Anne Barbour (21 page)

“What ho, yer lordship,” said that gentleman, folding his length into an exaggerated bow. His gaze contained a sardonic glint as he kissed Lianne’s hand. “Lady Ashindon—ravishing as ever.”

Lianne twinkled up at him. “Why, James, I think that’s the first time you have ever complimented me.”

“I cannot think how I came to be so remiss,” James replied smoothly, “and it certainly will not be the last.”

Lianne’s laughter chimed. “I have just been telling Ash how glad I am to be here tonight. It has been such an age since I have been out and about.”

“You chose well,” James answered. He turned to Ash. “Mrs. Bridge has netted the jewels of society for her festivities.”

Lianne laughed again, this time not so musically. “You can thank Grandmama Ashindon for that. She’s been busy all week writing notes and paying visits. I don’t think any other force under heaven could have dragged Mrs. Drummond-Burrell to a home that smells of the shop.” She wrinkled her dainty nose and tittered behind her fan. Ash knew a moment of stunned anger. This could not be Lianne, the woman of his dreams, speaking so. He noted that James was observing the young countess, an odd smile quirking his lips.

James bowed once more. “May I have this dance, my lady? Along with the company, the music seems to be first rate.” He extended his hand and Lianne, with a flirtatious smile, placed her fingertips on his arm and allowed herself to be escorted onto the floor. She sent a sparkling glance over her shoulder to Ash as she moved away. “I shall speak with you later—my lord,” she called softly. A moment later she was all flying curls and pink cheeks as she whirled through the figures of a vigorous reel.

Ash stared after her in consternation. How could she have changed so dramatically? Surely it was not he who had altered during their separation. He chided himself. It was, perhaps, to be expected that a vital creature like Lianne would become overexcited at one of her first forays into society after so many years, thus leading her to speak as she would not ordinarily have done. Or perhaps her distress over his impending betrothal and marriage had led her to vent a hurt that she would otherwise have kept to herself.

“Pretty little filly, ain’t she?”

Startled, Ash turned to observe Jeremiah Bridge at his elbow, following his gaze to Lianne and James. He opened his mouth to protest, but Jeremiah waved his hand expansively.

“Never mind, young fella, I know all about your interest in that quarter. I told you I’d made it my business to find out everything about you, and your previous connection to your cousin’s widow was one of the first things brought to my attention. Can’t say as I blame you,” he added meditatively, still watching the dancers.

“You are to be commended on your thoroughness, sir.” Ash’s voice was chill as midnight in winter. “However, it is not necessary for you—”

Jeremiah laughed. “Oh, I know—man of honor and all that. I’m well aware I can count on your discretion, my lord. I just want to emphasize the point”—the jovial smile dropped from his lips—”that if word of any hanky-panky were to reach my daughter’s ears, I would be very, very displeased. And”—his voice sank to a whisper—”I don’t think you want to displease me—my lord.”

Ash was filled with such fury that he could hardly speak, but his voice was controlled as he spoke. “Mr. Bridge, are you suggesting that I would so much as consider betraying my vows to Amanda? No, of course not—for her father to voice such an idea would be beneath contempt.”

Jeremiah reddened and his massive jaw thrust forward belligerently. After a moment, however, he said with a burst of forced laughter, “You’re proud as bedammed, ain’tcher, my lord? No need to take me up, though. I was just setting matters straight.”

“Is that what you were doing?” asked Ash coolly. “If you will excuse me, sir, it is time to claim a dance from my betrothed.” He turned on his heel and strode away, teeth clenched and fists balled.

He could not believe the conversation that had just taken place. If he had understood Jeremiah Bridge right, the man had all but informed him that an outside liaison was perfectly acceptable to him as long as the matter did not reach Amanda’s ears. Slowly, he relaxed his fingers and took a deep breath. Well, he had known what he was getting into—how had Lianne put it?—fettered—to a vulgar, overbearing, evil-minded pig of a man.

He paused for a moment and swore prayerfully that once he and Amanda were married he would whisk her away with all possible speed to the Park and bar the door behind them. Oh yes, he would accept Bridge’s largesse, but he would work from sunrise to moonset every day of his life, and the moment the Park began to show a profit, he would repay every cent. With interest.

