The Rebel Heir (16 page)

“Lady Evangeline.” Ash's deep male voice wrapped around her, sending her heart into a stampede of wild beats.

“Lord Crosby,” she returned with a small curtsy.

“Will you excuse me, gentlemen?” Ash asked, not taking his eyes from her. “I'm quite certain I've missed a dance with Lady Evangeline.”

“You shouldn't let the lovely ones wait too long, Crosby,” an older gentleman teased Ash as he passed by.

“My thoughts exactly.” He pulled his gaze from her and turned to the gentleman with a grin. “I knew you were among the most intelligent here, Lord Randmore. When I return, we'll set a plan for how to spend all the money I'm going to help you earn.”

“A visionary, he is,” the older man told the group of gentlemen as they walked away.

“A visionary,” she repeated, as Ash led her onto the floor just as a waltz began to play.

His eyes narrowed on her with a teasing glint that made her all the more aware of how close one had to stand to waltz. “It's much nicer than the description you would use, I take it?”

“No, only different,” she said as she laid one hand on his shoulder and placed the other within his grasp.

“Now I have to ask what word you would use to describe me,” he said, pulling her a fraction closer as he guided her in the first few steps of the waltz, just as he had in her father's library that day. “Wait. I don't think I want to know your answer. Not in such a public place anyway.”

Did he think her so scandalous that anything she had to say would be shocking?
He
was scandalous, not her.

Though now that she was considering it, this entire dance was scandalous. Or perhaps it was simply her dance partner who made it seem so. She'd never thought the waltz shameful like some of the older matrons of the
ton
believed, but tonight, in his arms, she could see their point. Even in the brightly lit ballroom with plenty of watchful eyes upon them, dancing with Ash was thrilling. “Do I seem the type to have such wicked thoughts that they shouldn't be uttered in public?”

“After I caught you staring at my breeches at the last ball?” he asked. “It seems likely that your thoughts are less than appropriate, my lady.” He said the last bit with a raised brow and a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I was not…” Her voice trailed off as the heat of a blush filled her cheeks. She couldn't lie to him. She blamed Isabelle entirely for this. Ranking gentlemen's bums had been her idea. Evangeline had to put order back into this exchange at once. “
Dangerous
. That's how I would describe you.”

“Lord Crosby, a dangerous visionary,” he mused. “Sounds rather nice, I think.”

“I suppose so, if you're considering setting up a shop with a shingle in the front window.”

“No,” he blurted out, a shadow of worry crossing his face for a moment. “No shops and no windows.
They're
a bit too dangerous.”

“Too sedentary for a gentleman on the move?”

“Perhaps,” he answered. A bar of music played before he spoke again, the trouble seemingly set aside for now. “You look delicious this evening, by the way.”

“Do I?” What an odd compliment. She didn't think a gentleman had ever called her
delicious
that she could recall.

“Mmm, droplets of maple covering vanilla.” He flicked his gaze down to the embroidery on the cap sleeve of her gown. “Have you not noticed?”

“It's the warm shade of silk that was selected to complement my hair.”

“And that it does. It also makes you look like a dish of maple ice.” He leaned close to whisper, “You'll pardon me if I have a lick, won't you? I haven't eaten a bite since this morning and I'm starved.”

Her eyes grew wide with shock. “I'm quite sure Lady Dansbury wouldn't approve of any licking at one of her events.”

“Did you think I meant you?” he asked as he guided her around a corner of the ballroom. “Licking you is clearly out of the question at such a lofty ball as this one. No, your gown is giving me cravings for maple-flavored ice. Of course, I'm sure gnawed holes in your skirts would give the wrong impression as well.”

A loud laugh burst from her as if begging for freedom. She pressed her lips together in an effort to suppress any further outbursts.

His amusement deepened at her terribly public show. “The solution is obvious. You should remove your gown for my dining enjoyment and thereby avoid all social embarrassment. It works for everyone, really.”

Evangeline released an unladylike cackle as he twirled her around the floor.

