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The evening seemed interminable to Victoria. Several other men approved by Maria asked Victoria to dance. Men with perfect manners and pleasing open countenances. None of them set her heart fluttering the way the Earl of Travis had. Was it fear of him? Of his reputation? Or her own foolishness caused by the inexplicable shivers of awareness whenever he was close? Surely she was too sensible for such school-missish nonsense?
Thank goodness she had not seen so much as a glimpse of him since leaving the balcony. She had never felt so ashamed. And to be discovered in his embrace by Ogden, the only one who had stood by Michael until the end. It was just too much to be born. Ogden, too, had disappeared. He probably thought the very worst of her. A dismal notion.
“Who is she?” asked a debutante to Victoria’s right, one of several who lingered on the edge of the dance floor near where she stood watching the dancing. Victoria glanced across the room in the direction of the discreetly pointing fan. She shook her head. She knew few people present and certainly did not recognize the blonde beauty lingering beneath Poseidon’s trident.
On the other side of Victoria, a tall brunette in lemon silk turned to look then leaned in close to whisper. “She is Sin’s latest flirt. Cassandra Eckford. How he ever got Lady Corby to invite her, Mama said she’ll never understand.” She smiled wryly. “Except he can charm the birds out of the trees and Lady Corby is some sort of distant relative.”
Sin’s latest flirt. The words hurt when Victoria should have felt nothing but disgust. How could he have enticed her out onto the balcony, when he was already involved with another woman? How typical of the male of the species to want more than one dessert at a time.
The girl, Cassandra, was ravishing. Everything Victoria would never be. And so young. The gossamer-thin shawl draped over Miss Eckford’s bare, white shoulders drew attention to her curves. With her alabaster complexion, tiny perfect features and golden curls, it was easy to see why all the males of the company were eyeing her with frank appreciation. Seemingly oblivious to the warm glances cast her way, restless fingers twisted the fringed edges of her wrap as she scanned the room.
The girl in yellow hid her lips behind her fan. “Sickening, isn’t it? Her family is barely acceptable, and there she is with one of the richest, most eligible bachelors dangling after her.” She edged closer to Victoria. “The rest of us can only look on in wonder and despair. My brother says they are taking wagers at White’s as to whether she’ll take his offer.”
Victoria swallowed a gasp. “An offer of marriage?”
“No lady has ever come close to bringing him up to scratch in that regard. Given her lack of status, they are betting he’ll offer her a carte blanche, and the odds are she’ll take it rather than lose access to all that wealth, even if it means ruin. Look, there he is now.”
The glittering surroundings only served to emphasize Travis’s darkness, not only in appearance and dress, but in purpose. A dangerous predator stalking through the crowded room. Women turned to watch him pass, men stepped out of his way.
“He’s seen his quarry,” commented the girl.
Quarry indeed. Victoria could not tear her gaze away from the fascinating sight of Miss Eckford freezing like prey. Reaching her side, the earl took her hand and pressed it, palm up, to his lips.
Those same lips had almost kissed Victoria a few moments ago. Clearly, she’d been an object of amusement to a dissipated rake. Now he had more interesting game in his sights. Her stomach fell in a sickening plunge.
Miss Eckford blushed and fluttered the fringes in her other hand in protest at his bold behavior, but the curve of her full lips welcomed him all the same.
“She looks scared,” Victoria murmured.
“My brother says she’s a silly widgeon without a thought in her head, except fashion and frivolity. She must know Travis’s intentions are dishonorable.” The girl frowned. “If she doesn’t, her mother certainly does. She’s been throwing the girl at Travis since the Season started.”
He led Miss Eckford onto the dance floor as if she were a fragile flower.
A cold hand clutched at Victoria’s heart at the sight of him smiling at the ethereal beauty. She turned away. It was beneath her to gawk at them as if they were freaks at the fair. They made a handsome pair and she wished them well. The twisting of her heart in her chest was nothing to do with Travis. It was the reminder that she was now quite alone.
