Chapter Fifteen

December 8, 1812

“And the feather should be—”

“Don’t fuss, please, it’s quite all right—”

“—more to the left, I think. I mean your left, my right,” muttered Mrs. Teagan, attempting to adjust the careful hairpiece Evans had spent more than an hour perfecting.

Edie tried to step delicately away from the fussing chaperone, but the pavement along the street was not that wide. “Please, I assure you—”

“—just need to—”

“It really is fine—”

“—one moment and I’ll have it perfect—oh!”

Edie did not need a looking glass to tell her what had happened. In the cold, night air, the most inexplicable was happening.

Feathers were raining down past her shoulders.

“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Teagan had clasped her hands to her mouth with a look of abject horror. “I do apologize. Oh, no! Oh, dear—they’re falling!”

“Yes, they are,” Edie said wryly, brushing a white feather from the shoulder of her pelisse.

“I cannot apologize enough. Your beautiful headdress, the feathers, they’re all coming out. Oh, dear, oh—”

Lord Stewart turned around. He had continued walking steadily along the pavement and so was several feet away from the two ladies who had halted.

Edie was amused to see a smirk on his face.

“Ah, you decided to go without the headdress?” he called to them. His voice was almost lost in the growing chatter, the street filling with people making their way to the Duke of Sharnwick’s Christmas ball. “Excellent idea. I never liked those feathers.”

Stifling a laugh as Mrs. Teagan turned to soundly berate Lord Stewart for not understanding ladies’ fashion, Edie pulled the last few feathers from the ribbon in her hair and allowed their white softness to fall to the ground.

She wasn’t nearly so worried as Mrs. Teagan. In truth, she actually agreed with her father. Feathers were not something she particularly preferred, though they were, as Mrs. Teagan said, the height of fashion.

Some heights were higher than others. Why, she had seen Lady Romeril at Almack’s only last week wearing what could only be peacock feathers, rising several feet from her head. Most curious, it had made her look, too.

“—and I wanted this ball to be perfect,” Mrs. Teagan was saying, wringing her hands as she looked at the feathers now dirtying on the London road. “It was difficult enough to keep your gown clean. It’s far too busy for a carriage, and now the feathers—”

“Please, Mrs. Teagan, I do not mind.” Edie attempted to convince her to let it go as they started walking to catch her father, who was waiting for them. “I am not attending this ball so Society can see me wearing feathers.”

No , she thought with a painful twist of her stomach as they reached the portico of the Duke of Sharnwick’s home and were welcomed up the steps by a serious-looking footman. No, I’m attending this ball so the man to whom everyone thinks I’m engaged to be married can start a mock argument with me, and break off that engagement, scandalizing the ton but avoiding my reputation being damaged as that of a capricious woman.

The anticipation which had been thrumming through her took a lurch as they stepped into the entrance hall, where their pelisses, wraps, and greatcoat were taken by equally serious footmen in the same livery. Standing in a corner, without greatcoat or top hat but with a wide grin on his face, was—

Edie swallowed. Frederick .

Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith. The man to whom she had given everything. The only man in the whole of London who made her feel—

But she could not permit herself to get lost in those thoughts, particularly as they were matched by feelings Frederick evidently did not feel himself. After all, had it not been his idea to break the engagement here?

“In that case, let us falsify an argument at this upcoming ball and initiate the end of this charade.”

Edie’s smile blossomed, however, despite her nerves, as Frederick stepped toward them. She had thought for a few minutes in the carriage, days ago, that he had been about to say something completely different. Indeed, her foolish hopes had allowed her to believe he had been about to ask her to…

Well. Make the sham of an engagement a true one.

“Well, I thought, at that ball… “

It had been a foolish hope, indeed, and had been swiftly dashed. Just when Edie had hinted she wished to become engagement in truth, to find a husband before the end of the year from amongst the best of Society…

“—because naturally, as I am the flourishing rose of this year’s Season, and there is the fact that the new Season is almost upon us, I need to ensure I make a good match.”

She had been idiotic to say such a thing. Edie had seen the calm in Frederick’s face, heard the serenity in his voice. He had merely been considering the best way to break their fabricated engagement—he had not been thinking of anything else.

And now…

“Good evening, Lord Stewart, Mrs. Teagan, Miss Stewart,” said Frederick, bowing low to all three of them. “I trust you are all well this evening?”

Edie allowed Mrs. Teagan to twitter on, as she always did. It gave her a few moments to collect herself.