“Meet me tomorrow for ices,” he said once she'd stopped laughing. “I find I have a craving that can't be satisfied here on a ballroom floor.”

She'd never heard anyone talk of ices as a craving to be satisfied. “You make ice from Gunter's sound rather scandalous.”

“I am dangerous, as you say.” He grinned. “Bring a chaperone, if you must.”

“I suppose ice in the park is a better option than stripping me of my gown to dine on fabric.”

“If you knew how famished I am, you wouldn't think so.”

“You should have a bit of something before these events. One never knows the state of the refreshments being served.” Of course, she was never allowed a morsel at a ball. Mother didn't think the sight of a lady eating was appealing to gentlemen, not to mention the time it took away from the ballroom.

“I hadn't time tonight. There was a bit of an…issue at my residence.” The shadow of worry returned to his eyes for a moment.

“Oh?”

“Nothing of concern,” he muttered, but there was something about the tightness of his jaw that negated his words.

The dance ended too soon, without a count of smiles or lingering touches to calculate its length. She needed to let him go. If they remained staring at each other on the floor much longer, there would be talk. She tried to lower her hand from his but met a moment's resistance before her hand fell to her side, gloveless.

She looked down in surprise at her bare hand before hiding it in the folds of her gown that fell over her hip. “How did you do that?”

“Tricks of the trade, I'm afraid. It's the risk one takes when dancing with a dangerous gentleman—losing one's glove.”

“Ash, give it back,” she whispered, looking back up at him only to see an amused gleam in his eye.

“Lady Rightworth,” he said, turning to greet her mother only a few paces away.

“Evangeline,” her mother commanded. “Lord Winfield is waiting to lead you onto the floor.” Her eyes darted to Ash before landing back on Evangeline with poorly concealed anger. “Priorities, darling.”

“I must go. Thank you for the dance, Lord Crosby,” Evangeline said with a raised brow—leaving the
Give back my glove
unspoken between them.

“The pleasure was mine.” He nodded to her and her mother, the dratted picture of gentlemanly behavior, if not for the lady's glove he held in his hand.

“I'm going to walk away now to join my next dance partner,” Evangeline stated, flaring her eyes in his direction but saying nothing of her stolen garment in front of her mother.

“Of course you are,” her mother responded. “Lord Crosby knows the way of things. Don't you, my lord?”

“I do,” he said with a wide grin.

“Do you indeed?” Evangeline asked, eyeing the glove he still held captive in his grasp.

“Evangeline, are you questioning a titled gentleman?” her mother accused with a false, simpering laugh. “I'm sure he's well-schooled in social protocol,
as are you
.”

“I only wonder at his knowledge of specific items that concern ladies more than gentlemen. Fashion, for instance.”

“I have a good
grasp
on such things, my lady. Although, I do wonder at the use of a fan. Tell me, Lady Rightworth, is it truly for the use of cooling one's person, or is it simply something to keep close by with which to injure gentlemen's arms?”

“Your arms look no worse for wear to me, my lord,” her mother stated. “Lord Winfield's, on the other hand, are quite empty.” She looked around to find the other lord, turning her back on them for a moment.

“Yes, your arms look quite fine, my lord,” Evangeline said as she lunged for her glove.

Ash pulled it from her grasp, a look of mock shock on his face. “I'm glad you noticed.”

She shoved him in the chest and reached for the dratted glove, only to have him wave it in her face. She grasped at the length of fabric but Ash was faster than she was, leaving her flapping her arms about behind her mother's back in a crazed attempt at retrieving her stolen property. As their silent battle continued, Evangeline could only hope no one was looking in her direction to witness it.

In the next second, Ash dropped his arm to his side and pasted a pleasant look on his face. Dropping her arms with a huff, Evangeline looked around just as her mother turned back to them.

“Come along, Evangeline. I believe I spy Lord Winfield across the room. We must hurry—that Roselyn Grey is near him.” Her disdain was evident in the manner in which she spoke Evangeline's friend's name. “It wouldn't do for him to lose interest in you in favor of such a…lady. Good day, Lord Crosby.”

