The Princess and the Pauper (21 page)

Emily glanced at Rees. He seemed unmoved
by the rabble, his gaze intent upon her. Her own heart boomed in
her breast. It was time for the “performance” to begin. She had
been primped for such pageantry, and while she’d not attended a
ball in years, her training remained as fresh as the day she’d
graduated from Chateau Mont-Choisi.

She spread her palms across her
lap, smoothing her skirt.
“I’m ready.”

Rees
stepped out first, inciting a frenzy.
He ignored the mob and maintained an open hand, awaiting her
descent.

For a moment,
she hesitated, but
after a few measured breaths, she appeared in the carriage
doorframe.

All
eyes turned toward her—as did the
talk. The salacious talk.

Emily stepped down from the
vehicle
. As
her heeled shoes landed on the pavement, a vibration went through
her. She slipped her hand around Rees’s arm, maintaining her poise,
and gracefully climbed the stone steps leading to the grand
house.

Rees remained impervious
to
all the
buzzing voices, his features relaxed, though aloof. His
inhospitable manner discouraged the crowd from swarming them, and
she was grateful for that. The warm spring air had turned sultry.
She didn’t think she could withstand the crush.

Once i
ndoors, they proceeded through a
gallery and toward the ballroom. There, on the threshold, Rees
provided their names to a waiting attendant, who in turn announced
their arrival in a resounding voice.

If gossip outside
scorched the ears,
the burst of excitement indoors burned them. The assembled guests
craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the illustrious couple,
clearly anticipating the spectacle of the century.

And then
he appeared—the Earl of
Dresmond.

Emily clapped eyes on him from
across the room. Her pulse pounded in her head, drowning the
ringing voices and musical overtones, and an overwhelming ache
welled in her chest, taking her breath away. He had killed her
father.
He
had stolen her father from her, destroyed the man. If Rees
hadn’t a firm hold of her, she might very well have stepped forward
and shouted “murderer!”

Quickly the sea of skirts and
tailed coats parted, forming a passage, and the earl approached
them, his features
rigid.

Emily pinched Rees’s arm even
harder. She met the earl’s glare, unflinching.
He had changed, her former
fiancé, dramatically aged beyond his thirty-five years. His blond
hair had thinned and receded. His complexion was frightfully pale.
Was he ill? she wondered. Perhaps stressed by his financial burden?
Or was something else pressing on his mind, like guilt?

He
stopped just short of her, much, much too
close. Closer than social niceties permitted. Had he something to
voice in secrecy? His deep green eyes burrowed into her with
confusion or perhaps alarm. Did he fear she would unearth a foul
crime? Or was he simply startled to see her again?

“
Good evening, Lord Dresmond,”
said Rees in a smooth manner. “Thank you for inviting my fiancée
and myself to your most distinguished affair.”

The earl
stepped back and finally looked
toward Rees. “Fiancée?” His unsure gaze returned to Emily. “You are
engaged to Mr. Rees?”

S
he nodded. “I am.”

After several
more tense moments,
the earl’s shoulders dropped, and he even offered a congenial
smile. “I am delighted to hear it. Congratulations, Mr. Rees.” He
offered Rees his hand, then bowed to Emily. “And to you, Miss
Wright.”

“
Thank you,” she
returned stiffly,
feeling a gentle pressure on her hand. She loosened her fierce hold
on Rees. The earl had accepted their ruse.

“
Isobel.”
Dresmond outstretched his arm. “Come.
I would like to introduce you to our guests.”

A young woman
, draped in a blush pink gown,
her golden curls pinned around her head, had followed the earl
through the crowd. She had stopped a short distance away, though,
her large blue eyes wide with uncertainty.

“
Isobel,
” said Dresmond, “this is Mr. Rees. A
violin virtuoso. And his fiancée, Miss Wright.”

Isobel
stepped nearer and bobbed her head.
“How do you do?”

“
My fiancée,” continued Dresmond.
“Miss Isobel Harte.”

Emily smiled. Miss Isobel
Harte. An American
heiress. And, according to the same gossip sheets, the windfall
Dresmond depended on to save him. It had taken the earl years to
find another heiress with enough funds to cover his debts. Most
heiresses wanted to marry a duke. But eligible dukes were hard to
snag, and eventually one had to settle for a lower member of the
peerage.

“
It i
s a pleasure to meet you, Miss
Harte,” said Emily.

“
An honor,” from
Rees.

Miss Harte
returned the smile, her shyness
giving way to an easier manner. She had no notion of Emily’s former
attachment to the earl. But she would learn the truth soon enough.
There were plenty of gossipmongers at the party, all eager to
reveal the scandalous past and enlighten their ignorant
hostess.

Emily cared nothing for the twaddle.
Truly, it repulsed her. All that mattered was the part Miss Harte
would play in the earl’s demise.

“
You are both most welcomed,”
returned Isobel.

And so, on that cordial note,
the
dramatic
scene so many had been waiting for with bated breath flitted away.
Emily heard a few disappointed sighs from the crowd, but they
needn’t fret—scandal was still approaching.

An hour later, after a myriad
introductions, Emily and Rees found
themselves ensconced in an alcove behind
the musicians’ stand.

“
You are a star tonight,” she
said
in a
biting voice. So many toes had been crushed for the opportunity to
touch the violinist. So many envious glares had come her way, as if
she possessed a coveted treasure. “Do you shine at every
soiree?”