“Victoria. You promised me this quadrille.” Ogden’s voice came from behind her.
She whirled around. “My lord.”
Following hard on her feelings of dismay, the sight of an old friend lifted her spirits. “I thought you might cry off after—”
“What, leave Michael’s beloved sister in the lurch? Never.”
The sting of embarrassment at their encounter on the balcony faded and she smiled warmly as he led her into the nearest set.
The music began and she curtseyed to his bow.
“I should apologize for my forwardness. I really should call you Miss Yelverton.” He sounded regretful, as if he had lost something important.
They crossed to opposite corners of the square. Victoria could not help but notice that Ogden’s slender figure showed to advantage in evening clothes. Though he did not have Travis’s athletic figure, he took obvious care in his appearance.
The steps brought them back together and their hands met. She shook her head in mock admonition. “Please, continue to call me Victoria. Michael would have wished it.”
His face lightened as if she had bestowed a precious gift. His pleasure gave her the sense she was not quite so alone after all.
The changing formation separated them, and Victoria nodded and smiled at her new partner, a pleasant-faced, short young man in a burgundy coat and pink waistcoat.
A few bars of music later, Ogden partnered her again. She revolved slowly beneath his outstretched arm.
“I need to speak with you alone,” he said. “Do you think you can escape your dragon lady for an hour or so this week?”
In another set across the dance floor, Travis sent Victoria a glacial stare. She pretended not to notice. She had no intention of turning her back on a man who had befriended her brother to satisfy the whim of a reprobate who flaunted his courtesan in the face of the ton.
With her hand resting on his, Ogden led her around the outside of the square, his questioning gaze fixed on her face.
“I quite often go to Hookham’s first thing in the morning,” she murmured. “Maria is never up and Travis is off about his business.”
A warm smile lit Ogden’s pale face and deepened the grooves beside his mouth. “You were always bookish.”
He had teased her gently when he found her reading in the drawing room at Golden Square and she’d often put down her book to converse with him while he waited for Michael. She smiled at the recollection. “Some things never change.”
A serious expression chased his smile away. “I’ll try for tomorrow. If not, perhaps later in the week. I have something important to tell you.”
Once more, the short man claimed her with a bow. What could Ogden want to say that was so important that it could not be said here? When he finally took her hand again, his pale gaze raked her from head to toe, lingering on her bosom. “I’ve never seen you look more lovely, Victoria.”
Her skin tightened uncomfortably at the note of seduction in his voice. Never had she thought of Ogden as anything more than Michael’s friend. Had her disgraceful embrace with Travis given him the wrong idea? In the past, she had taken his overly familiar teasing as brotherly. An extension of Michael’s jesting. Had she been wrong? Her heart sank. Was that why he wanted to meet her alone?
When he fleetingly squeezed her hand at the conclusion of the dance, she flinched and a wry, self-mocking smile twisted his lips. “If you don’t wish to risk running afoul of your guardian, I will quite understand.”
He was giving her an excuse to ignore him in future. Would a man with wickedness on his mind be so generous? She glanced over at Travis who was flirting outrageously. No, he would not.
She certainly had no wish to lose one of her very few friends over some sort of misunderstanding. “I will be at Hookham’s every morning this week,” she said firmly.
Ogden inclined his head in acknowledgement and escorted her to where Maria sat on a sofa against the wall with several other older ladies.
“Thank you, Miss Yelverton,” he said. “I shall look forward to our next meeting with great anticipation.” He bowed and strolled away.
Moments later, Colonel Monteith, a robust man with a full set of graying whiskers, and splendid in his hussar uniform, whisked Victoria into a minuet with military efficiency. A hero of Waterloo, according to Maria.
Across the other side of the room, Victoria caught a glimpse of Travis steering Miss Eckford out onto the balcony. Another female about to fall beneath his devastating spell. A vision of him with the incomparable Miss Eckford in his arms left a hollow ache in her chest.
