A Lady's Favor (7 page)

A flash of blue satin coat caught his eye, and he saw Lord Strapshire standing on the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently he was waiting for the dance to finish so he might take Bianca to the floor again.

Mrs. Davidson stood beside him, attempting light conversation in order to improve his mood. She caught Mathew’s eye only long enough to scowl at him. Clearly he was still not her choice for Bianca. The entirety of the situation made Mathew’s chest burn.

“The silly baron is already waiting his next turn,” Mathew said to Bianca when next they were close enough to converse. They separated once again, and she looked over her shoulder in Strapshire’s direction. When she faced Mathew, her jaw was tight.

It was Mathew’s turn to move around her, and as he did so, she hissed so only he could hear, “I despise that man. What will it take to throw him off for good? What if he
does
make an offer? Mama will see it as a bird in the hand. She is still encouraging him because she cannot make sense of your ‘unexpected’ attention.”

“She does not believe me sincere,” Mathew stated. It was not hard to suppose such a thing, and he couldn’t even fully fault Mrs. Davidson for her hesitation seeing as how Strapshire flattered her so openly and Mathew had steered a wide berth around Bianca until now.

But what if Strapshire
did
make an offer? Bianca would refuse him, certainly, but no doubt Strapshire would be public about her offense toward him. It would damage Bianca’s reputation and that of her family, but she would be the one to suffer more than Strapshire. Mathew wanted to help her with more than this game they played, yet she continued to believe he was in this merely to repay the debt he owed her. He could see in her face that she did not take his compliments as seriously as he meant them, and now, instead of Strapshire moving on to some other woman who would welcome him, he was tightening his grasp. What could Mathew do to convince Mrs. Davidson, and Bianca too, that his interest was sincere? That he was as interested in Bianca as Lord Strapshire was?

Mathew came around to face Bianca, and he had a sudden flash of brilliant foolhardiness. Instead of stepping back into place as scripted by the dance, he took a step toward her, put his hands on either side of her beautiful face and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

She immediately startled, and her hands came to his chest as though to push him away, but she did not press against him. Instead, she melted into the kiss. A sudden fire possessed him as he felt the rightness and glory of this intimacy—both shared and returned—and he deepened the kiss. She seemed as captured as he was in the energy between them, and he forgot about the ball and the guests and her mother until a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

Mathew had only a moment to take in the shocked expressions of the people around them and the halting screech of the orchestra before Lord Strapshire’s surprisingly firm fist smashed into his nose and sent him reeling.

EIGHT

Bianca’s shock when Mathew kissed her lasted only a moment before the sensation of his lips pressed upon her own overrode any other thought. How could she feel a kiss in her stomach, shoulders, and knees? She could not explain the encompassment, but she didn’t need to explain it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself. Everything faded but the sweetness of that paramount sensation . . . until Mathew was suddenly pulled away.

Bianca opened her eyes, blinked, and then reality descended in the same moment that Mathew went flying backward.

Women screamed—herself included—and guests scrambled out of the way. Two men took Lord Strapshire by the shoulders to hold him back when he lunged forward. Bianca turned to Mathew, who had rolled to his knees, the end of his coat flipped up to his shoulders. She took one step toward him before a familiar, viselike grip surrounded her arm and yanked her in the other direction. She stumbled after Mama, but looked back toward Mathew. Someone was helping him to his feet, and she saw a crimson stain on his shirtfront.

“He’s hurt,” she said, trying to pull toward him.

“As he deserves!” Mama was fairly crushing Bianca’s arm as she continued to pull her through the tittering crowd. They exited the ballroom and continued down the hall before they reached a closed door. Mama opened it and pushed Bianca into the room, causing her to barely keep her balance until she caught herself on a desk. Her head was spinning. She turned to face her mother, who immediately slapped her hard across the face. Bianca yelped as stars popped before her eyes. She stared in shock at her mother as tears began to rise. She could not find a single word to say.

“How dare you allow yourself to be treated like a common tramp!”

