Splendid (7 page)

Alex almost went weak with relief when he saw Dunford striding across the ballroom toward him. At last, some decent conversation.

Dunford was not quite the rake that Alex was, but he came damn close. Most of the
ton
, however, were more than willing to forgive him his tarnished reputation because he was insufferably charming. Alex had never quite learned to follow his friend's example. His cronies praised him as an eminently affable fellow but had to allow that the Duke of Ashbourne bore little tolerance for most of society. He rarely hid his boredom when he was forced into conversation with anyone he found dull, and he gave the most icy stares to those who caused him displeasure. Rumor had it that more than one young lady had been sent scurrying in terror across a room at one of his scowls.

“Do tell, Ashbourne,” Dunford laughed. “Why are you here?”

“Why, indeed,” Alex muttered. “I'm beginning to wonder the same thing.” He'd arrived at the ball a full hour earlier, and during that time he'd scoured the mansion, surprising many a footman and serving maid and interrupting no less than three clandestine couples. Not a single sign of Meg. In desperation, he'd actually entered the ballroom, figuring that there might be a chance that Meg was tending to the refreshments. But he'd had no luck. The serving girl was nowhere to be found. And although he found the prospect of defeat bitter indeed, he was just about to give up his search. Alex sighed and turned to face his friend, happily turning his back on the ogling crowds.

“Fess up, chap,” Dunford prodded.

Alex sighed. “It's a long story. I doubt you'd be interested.”

“Nonsense. It's the long stories which are usually the most interesting. Besides, if this ‘story' has actually brought you into the ranks of polite society, it must involve a female. And that means, of course, that I'm terribly interested.”

Alex turned to his friend and briefly recounted the story of how his nephew had been saved by a brave kitchen maid, omitting the part about the strong attraction he felt for her. “So you see,” he concluded, “you needn't get so excited. My tale lacks both romance and lust. I'm afraid that you're going to have to accept that my behavior tonight is completely above reproach.”

“How dull.”

Alex nodded wearily. “Indeed, and I can't stand this crush. I think I'll suffocate if one more blasted dandy comes up to ask me how I've arranged my cravat.”

“You know,” Dunford began thoughtfully, “I was just thinking that I might take my leave now as well. Why don't we retire to White's and have a few drinks? A good game of cards might be just the thing after your tiring sixty minutes of the social whirl.”

Alex smiled caustically at his friend's sarcasm but agreed immediately to the proposal. “Good idea. I can't wait to get—” He stopped short when he heard the sharply indrawn breath of his friend. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“Good Lord,” Dunford breathed. “That coloring…”

“For Christ's sake, Dunford, who is it now?”

Dunford paid no mind to his words. “It must be Emma Dunster. How could something so lovely have come from those godforsaken Colonies?”

“They're not our colonies any longer, Dunford,”
Alex muttered, remembering Meg's tirade. “They've been free for several decades and should really be referred to as the United States of America. It's only polite.”

Alex's strange speech broke Dunford out of his reverie. He turned to his friend with an odd look on his face. “Since when have you become so sympathetic to our errant Colonies?”

“Since—oh, never mind. Who is this blasted woman who's got you so paralyzed with desire?” Alex still hadn't turned to face the ballroom.

“Look for yourself, Ashbourne. Not a classic beauty, I'll admit, but she doesn't look cold, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair with specks of fire, soft violet eyes…”

A singularly unpleasant feeling began to grow in the pit of Alex's stomach when he heard Dunford's description of Miss Emma Dunster. It couldn't be…No, he assured himself, a gentle lady wouldn't….Alex slowly turned around. There, across the ballroom, stood his brave Meg. Except she was no longer Meg, he corrected himself. She was Emma.

Alex reacted instantly. Every muscle immediately tensed to the point of near-pain, and he couldn't decide whether he was furious over her deception or merely overcome with desire. He watched silently as Emma, unaware of his presence, smiled wearily at one of her suitors and rubbed her head absently. Damn, but what was she thinking, dancing the night away when she probably had a serious head injury? Alex scowled, thinking that he'd like to march across the dance floor, grab her by the shoulders, and shake a little sense into her.

