Chapter 4

I t was a bloody waltz.

After dropping their glasses on a footman's tray upon reentering the ballroom, Jo and Sheff rushed to the dance floor. Jo frowned.

"I'll guide you," Sheff said. "Do you know where to put your hands?"

"I can see what everyone else is doing." Why had she never learned to waltz? Jo put her hand on his shoulder and clasped his other hand. "I've no idea what to do with my feet."

"Count with the music. One, two, three."

Jo stepped on his foot. "Damn. Sorry."

"It's all right. Stamp away." He grinned at her though she was scowling.

"You'd better not be laughing at me," she warned.

"I am not . But what would you do if I were?" he asked saucily.

She stepped on his foot again, but this time on purpose and with greater vigor. Blinking innocently, she said, "I'm so sorry, my lord."

He laughed louder. "I deserved that. You're doing well. I'd say you're naturally inclined to move with the music."

"I don't know if that's true, but permit me to concentrate for a moment." She focused on her feet and the music and counting steps in her head. This isn't terribly difficult, she thought. Relaxing, she became aware of Sheff's hand on her back, of the gentle but firm way he clasped her hand, of how much closer the waltz brought them than any other dance. She felt an odd pull toward him, and she didn't like it. Though, since she was going to have to pretend to be smitten with him, perhaps it was for the best that she was at least attracted to him.

How had she never noticed that before?

Because you've never danced with him before.

Jo decided her policy of dance avoidance was a good one and would be reinstated at the earliest possible moment.

"You're doing beautifully," he murmured. The rich timbre of his voice wrapped her in a seductive warmth. When was this dance going to end ?

Recalling what he'd told her about being able to drink whisky upstairs, Jo resolved to make her way there when the dance was over. Aside from sampling fine liquor, she would hide from further dancing. She'd look for her friends and see if anyone wanted to join her.

"You're a natural waltzer," he said.

"That does not mean I want to repeat the endeavor."

"I know I said we would avoid it, but it may be that we must do so again." He gave her a sympathetic look, and at this proximity, she could make out the depth of blue in his eyes. They were darkest at the center and faded to a lighter blue at the rim of the iris. And his lashes were ridiculously long for a man. "Now that I think about it, I'm certain my mother will arrange for us to dance a waltz at our betrothal ball."

Jo resisted the urge to groan. A ball in their honor and a waltz. Could anything make this ruse worse?

"I trust your parents will be in attendance," he said. "I do think their public support would be good for the overall scheme."

Yes, something could make it far worse.

"I am not sure you know what you are asking for." Jo couldn't remember the last time her parents were together. At least ten years ago, probably longer. "My parents rarely speak."

"I didn't realize their relationship was contentious."

Jo grimaced. "It's nonexistent. My mother has had a lover for five years, and my father moves from lover to lover like a bee searching for an elusive perfect pollen."

Sheff's eyes rounded. "I had no idea."

"Why would you? Their behavior is not of interest to the ton, though it will be when our betrothal is announced." She locked her gaze with his as they continued to twirl, somewhat effortlessly, to her surprise, around the floor. "You may wish to change your mind."

He shook his head. "I don't want to. Besides, I've already paid you. And we shook hands. We are committed."

Jo rolled her eyes. "I won't be angry if you do."

"Do you want me to? It occurred to me I've been shortsighted with regard to how this betrothal will affect you. I don't want you to be miserable, Jo, especially not to help me." He seemed genuinely concerned.

She appreciated his words more than she would have anticipated. "I'm glad you understand," she said softly. Then she raised her chin and tossed her head. "I don't think I shall care what others say." He was paying her enough money to not give a thousand figs to care. "However, you must be prepared for people to find me wholly unsuitable. Though, I suppose that is one reason you chose me." She smiled.

"It is indeed. Will you need to tell your parents the truth about the betrothal?" His brow creased. "We didn't discuss them. I apologize for that."

"I should take my mother into my confidence, else she will be angry. She will keep the secret. My father, however, should probably believe we are actually engaged to be married. He is not very good at being confidential. In fact, he has never met a piece of gossip he didn't love to chew."

Sheff's dark brows arched briefly. "I see. Well, I shall leave it to your discretion. Only tell me what I must do. Should I call on your father to ask for permission to wed you?"