“Mama!” Bianca said, even more shocked by the words than she’d been by the attack. She took a step to the side of the desk, attempting to put a barrier between them. She had seen her mother angry before, but never like this. More tears came to her eyes, but she tried to blink them away.

Mama paused and then her face fell as she seemed to realize what she’d done. “I am sorry,” she said quickly, her breathing coming fast. She moved toward Bianca, who cowered from her. “I did not mean . . .” She paused for a deep breath. She spoke with forced calm “Have you any idea what such a display says of you? Of your family?”

“I did not invite . . .” Bianca’s words trailed off. Hadn’t she invited that kiss? She had known Mathew was going to kiss her a moment before he’d done so; she’d even raised her hands to push him away. But she hadn’t pushed him away. In fact, she had parted her lips when he beckoned her to do so as though their movements were part of some other dance designed only for them. She had tasted the sweetness of his kiss, and she had wanted more. Even now, amid the shock and horror of the last few moments, she could feel the warmth of his kiss upon her lips.

“You are a selfish girl!” Mama said as she began to pace and wring her hands. “Oh, what shall we do now? How shall we overcome this disgrace? What will Lord Strapshire think?”

Hearing his name—the impetus of this entire affair—brought Bianca back to herself. “I do not care what Lord Strapshire thinks.”

Mama took a quick step toward Bianca, but when Bianca pulled back—afraid she would be struck again—Mama stopped. “How can you say that?” she said in almost a whisper, as though the very furniture in the room would object to any disparaging comment made about the baron.

“I can say it because I do not want his attention,” Bianca said. “As I have tried to tell you many times. It is you who wants him for me.”

“Because I am your mother, and I know what is best for you.”

“Like Miss Crawford’s school was the best for me?” Bianca spat. “Beatings and starvation for months on end?”

Mama pulled back, her face pale. “I did all I could to remedy that.”

“Yes, and I am glad for it, but it does not change the months of torment I received at Miss Crawford’s hand—torment that you initially ignored—and it does not change that you are forcing me upon a man I do not want.”

Mama looked slightly frantic and somewhat confused.

Bianca took full advantage of what seemed to be the early signs of her mother’s capitulation and pushed forward.

“I do not want him and I will not have him, Mama. Moreover, I believe Lord Strapshire does not truly want
me
, but only a pretty girl who would look good on his arm. If it means running away, as I threatened to do when you would not listen to me the last time, I will do it. I tried to put Lord Strapshire off politely, and it did not work. I even tried to put him off
impolitely,
and it did not work. I asked you to help me, and you refused. I had no other choice.”

“With a kiss in the middle of the dance floor?”

Bianca knew, too late, that she had said too much, and she felt her own face pale as Mama’s eyes narrowed. Bianca wiped at her increasing tears in frustration. She did not want to lose control, and yet hadn’t she already? Everything had gone so wrong.

“What has Mr. Hensley to do with this?” Mama continued. “Is there some kind of arrangement between you?”

Bianca did not know what to say. It was a closer guess than she could ever have imagined and she had no ready answer.

“What have you offered him in return for his attentions? How far have you demeaned yourself?”

Bianca still did not speak, overwhelmed and horrified at this turn in the conversation.

Mama continued to glare at her. When she began advancing again, Bianca stepped fully behind the desk. Would Mama strike out again? Should Bianca defend herself? How had this happened?

Mama stopped across the desk, staring hard.

“I’m sorry,” Bianca squeaked. “I am so sorry.”

“What is your arrangement with Mr. Hensley?”

Bianca scrambled for as much truth as she dared to say. “Only that he would help me throw off Lord Strapshire’s attention.” As she spoke, she felt her stomach fall to her toes. She was betraying Mathew with this confession, and yet it had all been her idea. What would come of it? What else could she do?

“Why?”

“Because I do not want him,” Bianca said again. She dared to meet her mother’s eyes. “I do not want to marry Lord Strapshire.”

“I mean, why is Mr. Hensley helping you?”

The creak of a door hinge behind her proved to be Bianca’s salvation and came not a moment too soon.

“Might I be of assistance, madam?” a footman asked, though his expression did not reflect the calmness of his words.

