The Conqueror's Dilemma (15 page)

‘I should have fought you,’ she
stated, ‘but that you took me by surprise.’

A frown pulled his brows
together. ‘Fought me? As you fought Chicheley?’

Tiffany drew herself up. ‘Sir
Lambert is of our party. Besides, it is not for you to censure me.’ A memory
surfaced. ‘You said you came here to find me. I cannot think why, but if it was
merely to take upon yourself the task of scolding me for what I could scarcely
help—’

‘Why couldn’t you help it?’
William found himself asking, the unfamiliar resentment rising again. ‘Are you
so little mistress of your own actions you can’t refuse to dance with the man?’

‘I am so little mistress of my
own actions I can’t stop the Conqueror from kissing me,’ Tiffany threw at him
furiously.

William was betrayed into
laughter. ‘Yes, I suppose I deserved that.’

He melted inside, and the
compassion that had led him into this was once more to the fore. He moved to
her, unthinkingly catching at one shoulder. She struggled, seizing his wrist as
if she might pull his hand away. William’s tone softened.

‘Easy now, I’m not going to do it
again, I promise.’

‘Let me go!’

He did let her go, but instead
captured her hand in his and brought her closer, with a grip firm enough to
keep her from pulling away.

‘Tiffany, be still. I beg your
pardon—for the kiss, for treating you so shabbily at Ariadne’s, and for
anything else I may have said or done to wound you.’

Her struggles ceased, but she
eyed him with a look brimful of suspicion. William smiled. ‘I don’t blame you
for being angry. I have treated you abominably. It’s why I came here to find
you. I wanted to apologise, to explain.’

Against her will, Tiffany felt
her anger draining away. She was glad of the gruffness in her tone, for it kept
the illusion of resentment alive.

‘What is there to explain? I know
what you think of me.’

‘I think of you as a friend,
Tiffany.’

‘A friend? I am sorry for your
friends, if you treat them as you have treated me.’

William let her go. ‘I don’t know
what more I can do beyond begging your pardon. If you will only listen—’

‘Why?’ demanded Tiffany,
deliberately feeding her ire. ‘So that you can tell me I am nothing but a cit?
So that you may revile Lady Drumbeg to my face as Mrs Membury did? Oh, I saw
how you looked at her, Mr Westerham. With the same vile contempt you reserved
for me when we were formally introduced.’

‘I know, I know,’ he uttered,
feeling the words to be futile. ‘I have said that I deserve your anger, but you
don’t understand. You have heard of me only as the Conqueror, but you don’t
know how little that means.’

Arrested, Tiffany eyed him
doubtfully. ‘I don’t understand you.’

A faint smile crossed his lips.
‘That’s what I said.’

He had her attention now, but it
was hard to know how to begin. William shifted away, leaning his shoulders against
the wall. He did not look at her.

‘The only difference between us
is a matter of birth. Beyond the advantage of having both parents born genteel,
I am as little fitted for this life as are you, Tiffany.’ Glancing at her, he
saw a frown in her eyes. Did she believe him? ‘When I came to Town, I had
almost as little knowledge as you and was quite at sea. That’s why I befriended
you.’ Pushing away from the wall, he confronted her again. ‘It’s why you draw
me. We are two of a kind, Tiffany.’

She wanted to be sceptical, so
unlikely was his explanation. In spite of herself, she felt warmed by it. Oddly
privileged to be thus included. But the unacknowledged little hope within her
died. It was true then. He had not meant anything by that kiss.

‘Well, even if we are, it does
not give you the right to censure me.’

‘It gives me no rights. Only I
cannot help myself when I see you falling into error.’

‘Then you had best refrain from
seeking my company.’

William shook his head. ‘I can’t
do that either. I’ve tried.’

Tiffany’s pulses pattered into
life. Was it delusion to dare to think he liked her more than a little? Yes, it
was, for he had just expounded his reason for seeking her out. Something he had
said at the outset struck her all at once—about the impossibility of meeting
her elsewhere than the Pantheon.

‘So you choose to do so
clandestinely?’ she blurted out. ‘Oh, I am not as naïve as you suppose, Mr
Westerham. I know how improper it is to be alone with you in such a room as
this. But you chose it—because I am too much beneath your notice to be met with
in public, is that it?’