Jo laughed. "He would adore that."

"Have you any idea where he might be this evening? I'd like to call on you tomorrow to officially ask for your hand."

It was possible that Jo's mother would take offense to her father being asked for permission to wed their daughter since she had raised Jo almost entirely by herself. However, once Jo explained to her mother that this was entirely fake, she would understand.

Jo would tell her of Sheff's plan later. Or in the morning, since by the time Jo returned to the Siren's Call this evening, it was likely that her mother would have retired with Marcel—either to her suite or to his house near Soho Square. It had been a few days since they were together, so Jo expected they would seek each other's company tonight.

As to her father's whereabouts this evening, he could be any number of places… "I'm not sure where you may find my father," she said. She gave Sheff a list of her father's favorite haunts. "Wait, it is the first Friday of the month. He is likely at Lord Gerard's soiree."

Sheff's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've heard of those. Rather eccentric occasions, aren't they?"

"I have never been. It is one of the few social events to which my father refuses to take me. He says they are too close to debauchery." She arched a brow at Sheff. "I'm surprised you've never been."

"I've never received an invitation." He wrinkled his nose. "Nor would I want one, as I believe my father attends once in a while."

"Then I understand why you would avoid it." She sent him a look of caution. "Do be careful tonight. You know how susceptible you are to debauchery. And you need to be on your best behavior now that you are betrothed—or at least nearly so."

A smile teased his lips. "You know me too well. I will exercise great prudence—tonight and for the duration of our ruse. Until I inevitably trip up and you have no choice but to protect your heart and toss me aside." He hung his head in mock defeat.

Jo stepped on his foot again. "My apologies, my lord," she murmured with a mischievous smile.

Sheff sniggered as the music drew to a close. They released one another, and Jo was shocked and perhaps a little dismayed at how much she'd enjoyed dancing with him.

"I will see you on the morrow, my fair Josephine." He gave her a gallant bow.

Jo sank into a curtsey and gave him a sweet smile. "Never call me that again. Only my mother calls me by my full name. Shall I call you Clive ?"

"Noted, and you could, but I likely wouldn't respond. No one has ever called me that. I have been Shefford or Sheff since the nursery." He offered her his arm and led her from the dance floor. "Though perhaps you calling me by my given name would be a charming endearment that would captivate Society."

Taking her hand from his arm, she lifted a shoulder. "I'll consider it. I'm not sure you can be anything but Sheff to me."

"Have a pleasant remainder of your evening," he said.

"Don't forget to behave. I'm for the ladies' library and whisky." Jo took herself off and went in search of her friend Tamsin Deverell, Lady Droxford, with whom she'd come to the club tonight. Tamsin was now a member in her own right. It was one of the few perks of being married, Jo supposed.

Jo found Tamsin seated against the wall on the ladies' side of the ballroom with another of their friends, Ellis Dangerfield. "Ellis, you aren't dancing?"

"No," Ellis replied. At twenty-five, she was a few months younger than Jo and apparently just as content to be unwed. "They don't match spinsters."

"I was matched," Jo said. "Twice. With Mr. Edwin Cleveland and Sheff."

"You had to dance with my brother?" Lady Minerva, or Min, as they all called her, came up behind Jo as Ellis and Tamsin stood.

"A waltz," Jo replied. She had to stop herself before making a sarcastic comment. It wouldn't make sense for her to poke fun at Sheff if they were supposedly falling in love. A wave of agitation rolled through her. How was she going to lie to her friends? She'd only just made them recently. She'd never had close girlfriends before. And she liked having them. An unsettling feeling settled into her belly.

"Have you ever waltzed before?" Tamsin asked in her lilting Cornish accent, her naturally round blue-green eyes fixed on Jo.

"No. I did catch on fairly quickly, much to my surprise."

"Don't tell Gwen, not that she is here tonight. I am not sure when she and Somerton will venture forth from their newly wedded cocoon of rapture." Min made a face, then laughed. "You know I am delighted for them."

"We all are, but we can still poke fun at their bliss," Jo replied.

"I will not," Tamsin said primly.

"Only because you are in the throes of the same," Ellis said with a hint of a smile. "And it's lovely. We only speak in jest."