Mortified by the direction of her thoughts, she focused her attention on Monteith.
“Excuse me, Miss Yelverton, I hope I didn’t step on your foot?”
Victoria blinked. Heavens above, her feeling about Travis must be showing on her face. “No, indeed, Colonel.” She cast him a brilliant smile and his florid cheeks turned a darker shade of red.
It was none of her business what Travis did. She’d allowed him to charm her despite of what she knew of him and she was annoyed by her own stupidity. Nothing else.
Determined to make no more such mistakes, she fixed her gaze on Monteith’s face with a bright smile and the soldier beamed.
At the end of the set, he bowed smartly to Maria and promised to call on them the next day. He also pressed Victoria’s hand before he departed with brisk steps.
Satisfaction oozed from Maria’s smile. “I think he’s hooked.”
Victoria gaped. “What can you mean?”
“Monteith. He is definitely interested.”
Victoria stared after the portly gentleman in his scarlet coat and tried to imagine herself married to him. A black pit of misery opened in front of her feet. Life with a man like Monteith, with any man, was not the future she envisaged when alone with her thoughts. The idea was insupportable. There was far more to life than a convenient marriage.
Clearly she must escape Travis’s clutches or find herself walking to the altar with the first man who made her an offer. If only Julia would return from her visit to the country. Even help from her aunt would be preferable to Colonel Monteith. Why had she not responded? Four weeks had passed since the letter had been sent. A shiver rippled down her spine. Dread for the future.
The last waltz of the evening had been promised to Travis. The arrangement had made sense when Maria proposed it, since he was acting as her guardian. After watching him with Miss Eckford, Victoria hoped he had forgotten. It would save her refusing. She lingered behind a column draped in pale blue silk.
Her heart skipped at a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find him standing behind her. The intensity in of his sapphire gaze left her breathless. Her pulse quickened. She steeled herself against the rapid beat of her heart. Anxiety, for she knew what she must do.
“Our dance, I believe?” A question lurked in his eyes, as if he sensed her ambivalence.
“I’d really rather prefer to sit it out, if you don’t mind.”
“But I do mind,” he drawled. “I would have left hours ago if not for this.”
The blasted man always had an answer.
Keeping her expression pleasantly indifferent, she gave him her hand. “Since you put it in such flattering terms, how could I possibly refuse?” She should, but for some reason she did not have the courage.
“Touché, Miss Yelverton.”
With a manner as distant as if they were strangers, he swept her into the waltz already in progress. “You have enjoyed your evening, Miss Yelverton?”
She found his chilly formality far less intimidating than his seductive attentions. She managed a stiff smile. “More than I ever expected.”
“I am glad.”
Really? He sounded sincere, but then he was adept at flattery and guile. She raised an eyebrow. “And you?” A devil inside her prompted her to say more. “I gather congratulations are soon to be in order?”
Almost imperceptibly, he stiffened, though his expression remained coolly distant. “I know of no reason for congratulations.”
She smiled blithely at him. “No? I was told—”
The grasp on her hand tightened briefly, then eased. “Once more, it seems I must remind you not to listen to gossip.”
Anger blanketed the air. She shivered. Whereas her father and brother had only grumbled and growled when she sharpened her wits on them, baiting Travis was a risky pastime. This untamed predator might actually bite.
She forced herself to speak in even tones. “Lady Corby certainly has a flair for unusual decorations, does she not?”
His gaze held hers for a long moment. “Did you find a bridegroom?”
She gasped. So, he thought to pay her back in kind. She lifted her chin. “There are three or four likely prospects according to Maria.”
A muscle tensed in his jaw. “No doubt I can expect these worthies to present themselves to me in the next day or so? Please be good enough to give me a list with an indication of your order of preference. I will take your views into consideration before making a decision.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are my suitors required address themselves to you for permission to make an offer?”
He swung her around the turn, their movements in perfect harmony. He really was a wonderful dancer, adapting his long legs to her steps, perfectly in tune with her steps.
