Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One (12 page)

“That makes you the greatest temptation of all.”

On the pretext of looking at the dance card tied round her wrist with a gold ribbon, he took her hand in his and flicked it open, but his eyes never left hers. “You are forbidden fruit, Princess. And like most men, I can resist anything but temptation.”

There were half a dozen things wrong with what he said, but she made no reply as his fingers clasped hers. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and dreading. They were only inches apart. He could not mistake her features under the brilliant glare of the ballroom chandeliers. Would he recognize her?

Lifting her chin a little, she looked up into his silver-green gaze.

Hadrian went absolutely still. Above the gold braid edging her silk veil, those dark eyes caught him totally by surprise. Then they suddenly widened, the turquoise rings around the plummy irises turning as rich as a delta river in summer flood. Emotions primitive, earthy, and raw held him transfixed. The impulse to whip away her veil made his hand tighten involuntarily on hers, and he saw fear edge into her gaze. She had every right to be afraid. She was in danger. He felt his control slipping loose of its traces, and that was very dangerous.

The hard push of desire nudged him. If just once Helene had so looked at him, he would have fought the devil himself to keep her in his bed.

Seeking refuge from his thoughts, he glanced down at the card in his hand. “You have yet to fill in a single dance.”

Clarissa blinked. Her throat was dry and her heart was bucking against her ribs. Ever since that day in Grosvenor Square, she had been afraid that he would recognize her as the widow at Plymouth harbor. Now she knew. He did not recognize her!

The relief was so great that all the blood seemed to rush from her head, leaving her as dizzy as a top. She should be delighted, but, strangely, she felt regret. A bit of cloth had been as good a disguise as an armored helmet. Or was it that he seldom bothered to recall the women upon whom he forced his kisses? Why, then, could she not forget, as well? For a terrible, desperate moment, she felt as if he had kissed her again, in public, with all the attendant elation and shame that deed would have brought her.

“Your dance card?” Hadrian prompted, annoyed to now be gazing at the top of her bowed head.

She blushed, she knew she did, and was grateful for the veil that hid so much more than he would ever know. Without looking up, she said, “If you do not mind, my lord, I should like to return to my aunt.”

“Oh, but I do mind,” he answered and moved her hand into the crook of his arm. “I insist that you dance with me.”

All too conscious of the heat from his body where her hand touched him, and the many open stares they were soliciting, she simply said, “As you wish, my lord.”

“If you had refused to dance with me,” he murmured as he led her out onto the floor, “I should have been forced to some drastic action to keep you by me a little longer.” He turned on her a wicked smile. “Why do I suspect that making a fool of myself would have pleased you?”

Clarissa ignored this invitation to indiscretion. She was not about to be drawn into exchanging innuendos with an accomplished rake. As they stepped into the line of dancers, she remembered the role she was playing. “I am not familiar with this dance.”

“Follow the other ladies,” Hadrian replied and joined the gentlemen’s line.

Clarissa pretended to follow the ladies, though in fact she knew the steps very well. Dancing had been one of her favorite pastimes, and there had always been a surplus of partners on the Peninsula. It had been another small disappointment to discover that Evelyn had been born with two left feet.

Hadrian watched her from beneath hooded lids. He knew at once that she had lied. She danced with the careless grace of one not only familiar with the steps but who had danced them often, and for the simple joy of it. The sheer layers of her skirts shimmered and shifted with each step she took. Even the other dancers were soon commenting on her grace and ability.

When the dance called for it, he slid an arm about her waist, drawing her closer than necessary to his body as he swung her about. He expected a stormy look of protest. Instead she accepted his action with a twinkle of amusement that astonished him to the soles of his feet.

Each time they came together after that the fragrance of jasmine came a little more strongly from her as her skin became flush with her exertions, and he found himself breathing more deeply when she neared. Gradually the reality of the ballroom receded from him until the only clear feature in his mind was her sloe-dark eyes floating above a swathe of silk.

Suddenly he knew, with the canny sense of one who has survived by his wits against great odds, that Princess Soltana was not who she claimed to be.

