Chapter 13

Balls. Elise shuddered at the word.

Was there any hell greater than being paraded about like a broodmare at a market to be examined and judged by one's simpering facade and pleasing submission to a man in a dance? No. There wasn't.

When she judged horses, she didn't just look at their teeth or think about the foals they could produce. She judged them for something deeper. Something more pure that went down to the animal's very soul. But the criteria of London's men could be boiled down to the three B's that sealed every woman's fate: Would she be beautiful, biddable, and beddable?

She wanted to turn tail and run, but she was no coward. If her father wanted her to accompany him tonight, she would do her best to look pretty, smile, dance, and repeat until the night was over. She was under no obligation to do more than that.

Elise sighed as she stepped out of the coach, taking Prospero's hand as he and her father escorted her into the fashionable townhouse in Belgrave Square. Lord Rochester's servants greeted them at the door and took their hats and coats. Elise shrugged out of her red satin hooded cloak and passed it to a waiting servant.

"His lordship and the other guests are in the ballroom," the butler said as he escorted them toward the music. The ballroom was full of guests, and the dancing was well underway. To Elise's relief, she spotted her friends standing by one of the walls, half hidden by a tall potted plant. It was one of their strategies for avoiding the attention of men whenever possible.

"There are Cinna and Edwina." She pointed them out to Prospero. "Would you like an introduction?"

"Certainly. I've heard so much about them the last few days that I feel as though I already know them."

Her father nodded to them. "I shall leave you both to meet your friends. I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to this evening." Before he left to join a group of men who were clearly discussing business, Elise noticed the look her father shared with Prospero. Whatever they had discussed earlier seemed to have made them both more quiet than normal.

Prospero tucked her arm in his, pulling her a little closer. Had any other man done that, she would have pulled away, but when Prospero did it, she liked it. "What did you and my father discuss this afternoon? It seems to have left you both a bit morose."

"My future," Prospero said. "I believe he will be involving me in his business affairs more directly than I ever imagined."

"But that is good, is it not?" she asked. "I thought you would want to have some sense of stability."

"I was hoping to earn my own way, rather than be given as much as he means to. Does it upset you that he plans to give me something as valuable as his business? The man has only known me a few days."

"I suppose you would expect me to be upset... but I don't have much interest in locomotives or business. I am more my mother's daughter, with my head buried in books and my eyes trained to microscopes. It's not that I do not care about my father's business, but the idea of digging into that world and making a place for myself doesn't call to me. I think it calls to you, though, and that makes me not mind it as much as you would think."

The tension in Prospero's face eased a little. "You would trust a stranger with something like that?"

"I no longer see you as a stranger. Perhaps because we've been through so much in the last few days and I've asked you so many questions, I feel rather like I know you better than I know most people, except for my father and my friends."

This much was true. She'd questioned him endlessly about his life, about his past, about his hopes for the future, and all the things he'd longed for while he'd been in exile. This man was no stranger. He was kind, wryly amusing, a deep and thoughtful man. And he was passionate. Despite her own wish to stay clearheaded about the subject of her study, she had to admit, he'd awakened things in her she'd never imagined she'd feel.

But learning the exact nature of her father's plans for Prospero would have to wait, as they now joined her friends at their hiding place.

"Elise!" Edwina rushed forward and embraced her, which forced her to pull free of Prospero's arm.

"Edwina, Cinna, may I present to you Prospero Harrington, the Earl of March. Prospero, this is Miss Edwina Tewksbury and Lady Cinna Belmont."

Prospero stared at Cinna in intense puzzlement. "It is a pleasure to meet you both," he said as he bowed. "But... have we met before, Lady Cinna? I have the strangest sense of déjà vu."

A mischievous light shimmered in Cinna's brown eyes. "We haven't, my lord. But I am told I have a very familiar face."

"Oh, I suppose that's it. And how are you ladies this evening?" he inquired with the air of a perfect gentleman. Prospero touched the tall, arching leaves of the plant in front of them. "I see that this plant provides a measure of concealment from the tigers lurking nearby."

