The Lady In Question (20 page)

Delia slipped into the massive salon at Lady Puget’s and adopted the distinct air of someone returning from the ladies’ retiring room rather than someone who had just now arrived. She smiled Cassie’s confident smile, joined the stream of guests circling the outer edges of the room, then slipped out of the flow of the crowd and stepped into a large, circular alcove. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided light for the cluster of potted palms and exotic plants positioned in the center of the alcove. During daylight hours, the windows provided a delightful panorama of Lady Puget’s impressive gardens. Delia had been to Lord and Lady Puget’s fetes before and knew this spot was the perfect place from which to view the room. One could even have a private conversation while in full sight of the rest of the gathering, unless one chose to survey the gardens from the widows and was therefore forced to step behind the palms, which could be perfect as well for a bit of seclusion. After all, she did have Cassie’s reputation to consider, even if it was surprising to learn Cassie was concerned about such things. And surprising as well to realize she did not know everything about her sister. However, this was most definitely a public sort of place and absolutely no one could chastise a young woman for speaking with a gentleman here. If, of course, one could find said gentleman.

Delia scanned the ballroom in search of a tall, dark-haired stranger. Lord Mysterious. She smiled to herself.

It was such a perfect name for St. Stephens. Oh, certainly Cassie had managed to find out the basic details of his life, but it appeared no one really knew the man. Delia wasn’t entirely sure if that was a problem or a benefit. She rather liked the idea of a gentleman who did not drag the past along with him. She rather liked the idea of Lord Mysterious.

Of course, tonight a gentleman of mystery was most appropriate, given the machinations she and Cassie had gone through to get her to this point.

Cassie and their parents were to come to the Pugets’ reception but planned on nothing more than making a brief appearance, for reasons of both society and politics, and then proceed on to another gathering elsewhere. At the last minute, Cassie claimed to have torn her gown, insisted her parents go on without her and promised to join them at the second location. Accompanied by her maid, she had then taken a carriage to Delia’s, where Delia waited already wearing a gown she had earlier pulled from her nearly forgotten trunk. Cassie stayed behind and Delia proceeded to the reception, vowing to return within two hours.

Delia resisted the urge to laugh out loud. It had already been quite an exhilarating evening, and most definitely an adventure. She hadn’t had so much fun since her secret meetings with Charles in what seemed a lifetime ago. But this was entirely different.

With Charles, from their first moment, she’d understood her feelings completely. Right or wrong, she’

d seen him very much as her last chance for adventure and had entered into their liaison with her eyes wide open. When she considered it, she’d really been rather practical. With St. Stephens, she had no idea exactly how she felt except for a sweet, awful yearning deep inside her. It wasn’t simply a physical desire to know more of those things Charles had briefly introduced her to, although admittedly there was some of that. No, it was something more profound. Something exquisite and more than a little frightening. There was a danger inherent in involvement with St. Stephens that went well beyond the threat of scandal.

“Once again, I feared you would not come.” St. Stephens’s voice sounded from the other side of the palms and a shiver of anticipation tripped up her spine.

“And once again I have surprised you.” She slanted him a quick glance and thought surely her very bones would dissolve at the simmering look in his eyes. Still, it would not do to let him know. She continued to study the crowd and forced a casual note to her voice. “How could I possibly resist such a charming invitation?”

“Did you like the flowers, then?”

“They were lovely.” Indeed, had she ever seen a rose that wasn’t lovely? “I am exceedingly fond of roses.”

“I hoped you would like them.” He stepped to her side. “I particularly thought that color would suit you.”

She didn’t allow her smile to so much as flicker. “It’s long been my favorite.”

“Really?” He studied her curiously. “I always thought red was the favorite of most women.”

“Most, perhaps, but I assure you” — she adopted a breezy tone that belied the fact that she had no idea what color her flowers, no,
Cassie’s
flowers, were; and she had no intention of wasting any of her precious time with him discussing them — “I am not like most women.”

“I did not doubt it for a moment.” He chuckled in a manner entirely too intimate and seductive to be proper.

She favored him with a knowing smile, then strolled toward the windows and gazed out into the garden, illuminated tonight with lanterns set strategically amid the plantings. “Look, my lord. Fairy lights in the garden.”

“I have always been quite fond of fairy lights,” he murmured.

She caught his gaze in the reflection of the window. “You haven’t even looked.”

“At the garden, no.” He shook his head slowly. “Why should I, when I can gaze into your eyes?”

She stared for an endless moment, mesmerized by the meeting of their eyes in the dark reflection of the window with the lights of the ballroom and the crowd behind them, caught in a spell of something entirely too special. Something magic.

She forced herself to break free and turned toward him, a light note in her voice. “And how are you finding London, my lord?”

He raised an amused brow as if he knew precisely why she had changed the subject. Precisely what she’d been feeling. “I find London much the same as always.”

“Do you spend a great deal of time here, then?”

“Some.” He stepped closer, caught her hand and drew it to his lips. “I should like to spend a great deal more. There is much to be admired about the city.”

“Oh?” A tremor of excitement ran up her arm at his touch, but she kept her voice cool. “And what is it you admire?”

“The sights, Miss Effington.” His voice was low. “I find I quite appreciate the sights of London.”

She reluctantly but firmly reclaimed her hand. “Any sights in particular?”

“One sight, in particular, has attracted my interest.” He stared down at her.

“Has it?” There was an odd, breathless tone to her voice.

“Miss Effington, I have a question to ask you.” His gaze searched hers and her heart caught in her throat.

“Yes?”

“I would very much like to…”

Take me into the gardens and make me yours right here? Right now?

“Yes?”

He straightened his shoulders slightly and for just an instant she had the distinct impression Lord Mysterious was apprehensive. “I should very much like to speak to your father and ask permission to call on you formally.”

