An Unconventional Miss (15 page)

During the previous eight of his twenty-six years, Wyvern had grown sufficiently confident of his own masculinity to consider himself well up to scratch in the art of interpretation, when it came to the various signs and signals given off by members of the female species. Nevertheless, nothing in his past dealings with the fairer sex had prepared him for the thunderbolt that had hit him when confronted with the delectable Jessica Beresford in full warpaint, this having proved to be an entirely new sensation to him, shaking him to the very core of his being. Even so, he was not insensible to the fact that, if the acquaintanceship were to prosper—in the face of her tender years and undoubted innocence—he would need to proceed with caution. He doubted that she had even the vaguest idea of the effect that her loveliness had upon the male of the species. Nonetheless, from the few tantalising signals that he had received, it was but a short step to convincing himself that Jessica would welcome his courtship. A courtship that, he promised himself with an optimistic grin, would be a
very
short one—conducted with all the usual due deference and regard, of course—at least until the joining of hands was over. He then allowed his imagination to run riot, in a somewhat premature anticipation of the many pleasurable activities that might follow the ceremony—vivid images of which were soon to send rippling shudders of exhilaration running through his body.

Regrettably, the sudden spattering of rain on his cheeks, heralding another blustery April shower, proved to be more than enough to cool his ardour and, making a quick dash up the steps of his Grosvenor Square mansion, Wyvern was reluctantly obliged to abandon his futile dreams of love and riches to the cold light of day. Before rapping on the door, however, he allowed himself the small luxury of raising one hand in a farewell salute to his pursuer, his eyes glinting with mischievous satisfaction as the fellow made a hurried, but vain, attempt to conceal himself amongst the sodden bushes in the Square's central garden.

W
hen no further news of his supposedly impending betrothal reached her ears, Jessica lived in daily expectation of a visit from the earl. Her days, now that both Stevenage and Nicholas had gone their separate ways, were just as she had supposed—morning calls to various of Imogen's rather dreary elderly relatives, and afternoons spent kicking her heels while her cousin rested, in preparation for the evening's festivities, with which Jessica grew more and more disenchanted as the Season progressed into May.

But Wyvern did not call and, to add to her disappointment, he failed to put in an appearance at any of the events that she attended during the week following their chance meeting outside Ringfords. Ever since that encounter, Jessica had been able to think of few things other than the astounding effect that the mischievous glint in Wyvern's eyes had had upon her heartbeat and how difficult she had found it to breathe properly when his hand had covered hers. But, most discomposing of all, perhaps, was how the slightest recall of that transitory kiss in the ladies' room was apt to send quite extraordinary sensations rampaging throughout her entire body!

She was quite at a loss to understand how to deal with this disturbing quandary and could not help wishing that she had a close friend with whom she could share her confidences. For, subsequent to her foolish and headstrong behaviour of the previous summer, and although she loved Imogen dearly, Jessica now found herself unable to summon up sufficient courage to discuss with her cousin a problem that she might well construe as being of a rather similar nature. Unfortunately, apart from her innocent, if somewhat furtive, assignations with Philip Wentworth—prior to his abduction and attempted assault—her only real experience with members of the opposite sex had been totally platonic. Moreover, since the failed abduction, Matt had been more than usually protective towards her for, being the sort of man who took his responsibilities very seriously, he was determined that no further occurrences of that sort should be allowed to blight her life.

To begin with, Jessica had been only too glad to comply with her brother's wishes, accepting that he had her best interests at heart but, gradually, as she had started to regain her confidence, his excessive solicitude for her safety was beginning to pall. Now that her two tame escorts had vacated the capital, Matt, to her lasting indignation and embarrassment, had been quite obdurate in his refusal to allow her to continue riding in the park, unless accompanied by his wife and himself. But, since Imogen's condition now prevented her from participating in that pleasurable activity, he too had chosen to abandon his own daily ride in favour of the occasional afternoon carriage-drive, given that it fitted in with the family's other engagements. It was true that several of her most dedicated beaux had continued to keep up their pressure to petition him for permission to take her up in their carriages but Matt, being not entirely unfamiliar with the devious mentality of the concupiscent male—a facet of his past history that he was hardly likely to share with his young half-sister!—had found himself less than willing to deliver her into the hands of a relative stranger.

Jessica's increasing listlessness did, on occasion, cause Imogen a certain amount of concern but, wrapped up in her own little world of sublime self-contentedness, her cousin was not, perhaps, as observant as had previously been her wont.