As though she could calm the raging fire of need within her. Need for him. Not just his touch, but also his closeness—

“Are you ready, Miss Stewart?” came Frederick’s soft voice as he offered his arm.

Edie met his eyes steadily and saw within them a mirror of the many emotions rippling through herself.

Anticipation at the argument they would have to somehow create. A thrill, somehow, that their pretense had managed to convince so many in the ton . And… sadness.

It would soon all be over. The intimacy they had invented to convince the world had so easily convinced her. Edie knew nothing would be the same again after this evening, but a part of her—a growing part—could not help but hope…

“I am ready, my lord,” she said aloud, taking Frederick’s arm.

Edie almost cried out with delight as her gloved hand slipped onto the fine fabric of his coat. This was where she belonged. Could he not see that? Did he not know how desperately she wanted to remain here?

Thankfully, any hint of sound that may have escaped her lips was swiftly overcome by the playing of the musicians in the ballroom they were entering. The place was packed, the Duke of Sharnwick being a popular person in the ton and his Christmas ball apparently not one to miss, and the musicians were working hard to ensure their tune could be heard by the dancers over the loud chatter of the onlookers.

Vaguely aware of her father behind her with Mrs. Teagan on his arm, Edie allowed herself to be guided by Frederick to a corner of the room where there was space to breathe. It just so happened that it was on the opposite side of the room to the musicians, which meant they could also converse.

“—sorry I could not join you,” her father was saying to Frederick with a genuinely contrite expression. “Though I hear from Mrs. Teagan that the grounds and gardens of Wickacre Hall are truly lovely.”

“Oh, Father, they were magnificent,” said Edie warmly, forgetting herself in the surge of affection for the place where she and Frederick had shared so much. “You will have to see it for yourself soon, before—”

She caught herself just in time.

Or rather, not quite in time.

“Before what, my dear?” asked Lord Stewart curiously.

Edie bit her lip as she met Frederick’s eye.

She had been about to say, as clearly her “betrothed” had guessed, before the engagement comes to an end .

But that was foolish. Wasn’t it due to come to an end tonight?

“Before Christmas, I believe Miss Stewart was going to say,” said Frederick smoothly, rescuing her from her own folly. “The decorations are just spectacular.”

“I admit, I had wondered what to do this Christmas,” Edie’s father mused quietly. “I even considered… “

Quite unlike him, his voice trailed away. Then his cheeks reddened to a crimson shade and his attention dropped—dropped to the woman’s hand on his arm.

Edie stared between her father and Mrs. Teagan. No. No, surely not. Though she had considered it once, that had been a jest! Her father was older, to be certain, but he was still a baron. If he’d wanted a second wife, he could have had his pick. Surely, Lord Stewart and her chaperone were not —

“Well, consider this your invitation,” said Frederick.

Stiffening immediately, Edie stared in wonder and confusion. What on earth did he think he was doing, issuing Christmas invitations to her father—had he forgotten their plan?

“That is, if the place can be made ready in time for so many guests,” Frederick added, his throat clearing as he appeared to recollect himself. “I am afraid Wickacre Hall is not suitably designed for a long stay of people of your caliber, my lord. I would hate you to—”

“And I would not wish to impose, not at all,” said Lord Stewart just as stiffly. “I am sure we will be more than comfortable in London. Won’t we, my dear—my dear Mrs.—I mean, Mrs. Teagan?”

Edie stared between the three of them in wonder, watching as Mrs. Teagan’s cheeks joined her father’s in turning pink.

What had got into everyone tonight? Was there something in the air, perhaps, that was leading them all to act so strangely?

Perhaps her father had remembered the charming young man he was conversing with was no other than the scandalous Lord Pernrith—but why had Frederick offered in the first place? And by God, what was going on between Mrs. Teagan and her father?

Edie had an inkling. It had been a great number of years since her mother had died, and she would not wish her father to become lonely when she married Frederick, but—

She was not going to marry Frederick.

The thought weighed in her like a stone. She was not going to marry Frederick. It was easy, standing in this ballroom in a soft, silk gown and Frederick’s arm strong and dependable beneath her hand, to forget that.

“Ah, the flourishing rose of the year’s Season,” came a genteel voice.

Edie turned and curtseyed low as she recognized—

“The Countess of Dalmerlington,” she murmured. “What an honor—”

“Yes, but it is most provoking,” said the exquisitely beautiful Countess of Dalmerlington. “I had intended to introduce you to my brother, the Duke of Aynor—he was traveling abroad last Season—and now I am to discover you are already engaged.”