All London courted the rumor that she was Lord Arbuthnott’s natural daughter, or the fruition of some other nobleman’s illicit liaison. Was she aware that those rumors left her vulnerable to the less-than-honorable intentions of every rake in London? It came to him swiftly and fiercely that he did not like the idea of her becoming the conquest of any of the young pups hanging about the edge of the dance floor in the hope of becoming her next partner. If she was no better than she should be, then she must be his.

She swept toward him again, light as feather down, on the arm of an elderly gentleman. The warmly intimate look in her dark eyes was too open, too vulnerable. Was she aware of how accessible she seemed, how enticing, and how defenseless?

Frowning, he reminded himself that her artless looks might not be real. She had lied to him about something as simple as being able to dance. Had she lied to others, to Lady Arbuthnott? If so, then who was this delightful creature?

Clarissa was equally occupied with thoughts of her partner. She knew the difference between a mere touch and subtle forms of seduction. The earl’s touches were very personal and much more than idle forwardness. She sensed in him a single-minded interest in “Princess Soltana” but realized that it was under tight control. There was a daunting reserve behind his pointed gaze. She should have felt uneasy, or at least annoyed, that he was no more immune to mystery than any dozen green boys. What she did feel was enormous pleasure, and the slightest disappointment that the tune being played was not a waltz. Unlike poor Evelyn, Lord Ramsbury moved superbly.

They chanced to meet on the floor as that final thought ran through her mind. “Tell me, my lord, do you waltz?”

His start of surprise was her first indication that she had made an error, but they were parted almost immediately. As she swung away from him on the arm of another dancer, a frown puckered her brow. What could she have said? The men in her father’s regiment had all learned the waltz while in Spain. Yet now that she thought of it, she had not seen a single couple waltzing since she arrived in London. Perhaps there was some reason why. She would ask her aunt.

When the reel ended, she moved quickly out of the line before the next tune began.

“Will you away so soon?” Hadrian asked, his light eyes bent upon her flushed face. “You make a delightful figure in the set.”

“I just remembered, my lord, that I have not yet been permitted the dance floor by Lady Arbuthnott.”

Hadrian reached out to her, warm fingers grazing her arm. The inability to refrain from touching her surprised him nearly as much as it did her. He saw caution enter her gaze and withdrew his hand. She was right. They were being watched as no other pair in the room. “Tell me, Princess, what do you know of the waltz?”

Clarissa hesitated, wondering how to avoid the trap she had set. “It is the rage of the Continent.”

“The French rage,” he corrected with a new edge to his tone. “Have you lived in France, Princess?”

She saw by his alert expression that a lie would only make things worse. “I have never been to France, my lord, but I have visited the Peninsula.”

For reasons she did not guess, the admission intensified his gaze. “The Peninsula has, until lately, been a war zone.”

Clarissa shrugged, unwilling to be drawn into further indiscretions. “What has that to do with the waltz?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Hadrian smiled at her. “Waltzing is forbidden by the Crown. Its detractors claim that it is immoral, its influence corrupting.”

Her gaze fell before his. “Oh.”

“I agree. The restriction is a great pity.” He reached out to lift her chin, amazed by the softness of her skin revealed through the silk. “There are places where the strictures do not apply. It would be my pleasure to escort you to where you might waltz your fill.”

The implication of his invitation disappointed her. “Would you approve if a gentleman made such a suggestion to your sister?”

He saw disillusionment flash in her gaze and wondered at its cause. What had she expected of him? “I stand corrected, Princess,” he said in a mocking tone. He glanced across the floor to where the main doors to the ballroom stood open. As he did so, his cousin James vigorously hailed him. A secret smile curved up Hadrian’s long mouth. This was the signal he had been awaiting.

He turned back to his partner. “Since you cannot be persuaded to join me in another dance, and since I can conceive of no better partner, I will excuse myself.” He made her the slightest of bows and, as he moved past her, he brushed the back of a finger down the side of her arm.

