Emily Hendrickson (18 page)

It had hit her minutes ago—when she had felt safe in turning to him as a refuge—that she would like nothing better than to be at his side forever. She had made the stupid mistake of plunging into love with the premier scoundrel of London. Only for a little while would he be
her
scoundrel and then he would be off to another. For did not scoundrels earn their notoriety flitting from one woman to another like a dratted butterfly?

At the conclusion of the dance, she laughed up at him, breathless with the exertion and wondering what a girl said to the man she just realized she loved quite madly. Of course she could not tell him how she felt. It was not done, or so she supposed. But as far as she was concerned her scoundrel was exceedingly cherished and not really a scoundrel at all—he was kind, chivalrous, and all that she could wish for in a gentleman.

St. Aubyn reclaimed his cane and they promenaded about the room. Chloe dreaded what would happen next. Her grandmother never made idle threats to Chloe’s knowledge. Yet bread and water was a small price to pay for avoiding a marriage to Twisdale.

“St. Aubyn, I am afraid,” she murmured as they progressed toward where her grandmother sat like a judge in chambers.

“You ought not be compelled to marry him,” St. Aubyn growled softly. “We must think of something. But for the remainder of the evening, promise me that you will avoid being alone with anyone.”

“I know better than to go off with a gentleman,” she retorted, recalling the moments she had happily spent in his company—alone—learning about the art of flirting and in the process tumbling into love with him.

He opened his mouth to say something else but was prevented from uttering a word by Lady Dancy.

“Very naughty of you, St. Aubyn. You know better than to hare off with a young lady without first seeking permission.” Her eyes were flint, her face austere. She looked as though all her clothing had been soaked in starch.

He gave her his charming lopsided smile that had the unfortunate habit of melting the heart of any susceptible woman—of which there seemed to be quite a few, Chloe thought crossly. The famous smile had no effect on Lady Dancy.

“But you most likely would not grant me a dance, my lady,” he said smoothly. “Your granddaughter is delightful company. I am pleased to see that she seems to have taken so well. Not a dance unsolicited.” He gestured to the little card dangling from Chloe’s wrist.

The dowager looked about as Chloe’s next partner came into sight. “Yes, well, the girl must learn to obey, you see,” she began, then apparently realized the impropriety of such a conversation at a ball and snapped her mouth shut.

Chloe gave St. Aubyn a grateful look, but did not miss the dowager’s sharp words before departing for the next dance.

“We will discuss what you did when we return home.”

She felt a slight pressure on her arm before St. Aubyn relinquished her to her next partner. Glancing back she caught an understanding look in his eyes.

She might have fussed and stewed the rest of the evening over that statement, but the knowledge that for the first time in her life she had tumbled into love forestalled such a thing. She felt wondrously light on her feet and skimmed over the floor—hopping, leaping, whirling with ease through the complicated steps of the quadrille.

Julian stood along the side of the room, hands behind his back, risking the ire of his hostess by not asking some demure damsel to dance. Then he leaned on his cane and hoped that might earn his forgiveness.

He had to watch Chloe. She did not know what danger she was in now that she had refused Twisdale. The man had met with Elinor only minutes ago, pausing briefly to chat. Anyone would think it most innocent. Anyone but Julian.

Egads, but Chloe looked like a delicate peach-and-gold cherub, whirling and hopping about in the energetic dance. His leg gave a twinge when he even thought about the gyrations required. He had danced it earlier with Chloe, but he would not do it again for anyone else.

What a delight she was, so brave, facing the dragon with a lift of her chin and firm resolve. Poor little darling, he had best find her a nice husband who would treasure her, nurturing her splendid spirit. He could not think of anyone suitable at the moment, but given time surely he might come up with a name worthy of her.

Then he watched while Chloe’s partner began to promenade her around the room. His gaze sharpened when he saw Elinor step into their paths, drawing Chloe from the line of people who had been dancing. He tensed, sensing that trouble was brewing in a very large scale unless he could manage to do something about it.

Without consideration for his own regard, Julian set off in the direction that Elinor and Chloe had gone—down the hall toward the library, if he did not miss his guess. He lost sight of them when a friend of his, one not seen for some time, hailed him. Julian seethed inwardly but graciously paused to speak with his old friend.

