Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

T he ballroom was alive with the sparkle of chandeliers and the swirl of vibrant gowns as Jenna danced with Lord Peter. The orchestra played a waltz, and the scent of flowers and perfume filled the air. She tried to focus on the steps, but her thoughts kept drifting. An entire week passed without Jenna encountering Cillian. Though he was never far from her thoughts, she did not dream of him, and she was grateful she wasn't slipping into that wicked trap once again.

"You seemed distracted."

The slightest pressure exerted on her arm as Lord Peter glided with her across the ballroom centered Jenna.

"Forgive me," she said with a small smile. "Please repeat your words."

The briefest irritation flashed in his gaze before his expression smoothed.

"It is with my promise always to cherish you, Lady Jenna," he said, a smile touching his lips as he peered down at her. "I was confessing my tendre and you were distracted. I am wounded."

Jenna's steps faltered slightly, her breath catching in her throat. Had Lord Peter declared himself while she woolgathered? Though the viscount warned her Lord Peter would make an offer, somehow Jenna was still stunned.

"Lord Peter," she said, flustered. "Perhaps it is best we have this conversation another time. I hardly think while we are dancing is appropriate."

"I think now is perfectly permissible," he said intently, sweeping her into a wide arch before drawing her closer. "I deeply admire you, Lady Jenna."

Exasperation rushed through her. "You have no notion of my character, my lord; I cannot imagine what precisely you admire."

His eyes widened, and she discerned her response was the last thing he anticipated.

"I beg your pardon?"

"We hardly know each other, Lord Peter; I cannot imagine why you would—"

"I know enough to declare myself to you, my lady. You would make me the most excellent bride. I … I have the deepest affection for you. I will speak with your brother tomorrow—"

"Forgive me," she said, keeping her tone gentle to remove the sting of her refusal. "We have known each other less than a month. I cannot consent to a courtship or marriage."

His mouth gaped and he spluttered. "You are a spinster !"

"I am aware of my advanced years. It bears no relevance to this conversation."

"Do you believe another man would make you an offer, Lady Jenna?"

"I do not care if another man does," she said firmly. "Please, speak no more of this. Allow me to remind you the eyes of the ton are upon us."

He nodded stiffly, and they finished the dance in silence. The waltz ended, and she lowered into a curtsy, then turned and slipped away from the ballroom, her heart pounding. She needed a moment to herself, away from the suffocating atmosphere. A quick glance revealed her cousin was taking to the dance floor for a quadrille, and her mother looked on approvingly, clearly pleased with Elizabeth's partner. Relieved, Jenna made her way from the ballroom down the hallway, checking a few rooms until she found the music room. Thankfully, it was empty.

Once inside, Jenna closed the door softly behind her and crossed to the grand pianoforte. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles and fireplace casting gentle shadows on the walls. She sat down, her fingers lightly touching the keys. A gentle melody flowed from her hands, the notes soothing her frazzled nerves. As she played, Jenna felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders, the strains of the piano wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.

The door creaked open, and Jenna stilled her fingers on the keys. She turned, expecting to see a servant or perhaps one of her friends, but it was Lord Peter who entered, his expression one of determination.

"Lord Peter," she said, her voice steady but her heart racing. "You followed me. Why?"

He approached her slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Lady Jenna, I did not mean to upset you. I only wish to express my feelings."

"Your feelings are noted," she replied, rising from the piano bench and taking a step back. "I must ask you to respect my wishes. Please leave. It is not proper for us to be alone in this room."

Ignoring her entreaty, he took another step closer, the shadows in the room making his face look more severe. "I cannot understand your refusal. I offer you stability, respect, and a good match. What more could you want? Please let me understand, or it will forever haunt me."

"I want more than just a good match," she said softly. "I want love, respect, and mutual understanding. We do not share those things, Lord Peter. If we did … I would have accepted your offer."

Mocking golden brown eyes rose in her thoughts, and she pushed them away.

A rough laugh of disbelief slipped from him. " Love ? Mutual understanding? You are a woman of advanced years, and you speak of love as if you are a silly debutante. You are making a mistake, Lady Jenna. Few men will offer what I am willing to give."

"I shall remain without such an offer," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will return to the ballroom. I promised Lord Belmont a dance before the supper waltz."

Lord Peter's expression darkened. As she made to walk away, he grabbed her hand, squeezing painfully. Shocked, Jenna wrenched away from him, suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of how much larger he was. He hauled her against him and tried to kiss her forcefully.

Jenna struggled against him, but he felt like an immovable mountain. She desperately calmed her panic as all the lessons she learned at 48 Berkeley Square on how to defend her virtue against rakes and libertines rose in her thoughts. She abruptly stopped struggling and dropped her weight. Startled, he eased back, and she lashed out with her foot, hooking it behind his ankle and dragging with all her strength. A muffled curse escaped Lord Peter as he tumbled, still holding onto her, and a sharp rending sounded.