The entire ballroom must be in chaos right now, and the embarrassment of having been the cause for such a thing burned hot. All of her life Bianca had been known as a girl with good manners and grace. She was not the type to be central to scandal.

Mama turned toward the door, flustered by the interruption. “Yes. You can have the Davidson carriage readied at once.”

“Very good, madam.” He ducked out of the room as quickly as he had entered.

Mama turned back to her. “Why is Mr. Hensley helping you throw off Lord Strapshire?”

Bianca said nothing. She could not tell Mama about the Incident and the lingering debt it had created. She had not saved Mathew from abject humiliation only to use it for her own defense when the time was right. Even if her mother struck her again she would not tell. She had already said too much.

“Has Mr. Hensley made you an offer?” Mama leaned forward and placed her hands flat upon the desktop. Her tone had a note of hope in it. As though Mathew could be the key to saving the disgrace he himself had caused. Bianca could fairly hear her mother’s scheming thoughts—if the display on the dance floor could be explained as a passionate act of an intended husband . . . 

Bianca took a staggered breath. “No,” she said. “And he will not. He agreed to help me throw off Lord Strapshire, but that is all. Once that is accomplished, his attention will end.”

Mama gave a low groan and began pacing again. “What a disgraceful man,” she muttered.

“It is not his fault,” Bianca said, though she knew her defense was weak. She wilted inside to think of how all of this would reflect on Mathew. “This was my idea. I asked for his help, and he was kind enough to give it.”

“You are both disgraceful then,” Mama said. “And I am thoroughly disgusted.”

Bianca did not argue. She pictured Mathew’s body flying backward. Him on his hands and knees, his coat flipped up. The bloodied shirt. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall. She should never have asked him to help her, and he should never have agreed to her foolish plan. He should not have kissed her, and she should certainly not have kissed him back.

The door opened again. “Your carriage is ready, madam. I took the liberty of keeping it through the side exit.”

Mama nodded and began toward the door. Bianca followed, but then stopped. “I must speak with him, Mama,” she said, wiping at her nose.

Mama turned back to her. “Speak with whom?”

“Mathew.”

Mama raised her eyebrows, and Bianca hurried to speak again.

“I mean Mr. Hensley. I need to make sure he is all right.”

“We are going home.”

Bianca hurried after her and took her arm. “Please, Mama. Let me see him before we leave.”

“It is out of the question,” Mama said, still walking though Bianca pulled at her.

“But I must. Don’t you see this is all my fault? I have to explain. I have to make things right.”

Mama stopped. “It is time you learned that not all things can be made right, Bianca. We are going home. We shall discuss what to do about Mr. Hensley tomorrow.”

NINE

Mathew paced back and forth in his study Saturday morning, reviewing the night before with fits of temper and anger and pure
hatred
for Lord Strapshire. Embarrassment and worry for Bianca scratched and fought for the uppermost level of his concerns. He could focus on one aspect for only so long before another clawed its way to the top.

Why had he kissed her so publicly? Such an act was against his nature, her reputation, and all manner of propriety. Why had he let himself feel competitive? What had he hoped to prove? And what had happened to Bianca after he’d been thrown to the floor by that ridiculous buffoon?

The punch had left Mathew’s head spinning, and blood poured from his nose, saturating his shirt and sending half a dozen women into hysterics. He’d been helped to his feet and shuffled off to a room where a kindly man attended to him while he coughed and choked on his own blood. The town physician was summoned and cracked his broken nose back into place, at which point Mathew lost consciousness. Someone collected him, helped him to his carriage, gave him something for the pain, and put him to bed. He’d awoken to a fog of dissipating memory and the lingering rush of emotion. It was now nearly noon, he’d been pacing for hours, and he did not know what to do. Should he go to the Davidsons? Send an apology to the hosts of last night’s event? Flee to London?

Bianca.

Another rush of emotion, this one mingled with regret, washed through him. He had to see her. Had to speak with her. After the attack he’d been too befuddled to seek her out, and he felt as though he had abandoned her completely.
What she must think of me? What was I thinking to kiss her like that?