Chapter 2

2

E lizabeth stood beside the refreshment table at Gentry Place amid a roomful of revelers. Men and women gossiped and flirted all around her while couples twirled in resplendent silks across a glossy dance floor.

Kitty was dancing with a young gentleman who gazed at her like an adoring puppy. One of the many adoring puppies who followed her around that night. And Grace was, of course, with Viscount Scorbridge, their eyes fastened to one another’s as if the room full of people had entirely disappeared.

Elizabeth wished she could disappear. Certainly that was a better fate than being asked to dance again. She scanned the crowd, glad to see Jillian was being relinquished by an earl her father had insisted she dance with. Likewise, Amy was returning from her set with a man old enough to be her grandsire as she’d been too polite to turn him down.

Another glance about the room confirmed Lucy still hadn’t arrived, a mite beyond fashionably late.

The lemonade in Elizabeth’s hand had long since gone tepid, but she still took a sip. More for something to do than out of thirst. The tart sweetness hit her tongue with a cloying note.

“How was the dance?” she asked as Jillian and Amy approached.

“I’d rather not say,” Jillian replied stiffly. “So much for my father giving me time to try to find a husband on my own. He still continues to throw men in my direction.”

“At least he’s not forcing any engagements,” Amy offered.

Jillian’s shoulder slumped with her sigh. “Yet.” She looked back at the man she’d been dancing with as he strutted back to his cohorts. “If he was a bird, what sort do you think he would be?”

It was an odd question, but that was one of the many things that made Jillian so fun to be around. One never knew what might pop out of her mouth. Elizabeth considered the man as he stiffly nodded in greeting to an acquaintance, almost waddling as he passed through the crowd. “Certainly no falcon. Perhaps an owl?”

“I was going to say vulture,” Jillian mused, her eyes squinted in thought. “But I could see the resemblance to an owl.”

“Come now, don’t be unkind.” But even as Amy chastised them, she giggled behind her hand.

“Pray tell, what are we laughing at?”

Elizabeth turned toward the woman’s voice. “Lucy, we thought you’d never arrive.”

“Fashionably late,” Lucy said with a sweep of her green silk skirt. “And you’ll never believe who I saw when I came in.”

“Someone we want to see?” Jillian hedged.

Lucy grinned pointedly at Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s stomach went tight. “Lord Darington. You might want to set your lemonade aside. Remember?—?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth burst out. “Yes, I remember well enough.”

How could she possibly forget the time she’d spilled lemonade all over the poor earl. He’d been polite about the accident, but she’d been so flustered, she mopped up the spill on his cravat, and his jacket, down to breeches where…oh, God…

Fire blazed in her cheeks.

“You touched it ,” Lucy whispered.

Amy and Jillian shared amused looks, even if they were considerate enough not to laugh.

Elizabeth quickly set aside her lemonade, which was whisked away by one of the servants.

“You did say you would allow him to court you,” Jillian said.

Elizabeth froze. Had she?

But then she recalled how Hannah, in her wedding bliss, had made them all draw bits of paper to see which of the wallflowers would break her vow and marry next. Elizabeth had drawn the heart, and there had been a discussion about Lord Darington.

Not that a man like him would ever want a thing to do with the likes of her. He was smooth, handsome, and sensual in a way that made her melt when his dark eyes met hers from across the room.

“He is not alone at the ball,” Lucy continued.

The heat of Elizabeth’s embarrassment quickly chilled. “Isn’t he?”

She wanted to ask who he was with, to look around and seek out what beauty hung on his arm.

But doing so would mean confessing how much she thought about him, which admittedly was far more than she ought to. And no one needed to know that but her.

“Who is he with?” Amy asked, flicking a glance at Elizabeth before turning her attention to Lucy.

“His grandmother.” Lucy leaned in close. “She stopped me when I came in and told me I was lovely, then asked if I’d met her grandson yet. She was doing it with all the young women. Apparently, Lord Darington is finally intending to find a bride this season to placate her.”

“At least women aren’t the only ones being forced into marriage,” Jillian said derisively.

“Ah, here she is now.” No sooner had Lucy announced the news than an older woman with a cane stopped before them. Her back was ramrod straight, her gray hair pulled into an elegant updo, and her eyes were dark and assessing, crinkling at the corners with her smile.

“Hello, Miss Beauchamp, lovely to see you again,” the dowager said. “Are these your friends?”

“Indeed,” Lucy offered. “Lady Darington, this is Lady Jillian, Miss Honeyfield, and Lady Elizabeth.” Lucy swept her hand over to Elizabeth with a flourish, making her stand out among the four of them.

“How lovely to meet you all.” Lady Darington cocked her head at the four of them. “My grandson is seeking a wife. Have you met the Earl of Darington yet?”

“Lady Elizabeth has,” Amy said unhelpfully.

Lucy nudged Elizabeth forward. “Quite a coincidence when our Elizabeth is next in line to marry.”

The dowager’s eyes sparked with interest. “I see.”

“Your grandson is a kind and charming man who I’m sure will find a wife befitting him,” Elizabeth stammered.

