A Perfect Gentleman (31 page)

Stony laughed at her petulance. “It could have been worse. He could have ripped his trousers. Yellow pantaloons, weren't they?”

Lady Val smoothed out a matching yellow ribbon trailing from her high waist. Wellstone was in dark blue and buff, and as handsome as a storybook hero. “You really do have a nice smile, you know. And you are a much better dancer than poor Charlie.”

“While you are engaged to him, minx, and happily so.”

“I am,” she confessed with a sigh, “but I do love to waltz.”

How could he not respond to that plea in her voice, that dramatic exhale, that manipulation? So they waltzed, and he wondered if Miss Kane was a graceful dancer. At least he would not be looking down at the top of her head, or be trying to push a sack of lard into a turn.

They waltzed around the ballroom, avoiding other couples on the crowded floor. One of those couples was Godfrey Blanchard and Mrs. Collins, the widowed connection of Gwen's. Now there was a marriage of true minds, Stony thought, but a match that would never come about. The union might be consummated, all right, but no wedding lines would be spoken. Blanchard's gaming debts were too high to wed a dowerless woman, and Mrs. Collins was too ambitious to settle on a gamester at the fringes of society.

Stony was glad neither was his problem.

Somehow, though, that other couple ended the dance at the same spot as Stony and Lady Val, where Charlie was waiting to claim his bride. They went off to find refreshments, and Blanchard went with them. Stony was left with Mrs. Collins, and another dance starting up.

“Perhaps you would like to follow the others and procure a glass of wine?” he offered out of politeness, and hope.

He was not surprised when she replied, “Oh, I would much rather dance.”

He'd been manipulated again. Damnation, was every woman devious and conniving? He knew of only one who was not, who said what she thought, who was not forever laying traps.

…Who was not in the card room when the interminable dance with Mrs. Collins was finally over.

Ellianne was tired of playing. “Surely it must be close to the supper hour,” she told Lord Strickland at the conclusion of one hand. “We must not leave Lady Wellstone to go in alone, you know.”

The sweet little viscountess was a temptation. So were the lobster patties usually served at these affairs. Strickland pushed himself to his feet and started to rake in his winnings. Ellianne cleared her throat. He passed half the coins over to her, daring her to claim the rest. “For the orphans and widows, don't you know,” he said to the losers and the players at the nearby tables. A lot of them handed Ellianne their winnings too, or some coins from their own pockets. She poured them all into her drawstring purse. Decorated with black jet and a beaded fringe to match her gown, the reticule was much smaller than her usual one, which was at home with her pistol. This one was nearly full to bursting with the coins, and pulled on the bare flesh above her gloves.

She stopped to adjust the strings, and managed to lose sight of Strickland in the crowd leaving the card room to find their supper partners. No matter. She could find Gwen on her own.

Then a smooth voice spoke so close to her that the sound tickled her ear: “May I offer my escort, Miss Kane?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It
was Mr. Godfrey Blanchard, the man Stony had refused to introduce to her. He was as attractive as she recalled, with his dark, brooding eyes. She could see where he might be dangerous to a weak, vulnerable woman, or to a silly young girl who might mistake his intentions. Ellianne was much too wise.

He was bowing over her hand. “Godfrey Blanchard at your service, Miss Kane. Your partner seems to have deserted you, and for once your watchdog appears to have strayed. Forgive me for the impertinence, but I had to take the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”

“Had to?” she asked, raising her brow.

He smiled, showing even white teeth. But no dimple, and no laughter in his eyes. “Wished to, then. I was struck by your beauty the first time I saw you, in the park. And again at the theater and Rockford House, and at the opera. Your loveliness grows every time. Word of your kindness and your intelligence was on everyone's lips, and I promised myself an introduction to this paragon of feminine virtues.”

He knew everywhere she'd been? Ellianne was flattered, despite herself. “Thank you, you are too kind.”

“Nothing of the sort. I would consider it an honor to escort you to Lady Wellstone's side.”

She nodded, and they walked slowly down the long corridor of closed doors toward what Ellianne supposed was the supper room. Most of the other guests had gone in by now, or were in the ballroom, in the opposite direction.

His arm was firm under hers, and his conversation everything proper. He spoke of the king's sorry condition and the latest novel, nothing anyone could take exception to. Ellianne was glad he'd stopped pouring the butter boat over her, for that she would have mistrusted. Now he was just an attractive man with an attentive air. She saw nothing to deserve Stony's contempt.

Blanchard's reputation must be formed on his success, she decided. Perhaps other men were jealous of his good looks or his ease with women. He might be living on a small competence from his family, as Gwen informed her, but that did not make him a blackguard. Every bachelor in the ballroom who was looking for a bride sought to marry a wealthy one, urged on by their own mamas. Indeed, half of them could not afford to keep a wife otherwise, so Blanchard's motives for seeking her out were no worse than any other gentleman's.

Or perhaps they were.

The room he led her to was not the supper room at all. It was dark, lit by a single candle, obviously not meant for public use this evening.

“I believe you have made a mistake,” she said after taking two steps inside the door. He'd chosen the wrong room, and the wrong woman for dalliance. She turned back to leave but found the door shut.

He was in front of her, blocking the doorway. “Please stay a moment.”

She eyed the closed door. “This is highly improper.”

“But no one will be looking for you yet.”

Gwen would be, if she remembered. “Please open the door and step aside, sir.” Ellianne did not want to have to scream, creating an ugly scene and more gossip.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Miss Kane. You see, I have fallen so deeply in love with you that I will expire if I cannot express my deepest sentiments. I have worshiped you from afar for far too long.”