Tamsin nodded. "I know. Also, because Somerton is my cousin, and I am thrilled to see him so happy and in love. Our grandmother is overjoyed to see him settled at last." She looked to Min. "How was your dance with Mr. Wilton?"

Min made a sound of disgust in her throat. "He kept talking about how surprised he was that Gwen and Somerton are wed. Then he tried to insinuate that there was a reason they had to marry. I informed him that it was simply Cupid at work. Then I stepped on his foot."

They all tittered. Jo wondered why she hadn't noticed Min on the dance floor. Probably because she'd been too focused on learning the dance. Or she'd been too fixated on her partner.

"This matchmaking scheme for dancing is rather clumsy, isn't it?" Tamsin asked. "They seem to be having trouble finding people, and the matches seem almost haphazard."

Jo nodded in agreement. She was somewhat surprised she'd been paired with Sheff. But he'd likely arranged it.

"I don't think I can manage another dance," Min said with a shudder.

"Then let's not," Jo suggested. With a nod toward the door, she led them from the ballroom into an antechamber. "I understand we can drink the same liquor they serve on the men's side upstairs. And I heard there is a new whisky that arrived today. Who wants to join me?"

"I do," the other three said in near unison.

Ellis and Tamsin started toward the stairs, and Jo and Min followed.

"I'm sorry you had to dance with Sheff," Min said. "Was he a terrible flirt?"

"He was his usual self, which I find amusing. Generally." Damn, that did not sound like a woman who'd begun to see someone in a different light, namely a romantic one. "I actually enjoyed the waltz…immensely." Jo added the last part to aid her cause. "Because of Sheff, which I suppose is surprising." That much was true. He had taught her rather effortlessly, and she had enjoyed it, even if "immensely" was a slight exaggeration.

Min looked at her askance. "I was expecting a sardonic response."

Jo shrugged. "Your brother displayed excellent behavior. Perhaps I am merely trying to honor that." She winced inwardly. None of this sounded believable.

Too late, Jo realized she should not have made that comment earlier about poking fun at wedded bliss. Not if she was to about to become one of their number. Supposedly. Blast, this was harder than she'd anticipated. Min's skeptical stare as they reached the first floor didn't help Jo's confidence that she'd be able to convince anyone that she was in love with one of England's most notorious rogues.

Rogues!

How could she have forgotten the rogue rules? Her new friends had created a list of rules for avoiding rogues so that none of them fell prey to scoundrels who would either ruin them or break their hearts—or both, which had been the case for one of them.

The ruin of Pandora Barclay by the Earl of Banemore had prompted them to make the rules in the first place. And so far, three of the friends had fallen for rogues in spite of them. Although, Jo wasn't sure if Tamsin's husband qualified as a rogue. He possessed a somewhat surly nature, but Jo could see the warmth beneath his hard exterior. She could not, however, detect even a hint of roguishness about him. Tamsin assured her it was there—buried deep inside him.

As they walked to the library, Jo ran through the rules in her mind:

Never be alone with a rogue.

Never flirt with a rogue.

Never give a rogue a chance.

Never doubt a rogue's reputation.

Never believe a rogue's pledge of love or devotion.

Never trust a rogue to change.

Never allow a rogue to see your heart.

Ruin the rogue before he can ruin you.

Jo had already broken several of those, and not with Sheff. Did that mean she characterized her former lovers, of which there had been exactly two, as rogues? They were perhaps roguish, but they were not notorious for their behavior as Sheff was.

And she'd broken two of the rogue rules with him. They'd definitely flirted, even if it was just silliness between them, and she'd been alone with him when they'd gone to take care of his father last night. Actually, since his father had been there, they hadn't really been alone. But they had been alone that afternoon in her sitting room briefly, before she'd taken him to walk outside. And while they weren't alone on a busy street, they also hadn't had a chaperone, which was probably the spirit behind the rule.

All that aside, she not only had to convince her friends that she'd fallen in love with Sheff, but that she'd fallen in love with a rogue . She glanced at Min and knew that convincing her would be the hardest.

As much as Jo wanted to try the whisky, she ought to have gone home. Now she was going to have to spend time acting just different enough so that her impending betrothal would not seem as though it had come from nowhere.

Perhaps she'd just remain quiet and drink several glasses.