“They do.”
Two words spoken, with all the calm assurance of an arrogant male. Anger, hot and wild, blazed a trail through her veins. “I think not, my lord. You will send the gentlemen to me for my decision.”
His eyes darkened, yet beneath the darkness there was fire. “Don’t think to choose Ogden.”
“Your dispute with Viscount Ogden has nothing to do with me. Unless you care to reveal the facts of the matter and let me make my own judgment.”
He surprised her by hesitating.
Sensing she hovered on the brink of discovery, of learning something of him, she held her breath.
His black lashes lowered and swept his thoughts away. “It is not something I care to bandy about since it involves another.”
He didn’t trust her to keep his secrets. It hurt, yet there was no reason it should. None at all. She forced a smile of sophisticated understanding. “A woman, no doubt.”
He sighed, short and sharp. “You would be a fool to trust Ogden.”
Who was he to call her a fool? “He has been a loyal and valued friend to me. And to my brother.”
A fleeting shadow crossed his expression. For the second time tonight, she felt as if she had the power to wound him and the sensation left her uncomfortable.
Absurd. A hardened rake would not care what she thought. He was much more interested in Miss Eckford’s views, along with her lovely face and figure. Victoria kept her face as expressionless. He had no right to choose her friends, any more than he had the right to choose her a husband.
After dropping Victoria at Travis House, Simon sauntered into White’s. He had no trouble spotting Dev’s large form slumped in the deep, wingback chair in his normal corner. His chin sunk on his chest, he stared into his glass of brandy.
Simon cursed silently at his friend’s obviously inebriated condition. He’d have to get him home to bed—again.
“I expected you to have given me up for lost.” He sank into the soft leather chair opposite Dev. A two-thirds-empty brandy bottle and two full tumblers sat on the round table between them.
Dev, who until that moment appeared to be asleep, peered at Simon. He looked like hell, eyes red-rimmed and bleary, hair and clothing rumpled. His deceptively warm, lazy smile did nothing to hide his agony of spirit.
“’S’all right. I’ve been keeping you company.” He must have seen Simon’s confusion, for his shoulders shook in ghostly laughter.
Dev picked up one tumbler and waved it vaguely in Simon’s direction. “First I drink to you.” He downed the golden liquid in one gulp, blinking as he swallowed. “Then you drink to me.” He picked up the other glass, chinked it against the first and disposed of its contents in a smooth motion. He leaned forward and, holding the bottle in both hands to steady it, began to refill the glasses.
Simon kept his frustration out of his voice. “You’ve had enough.”
Dev looked at him owlishly. “Can’t have.” He paused, considering, then shook his head. “No, not yet. It still damn well hurts, Sin. It won’t stop hurting till I’m dead drunk, or dead, whichever comes first.”
Damn all women to hell, and especially Genevieve Fanbourne, the woman Dev loved and stubbornly refused to accept he couldn’t have. A duke trumped a marquess any day of the week, and love counted for nothing.
Simon didn’t understand Dev’s fascination with a woman who didn’t give tuppence for him. A woman they called the ice queen behind her back. Simon never allowed anyone that close. Not since Miranda. And even then, he’d not been like this. Dev had simply lain down and died instead of telling her to go to hell and moving on. If he didn’t pull out of his melancholy soon, he would not survive the year.
Simon ran a hand through his hair and stood. He grasped Dev by the arm. “Come on, old fellow, let’s get you home.”
He’d been acting as Dev’s nursemaid for weeks. He didn’t know what else to do. Most nights he managed to stop his friend from getting completely sotted. But Dev was no fool, even half seas over. Every now and again, he escaped and Simon was forced to drag the blond giant out of some hell or other. No easy task when he didn’t want to be rescued. If not for his duty to Victoria Yelverton, Simon would have seen his friend home hours ago. Damn charitable urges.
Dev struggled to his feet. He swayed and braced his legs apart.