‘Too much beneath my public
notice,’ William corrected, and instantly regretted the impulse of candour. Her
lips trembled and he thought he detected luminosity in her eyes. There was hurt
there, but he could see her determination not to weep. His tone softened.

‘That was cruel, Tiffany. I
didn’t mean it as it sounded.’

‘How did you mean it then?’ A
small voice, redolent with distress.

He sighed in a hopeless way. ‘Are
you equipped to hear the truth?’

‘I should be glad of it.’

A note of prideful determination
underlay the breathy voice. She had courage, William had to give her that. But
he was acutely aware of her underlying upset. He gave way to an overmastering
need to reassure her—and in so doing, exculpate himself.

‘I am at the mercy of my social
circle, despite my position. A sign from me could rapidly change your
situation. Women of fashion would seek you out and men would court you. Only I
cannot do it.’ He sought her hand again and held it within his fingers. She did
not resist, but he could feel the tension in her. ‘Tiffany, none could or would
object to you, for you are delightful.’ Even in the dim light, he could see the
colour rising in her cheeks. ‘But none could or would accept Lady Drumbeg, and,
situated as you are, you are inseparable from her.’

Tiffany tugged her fingers out of
his. Had she not guessed it? Had it not been borne in upon her almost from the
start? A fierce thrust of fury sprang into life.

‘Why? What is it? She is a cit,
yes, but so am I. It has been drummed into my head by my uncle—himself a
merchant, like my father was—that when my mother threw her cap over the
windmill to marry out of her sphere, she lost her right to be there. I had no
expectation of entering your set, sir. It has only been due to the offices of
Lady Drumbeg I did so at all. And now you tell me she is the bar to my
acceptance.’

The answer came, flat and
unemotional. ‘It is not because she is a cit, my child. She is also pushing and
vulgar. Her manner is false and her offices towards you are not kind. Nor is
she desirous of your entering my “set”. If you were not so innocent, you would
realise she is using you.’

‘Using me how?’

‘She hopes you may be her
passport into the
ton
.’

It was as if she had received a
blow. Tiffany gazed up at his features, hardly aware of him now. Like a
disconnected puzzle, a collection of pieces which had been floating in mid-air
now slotted into place. Her impulse was to refuse so unflattering an idea, but
Tiffany’s innate honesty betrayed her. It was true. Why Eva had chosen herself
to be the instrument was not immediately apparent, but it all made sense. Her
chaperon had never pretended to like her. She had shown every evidence of
mocking contempt for both Tiffany’s common sense and her matrimonial chances.

It was not far to seek the
reason, after all. She was hardly aware of murmuring aloud. ‘Did not Eva point
out the high degree of my mother’s family? I should have guessed her purpose,
except that it never occurred to me to suppose I should be welcome where poor
Emma was not.’

‘Emma?’

Startled, Tiffany glanced up,
responding without thought. ‘My mother, Emma Partington.’

‘She was of gentle birth, I think
you said once?’

‘Yes, but her family cast her off
when she married my father. Lady Drumbeg warned me not to speak of it.’

‘She would, of course.’ Mr
Westerham paused a moment, frowning. ‘You accept the truth of her motives, I
believe.’

Tiffany nodded absently. ‘I could
have had no inkling at the start, for my come-out was modest—enjoyable even.’

‘How so?’

‘I had not my present fears. It
was a private ball at the house of a close friend of Lady Drumbeg’s. There
were, I believe, a few persons of distinction present. Oh, not from your
circle. Something a little less than that, but a deal higher—or so I
understood—than poor Mrs Gosbeck had any right to expect in her house. They
left early, much to Eva’s chagrin, for she said they were going on to a more
fashionable party.’

William watched, with a sliver of
warmth at his chest, the little devils leap into her eyes. He waited, beset by
a rising tide of desire, for what mischief had brought them there.