How would Amanda react to such strictures? he wondered uneasily. She seemed to enjoy life in London. Would she see living in rural solitude as a prison sentence? And how might she feel when told her father would be unwelcome in her own home? She displayed no fondness for the old bandit, but he was her father, after all.

His glance surveyed the throng milling about the edge of the dance floor, but Amanda was nowhere to be seen. Had she decided to try her wings in a country dance? He was about to turn toward the refreshment room when his breath caught in his throat. There, behind a pillar in a secluded corner of the room stood his fiancée in earnest conversation with none other than Cosmo Satterleigh.

His hands once more curling into fists, he started toward the couple, but he was halted by Lianne’s breathless voice in his ear. “Gracious! I have not danced in such ages that I fear I am quite out of practice. Would you procure a glass of—oh!” Ash turned to observe that she had followed the direction of his glance. “My,” she purred, “I wonder what
Mr. Satterleigh is doing here. I understood he has been forbidden the house.”

“You seem to have absorbed an inordinate amount of gossip for being in town such a short time.” He almost snarled the words, and Lianne’s emerald eyes widened in dismay.

“Oh, Ash. I did not mean—that is, I must admit to being incensed that Miss Bridge would so far forget herself as to indulge in dalliance with a man so disliked by her parents, when she is betrothed to you.” Tears glittered on the lashes she cast down over her cheeks. “I know you do not care for her—at least, in the way you and I care for each other, but such behavior must surely cause you embarrassment and discomfort.”

Ash endeavored to produce the compunction he should have felt for discommoding the woman he loved. He was still itchy with resentment, however, when he patted her hand and drew her away. “I appreciate your sentiments,” he said somewhat dryly, “but you really must leave the behavior of my fiancée to me.”

Lianne stared at him, startled. “Of course, Ash. I never meant to interfere. I was just—”

“Come,” said Ash brusquely, “the orchestra is beginning a quadrille. Will you dance with me?”

Once again, Ash experienced a vague sense of relief that the figures of the dance permitted very little conversation between himself and his beloved. When the last strains of the music died away, however, the two were positioned opposite a door that led to a small salon.

“Come, Ash,” said Lianne, smiling winsomely, “do let us talk for a moment.”

Ash drew away slightly, but her hand on his coat sleeve was insistent. With a sense of foreboding. Ash followed her from the ballroom.

The moment they were well into the shadowed confines of the little chamber, Lianne turned and pressed herself against Ash, her mouth seeking his. The kiss, though deep and passionate, did not, to Ash’s guilty surprise, stir him as he might have expected. His only clear thought was that he would rather not have to deal with Lianne right now. Scarcely a lover-like sentiment, he realized with a start, but he was feeling more than somewhat harassed at the moment.

Lianne ended the kiss with a sigh and leaned back against Ash’s shoulder to gaze at him from beneath her lashes.

“Oh, Ash,” she whispered, drawing her fingers across Ash’s cheek, “I do love you so.”

Ash covered her hand with his own, and squeezing it gently, brought it away from him and released her from the circle of his arms. “I know,” he said softly. “But, we must resign ourselves. We must, Lianne.”

“Must we?” she asked, her voice husky. She moved away a little, but kept his hand in hers. When she spoke again, a certain purposefulness was evident in her tone. “Ash, I have been thinking about our situation. I understand why we cannot marry, though it has taken me many months to accept the fact of your duty to your family and your position. But, oh, my love, it is so unfair that a love such as ours should be so doomed. It will never die, of course, for it is too strong, and I have come to the conclusion that there is only one path for us.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her great, jeweled eyes to his. “I have decided, Ash, my dearest and only love, that I will agree to become your mistress.”

Ash felt as though something very large and very sharp had exploded in his midsection. His first confused thought was that he did not remember asking Lianne to be his mistress. His second was that he could not have heard aright, and his third, contributing even further to his emotional upheaval, was the unexpected certainty that he did not want to enter into a liaison, illicit or otherwise, with Lianne, the Countess of Ashindon.