* * * *

Elinor glanced at her twit of a niece and firmed her resolve. “My dear, I must have a little chat with you.” When Chloe looked to refuse, she added, “Your grandmother will not object if you go with me, for I am of an age to be your chaperone.” It pained Elinor to say those words, for it was admitting her age to one who looked dew-fresh and innocent. She forged ahead with her plan. “It has been an age since we last met.”

“Yes, I believe that was the evening when you helped Mrs. Robynhod exhibit the drawings you took from my room. That was not a kind thing for you to do, Aunt.”

This direct answer flustered Elinor. Trust dear little Chloe to issue a remark like that. Goodness, the chit was as prickly as a teasel plant. She appeared to be more than a little reluctant to go with Elinor, which served to give warning. She needed all the tact and skill at her disposal for the next few minutes.

“I thought you might be fatigued what with all the dancing this evening. Goodness, you have scarce had time to think. I believe you have taken rather well this evening.” Elinor continued to draw Chloe along with her. “That is a very lovely gown, my dear. Did your grandmother buy it?”

Elinor had been seething with envy from the moment she had laid eyes on Chloe that evening. The chit glowed with health and beauty and made Elinor feel positively ancient. If that were not sufficiently horrible, the girl wore a gown that ought to have been scandalous—probably would have on another. Chloe’s obvious innocence gave the beautiful dress the aura of luscious peach blossoms in a very well-tended and private garden. The chit looked good enough to eat, were one a gentleman and so inclined. Judging from the gazes Elinor had intercepted this evening, there were a great number of men who would be only too pleased to try.

“No, I selected this gown myself. Why are you taking me away from the ballroom?” Chloe demanded, slowing her steps.

Which brought Elinor to the matter at hand. “I wish to talk with you.”

Chloe halted. “So you said. I believe I have been along this passage once before this evening. I truly have no desire to view the earl’s library, lovely as it might be.”

Elinor stared at the stubborn tilt of Chloe’s head, her firmed lips, and searched for a means of persuasion.

Chloe turned to see the genial fop Sir Augustus strolling toward her and felt distinct relief.

“Evening, Lady Chloe, Mrs. Hadlow. Splendid ball, is it not?” He preened when he glimpsed his image in one of the tall looking glasses that hung on the wall. Clearly he was proud of his reflection.

Taking a step in his direction and away from her aunt, Chloe smiled. “Indeed, it is lovely. There is nothing like pleasant company, excellent food and music, plus good friends to make an evening enjoyable.”

“Right you are, dear lady,” Sir Augustus said, beaming a pleased smile at Chloe when he saw she caught his meaning.

“I was trying to persuade Chloe to view the truly magnificent library belonging to the earl,” Elinor said to Sir Augustus.

Chloe frowned, but said nothing.

“Is it?” Sir Augustus said, not sounding terribly interested in the idea of a library.

Chloe relaxed a trifle. Clearly there was no collusion between these two. She waited patiently, wondering what her partner had thought when she had disappeared. It was very bad manners to miss a dance without consulting your partner, she knew, and hoped he might forgive her.

Then she recalled that she was to have waltzed with St. Aubyn and could have cheerfully crowned Aunt Elinor for her interference.

How Chloe had looked forward to being held close in his arms. The reel had been nice, but it was nothing compared to a waltz. Grandmama had said she was not to partake in the scandalous dance, but she could not prevent him from signing his name across from where it was listed. Nor did Chloe wish to prevent him.

A word caught her attention and she watched Sir Augustus again when he turned to face her.

“Shall we?”

“Forgive me, I fear I was woolgathering. Shall we what?” Chloe queried, aware of the disapproving expressions on both faces. Why did not her officious grandmother come now to haul her away? She took a step in the direction of the ballroom.

Sir Augustus gave her an amiable grin and wrapped surprisingly strong fingers around her arm. “Why, I told Mrs. Hadlow that if I might view the library in your lovely company it would no doubt appear in much better light.”

Doubt entered Chloe’s mind at these gracious words. While Sir Augustus had always appeared to enjoy her company, he had never truly sought her out. “I do not think we should,” she began.

“What nonsense!” Elinor said briskly. “I shall come with you so what possible harm could there be?”