Mindful of her beloved husband's deep-seated dread of losing her to childbirth and, although she was very happy to dance the occasional waltz with him—if only to remind herself of their irregular courtship—Imogen usually chose to sit out the more energetic country dances and reels, preferring to spend her evenings in spirited conversation with the group of other young matrons to whom she had attached herself. In this way, since Matt had stipulated that her partners should always return Jessica to his wife's side at the completion of each set of dances, it was no trouble for Imogen to keep a watchful eye on her cousin, should Beresford opt to remove himself from the relentless chattering of her female friends into the relative quiet of the card room, in the company of one or other of his own acquaintances.

On the Friday evening following the tea-shop incident, the Beresfords were engaged to attend Lady Henderson's supper dance, a fairly staid event at which, whilst she had few expectations of the earl putting in an appearance, Jessica still followed her recently developed custom of keeping several spaces on her dance-card in the avid hope that he might just do so. Having rejoined her cousin, after a rather halting progress through a cotillion with a rather bashful partner, whose familiarity with the dance's somewhat complicated figures and changes had turned out to be rather limited, Jessica, thankful for the temporary cessation, slumped back into her seat, wishing that she had taken advantage of Imogen's earlier suggestion that they might cry off this soirée.

But then, as her restless eyes flicked backwards and forwards across the crowded room, she suddenly froze and her heart seemed to thunder to a halt, before rapidly gathering pace to beat at more than twice its normal speed.

For there, at the doorway, looking directly at her, stood Wyvern, his handsome face wearing a slightly pensive frown. Then, to her growing delight, after pausing for a moment to murmur a few words into the ear of one of the two friends who accompanied him, he began to make his way over to her corner of the room.

‘Good evening, Mrs Beresford,' he began, with a respectful bow to Imogen. ‘Ben Ashcroft, at your service, ma'am. I believe your husband was acquainted with my late brother?'

Offering him her hand, a smiling Imogen nodded. ‘So Mr Beresford has mentioned, your lordship, but he, I must inform you, is in the card room, should you wish to speak with him.'

‘Later, perhaps,' he replied, doing his utmost to ignore the expectant look on Jessica's face. ‘I was hoping I might persuade you to take a turn about the room with me?'

Imogen's smile deepened. ‘It is most kind of you, my lord,' she replied. ‘But, if you will excuse me, I prefer not to dance this evening. However, if your lordship is short of a partner, I believe that my cousin Jessica still has one or two free spaces on her card.'

Inclining his head, Wyvern then turned towards Jessica, carefully avoiding her eyes. ‘Then, perhaps Miss Beresford would care to do me the honour—this next is to be a waltz, if I am not mistaken?'

At her breathless nod, the earl reached out his hand and drew the somewhat dazed Jessica to her feet and led her across to the rather inadequate rectangle that had been set aside for the dancing.

‘I trust that I was correct in assuming that you would prefer that I did not approach you directly?' he enquired, as he slipped his arm around her waist.

‘W-why, yes, thank you, your lordship,' came Jessica's shaky reply. After all the empty days of waiting and wondering, to suddenly find herself standing so close to the object of her recent dreams seemed to be having the most peculiar effect on her ability to think straight. ‘I—I had not thought it necessary to mention our…er…previous…acquaintanceship!'

From Wyvern's point of view, having finally been unable to resist the temptation of seeking Jessica out, his oft-imagined bliss at the idea of holding her in his arms was proving, in reality, to be more akin to some sort of exquisite torture.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he swung her deftly into the compelling movement of the dance and, achingly aware of the soft warmth of her body beneath his fingertips, he sent up an ardent prayer that the day would soon dawn when he would find himself in a position to confess his love for her.

Almost mesmerised by the lithe expertise with which Wyvern steered her into a reverse turn, Jessica's momentary flash of panic was quickly forgotten. Relaxing, she gladly succumbed to the confident pressure of his hands and soon they were whirling and swaying across the floor, their steps in perfect time with the giddy, lilting rhythm of the music, and their hearts beating as one. Together they glided, as if on air, oblivious to the other dancers as they drifted into Love's wonderland, thrilling to each other's touch and wishing that the dance would never end.

Inevitably and all too soon, the music drew to a close and, after swinging the flushed and panting Jessica into a final flourishing twirl, the earl brought her, reluctantly, to a standstill.

