An Improper Suitor (15 page)

To Lionel’s astonishment, Benny threw his head backwards and laughed.

‘What’s so funny about that?’ he said, feeling thunderously angry. ‘I would think that you, of all people, would understand what she went through.’ He rose. He was not going to sit here and let that whey-faced grinning idiot make fun of Julia’s misfortunes. ‘I’d better leave, before I land you a facer and my membership in Brooks’s is brought into question.’

Instead of drawing back, Benny’s grin grew even wider. ‘I can’t believe it. You’re besotted. Totally besotted.’

‘I’m not besotted,’ growled Lionel, irritated beyond reason by
Benny’s remarks. He wondered why he had ever regarded such an addle-headed muttonhead as a friend.

‘Sit down then and let’s discuss it like gentlemen, shall we?’ said Benny, still grinning.

The waiter arrived with the brandy. He eyed Lionel uncertainly, wondering no doubt if he was going to ask him to take it back.

He sat down reluctantly. There was absolutely nothing to discuss. But he could not think of anything else to do that night. He may as well stay and drink the brandy.

‘Since this topic is so irritating to you,’ said Benny, ‘let’s talk about something else. It’ll give you time to a take a hold on your temper.’

‘There is nothing whatsoever wrong with my temper,’ said Lionel, between gritted teeth.

Benny looked at the ceiling. Fortunately, he kept quiet.

‘Any thoughts on what we are going to do with Neave?’ asked Benny.

This was hardly an improvement on the last topic. In fact, Benny seemed bent on provoking him. ‘If I had any ideas I would have implemented them already,’ he snapped.

Julia’s face in the library as she emerged from behind the curtains came back to him. He would never forget the mix of emotions there. Terror, horror, suspicion and uncertainty all at once. Then relief when it registered that he had been doing nothing worse than tickling her. Fortunately, she had never asked him who he thought he was tickling behind the curtain. Maybe she had reached her own conclusions.

In any case, it didn’t matter. But Neave’s intentions mattered a great deal. Lionel wanted more than ever to haul him by the throat and toss him into some filthy cesspool to drown.

Yet he was doomed to fail, mainly because there was no way to accuse him without bringing ruination on the lady involved. And he knew it. Lionel’s fingers twisted into fists. If there was some way to bring him to justice….

‘You’re doing it again,’ said Benny.

‘Doing what?’ said Lionel, taking the carafe and sloshing the liquid into his glass. It was the colour of dried blood. He had never noticed. He put his glass down with a thump.

‘Scowling,’ said Benny, ‘horribly.’

‘What do you expect if you bring up Neave?’ he said, not growling now, just talking through his teeth.

Benny had the grace to look contrite. ‘Yes, that wasn’t very good of me, was it? It’s just that I wanted to see how far I could push you before you cracked and admitted it.’

Lionel blew out a heavy breath. ‘I thought we weren’t going to discuss that topic.’

‘Which topic?’ Benny asked, false innocence written all over his face. ‘Oh, yes, now I recall: the Swifton chit.’

‘Don’t call her that.’

‘The Swifton chit?’ He was grinning again.

Lionel lunged for him and gripped him by the neckcloth. The conversation at the tables around them ceased. Those gentlemen who had their backs to him turned and craned their necks.

He let go. ‘Truce?’

Benny rubbed his neck pointedly, although Lionel had only touched his cravat, which looked slightly crumpled. ‘Truce. Remind me not to mention her again.’

The moment he said that Lionel felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to talk about her.

‘She’s not so bad. Not really a hoyden, you know. Quite
levelheaded
in fact. Just doesn’t like men very much.’ He winced as he said it.

‘Men, or rakes?’ said Benny, leaning back and watching him with a half smirk. Lionel ignored the question.

‘I’ll concede to you that it seems to be rakes she objects to.’ Even as he said it, a heavy gloom seemed to descend on him and pin him to the armchair. He eyed the thick russet liquid in his glass.

He could not change who he was, any more than that brandy in the glass could turn to something else. Ratafia, for example. That’s what she wanted. She wanted him to become docile ratafia, when he was a fine, well-honed brandy. How much more unfair could the situation be?

‘Perhaps you could convince her otherwise.’ He looked up to find Benny watching him. He was more earnest now.

‘Convince her?’ asked Lionel, having lost thread of the
conversation
.

‘Not to object to rakes. Or at least, not to object to this one
particular
rake.’

