Chapter 29

29

A nother bloody ball.

Thomas had much more on his mind, but as he had reminded himself again and again over the past two days, he was the host of this affair, and once more, he would have many young ladies and their mothers trying to get his attention at the festivities this evening. At least he'd had the presence of mind to ask Maria to change the seating for Polk and Jonathan at the evening meal. He couldn't bear the thought of either of them anywhere near Tricia.

He escorted his mother into the ballroom. The orchestra announced their arrival, and as usual, people headed toward them to pay their respects.

Lily and the Duke had already arrived, as had Rose and Cameron. Thomas glanced around.

No sign of Tricia yet. He drew in a breath and glanced at the entrance?—

The breath hitched in his throat.

There stood Tricia—a vision in violet.

Her mother, Lady Clementine, was dressed in a lighter version of the same hue. She was a handsome woman, to be sure, but she paled in comparison to her daughter.

"Excuse me, Mummy."

Lady Ashford smiled. "Please, Thomas. Do not concern yourself with me. Do try to have a good time."

He'd neglected to dance with Tricia two evenings ago during the first ball. He intended to remedy that now. He adjusted his gloves and walked toward Tricia and her mother.

"Lady Patricia." He bowed. "And Lady Clementine."

"My lord." Tricia curtsied politely.

"Lady Clementine," Thomas said, "I hope you don't mind if I take Tricia for a dance."

"Of course not, Lord Ashford," Lady Clementine said. "Please, enjoy yourselves, both of you."

Tricia's pretty cheeks were flushed a lovely rose, and as Thomas took her hand and led her to the dance floor, the subtle fragrance of violets drifted toward him.

Tricia was wearing violets in her hair which were nearly the same shade as her dress.

"You are a vision, Tricia," he said as they began a waltz.

"Thank you, my lord."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. She'd been calling him Thomas yesterday afternoon.

Ah, yes… Yesterday afternoon. His groin tightened as he recalled the delicious interlude.

And he'd paid her absolutely no mind since then even though he'd been thinking of her nonstop. Rather, he'd been focused on the issue with his cousin and the viscount.

Tricia was a brief respite, but he knew his worries would be waiting for him when the dance was done.

But to have her in his arms, even with their clothes separating them this time, felt every kind of right.

If he had to marry, why shouldn't it be to her? She was young, yes, but most of the ladies were young, some even younger than she. He could wait, hold out for the rest of the season, see who else showed up in London, but with Tricia's beauty and her sparkling personality, another gentleman could sweep her up at any time.

"Tricia," he said.

"Yes?"

"I should like to speak with you and your mother later."

"About what, my lord?"

"In light of recent events"—he cleared his throat—"I think it prudent that I…"

Her cheeks flushed. "That you what, Thomas?"

He cleared his throat again. "I must marry."

"And I told you, Thomas, that I have no intention of marrying for anything other than love."

"I know what you said, Tricia." He looked away from her beautiful dark-blue eyes. "But the fact of the matter is that I've ruined you."

"But no one else knows that," Tricia said. "I'm certainly not telling anyone."

He looked at her sternly. "Sweetheart, you already told my sister."

Tricia's eyes widened.

"She didn't mean any harm, Tricia. She was coming only to scold me, really. Insisting that I do right by you."

"I thought she was my friend." Tricia glared in the direction of the duchess.

"Oh, she is. A bloody good friend at that. You won't find a better person than my sister. She may be unconventional, but a purer heart there never was. She was acting on your behalf."

"I don't want anyone to take me to wife out of obligation," Tricia said.

"My dear, surely in the few years that you've been a member of the peerage, you've learned how things work. Marriages are alliances, Tricia. They're not made for love."

"Lily and the duke are in love. Rose and Cameron are in love. I believe your own parents were in love, as were mine."

Damn it all. She was going to make him say the words.

He did hold her in high esteem, and those lips of hers… Of all the women he'd taken to his bed—and there had been more than one virgin among them—Tricia had the tightest and most delicious little pussy he'd ever devoured.

He cleared his throat. "I do love you, Tricia."

She tilted her head.

"You don't believe me."

"Can you blame me? Please do not act out of obligation toward me, Thomas. Just because I love you doesn't mean—" She stepped back, out of the waltz, clasping her hand over her mouth.

All eyes were on them.

Thomas went to her, took her arm. "Come, my lady. I'm sorry you're not feeling well," he said loudly enough for those around them to hear.

He quickly escorted her toward the punch bowl where a group of guests were congregating. He drew a cup for her and then led her to a corner, where they were not likely to be overheard.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," she said after taking a drink. "I didn't mean to blurt it out like that."

Thomas brought a finger to her cheek. "I knew you fancied yourself in love with me, Tricia. I figured it was nothing more than infatuation."

She looked up at him crossly. "If I didn't love you, do you think I would have let you?—"

"Lower your voice," Thomas admonished. "Your reputation is at stake, Tricia."

Tricia drew in a breath.

All Thomas could think about was the plump swells of her bosom as she did so. If only he could have her naked again…

If he married her, he could have her naked in his bed every night.

"You must marry me, Tricia," he said. "I shall talk to your mother now."

"Mummy will tell you to talk to Cameron," Tricia said, "and I beg you not to."

"I don't understand. You say you love me?—"

"I do love you, Thomas." She grabbed his hand. "I know you think me some foolish schoolgirl, but love is love, is it not? I know what I feel."

Did she, though? She was but a girl of nineteen, and perhaps she'd worshiped him from afar, but she hadn't given herself a chance to get to know any other young men.

"Perhaps I should make you finish out the season and then ask if you still love me."

"And you would remain true to me until then?"

Thomas nodded. "Absolutely." His words were not a lie, for he knew, in his very soul, that every other encounter with a woman he had experienced—and there had been many—paled in comparison to yesterday afternoon with Tricia.

"Fine," she said. "I shall dance the night away with men who don't interest me—and continue to do so until the season ends—just so you can be sure that my love for you is real."

Jealousy punched Thomas's gut. What had he just agreed to? He hated the thought of Tricia in anyone else's arms, especially his cousin's, who Thomas knew was up to no good at this point.

Both Jonathan and Victor Polk had made their interest in Tricia quite clear, as had Lord Edwin Wimbley.

Every eligible bachelor here had looked at her with desire in his eyes. How couldn't they? She was the belle of the ball. The most beautiful woman at this party, and as the season progressed, Thomas had no doubt she would be the most beautiful woman at all of the parties. She would not lack for attention, and she might very well meet someone she fancied more than him.

"I wish this damned ball were over," Thomas said through gritted teeth.

"Why? I'm not holding you to anything, Thomas. Shouldn't you be dancing with others? Two nights ago, you danced with everyone here, save with me of course."

"No, but I did rescue you from the parapet."

She softened then, casting her eyes downward. "You did, and I am eternally grateful for that, Thomas."

"God, the thought of it…" Thomas rubbed his forehead. "If you'd fallen, Tricia… If you?—"

"I say, Ashford," Lord Edwin Wimbley interrupted the two of them. "Are you to monopolize this lovely young lady all night?"

Tricia turned and smiled. "Of course not, my lord."

"Then perhaps you might honor me with the next dance, Lady Patricia?"

"'Tis I who should be honored." Tricia slid her gloved hand into the crook of Lord Wimbley's elbow.

And Thomas stalked out of the ballroom.