Simon winced. “Not going to cast up your accounts, old chap?”
The blond head swung from side to side in exaggerated slowness. “No.”
Simon hoped to hell and back he was right. “We’ll pick up a hackney outside.”
When they descended the front steps onto St. James, there wasn’t a hackney or a chair to be seen. He swore freely. Any other night, even at this early hour of the morning, there was the odd jarvey hanging about outside White’s looking for business. But not tonight, when he desperately needed one. A couple of jeering linkboys offered to light them home. Simon sent them scuttling off with a formidable glare. “No help for it, old fellow, we’ll have to walk.”
He grabbed Dev’s arm and drew it over his shoulders. He staggered as the taller, heavier man slumped against him. He cursed softly.
“Sorry,” Dev mumbled.
To Simon’s relief, his burden began a slow plod. One foot placed ahead of the other’s location. It was more a disjointed stagger than a walk, but it took them in the right direction. Thank God Dev lodged close by on Jermyn Street.
Fifteen minutes later, breathing hard and with sweat trickling down his forehead, Simon glanced around in dismay. Still no sign of a hackney and Dev weighed what felt like a hundredweight. If he wasn’t actually carrying the marquess, this was as close as he ever wanted to get.
Since footpads and Mohawks plied their nefarious trade in the surrounding narrow streets, he didn’t dare leave his friend and go for help. The sort of criminals about at this time of night wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a drunken toff laid out like a Sunday dinner.
He turned the corner and glanced up the lane that led to the mews behind Dev’s townhouse. The back entrance seemed a lot closer than the front door leading off the square.
Simon hoisted his burden higher on his aching shoulder and turned into the gloom of the stinking alley. They had traversed only half the distance to the rear gate when footsteps echoed behind him. He glanced back. Three shadowy figures closing in on them.
Simon narrowed his eyes. The scum would likely leg it at the first sign of a fight and right now he wouldn’t mind giving someone a good pummeling he was so angry at Dev. “Who’s there,” he called out. “Show yourselves.”
A burly shape moved closer. “That’s ’im,” a coarse voice muttered.
They carried weapons. Wooden clubs slapped into open palms with menace.
Finally, something was going his way this evening. Since his heart had lurched at the sight of the dark-haired Miss Yelverton waiting under the chandelier in his hall, nothing had gone right. Giving a bunch of villains a good trouncing was exactly what he needed.
Dev stumbled and almost brought Simon down. He had no choice but to let his friend fall onto the slimy cobbled ground. He straightened to face his assailants.
Three to one. Not bad odds, given the nature of these cowardly footpads. Two to three would be better, but Dev had passed out and, if Simon wasn’t mistaken, was now snoring loudly. Simon repressed the urge to laugh.
Focus. He poised himself on the balls of his feet. A deep and calming breath filled his lungs. Cleared his mind of all thought except awareness of the men who meant them harm.
They had weapons, true, but fists and feet were as effective as any club. He relaxed and waited to see what they would try. The narrow alley was in his favor. They would be forced to come at him one at a time.
A solid shape loomed out of the shadows. Simon tensed, listening. A scuffle, a foot slipping on cobbles, heavy breathing, all revealed his opponents’ movements. Simon dodged a swooshing rush of air thick with the smell of manure. A cudgel swept past his head.
He reached out, grabbed the man’s arm and wrenched it up behind his back. He swung a left hook. It failed to connect with the man’s jaw. Simon lurched forward twisted and kicked high. His boot jarred with a satisfying crunch against unprotected ribs.
The man swung again. A wide arc. Simon ducked and chopped him across the nape. Another shadow surged in. A wild jab made vicious contact with Simon’s shoulder. He staggered back, his breath rasping loudly.
“We’ve got ’im now,” one of them said.
This was no robbery. These men were out for blood. A red haze of rushing anger gripped him. He tamped it down. Rage dulled the senses. He concentrated on the sounds made by shifting shadows in the gloom.