He raised his brow. ‘How do you propose that I do that?’

‘Talk to her.’

It seemed such a simple thing, when one said it like that. So simple it was doomed to failure. But the more Lionel thought of it, the more appealing it seemed to be. Why not? It would not hurt. It might even do some good.

He put the glass down. ‘I think, for once, Benny, you’ve made a sensible suggestion. Let’s go.’

‘Go?’ he asked. ‘Where to?’

‘To the Coppertons’ ball. To see Miss Swifton. To talk to her.’

Julia was driven by the same restless energy that drove her earlier into obsessive cleaning. She was surrounded by suitors the moment she entered the ballroom, and she had not yet sat down for a dance. Her card was almost full.

Almost, because she had left the spaces beside two of the waltzes empty. She glanced at those empty spaces now and wondered what had prompted her to leave them open. The blank whiteness of those unclaimed lines seemed a chastisement, a reminder of the many follies she had committed in the last two weeks.

The strains of the waltz floated towards her. The chatter of the young men around her irritated her nerves like pepper on an inflamed cut. She needed a moment to herself, or she would snap at them. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m feeling rather faint. I need to find my grandmother and withdraw to the retiring room.’

There were a few murmurs of protest, and a few offers of
assistance
, but she declined them with a tight smile and moved away to where she had last seen Lady Bullfinch.

A dark wall rose up before her and she slammed into it, the very breath knocked out of her.

Strong arms steadied her. The heady aroma of a familiar perfume filled her nostrils.

She allowed the arms to hold her, just for one moment. Then she stepped back.

‘I am very sorry, Lord Thorwynn,’ she muttered.

‘My apologies, Miss Swifton,’ he murmured, in unison.

She kept her eyes down. His touch had provoked a riot of feeling and she did not want to look at him until the sensations had subsided, which was difficult when he was standing so close.

‘Good evening, Miss Swifton.’

Startled, she looked around Lionel’s shoulder, which was very much in the way.

‘Lord Benedict,’ she said, smiling at him warmly. He was a
wonderful
distraction. Her heart calmed down and her breathing returned to normal.

‘Why don’t I get such a pleasant smile?’ said Lionel, in a pretence of wounded pride.

‘Perhaps you don’t deserve one. Whereas I …’ said Lord Benedict.

She smiled at Lord Benedict. ‘Do deserve one. Of course you do. As for your friend,’ she said, unable to resist teasing Thorwynn, ‘he doesn’t need my smile. There are enough young misses throwing smiles in his direction in one evening to last him the next two years.’

Lionel looked around him, as if noticing the smiles for the first time. ‘The simpering smiles of girls ordered to smile by scheming mamas hardly count.’

‘I have only now realized my disadvantage,’ replied Julia. ‘I have no scheming mama to tell me to smile at you.’

She expected him to laugh, or at least smile, but his brows knotted and he seemed displeased by her statement.

‘I would not tease Thorwynn tonight, if I were you,’ said Lord Benedict. ‘He is in a thunderous temper.’ He paused and rubbed his neck dramatically. ‘He might even decide to grab you by the neck as he did with me earlier in the evening, so beware.’

Thorwynn confirmed Benny’s statement by sending him a
murderous
glance that promised future retaliation.

‘Then perhaps I should avoid him altogether, as I would avoid a wounded bear,’ she said, still talking to Benny.

‘As I have never seen a wounded bear, I cannot comment on that comparison, but it seems to me a good way to describe Thorwynn.’

Thorwynn simply glowered.

Julia, in contrast, began to experience that strange bubbly feeling
again, laughter rising to the surface.

‘Well, then, I’d better disappear from here in full haste, before the bear decides to pounce.’

She excused herself, a little smile playing on her lips. The ballroom no longer seemed oppressive, and she looked forward to supper with anticipation.

‘I thought you were going to talk to her,’ said Benny. ‘Instead you stand there scowling at her as if her very sight disgusts you.’

‘Who appointed you as my keeper? If I wish to glare at a lady, I do not need your permission to do so.’ In fact he wished he had not brought his friend to the ball. He had always been aware of his friend’s good looks, and was well aware that many young women found Benny very attractive, even though he rarely made the slightest effort to deliberately attract attention. But tonight he found Benny’s handsome face distinctly unpleasant.

‘I thought you wanted to talk to her,’ said Benny.

