Twice the Temptation (9 page)

Lest Catherine ever forget that with her friends, she was as transparent as glass, remarks like that were delivered to remind her.

“It would appear so would it not?” Catherine generously conceded. She had fooled no one when she’d claimed she no longer cared for him. “But that isn’t the whole of it. I—”

“Olivia, you won’t find a dance partner hidden away over here.”

Catherine lifted her gaze, and there behind Meghan stood Olivia’s brother. Formally attired in a black evening coat, a cream-and-gold embroidered waistcoat, and black trousers, the Earl of Granville looked impossibly dashing.

Meghan’s head shot up at the sound of his voice, her expression going from animated to somber in an instant. She turned to face him in a move like that of a swan’s transition from stillness to motion.

“Rhys, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the city?” Olivia beamed up at her brother, her affection evident.

A half-smile curved the earl’s mouth. “Is that to say, you have no desire to have me home?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.”

“Good evening, Miss Rutherford,” he said with a nod in her direction. “You look stunning as usual.”

Catherine dipped into a small curtsey, her face warming at the compliment. A woman couldn’t help but respond to the earl’s charm. His tall, leanly muscled build, handsome visage, and roguish smile caused many pulses to flutter and the occasional cessation of breath.

“Thank you, my lord,” Catherine replied graciously.

His gaze then shifted to Meghan, who watched him, her lips unusually tight. “Lady Meghan.”

“Lord Granville.” Meghan’s greeting was clipped and cool.

In the ensuing silence, while the two regarded each other, tension settled in, so oppressive it seemed to force the oxygen from the air.

Her friend wore a turquoise, satin gown, the bodice cut low off the shoulder with a row of ribbons as shoulder straps leaving the majority of the flesh above the tops of her breasts bare. To Meghan, who was undeniably the most beautiful woman at the event, he uttered not one complimentary word, merely flicking his gaze over her person while his expression gave nothing of his thoughts away.

Without uttering another word, and in a manner not at all befitting his character, Lord Granville returned his attention to his sister. Meghan had been dismissed.

“As I said, Olivia, you won’t find a husband hidden away in the corner. I advise you to mingle.”

Before his sister could respond to his statement, he dropped at the waist in a formal bow. “Good evening, ladies.” With that, he turned and walked away, his stride unhurried and confident.

Once he was out of earshot, Catherine touched Meghan’s arm, which was encased in a turquoise silk glove up to her elbow. “I didn’t know it was that bad. I’ve seen sworn enemies treat each other more cordially.”

When Meghan turned back around, her features were composed. “We were perfectly polite,” she said mildly. “I thought it went rather well.”

“Precisely what occurred between you and Lord Granville? I can’t imagine he tried to force himself upon you,” Catherine said in jest. It wasn’t in Meghan to treat anyone unkindly. She had a smile for everyone, even those she found the most trying. And gentlemen had long been the recipients of her generous smiles and her flirtatious ways.

“Neither of them will talk about it,” Olivia remarked. “I no longer ask.”

Meghan fixed a bright smile on her beautiful face. “’Tis nothing. Nothing,” she said, her tone airy and unconcerned. “Come, let us move on to a more interesting subject.”

Suddenly Olivia stilled, her gaze directed toward the entrance of the ballroom. “It appears Lord Billings has arrived,” she announced softly.

His arrival was expected, but Catherine swallowed hard anyway. She shot a glance over her shoulder, her heart giving an anxious thump at the sight of the viscount milling by a group of men in front of one of the large Greek paintings that covered much of the acreage of the walls. Inhaling a breath, she then attempted to exhale her anxiety. It was always like this, the way an actor might feel before taking center stage, terrified they would forget their lines, thus reminding the audience none of it was real.

“As you’ve already refused the man before, you must handle him differently than the others. He’ll suspect something if you show too much interest,” Olivia continued, her expression impassive as she looked over at him again.

Catherine nodded, well aware the baron would require a different touch. She needn’t act so much the coquette, she merely needed to give him reason to hope.

Moments later, he turned and began scouring the ballroom as if in search of someone. Their gazes locked over the top of Lord Tissell’s balding head and Catherine held his long enough to encourage, but not so long that an observer could ever accuse her of staring. With a demure sweep of her lashes, she looked away.

“Perfect. He is coming this way.” Meghan snapped her fan closed with the flick of her wrist. “I am to meet Miss Fairchild in the refreshment room in exactly five minutes. You can remain here as this area is private enough. We will be there.” She waved her hand toward an arched alcove off the adjacent hallway. The space could more than adequately fit two women and their billowing skirts despite the presence of a side table and a decorous chair.

A glance beyond Catherine’s shoulder had Olivia’s eyes narrowing. “Come, let’s go quickly, Meghan. Lord Blakely looks like he’s in search of a dance partner and I, for one, have no desire to have my toes tread upon tonight.”

In the span of seconds, her friends vanished from sight like two gazelles running from an amiable lion with two left feet. Lord Blakely halted briefly to turn and stare at their retreating backs, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Swiftly he changed course, resuming his pursuit with hurried strides.

Catherine couldn’t help but chuckle. Olivia would have her hands full tonight. She, on the other hand, must act as bait to the man who courted her in vain.

From her peripheral—for she couldn’t very well acknowledge that she was observing his approach—she watched as he weaved his way toward her. In the time it took him to reach her side, she accessed him with a critical eye wondering what it was about the baron that left her so unmoved.

Slender and of average height, he wore his sandy brown hair short. Some might call him handsome—although, not on the level of Lucas or Lord Granville. Indeed, save his lack of funds, he would be considered a fine catch.

“Miss Rutherford.” He gave a tentative smile, appearing uncertain of his reception. She, with her veiled look and half smile had given him reason to hope. He was failing the test and she’d barely begun.