She had snapped with unfounded
displeasure. What was the matter with her? Yes,
every
lord and lady had swooned at his
feet, but he was a talented musician. Of course he was worshipped
for his music. And while he had once played for her alone, he now
gave himself freely to others. He was a light, after all. And a
light was not supposed to be covered or hidden in a cupboard. It
was supposed to shine. Why ever did that bother her?

S
he lifted her eyes. The fire burning in
his unsettled her soul. For the first time, she viewed him through
a different lens. He wasn’t Rees, her pan, her fairytale musician.
He was Mr. Rees, master violinist and world phenomenon. He had
everything a mortal man desired on this earth . . . yet he remained
devoted to her.

Her breath snagged
in her throat. Her
heart seized. She struggled to maintain her steadfast control. If
she slipped now . . .

“
The earl has taken great
pains to ignore you all night,” he said at last, prodding her for a
reaction.

“
I know.” She tweaked her gloves,
voice shaky. “I’m not worried, though. Do you dance, Rees? I
suspect Lady Hickox taught you to dance. Every true
gentleman
must
dance.”

She took his
hand
. His
grip tightened, and her pulse jumped. She ignored the sensation and
started for the floor. “Dance with me, Rees.”

But h
e pulled her back into the alcove and
covered her body with his own. “What game are you playing,
princess? You
will
tell me.”

His rough voice and intimate
touch roused unbidden emotions.
No.
She shut her eyes.
I don’t feel anything for him. I
don’t
feel anything for
him.

“
I—I can’t tell you.”

His warm lips brushed
hers
. “If you
do not tell me, I will play my own game . . . and you will not like
the rules.”

“
Someone will see us,” she
hissed, a shiver wracking her spine.

“
I am to be your husband,
remember?” His finge
rs splayed and cupped her waist while his thumb stroked her
ribs in an achingly familiar rhythm. “I can touch you whenever and
wherever it pleases me, ‘someone’ be damned.”

Old longing
s stirred to life, forbidden
dreams of actually being his wife, and she shoved the tempting,
unwelcome desires aside. He just wanted her intent. And he’d seduce
it from her if he had to, but she would not be seduced. Not now.
Not when she was so close to her goal.

“
You promised not to cause a
scandal if I remained in your sight, and I
am
in your sight,”
for now
, “so keep your hands and lips away from
me.”

She pushed his hand off her waist and
slipped away. On the edge of the dance floor, she regained her
quickened breath, forced her thundering heart into
submission.

Keep focused!

Emily
observed the twirling couples and
spotted Dresmond and Isobel intertwined in a waltz. She next
glanced at the octagonal timepiece mounted on the wall. Half past
nine. Her fingers curled. She needed to attract the attention of
Miss Harte. And since Rees wouldn’t dance with her, her options
were few.

She
made several attempts to smile at
Miss Harte, but the girl was too engaged with her partner. Or she
ignored Emily on purpose. The gossipmongers, perhaps the earl
himself, had surely told her about the past, but there was no
reason for Miss Harte to give Emily the cut direct. She and the
earl had separated on amicable terms. And she was now “engaged” to
Rees. There was no reason to avoid her, the fiancée of the world’s
most celebrated violinist.

The fine hairs on the back of
her neck prickled with sensation, and a warmth spread through her
as Rees
settled behind her. “Might I be of assistance?”

She glanced up and over her
shoulder in time to catch his
seductive, boyish smile and deliberate nod. When
she looked back across the dance floor, Miss Harte was watching
him, blushing.

As the music ended, Rees
whispered into her
ear, “You need me, princess.”

She needed him, she thought with
a s
hudder.
She needed him to fulfill her plan, to avenge her father’s murder .
. . though she suspected his meaning deeper than that.

A cluster of emotions gathered at the core
of her being, but she pushed them aside, the confusion, the
distraction too overwhelming. She centered instead on Miss Harte,
who whispered briefly to the earl before crossing the dance
floor.

Isobel stopped a short distance away
from Emily. “I hope you are both enjoying yourselves this evening,”
she said with a shy smile. “I have yet to see you
dance.”

“
My fiancé is too
popul
ar for
dancing,” returned Emily, still unable to hide the crispness in her
voice.

“
Oh, my, yes. I’ve heard so
much about you, Mr. Rees. Please, do not allow the other guests to
importune you and Miss Wright. I insist you both enjoy yourselves.
I would feel ever so guilty, otherwise.”

Emily regained her composure and
smiled.
“Nonsense, my dear.”

“
Oh, but I would.” The
heiress
blushed again. “You see, I am a great music lover. Ever
since I was a child, Papa and I performed duets—he on the violin
and I the piano.”

The girl’s face softened at the
tender memory. For a moment, Emily saw her
self in the bright-eyed Isobel—an
adoring daughter who worshipped her papa. And she was taken aback
by the unexpected, violent swell of feeling in her
breast.

“
I believe you are
here on my account,
Mr. Rees.,” said Isobel. “I suspect the earl invited you, a
renowned musician, to bring me cheer.”

Emily
prayed Rees wouldn’t snort in
derision, but he maintained his indifference and offered a
courteous, “I am honored, Miss Harte.”

Dresmond, like every other
aristocrat, wanted Rees at his affair for the glory of “the catch”
and nothing more.
If the innocent Miss Harte believed otherwise, she was
mistaken. Fortunately, her misguided belief was the very boon Emily
had been searching for since the night’s start.

“
Are you in need of cheer,
Miss Harte?”

“
No. I—I mean,
perhaps.”

“
Then you must permit my fiancé
to perform a concert in your honor.”

Isobel’s eyes
rounded
. “Oh,
I couldn’t ask such an imposition!”

“
It’s no impo
sition a’tall.”