‘I didn’t exactly have a chance,’ remarked Lionel, coldly. ‘You seemed to be manipulating the conversation yourself. I could hardly get in a word myself.’

Benny looked at him incredulously, then burst into laughter. ‘I think you’d better go somewhere else tonight. Or better still, go home and sleep it off. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be more rational.’

‘I’m perfectly rational,’ said Lionel. He watched as a young man waylaid Julia and led her to the dance floor. ‘What does that puppy think he’s doing? I distinctly heard her say she’s feeling faint.’

‘She seems to have recovered,’ said Benny.

And in fact she looked quite animated. The pallor that had marked her face just a few minutes ago had disappeared. She appeared very pleased about something. A huge smile lit up her face.

Lionel followed the line of her vision, and cursed inwardly.

A young athletic-looking gentleman was heading towards her, and he was clearly very welcome.

Lionel decided to retreat. Benny seemed for once to have the right of it. Tonight he would accomplish nothing.

He turned on his heels, prepared to ram his way out through the crush of people. An instant later, however, he came to a complete
standstill, his eyes narrowing on a figure dressed in the elite green uniform.

Neave stood in the shadows, observing Julia, his face twisted with malice.

Lionel changed direction, hovering near the dance area. The next dance was a waltz, and by God, Julia was going to dance it with him.

He summoned up his most charming manner. He would not permit her to turn him down.

She had scarcely left the dance floor when he stepped up to her, bowing gracefully and smiling his most dazzling smile.

‘I believe this waltz is ours, Miss Swifton?’

She looked down at her dance card.

‘I think you put my name down earlier,’ he said, quickly, before she could say anything, before she had time to read someone else’s name. He took her hand, trying to make the gesture graceful so it would not look as if he was grabbing her.

Her eyes swept up from under heavy lashes. Dark and thick, they framed those fluid eyes. For an endless moment he found himself drawn inside them. Then the music started and he sought a place for them on the dance floor.

Her hand rested delicately on his. He swept her into the dance, noting with satisfaction that this time she did not resist as he drew her just a little closer, perhaps, than he should.

By the time he realized it was a mistake, it was too late.

He could not very well push her away. But he eased her away from him, because to hold her so close strained every muscle in his body that seemed to be determined to crush her to him. His body reacted to every small move of hers; her fingers flickering lightly on his
shoulder
; the edge of her thigh grazing his; her foot touching his calf when she missed a step; even her breath as it stirred against his cheek. Every tiniest action caused a rush of desire in him.

His senses had become so attuned to her presence that he could
almost hear her heartbeat, without actually being close enough.

When had that happened? Just two days ago he sat serenely in the library of his mother’s house as she told him she did not want to marry him. So why was he reacting this way?

He edged away from her, leaning backwards, striving to avoid all contact. The waltz that had started so gracefully turned into a stiff march across the ballroom, his arms hard and his body unyielding. He would have laughed if he could, but he was incapable of laughter. She must think him no better than a lump of metal. Which is what he had become. He had no choice in the matter. It was either that, or finding himself swept out of the ballroom into the darkest corner he could find.

After what seemed like a year, the waltz ended. They parted awkwardly, wordlessly. He bowed formally to her and made his escape, looking for the quickest route out of the room.

He had not counted on the old tabbies, however. They waited. They hovered in the ready, their eyes fixed on him. The moment he left the dance floor, they steered their young debutantes straight at him. A flock of white-clad girls fluttered and twittered around him, and he was forced to be civil because, God forbid he should offend the sensibilities of these young innocent buds. It was Benny, of course, who had pointed that out during one of the numerous balls he seemed to be attending. He had reminded him there was no call for him to be uncivil to them, when it was his fault for coming to the ball in the first place.

His glance went over their heads, ignoring the diffident smiles in front of him. His mouth somehow produced words that must have been appropriate because no-one looked shocked. His eyes attempted to pierce through a group of young gentlemen thronging around Julia, but all he could see was the top of her brown head.

Well, there were other fish to fry. The surge of lust he had
experienced
as he danced with her was simply the result of being without a woman for several days. He would remedy that as quickly as possible.

Still making meaningless conversation, he searched round the room for someone to amuse himself with. He noticed in passing the Neville girl, who also had a handful of admirers, and to all
appearances
she flirted quite comfortably.

