Seducing an Angel (8 page)

She laughed softly, a low, seductive sound.

“How very inconvenient that would be,” she said. “How would I be able to seduce you, Lord Merton, with a maid looking on, or take you inside with me when I arrive home with her trailing along behind?”

He was being drawn deeper and deeper into this scheme, he realized. She really did mean to take him as a lover.

It was perhaps understandable.

She had arrived alone in London recently to the discovery that her reputation had preceded her. She was a pariah. Even her brother—if he was himself in London—had abandoned her. If she was to see any company, attend any entertainments, she must do so alone and uninvited as she had tonight. She was indeed very alone.

And doubtless lonely
.

She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She was a widow and only twenty-eight years old. Under normal circumstances she might now be looking forward to a brighter future, her mourning period at an end. But Lady Paget stood accused in public opinion of having murdered her husband. It seemed clear that she did not stand accused by the law—she was free. But public opinion was a powerful force.

Yes, she must be dreadfully lonely.

And she had decided to try to alleviate that aloneness and that loneliness by taking a lover.

It was perfectly understandable.

But she had chosen him.

“You are not going to be tiresome, are you,” she asked him, “and insist upon being the perfect gentleman? You are not going to hand me out of your carriage outside my door and escort me to the door-sill and kiss the back of my hand as you bid me good night?”

He looked into her eyes and realized that sexual attraction and pity were a lethal mix.

“No,” he said, “I am not going to do that, Lady Paget.”

She removed her elbow from the table and looked down at her plate. But nothing took her fancy there. She looked back at him. There was a pulse beating quite noticeably at the side of her neck.

“I really have no interest in staying at this ball any longer, Lord
Merton,” she said. “I have danced and I have eaten and I have met you. Take me home now.”

He felt that tightening of the groin again and fought the onset of lust.

“I am afraid I cannot leave yet,” he said. “I have solicited the hands of two young ladies for the next two sets.”

“And you must honor such solicitation?” she said, her eyebrows arched upward.

“I must,” he said. “I will.”

“You
are
a gentleman,” she said. “How very provoking.”

The salon was emptying fast, Stephen realized. From the ballroom, he could hear the sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments. He stood and offered Lady Paget his hand.

“Allow me to escort you back to the ballroom and introduce you to—” he began.

But Elliott was making his way toward them, and it was obvious to Stephen why he was coming. The family was rallying round—though whether for Meg’s sake or his own was not clear.

“—the Duke of Moreland,” he said, completing his sentence. “My brother-in-law. Lady Paget, Elliott.”

“It is a pleasure, ma’am,” Elliott said, bowing and looking as if it were anything but.

“Your grace.” Lady Paget inclined her head and grasped her fan as she stood. She looked instantly aloof and haughty.

“May I have the honor of dancing the next set with you, Lady Paget?” Elliott asked.

“You may,” she said, and set her hand on his proffered sleeve.

She did not look back at Stephen.

There was a grayish film on the surface of the untouched tea in their cups, he saw. Only two items had gone from her plate, none from his. Just a few years ago it would have seemed an unpardonable waste.

He had better go and claim his next partner before the dancing started again, he decided. It really would not do to be late.

Was he really going to sleep with Lady Paget tonight?

And perhaps begin a longer-term liaison with her?

Ought he not to know more about her first? More about the death of her husband and the facts behind the very nasty rumors that had preceded her to London and made an outcast of her?

Had he been seduced after all?

He feared he had.

Was it too late to change his mind?

He feared it was.

Did he
want
to?

He feared he did not.

He strode off in the direction of the ballroom.

The Duke of Moreland was the man who had been standing with the Earl of Merton when Cassandra had arrived at the ball. He was the man who looked very like yesterday’s devil—Mr. Huxtable.

But the duke’s eyes were blue and he looked somewhat less devilish than Mr. Huxtable and considerably more austere. He looked as if he might be a formidable adversary if one did something to cross his will.

She had done nothing. It was
he
who had asked
her
to dance. But he was, of course, a brother-in-law to Lady Sheringford and was doing what he could to contain the potential disaster of her appearance at his sister-in-law’s ball. Perhaps he had also thought to rescue the Earl of Merton from her clutches.

Cassandra set her slightly scornful smile firmly in place.

The set was a lively one and offered very little opportunity for conversation. What little there was they spent in an exchange of meaningless pleasantries about the beauty of the floral decorations
and the excellence of the orchestra and the superiority of the Marquess of Claverbrook’s cook.

“May I return you to your … companion, ma’am?” the duke asked her when the set was at an end, though he surely knew that she had none.

“I came alone,” she said, “but you may safely leave me here, your grace.”

They were close to a set of open French windows. Perhaps she would slip outside and stroll awhile. She could see that there was a wide balcony out there and not too many people. She suddenly longed to escape.

“Then allow me,” he said, taking her by the elbow, “to introduce you to a few people.”

Before she could excuse herself, a brightly smiling older lady with a sober-looking gentleman approached them unbidden, and the Duke of Moreland introduced them to Cassandra as Sir Graham and Lady Carling.

“Lady Paget,” Lady Carling said after they had exchanged bows and nods, “I am positively green with envy, if you will excuse the pun, over your gown. Why can I
never
find any fabric half so gorgeous whenever I look? Not that I would look good in that particular shade of green. I do believe I would fade into invisibility behind it. But even so … Oh, dear, Graham’s eyes are glazing over, and Moreland is wondering when he can decently escape.”

She laughed and linked an arm through Cassandra’s.

“Come, Lady Paget,” she said. “You and I will stroll together and discuss dress and bonnet fashions to our hearts’ content.”