Heart pounding with dread, she stared at the horrible tear in her gown. "You have taken leave of your senses," she said faintly, clutching at the torn material over her décolletage.

He jerkily rose to his feet, his face flushed. "This was not my intention! I will retrieve your mother—"

"No!" Jenna understood his purpose. She would be irrevocably compromised, and her mother would accept nothing less than a marriage. Dread swirled in her belly, and she snapped. "Have you no shame to reveal your dishonorable conduct?"

He fisted his hands at his side and stared at her for a few beats. Lord Peter's shoulders relaxed, and he unclenched his fists.

"You are unable to venture out given your state of dishabille," he said with a smug smile. "Your hair is undone and terribly mussed, and your gown … it is ripped, and your sensual charms are evident. Would you dare to leave this room?"

Without waiting for her reply, he spun and walked away. Pausing at the door, he said, "I will only return with your mother and mine. This should mitigate the fallout."

As the door closed behind him, Jenna realized sharp tremors cascaded through her. The encounter had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Jenna rushed to the door and opened it, only to quickly close it as she heard voices in the hallway.

"Oh, God, what am I to do?" she bit her bottom lip until it stung. Should anyone see her in this state, the scandal would be horrid, and there would be no chance of recovery even if she explained Lord Peter's dreadful actions.

She closed the door with a snick and waited. Her mother and his would soon arrive, and then she would be forced to marry the blackguard.

I will not marry this buffoon even if I must retire to the country for a long time! More voices were heard through the door as a few more guests wandered along the hallway. A few minutes passed as she waited for a silence that would indicate no one was outside. The feeling of rising dread was terrible. The knob jerked, and her throat tightened when her mother said, "Jenna, are you well? Lord Peter explained there was a mishap, and I am needed. Open the door."

Her thoughts whirled with panic. Think, Jenna . She froze. I am in Grosvenor Square .

The idea struck her with sudden clarity. Lord Sallis only lived a few homes down. Even if he was not at home, she had also learned the art of picking latches and locks from her intrepid friends at Berkeley Square. She stooped and grabbed a couple of hairpins that had come loose in their tussle.

"Lady Jenna?" Lord Peter called. "Please open the door so we might help. I vow my mother will be very discreet in this matter."

"Is there a reason for discretion?" her mother demanded sharply.

Jenna did not hear Lord Peter's response, for she hurried to the window, shoved it open and slipped through it, keeping to the shadows as she made her way down the street. The cool night air bit at her exposed arm and décolletage, but she ignored it, focusing solely on her escape. She needed a haven, somewhere she could think and plan her next move.

This haven should not be the viscount's home , a small voice of reason silently cried.

Jenna ran through the darkened streets, her heart pounding in her chest. She kept to the shadows, avoiding the pools of light cast by the gas lamps. Her torn gown and disheveled hair would draw too much attention if anyone saw her.

Finally, she reached Cillian's home. The imposing structure loomed before her, its windows darkened save for a faint light in one of the lower rooms. Jenna slipped around to the side of the house, praying that the garden door would be unlocked. She moved quietly, her shoes barely making a sound on the gravel path.

Fortune was on her side. One of the windows was slightly ajar, and she carefully pushed it open, slipping inside. Jenna found herself in the dimly lit library, the scent of old books and leather surrounding her. She took a moment to catch her breath, her mind racing with the events of the night. She needed to find Cillian, explain what had happened and seek his help. Jenna rushed forward as the door to the library opened, and she crashed against a solid chest. Strong hands steadied her, and she looked up to find Cillian staring down at her.

He inhaled sharply and shook his head as if dazed. "Jenna?"

Unsettled, she wrenched away from him and pressed her shaking fingers over her mouth. An awareness shattered her. Their relationship was a volatile mixture of enmity and desire, and any weakness on her part would only give him another weapon. Still, in her fright, it was this man she sought and only now that he was before her some of her fear receded.

"How are you here? What is wrong?" he demanded softly. "Are you hurt?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Who?" His jaw was set, and his dark eyes were colder than she had ever seen them before. "Who dared?"

She jerked at the leashed violence in his tone.

He softened instantly and said, "I did not mean to alarm you."

It was then he noted the tear on her gown. "Ah, Jenna, come here," he said, still in that gentle tone.

With a sob, she walked into his arms, shocked that she trusted him to behave more gentlemanly than the blackguard who tried to kiss her and take what she did not offer. Cillian's arms folded around her, feeling like dark wings of comfort, shelter and protection. The tips of his fingers felt rough as they trailed over the bare skin of her shoulders in a fleeting caress.

"You are safe," he murmured.

His thumb stroked the delicate skin below her ear, and she trembled even more, and to Jenna's mortified shock, she burst into raw, ugly tears.