“Well, do ensure you stop by to bid him good evening,” Lady Darington said. “I’m sure he would love to dance with such a beautiful young woman.”

Elizabeth gave a stiff nod, then curtseyed as the dowager moved on to the next group of women.

“Darington must be mortified to have his grandmother going about like that,” Lucy said under her breath.

Jillian played with a dark tendril of her hair. “But it does give you a wonderful opportunity to possibly become better acquainted with him.”

Elizabeth shook her head and looked away, refusing to meet Lucy’s coy expression. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Amy asked, her lips turned down in a slight frown.

Elizabeth gave a mirthless chuckle. “Be remotely interested in me.”

“Elizabeth, you have so much to recommend you,” Amy began.

But Elizabeth didn’t want to hear platitudes. Lord Darington was a man with a reputation. He enjoyed beautiful women well and had entertained his fair share.

Elizabeth could be considered lovely with her blue eyes, fair skin, and soft brown hair, but she was no beauty. Certainly, she was no vixen to tempt the likes of Darington.

She didn’t want a shallow marriage based on looks and compatible lineage. She wanted a match based on love, on passion.

“You’re so kind,” Amy began listing Elizabeth’s attributes regardless. “Always thinking of others.”

Frustration knotted in Elizabeth’s chest.

“Please don’t,” she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear how nice she was, how patient, how loyal a friend. Desperate to be free from her friend’s words, she took a step back.

Her back hit something solid, which moved away at once, followed by a surprised grunt. She turned in time to see Lady Gentry, the ball’s hostess, stagger forward, spilling her lemonade onto the floor and splashing several hemlines. Servants rushed forward at once, armed with damp cloths.

“I…I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth stammered out.

Lady Gentry, who was often austere in the best of times, turned a cold gaze on her. “I’m sure it was an accident,” the older woman hissed.

Elizabeth nodded tightly and opened her mouth to apologize once more, but the woman was already turning away.

A hand rested on Elizabeth’s forearm. She looked up and found Amy at her side. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Hot tears of humiliation burned in Elizabeth’s eyes. Because knocking into Lady Gentry absolutely was her fault. She shook her head. “Forgive me, I need a moment to myself.”

Lucy regarded her from behind Amy, brows raised in silent question. Did Elizabeth want company?

Elizabeth shook her head and turned—carefully—from the ballroom, seeking out the retiring room. Several voices were audible from outside the door as she approached.

“And she bumped into Lady Gentry, causing her to spill her drink. Can you believe it?” The statement was punctuated with a cackle of laughter.

Elizabeth skidded to a stop.

“At least there’s less competition to snag Lord Darington’s attention,” the voice continued. “Not that she was competition at all anyway.”

More laughter followed the cruel statement.

Elizabeth glanced around, desperate to escape before the women exited the retiring room and discovered her there. Quickly she turned in the opposite direction and headed toward the ballroom once more. Perhaps the patio would be deserted. While the night was tremendously cold, the patio would at least be blissfully empty.

Alone .

That was all she wanted.

She hastened to her destination, eager for silence and the freedom to simply think, to mull over the ridiculous attraction to a man she would never appeal to. That, and relive the horror of what she’d done to poor Lady Gentry. Mama would be horrified when she heard about Lady Gentry. And she would hear about the incident—she always did.

The ribbon holding Elizabeth’s stocking up on her right leg loosened.

She froze.

A tickle against her thigh indicated the stocking was still slipping from its tie.

No.

No.

No.

The sound of footsteps sounded around the corner, the familiar cackling laugh of the woman from the retiring room preceding her approach.

Elizabeth walked forward slowly, and her stocking slithered down her leg. The ribbon fell along with it, coiling on the ground at her feet. She snatched it up and ran toward the nearest door, breathing a sigh of relief to find the handle unlocked and the room dark within.

The redolent odor of a cigar and the fragrant notes of leather told her this room was likely the study. She hesitated just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Within a second, the stream of moonlight cutting in through the wall-length windows revealed a large desk at the rear of the room, several large leather chairs by the fire, and rows of books on a shelf, all filled with books. She had been correct. She was in the study.

A sigh escaped her then, one that emanated from the depths of her soul. The frustration of everyone insisting that she should marry, her own irritating propensity toward clumsiness that was forever causing Mama to shoot Elizabeth looks veiled with impatience, the hurt caused by the women who had laughed at her in the retiring room, and the enormous relief of finally be alone.

She walked deeper into the room and stayed there a moment, breathing slowly, gathering herself in little shreds of fortitude until she felt ready to return to the ballroom. In truth, she wanted to stay in that dark, empty room all night, to select a book from the shelves and curl up on the leather chair, reading the pages by moonlight.

But she was expected in the ballroom. Already she knew her sisters would be wondering where she’d gone. And Mama as well, of course.

First, Elizabeth knew she must see to her stocking. Modesty nearly had her looking around the room first, which was preposterous when she was obviously alone.

