To Pleasure a Lady (15 page)

Arabella was as pleased with her sisters' ball gowns as she was with her own. Roslyn wore elegant white lace over deep rose silk that set off her fair delicacy, while Lily sparkled in gold-shot tissue over pale gold crepe that accented her vivid coloring. Dark-haired Tess looked just as lovely in lilac lustring, even though her gown was two Seasons old.

When Marcus complimented all the ladies on their appearance, however, Lily's lively good humor disappeared to be replaced by wary politeness as he escorted them out to his carriage.

During the drive, the conversation was amiable enough, with Tess and Marcus upholding most of the discussion. Roslyn was unusually quiet, Arabella noticed. And by the time the carriage drew up before the brightly lit Perry mansion, Arabella herself had developed an unexpected case of nerves. When she felt Tess squeeze her hand in sympathy, she gave her friend a grateful smile and then steeled her spine for the ordeal ahead.

She needn't have worried, Arabella quickly realized. The reception she and her sisters were given by their hosts and the other guests was beyond anything she could have hoped for—all because of Marcus. Judging by the excessive toadying and bowing and scraping the company did for his benefit, one would have thought the Prince Regent himself had appeared in their midst. What a difference his sponsorship made!

Lady Freemantle noticed also, and told Marcus so at the first opportunity, during a lull before the dancing began.

“ 'Tis commendable, the interest you are taking in your wards, Lord Danvers,” Winifred said, beaming at him in approval.

Standing beside him, Arabella saw Marcus acknowledge the praise with a slight bow. “It is only my duty, my lady.”

Winifred snorted. “A pity your predecessor didn't share your sentiments. If Lionel had put out the least bit of effort, his nieces would have had far easier a time of it. Maybe even weathered the scandals their mama and papa incited.”

“His neglect was criminal,” Marcus agreed. “But I shall do my best to rectify it.”

Winifred suddenly gave Arabella a sharp glance. “You should appreciate his lordship, my girl. Your success is now assured.”

Just then, Lady Freemantle was hailed by one of her cronies, and she turned away, leaving Arabella alone with Marcus, since her sisters and Tess had drifted off earlier to speak to some other guests.

“I agree, you should appreciate me,” Marcus said, amused.

Arabella couldn't help but smile. “Oh, I most certainly do…especially for my sisters' sake.”

“And what about your own?”

Her expression turned thoughtful as she considered his question. “I am indeed grateful, of course. But surprisingly, the prospect of being reestablished in this illustrious company”—she waved a hand at the crowded ballroom—“doesn't mean as much as I thought it would. I learned to live without the ton's approval for the past four years, and I suspect I can do without it in the future. But for Roslyn and Lily…I truly do thank you, Marcus.”

Their gazes locked for a long moment, before Arabella managed to tear hers away from his unexpectedly tender one.

“Will you honor me with the first set?” Marcus said, changing the subject.

She shook her head. “Thank you, but I planned to remain on the sidelines tonight with the widows and spinsters as usual. The teachers at the Freemantle Academy are expected to behave with proper decorum and to set a good example for our young ladies.”

It was Marcus's turn to shake his head. “It is not improper to dance with your guardian. And you aren't here tonight as a teacher. You are here as Miss Loring of Danvers Hall, the ward of an earl.” When Arabella hesitated, Marcus prodded her. “Come, admit it, you would enjoy dancing.”

“Well, yes…I would. But it should not be the first set. Lady Perry will be heartbroken if you don't lead her out, since you are the highest ranking guest of honor.”

“The first waltz, then.”

Again Arabella hesitated. She had never danced a waltz with anyone but the academy's dancing master. Once considered scandalous because of the couple's intimate embrace, the waltz had not been introduced from the Continent until two years after her betrothal ended. And the prospect of being held so closely in Marcus's arms worried her a little.

As if he could read her mind, Marcus raised a challenging eyebrow. “Are you being missish again, love? Surely you aren't afraid to waltz with me in public?”

Naturally Arabella couldn't resist his dare, as he doubtless intended. “Certainly I am not afraid. Very well, the first waltz. But I hope you will dance with my sisters as well.”