“Simon.” Dev struggled to rise at Simon’s side. His hands clawed up the wall.
“Stay back,” Simon warned.
Momentarily distracted by fear for his friend, Simon almost didn’t sense the next blow aimed at his skull. He fended it off with his forearm. Hell! The shattering pain brought him to his knees. His eyes watered. He forced himself to close his mind to his body’s protest. He buried it deep inside, the way he had learned as a child.
Beleaguered lungs fighting for air, Simon staggered to his feet. He grabbed at the cudgel raised to finish him. Caught off-guard by Simon’s upward momentum, his opponent slipped on the greasy filth underfoot. Simon roared in feral triumph and pulled the weapon free.
The odds had changed. He was armed. He tested the weight of the rough, wooden club and prepared for battle.
“Simon. Here,” Dev called out.
A glitter of steel. Simon deftly caught the wicked-looking blade’s handle. Swinging the cudgel, he landed a blow to the downed ruffian’s head. The man grunted. A dark lump sagged on the ground before him. The other two crouched and came in low. Simon slashed at the one on his right. He missed. They struggled for the knife.
Dev launched himself at the feet of other. A crack of wood on bone and Dev’s grunt bounced off the stone walls.
But it was the help Simon had needed. He tore the knife free and thrust at the closest shape. The knife sank into soft flesh. A gurgling cry of pain rewarded his effort. He pulled back, ready to strike again.
With muttered oaths, the cowards broke. They grabbed their fallen comrade and with boots clattering and scraping on the slippery stones, they stumbled away.
Doubled over and desperately sucking in air, Simon saw them silhouetted against the street lamp, then they were gone, melting into the city’s underbelly.
At his feet, Dev groaned. Simon sank to his knees, beginning to know the pain of his battered body and fists.
“Dev? Ian?” Simon nudged him. “Are you all right?”
At the sound of his friend’s faint chuckle relief overwhelmed him.
“Can’t hurt a drunk, you know.”
“The devil you say. Can you stand? It’s only steps to your door. I don’t think I can lift you.” His left arm was numb, useless. Possibly broken. Simon watched Dev push to his knees, then get his feet under him. Using the wall as a prop he staggered to his gate and leaned against the wall, panting. Simon yanked on the bell, its urgent clang like a call to arms.
“Who goes there?” cried a quavering young voice.
“Damn it! It’s me, young Ben. Your goddamned master,” Dev shouted back.
“My lord?” The boy held a lantern high over the wall and gasped with horror as the flickering light spilled over them.
“For God’s sake, boy. Let us in,” Dev urged.
The gate swung back and the pair of them lurched over the threshold and collapsed on their knees on the path. “Close it,” Simon ordered.
The boy slammed it shut and dropped the bar.
“Fetch a couple of footmen,” Simon gasped disentangling himself from Dev and clutching at his arm
“Yes, my lord.” Ben dropped his lantern and fled.
Simon attempted to push himself to his feet and instead rolled overt onto his side. Footmen were never going to catch those fellows now. Damn it all. He really should go after them.
Dev sat back on his heels and began laughing.
“What the hell is funny?” Simon growled.
Dev choked off another burst of laugher. “Well that certainly got my attention. Haven’t had a good bout of fisticuffs since I don’t know when.”
Simon pushed up on one elbow. “They nigh on killed us.” He didn’t know whether to strangle his friend or give in to the urge to laugh with him. A chuckle burst from his lips.
And another.
Dev roard with laughter. “Did you see their expressions when they realized they were done for.” He hit the ground with the flat of his hand in paroxysm of hilarity.
“Idiot! I was too busy making sure they didn’t kill me to look at their faces.” Laughter bubbled up. Burst forth. He and Dev howled with laughter like a couple of schoolboys at a dirty joke.
While he still hurt all over, the tension from the last few minutes slowly drained away. The urge to hunt his attackers drained slowly away. Laughter. How often did he laugh?
Why did it make him feel so much better?