The Devil Who Tamed Her (18 page)

M
ARY KNOCKED ON
O
PHELIA’S DOOR
, then opened it and poked her head around it. “Did you decide yet, dear?”

Ophelia was sitting at her short writing desk. She’d been staring off into space, deep in thought, rather than sifting through the pile of invitations that her mother had brought her as soon as she’d returned from her ride. Five of the invitations had come in just that morning. Word had spread quickly after the party last night that she was back in town, and quite a few hostesses wanted to take advantage of her popularity. Her presence tended to guarantee a party’s success.

She’d read a few of the invitations before getting distracted thinking about Rafe and had decided which one she wanted to accept. “I think Lady Wilcotts’s ball sounds like fun. I’ve been invited last minute. It’s tonight.”

“I’ll let your father know.”

“No, don’t. I’d rather you go with me. Would you mind terribly?”

“Not at all, dear. I was rather looking forward to attending some of these events with you this Season, but your father discouraged me from going before. He said I’d be too much of a distraction for him, that he needed to keep an eye on you.”

Ophelia kept her incredulous reaction to herself. How “kind” of him to make his not wanting his wife along sound like a compliment.

“I thought you simply didn’t want to go,” Ophelia said. “I know you prefer entertaining at home.”

“I just never had a good enough reason to get your father to attend any parties with me. He actually doesn’t like social gatherings—unless he’s the host.”

“I understand. Shall we not mention it to him then? You can leave him a note.”

Mary actually chuckled. “That’s an interesting thought. It probably won’t work without him throwing a tantrum about it later, but it might be worth it to spend an evening out, just the two of us. Goodness, I’m actually looking forward to this!”

Ophelia smiled after her mother left. She was looking forward to it now too. She hadn’t gone out with her mother since they went shopping on Bond Street before the Season began, and it had been months before that that they’d gone to the theater together.

There was another reason why a certain excitement built up within her that evening as Sadie helped her dress for the ball. It had nothing to do with how pretty she looked, though she fairly glowed in the powder blue ball gown. It was her favorite color, with good reason: it flattered her light blond hair, her fair complexion, and her blue eyes. She had quite a few gowns in the same shade, but with different trims. This one was trimmed in silver gilt cording. A thin silver chain with small sapphires circled her throat and made her blue eyes appear a shade darker.

But her eyes were filled with an excitement she could barely contain, because she had a feeling Rafe would be there tonight, which wasn’t realistic at all, because he wasn’t likely to pick such a grand affair if he was going out for the evening. He wasn’t wife-shopping, after all. And he’d mentioned to his aunt over dinner one night at the Nest that he was done with escorting Amanda to parties. So a gala ball was quite possibly the very last place that she might see him. And yet she had the feeling that he’d be at the Wilcottses’ tonight.

Because of that feeling, she watched for him constantly. Arriving at the Wilcott residence, she’d brought the large ballroom to silence with her entrance. She used to love doing that. She barely noticed it tonight, her attention on only one thing, trying to find Rafe in the crowd. As tall as he was, it only took a few moments to see that he wasn’t there—yet. But she was still sure that he’d show up.

“I can honestly say I wish you’d waited to return to London until after I was married.”

Ophelia turned around to find that Amanda Locke had followed her across the room. Rafe’s sister looked beautiful tonight in her finery, despite her annoyed expression. The necklace of rubies that went well with her pink ball gown was probably a family heirloom that she’d been allowed to use for her come-out. Ophelia might supposedly have been off visiting the Lockes, but she actually wished she’d been able to meet the rest of Rafe’s family.

“Hello, Amanda,” Ophelia said with a smile. “Did your brother come with you?”

“No,” Amanda mumbled. “I know he came home last night, but I didn’t search him out. As it happens, I’m still not talking to him.”

“Don’t be mad at him. A man likes to keep some things private. Surely you’ve kept a few secrets from him as well?”

“No—well, maybe,” Amanda replied with a slight blush, then grumbled, “Oh, very well, I see your point.”

“Good. And don’t be jealous of me, Amanda. If you’d like to tell me which man you’ve set your cap for, I’ll be sure to snub him most rudely.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Why not? You might find this hard to believe, but I really don’t want every man in town falling at my feet. That gets quite messy, you know. And besides, I can’t marry them all!”

Amanda gave her an odd look before she said, “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Certainly.”

“But it didn’t seem that way at the start of the Season when you
did
have them all piled up at your feet.”

“I encouraged that, but it was mostly for my father’s benefit. I was rubbing his nose in it, as it were, that I could have had any man in town and that he didn’t have to engage me to a man I hadn’t even met.”

Amanda winced. “I don’t know how you managed to get through that, well, before you met MacTavish and found out he wasn’t an ugly ogre. I would have been furious at my parents—and terrified.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to know I wasn’t unique in having those feelings.”

“Actually, you still weren’t happy with MacTavish even after you met him, were you?”