A familiar throaty laugh reached his ears and he turned around languidly, a half-formed smile on his lips. By God, his luck was finally turning. Mrs Catherine Radlow was here, the Golden Widow. It was certainly a stroke of good fortune. He had not seen her since that night they had spent together and he had every intention of renewing their acquaintance.

He disentangled himself from the twittering girls with a polite apology and strode towards her.

Catherine was speaking to Captain Abbot, a man Lionel knew from his army days. Perhaps she had set up with him, after his own absence from the scene. But, as he approached, he noticed her quick sideways glance at him, the way her hand moved to her throat. He was in his element here. He was a good enough judge of women to know that she was fully aware of his approach, and that Captain Abbott did not really signify.

‘Good evening, Mrs Radlow.’ he said, smiling lazily and drawing her gloved hand into his. ‘You’ve brought sunshine into this very dim occasion, thank heavens.’

He bowed to Captain Abbott. The latter gave him a quick grin, exchanged a few remarks with him about mutual acquaintances, and excused himself.

‘I haven’t frightened him off, have I?’ asked Lionel. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, seeking information on her mood, looking for an implicit invitation.

She shook her head and lowered her eyes briefly, but did not laugh. She was not going to make it easy for him.

She was piqued at him for neglecting her. Damned unfair, when she had made no attempt to get in touch with him either.

His eyes went to Julia. A scrawny young man with substantial shoulder padding was leading her to the dance floor. She probably did not know about the padding. She did not have any brothers, so she probably did not know that men resorted to such things.

He turned his attention to Catherine Radlow. Why did women like to complicate things? He could lay a wager that he would be in her bed later tonight, but she was going to make him work for it. He was not even sure he
wanted
to work for it. She was a tigress in bed, and he had enjoyed every moment of their one wild frolic. But he was
tired of catering to women’s sullen fits.

Across the room, Julia laughed at something her partner said. What had that puppy said that was so funny? He tried to think of the times he had made her laugh. Had she ever truly laughed when she was with him? All the more reason to find out what that stunted weakling was saying to make her laugh.

‘Would you like to dance, Mrs Radlow?’

She looked a bit surprised.

‘The dance is almost finished. Did you mean this dance, or the next?’

Next dance Miss Swifton would not be laughing at this man’s jokes, and he would not be able to overhear what she thought was funny. ‘This dance. I find the tune very agreeable, don’t you?’

She gave him a quizzical look and took his offered arm. ‘The music is agreeable,’ she acknowledged. ‘I can’t say I took particular notice of it.’

The dance floor was crowded, and the dancing wavered as several couples were forced to adjust to their entry. More than one person glared at them, and Lionel thought he saw a tiny frown cross Julia’s face from the corner of his eye as they squeezed in next to her. Apart from a quick nod in her direction, however, he did not acknowledge her presence.

Instead, he focused his efforts on coaxing Mrs Radlow into a better humour, and into his bed.

Meanwhile, his ears strained to overhear Julia’s conversation with her partner.

The music stopped.

He had to restrain himself from throwing hostile glances at Julia’s lanky partner. He concentrated fully on smiling at Catherine. He bowed to her with exquisite graciousness. He put out his hand, took hers, and tucked it under his elbow with an exaggerated flourish and moved off the dance floor.

With Catherine as his partner, Lionel lost at a game of whist. She laughed it off, though she had held her end up. Benny, who was teamed with a charming widow named Laura Elware, called him a milksop.

‘If you can’t play any better,’ he said, ‘don’t insult me by playing another game.’

Lionel tossed down his cards. ‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ he remarked, giving Lady Elware a broad smile. ‘Come, Mrs Radlow. Let’s withdraw to the ballroom.’

The moment they reached the ballroom, his eyes sought out Julia. He found her quickly. She stood alone. It was coming close to
suppertime
, and if he sat next to her at supper, that would give him an opportunity to converse with her. He excused himself from Catherine under the pretence of going to fetch something to drink, and approached Julia.

‘Are you engaged for the supper dance?’ he asked, at his most appealing.

‘I’m sorry, Lord Thorwynn,’ she said, with a sugary smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m already promised to Lord Talbrook.’

Lord Talbrook chose that moment to reappear, carrying two glasses of wine. ‘I’d like you to meet my cousin, Nicholas Flint, Lord Talbrook,’ said Julia. ‘He’s recently returned from a long trip to the Continent, and has been amusing me with tales about his travels.’