They sat at a table near the center of the room. Several other tables were occupied.

"It seems as though there are quite a few ladies here," Tamsin observed.

"Refugees," Ellis said with a smirk.

"Can you blame them?" Min asked. "Rather, can you blame us ?" She looked toward Jo with a commiserative chuckle.

In that moment, Jo realized she'd already somehow crossed into the land of make-believe. Since when did she go to balls and sit with her good friends, the daughter of a duke and a baroness? There was also the viscountess, who was not present, not to mention the duchess whom Jo had met at Gwen's wedding celebration dinner earlier in the week. That was where she'd met the ruined member of their group, Pandora, who was visiting her sister and newborn nephew for a time but not participating in Society.

Why was Jo participating in Society? She'd floated around the periphery in her father's company and at various literary salons, but a Phoenix Club ball was another level. And she was about to climb even higher. She ought to feel a sense of dread, but if she were honest, there was a faint sense of anticipation. To be able to move amid Society would give her entrée to all the salons and access to even more artistic and scientific minds. But would she be welcome?

A sense of unease grasped at her throat. When the footwoman arrived, she barely managed to ask for the Highland whisky.

"All right, Jo?" Ellis, who'd also requested the whisky, asked.

Jo summoned a smile. "Just parched."

Again, Min sent Jo a look of mild suspicion. How on earth was Jo ever going to fool her?

S heff departed his coach in front of Lord Gerard's fine stucco-faced terrace in Portman Square. The front door was ajar, and the sounds of music and conversation drifted out into the cool spring night.

After informing his coachman that he wouldn't be terribly long, Sheff went to the partially open door. He stood there a brief moment before it swept wide open, and a liveried footman admitted him. The footman closed the door firmly behind Sheff.

Unsure how to proceed—Sheff was, after all, invading a soiree to which he hadn't been invited—he handed his card to the footman.

"Shefford?" Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt, a widow in her late thirties, approached him from the staircase hall with a surprised smile. "I didn't know you attended Gerard's parties."

"This is my first one," he said, his gaze moving briefly over Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt. The bodice of her gown dipped rather low, and Sheff wondered if one of her nipples might make an appearance. He'd seen them before, though it had been three or so years.

Her hand fluttered near her breast, and she gave him a suggestive look. "Shall I show you upstairs?"

After what Jo had told him about Gerard's soirees, Sheff wasn't sure how to take Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt's invitation. She could just be offering to escort him to the heart of the soiree, or she could be trying to entice him into a dark corner to engage in something wicked.

"I'd very much like to pay my respects to Lord Gerard," Sheff said. And to find Rowland Harker.

"Then you must attend him in the drawing room," she said with a laugh. Clasping Sheff's arm, she pulled him toward the stairs.

They passed several couples conversing and one doing more than that. He was talking while she was massaging the front of his breeches. Were there no dark corners in which to conduct such acts? Sheff was by no means a prude, but even he didn't indulge in public exhibition. Perhaps that was a special aspect of Gerard's soirees.

They passed more people at the top of the stairs as they made their way to the drawing room at the front of the house. The buzz of conversation was louder here, as was the music. A quartet played in the corner while the room was stuffed with people talking, laughing, dancing, and paying court to their host. At least, Sheff assumed it was Lord Gerard seated between the front windows, his chair sitting atop a small dais. He lounged with one leg curled over an arm of the chair and was flanked by a man and a woman. The man was speaking with someone else while the woman appeared to be feeding Gerard from a tray.

Sheff felt certain he'd walked into a party that even Dionysus would have found hedonistic. He scanned the very crowded room in search of Jo's father. He wasn't entirely sure that he knew what Harker looked like.

Turning to Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt, he asked, "Have you seen Mr. Rowland Harker this evening? I am hoping to speak with him."

Her eyes rounded. " Are you? I did not know you enjoyed that sort of diversion."

What on earth was she talking about? "I wish to speak with him on a private matter."

"I'm sure you do," she said with a suggestive look followed by a gleeful laugh. "Here I thought you were entirely dedicated to the pleasure of women."

Sheff began to understand. "I am seeking Harker purely for a conversation."

"I see." Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt slid her hand farther up Sheff's arm. "That bodes well for me, then, doesn't it?"