"It certainly does," Edwina agreed. "And they are tigers indeed, aren't they, Cinna?" Edwina giggled.

Cinna huffed, glaring at the dandies who preened like peacocks just a short distance away.

"And are you succeeding in avoiding those tigers?" Prospero asked them.

"I wouldn't mind a dance with you to escape them," Edwina confessed. "I'm trying to fill up my dance card before Lord Pavenly finds me. He's been pestering my father for a marriage agreement for months." Edwina's gold hair gleamed in the lamplight, accenting her angelic features. Prospero came to her aid without hesitation, claiming her last free dance.

"And you, Lady Cinna? Do you need to be rescued from a dance as well?" Prospero asked.

Cinna tossed her head, reminding Elise of the wild mares they'd seen in the paddocks that afternoon. "Heavens no. I know it's impolite to refuse a man, but I have no such qualms about telling a buffoon off if he bothers me."

"I understand you've recently returned from France, Lord March?" Edwina asked.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stood proudly as he conversed with Elise's friends. "Yes, my father's death made it necessary to return."

Elise took a moment to study him. Prospero wore one of her father's evening suits, and with a bit of quick tailoring, it fit him well enough that anyone would have assumed it was his own. His presence acted as a deterrent to the other men in a way that Elise found fascinating and comforting. Several gentlemen had come toward the three women with purpose. No doubt they'd hoped to request a dance, but upon catching sight of Prospero, each of them turned about quite suddenly and acted as though they were needed elsewhere, some of them even waving at no one just to seem as though they'd been summoned away.

"How marvelous," Cinna murmured as she stepped close to Elise while Prospero and Edwina discussed the merits of Paris. "Did you see how every man who sees him positively flees in the opposite direction? That man is a society shield. We simply must take him everywhere with us from now on."

Elise chuckled, but something about Cinna's words stirred her memories. A society shield. Her father had said she needed someone to slay dragons for her, and here was a knight doing just that. Her mind flashed to that impossible future, a life that she could not have because it would mean giving up who she was. She gave herself a mental shake.

"Yes, he is something, isn't he?" Elise agreed. "You wouldn't believe what happened when we went to his club last night."

Cinna's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"I was punched by a man during a card game. It was simply thrilling!"

"Truly? Now I wish I had snuck down to the cardrooms that day I showed him the advertisement about your study," Cinna whispered. "What was it like watching the men there? Was it full of smoke and blustering old fools wagering their fortunes?"

"It was, in a way. I had little interest in the gambling itself, but it was fascinating to see how men react to each other. They squared off like bucks in mating season, cracking their antlers together," Elise said. "I've taken some diligent notes, and soon I will be able to compose an article for Mr. Holmes that proves I quite thoroughly understand the male sex. There is no way he could argue otherwise."

"I cannot wait for him to turn over that wretched violin of his. I say we burn it in the fireplace," Cinna growled.

"It is not the instrument, but the man who plays so foully," Elise reminded her. "I rather think we should give it to Edwina. She could sell it for a bit of money. I know her father is struggling at the moment."

"Yes, we really should talk with her about that. I don't like thinking that her father might pressure her to marry some old codger just for the sake of their family."

"I agree. Perhaps my father could talk with hers. Maybe assist him in sorting out his situation." Elise stopped talking when she noticed two men coming toward their hiding spot, undaunted by their social shield. She recognized one as Prospero's charming friend from the gentlemen's club, Guy De Courcy. The other gentleman was familiar to her as well. She had met him once or twice at social engagements, but his name escaped her at the moment.

"Ah, Guy, Nicholas, may I present Miss Edwina Tewksbury and Lady Cinna Belmont. And this is Miss Elise Hamblin," Prospero said. "Ladies, these are my friends, Viscount De Courcy and the Earl of Durham."

"Miss Hamblin." Guy winked at Elise. "I'm delighted to see you again."

Nicholas looked at Guy with slight suspicion. "Dare I ask what you have been up to now, Guy?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, old boy." Guy nudged Prospero. "Right, Pross?"

