Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1) (21 page)

Given his horrified expression as he shut the door on her, she strongly suspected the latter. The virtuous and oh-so-correct Earl of Mavenford had given in to lust and kissed his ward.

Scandalous.

Gillian bit the inside of her cheek for the umpteenth time today, and cursed herself for the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

I am sorry.

Was she sorry? Did she wish it had gone on forever? Or had never even begun? Did she want him to lay her down and teach her so much more of what went on between a man and a woman? Or did she want to scratch his eyes out for the audacity of his touch?

She did not know.

I am sorry.

So was she. So very, very sorry, and she did not even know why.

But she could not cry. She gripped her hands. She was about to go to her very first ball. She would soon be presented to the ton. This was what she had wanted, had dreamed, had prayed for.

She would not cry.

She would go downstairs and step into her dreams.

I am sorry.

Very well, she decided. He was sorry. And so was she. It should not have happened, and never would again.

It did not matter the reason for their kiss, she decided. It did not matter if he had been swept away by her beauty, overwhelmed by love for her. If he even now was aching for her as only a lovesick swain could.

Stephen would never break with society's strictures so much as to marry her. He was destined for Lady Sophia Rathburn in a brilliant match appropriate for an earl. For her part, Gillian did not want a man who made her knees go weak and her thoughts scatter. It made her too vulnerable to sudden confessional urges. Above all things, she could not have that.

So the answer was clear. His feelings and motives made no difference. For that matter, her emotions and feelings were equally irrelevant. Gillian had to find a rich husband. Stephen would never marry her. Therefore she had to find someone else. She had to find that someone else soon, before this madness with the earl got out of hand.

So what was her next step? She took a deep breath as she focused her thoughts. The next step was to dazzle the
ton
—tonight—and find a husband soon. Tonight. Perhaps within the first few moments of entering the ballroom.

I am sorry.

Biting back her tears, Gillian whipped her new resolve into a nearly tangible force. Forcing her feet to move, she slipped out of her hiding place and back into the earl's bedchamber. It was nearly dark now, the last of the sunlight giving a slightly reddish gold tinge to the room where she had so nearly been swept away.

She had no doubt his kisses would have progressed to their natural conclusion. She was that weak around the earl. Unable to resist, she stepped lightly to his bed, laying a hand on the soft coverlet. Perhaps it was her bastard blood coming to the fore, but even now, her body still tingled with the memories of his touch.

With a soft curse, she twisted away. She was a weak and foolish girl prone to the same lustful thoughts her mother had succumbed to with the baron so many years ago. Now her daughter was haunted by the same base desires, tempting her to throw away everything she had, everything she wanted, just to be with a man.

Well, Gillian Ames was made of stronger stuff. She would not give in to her bastard heritage. She would be wise to push all baseborn thoughts out of her mind.

But as she slipped down the stairs toward the front parlor, she heard Amanda Wyndham's mocking laughter following her. Gillian was a bastard, taunted her half-sister's ghost. All of her thoughts were baseborn by definition. And no noble intentions would change that.

Or the fact that temptation lurked a scant few doorways down the hall from her own.

Chapter 10

Rule #11:

A lady forgives and forgets.

Gillian's first view of Lady Allardyce's ballroom was enough to make her lose the last of her courage. Stunning did not begin to describe the dazzling array of the fashionable
haut ton
arrayed about the room. From diamonds to dandies, they were all there.

And she felt as if everyone had turned to inspect the earl's willful ward.

Her first response was a sudden urge to grab Stephen's arm and hide in his embrace. But as custom dictated, he was ahead of her on the stairwell, escorting his mother into the ballroom, leaving Gillian to stand alone for a moment at the top of the staircase looking down at the glittering throng. Naturally he could not turn and give her one of his reassuring smiles. Of course, given the strained silence between them after their aborted kiss, a reassuring smile was the last thing she expected from him.

So she stood at the top of the stairs alone, fighting the urge to flee. Then, for once, her miserable childhood came to her rescue. If there was one thing the real Amanda had taught her well, it was how to handle the hostile stares of a jealous tabby.

Suddenly Gillian felt a smile curve her features, her confidence returning tenfold. Let them stare, let them gossip and nitpick. Nothing could change the fact that she, Gillian Ames, bastard daughter of a lowly baron, was finally among them, entering the hallowed portals of a
haut ton
ball. She felt her smile grow into a triumphant glow as she began her descent into the humid ballroom.

Gillian Ames had arrived.

At the base of the stairs, Gillian was introduced to her host and hostess. She curtsied first to Lady Allardyce and her daughter, surprised at how easy it was to perform the task. Buoyed by her confidence, she moved with a fluidity that had hitherto escaped her. Her knees did not creak, and her head did not drop too low. In fact, just to her right, she caught the countess's pleased smile. With a sudden start of surprise, she realized she had mastered the fine art of aristocratic carriage—complete and total arrogance!

Except that Lady Allardyce and her daughter did not seem the least bit enchanted. They regarded her coolly, almost with hostility, barely forcing out their greetings. "I am so pleased you could come, Miss Wyndham," Lady Allardyce said, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

Gillian was so surprised by their animosity she nearly missed Lord Allardyce's comment, though he spoke loudly, almost directly to her nose. "Save an old man a dance, what," he said with a broad wink, "before all the young bucks snatch them up." He completely missed the icy glare his wife shot him.