Edie glanced up at Frederick before responding.

Yes, she was. Engaged . Though he had not demanded her pledge, her heart was more engaged than it had ever been.

Strange, to think she had missed the chance of being a duchess…

“You are a fortunate man, my lord,” the Countess of Dalmerlington was saying cordially. “To have the flourishing rose of the year’s Season as your bride.”

Frederick’s warmth was pouring through him to her side. Try as she might, knowing it would only bring her pain, Edie looked up.

She laughed, unable to help herself, as he grinned.

“Very fortunate,” Frederick said with a charm all his own. “Though you do not appear to be short of flourishing roses yourself.”

The Countess of Dalmerlington glittered as she tilted her tiaraed head indulgently. “Indeed, my lord.”

She wandered away with a courtesy to Lord Stewart, and Edie was left grinning at her supposed betrothed.

Oh, this man. She had shared so much with him, so much of herself. In turn, Frederick had been more open with her than anyone in the world, she was starting to realize. And through their conversations, she had discovered not only more of herself, but what she wanted.

Could they really walk away from each other? After all they had done, all they had shared? She would not dare use it to force his hand, but he had taken from her something her future husband might consider his own right. She had thought that meant… But no. She had encouraged him. Had wanted it herself, whatever the consequences.

“Now then, Edie,” said her father fondly. “It looks as though they are creating a set for the next dance. It’s a country dance, your favorite.”

If it had been any other situation, any other gentleman, she would have sent daggers to her father for his blatant solicitation of a dance on her behalf.

But this was Frederick—and they had not come here to dance.

What should they do? Have the argument now, make a clean break before they got lost in the evening? Or was there time to have a dance—a final dance—before the inevitable argument cost them the engagement the ton was convinced was true?

Just get it over and done with , part of her pleaded, gazing into Frederick’s hazel eyes. I can’t live in this limbo space much longer. And yet… And yet…

Edie could see he understood her. That was one of the many wonderful things about Frederick. He just seemed to know what she was thinking, without her having to say a word.

At least most of the time.

“Miss Stewart,” said Frederick lightly, inclining his head. “Will you give me the honor of this dance?”

This dance, and the rest of my life. “Of course, Lord Pernrith.”

Heads turned as they stepped through the crowded ballroom to where, as her father had said, a set was being created by couples. Try as she might, Edie could not entirely forget they were being gawped at—and neither could she ignore the whispers reaching her ears.

“Yes, that’s her, the flourishing rose—”

“She is remarkably pretty, isn’t—”

“—and Viscount Pernrith? Does she not know?”

Edie allowed herself to smile as Frederick carefully placed her in the line of ladies, then removed his arm to stand opposite her with the other gentlemen.

Yes, she did know. She knew all about Lord Frederick Chance’s sordid past, though none of it was his fault.

She also knew about his kindness. The pain he had endured as half a Chance, always on the outside, never feeling truly part of a family. The way his eyes lit up when he was discussing something that animated him. The soft warmth of his chest as she had curled up against it just a few nights ago.

Edie swallowed. And yet there was still so much she did not know. How, precisely, he was planning on breaking her heart, for instance.

The music started and Edie obeyed the pull of the music. In concert with the other ladies, she stepped forward and curtseyed, returning to her place as Frederick and the gentlemen mirrored her.

“So,” Edie said as lightly as she could manage as she stepped forward to take Frederick’s hands. “What about the plan?”

“The plan?”

“I did not think our… our plan for this evening necessitated a dance,” she said, trying to keep her tone unconcerned.

Which was very difficult. Dancing with Frederick was like amorous congress with Frederick. Highly intense, causing shivers of pleasure to roar up her spine, and making Edie wish to take all her clothes off.

Not ideal, in the middle of a ballroom.

If only he didn’t have those wolfishly hungry eyes. If only he weren’t looking at her like… like he wished very much she would oblige him by taking off all her clothes.

Edie swallowed. Concentrate!

“The plan does not prevent us from dancing,” Frederick said easily. “Besides, I like dancing with you.”

She tried to laugh carelessly as he slipped a hand on her waist—as the dance dictated. But there was something intensely sensual about the way he did it. “You do?”

“I do,” he breathed, his mouth mere inches from her ear.

It was fortunate, indeed, his hand was keeping her upright, for Edie could have melted there and then.

Does he have any idea—

But he did. She could see the same desire reflected in his eyes. Frederick wanted to kiss her, right now, right here. Perhaps if they had not been planning to end the farce that was this engagement, he would do so, Society be damned.