But Lord, she really was lovely. Her petite body was wrapped in a gown of violet satin that bared her creamy shoulders and showed just the slightest
swell of her breasts. Young women out for their first season were supposed to wear pale pastels, but Alex was glad that Emma had defied convention and chosen a more daring color. It matched her spirit, and, in a sea of washed-out insipid misses, she was a beacon of fire and vitality. She had left her hair unfashionably loose, having secured the front strands up atop her head with a clasp but letting the bulk of it flow down her back like a sheet of fire.

Her coloring spoke of a wild nature, and Alex well remembered her quick temper. But he could also see vulnerability in her eyes, and she was so achingly small. She looked tired, and Alex was positive that her head was still bothering her. Something about her made him fiercely protective, and he was enraged that she might be endangering her health with too much activity.

Dunford chuckled as he watched myriad emotions pass across Alex's face. “I can see that you agree with my assessment.”

Alex broke his gaze away from Emma and turned to face his friend. “Don't touch her,” he said slowly. “Don't even think about her.” He scowled as he noticed that he was not the only man in the room who'd succumbed to her appeal. The young bucks were practically lined up to gain an introduction to the American girl. He made a mental note to have a word with a few of the more eager ones.

Dunford drew back in surprise. “A little possessive when you haven't even met the chit, don't you think?”

“Oh, I've met the chit,” Alex growled. “I just didn't know it.”

Dunford's brow furrowed in thought until realization dawned. “I gather you don't want to head to White's just yet?”

Alex smiled rakishly. “This party has suddenly grown quite interesting.” With that, he scooted along the perimeter of the ballroom, assiduously avoiding Emma's eye. He finally settled into an alcove directly behind her back. A heavy crimson drape shielded him from the view of the partygoers, but he could still hear every detail of Emma's conversations. Leaning back against the wall, he could just barely see her through a crack between the drape and the wall.

“What the devil are you doing?” Dunford demanded just as soon as he appeared at Alex's side.

“Will you keep your voice down? And get back! Someone might see you.” Alex yanked his friend back until they were both hidden behind the drape.

“You've lost your mind,” Dunford muttered. “I never thought I'd see the day when the lofty Duke of Ashbourne hid behind curtains to spy on a woman.”

“Shut up.”

Dunford snickered.

Alex glared at him before turning his attention back to more important matters. “I've got her just where I want her,” he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

“Really?” Dunford asked sardonically. “I rather thought you wanted her in your bed.”

Alex glared at him again.

“And,” Dunford continued, “it doesn't seem to me that you're even remotely close to achieving that goal.”

Alex raised his eyebrows with supreme self-assurance. “Mark my words, I'll be a hell of a lot closer by the end of the night.” He put his eye back to the crack of light, smiled triumphantly and, rather like a lion stalking its prey, trained his gaze on the flame-haired woman not five feet away from him.

Emma kept a polite smile pasted to her face as she went though another round of introductions. Her aunt had already declared the ball—and Emma— a glittering success. Aunt Caroline couldn't believe the number of young men who had begged her and her husband for an introduction to their niece. And Emma had behaved beautifully. She was witty and bright and, thankfully, hadn't done anything
too
outrageous. Caroline knew that her niece found it a trial to be continuously correct.

In actuality, Emma wasn't finding her correct behavior overly burdensome. She was simply too tired to live up to her mischievous reputation even if she had wanted to. It was all she could do to keep up amusing banter with the many people she had met that evening. Even with a pounding headache, Emma refused to give London the misconception that she was a shy, retiring miss. It was her opinion that the
ton
already had far too many of those.

“Emma, dear,” her aunt called. “I want you to meet Lord and Lady Humphries.”

Emma smiled as she held out her hand to the plump pair. Lord Humphries, who looked to be about thirty-five years older than Emma, bowed courteously and kissed her knuckles. “I'm very pleased to meet both of you,” Emma said politely, her American accent apparent.