Though Sheff didn't wish to be rude, he also didn't want to flirt with the widow, lest she think he was interested. And he was not. "I really must speak with Harker."

"There he is," she said, gesturing toward a corner where a group of men and women were clustered in a seating area. "In the bright orange waistcoat on the settee."

"Ho, there, is that Lord Shefford gracing us with his presence?" a voice boomed over the drawing room, halting both music and conversation.

Sheff froze as heads turned toward him. He was rarely uncomfortable, but at this moment, he felt distinctly uneasy as the focal point of what was surely a pleasure party.

"Welcome, Shefford!" The voice belonged to the host, Lord Gerard. In his fifties with a balding pate but egregiously long, gray sideburns, Gerard was dressed in a flowing gown with an open collar that made him look as if he were perhaps trying to personify Dionysus.

Sheff detached himself from Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt and made his way to Gerard's throne, for that was what it appeared to be. "Good evening, Lord Gerard. I do hope you don't mind my being here."

"Not at all. I would have invited you long before now, but your father is a frequent guest, and it seemed strange to extend you an invitation. However, your father isn't here tonight." Gerard smiled, his lips parting to reveal a rather crooked upper row of teeth. "At least not yet."

God, Sheff did not want to run into his father here. He needed to conduct his business with Jo's father and leave as quickly as possible. "I've come in search of Rowland Harker. I see him there in the corner. If I can just speak with him a moment, I'll be on my way."

Gerard pouted. "Don't rush off. There is much to entice you here." He gestured about the room. Thankfully, people had gone back to their conversations and other activities instead of gaping at Sheff.

"I'll consider that," Sheff said, growing anxious. In truth, this was the type of event that would entice him, but knowing his father was often a guest ensured that Sheff wanted to be anywhere else.

"Have a glass of wine at least." Gerard snapped his fingers, and a footman with a tray appeared.

There were several varieties of wine available. Sheff selected a golden-colored one, which he assumed to be a Madeira. Lifting the glass from the tray, he motioned it toward his host. "Thank you for your kind hospitality, Gerard."

"Do take full advantage, Shefford," Gerard said with a throaty laugh before accepting a nut of some kind from the woman feeding him. He sucked the nut and her fingertips into his mouth.

Sheff turned and hastened toward Harker's corner, taking a fortifying drink of wine on his way.

The group of people with Harker were dressed normally—mostly. A few of the men were missing certain items, such as their coat or cravat. And the women were all dressed in a revealing fashion, as Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt had been. One of them sat pressed against Harker on a settee, her hand splayed across his thigh.

It was not difficult to see, at least physically, why Harker was surrounded by admirers. He possessed a generous smile, expressive eyes, and lustrous dark blond hair, which was somewhat of a rarity for a man in his fifties. He wore a bright orange silk waistcoat, and his cravat was a dark ivory. He was not wearing a coat, nor did he need one to mask a thick middle, for he was still quite trim.

Sheff recalled what Mrs. Ackley-Dewitt had told him. He'd presumed Jo's father perhaps preferred male company, but the proximity of the woman's hand to his loins seemed to indicate he was accepting of whoever wished to give him attention.

"Good evening, Harker," Sheff said. "Might I steal a few moments of your time?"

"Certainly." Harker glanced about their seating area. "I apologize there is nowhere to sit."

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind taking a brief respite from your…companions, I would appreciate conducting our conversation in a more private and quiet space."

The woman next to Harker whispered in his ear, and her hand moved farther up his thigh until her fingers were touching his groin.

Harker patted her arm. "I'll be back before you know it, my dear. And I promise you will have me all to yourself in a while."

Extricating himself from the possessive woman at his side, Harker stood. He moved from the seating area, and they left the drawing room. The corridor was still not particularly conducive to a private conversation about marriage.

"This way," Harker said, leading him downstairs. "I can't imagine what you'd want to speak to me about. Have we even officially met?"

"We have not," Sheff replied as they reached the ground floor.

Harker took him into the dining room, of all places. It was devoid of people. "This is where people come if they need a respite from everything—and everyone."

"But there is no one here," Sheff noted.

"Hardly ever," Harker said with a laugh, moving into the room and turning to face Sheff. "People don't come to these parties for a respite. Still, Gerard tries to provide a welcoming space to all."

