Chapter 8

Even from across the ballroom, Victoria sensed Lord Bedford's eyes on her. His dark gaze seemed to see down all the way to the depths of her soul, and even though Victoria knew he was a notorious rake, she still shivered with something like delight when she thought of him.

Her mind swirled with the scenes she had written about Constance and Lord Belmont dancing. She tried to please her stepmother and ignore Lord Bedford, but she felt impossibly drawn to him. Even when Victoria danced with other gentlemen in an attempt to forget that Lord Bedford watched her, she found her eyes seeking him out.

The music and dance stopped, and Victoria curtsied to the waiting gentleman. He was the last of a long string of partners with whom she had danced, but all their names and faces seemed to blend together. She doubted that she would be able to recall any of their names by the night's end. This one—a tall man with blue eyes and blond hair—was named Leo Fortescue, the Baron of Ardenridge. He bowed deeply to her. "Thank you for the dance, My Lady."

"The pleasure was all mine, My Lord," she replied.

He smiled politely. Victoria found him handsome, although she could also say that about most of the men present. She had yet to experience any of the sensations that she had imagined from dancing, though. If this was all the passion that she was capable of experiencing, her play was bound to be dull, indeed.

"Well?" Lady Norwood asked as Victoria joined her stepmother near the edge of the room. "Did any of the gentlemen please you?"

Not especially. Since Victoria had begun attending the ton's events, her stepmother had become kinder, and although Victoria did not understand the change in behaviour, she did not wish to ruin the newly amicable relationship between herself and her stepmother.

She tried to quell the voice telling her that her stepmother must have some scheme she was concocting. Lady Norwood was not a charitable sort of woman. It was best to appease her stepmother. That would ensure that Victoria could avoid a conflict, at least.

"Lord Ardenridge," Victoria said.

He was the only man she remembered, the man with whom she had just danced. Lord Ardenridge had been polite and handsome. Victoria had thought that he might even be her love match when he mentioned that he was a poet. Although poetry and plays were two entirely different genres, they were still writing.

Unfortunately, Lord Ardenridge had seemed strangely dispassionate. Even when he mentioned that he loved poetry, he delivered that declaration with the same passion that one might note the weather.

Her stepmother's expression brightened. As she sipped her drink, her lips curved into a victorious smile. Unlike Victoria, who had danced with several gentlemen, her stepmother had spent most of the night drinking and watching as Victoria acquainted herself with several gentlemen.

"He is a charming gentleman," Victoria's stepmother assured her. "He would make an excellent husband, one who can give you a life befitting a young lady. You should encourage him."

Victoria bit the inside of her cheek. She did not really know what life a young lady ought to have. Would it be better than her life now? Would she still be able to write her plays? Her fingers tingled. Victoria wished that she could leave and return to her pen and paper. This ball was not what she imagined. Not at all.

No other man asked to dance, so Victoria remained standing by the wall. She was too aware of Lord Bedford's eyes still upon her, gazing so intently at Victoria's face that she did not even notice when her stepmother abandoned her, instead going to speak to a small group of ladies across the room. When Victoria noticed her stepmother's absence, she sighed softly. What was she to do?

"I have been trying to speak to you all night." The familiar voice came from behind, and Victoria gasped, caught unaware. "Are you pleased that I have finally managed it? Your stepmother has interfered all night."

Victoria's heart quickened, and her face warmed. She felt at once all the passion that she had searched for all night. It was as if her body reacted to him instinctively. She was too aware of everything—of how handsome he was, of the warmth of his cologne, and of how his voice sounded so deep and masculine—and Victoria felt a dull ache settle between her legs.

Everything inside her seemed to tighten and pull taut with anticipation. Lord Ardenridge had inspired nothing like those feelings within her.

"She is trying to protect me," Victoria said. "You did not mention, Lord Bedford, that you are known throughout all of London as a rake. Were you afraid that I would not wish to risk my reputation by being seen with you?"

"A rake?"

When Victoria turned to face Lord Bedford, he gazed at her with a furrowed brow. He looked genuinely confused, but Victoria knew well that rakes were often not inclined to admit to their wrongs. How would they attract women otherwise? She set her shoulders and straightened her back, anticipating that Lord Bedford would want to deny the allegations.

"Yes, my stepmother warned me about you," Victoria continued. "That is why she has prevented you from speaking with me throughout the night. She seeks to protect my virtue and me from your wicked influence."

As she spoke, Victoria's eyes darted towards her stepmother, who was too distracted conversing with the other ladies to notice that Lord Bedford had got so close to her stepdaughter. Victoria bit the inside of her cheek and tried to decide how she might possibly flee before her stepmother did notice that she was speaking to Lord Bedford. Or did she even want to leave Lord Bedford?

Even though all wisdom dictated that she should, Victoria could not help wishing to linger in the lord's presence for as long as she possibly could.

"Well, then," Lord Bedford said. "If you are to ever perform on the stage, perhaps, you might need to learn from a rake. Have you considered that?"

"The stage?" Victoria asked. "When did I ever suggest I wanted to perform?"

"I assumed it," Lord Bedford said. "You were seated in the wings, after all. At that lovely performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Only someone truly invested in the theatre would look at the performance with such intensity."

"How do you know that?"

He grinned and winked. "I saw you there, of course."

Victoria shivered. She glanced in her stepmother's direction as if the woman might somehow overhear Lord Bedford's words from the opposite side of the ballroom. Lady Norwood mercifully still seemed engrossed in her conversation with her friends. Victoria knew that she had been introduced to those two women, but with a flood of embarrassment, she realized that she could not recall their names.

"Do not speak of that," she said.

"No? Why not?"