Clarissa refused to glance after the earl, but her arm burned where his final touch lingered as she crossed to the nearest doorway. Never in her life had a man’s touch so affected her. There was the night they had touched in the Chethams’ library, setting off a wicked spark. His touches were like that, like tiny incandescent shocks that tingled on her skin long after the brush of his hand was gone.

Hadrian clapped his cousin on the shoulder as he reached him. “So, our game has arrived.”

“Already in the cardroom,” James replied, but his gaze was still directed back over his cousin’s shoulder. “You’ve taken the floor with the Mysterious Veil? By Jove! That’s a first.”

“What is?” Hadrian’s thoughts had moved on to the matter at hand.

“A dance with the Princess!”

Hadrian looked up with smiling eyes as his cousin’s wistful tone. “James! And Miriam with a ring nearly on her finger.”

James grinned. “Only human. See here, what’s it like?”

Hadrian took his cousin by the shoulder to turn him toward the exit, for if the lady in question had chosen to watch, she must know they were discussing her. “I begin to suspect she’s a spy.”

“A
—ouch
!”

“Was that your foot? Sorry, cousin,” Hadrian said unapologetically. “Now remember your part,” he continued as they walked out into the room. “We’ve a thief to catch.”

Left alone, Clarissa made her way around the ballroom, renewing her acquaintances with those her aunt had told her might prove useful in helping her gain an invitation to Almack’s. Yet she gave a wide berth to Lady Throckmorton. By studiously ignoring the hopeful expressions of numerous bachelors who wanted only a glance of encouragement to approach her, she managed to spend the better part of an hour entirely unaccompanied. When she had done her duty, she turned toward the Gallery, hoping to locate her aunt.

As she entered the Long Gallery, she came face-to-face with the most handsome young man she had ever seen.

“Princess Soltana,” he greeted her, his smile as eager as it was sweet. “We’ve not yet spoken. Deuced hard to find the moment. But then I thought, well, why not? The introduction’s been made. See what I mean?”

Clarissa did not, though there was something strikingly familiar about his gorgeous young face. “You are?” she prompted him.

“Egad! Completely forgot. Emory Blackburne, at your service.”

“Blackburne? Then you are Lord Ramsbury’s kin.”

“His brother,” he offered with a sour twist of his fine mouth.

She should have remembered. Yet that day in Grosvenor Square she had only had eyes for one brother. There was something so appealing about his smile, and in those green eyes so much kinder than his brother’s, that she extended her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Blackburne. I trust you will recall that I do not squint.”

“I say!” He went white, then red, having forgotten his ungracious comment until now. But he took her hand in his and bowed over it with remarkable grace.

Clarissa decided to soften her reproach by saying, “If you are not otherwise engaged, you may escort me to my aunt.”

“Delighted!” He offered her his arm.

Their passage through the Gallery was noted by many swiftly turning heads. “Dash it all, if I won’t be the envy of every man here,” Emory said after a moment.

She doubted his brother would ever have betrayed his delight at being the center of attention. But then, Lord Ramsbury did not seem the sort of man who would ever need to vie for center stage. That thought led her to another: how trying it must be to be Lord Ramsbury’s younger brother. Emory was stunningly handsome and eager to please, yet, she suspected, even the most gregarious soul would find it burdensome to live daily within the long shadow cast by so forceful a personality as Lord Ramsbury.

It had been her duty, as her father’s hostess, to draw out the shy among his officers while squelching the hopes of the brazen. Emory seemed to need a little promoting.

She leaned close to him to say, “I think, sir, that that is a very fine coat you are wearing.” She answered his startled glance of pleasure with a smile that warmed her eyes. “I understand now why you are known to all as a Tulip.”

The praise brought a delightful male blush to his cheeks. “ ’Pon honor! Never been paid a finer compliment.”

How easy it was to flatter the young.

They found her aunt seated with a cluster of matrons.

Heloise greeted them with a smile. “Mr. Blackburne, I see you’ve found my Soltana. Do join us. The ladies and I are amusing ourselves with a discussion of our baubles.”

Lady Chetham extended her arm to display a bracelet, each link of which was made in the shape of a flower with a diamond of the first quality forming the petals.

“How lovely!” Clarissa exclaimed.