elbow in his hand and steered her rapidly away from
the dancing, leading her along the wall of the room. "I believe I saw a
small chamber here where you might have some privacy."
Rowena allowed him to
lead her along, resigned. Lord Voxley seemed absurdly upset by his clumsiness;
it was an accident that could have happened to anyone. But if he wished to make
amends, she could hardly refuse him.
Lord Voxley quickly
led her to a small door that was covered by a curtain. Moving it aside, he
escorted Rowena into a small, dimly lit anteroom.
"Thank you,"
said Rowena. "I appreciate your concern. You may return to Lady Bingham
now; I have no further need of your help and she will surely be wondering what
has become of you."
Lord Voxley turned to
face her. "She is doubtless much occupied with Brayleigh," he said. "Perhaps
we can find some way to amuse ourselves in their absence."
A slight look of
alarm passed over Rowena's face. Lord Voxley had placed himself between her and
the door, and was looking at her with a definite leer on his face.
"Brayleigh is no
concern of mine," she said. "If you will not leave, I think that I
should. Please step aside, Lord Voxley."
"You have not
repaired your gown," said Lord Voxley gently.
"I believe I
need my aunt to help me. She is much more skilled than I am with this sort of
thing." Rowena eyed him nervously, wondering if there was room to move
around him to the door.
Lord Voxley stepped
towards her. Rowena retreated until she felt the edge of a couch pressing
against her knees.
"You are far too
lovely for me to allow you to leave without a kiss," said Lord Voxley. "Is
that so much to ask of you?"
Rowena felt vaguely
sick. Though she had kissed Lord Brayleigh with great abandon only two nights
before, the thought of Voxley touching her was repulsive. She looked about her,
but the couch prevented her moving backwards, and the room was small enough
that Voxley could easily reach her should she try to move around him.
"I do not find
your attempt at humor amusing, Lord Voxley. Please allow me to pass," she
said as firmly as she could. She felt ridiculous for having allowed him to
maneuver her into this situation.
"I am not being
humorous." Lord Voxley took a step nearer and placed his hands on her
shoulders.
Rowena shuddered. "Nor
are you being a gentleman, sir. It is unfair of you to force me."
"A young lady
who keeps company with a man of Lord Brayleigh's reputation can hardly be
expected to be thought virtuous," observed Lord Voxley. "I have a
mind to discover what it is he finds so fascinating about you."
"Lord Brayleigh
and I are merely friends," said Rowena desperately. "We are
attempting to solve a mystery together."
"There is no
mystery about why he finds you attractive." Lord Voxley grinned knowingly.
"I find myself tempted as well."
Rowena saw his head
lower toward hers, and she decided that further argument was useless. She began
to struggle, attempting to wrench herself from his grip.
Voxley gave a small
laugh and tightened his grasp on her shoulders. "I won't tell anyone, Lady
Rowena. Enjoy yourself. Surely you are curious to know if my kisses are as
enjoyable as Brayleigh's."
Rowena made an
exasperated noise and continued to fight. She would have liked to scream, but
being found in this position would be ruinous. She drew back her foot and kicked
him sharply in the shin, but her satin slippers did little damage.
"Does Brayleigh
like it when you pretend to resist him?" asked Lord Voxley. "I find
it most intriguing." His lips finished their descent, and Rowena twisted
her head so they fell on her cheek rather than her lips.
"Stop it,"
she said fiercely. "Let go of me. You're disgusting."
Lord Voxley laughed
softly. "We shall see how you feel in a little while," he murmured.
"I shall feel
exactly the same," said Rowena firmly. "Please, I beg of you to
behave yourself."
"You had best do
as the lady asks."
Rowena and Lord
Voxley both jumped at the sound of a deep masculine voice. Lord Voxley swung
about in surprise, releasing Rowena, and she stood on tiptoe to peer over his
shoulder. Lord Brayleigh stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the
space, a look of sardonic amusement on his face.
"Thank God,"
said Rowena. "You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you, my lord."