“Of course, I intend to.”

Arabella smiled sweetly. “Then as long as you are being so gallant, my lord…” From the sleeve of her glove, she drew out a small scrap of paper. “This is a list of our academy's pupils who will be attending tonight. Perhaps you will be so kind as to ask them also.”

Marcus took the list and scrutinized it with amusement. “A half dozen simpering young ladies. You are all damned heart, trying to palm me off on your pupils.”

Arabella's smile widened. “I am only thinking of their feelings. They will be thrilled to be singled out for your attention.”

There was a gleam of laughter in his eye. “You realize this hardly falls under the rules of ‘fair play.'”

She raised an eyebrow herself. “I seem to recall you have bent the rules more than once in your own favor, Marcus. And I do still have a wager to win, if you recall. Who knows? One of our young ladies might sweep you off your feet and convince you to abandon your courtship of me.”

Her teasing reply made him laugh. “Very well, vixen, as long as you recognize what lengths I'm willing to go to in order to curry your favor. But I will take you and your sisters into supper later.”

“Certainly. We would be honored.”

If Marcus was reluctant to dance with their hostess, Lady Perry, he gave no indication but soon went in search of her.

Arabella was about to take her usual place on the sidelines with the chaperones when Winifred sailed up to her with an elderly gentleman in tow, whom she introduced as a desirable dance partner. Thankfully, when the orchestra prepared to strike up the opening cotillion, Winifred abandoned her obvious attempts at matchmaking and instead sought out the card tables in the nearby parlor while Arabella took the floor with her partner.

After that she danced with four different gentlemen, and she was gratified that her sisters found suitable partners as well. Their popularity was a far cry from what they'd been accustomed to the past four years.

And then it came time for her waltz with Marcus. Arabella felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as he led her onto the floor and drew her into the proper stance—one hand clasping hers, the other pressed lightly at her waist.

Being held in his embrace was as unsettling as she expected, but her nerves melted a little when Marcus swept her into the lilting rhythm of the waltz.

“You are a remarkably good dancer,” Arabella praised him after a moment.

He smiled down at her. “I am gratified you think so. You are quite remarkable yourself.”

A warm flush washed over her, making her feel almost light-headed. For a long moment as their gazes held, the rest of the world faded away and only the two of them existed. Eventually, however, the music came to an end.

Arabella was oddly sorry when Marcus bowed to her and turned her over to yet another gentleman. And admittedly, every subsequent dance afterward seemed rather flat to her. Being with Marcus, she had felt almost…jubilant.

Then again, Arabella reminded herself, he had that effect on a good number of people, especially the female population. For the next hour, she watched Marcus work his charm on the company. He dutifully danced with every one of her pupils and awed their wealthy parents, much to her gratitude. Such rare attentiveness from an earl would highly benefit her academy, Arabella knew. But the female guests fawned all over him not simply because of his rank and stature but because he was so charismatic and compelling.

He secured a second dance each with Roslyn and Lily, also. It was interesting to watch her sisters' reactions toward Marcus. Roslyn treated him with thoughtful reserve, while Lily was unusually cool. Yet both clearly understood the extraordinary effort he was making on their behalf tonight, as did Arabella.

It had been something of a revelation for her earlier when Marcus had made her question her feelings about her newfound acceptance. The ton's approval was not so very important to her now, she was surprised to realize. She was supremely grateful for her sisters' sake, though. Particularly Roslyn.

After the virtual destruction of their lives four years ago, they each had responded differently: Arabella had become fiercely set on gaining independence. Lily had rebelled outright. And Roslyn had vowed to make her own fate rather than becoming some wealthy gentleman's mistress.

Roslyn's alluring beauty enchanted men of all types, and out of sheer self-defense, she'd become expert at warding off the pestering advances of unsuitable admirers. It warmed Arabella's heart, therefore, to see the legitimate attention her sister was receiving just now from one of their noble neighbors, Rayne Kenyon, the Earl of Haviland.