The second her mother's back was turned once more, Evangeline dove at Ash's hand. Her fingers tangled with his long enough for her to look up and meet his laughing gaze. With a squeeze of her fingers, he handed the glove back to her.

“Tomorrow. Scandalous ices in the sunshine,” he confirmed.

“I have no doubt of the scandalous part,” she muttered, stuffing her fingers back into her glove.

“You called me dangerous,” he explained. “I have a reputation to keep up now.”

She pulled her glove on properly and raised her chin in defiance. “I should have left you thinking yourself the visionary.”

“I prefer your definition,” he said as she turned to walk away.

Five smiles and a lingering arm touch later, she was back at the side of the ballroom. Everything about Lord Winfield was respectable and true. He was everything she could hope for in a husband, even if he did drown himself in cologne before every ball. He was not a bad man, nor—as Isabelle had pointed out—was he an unattractive one. He would provide a comfortable life for her away from her mother. He seemed quite pleased with her—well, pleased with her looks, at any rate. He seemed to be seeking something to show about town on his arm, much like one would a new bracelet. She would be his shining jewel. As long as she continued to glitter, it would be a fine life. It was all she should hope for.

Why then did her attention wander back to Ash when she danced with Lord Winfield? The steps had been similar in nature, the placement of his hand against hers quite comparable, yet her dance with Winfield hadn't seemed scandalous in the least. And Lord Winfield didn't find it amusing to steal her clothing. She smiled. Unfortunately she'd found it just as amusing as Ash had, blast her wicked heart.

She watched Roselyn as she waltzed about the room with a most unlikely dance partner. Since Ash had disappeared with the group of gentlemen he'd been speaking with earlier, Evangeline was left to her own thoughts until the next dance. This was the point in the evening at which Victoria would usually say something inappropriate, but Evangeline was left to ponder Roselyn's waltz alone.

Her friend was dancing with the new Lord Ayton, younger brother to her former fiancé. General concern for her well-being could be what kept his gaze on her friend, but Evangeline didn't think that was the case. Perhaps she had been wrong to worry over the destruction of Roselyn's first season. Her friend seemed to have a better handle on things than Evangeline did at the moment. Glancing around once more for Isabelle and Victoria—even though it was now too late in the evening for them to arrive—she wondered what had happened to keep them away. Someone must have grown ill late in the day. She would send a note in the morning before she met Ash for ices.

“The flames nearly took them both,” a lady said to her mother loud enough to gain Evangeline's attention.

Flames? Had someone had a house fire? Fires in the kitchen were terrible things, especially in a place like London where the homes were so close together. The poor family they must be discussing would have lost everything. Evangeline turned around, listening to the talk she usually ignored.

“I heard he carried the girl out of the shop only minutes before she would have expired from the smoke. Quite heroic,” the woman finished, fanning herself.

“Really?” another lady leaned in to say. “Lady Smeltings said she was pressed to his body in a most scandalous manner.”

“My, my. I do wonder if the truth will ever be known,” another lady commented.

“I knew those girls to be trouble when they first claimed to be relations,” her mother announced. “Second cousins, you know…quite distant.”

Fear coiled deep in Evangeline's stomach at her mother's words. It couldn't be. But Victoria and Isabelle weren't here tonight as they had planned to be, that much was true. “Mother, has something happened to Victoria and Isabelle?” Evangeline asked. “Is that why they aren't here tonight?”

“Haven't you heard?” one of the other ladies asked, clearly excited to be part of the talk of the evening. “There was a fire on Bond Street. Your cousin Victoria was in the blaze. And she was rescued by Mr. Brice.”

Her mother shifted at her side at the mention of their family relationship, but Evangeline ignored her.

“Mr. Brice? What was Victoria doing with Mr. Brice?” Isabelle was the one who spoke of no one else. She'd been in love with the man as long as Evangeline had known her. It made no sense.

“That is what everyone is wondering. What
was
she doing alone with Mr. Brice?” one of the ladies asked, causing a round of tittering to vibrate through the group.