"That is most benevolent of him." Sheff straightened his shoulders. "I shan't take too much of your time."

Harker nodded. "I imagine you'd like to partake of the party's offerings." His gaze fell to the glass in Sheff's hand. "Damn, I should have brought wine too."

Sheff had forgotten he was even holding it. Setting it down on the table, he faced Jo's father. "Jo told me I could find you here tonight."

Harker's brow furrowed. "You are acquainted with my daughter?"

"Yes. I just danced with her at the Phoenix Club ball, in fact."

Harker's face lit with joy. "Oh, splendid! I'm so glad she went. She can be so hesitant to attend events like that. Now that I think about it, you probably also know her from the Siren's Call. I imagine you are a frequent visitor."

"I am, in fact. I have come to know your daughter well and find we have much in common."

"Do you?" Harker's features smoothed. "And you danced with her?"

"Yes." Sheff needed to proceed to the heart of the matter and be on his way. "Tomorrow, I should like to call on her to propose marriage. However, I wanted to secure your approval first."

"Bloody hell!" Harker slapped his palm against the table. "You wish to marry Jo? My Jo?"

"I'm rather hoping she'll become my Jo," Sheff said, surprised to find he actually felt a thread of possession, even if it was only pretend.

Harker's eyes narrowed. "She is in favor of this?"

"She is."

Pursing his lips, Harker was silent for a long moment. Deep creases furrowed along his brow. "Forgive me, Shefford, but your reputation does not recommend you for the state of matrimony. It is understood that you avoid the parson's trap and that you enjoy the company of a variety of women. That is not the sort of man I would want for my daughter."

Sheff blinked. There was a distinct irony to this married man, who would shortly join a woman for any number of sexual exploits, questioning Sheff's behavior. "I have fallen in love with your daughter and look forward to demonstrating my fidelity."

"Bah!" Harker waved his hand through the air. "You'll try to be loyal, but men like us are not capable of limiting our attentions to one woman. I'm sure your father has told you that."

He had not, but actions spoke much louder than words, and Sheff was well aware that the duke was not made for monogamy. Nor was Sheff.

Harker continued, "Still, I understand your need to do your duty, and the thought of my Jo as a future duchess is rather intoxicating." He grinned, then quickly sobered. One eye narrowed skeptically. "She feels the same about you and has indicated she will accept your suit?"

"She has." Sheff found lying about their relationship distasteful, and that surprised him. It wasn't as if Jo hadn't agreed to every aspect.

"I must speak with her first," Harker said, straightening his spine. "You plan to call on her tomorrow? I'll arrive before you and speak with her. If she tells me she wants to marry you, I'll give my approval."

Why was this so bloody difficult? Sheff never imagined a fake betrothal would require this much work. He'd write Jo a note and drop it off at the Siren's Call so she could be prepared for her father's visit.

"An excellent plan," Sheff said with a forced smile. "Thank you for your time." He started to turn, but Harker stopped him with a question.

"You really do love her?"

Sheff met the man's gaze. "With all my heart."

Harker smiled widely, his joy evident. "I'm so pleased. This is truly a marvelous development. Surprising, but marvelous indeed."

Sheff feared the man would not be able to contain his excitement when he returned upstairs. "You must keep this private until I propose tomorrow. Can you promise me you'll do that?"

"Of course." Harker waved his hand again. "You can trust me to keep a secret."

Except that Sheff knew the opposite to be true. He had to expect that a portion of London would be talking about his engagement tomorrow.

He'd need to speak with his parents as soon as possible after meeting with Jo. He'd write notes to them too, requesting a meeting. Addressing them together filled him with an anxious dread, but he'd rather suffer their reactions at one time than separately. They could manage to be in the same room together for a brief period. Especially if it meant their son was finally betrothed.

"Thank you," Sheff said. Then he turned and started out of the dining room.

Harker followed him. "You really aren't going back up to the party?"

"No." Sheff continued toward the entrance hall.

"Perhaps my daughter really has set you on a new path," Harker said. "Love can change a person. It did me."

Sheff bid the man good night. As he left the hedonistic soiree, he contemplated what the man had said and dismissed it entirely.

Love changed nothing for those who couldn't feel it.