And, true to her word, she led Cassandra off on a slow promenade of the perimeter of the ballroom floor as couples gathered on it for the next set.

“I am Lord Sheringford’s mama,” Lady Carling explained, “and I love him to distraction—though if you ever quote me on that, Lady Paget, I shall stoutly deny it. He has led me a merry dance over the
years, but he will not have the satisfaction of knowing he has made me suffer, the wretch. However, he has, despite himself, I believe, made an extremely good match with Margaret. She is a treasure beyond compare. I dote upon her and upon my two grandsons and one granddaughter even if the first son
was
born out of wedlock, a fact that was not in any way his fault, was it?”

“Lady Carling,” Cassandra said quietly, “I did not come here tonight to cause trouble.”

“Well, of course you did not,” that lady said, smiling warmly at her. “But you
have
caused something of a sensation, have you not? And you had the nerve to wear that bright dress into the bargain. I suppose you had no choice but to bring that glorious red hair too, but of course the gown
does
draw even more attention to it than would otherwise be the case. I applaud your courage.”

Cassandra looked for irony in the words or in Lady Carling’s manner but was not sure she could find any.

“I scolded Duncan a few years ago,” Lady Carling continued, “when he attended a ball uninvited after returning to London with all the baggage of a horrifying scandal weighing him down. It was all
very
reminiscent of what you have done tonight. And do you know what was the very first thing he did after arriving at that ball, Lady Paget?”

Cassandra looked back at her, her eyebrows raised, though she thought she knew the answer.

“He collided with Margaret in the ballroom doorway,” Lady Carling said, “and he asked her to dance with him and then marry him—all in one sentence, if he is to be believed. I
do
believe him because Margaret tells the same story and she is not prone to exaggeration. Yet they had never set eyes upon each other before that moment. Sometimes being daring and defying the
ton
can be a worthwhile venture, Lady Paget. I can only hope that you will be as fortunate as Duncan has been. For of course I do not believe there is any truth to that axe business. You would not be free or even
alive, I suppose, if there were. Unless the problem is simply lack of proof, of course. But I do not believe it, and I am
not
going to ask. You must come to my at-home tomorrow afternoon. My other guests will be astonished and outraged—and will talk of nothing else for the next month. I will be famous. Everyone will come to all my other at-homes for the rest of the Season lest they miss something equally sensational. Do say you will come. Say you will have the
courage
to come.”

There was perhaps goodness left in the world after all, Cassandra thought as she smiled her half-scornful smile and looked about the ballroom. There were people who would treat her with courtesy even if their main motive
was
to avoid further embarrassment at the ball. And there were people who would reach out the hand of friendship even if they
were
perhaps partly motivated by selfish concerns.

It was far more than she had expected.

If she were not so desperately poor …

“I will think about it,” she said.

“I am sure you will,” Lady Carling said, and told Cassandra where her house might be found on Curzon Street. “I have been delighted to take this break from dancing, Lady Paget. I never like to admit my age, but when I dance more than two consecutive sets or when I spend more than an hour playing with my grandchildren—the two who are not still nicely settled in a cradle—then I
feel
my age, alas.”

The Earl of Merton was dancing with a very young and pretty lady, who was blushing and gazing up at him with worshipful, sparkling eyes. He was smiling at her and talking to her and giving her the whole of his attention.

He was going to sleep with
her
tonight, Cassandra thought, and afterward she was going to do business with him. She believed she had done well. She knew she had attracted him physically. She had also very subtly engaged his pity. He thought her alone and lonely. It
did not matter that it was at least partly true.
She would have it no other way
.

But she would draw him into her web, whether he really wished to be there or not. She needed him.

No, not
him
.

She needed his money.

Alice needed it. So did Mary and Belinda. And even dear Roger.

She had to remind herself of them. Only so could she bear the burden of self-loathing that suddenly descended like a real physical weight across her shoulders.

He was an amiable, courteous gentleman.

He was also a
man
. And men had needs. She would service those needs for the Earl of Merton. She would not be stealing his money. She would give good value in return.

She need not feel guilty.

“I have enjoyed the break from dancing too,” she told Lady Carling.

5

“L
ADY
Paget,” the Duchess of Moreland said when the ball was over and crowds of people milled about, looking for spouses and offspring and shawls and fans, bidding friends and acquaintances good night, heading for the staircase and the hall below so that they would be there when it was the turn for their particular carriage to draw up in front of the steps. The duchess had just introduced herself “Did you come in your carriage?”

“I did not,” Cassandra said, “but Lord Merton has been kind enough to offer me a ride home in his.”

“Ah, good.” The duchess smiled. “Elliott and I would have been delighted to take you to your door, but you will be safe in Stephen’s hands.”

Stephen
. His name was Stephen. It somehow suited him.

The duchess linked an arm through hers.

“Let us go and find him,” she said. “This end-of-evening crush is always the worst part of balls, but I am delighted there
is
a crush tonight. Meg was terrified that no one would come.”

Cassandra saw the Earl of Merton striding toward them before they had taken more than a few steps.

“Nessie,” he said, smiling at them both, “you have found Lady Paget, have you?”

“I do not believe she was lost, Stephen,” she said. “But she is waiting for you to take her home.”

It seemed to Cassandra that it took an age for them to leave the ballroom, descend the stairs, and make their way across the hall toward the front doors. But she soon realized why they were in no hurry. The duchess and Lord Merton were the Countess of Sheringford’s sister and brother, and no doubt their carriages would be at the very back of the line.

Eventually there was no one left but the duke and duchess, Lord and Lady Montford, to whom the duchess introduced Cassandra, the Earl of Merton, Sir Graham and Lady Carling, and the Earl and Countess of Sheringford, who had just finished bidding their guests good night.