“Lord Billings, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

His eyes widened at her lie. “Miss a ball hosted by the Halfords? I think not.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

“I only meant that when I heard of your recent betrothal, I thought perhaps…” She deliberately let the sentence trail off.

A flush crested the top of his cheekbones. “Engaged? Where, pray tell did you hear that?” His hand rose to adjust his cravat in a move so patently self-conscious, Catherine had to bite her inner cheek to quell a smile.

“If I told you my source, I fear I’d never hear another tidbit of gossip ever again.”

When Lord Billings stepped closer, it occurred to her perhaps they shouldn’t have picked a spot so tucked away from the crush.

“The truth is I am not officially betrothed. Miss Fairchild and I are—” his brow furrowed as if searching for the best way to phrase it “—becoming acquainted.”

“From all accounts, I’ve heard she’s a lovely girl. Surely you’ll suit?” Suddenly, Catherine forgot the role she’d come to play, the sincerity of her words quite genuine. She’d come to the ball that evening expecting him to fail, especially given their history. But somewhere deep inside her, she’d hoped—prayed that he would not.

The next step he took toward her seemed impetuous, as if he couldn’t help himself. Instinctively, Catherine retreated. She needn’t allow him to get
that
close. There might be no one in their immediate earshot but they could still be observed.

He gazed down upon her with adoration in his eyes. “You need only say the word, Miss Rutherford.”

Don’t.
That was the only word she wanted to say. But the whole situation was hopeless.

Meghan and Miss Fairchild should be in place. At least she prayed they were, for she wanted this over. “What word, my lord?” Normally, her voice would have held a teasing lilt, but given the circumstances, it would be too cruel to raise his hopes any further.

Lord Billings’ adoration swiftly changed to lust, the question apparently as encouraging as if she’d lifted her skirts to give him a glimpse of her ankles. “Say yes.”

“Miss Rutherford.”

Catherine stilled for a moment. She would have recognized that voice in a windstorm. She spun so quickly in the direction of the voice, she nearly fell over.

Lucas.

His stare held the warmth of a glacier.

No, colder.

“I’d intended to perform the introductions when I introduced you to my sisters, but it appears you’re already acquainted with Lord Billings, the man to whom my sister will soon become engaged.”

C
HAPTER
S
IX

L
ucas’s statement hung in the air like the silence that followed.

Catherine was too busy trying to process the position in which she’d found herself. The problem was the puzzle pieces—Lord Billings, Lucas’s sister, engagement—were an unnatural fit.

The baron was the first to break the silence, his voice a study in shock and guilt. “Er, Mr. Beaumont, Miss Fairchild.” He acknowledged the younger woman with a brief bow.

Miss Fairchild?

It was only then Catherine directed her attention to the young lady at Lucas’s side. Miss Fairchild was with Lucas? Miss Fairchild was Lucas’s sister? Lucas’s sister was to marry Lord Billings? Comprehension dawned slowly and painfully.

And where were Meghan and Olivia?

“Billings, I wasn’t aware you were so well acquainted with Miss Rutherford.” No one could mistake the hard note in Lucas’s voice for anything other than tempered anger.

Lord Billings gaze darted uneasily between Lucas and Miss Fairchild. “Miss Rutherford and I are friends.” The final word was barely audible.

Lucas’s jaw tightened. Catherine dearly wished she’d thought to bring a fan as she could use something to occupy her hands.

“Lucas, are you not going to see to the introductions?” his sister chided with a click of her tongue.

Miss Fairchild’s face possessed the fresh, gamine quality of a girl who hadn’t yet passed her twentieth year. Catherine wagered she was eighteen if she was a day. And her delicate features, blonde hair, and slight build bore no resemblance to Lucas.

How could this lovely creature be his sister?

“Pardon my manners. Caroline, this is Miss Rutherford. Miss Rutherford, I’d like you to meet my sister.”

“But you haven’t the same surname.” Catherine didn’t mean it to sound like a protest but it did.

“Caroline is my half-sister. We have the same mother.” The wintery freeze hadn’t left his eyes or his voice.

As though she was trying to make up for her brother’s obvious disapproval, Miss Fairchild chimed in, “We don’t look a thing alike, do we? Hardly any of us do. You, however, look exactly like Charlotte. When my brother informed us Charlotte had a twin, I couldn’t have imagined the resemblance would be so strong.”

Catherine could only remember him mentioning two younger sisters and a brother. Were there more? And sisters, she’d thought by the way he’d spoken of them, who were younger than the woman standing before her.

“There are four of us in all,” his sister added, supplying the answer to her unspoken question.

Well at least her count was accurate. “Miss Fairchild, please excuse my abysmal manners. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. I’m just surprised is all. I had no idea that
you
were a relation of Mr. Beaumont.”

Only she and Miss Fairchild understood what that meant.

“Lord Billings, would you please take my sister back to the ball. I’d like a word with Miss Rutherford.” His voice was tight with impatience.

The baron had Lucas at an advantage in title and rank, but when Lucas spoke, his mien was that of a man who gave orders with every expectation they be followed to the letter.

Quick to obey, Lord Billings proffered his arm to Miss Fairchild, which she was slow to accept. But after a quick glance up at her brother, she smiled, took the baron’s arm and allowed him to lead her back into the ballroom. Catherine watched them until they became lost in a sea of similarly garbed guests, ever conscious of the enveloping silence and Lucas’s glower.

“May I ask what you were doing out here alone with Lord Billings?” He spoke quietly, which made the underlying fury in his voice all the more potent.

Catherine swallowed. “Nothing. Nothing. He came upon me as I was going outside to take some air.” Here, of course, the truth would never do. She sensed Lucas would neither understand nor condone the activities in which she and her friends were engaged. Not many gentlemen would.