CHAPTER FIVE

Clarissa’s heart was pounding. It was not a pleasant feeling to be so utterly overwhelmed by a single look. She could feel a flush staining her cheeks under Lord Bolton’s intense scrutiny.

She was unsure whether she had misinterpreted his regard, yet he had observed her for such a length of time it had felt very deliberate.

Gathering her courage, she looked back at him, immediately caught in that emerald gaze for a second time. He was extraordinarily handsome. His thick mop of dark hair made his chiselled features and strong jaw all the more attractive. A lock of it had come loose and rested above his right eyebrow.

The strains of a waltz began to play through the air, and Clarissa looked up as several couples walked to the floor to begin the next set.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Crompton?”

Clarissa stared at Lord Bolton, wide-eyed. He couldn’t possibly wish to dance with me, surely! She thought frantically. But he raised his hand as though the request was quite genuine.

She glanced at Rosemary, who was smiling at her encouragingly. Surely, this was just a brother being kind to a disgraced friend. That seemed more fitting. She had never received an invitation from anyone as handsome or titled as Lord Bolton. She was swept away by her nerves.

But she also knew that Lord Bolton had a reputation. It had been whispered even at the small gatherings she had been permitted to attend in recent years. Her own mother had commented upon it before they arrived.

What if I make a fool of myself? What if associating with him taints me, and it lowers us even further in society's eyes?

But she could not refuse; that would be even more scandalous given her position. Several eyes were swivelling to watch them. If Clarissa had been flushed before, now her face was positively blazing. What should I do?

Accepting his offer seemed dangerous. He looked respectable, but then so did Mr Harrison, and Catherine was proof that one could never know a man’s true character just by his looks.

Were there whispers in the air, or was she conjuring them from thought alone? Her family had been dogged by scandal for so long; was she about to ruin them forever?

The intensity of his gaze had awakened something new and bright within her. It felt like hope, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.

“Thank you, my Lord. I would be delighted,” she forced out, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, her throat dry.

She managed to raise a gloved hand to him, and he took it without hesitation. The warmth of his fingers sent a wicked thrill of pleasure through her body, and she attempted to smother it, mindful of the many eyes upon them.

She glanced at Rosemary, but her friend was all polite eagerness. His sister did not seem surprised by Lord Bolton’s offer. Clarissa could not shake the idea that they had agreed to this in advance to ensure she would not be seen as a wallflower. That was more believable than Lord Bolton having any interest in her.

Clarissa breathed deeply through her nose as they walked to their places amongst the other couples. She tried not to stare about the room, watching for the disapproving glares she was sure were being levelled at her behind her back.

To her surprise, there were none. His status as an earl would be enough to protect him from the more slanderous gossip. She imagined few would dare speak badly of his dance partner so openly.

He is not a woman, she thought bitterly, which means he can live as he pleases with far less reproach.

She curtsied as they came together, his hand moving to her waist and the other taking her hand as they began the slow circling of the waltz. Clarissa fixed her gaze on his left shoulder, determined not to get lost in those eyes again. But the hand on her waist was a brand that seemed to pierce her side with heat, his fingers gently pressing against her flesh as they moved about the floor.

She had never been so affected by anyone and could only hope and pray that it did not show on her face. Lord Bolton’s body was large and imposing against her own, his steps sure, his back strict. He was an excellent dancer, and she felt safe in his arms. Not since Lord Warrington had she danced a Waltz, and she had forgotten how freeing it was.

She attempted to keep her composure, trying to remember the specific rumours that had swirled against Lord Bolton’s name. He was known to have spent company with many women on the continent. There had even been a suggestion that he had set himself up with a wealthy widow for a short time. Everyone agreed he was one of the most charming men of the Ton. Apparently, that was excuse enough of his conduct.

Why am I dancing with this man? He is the very person I should be avoiding. She continued to scold herself relentlessly, her thoughts spinning as madly as the dancers all around them. I certainly should not be imagining him holding me closer than he is.

Finally, when she could hold back no longer, she moved her gaze to his face. He was already looking at her, and there was a softness in his eyes that was exhilarating and confusing all at once. Was this truly a man who could never be tied down? Who had cast off the aspersions of society without a second thought?

He did not seem like a rake. Something about him felt genuine. It seemed, for all the world, like he had a secret. It was a secret that Clarissa felt she shared. He appeared to be playing a part, pretending to be someone he was not to conceal who he truly wished to be. She understood that position well.

As the dance ended, she realized they had not exchanged a single word. Yet she felt as though they had had a silent exchange that said more than words ever could.

Clarissa curtsied, unable to meet his eyes as she attempted a small smile before he led her from the dance floor. Rosemary was all smiles as she returned, lively and filled with the joys of the season. She watched Nicholas’s back disappear through the crowd after he had murmured a farewell and had to drag her eyes away.