“Chum buckets,” Ellianne said, borrowing from Aunt Lally.

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind, Mr. Blanchard. Just open the door or step aside so that I may do so. Save your deepest sentiments for your tombstone, where they belong.”

“You wound me, fair lady. Do you not believe in love at first sight?”

“I do not believe a gentleman would so ill use the object of his affections. An honorable suitor would have found a way to meet his beloved under the eyes of her guardians, not jeopardize her reputation in some hole-in-corner seduction.”

“What, do you doubt my intentions? I swear they are entirely honorable.”

“Oh, I am sure marriage to me would suit you well, coming as it does with a substantial dowry, to say nothing of my personal fortune. Marriage to you, however, does not suit me. Now please let me pass before I am forced to do something we shall both regret.”

“I was afraid you would not cooperate, my dear. I am sorry for that.”

He advanced on her but Ellianne would not back up. He would only follow, she knew. This way she was still close to the door. She was almost his height, and stared straight into his eyes. “It will not work, you know. For one thing, most of my wealth is tied to trusts, which will not come into my husband's keeping. For another, I am already an outsider, recall, daughter of a mere knight, a banker, not a blue blood.” She snapped her fingers. “That is how much the approval of the
ton
matters to me. I do not care enough about my standing in London society to worry about being discovered in here with you.”

He began to look less assured, but still showed his teeth in a smile. “But what if your hair was mussed and your gown torn?”

“Then I suppose I would have to shoot you.” She dangled her reticule, missing her pistol. “If not tonight, then the next time I saw you. I am a very good shot. You would then be a dead bachelor instead of simply a destitute one. Or else I could hire certain gentlemen I know who are of a naval persuasion. For a small purse, less than I have in my reticule right now, they could see that you disappeared. My uncle was a pirate, you know, and a smuggler. In fact, his first mate, Uncle Nathan, would conduct a short swimming lesson for free for any gentleman who dared such a transgression. Very short.”

Blanchard took a step backward, losing his smile. “Surely you would not…?”

“Surely I would, rather than marry you. You might ask Lord Strickland to what lengths I might go, rather than be forced against my will. I do believe he has recovered all of his, ah, facilities by now. He must have, to visit his convenients.”

One more step backward and Blanchard bumped into the door. He did not open it, though.

“Oh,” Ellianne went on, “if you are thinking that I will pay you to keep quiet about this embarrassing and unpleasant little contretemps, think again. Not only will I not pay silence money, but I will buy up all of your outstanding debts.” She looked at him from carefully barbered head to expensively shod toe, and sneered. “Gentlemen of your ilk seldom pay their servants or their tailors or their bootmakers. It will be a moment's work to gather enough past-due bills to see you in Newgate.”

Blanchard…blanched. There was no other word for the color fading from his face. “But—”

“No, sir. No buts. No betrothals, no blackmail. Now I believe we have no further business, so—”

“I have another proposal. What if I take Wellstone's place?”

“As my escort?” she asked, confused. “I have recently decided I no longer require his services.”

“All the more reason for me to step in.”

“But I do not need a gentleman escort. Between Lady Wellstone and Her Grace of Williston—”

“No one believes that rot about Wellstone acting like a pageboy, so don't try to convince me. I'd take his place as your lover. I'll accept whatever you pay him.”

She slapped his face.

“Bitch.”

Ellianne's cheeks flared with the color his seemed to have lost, except for the imprint of her palm. She did not say anything.

Neither did he. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, grinding his lips into hers.

Ellianne stood still, not giving him the satisfaction of fighting or trembling or crying out, although she wanted to do all three, and vomit besides. So much for experimenting with kisses.

“You see?” Blanchard asked when he finally pulled back. “I can give you whatever Wellstone can. Better.”

Ellianne staggered but somehow found her balance on jelly-boned legs. She heard voices in the hall—Gwen and Strickland, she thought. They would be here soon, thank heaven. Maybe Stony, she prayed. She took a deep breath, ready to call out.

Blanchard heard the voices, too, and his last chance to compromise the heiress beyond repair except with a ring. Perhaps he hadn't believed her threats, or else he believed his own sexual prowess was great enough to overcome her misgivings. Or else he was desperate. He reached for her again.

This time Ellianne was not going to submit tamely. She was a free and full-grown woman, no helpless child, no serf without recourse or defense. She would not let her friends see her cowering in front of this bully. Stony would not get to say, “I told you so.”

The door opened.

Stony was calling her name.

Blanchard grasped the back of Ellianne's neck.

Gwen screamed.

Stony was cursing.

Strickland said, “What the devil?”

Stony was pushing past both of them.

Ellianne grabbed her reticule, the weighty little purse filled with coins. She swung it right at Blanchard's descending face, connecting with a satisfying crack. He staggered back, clutching his nose.

Stony was at Ellianne's side. “Are you all right? I'll murder that bastard.”

Then he looked at Blanchard, with the bright red blood streaming, gushing, flowing down his chin.

Stony was at Ellianne's feet, out cold.

*

He returned to consciousness with a start, jerking away from the vinaigrette Gwen was waving in front of his face. He would have leaped to his feet, off the Axminster carpet, but his head appeared to be cushioned in Ellianne's lap, so he put it back down. He looked up to see her green eyes awash in tears.

“Oh, lord, Ellianne, don't cry. Scream or kick the furniture if you want. Just don't cry.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose, but nodded.