"Because I—"

Victoria cut her words short. How could she possibly explain to Lord Bedford that her visits to the theatre needed to remain a secret? If she told him the truth, that her stepmother would be angry if she knew, would Lord Bedford keep her secret? Or would he reveal everything he knew to her stepmother? That would be even more awful now that Lady Norwood was being kinder to Victoria than she ever had been. Victoria's heart ached at the thought that she might disappoint her stepmother, who was trying so hard to be affectionate with her.

"My reasons are my own," she said at last. "That is all you need to know. If you tell anyone that you saw me, I will deny it. You should also be aware that I have no desire to perform on the stage. I am a lady, and ladies do not do that."

In truth, she had never considered acting on the stage, but that was beside the point. Lord Bedford was a rake, so it was best to provide him with an explanation that left no doubt about Victoria's resolve to be a proper lady. Ladies were not actresses. Victoria had learned that as a child when she naively suggested that she become an actress, to her stepmother's complete horror.

"Very well," Lord Bedford replied. "I will not tell anyone, but I have a condition. I want to know what you were writing that night."

Victoria considered him for a long moment, trying to discern if he was being honest. Because he was a rake, she knew that she ought not to trust him, but when she considered his face, she saw no trace of deception. He seemed genuinely curious, and he did already know about her secret visits to the theatre. Victoria pressed her lips together, silently weighing her options. "I was writing a play," she said at last.

There was no harm in him knowing that. Victoria had already mentioned that she enjoyed writing plays. She was honestly answering the lord's question.

"It is my hope that once I finish, the troupe will be willing to perform my play on the stage," Victoria added. "The director, Charles, has expressed some interest in seeing my writing once I have a completed piece. That is part of why I watch the shows so intently and take notes. I believe that plays are more successful when they are written with a specific cast in mind, rather than being written with the intention that anyone can perform the work."

"Interesting. What is your play about?"

Victoria swallowed hard. "I have never told anyone about the content of my plays before."

"Why? Are you worried that I will take your ideas and write my own plays based on what you want to do?"

Lord Bedford's grin made Victoria's pulse quicken. She understood why ladies fell for the charms of rakes. "No, I fear that you will mock me for it. I can see in your expression that you are determined to laugh at me."

"I would not. I find it amusing that you wish the content of your works to remain a secret. It is not the works themselves that I mock."

"Only me."

Lord Bedford chuckled. "Not you either," he said. "I apologize. None of this sounds like I want it to. It is natural for artists to want some secrecy around their works, but I suppose I expected something different from you. My Lady, you seem to be so honest and earnest, so the thought of you wishing to have any secrets startled me."

"All ladies have secrets," Victoria said, feeling a little flustered. "Just so you are aware."

"Thank you for educating me."

He sounded amused again, and Victoria began to wonder how she had failed to notice that Lord Bedford was a rake. They were always like this, were they not? So charming and attractive? So confident. When she thought about it, he was very much like the rakish men she had often read about in plays.

"But now, I feel as though you are purposefully avoiding my question," Lord Bedford said. "What is your play about?"

"Love," Victoria said. "The worthiest of subjects."

"And what do you know of love?" he asked.

She supposed that she ought to ask how he defined love, but Victoria suspected that she knew exactly what a rake would mean by love. Victoria admittedly knew very little about that. Everything that she knew about love came from watching performances on the stage or from those few French books that she could never tell anyone that she had.

"I know enough," she said. "What would you know about love? I have heard of rakes, and I know your habits. What could you know of love when you choose to ruin women all over the continent?"

"How are you quantifying enough?" Lord Bedford asked. "If you truly knew about love, I would have expected a more concise answer."

"I do not owe you a more concise answer," Victoria replied. "I do not owe you anything."

Lord Bedford shook his head. His smile was still amused, but there was a small wryness to it. Victoria could not have said what the significance of that was. "Perhaps," he said, "I am precisely what you need."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes. Because I imagine that you know what most ladies know about love. I imagine that you are thinking about a love match. The most scandalous aspect of love for you is probably a light kiss or a fleeting touch of a hand, but love is so much more than that."

Her chest grew tight. Victoria had the sudden irrational thought that, perhaps, Lord Bedford somehow knew about the dull ache between her legs, something which had only been brought about from her meeting with him. "I know love is more than that, and if I do not know enough of love, it is no fault of mine. Ladies are not allowed to learn as much as men are."

"And you wish to have all that knowledge, do you?" Lord Bedford asked. "You say that I do not know anything of love because I am a rake, but by your own admission, men are allowed to learn more of love than ladies. So surely, I must know more than you, My Lady. I am graciously offering to share my vast knowledge with you. Am I not the picture of generosity?"

Victoria's breath hitched. "No," she said. "I do not need to learn anything from you, My Lord. Especially not love."

He arched an eyebrow. "And yet you remain here talking to me. That is curious. Is it not?"

"No longer," Victoria insisted.

She turned her back to him, but still, she hesitated. While a part of her knew that she ought to leave him and return to her stepmother's side, another part of Victoria felt that same silent and powerful attraction to him. It would be so simple to face him again and continue their conversation.

Constance—her heroine, the woman whom Victoria had written to romance her vision of Lord Bedford—what would she do? Would she continue speaking to the rake against her better judgement? Should she?

Her stepmother would be disappointed if she realized that Victoria was still speaking to Lord Bedford. "Good evening, My Lord," Victoria said firmly. "Thank you for the conversation, but ladies do not associate with rakes."

She left him there, fighting the urge to return to his side with every step. Victoria had always thought that heroines who fell in love with rakes were often foolish, for they knew the dangers and still found themselves unable to resist the romantic overtures of such detestable man, but now, she understood. Lord Bedford could not possibly be more charming, and she hoped that did not prove to be a problem for her.