Ophelia shook her head. “I suppose some couples just aren’t suited to each other no matter what. Fortunately, we realized that before it was too late.”

It was only a small lie and not even her lie, so Ophelia didn’t feel bad saying it. Amazingly, she and Amanda talked for another twenty minutes. The gentlemen started interrupting, but mostly to sign their dance cards. And Amanda finally admitted that she hadn’t set her cap for any one man yet, that she was having too much difficulty making up her mind.

“I’m not sure I can advise you there, other than to wait for love to settle the matter for you. Rafe mentioned that you put a good deal of stock in love going hand in hand with happiness.”

“Yes, I probably chewed his ear off about it more’n once. Is that what you’re doing? Waiting for love?”

“My situation is a little different, I fear. Unless I can find a husband rather quickly, I’m afraid my father will intervene again and do the choosing for me.”

“That is so, so—antiquated!”

The girl was getting irritated on her behalf, and Ophelia didn’t doubt for a moment that she was sincere! She was incredulous. What an amazing difference it made to treat people kindly and have that kindness returned! Good God, had she gone through her entire life under a false set of assumptions, deliberately alienating people who might have become her friends?

“Oh, my, how pleasant!” Amanda said, suddenly glancing behind Ophelia. “Sabrina has come to town. Shall we go greet her?”

Ophelia turned to see the Lamberts, aunts and niece, stepping into the ballroom. She barely recognized Sabrina she looked so lovely tonight, and she wasn’t even wearing a ball gown, merely a sedate pale green evening gown. But she shone nonetheless. The little brown-haired wren from Yorkshire had turned into a butterfly. Did love do that?

But Ophelia started to feel distinctly uncomfortable as she followed Amanda across the room. Rafe had made her see just how shabbily she’d treated the girl. Jealousy was no excuse. And a tight sensation of regret was forming in her chest. By the time they reached Sabrina, Ophelia was nearly in tears! Good God, she wasn’t going to cry in the middle of a ballroom, was she?

She held back while Amanda made her greetings. Sabrina had been smiling while she said a few words to Rafe’s sister, but her smile faltered when she glanced at Ophelia. Mary had shown up to greet Sabrina’s aunts, who were her old friends as well, distracting Amanda for a moment.

Ophelia took that opportunity to hug Sabrina and whisper by her ear, “I took advantage of your kindness. I’m sorry—” the tears did start! “Sorry for that. But mostly I’m sorry for lying to you about Duncan. I assumed so many things that weren’t true, and I was so jealous of you, more than once. I just wanted you to know I regret all of it.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Mortified that tears were running down her cheeks, she quickly left the room before anyone noticed.

“W
HAT ARE YOU SCOWLING ABOOT
, lass?” Duncan asked as he finally entered the ballroom and came up beside his fiancée. “Still annoyed wi’ me for dragging you here when you didna have a ball gown tae wear?”

Sabrina leaned up to pat his cheek. “No, I’m never annoyed with you. It was Ophelia. She just apologized to me for lying about you before, but I know she didn’t mean it, so why did she bother?”

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Perhaps she’s wanting Rafe tae win the bet?”

“Ah, yes, that bet you mentioned, of course!” Sabrina agreed, but then her frown deepened. “No, she’d never demean herself to help someone else. That just isn’t
her
.”

“Then why did you doubt her sincerity?”

“Because she said she’d been jealous of me.”

“And?”

“Isn’t that enough? How could
she
be jealous of
me
?”

Duncan started to laugh. “Verra easily, Brina. You dinna ken how wonderful you are? Besides, there’s nae rhyme or reason tae jealousy. Just because she’s so bluidy beautiful doesna mean she has nae doubts or insecurities o’ her own.”

“You’re sticking up for her?” Sabrina asked incredulously.

“Nae, I’m just wondering if Rafe was right and she really did turn o’er a new leaf.”

“So he thinks he’s won the bet?”

“Aye, and I’m here tae see for m’self if that’s so. So where is she?”

Sabrina’s expression turned thoughtful now. “She
did
sound a bit emotional. I assumed it was theatrics. She’s good at that. But I suppose she could have left the room to compose herself—in either case.”

Raphael and Duncan had gotten detained in the hall by an old friend of Raphael’s father’s. Duncan had managed to slip away sooner to enter the ballroom, but Raphael couldn’t manage a polite way to extricate himself from the conversation for nearly ten minutes. So when he did finally step inside the ballroom he had to do some searching to locate his friends. He didn’t even realize he was looking for a blond head as well.

But a hush fell on the room. He’d forgotten that his presence might cause a stir, since he hadn’t been to a London ball in several years. He was immediately set upon by more acquaintances who hadn’t seen him since his return to England and wanted to welcome him back. And—bloody hell, the mamas again.