"Guy has been a proper gentleman, and he will continue to be so," Prospero said.

Guy merely chuckled at the gentle warning before turning his attention to Elise's friends. He stepped up to Cinna, who raised her chin in defiance.

"Lady Cinna, please tell me you have a dance free."

"I do not dance," she said simply.

"Oh? Do you have two left feet? How unfortunate. I've met many gorgeous women who simply cannot dance due to the threat they pose to their partners' toes," Guy said offhandedly.

Cinna bristled. "I dance to perfection, my lord. I simply choose not to dance."

"I rather think I don't believe you." Guy tapped his chin thoughtfully, and Cinna's face reddened as she stepped closer to him, squaring off against him. "One cannot dance to perfection without actually having engaged in the act publicly as well as privately."

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Cinna replied icily.

"Not at all, but wouldn't it be satisfying to prove me wrong?" He held out a hand to Cinna, a playful, wicked gleam in his eyes. She had to dance with him to prove herself right, and Cinna, by the glare she shot the playful rogue, was apparently all too aware of her predicament.

Elise was certain Cinna would refuse, but instead she slapped her gloved hand into Guy's. He shot a victorious grin at Elise and Prospero before he led her friend to the dance floor.

"Oh dear," Edwina murmured.

"Should we be concerned, Miss Tewksbury?" Nicholas inquired.

"Well, I don't know. Cinna can be so..." Edwina trailed off and looked to Elise.

"She can be rather prickly when pushed," Elise clarified.

"Ah, I see," Nicholas mused. "Well, Guy has a hard head. It would take quite a few blows to his skull before he gets bruised."

"Nicholas is right," Prospero told Elise. "We shouldn't worry about them."

Nicholas focused on Elise's more gentle, soft-spoken friend. "Now, Miss Tewksbury, might I ask if you have any dances free?"

"Sadly, I do not," Edwina looked supremely disappointed, but Prospero stepped in.

"Miss Tewksbury, I would be honored if you would give my dance to Nicholas."

Edwina brightened. "You wouldn't mind?" she asked.

"Not at all," Prospero assured her. Nicholas escorted Edwina to the floor, leaving Elise and Prospero alone once more.

"I like your friends," Prospero said.

"And I yours." She was surprised that it was true. Neither Nicholas nor Guy was like most men she was forced to engage with at events such as these. She found she enjoyed Guy's teasing, and Nicholas had a gentle, steady patience that seemed to balance Guy's audacity and Prospero's burning intensity.

Prospero nodded at the refreshment table. "Shall I fetch you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you." She was rather thirsty, and a glass of punch would be welcome.

"I shall return in a moment."

Elise turned to watch her friends dance, but she was startled to see a tall, dark-haired man striding straight toward her. She glanced about, seeing no other women, and certainly none in her partially concealed position behind the large plant. What the devil did he want with her?

The man bowed when he reached her. "Miss Hamblin." He was fair in looks and just as intense as Prospero, but there was something about him that warned her away. Whereas Prospero's intensity lit a fire within her blood, this man's intensity was far more threatening. "My name is Adam Jackson. I apologize for the lack of a proper introduction." It was entirely against protocol for a man to introduce himself to her like this.

"Mr. Jackson?" she echoed.

"Yes, and I would like to request the next dance if you are free?"

She shot a glance at Prospero, who was talking to a woman by the refreshment table. He seemed quite focused on her and unlikely to come back right away. It would be bad form to refuse Mr. Jackson, and that would reflect poorly on her father. Elise would never shame her father by making a public spectacle.

"I... Very well." She placed her hand in Mr. Jackson's, and they walked to the dance floor just as the previous dance ended. Mr. Jackson pulled her toward him, but not so close as to be scandalous, as the musicians began the next tune.

"Mr. Jackson, may I ask why you risked scandal introducing yourself to me in such a way?"

"Because I am forward enough to say that I think you are the most beautiful woman here tonight, and I wished to be one of the lucky few who danced with you."

