It really is too bad Mr. Nesbitt had to miss the ball,” Lady Tesh lamented for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.
Peter closed his eyes and fought the urge to curse. Though whether it was from Lady Tesh’s reminder, or the sight of Lenora twirling about on that popinjay Redburn’s arm—or even from the ridiculously snug evening clothes that he continued to abhor—he wasn’t certain. For the first time in his life, he wanted to drown himself in drink, to muddle his brain with all manner of alcohol. And of course, in the Isle of Synne’s luxurious assembly rooms, there was not a drop to be had.
Quincy would have known where to get the stuff. Hell, he would have secreted a flask of it in his tails.
For a single, glorious moment, the hurt that had sat on Peter’s shoulders since that afternoon lifted and he felt his lips curving into a smile. In the next instant, however, he remembered the violent argument, the one he wasn’t sure he and Quincy could come back from. He closed his fingers into a fist, the burst of pain in his damaged knuckles an even more potent reminder of what he had lost.
Lady Tesh, oblivious to his distress, cheerfully added to it. “My, but Lenora and Lord Redburn look well together. I have never seen a couple so well matched.”
“Except he’s a pompous arse who doesn’t deserve her,” Peter muttered before he could think better of it.
“What was that, Peter?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.” He grabbed at his cravat, yanking hard at it, and cast a desperate look around the vast room. “Isn’t it time to leave yet?”
The viscountess laughed. “My boy, we’ve been here less than an hour. Would you take the ladies away from such merriment before the evening has even begun?”
Against his will, his eyes found Lenora. She smiled up at Redburn as he guided her into a circle. Yes. The fierce—and foolish—need to get her away from Redburn pounded in his temples. He’d better get it through his head, and quick, that Lenora was bound to the man.
“And anyhow,” she continued, “you’ve not danced once this evening. I expect to see you out on that floor for the next set.”
“Then you shall be disappointed, for I don’t intend to dance tonight.”
“I beg your pardon?” She gaped up at him from her spot on the bench. “You would refuse to stand up and dance when there are so many females without partners here tonight? That is not well done of you, Peter. I must insist you do your gentlemanly duty and dance.”
“I am no gentleman, madam,” he gritted.
“Poppycock. You are the most gentlemanly man I know.”
He could not help the harsh laugh that escaped his chest. “Do you need spectacles then? For I assure you, Redburn is much more a gentleman than I.”
Too late he realized his mistake. Lady Tesh’s too-knowing eyes narrowed on him. “Fine manners are all well and good, Peter. But it is the things that lie deeper in a man’s heart that determine a true gentleman.”
He couldn’t help the question that tumbled from his lips. “Such as?”
“Such as a man who would make it a point to put a young woman at ease and take lemonade instead of tea. Or a man who would wander over hill and dale just because a sentimental old woman wishes it. Or an even greater example, a man who would run out into a storm to save a young woman’s life with no care or concern for his own.”
Heat suffused his face, his gaze sliding away. “You read too much into small things.”
She was silent for some time. “No,” she murmured, “I don’t think I do.”
The music ended then, the wave of bodies exiting the floor preventing him from making a response. Which was just as well, for he hadn’t a clue what to say.
Lenora, Redburn, and Margery returned to their side. “I vow,” Redburn said with a jovial smile, “I have not had so much fun in longer than I care to remember. The idea to come to this subscription ball was genius, Lady Tesh.”
She chuckled. “Coming from such a worldly man, who has seen his fair share of elegant London balls and soirees, I shall take that as the highest compliment.”
Lenora, Peter noticed, was silent throughout the playful exchange. She seemed to watch them happily enough, a small smile curving her lips. Yet there was something off about it. She looked like a china doll, with nothing behind the cheerful expression.
“Miss Hartley,” he said, taking a step closer, just stopping himself from reaching out for her arm, “do you require a beverage?”
She blinked, appearing as if she were awakening from a dream. She flushed, her smile faltering. “I’m well, thank you,” she murmured, not looking at him.
Her dismissal shouldn’t sting, yet it did. But if it was space she wanted from him, he would give it to her. Clenching his hands into fists, he retreated a step. Redburn’s attention, however, had been snagged by their quiet exchange. “I do think Ashford is right, my dear. Allow me to fetch you some punch.”
Before she could reply, he was off, threading through the crowd.
Peter stared after the man, a haze of red obscuring his vision for a moment. My dear? When the blazes had that started? A moment later, he dragged in a deep, steadying breath. They were to marry. What was it to him what the man called her?
Redburn returned in short order, carrying not only the promised cup of punch, but matching cups for Margery and Lady Tesh as well. Of course he would.
The four of them talked and laughed, while Peter did his best to ignore them. Soon a new set began to form. Redburn held out his arm to Lenora. “Shall we, my dear?”
“Of course.” She smiled, placing her fingers on Redburn’s arm, and he made to lead her away.
“Just a moment there, Lord Redburn,” Lady Tesh called before they had taken even a step. “You cannot mean to dance again with our Lenora.”
He smiled that sickeningly cheerful smile at the viscountess. “How can I not, when Miss Hartley looks so fetching tonight? She quite outshines the rest—”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Tesh interrupted, waving her hand in the air. “But that is neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is, you cannot monopolize her time all evening long. It isn’t done. Even in such a small place as the Isle.”
Peter’s smug satisfaction was cut short as she turned her sharp eyes on him. “You can take her out, Peter.”
Peter gaped at her before looking at Lenora. She was staring back at him, her expression a mirror of the horror that was coursing through him. And in a flash, he remembered a dark ballroom, her hand in his, the feel of her waist as he guided her to unheard music. And then her mouth hot under his, her soft gasps echoing in the cavernous room.