“Then it's true!” Lord Humphries said triumphantly. “You
are
from the Colonies! Good old Percy over there wagered you were from France. ‘With a last name like Dunster?' I said. ‘No, she's from good English stock, even if she did defect to the Colonies.' And I was right. I'm going to have to go and collect my wager.”

Before Emma could say anything more, he'd waddled away in search of his crony. Emma was somewhat surprised at the amount of attention
being paid to her and more than a little flustered that people were actually making wagers about her origins. Ned had told her that the
ton
often made wagers to amuse themselves, but this was ridiculous. Didn't they have anything more interesting to do with their time? She turned to Lady Humphries, who'd been stranded by her husband, and smiled weakly. “How do you do, Lady Humphries?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied. Lady Humphries had a friendly manner but seemed slightly daft. “Do tell me,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Is it true that wild bears roam free in Boston? I understand that the Colonies are overrun with savages and wild beasts.”

Emma could see her aunt roll her eyes and groan in expectation of another of her niece's lectures about the many wonderful qualities of the United States. But Emma just leaned forward, took both of the older lady's hands in her own, and said—just as conspiratorially as Lady Humphries—“Actually, Boston is quite civilized. You'd feel quite at home there.”

“No!” Lady Humphries said, shocked.

“No, really. We even have dressmakers there.”

“Really?” Lady Humphries's eyes were wide with interest.

“Yes, and milliners, too.” Emma nodded slowly, her eyes wide. “Of course they often get destroyed when the wolves come through town.”

“Wolves! You don't say!”

“Yes, and they're so terribly vicious. Why, I lock myself in my home each year for weeks in fear of them.”

Lady Humphries fanned herself vigorously. “Oh my. Oh my, I have to go tell all this to Margaret. If you'll excuse me.” Eyes wide with a mix of horror
and delight, she darted away from Emma and disappeared into the crowd.

Emma turned to her aunt and cousin, both of whom were shaking with mirth. “Oh, Emma,” Belle laughed, wiping tears out of the corners of her eyes. “You shouldn't have done that.”

Emma rolled her eyes and gave a harumph. “Well,” she declared. “You've got to let me have a little bit of fun tonight.”

“Of course, darling,” Caroline replied, shaking her head. “But did you have to have your fun with Lady Humphries? Your little tale will be all over the ballroom in less than ten minutes.”

“Oh, pooh. Nobody with any sense will believe it. And frankly, I'm not interested in impressing anybody who hasn't got sense,” Emma raised her eyebrows and turned to her relatives, silently daring them to reply.

“She's got a valid point,” Belle conceded.

“I must admit, I have always found Lady Humphries rather ridiculous myself,” Caroline remarked.

“I don't plan on being impolite,” Emma explained. “It's just that I think I'll perish of boredom if I have to engage in conversation with any more of these complete ninnyheads.”

“We'll do our best to protect you,” Caroline replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I knew you would,” Emma replied, smiling gaily

After that moment, one of Ned's friends appeared at Emma's side to claim a dance. Alex scowled at the young man from behind the drape as he watched the pair float across the ballroom floor.

“A little jealous, are we?” Dunford inquired.

“‘We' are not the least bit jealous,” Alex replied imperiously. “‘We' have no reason to be jealous.
For God's sake, he's a mere boy,” he said, referring to Emma's dance partner.

“You're right, of course. That would make him about three years older than Miss Dunster.”

Alex ignored his comment. “Did you hear the way she got rid of Lady Humphries?” he asked admiringly. “She was absolutely right. Even my mother thinks Lady Humphries is a ridiculous old windbag.”

Dunford nodded slowly, deep in thought. He hadn't seen his friend act this way about a woman since their university days, before he'd developed a deep suspicion of the fairer sex.

“And her comment about not wanting to meet anyone without any sense,” Alex continued. “You must admit that she has spirit. And sense, too.”

“And she's coming back this way,” Dunford pointed out.