She gathered up her skirt, exposing her leg with the fallen stocking and tugged the errant garment back into place. With her bunched hem pinched against her body by her elbows, she secured the ribbon over the top of her knee and tied it neatly into place.

A glass clinked from somewhere in the shadows.

Elizabeth dropped her skirt, eyes going wide. “Is someone there?”

Even as she spoke into the darkness, her mind scrambled to come up with all manner of excuses for why a glass might clink in the darkness. A glass not settled properly. Or…or…

To her horror, a masculine throat cleared.

All at once, a match was struck and applied to the lantern to her right, bathing the room in golden light and revealing there was indeed a man in the room.

And he was none other than Lord Darington.

Jasper couldn’t help but notice Lady Elizabeth’s cheeks were stained red in the soft light, her mouth parted in an ‘o’ of surprise as she clearly tried to grapple with what to say.

“Forgive me for not making my presence known.” He inclined his head.

“You ought to have.” Her voice was breathy, lending it a sensual air. “I…my stocking slipped.”

Yes, he had seen.

In fact, he truly had been about to announce his presence when he realized she didn’t mean to leave immediately after entering the room as he’d expected. He’d admired her a moment too long in the wash of moonlight, her sweet face almost rapturous as she savored exactly what he’d been seeking in coming here: blissful quiet.

And then she’d drawn up her skirts, revealing her slender leg, her skin flawless and luminescent in the glow of the moon, her ankle neat and her calf shapely. When she’d tied the delicate ribbon around her thigh, he could imagine nothing more than tugging it free with his teeth and letting his lips whisper over the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

His gaze flicked down to her legs, now covered by a heavy velvet skirt.

More’s the pity.

“Forgive me,” he said again. “I was not expecting…that.”

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

“Relishing a reprieve,” he answered smoothly.

And truly he was, from the debutantes whose hungry eyes followed him around the room, from their mothers whose stares were even keener, more predatory, from witnessing how his grandmother went around to each of them in turn, offering them a whiff of his blood to officially begin their hunt.

“In the dark?” Lady Elizabeth frowned slightly, which made her lower lip pout out just so. “Were you hiding?” She pressed. “Or is it…?” Her words tapered off and she bit her plump bottom lip sheepishly.

How he wanted to free that lip with his thumb and press his mouth to hers, to see if she tasted as sweet as he suspected.

He’d always noticed her, the shy woman in the muted pastels who melted into the back of the room, trying to disappear. But a woman like her could never disappear, a woman whose large eyes were blue as the heart of the ocean, whose brown locks suggested they would feel like cool silk running through his fingers. Whose delicate innocence was apparent in every blush, every stammer.

A woman who was too good for the likes of him and he bloody well knew it.

“Or is it what?” He asked, eager for the distraction.

“Or is it that…” Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug, the shadows caressing the lines of her collarbones. “Is it that the darkness is quieter?”

While an odd thing to say, the statement was also entirely accurate. The dark did somehow feel quieter.

“Yes, I think you’re quite right,” he agreed.

“I know.” Her outburst almost startled him. “About your promise to your grandmother. There has been talk of little else tonight.”

“I wager she approached you and your friends?”

Lady Elizabeth’s answer was an apologetic smile, as though acknowledging how humiliating Bess’s behavior must have been for him.

“And you wish to throw your hat in the ring?” He asked, his tone intentionally light and flirtatious in the hopes of teasing out another pretty blush.

Instead, her wide blue eyes went wider still. “I would never presume, my lord.”

Ah, so that was the way of it. A polite rejection, as he well deserved. And yet he could not help but prod deeper. Perhaps the few glasses of scotch he’d nipped emboldened him, or perhaps her draw was too strong to ignore.

He stepped closer. “Your younger sister is soon to be engaged as I understand it, dependent, of course, on the wedding of her elder sister.”

She did not look demurely away as another woman might have, but looked him in the eye as she answered, “You are well informed, my lord.”

Desire stirred within him, encouraged by Lady Elizabeth’s boldness. He had not had the pleasure of engaging her in much conversation until this moment, and found he was rather enjoying himself.

“It appears I am not the only one in need of an engagement, Lady Elizabeth.” The words purred from his throat.

What was he doing goading this innocent? Letting his body ignite with longing for a woman he would never let himself have?

“I should return to the ballroom,” she said in reply, “lest I be missed.”

As soon as she spoke, the clack of footsteps sounded near the closed door.

“Wait,” he cautioned in a low voice.

But she was already walking forward. “I really should?—”

Her foot caught at the edge of the Brussels Weave carpet, and she pitched toward Jasper, upsetting an end table. He did not hesitate to reach out, catching her slender waist, keeping her upright as the small table hit the ground with an audible thud.

Elizabeth’s eyes locked on his and for the briefest of moments, she did not pull away, indulging him with the soft hint of a sweet, powdery scent. Lilacs, perhaps?

All at once, light exploded into the room as Jasper and Lady Elizabeth turned to find Lady Gentry and several other peers standing stock still in the open doorway, mouths agape.

Jasper hastily dropped his hands from Elizabeth’s waist, but not fast enough.

The damage had already been done.