“No.” The word came out harsh and desperate. “That is,” he continued in a much more controlled tone, “I don’t plan to dance at all this evening.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Tesh scoffed. “I’ve seen you dance before. There’s no earthly reason why you cannot do so again.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because…” His gaze flew about, searching for a reason, any reason, he could give. Finally he settled on, “I injured my shin. Against a low table.”
The viscountess pursed her lips. “I don’t recall hearing about such an injury.”
“I didn’t wish to worry you. It’s minor, after all. But,” he said, a tad louder as the older woman opened her mouth to argue again, “it’s enough to prevent me from dancing.”
Margery intervened, giving him an apologetic smile before looking at the viscountess with mild reproach. “Gran, don’t force the man to dance if it pains him.”
Peter could have kissed his cousin. Instead he gave them a jerky bow, and keeping his gaze from Lenora, he hurried off, remembering a dozen paces away to favor his leg. His completely hale and hearty—and uninjured—leg.
Oh, he was going to hell. But he would accept that gladly if it meant he did not have to dance with Lenora.
* * *
Peter stood just outside the side door of the assembly hall, ignoring the muffled sounds of merriment from within and trying his damnedest not to think of Lenora inside. That was why he had come outside in the first place, wasn’t it? He was certainly not going to remember how soft her skin was, or how her voice turned husky calling his name, or how eager her mouth was…
He sucked in a gulp of sea air, shaking his head to clear it. Damn it all to ever-loving hell, he had spent the past hour or better freezing his bollocks off in the unseasonably cold weather in a quest to forget her, yet his thoughts were even more uncontrollable than they had been before.
It was painfully obvious that no amount of clear air would help him. He should go back inside. Lady Tesh would be furious at him for disappearing for as long as he had.
But he suddenly didn’t give a damn. For he knew that, with the increasing unruliness of his thoughts, if he caught sight of Lenora smiling up at Redburn while dancing in his arms one more time, he would lose his mind entirely.
He peered past the glow of the street lamps into the dark night beyond, squinting, as if he could make out Seacliff from here. He could walk back to the manor house. It was just a few miles, surely no more than five. If he kept up a brisk pace, he could be there in an hour or two.
Purposely ignoring the glaring fact that his dress pumps were not made for such a hike—perhaps if he destroyed them to a respectable degree, he would never have to wear the damn things again—he set his shoulders and made to walk off.
Just then he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door. He froze.
Redburn.
“…surely it’s not as horrid as you say…”
Instant fire burned under his skin. He tried to ignore it. But in the next minute, he had no wish to as he learned what Redburn was discussing—and with whom.
“I assure you that, to me, tea is every bit as bad as you can imagine and worse.”
Lenora.
The bastard was still on her about the damn beverage.
It mattered not that it was an asinine subject, that in the grand scheme of things, it was so ridiculously minor as to be laughable. His frustrated musings of the past hour had brought him closer to the precipice of losing control than all the days before it; this simply tipped him over the edge. Rage reared up, nearly choking him. Without thought, he threw the door open. It crashed against the pale yellow walls of the ballroom. Several women gasped, stepping hastily back. But he had eyes only for Redburn.
“She’s told you she doesn’t like the stuff, Redburn. I suggest you leave her be.”
Redburn’s dark eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Leave Lenora alone about the damn lemonade.”
The man gaped at him a moment before sputtering on a laugh. “You must be joking.”
“I am not.” Peter clenched his hands at his sides and took a menacing step forward.
Lenora stepped between them then. “Mr. Ashford,” she said, her voice low and tense, “now is not the time or place. Perhaps we might speak later, at Lady Tesh’s.”
He peered down at her, into those incredible green eyes of hers. Damn, but she was beautiful. He felt himself soften, was about to reach for her.
Redburn’s voice broke through the moment.
“That’s a sound plan.” He came closer and placed an arm about her waist, smiling down at her. “Brilliant idea, love.”
It wasn’t the endearment that turned Peter’s vision red, or even the way Redburn looked at her with that nauseating mixture of concern and affection. No, it was the way he touched Lenora as if he owned her. The sight of Redburn’s gloved hand curling over Lenora’s hip snapped something Peter had too long held in check.
With a roar he lunged for Redburn, grabbing his lapels. The man released Lenora, gripping onto Peter’s wrists as he was slammed back against the wall. The plaster cracked from the impact.
“You bastard,” Peter hissed.
“Damn it, Ashford,” Redburn cried, “what do you think you’re about? Unhand me at once.”
“If I ever see you touch her again, I’ll snap you like a twig.”
Suddenly two small but surprisingly strong hands were on his arm. “Peter,” Lenora cried, breaking through the haze of fury that pounded through his blood. “Stop, Peter.”
Her voice anchored him to sanity, bringing him crashing back to earth. He blinked, looked down at her. Her face was white, pain imprinted in every line and curve.
He stumbled back, away from her touch. His fists loosened on Redburn’s lapels and the man crumpled to the floor, gasping. Peter watched, dazed, as Lenora rushed to his side. She looked him over, her graceful hands skimming the man’s crumpled jacket, before she turned her eyes to him. “Peter, please go.”
The small hitch in her voice was the thing that finally cleared his head. He cast a desperate glance around at the crowd of partygoers. Their faces were alight with shock and horrified glee.
But the sight that destroyed him the most was the horror and disappointment in Lenora’s eyes. Ah, God, what had he done?
Sending her one final, agonized glance, he pushed through the tight group of onlookers until he was outside again in the cool sea air. But even then he couldn’t escape the reality of the monumental mistake he had made.