‘Not nearly long enough, by half,' he groaned, his voice husky with emotion. ‘I suppose it is too much to hope that you have another free space on your card?'

Her heart plummeting to her toes, Jessica gave a regretful shake of her head. ‘Sadly not, my lord,' she replied. ‘Had you arrived sooner, I would have been more than happy to accommodate you.'

A wry grimace crossed the earl's face as, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her slowly back towards her seat. ‘I fear that my time has been fully occupied these last few days.'

A spark of excitement flew into her eyes. ‘Did you manage to solve the mystery of the mine?' she asked eagerly. ‘Was it, in fact, a coal mine, as I had supposed?'

‘I now have little doubt that a mine of some sort does exist,' he told her. ‘Thanks to your remarkable perspicacity. Unfortunately, I have not, as yet, managed to track down its whereabouts.' He paused and, standing quite still, swung her round to face him, the longing in his eyes quite plain to see. ‘But, you may be sure that when I do, sweetheart, you will be the very first to know!'

Then, having handed the stunned and somewhat confused Jessica back into her seat and expressed his thanks to both Imogen and herself, he bowed, turned sharply on his heel and, without a backward glance, made for the room's exit.

‘What a very pleasant young man,' observed Imogen, as the door swung closed behind him. ‘I did hear a rumour to the effect that he was about to become attached to Felicity Draycott, but nothing seems to have come of it. You should consider yourself honoured, Jess, for his lordship only danced the one dance and now seems to have departed!'

‘Well, yes, that is true,' stammered her flame-faced cousin. ‘But, don't forget that
you
were the one he asked in the first place—he merely settled for me because you practically obliged him to!'

‘Well, if the expression on his face when he was steering you round the floor was anything to go by,' laughed Imogen, ‘I would say that he certainly seemed to be looking rather pleased with himself! In fact, I shouldn't be at all surprised if his approaching me first wasn't just some elaborate ploy to get you to dance with him!'

Luckily, at this point, came the peal of the supper bell and, with it, Matt's return, relieving Jessica of the need to repudiate her cousin's all too astute observation. Instead, as she gathered up her belongings and followed the pair into the refreshment room, she bent her mind to the somewhat perplexing matter of Wyvern's final statement.

That he had been endeavouring to convey something to her had been abundantly clear, but what it might have been she could not even begin to hazard a guess. Both the look in his eyes and his final tender epithet had shaken her to the very core of her being, but then he had departed without allowing her either the time or the opportunity to question him further. The heady euphoria she had felt at being in his arms at last had very soon evaporated, to be replaced by feelings of uncertainty and frustration, leaving her thoughts in such turmoil that she no longer had any idea what to believe.
Was the exasperating man merely toying with her affections?
she wondered bleakly, as she joined her companions at the supper table.
Or, could it be possible that his intentions were sincere? And, if so, when might a further opportunity arise wherein she might put his hinted-at fondness to the test?

On the other side of the room, positioned behind a piece of ivy-clad trelliswork, stood Felicity Draycott, her face contorted with jealous rage. Having been obliged to sit out the last several dances herself, due to the sparsity of acceptable offers, she had been beset by fury at the sight of Wyvern tenderly shepherding the Beresford girl around the floor. That he had refrained from attending any other of the week's events was insult enough, after his hurtful slight of Saturday morning, but then, to have had the gall to show up at this one for the express purpose of dancing with his secret paramour was far more than Felicity could endure.

‘His lordship seems to have transferred his allegiance in a somewhat cavalier manner, wouldn't you say, Miss Draycott?' purred a soft voice in her ear.

Startled, she jerked back and found herself looking up into the scarred features of Viscount Hazlett. She stared at him in distaste, never having liked him since his previous year's presumptuous attempts to coerce her into accepting his unwanted proposal of marriage.

‘I have no wish to converse with you, sir,' she said haughtily, and would have moved away had not his hand on her arm prevented her.

‘Now that is a pity,' he countered, as a knowing grin puckered the skin on his damaged cheek. ‘And here was I thinking that I could have the very answer to your little problem.'

‘What problem?' she flashed back, affronted. ‘I have no problems that can possibly be any concern of yours!'

‘Ah, but it seems that you do, my dear,' replied the viscount, tightening his hold as she attempted to extract her hand from his grip. ‘Unless I am very much mistaken, it would appear that a certain young beauty is causing a great deal of turmoil within the breast of one who, only last week, I am reliably informed, was on the verge of offering his hand to your own charming self.'