An Affair Without End (18 page)

Shortly after they arrived, Lady Parkington descended upon Vivian and Gregory, flanked by her daughter Dora, all coy smiles and alluring glances. Lady Parkington froze Gregory in his tracks as she spewed out effusive greetings.

“La, it’s so rare to see you at these gatherings, Lord Seyre. We must thank your sister for bringing you to London again. Please allow me to introduce my daughter Dora. She’s the youngest of all my girls and my pride and joy. ’Twill be hard for me to let her go. But, of course, when a girl is as lovely as Dora, one cannot expect her to remain unmarried for long.”

“I am pleased to meet you.” Dora looked at him with doelike eyes, then dropped her gaze modestly, blushing, and raised her fan to cover the lower half of her face.

“Um, uh, yes. Pleased to, um . . . lovely party . . .”

“I’m sure you must enjoy a chance to be around other
young people after spending so much time at Marchester, Lord Seyre,” Lady Parkington plowed ahead.

“I, ah . . .”

“No doubt you young people would enjoy a promenade while your sister and I catch up on all the gossip,” Lady Parkington told Gregory, beaming benignly.

Vivian smothered a smile at the incipient panic on Gregory’s face.

“Well, that is . . .” Gregory cast a pleading glance at Vivian.

Vivian took pity on him, saying, “How kind of you to think of him, but my brother has promised this dance to me, Lady Parkington. I am afraid I must steal him away. It was so nice to see you.”

Linking her arm through her brother’s, Vivian gave a bright smile and a nod to the other two women and whisked Gregory off to the dance floor.

“Thank you,” Gregory murmured. “I thought I was doomed.”

Vivian chuckled. “You must learn how to slip out of such situations. You are not obligated to walk with every young lady whose mother asks.”

“I
have
learned how to avoid it. I don’t come to London.”

“I meant something a bit less extreme. What will you do for the rest of this ball? You can’t dance every dance with me.”

“Simple. I shall take refuge in the Carrs’ library.”

Vivian could not help but laugh. “What am I going to do with you?”

He smiled and shrugged, pulling her into place at the end of a set. “Dance with me.”

The Earl of Stewkesbury slipped away from the latest well-wisher with an inward sigh. Lady Carr must have invited
everyone she knew—and every last one of them must have attended. They were driven by curiosity, he knew. Not only was it news that Neville, the perennial bachelor and rake, had finally taken the fateful step of becoming engaged. Even more titillating was that instead of the long-expected engagement between Neville and Lady Priscilla Symington, Lady Priscilla had wed a French balloonist, of all things, and Neville had pledged to marry the American cousin of Lord Stewkesbury’s. When one added in the additional gossip generated by the sudden appearance of the American cousins and the long-ago scandal of their mother’s elopement and subsequent banishment by her father, few in the city could resist the opportunity to glimpse the couple.

They doubtless would have liked to see Lily’s sister as well, of course, but Oliver noted that Camellia had had the good sense to flee to the opposite end of the room with Fitz and Eve when they first arrived. It had not taken Oliver long to fervently wish he could have left the receiving line, too.

Not, of course, that he would have done so. Little as he liked meeting people and trying to avoid their often impertinent questions, he was expected to do this sort of thing, and Oliver was accustomed to doing what was expected. It was all very well to pass through life simply enjoying the many gifts he had been given, as his half brother Fitz did, but when one was the earl and had been raised from childhood to understand the weight and solemnity of one’s duties, as Oliver had, such a haphazard approach to life was not even thought of. One did the small things as well as the large ones, and life ran smoothly for everyone concerned, not only himself, but his family and everyone else dependent upon him.

Still, Oliver turned away with relief when the receiving line broke up. He walked to the ballroom and paused just
inside the doors, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, looking for a certain flash of bright red hair.

“Lord Stewkesbury!” a merry voice sounded to the right of him. “How nice to run into you again.”

With a sigh, Oliver turned, expecting to face another curiosity seeker. Even worse, he realized when he saw the woman and the pretty dark-haired girl she had in tow, he was facing a mother pushing her daughter onto the marriage mart.

He bowed, searching for a name. She was someone he had met before, but his lack of interest in social affairs—coupled with the fact that the main thing he recalled about the woman was that he had spent several years avoiding her pursuit of him for her other, older daughters—had left him blank when it came to her name.

“My lady,” he finally said, relatively certain that she was titled rather than a plain
Mrs.

“It’s such wonderful news about Mr. Carr and your cousin. And how happy you must be to have your cousins living with you now. Such stories they must have to tell about life across the seas.”

“No doubt.”

“Pray allow me to introduce my daughter Miss Dora Parkington.”

“Miss Parkington.” He nodded to the girl, grateful that the woman had at least slipped him her last name. “I believe I have met some of your sisters.”

The girl smiled and cast her eyes down modestly. “I fear I shall have difficulty living up to my sisters, my lord.”

“Such a sweet girl.” Her mother beamed. “She’s my youngest and, the truth is, the greatest beauty.” Lady Parkington tittered, hiding her laugh behind her fan. “Though do not let any of my other girls hear that!”

“Mama, you shouldn’t say such things. You know it isn’t true.” Dora smiled sweetly at her mother and cast her eyes up at the earl, making the most of her thick, long lashes.

This, he knew, was where he was supposed to deny her modest statement and assure her that none could be more beautiful than she. But Oliver felt the move too practiced, and despite the girl’s undeniable attractiveness, he found himself reluctant to engage in the expected flattery. Perhaps, he thought, he had become too accustomed to the blunt ways of his American cousins, but he could not help but think that Miss Parkington would be more appealing if she looked at a person directly and spoke straightforwardly.