The snow was falling outside the window in light flurries, making her feel lucky and happy to be safe and warm in such a fine home. She was glad they would not have to travel home if the snow continued, and at least her mother would not be grumbling about having to burn their wood now that they were enjoying Lady Eleanor’s hospitality.

Clarissa listened to Rosemary’s chatter as she glanced about the room, still feeling the fluttering uncertainty in her chest. Nicholas was taller than many of the gentlemen present, and picking him out from the crowd was not difficult. He was all charm and politeness, defying her limited knowledge of his character. She was confused and feeling lost by the time the dinner bell sounded, and they made their way through the room.

She pulled in a sharp breath as Nicholas strode through the crowd toward them. She thought he must have something to say to Rosemary, but instead, he offered her his arm.

“I believe I have the pleasure of your company for a second time, Miss Crompton; please allow me to escort you to dinner.”

She hooked her arm in his, the room suddenly seeming overly bright. The noise around them dimmed as she moved with him through the milling guests and into the dining room.

It was beautifully decorated, with high ceilings. The long dining room table was immaculate, everything set out just so. There were more sprigs of holly at every place setting. The napkins were a myriad of golds, reds, and greens with candles down the centre.

The snow outside the windows made everything seem more magical. The bright fire warmed the room in a pleasing glow, filling the air with its crackling.

Nicholas led Clarissa to the centre of the table, where she was placed opposite Lady Wilde. She was a woman wearing a striking emerald gown, who Clarissa had not yet become acquainted with. Her appearance made Clarissa feel plain in comparison.

Nicholas ensured she was seated comfortably before sitting beside her, and as soon as he was in position, she felt the same lightness of spirit in his company.

She chided herself inwardly for the familiarity she already felt with the man. Considering she knew very little of him, she was surprised by how easy she felt in his company. Perhaps this was his manner, however. He might be skilled at putting women at their ease.

As the starters were served, she noticed him glance at her and turned to him to be polite.

“Have you recently returned, Lord Bolton?”

He smiled that charming smile. “I have. I had not been back two days before, but my aunt was already ensuring I would be in attendance for this event. She is a ruthless organizer.” His words were playful, and he shot an affectionate glance at his aunt, who was in a deep debate with Clarissa’s father at the end of the table, their heads bowed together.

“How did you like the continent, my Lord? You were there for a number of years, were you not?”

“Indeed. I liked it very well. However, something about the English countryside at Christmas drew me back. I can never feel it is truly Christmas without a warm fire before me.”

“I agree,” Clarissa replied. “I have always enjoyed the winter months. I know many dislike the snow, but I find it a magical time to explore. I saw three and twenty cobwebs in our garden last evening, sparkling with diamonds from the dew that had settled. It is a beautiful time of year.”

She stopped speaking, embarrassed to have revealed so much. Her imagination had run away with her again. She was usually rather quiet at formal occasions these days, and she fancied that she had lost her head with the giddiness of being back in the company of others.

Nicholas was contemplating her with a wry smile, his eyes twinkling.

“Do you know, I couldn’t agree more. It is the best time of year. I am only sorry I must leave it so soon.”

Relief flooded her as she realized his presence would be briefer than she had previously thought.

“You leave England so soon?”

“If my aunt has her way, I will be here forever. But I always intended to see Italy, and I would love the chance to do so before I return permanently. My steward has handled the estate admirably in my absence, and the House of Lords does very well by proxy. I will return, but not quite yet. No matter how alluring the sights of England remain.”

His eyes moved over her face as he said those words and Clarissa could feel the flush creep over her cheeks again. He was entirely disarming, and she could well imagine a woman getting swept away by him.

‘I can deny this no longer. I am starting to have feelings, and I am unable to hide it.’

Her sister’s spiked hand was suddenly prominent in her mind, and she recalled her own shaking fingers as she had held the letter that spelled her ruin.

Yes, she could well imagine the folly such a man could bring if one were witless in one's affections.

“My sister tells me you have known one another since childhood.” Lord Bolton continued, oblivious of her internal battles. “I am sure we met when you were young. I confess I could not recall it. I am much aggrieved.”

Clarissa remembered him. He had been a tall, lanky boy who had ignored her whenever she had visited the Kingston’s. At eleven years older he must have thought young girls very foolish in his youth.

“I do remember you throwing sticks at us once,” she replied, surprising herself with the memory.

“Good Lord, did I? You have my humblest apologies.”

“Oh, do not worry yourself, my Lord; we started it.”

He chuckled. “Two ladies throwing sticks? I am quite affronted.”

“Yes, you were at the time, too. Rosemary tells me the oak tree in your garden has died, which is sad news. We used to climb it recklessly, and I believe your sister lured you outside with the promise of cake. When you emerged, we pelted you with conkers from the branches. Most unseemly.”