Appeased only slightly by the words meant to reassure her, Chloe shook her arm free from Sir Augustus, giving him a wary look. She entered the large, dimly lit room with more than usual caution.

It appeared empty, save for hundreds of leather-bound books and several comfortable-looking leather chairs. A large globe on a mahogany stand stood to one side of the room and on another wall a stand displayed a collection of prints. Paintings of previous earls and their families adorned the walls here and there. It was a cozy room, one that looked much-used.

“Quite nice,” Chloe said succinctly. She turned to leave the room, feeling suddenly even more ill at ease than when she was in the hall.

“You cannot leave me now,” Sir Augustus said in a coaxing way. “Why, there is much to explore here.”

“No doubt,” Chloe began, then gave her aunt a suspicious look when she began to stroll about the room. Aunt Elinor had never seemed the type to appreciate a well-stocked library.

“Oh dear,” Elinor said suddenly with a look at her locket-watch. “I must fly, I promised this dance to a special gentleman and I dare not miss it.”

Chloe wondered how Elinor knew what time the dance was to begin and said so.

“Well,” Elinor cried as she ran toward the doorway, “each one lasts just so long, does it not?” With that stupid reply she was out of the door, slamming it tightly behind her.

“Sir Augustus, we must leave here immediately. I do not know what my aunt was thinking of—to leave us alone in here. ‘Tis most improper,” Chloe declared. She crossed the room toward the door and freedom when Sir Augustus again clasped her arm with a grip from which she could not escape.

“I think not, Lady Chloe. I have a much nicer plan in mind.” His grin was amiable, but Chloe did not trust it in the least. At this point, the only person she trusted was St. Aubyn—and he was not here.

“And what is that, pray tell?” She warily faced him, wishing her grandmother would enter to drag her away. All of a sudden pleasant, foppish Sir Augustus seemed neither pleasant nor particularly desirable company.

“Why, Mrs. Hadlow has gone to inform your grandmother that you have accepted my offer of marriage. Truly, I never thought to aspire so high. But the chance to wed a lady with a fortune does not often come my way—or to most chaps in need of the ready. Here I had thought you all but wed to Lord Twisdale, but Mrs. Hadlow informed me otherwise.” He advanced on her and Chloe backed toward the door.

“You have not proposed to me nor have I accepted—nor would I,” Chloe fiercely declared, avoiding a library ladder that stuck out from the wall. She placed one hand on it, contemplating what she might use as a weapon against Sir Augustus. The ladder was too unwieldy, unfortunately.

“You would have no chance,” he replied as smoothly as fresh-churned butter. “You would be compromised, dear Lady Chloe.”

“I will never marry you,” she stated with surprising firmness. She edged away from her captor, searching her mind for a way out of her peril. “Mr. St. Aubyn will never allow this to happen, he will help me,” she concluded desperately.

“He will be powerless,” Sir Augustus crowed with elation. “For once I shall have something he wants and cannot have.” His chuckle did not bring a responsive one from Chloe. Rather, she looked at Sir Augustus as though he had gone utterly mad.

The door opened and Chloe momentarily closed her eyes, as though waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall.

“What have we here, Dabney?”

“St. Aubyn!” Chloe cried with intense relief, spinning about to see her rescuer. Had she not been a proper girl, she would have thrown herself into his arms, then and there. She turned her head to look back at her foe. “See. I told you he would save me,” she spat at a flummoxed Sir Augustus.

“But Mrs. Hadlow said…” Sir Augustus mumbled.

“Bother Aunt Elinor,” Chloe said with loathing. “My aunt has nothing to say to my life or what happens with it. Fortunately.”

“I thought she was merely wanting to put you out of the way of his eminence here,” Sir Augustus said, gesturing with a sneer to St. Aubyn. “Must be a comedown for a diamond like Mrs. Hadlow to have competition from her own niece. How is it you turn from the aunt to the girl, St. Aubyn? Down in funds for the moment?”

“Do not permit him to rile you, St. Aubyn,” she said firmly, ignoring the wrench in her heart when she heard her hero linked with her most odious aunt. Chloe put her hand out to prevent St. Aubyn from doing something drastic, like punching Sir Augustus right in his nasty little nose.