‘It left the place, Eva said,
sadly thin of company. But for my part, I could not have wished for anything
better. There were so few young females remaining I had the pleasure of
becoming the most sought after lady in the room.’ A tiny laugh escaped her. ‘It
did not last, of course, for there never was another such ball. Lady Drumbeg
became set upon launching me into a better milieu and I was plunged into the
misery of never knowing the correct way to behave. And at the only other
ball—oh, you were there, were you not? I had forgot. Well, Lady Yel—’

A slight hesitation as she
stumbled over the name, averting her gaze from his. Embarrassment? But why? It
was over in an instant. As she resumed, William thought he must have been
mistaken.

‘Lady Yelverton, as you know very
well, was not at all pleased we came, and naturally she would not trouble
herself to present me to any desirable partners.’

Although his sympathies were
entirely with Tiffany, William felt obliged to defend Juliana. ‘She would not
have done so, even had Lady Drumbeg been welcome. Perhaps you do not know that
in Town, guests are supposed more or less to be acquainted with one another,
and are therefore independent of the kind offices of a hostess to make them
known to each other. In the country, it is another matter altogether. The
hostess would certainly make it her business to find partners for any young
lady who was a stranger to the general company.’

Tiffany scarcely took in his
words. On mentioning Lady Yelverton, she had been hit with a sudden access of
dismaying jealousy as she recalled the intimacy she had noted between that lady
and the Conqueror. Her spirits plummeted, which made her so cross she found
herself snapping.

‘Well, that is neither here nor
there, for I am unlikely to find myself in any sort of need
in the country
.’

Taken aback, William blinked.
‘Now what have I said?’

Tiffany was thrown into disorder.
Her tone went gruff again. ‘Nothing at all.’ She became aware of the mask in
her hand, and suddenly remembered her situation. ‘My absence must have been
remarked. Eva will be wondering where I am.’

This was more than likely, William
thought, considering the manner in which he had spirited her away from the
company. Until this moment, it had not occurred to him how it must have looked.
He had best get her back as speedily as he might. But there was something he
must settle first.

‘I will escort you back in a
moment. Only tell me this, Tiffany. Do you have any desire yourself to enter
the circle your chaperon has been trying to push you into?’

Tiffany found herself in a
hideous dilemma. Prior to meeting Mr Westerham, she would have given an
unequivocal negative. But faced with the question from the Conqueror himself,
after all that had passed in this little room, it was near impossible to
answer. She sought refuge in prevarication, putting her mask up to her face.

‘I must put this on again.’

‘Hold it there and I will tie
it.’

To her intense discomfiture, Mr
Westerham turned her round as she kept the mask steady against her face. Warmth
from his body close behind her seemed to sear her back, and his fingers,
fiddling with the strings of the mask against her hair, made her scalp tingle.
Her mouth dried.

He turned her again, and she was
once more watching him through the restricted view of the mask. With a certain
deliberation, he replaced his own mask, and then the brown eyes were confronting
her through the slits. It was eerily sensual, and Tiffany knew she was
trembling.

‘You have not answered my
question,’ he said, and the soft note in his voice felt like a caress.

Unable to help herself, Tiffany
answered from the heart. ‘I should like very much to belong where you need not
be ashamed to acknowledge me.’

Ariadne was staring at him as if she could not believe her
ears. ‘You propose to bring the girl into fashion? You cannot mean it, Will.’

‘Didn’t I tell you he’d run mad?’
put in Hector, who was attempting to warm his dark brown coat-tails before the
poky fireplace.

William sat back in the only
other chair able to fit into Ariadne’s private little parlour retreat. He
crossed his legs, feigning a nonchalance he did not feel. ‘Mad or no, I’m going
to do it.’

‘No “no” about it, old fellow,’
said his friend frankly. ‘After the exhibition you put up at the Pantheon,
you’ve either fallen in love with the chit or you’ve got windmills in your
head.’

‘I have not fallen in love with
her.’

‘Then you’re stark, staring
crazy.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Ariadne cut
in, gesturing her brother to silence, ‘it behoves us to put our attention on
this latest fetch. Will, I’ve nothing against the girl, though I can’t see
precisely what there is in her to draw your particular interest—’

‘I’ve told you—’ began William,
and was cut short.

‘But that is neither here nor
there. Only she told me her father was a cit, which is scarcely a
recommendation in our circles. I only wish I’d known before I invited her
here.’