“Move,” Frederick whispered.

A shiver rushed through her body, peaking at her breasts and between her thighs. What does he—

“Move,” he repeated, louder this time. “You need to take a step to the—”

“Oh,” Edie said hastily, heat flushing her.

The dance. Of course.

It was all too easy to lose herself in the presence of Frederick Chance. The dance was not particularly complicated, and her mind could hardly concentrate on anything.

Just him.

When Frederick placed a hand on Edie’s lower back, perhaps lower than the dance truly required, her gasp caught in her throat. Oh, how she wished his searing hand could travel just a little lower. The memory of him cupping her buttocks against him, of feeling his hardness pressing against her hip—

“What are you thinking about?”

Edie laughed uncomfortably. “Nothing.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow as he slid his hand an inch lower on her back. “Nothing?”

Forcing herself not to bite her lip, she said, “Just… what we shared at Wickacre Hall.”

She met his gaze as a throb pulsed in her folds.

Oh, he understood precisely what she meant. Those moments they had shared together, the intense intimacy, the ecstasy he had eked out of her body…

Kissing every inch of her. Touching her, showing her what pleasure could be found in the parts of her body she had ignored until that night.

Frederick’s expression burned. “I would repeat that time at Wickacre Hall again, if I could.”

“You would?”

“Every night,” he murmured as they promenaded down the set. “And every morning.”

It was all she could do to stop herself from moaning. The sensuality of the dance was heightened by Frederick’s presence, by his words, by the way his fingers trailed longer than they should have with every touch, his heat burning even through his gloves.

The ache she knew was all his doing was building between her legs, and Edie knew only one person could satisfy it. The one person she knew she could ever love.

Frederick took her hands in his and she fought against the instinct to throw herself into his arms. Ball be damned, Society be damned, Lord Stewart and Mrs. Teagan be damned…

All she wanted was him.

And suddenly, she was not moving.

Edie stood, heart racing, shoulders rising and falling with every hurried breath. It took her a moment to realize that not only had the musicians ceased their playing, but that the other dancers in the line had reclaimed their partners and were returning to their parties around the ballroom.

Except themselves. She and Frederick were just standing there, staring into each other’s eyes and thinking…

Oh, she hardly knew what she was thinking. There was no point in attempting to guess his own thoughts.

Was it possible they were thinking the same thing?

Edie’s pulse was beating so rapidly, she was almost certain Frederick could hear it. Perhaps even her father could—perhaps the whole ballroom heard the frantic thud , thud , thud and was wondering if there was a water pump somewhere that had malfunctioned.

Suddenly, he was before her, Frederick, his chest mere inches from her own, and he gazed with such a blazing expression that Edie knew meant that this was the moment.

This was it.

“I think,” Frederick said softly, so softly, she was surely the only one who could hear him. “I think we should argue now.”

Yes, that had been the agreement, hadn’t it? An argument in public, one Frederick would start so he would be at fault. Edie would be the injured party, but the ton would not force her to go through with the betrothal after such a display.

Being caught kissing in a library was one thing—but scandalously insulting a lady before her father, before her chaperone, and in public?

No, no one would force the flourishing rose of the year’s Season to endure such a thing.

And in that moment, in the certain knowledge that everything she had held dear for the last month was about to be wrenched from her, Edie slipped into a moment of clarity.

She did not want this to end.

Why would she? Frederick was everything she had ever hoped to discover in a suitor. Handsome, charming, kind—and so devastatingly agreeable, she was starting to find everyone who wasn’t Frederick completely dull.

Edie slowly shook her head.

An expression of puzzlement slipped across Frederick’s face. “But—why not?”

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, hardly sure if this was the right decision but knowing she could not make any other.

Whispers were starting to rise around them. They needed to move, Edie knew they were attracting attention, but she could not shift a step.

“I want to be engaged for another day,” Edie whispered, looking deep into Frederick’s eyes.

And she saw the answering gleam of delight.

Frederick beamed. “So… So do I.”

A shuddering breath rushed through Edie as relief coursed through her. They were not breaking their engagement. Their pretend engagement, that was. For another evening, she could walk about at Viscount Pernrith’s side, and shoulder all the gossip, all the slander, the slanted looks and the pursed lips.

One more day with Frederick.

If only he wished to have her not just as his lover, but as his wife, it could be days, months, years, decades more.

“Well, in that case,” he said quietly, his voice humming with evident desire. “Shall we dance again?”