“Mothers must be forgiven for their prejudices,” he told the girl, and saw the flash of quickly concealed surprise, then resentment, in Dora’s eyes.

The mother, however, was undeterred by the setback, and she forged ahead, saying, “We met one of your cousins the other day in the park. Not Miss Lily, but Miss Camellia Bascombe. Such lovely names these girls have.”

“I believe their mother was fond of flowers.” He wondered how much longer he would have to make conversation before he could take his leave without seeming impolite. Fitz, he knew, would probably already have charmed both women and managed to slip away without either of them noticing what short shrift he had given them. But, then, he had never had Fitz’s ease of manner.

“Such an attractive young girl, Miss Bascombe. She and Dora quite enjoyed meeting; I feel sure that they will become great friends this Season.”

Oliver gave a fleeting thought to Camellia being friends with the girl in front of him, and he had to hide a smile. He found himself wishing that he had witnessed the meeting between the two of them.

“No doubt,” he replied noncommittally. Then, glancing
over Lady Parkington’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of bright red hair that was quickly concealed again as one of the young men standing around her shifted his position. He flashed what he hoped was an avuncular smile at Miss Parkington. “I am sure you will have a delightful Season, Miss Parkington. Now, if you will excuse me, I must speak with my brother. Good evening, Lady Parkington. Miss Parkington.”

With a nod, he set off toward the spot where he had seen the momentary flash of red. He would just stop by to say hello to Vivian before he made his way over to Fitz. It was only polite, after all, to inquire about her father. And if Seyre was still with his sister, he could chat a bit with him. As he approached, he cast a rather jaundiced eye at the cluster of men around Lady Vivian. One would think that after all this time, some of these fellows would have given up pursuing her. It was clear none of them were going to win her hand, and he could not help but wonder if it was a lack of intelligence or a lack of pride that impelled them to flock to her.

Before he reached the group, one of the men bowed and left, and for a moment Oliver had an unimpeded line of sight to Vivian. There was another reason for the way men sought her out—a simple inability to resist her. He was honest enough to admit that he felt the same visceral tug when he looked at her. The pale green dress she wore seemed to be made of gossamer, as light and insubstantial as mist, yet clinging to the enticing curves of her body. She was laughing at something one of her admirers had said, and her face was lit from within, the pale skin glowing, her cheeks delicately pink and her lush mouth a deeper rose. Her green eyes sparkled, and when she turned and caught sight of Oliver, a deeper warmth flashed in her gaze, calling forth a respondent warmth in him.

“Lord Stewkesbury.” She smiled, slipping through the circle of men toward him.

“Lady Vivian.” Oliver could not keep from smiling back at her as he bent over her hand in an elegant bow.

“I am so glad to see you,” Vivian told him. “I feared you might have forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” He hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about, but gamely he went on, “No, how could I forget?”

She turned back toward the other men, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as she did so. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I am afraid that I have promised this next dance to Lord Stewkesbury.”

Oliver was far too carefully controlled to let any surprise at this blatant lie touch his features. Instead, he nodded toward the men and turned, strolling with Vivian toward the dance floor. Her perfume drifted up, entangling his senses, and he was very aware of the warmth of her hand upon his arm.

He pulled his mind back from the dangerous paths it was racing down and said, “I fear it must be advancing age, my lady, but I cannot recall you promising this dance to me.”

She cast a laughing glance up at him. “Well, I would have if you had had the good sense to ask me.”

He chuckled. “Then I must be thankful that your good sense is greater than mine.”

“You should be. If I had not asked you to dance, you might have continued avoiding me for several more days.”

“I have not been avoiding—”

“No, do not waste your breath trying to deny that it scared you silly when you kissed me the other day, and you have been hiding from me ever since.”

It never failed, Oliver thought, irritation rising in him. No matter how charming and beautiful or, yes, utterly desirable
Vivian Carlyle might be, in the next instant she would say something so irksome that he had to clench his teeth to keep from shooting back a most ungentlemanly retort.

“I was not
hiding,
as you so colorfully put it. I was exercising restraint.”

“Ah. I see.”

“One of us had to.”

“And you knew, of course, that it would not be me.”

He raised one brow, saying drily, “Restraint is not known as one of your virtues.”

“But honesty is.”

They took their places on the dance floor among the other couples, the earl frowning down at her. He raised his hand to take hers and set his other hand at her waist. He could feel her pliant body beneath the layers of thin cloth, and the sudden fierce desire that stabbed him made his scowl even fiercer.

“Are you implying that I am not honest?” he asked.

“In all other regards, you are the most honest man I know,” Vivian replied calmly. “Regarding your own feelings, however, I am not even sure you know what they are.”

Oliver ground his teeth together and regretted that he had asked her to dance. Of course, he amended to himself, he
hadn’t
asked her to dance.
She
had asked
him,
which was exactly the bold, even brazen, sort of thing that Vivian did. He should have known better than to have approached her. If it would not create a storm of gossip, he would just lead her off the floor and back to her gaggle of suitors right now.

The music started up, and they stepped automatically into the movements of the waltz. Oliver hoped that Vivian would let the subject drop while they were dancing, but of course she did not.

“I think we should talk about what happened between us,” she told him.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Vivian raised a mocking eyebrow.

“You know what I mean. Nothing irrevocable. Nothing that will damage your reputation.”

“Oliver . . .” She looked at him with some exasperation. “You do not need to run from this. Or deny it. There was nothing wrong in what we did. You were not taking advantage of me. I am not some girl of eighteen, and you are not the first man who has found me attractive.”