"I would be happy to dance with any older gentleman who asks," Gillian bantered politely, stretching her neck to see behind him. "But whoever do you mean? I shall give him the dance directly after yours."

Lord Allardyce chortled heartily at her compliment, patting her hand as he shooed her on. Then, just after she turned from him, she heard him say to his wife, "Definitely an Original, my dear."

"She is nothing of the sort," snapped his wife. "Just another impertinent mushroom with a large dowry, and you would do well to remember it!"

Twisting back, Gillian gave the pair a quizzical look. Lord Allardyce's comment confused her almost as much as his wife's shrewish response. How could one polite riposte make her an Original? Surely what she said was not nearly so unique as to give her one of the most valued female labels. And as for his wife...

Unfortunately she was not allowed time to think on it, as Lord Tallis, mercifully without his sister, suddenly appeared at her side and bowed over her hand, neatly preventing her from joining the earl and his mother.

"Ah, my lovely, it is a pleasure to see you. Please tell me you have saved two dances for me?"

Gillian could not help but smile at his soulful look. He always reminded her of a sad puppy dog when he took that pose. "You know I have, Lord Tallis. You have reminded me every day for the last two weeks." She lifted her hand and dutifully showed him her dance card, where his name was indeed already penciled in next to two country dances.

"What?" he said with mock horror. "Not a waltz?"

She grinned. "That would certainly set the gossips' tongues wagging." As a girl in her first Season, Gillian would not be allowed to dance a waltz without special dispensation from one of society's matrons.

"Very well," he said with a dramatic sigh. "I shall just have to be content with two country dances with the Season's brightest star." He lowered his voice and winked at her. "It is quite a sacrifice on my part, you know. I had my heart quite set upon a waltz. Not only would it steal the march on my competitors, but it would do wonders for my consequence."

After two weeks of Lord Tallis's daily visits, Gillian was accustomed to ignoring his teasing comments, but this time it reminded her of what Lord Allardyce had just said, and even more of when Stephen had said she was already an Original. She narrowed her eyes, studying Lord Tallis as he struck a refined pose of casual disdain. It could not be. But then who else did she know with an interest in her success?

"My lord," she said with a gasp, "what have you done?"

"Me?" he said, his expression far too wide and innocent. "Why, nothing."

"Have you told everyone I am an Original?"

He shrugged, but she saw the laughter in his eyes. "I only set out to win my wager with you."

"But..." Her voice trailed away as she looked around her. The men eyed her with speculation, interest, even a few with a naked hunger, no doubt for her dowry. She dismissed them without a second thought, glad for their interest, but not overcome by it.

Right now the women drew her attention. Those who did not pointedly ignore her sent her venomous glares. Try as she might, she could not find even one passably neutral look, much less a friendly expression.

"Sweet heaven," she murmured in shock, "they all hate me."

"Nonsense." Tallis beamed. "They are fascinated—"

"Not the men," she said, still searching for a friendly face. "The women."

He glanced around, as though only now noticing society's flowers. "Well, that is to be expected." He glanced back at her, his expression quizzical. "You know, most ladies would practically swoon with delight at such a wonderful happenstance."

Gillian snapped her fan shut in irritation. "I am not the swooning kind, my lord." But even as she clenched her teeth in anger, she wondered why she was so upset. What did it matter that she was surrounded by a roomful of Amandas all trying to tear her down? The men were interested, and they were the only ones she cared about.

Except that until this very moment, she had not realized how very lonely she was. In York, her best companions were the women—mothers, daughters, servants. Despite her illegitimacy, most of the women gave her grudging respect for her medicinal skills. A few had even become her companions, especially Mrs. Hobbs, the Wyndham housekeeper. Her enemies were always the men. And Amanda.

But now, thanks to Lord Tallis, she was surrounded by an entire roomful of jealous women, damned before she even opened her mouth.

"I have truly upset you." For the first time ever, she saw Lord Tallis's fashionable attitude slip, revealing a startlingly handsome and sincere man. "I thought you would appreciate—"

"You thought I would be just like every one of them." She cast a scathing glance around the room. "You thought I would happily elbow them aside on my way to becoming a diamond or some other such nonsense."

He did not answer, but it was clear from his expression he had thought exactly that.

"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I find it distinctly unpleasant to have the entire female population against me even before I make my bow."

"But the gentlemen—"

"Will expect me to say witty things while they are eyeing the size of my dowry." She tried to repress a scowl, but her spirits were suddenly very low. She felt more like an outcast now than she had ever been in York.

Then someone lifted her hand in a gentle caress, jolting her out of her thoughts. She looked at Lord Tallis in surprise.

"I knew you were unique, Amanda," he said softly. "But I did not realize how very special you are."

She felt herself soften toward him. Indeed, how could she not with his gray eyes washed with apology? "What is done is done, my lord. And besides," she said with a sigh, "only a fool would look to the
haut ton
for a friend."