When he saw two grand dames staunchly stomping their way toward him, dragging their daughters behind them, he thought about making a hasty retreat, all the way home. But he managed to persevere, put on his most aloof demeanor for their benefit, and declined to dance when they tried to thrust that on him too. He was about to become quite rude when his sister rescued him, pulling him away without a by-your-leave—only Amanda could get away with that, as flighty and overexuberant as she sometimes pretended to be.

She dragged him all the way to the refreshment table, where row after row of glasses were lined up and kept filled with an assortment of beverages, from champagne to weak tea, with a servant on duty to replace the glasses as needed. Raphael took a glass of the champagne. Amanda knew better than to do the same, at least with him watching, and picked up a glass from the other end of the table that would contain no alcohol.

“You could have told me you were coming,” she complained as she took a sip from her glass. “Then I wouldn’t have had to drag Aunt Julie here, when she didn’t really want to come. And before I forget, I was talking to Ophelia earlier. You’re not going to believe this, but she was actually nice to me! Nearly bowled me—oh, never mind, I forgot I’m still not talking to
you
.”

She flounced off, leaving Raphael chuckling. He could almost pity the man his sister settled on. The poor chap would never have a moment’s peace.

He did finally spot Duncan and Sabrina, but merely as they twirled past him on the dance floor. But he had no trouble at all catching sight of Ophelia as she tried to slip unnoticed back into the room. She was like a magnet for his eyes, and as usual her beauty simply took his breath away.

Her powder blue ball gown edged in silver cording would have been appropriate when she was the ice queen, but there was nothing icy about her now. She used to move with an unmistakable haughtiness, which was also missing. Actually, her confidence seemed to be gone.

He went cold at the thought. What had he done? If he’d turned her into a timid little mouse, he might just shoot himself.

He started toward her immediately. He had to hurry. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a half dozen other men heading her way as well. Damned if it didn’t feel like a race by the time he reached her! He won, but only by a hair, and because the others were about to converge upon Ophelia, he simply took her hand and pulled her along to the dance floor.

Halfway there he thought to ask, “A dance, m’dear?”

“I’d love to,” she replied. “Though if we get interrupted, it will be because I’ve already promised this dance to someone else.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He whisked her onto the floor.

The moment he placed both hands on her for the waltz, he was beset with an odd sort of possessiveness. Which was ridiculous. He might have had a hand in changing her, or taming the shrew as it were, but she was not his creation. He’d merely helped her to bring out the better qualities she’d already possessed that had been lying dormant.

But there were different types of possessiveness, and he didn’t even want to think of the more common form, which had no place in his sphere of emotions. He couldn’t deny, though, that he was missing having her to himself in the relaxed atmosphere of the Nest. Extremely so. In a setting such as this or any other public event, he couldn’t spend much time alone with her. One dance at the most tonight to keep the tongues from wagging. And yet he wanted to spend more time with her, to see her laugh again, to enjoy her spontaneous wit.

He’d let her go too soon, but he’d had to. He’d been spending all his time thinking about bedding her instead of finishing what they’d started. Thankfully they had finished. But while he couldn’t monopolize her time anymore, he’d convinced himself that he did need to keep an eye on her, and now he wanted to make sure he hadn’t pushed her demeanor too far in the opposite direction.

She was fine when she was with him, or she seemed to be. Was that merely because she felt relaxed with him after everything they had shared? Did she feel they were friends of a sort now? But he’d yet to see how she behaved with others. And that cowed, embarrassed look she’d worn as she reentered the ballroom worried him.

“It’s difficult to touch you without tasting you.” Good God, did he say that aloud? He must have. She was blushing now.

He quickly added, “No, don’t blush. You’re too damn beautiful when you do that.” Her blush darkened. “Much better,” he said with a grin. “Splotches really do become you. I’ve thought that more’n once.”

She laughed. “You’re a terrible tease.”

“No, I’m a
good
tease. Unparalleled, if you must know. Quite the best tease in London.”

“Oh, stop!”

“Feeling better?”

She glanced at him curiously. “I wasn’t aware I was feeling bad.”

He shrugged. “You seemed not quite yourself when you just came in.”

“Oh, that. I spoke to Sabrina. It was a little disturbing is all.”

“It went badly?”

“Well, no, if you
must
know, I apologized to her.”

“Not for my benefit I hope.”

“No, actually, I feel quite good about it, almost as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I’d probably feel even better if she’d forgiven me.”

He frowned, hearing that. “She didn’t? That doesn’t sound like her.”

“No, you misunderstand. She might have, I just didn’t stay to find out if she would or not. I’m afraid I got a little—embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed, eh?” he said with a knowing look. “It’s all right to admit you cried, you know.”

“Don’t assume—”

“Don’t start lying again,” he interrupted in a light, if scolding, tone.

“Oh, shut up. If I want to call crying by another name I will—or do you want to see me blush again?”

He choked out a laugh. “By all means, call it anything you want.”