Nicholas really did laugh then, his eyes crinkling with delight. That wayward lock of hair fell back to reveal his startlingly green eyes.

“I cannot believe it. My sister has always had mischief running through her veins, but I am sorry she corrupted you.”

Despite herself, Clarissa could not help but laugh at the idea that her demure and kind friend could corrupt anyone.

“I believe my cousin, Miss Emily Crompton, has inherited that mischievous trait. She does enjoy playing games all about the house.”

“I shall have it noted, Miss, and be on my guard.”

They fell into a companionable silence, and Clarissa could not help allowing the feeling of joy their conversation had triggered to spread through her chest.

She glanced about the table, watching Emily speaking to a man with long dark-blond hair on the other side. She believed him to be Lord Henry Addison, though they were yet to be introduced. Emily was politely explaining her choice of ribbons to him, and he was listening with rapt attention. She hid a smile. Emily would spend her entire inheritance on ribbons if Clarissa did not stop her.

As she finished her soup, she noticed Lady Wilde across from her. Though undeniably beautiful, she had rather sharp features, and her gaze was somewhat calculating. Her eyes moved incessantly between Clarissa and Nicholas, and Clarissa felt her gut clench at the thought that she might be being too open with her feelings for him.

She had always been timid and shy around any man, including those who had been her suitors. Now, she was even more mindful of what her sister had done and never wished to prompt cruel comments from those in society who liked to spy on others.

Am I being too bold in my conduct with him? Surely, speaking of our childhood is not improper.

“Miss Kingston tells me you enjoy reading, Miss Crompton. I am rather an avid reader myself, and I wonder if you might have read Lord Byron?”

Clarissa was surprised that a rake should be interested in poetry, but she answered readily despite her surprise.

“Indeed, I think The Giaour is one of the best poems I have read. Although it is rather risqué in places. I do enjoy livid tails of vampires.”

Nicholas smiled. “But surely those are the best parts, Miss Crompton. Such escapism is the spice of life, after all.”

His voice was light but something in his gaze gave her pause. It was the same look from the dance floor, like he had forgotten himself and revealed something he had not intended to. What might this man have to escape from? She wondered.

***

Once the meal was over and Clarissa had repaired to the drawing room with the other ladies, she could not get Lord Bolton out of her mind. She wanted to believe that he was merely being polite with his interest and that she had misinterpreted his charm for kindness.

Either way, she was glad to be away from him briefly to gather her thoughts. It was not to be, however, for although she had sought out a quiet corner in which to rest, she was soon discovered by Rosemary.

Miss Kingston sat beside her, looking like a woman with a secret to impart, and Clarissa was instantly on her guard.

“My brother and you made a very fine couple about the floor,” Rosemary said. Her tone was entirely innocent, but Clarissa’s hackles rose instantly.

She did not like the implication that she and Lord Bolton had been considered a couple. The idea terrified her.

“He was very kind to ask me to dance,” she said quickly. “Was that your doing?”

Rosemary laughed. “Mine? Goodness, no.” She replied as Clarissa’s heart sank. “My brother does what he wishes and will not be swayed by anyone. Not even Aunt Eleanor can convince him to stay in England as he should.”

Clarissa wished to run from the house immediately. She had forgotten how instantly a connection could be made between two people in society. Perhaps Rosemary was innocent in her comments, but other tongues might be wagging. Clarissa did not need to be associated with any man such as him. The reality of what she had done came crashing down on her as Rosemary continued.

“He is unfairly spoken of, you know,” she said, as though discussing the weather. “Nicholas is not so very bad as they all say. I have heard some outrageous things that I cannot believe are true of my brother. He is a gentleman, and I have only seen him act with extreme propriety.”

Her comments only served to confuse Clarissa even more. His sister clearly did not believe the rumours about him, and she would know him best. Yet he had been away from her for many years—how could she possibly know the truth? Anyone could conceal their true character if they were skilled enough. Many men before Lord Bolton had hidden behind their charm.

“I am sure he is the epitome of a gentleman,” she agreed half-heartedly, and Rosemary beamed at her.

There was a general hubbub about them as the other ladies chatted and drank before the fire. Everyone was in a most amiable mood, yet Clarissa could not reach the same sense of happiness that she had experienced earlier.

She was scolding herself relentlessly for allowing her head to be turned by a handsome face. She had always sworn to protect her family from scandal, and as she watched Emily and her mother speaking to one another across the room, her anxiety only grew. No young girl deserved to live through a scandal as she had done. Emily was young enough for it never to taint her character, and Clarissa would not repeat her sister’s mistakes.

Lord Bolton may be just as Rosemary says he is, but I do not believe it. There is no smoke without fire, and our family has had their fingers burned before. I shall keep my distance from him and ensure we all stay far away from the flames.