Elise saw a hint of something in the man's eyes that sent a prickle of unease through her. His eyes held no passion, no emotions of any kind. There was nothing there, save for a thin layer of ice beneath his clearly charming demeanor.

"I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Jackson, but we both know that I am not the prettiest woman in the room."

"Nonsense. We both know you are lovely. Were I a foolish man, I would risk asking you to accompany me into the garden, but I suspect you are far too sensible a lady and would decline."

"Indeed, I would," she replied. She wished he would speak no more for the remainder of the waltz, but alas, she was not that fortunate.

"Tell me, are you taken, Miss Hamblin? Everyone saw you arrive with Lord March. That was quite a statement to make, yet we hear no news of a wedding. Is there hope that you are still unattached?" Mr. Jackson offered her what would've been a winning smile on any other man. She thought of a hyena she'd seen in the London Zoo, how it had bared its teeth and made that terrible sound that was like an evil laugh.

"I am unattached, but I am regrettably"—she choked on the word—"never going to marry."

"More's the pity," Jackson said. "I believe you and I could have made an impressive couple."

"Mr. Jackson, would you mind if we continued this dance in silence?" she requested, aware of her tone hardening. She wasn't rude enough to refuse to dance, but she wasn't above demanding silence.

"Of course," Jackson said with the apparent amiability that one would expect, and Elise wondered if she imagined a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Elise pulled free of his arms the moment the waltz ended. But he insisted on escorting her back to Prospero, who stood on the edge of the floor holding two glasses of punch. His face was pale, and his eyes were as hard and cold as Jackson's when they reached him.

"Ah, March," Jackson greeted.

"Jackson." Prospero's tone could have turned the punch he carried into solid ice.

"Lovely partner you have this evening." Jackson bowed over at Elise's hand and kissed her gloved fingers. Then he strode away and vanished into the crowd.

"And that is exactly why I do not enjoy balls," Elise muttered once she and Prospero were alone. He didn't say a word but stared in the direction Jackson had gone.

Elise tried to pry one of the glasses of punch from his hands, and he finally released his grip on it.

"What did he say to you?" Prospero asked.

"Some nonsense about me being the prettiest girl here and how all men wanted me and wondered if I was unattached. It was clear he had no genuine interest. I can see lies in a person's gaze quite easily." Elise sipped her punch, but there was a sour taste in her mouth from her time with Jackson. Something about him. The way Prospero had reacted... She had a violent flash of clarity.

"Jackson. Is he?—?"

"He is." Prospero's voice was low. "He's Aaron's older brother."

No wonder he had waited until Prospero had left to approach her. Jackson had done it on purpose, the bastard. He'd wanted Prospero to see her dancing with him.

"Yes." Prospero drank his punch in one gulp and set the glass down on a platter as a footman walked by. Then he grasped Elise's hand and with his other hand removed her own glass of punch and set it on the tray beside his.

"Dance with me." It was a command, and quite unlike him, but Elise didn't protest. She led him lead her onto the dance floor.

"Thank you. I need a distraction. Something to keep me from doing something ill advised." Prospero's tone was cold as his gaze swept the ballroom before focusing on her.

Elise didn't ask what ill-advised thing he might do, so she simply tucked herself into Prospero's arms as another dance began. They didn't speak as she let Prospero lead her across the floor. She often had trouble letting men lead in dances, but it came second nature to her to put her trust in this man.

After a moment, the lines of tension on Prospero's face eased and he finally seemed to relax. And to Elise's surprise, she enjoyed the remainder of the dance, even laughing when she spun and danced beneath his arm with their fingers laced. The shadows in Prospero's eyes momentarily vanished in the light of her laughter. When the dance ended, she was hesitant to let go. She wanted to keep dancing, because something warned her that nothing would be the same once the music faded and they stopped twirling in each other's arms.

"Let's not stop," she whispered to Prospero.

"People will whisper about us," he warned.