“My dear,” he said swiftly, “you cannot have thought—”

“Yes, I have. I’ve thought and thought, and—” Lianne’s voice rose. “There is simply no other way, Ash.” She stepped back. “Dear God,” she continued, choking, “you think me sunk below reproach for suggesting such a thing, but—”

“No, of course not. I am moved beyond words that you would turn your back on the standards of a lifetime—that you would risk ruin and disgrace for me. I cannot let you do it, Lianne. And,” he said heavily, “I cannot betray the vows I am about to make. You must see that. Much as I—”

Lianne turned away suddenly. “It is as I thought,” she whispered tragically. “I have lost your love—and now”—her voice broke—”I have lost your esteem as well.”

“No—do not talk that way.” Ash was appalled at the insincerity he heard in his voice. “You know how I feel about you.” He was guiltily aware of an urgent desire to be away from her. “Lianne, I must not stay here with you. Amanda—”

Lianne stamped her small foot “It is always Amanda, now, isn’t it? Very soon. Ash, I shall begin to believe that you have given your heart to her as well as the promise of your name.” She pouted adorably, and it was not until Ash began to mouth the protest that she so obviously expected that he realized his expressions of eternal devotion sounded empty, even to his own ears. The pout turned to a rather ominous frown.

“You say you love me
,
but you will not make the slightest push to keep our love alive.”

“I wish you will believe,” said Ash wearily, “that I have no choice, and neither do you, if you will but think.” He extended his hand in an effort to remove the sting of his words, but with what in anyone not quite so exquisite might have been called a snort of impatience, she whirled and left the room, her silken skirts hissing her displeasure.

Ash started after her, but observing that her progress was followed with undisguised interest by those in the ballroom, he halted. Lianne was already giving the tabbies a field day; there was no sense in fueling the scandal further. He sank down on a small settee. Dear God, what had just happened here? He did not know whether he was more shocked by Lianne’s suggestion or by the stunning realization that the thought of bedding her left him unmoved.

It was some minutes before he finally dragged himself to his feet and left the little salon to find his betrothed.

Chapter Fifteen

Amanda, however, was nowhere to be found. Serena was chatting to a group of matrons near a potted palm in one corner of the room, and Amanda was not with her. Cordelia and Charlotte were each on the dance floor, pointing graceful toes in the cotillion. Amanda was not. She was not in the refreshment room, nor in the card room.

Ash drifted toward the ladies’ withdrawing room, but when she did not emerge after several moments, he took his search elsewhere. The terrace, the small salons bordering the ballroom, and the drawing room, where supper was to be served later, also proved unproductive. As a last resort, he made his way to the music room, and here he was successful. There, at the far end of the room, backed up against a pier table, was his betrothed—in the arms of Cosmo Satterleigh.

For an instant, Ash stood frozen in a rage that he thought might choke him. One corner of his mind observed that Amanda stood in Satterleigh’s embrace, still and uncooperative. This fact notwithstanding, Ash’s first instinct was to stride to the couple, wrench them apart, and beat Satterleigh into the carpet. At the sound of his step, however, the gentleman whirled about.

“Ashindon!” he cried in a throbbing tone. Observing Ash’s clenched fists, his face paled, but he remained where he stood. Ostentatiously, he put Amanda behind him. “I do not apologize, my lord, for claiming what is mine by right. If you wish to call me out, you may name your seconds.” He tossed his head, sending his carefully curled ringlets quivering.

“I do not require an apology, you smarmy little hedge-bird,” snarled Ash, advancing menacingly. “Nor am I going to call you out. I merely intend to give you the thrashing you deserve.”

Mr. Satterleigh, apparently thinking better of his bravado, stepped backward, thereby bumping into Amanda, who moved out from him.

“Don’t be absurd, Ash,” she said crossly. “The silly little twit thinks I’m in love with him. He, of course, is in love with my money—which you ought to understand. I don’t know how he got in here tonight, but he will be leaving shortly, as soon as I can summon a couple of footmen.”

She moved toward the bellpull, but Ash stayed her with a gesture. To Satterleigh, he said coldly, “I advise you to leave on your own. Otherwise, I shall be happy to throw you out bodily—from that window over there, a story above the ground.”

For a moment, it looked as though the hapless swain would hold his ground, but with a groan he lurched toward the door. “I see how it is!” he flung over his shoulder to Amanda. “You have spurned a heart that loves you with all the sincerity of my being for a noble title. I wish you joy of your choice—Countess!”