"I'm honored."
Alaric sketched a bow in Rowena's direction. "I thought perhaps I might be
disturbing those who wished to be left alone."
"Not at all,"
said Rowena, moving gingerly around Lord Voxley so as to avoid touching him. She
felt considerably relieved when she stood between the door and Lord Voxley,
although Lord Brayleigh now blocked her way, and she was not sure she liked the
gleam in his eye.
"I was assisting
Lady Rowena," said Lord Voxley abruptly. "She tore her gown and we
sought to repair it."
"I saw what you
were doing, Voxley," said Alaric acidly. "You should consider
yourself lucky that I am too aware of Lady Rowena's good name to call you out."
Lord Voxley turned
pale. Brayleigh was known throughout the
ton
as a crack shot.
"Nothing was
happening," he repeated. "Lady Rowena came in here willingly."
"And I wonder
how you managed that." Alaric gave him an appraising look. "I imagine
the torn dress was your fault."
"It certainly
was," interjected Rowena. "He quite clumsily stepped on it. And now,
if the two of you will cease to quarrel over me, we had best return to the
ballroom. We are certain to be missed."
Alaric gave her a
considering glance. "By all means. I believe it would be best if Voxley
returned to the ballroom."
He stepped aside and
allowed the deflated man to pass, but grasped Rowena's arm when she attempted
to follow him.
"Not so fast,"
he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think there is more for us to
discuss."
Rowena peeped
cautiously up at him. Alaric looked furious, and his grip on her arm was
painful.
"I cannot
imagine what you might wish to say, my lord." Her words were precise and
formal. "I have to thank you for rescuing me from an unfortunate
situation, of course, but I do not care to speak of it further."
Alaric allowed the
curtain to fall back over the door and turned back towards her, his fury
evident in his eyes. "You do not care to discuss it, perhaps, but I do. What
do you think you were doing to allow Voxley to drag you in here?"
"He tore the
flounce on my dress," Rowena stammered. She indicated the rip in her
skirt. "He brought me in here so that I could mend it."
"Have you no
more intelligence than that?" demanded Alaric. "If I had not been
watching you, something extremely unpleasant might have happened by now." He
fought down the urge to seize Rowena and shake her. She had come perilously
near to causing a scandal tonight. Although he was sure Lady Bingham had been
behind the entire matter, Rowena should have known better than to fall for
Voxley's transparent trap.
"I fail to see
what concern my behavior is of yours," Rowena said with as much dignity as
she could muster.
Alaric advanced on
her, much as Lord Voxley had done only minutes before. Once again Rowena
retreated, although this time a tiny tingle of anticipation shot down her
spine.
"It is very much
my concern. I believe I recently declared my intention of marrying you. The
Countess of Brayleigh must be above reproach."
"And why is
that? The Earl of Brayleigh certainly is not," retorted Rowena. "I
saw you dancing with Lady Bingham only moments ago. If you may dance with her,
I am sure that my acquaintance with Lord Voxley is harmless."
Alaric grinned. "That
rankled, did it? I thought it might."
Rowena gasped. A cold
sense of anger began to rise in her breast. "You danced with her to make
me jealous?"
"And your dance
with Voxley had nothing to do with me?" Alaric's voice was indulgent and
amused.
"Of course it
didn't," snapped Rowena, flushing slightly at the lie. How dare he look so
confident and smug? She had once again backed herself against the couch, and
she stood helplessly as he closed the space between them. He stopped only
inches from her, so close she could almost feel the heat of his body.
"You are a poor
liar," said Alaric softly. "I'm glad. I will be assured of you
telling me only the truth when we are married."
"I am not going
to marry you," said Rowena crossly.
"You certainly
are. If I did not mean to marry you, I would have left you in Voxley's
clutches, and a terrible scandal would be brewing even now. But as I have done
you this service, I think perhaps you should look at me with some gratitude."
"Naturally I am
grateful." Rowena peeped up at him through her lashes. "And now,
please allow me to return to the ballroom."