"Let them," she replied. "Let them talk all they want." And so they danced again and again, until the lamps burned low and the guests began to depart for the evening. Yet they still spun in circles, talking about a thousand different things. For a precious few hours that night, she put off the sense of dread that hung over her with no explanation.

At last, the music ended and the musicians began to pack up their instruments. She and Prospero finally had to depart the dance floor. The Marquess of Rochester, Benedict Russell, met them and shook Prospero's hand.

"Glad to see you back in London, and with such intelligent company. A smart man surrounds himself with the brilliant minds of others, does he not?" Lord Rochester asked with a knowing look. He offered Elise a smile and bowed to kiss her hand. Rochester donated to many intellectual societies in London, and their paths had crossed often. He was one of the few men who was happy to talk about science and nature with her whenever they met at social functions.

"Thank you, Rochester. I am indeed blessed with Miss Hamblin's company. And thank you for extending me an invitation tonight."

"Of course." Rochester bowed and greeted her father, who now rejoined them.

"Wonderful ball, Rochester," her father said.

"Thank you, John. I'm delighted you could attend. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to the musicians."

When their host was gone, Elise touched her father's arm. He looked exhausted, and she didn't like that.

"Papa, I think you've been working too hard. Let's get you home to rest."

John nodded, his gaze distant as they left Rochester's home and climbed into the waiting carriage.

They were halfway home when her father cleared his throat. "Elise, there's something important I must discuss with you."

Prospero shifted beside her. Suddenly her body grew tense like a coiled spring.

"Papa... is this about Prospero taking over part of your business interests?"

"Yes." Her father hesitated, then seemed to steel himself. "In fact, Prospero will be taking over all of my business interests soon."

"All?" She echoed the word. "But why? And why so soon?"

At first he said nothing, nor did Prospero. She looked between the two men. "Will someone please speak?" Her heart began to pound hard enough to bruise her ribs. That sense of dread she'd carried all night now grew heavier.

"I am unwell. I do not know how many more days I have. And so I've made preparations for my estate, as well as for your future."

Unwell. The word rang like a distant bell in the middle of the night, a horrifying warning that all was not well. That terrible things were on the horizon.

"I'm dying, sweetheart." Her father's tone softened and he reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "But as a dying man, I have one thing I wish to ask of you."

His grip was strong and sure, betraying no sign of any illness. Elise swallowed hard, a lump caught in her throat.

"What... what do you wish me to do?"

"I want to walk you down the aisle at St. George's and give you away."

His words didn't make sense, not at first. "Marriage? To whom?"

Her father's gaze slid to Prospero.

"You mean for us to marry?"

"He is the only man I could trust with you. He knows you, Elise. He accepts you."

"Accepts me?" Her voice pitched up an octave with fury. "What about me needs to be accepted?"

"Nothing," Prospero broke in quietly. "You are perfect as you are. But other men would clip your wings and put you in a gilded cage. Your father knows I would let you remain free."

Betrayed. The word dug in her heart deeper than any dagger ever could. Her father had betrayed her, and Prospero had gone along with it.

She glared at her father. "How can you ask this of me?"

"Because I love you, and I know that an unwed heiress would be targeted by the worst sort of men."

"I wouldn't be silly enough to be seduced, and I certainly won't be compromised," Elise argued.

"But men have a way of breaking women, forcing them to do what they wish. When I was a younger man, it was common for heiresses to be abducted and forced to wed. That hasn't changed. Even your intelligence and determination would not save you if you were held at gunpoint. You'd be made to say your vows against your will, and the clergyman would be paid off. That would be just one of a dozen ways someone could catch you in an impossible situation that would force you to marry. It would be a terrible end for the child I love more than my own breath." Her father squeezed her hand again. "Please, Elise."

The coach stopped in front of their house, and her father climbed out and offered his hand. Elise didn't move. She couldn't.

"Elise?"

She made no move, no sound. It was as though the world around her was closing in, blackness creeping in at the corners of her mind.

"I'll stay with her, John. You go on inside." Prospero's voice sounded so very far away.