Lionel bowed and greeted him civilly, examining him from under his lids. Merry blue eyes, light brown hair with just a hint of curl, a wide, honest face. He exuded an era of fitness and health which Lionel found particularly irritating. He noted with
satisfaction
that though handsome, Lord Talbrook was much shorter than him.

‘Perhaps we can compare notes,’ said Lionel. ‘I’ve spent time on the Continent, although much of it involved fighting against Napoleon. It would be pleasant to talk about some of the places I’ve been.’

Talbrook bowed, smiling amiably enough. Miss Swifton shuffled her feet, perhaps feeling excluded from the conversation. Good.

‘Here’s my card,’ said Thorwynn. ‘Send me a note if you wish to have a drink tomorrow. Are you a member of Brooks’s?’

‘Why, thank you,’ replied Talbrook. ‘I have not been to Brooks’s since my return, but I’d be delighted to join you there.’

Any hope that he might be too negligible to be a member
disappeared
.

Lionel bowed and moved away, making sure Julia saw him joining Mrs Radlow.

Her eyes followed him as he strode away. He was not behaving so much like a bear as like a bull. She had read about bullfights in Spain, and seen a picture of a bull ready to charge. For some reason it reminded her of Lionel as he had borne down upon her to invite her to supper.

She turned to Nicholas, taking the glass of wine from him. She sipped it slowly.

‘I know it’s rude of me, when you have so many other things to tell me, and I
do
want to hear them all, but you mentioned seeing my father.’

She realized she was clasping her glass so hard it might break. She willed her fingers to loosen, and tried to control the clenching in the pit of her stomach. Some part of her had thought her father dead – had hoped, in many ways, that that was the case, especially since he had never responded to any attempt on her part to contact him. She had accidentally found his address one day in her ladyship’s desk, when she was about nine. With the help of Aunt Viola, Nicholas’s mother, she had sent him a string of letters telling him about her. After more than a year of receiving no reply, she had convinced herself her father was no longer alive.

But now Nicholas had seen him and the time for make-believe was over.

‘Let’s find a quiet corner to converse,’ said her cousin.

They moved to an area that was partially concealed by a row of blossoming orange trees in large Wedgwood pots. Several benches were set up there to create the illusion of a park setting. The fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Julia sat down on an empty bench, and for a moment simply drank in the delicate fragrance. Then she turned to her cousin expectantly.

Nicholas was ill at ease. ‘I saw your father in Vienna. In fact, I made a particular attempt to enquire after him, once the reports reached me that he was there. He owns a very successful gambling establishment frequented by people of fashion. I sought him out, and explained who I was.’ He hesitated.

She knew he wanted to spare her, but she needed to lay to rest this particular ghost. ‘You must tell me the truth, Cousin,’ she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

‘He’s married,’ said Nicholas, ‘to a very rich widow. An opera singer whose husband died and left her a fortune. She helped him start up the gambling house. I believe he has several children with her.’ He frowned, as if remembering something unpleasant.

‘Go on, Cousin.’

‘There is nothing more,’ he said.

‘You have not told me how he reacted to your introduction of yourself.’ She knew she was pushing, but she wanted to know the whole story.

‘This is hardly the place to be talking about such a serious matter,’ said her cousin, surveying the crowds around them. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, and we will speak more privately.’

‘By all means call on me tomorrow. But you will condemn me to a sleepless night imagining all the terrible things my father said, when perhaps it was not that bad after all?’

He gave her a pale smile. ‘You’ve always been stubborn, Cousin, which is a good quality at times. But sometimes you tread in murky waters.’

She refused to be distracted. ‘Tell me what he said.’

Her cousin sighed. ‘He told me his marriage to your mother had been nothing but youthful folly, and that it was so far in the past he could scarcely remember her.’

She could see from the way he chose his words carefully that he was not telling her everything that her father had said. She imagined her father had expressed himself far less politely.

‘He said he knew your grandmother took good care of you, that she would make sure you had everything you need. You are well provided for, both with the money you inherited from your mother, and your grandmother’s wealth. That is all he needed to know about you. He did not understand why I wanted to dredge up the past. England is nothing but a distant nightmare to him, and he wants
nothing
to do with it.’

Or with her. The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air between them.

Bitterness and sorrow rose up to form a large, sharp-edged pebble in her throat. It threatened to choke her. She did not see how she could join the others for supper. She did not even know how she would get to the front entrance of the house from where she was.