Lord Haviland was the black sheep of his family who had unexpectedly inherited the title earlier this year. His dark, dangerous looks were a perfect foil for Roslyn's delicate fairness. But despite the fact that they appeared opposites, Arabella suspected that Roslyn had developed a secret tendre for the earl. Her lovely cheeks were flushed now with animation as she conversed with him.

Arabella's delight in seeing her sister's happiness, however, abruptly faded when she recognized the fashionable young buck who had just sauntered up to Roslyn.

Despite his relative youth, Mr. Jasper Onslow was dangerous to any lady's reputation. A rake and a wastrel who urgently needed to marry a fortune, Onslow was one of the scoundrels who had propositioned Roslyn barely three months ago, offering to set her up as his mistress in a cozy love nest in London.

That he dared approach Roslyn now had Arabella bristling with anger and outrage. She had just started across the ballroom floor to intervene when Lord Haviland said something to Onslow that sent the blackguard packing. In response, Roslyn bestowed such a breathtaking smile of gratitude on his lordship that he went completely still, clearly captivated by her expression.

Halting her needless attempt at rescue, Arabella breathed a sigh of relief and muttered “Thank heavens” under her breath.

“Why are you so thankful?” Marcus asked curiously at her shoulder.

With a start, Arabella turned to glance up at him. “Oh, no particular reason,” she replied quickly, not wanting to trouble him further with her sisters' affairs.

But he evidently had seen some of the interchange involving Roslyn, for his perceptive gaze lingered on her thoughtfully before returning to Arabella. “You will let me know if she needs my help?”

At his kindness, Arabella felt her heart twist with an odd little ache. “I will, thank you. Fortunately, your assistance appears unnecessary at the moment.”

Marcus nodded, apparently willing to let the matter drop. “It is time for supper,” he said instead. “Shall we collect your sisters and proceed to the buffet?”

When he offered his arm, Arabella willingly took it.

The fare proved delicious, with expensive delicacies such as lobster patties and meringues that the Loring sisters rarely enjoyed. Lady Freemantle and Tess joined their table, so Marcus had five ladies on his hands. Arabella would have invited Lord Haviland to eat with them, except that he had already taken his leave of the ball. Roslyn's private smile, however, suggested that her evening had turned out better than she could have hoped.

Their party was surprisingly jovial, since Winifred kept them entertained with tales of her late husband and Marcus did likewise with stories about the sporting exploits he and the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne indulged in. By the time supper concluded, Arabella was feeling a pleasant little glow that had more to do with seeing her sisters genuinely happy for the first time in years than with the warmth of the night or the costly wine she had drunk.

When Marcus escorted her back to the ballroom, however, she came up short, for she had suddenly spied Jasper Onslow again. This time he was showering his attention on her most vexing pupil, Sybil Newstead. From all appearances, Sybil was flirting outrageously with him.

Quickly Arabella glanced around the ballroom, searching for the girl's chaperone, who was nowhere in sight.

Just then Sybil turned and slipped out the French doors that led to the terrace, with Onslow following behind her a moment later.

“Oh, my word,” Arabella muttered in dismay.

“What is wrong?” Marcus asked.

“Sybil has just disappeared outside alone with a gazetted rake. Her father will have an apoplectic fit if his precious child is allowed to become the target of a fortune hunter.”

She began moving toward the doors, but Marcus detained her with a hand on her arm. “So why is that your concern?”

She eyed him in exasperation. “If it happens while under our care, Mr. Newstead will blame us for negligence and will likely withdraw Sybil from the academy—and other parents could follow suit.” Arabella glanced impatiently at the French doors. “That irksome chit has very little sense, but I must save her from herself. I cannot let her ruin herself or our school's reputation.”

“Allow me to help.”

She hesitated. “Would you mind terribly?”

“If I minded, I would not have offered.”

“Very well then, I would appreciate your help.”

“Tell me what you know about this fortune hunter.”

As he took Arabella's arm and casually strolled toward the French doors, she related something of Jasper Onslow's background—how the young man had run up huge gaming debts in London and often rusticated here at his parents' country estate in order to escape his creditors.