She was vaguely aware of the coach door shutting and darkness growing around her. Strangely, she felt like the coach was still moving, rocking even though she knew it had stopped.

Hands took hold of her gently, and she was lifted, settled onto someone's lap. The fog in her mind thickened and she struggled, striking his chest with balled fists until she choked on her own sobs and her tears blurred the glow of the carriage lamps around her and created striations of gold light across her eyes in the night. She heaved, her body drowning in pain. It felt as though her lungs burned with her own screams.

What seemed like hours later, she slipped into a quiet state where only her small hiccupping breaths sustained her.

He cupped the back of her head, tucking her cheek against someone's chest. A steady heartbeat thudded strong and comforting in her ears.

"Hush now..." A hand rubbed up and down her back. Her eyelids drifted closed, and she woke later to discover that Prospero was carrying her up the stairs. She felt safe cradled in his arms in a way she'd never thought she would ever need to feel. He carried her to her room and laid her down on the bed.

She heard Mary's whisper from somewhere in the dimly lit bedchamber. "Thank you, my lord."

"Someone should stay with her tonight. I volunteer to do it so that you may get some sleep," Prospero murmured to Mary. "She'll need you come the morning."

"Oh, but?—"

"Truly, Mary, it's all right. I don't mind," Prospero assured the servant.

Elise drifted to sleep again, only to wake as she felt her clothing being removed. She was tucked into a warm nightgown, and once more she felt herself slipping down that slope into the abyss of a dreamless sleep.

"Prospero," she murmured.

"Yes?" His reply came from nearby.

"You... you won't leave?" She wasn't sure if she meant tonight or someday after they tied their lives together in the marriage her father wanted. All she knew was that her life had been upended, and the only thing that kept her from drifting away was him.

"I will be here as long as you wish me to be," he said.

She rolled over in the direction of his voice and pulled back her blankets in silent invitation. A moment later he joined her, still wearing his clothing but having removed his shoes and evening jacket. He pulled her into his arms, and at last the only real sense of peace she'd had tonight came over her.

* * *

John stood outside Elise's bedchamber door, his heart breaking as Prospero held his only child in his arms before Mary joined John in the corridor and closed the door.

"The poor dear is exhausted. Cried herself to sleep."

"Yes." John's chest tightened. "Mary, she will need you more than ever once she marries Lord March and becomes mistress of this house. You will not leave her, will you?"

"No, sir. She is my child in all ways but blood."

"Good." John watched the maid walk toward the servants' stairs. A dull pain began in his temples and he blinked, watching a beam of moonlight dance and swirl before him. His wife's voice teased his ears.

"It's the only way..."

"The only way," he agreed. "I have so little time..."

He didn't want to leave Elise. His child was every bit her mother. "I've only lasted so long without you because she needed me, needed my love. But now I think she has someone who will be to her what I was to you."

"Yes..." That voice of starlight and half-remembered dreams came back to him. Tears fell down his face as he walked to his bedchamber and closed the door behind him. The most beautiful things in life could be so brief, but love was something that lingered long after the source was gone. His heart had grown around his grief after losing his wife, but that pain, that loss, had never faded.

When Elise had been a child, shortly after her mother died, she had asked him why her heart hurt at losing her mama. He had but one answer. It hurt because it was real, because it was true. The pain she felt told her that the love she'd had for her mother hadn't gone away. It hurt because that love was trapped inside her and could no longer be given to her mother. The only way she would feel better was to find someone else to give that love to. And he'd told her he'd given that love to Elise. He had tapped her nose and wiped at her eyes with his handkerchief.

"But what happens if I lose you?" she'd asked in that wide-eyed way a child does when struggling to understand things she is far too young to know.

"You will love someone someday. Love them the way I loved your mother, with all your soul, with every breath inside you. And when you do, this pain you feel will blend into the love you give that new soul in your life, and the hurt will ease."

He'd made a promise that day he would make sure that Elise found a person to love, but his illness had come too soon. He only prayed that his daughter would forgive him for what he was forcing her to do.