For a moment she could do nothing more than stare.

“Miss Effington?”

“Why?” she blurted.

“Why?” His brow furrowed. “Because that’s what one does when one is in a situation like this.”

She studied him suspiciously. “A situation like what?”

“A situation wherein” — he drew a deep breath, as if just that moment making up his mind — “a gentleman has met a lady he may well not be able to live without.”

“Really?” She stared in delight.

“Really.” He nodded in a no-nonsense manner and stepped closer. “Indeed, Miss Effington, I cannot seem to get you out of my head.”

“You can’t?” Without thinking, she took a backward step.

He moved toward her again with an eager, even enthusiastic step. “Day and night, all I can think about is you. You’ve even invaded my dreams. I can no longer get a decent night’s rest. It’s enough to drive a man mad.”

“I rather like the idea of driving a man mad.” She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug and again stepped away. As much as she wanted more than a mere kiss with this man, it was perhaps too soon for more.

“And are you mad, my lord?”

“Yes, blast it all, I am bloody well insane.” He glanced around and she realized their odd dance had taken them behind the palms to a spot of relative privacy. “And you, Miss Effington” — he grabbed her shoulders — “are the reason why.”

He yanked her to him and kissed her hard and long, until she thought her toes would curl and the rest of her pool into a lifeless heap at his feet. Perhaps it was not too soon for more after all. Abruptly he released her and she caught their reflection in the windows, noting in the back of her mind that anyone in the gardens could have witnessed their kiss. Still, at the moment, Cassie’s reputation was not foremost in her thoughts.

Delia gazed up at him, her voice breathless. “Am I?”

“Yes, you are.” He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as if they were of paramount importance, but she suspected he needed as much time to catch his breath as she. “And that, Miss Effington, is why I insist on meeting your parents.”

“I don’t believe they’d at all appreciate a kiss behind the palms,” she murmured, still delightfully befuddled by his kiss. His second kiss, while far shorter than the first, was every bit as wonderful, and she quite looked forward to the third and the fourth and every kiss thereafter.

“Excellent, as I have no desire to kiss your parents behind the palms or anywhere else.” He shook his head as if to clear away the absurd conversation. “I must confess, I had no intention of saying any of this tonight, but —”

“Is it the madness, my lord?” she said innocently.

“Quite.” He grinned ruefully and took her hand. “And I fear it is a permanent affliction.”

“What a charming thing to say. You do have a nice turn with a phrase.”

“Thank you.” He studied her carefully. “Now, about speaking to your father.”

“I would prefer that you didn’t.” She shook her head. “But I do appreciate that you wish to. It says a great deal about your character. Why, I should give any man who has behaved as you have high marks indeed.” She cast him a brilliant smile.

“I am glad I am up to your standards, Miss Effington, but I am interested in more than your approval. I want…that is, I’d prefer…or rather, I wish…” He glared in annoyance. “Blast it all, Miss Effington, I believe I may well want your hand.”

“My hand? You mean in marriage?” There was an odd note of horror in her voice. He looked as shocked by his declaration as she was. “Well, yes, I think I am talking about marriage.”

He shook his head in disbelief that he would say such a thing. “That too was not my intention.”

She raised a brow.

“Well, not quite yet. You do tend to muddle a man’s mind, Miss Effington.”

“First I drive you mad, then I muddle your mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that really the kind of woman you wish to marry, my lord?”

“Not in the least. You are not at all the sort of woman I had planned to marry, but, well, I don’t care.” He looked her square in the eye and she could see he was most determined. “Damnation, Miss Effington, why not? It was probably inevitable. Fate and all that. I knew it the first time I met you. And I know as well that you feel precisely the same way.”

He stepped toward her and again she stepped back. She needed a clear head for this particular conversation, and her head would be anything but clear if he so much as took her hand. “I will concede that possibly I may feel —”

“Hah.” He snorted in disbelief. “There is no
possibly
about it. I can see it in the look in your eye. The tone of your voice.” He lowered his voice. “The eagerness of your kiss.”

“I should be as eager to kiss anyone who kisses as well as you,” she snapped.

“Now, now, Miss Effington. Do not forget your reputation,” he said in a smug and most annoying manner. “What would people think if they knew you would be as eager —”

Shock widened her eyes. “Surely you wouldn’t —”

“Never,” he said firmly, then grinned in a teasing manner, and all her annoyance with him fled. “But I am most appreciative of the compliment and, I promise, I intend to improve with practice. In point of fact, I intend a great deal of practice.”

“Oh, my.” She stared up at him, resisting the urge to tell him how very delightful a great deal of practice sounded. She summoned her resolve and lifted her chin. “As much as I do appreciate your determination, I must tell you, my lord, I am not particularly interested in marriage at the moment.”

He scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. Every woman is interested in marriage.”

“I’m not,” she said staunchly. “At least not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…” She bit back the words just in time. She couldn’t possibly tell him she wasn’t interested in marriage because her first marriage had lasted less than a week and her last husband had been dead barely half a year. Or that she wasn’t interested in marriage with anyone she’d just met no matter how right, how natural it was to be with him. Or that she wasn’t interested in marriage because marrying once had been the biggest mistake of her life and she wasn’t eager to make another. And she certainly couldn’t tell him she wasn’t interested in marriage because she had just begun the life of an independent widow and had yet to become an experienced woman. “I simply don’t see the appeal of marriage, nor the benefits.”

“The benefits of marriage? I should think that would be obvious for a woman. The protection of a man’s name, at the very least. A respectable position in life. Children. Companionship. Affection.” He studied her curiously. “Don’t you wish for affection?”

“Most certainly, but —”

“Have you ever been in love, Miss Effington?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He paused in surprise. “No?”

“No. Have you?”

“No, but I am confident I will know it when I see it.”