Gail Eastwood (19 page)

“To start with, my mother and sisters,” he said, continuing to smile in exactly the way she had tried to memorize when she had thought she was never to see him again. “I lay the blame on them for my inability to arrive in town any sooner.”

“And why is that?” she inquired in a tight voice. His power over her was absurd. She had so longed for his company, but now that he was here, she was not sure which torture was worse—missing him or being with him.

“They all wished to come to London with me, but they could not be ready on a day’s notice. There were bags to pack, and arrangements to make . . .” He hesitated, then reached over to take her hands. “The play will be resuming in just a few minutes. We have so little time to talk like this. I want to know how you are faring. You look absolutely stunning. Are you enjoying London? Have you been getting out? And what of your uncle?”

She shook her head. She could not begin to answer. Did he really care to know? Were they not two quite different people sitting here than the ones who had raced over hundreds of miles of road? He looked so elegant in a velvet evening coat of deepest corbeau, black pantaloons, and snowy white cravat, waistcoat, and stockings. She supposed she, too, looked more elegant—how far from the young runaway dressed in a stable boy’s castoffs! They were in a different world now. She hoped the misery she was feeling did not show in her eyes.

“You are kind to inquire, Lord Brinton. I know you have guests who are probably awaiting your return.”

A puzzled look crossed his face, then he brightened and actually laughed. “Goose! Is that what this is all about? Do you not realize that I have been dragged here this evening by all the females of my family? They and their friends are likely to suffocate me. Finding you here has been my reward, for I had thought I would not see you until tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?”

“At the ball? You do recall Lady Darley’s ball for her daughter, the event that brought your aunt all the way from Scotland? Did you not receive the note I sent around this afternoon?”

“No,” she said stupidly. “We did not have time to look at the cards that came this afternoon.”

“Well, when you read it in the morning you will learn that I have finally arrived in town, and that I am looking forward to seeing you at the ball.” He pressed her fingers ever so slightly, sending heat waves racing up her arms. “I am even so bold as to request a dance saved for me. But now that I am here with you, I shall be even bolder, and ask if I may take you in to supper tomorrow night? Can you stand that much of my company?”

She could not maintain her resistance in the face of his self-deprecating humor. She nodded. “I thought you were not coming,” she finally managed to croak out. “I did look for you, at first, but we have been here now for more than a week.”

He looked stricken. “I always keep my promises. I am truly sorry. The delay was unavoidable. Have you not been enjoying your visit? I hope that you will allow me to show you some of the sights. There is so much to see and do. There is so much that must be new to you!”

What could she say?
I could not enjoy it because you were not here?
No. Finally, she simply smiled and said, “I think I will begin to enjoy it more after today,”

The warning bell rang, and Brinton was forced to take his leave. Gillian turned her attention to the performances with a considerably lighter heart. Brinton cared. He had not abandoned her. Perhaps their friendship could survive in London, after all.

Chapter Nineteen

Gillian was astounded to discover that it required an entire afternoon to prepare for a ball of the magnitude of Lady Darley’s. Her aunt patiently explained that extra time was necessary to allow for possible disasters, but Gillian wondered how anything could go wrong. Every item to be worn, from gown to gloves and slippers, had been fitted, checked, and rechecked at least twice if not a dozen times.

Clad in her chemise and a soft muslin dressing gown, Gillian paused by the bed where her evening finery had been carefully laid out. The ball gown of sheer white net over a gold satin slip was so exquisite, she could not quite believe she would be wearing it. She reached out with reverent fingers to touch the gathered fall of lace that trimmed the décolletage. The short, puffed sleeves, the waist, and the exposed hem of the satin slip were decorated with loopings of green ribbon, gold cord, and pearls, discreetly accented with small white satin roses.

Beside the dress lay her new white kid gloves and the gold satin slippers she had begged her aunt to allow instead of the more usual white ones. The effect would be completed by an additional extravagance she and Lady Culcarron had not been able to resist, a mantelet of dark green velvet, lined in gold satin to match her slip.

Gillian discovered that she was quite looking forward to the ball, now that she knew Brinton would attend.

“Miss, if you would come sit by the fire, I’ll dry your hair,” her abigail interrupted gently. “When that French hairdresser arrives, he’ll want it a bit damp, I expect, not wet like it is now, and besides, you don’t want to catch a chill.”

Gillian obeyed, giving the girl a grateful smile. The young abigail was busily patting the moisture from her curls when there was a knock at the door. Gillian held out her hand for the towel and continued the task herself while the maid went to answer.

“Ooh, miss, there’s a package come for you,” the maid said, forgetting her more formal speech in the excitement of the moment. She returned bearing a small box that looked suspiciously like a fan case. It was tied with satin ribbon under which had been tucked a small card.

“Miss Kentwell, best regards, Brinton,” read Gillian. Very proper, betraying nothing. What else would one expect from the earl? She had handed back the towel, but she noticed that her attendant stood transfixed by curiosity. She untied the bow and opened the box.

Wrapped in a piece of silk inside was a beautiful little fan very like the one she had admired in Lancaster. She lifted it out and opened it, catching her breath as the firelight reflected off the silver spangles and brought a soft glow to the pale pink silk. It had to be the very same one. She recognized the pattern of the lace and the delicate painted flowers. Brinton had to have gone back to Lancaster to purchase it, for she doubted there could be two so exactly alike.

“Ooh, miss, it’s beautiful!”

“Yes, it is.” Gillian held it in front of her, positioning her thumb and other fingers as her aunt had schooled her. She had been practicing and had reached a level of competence that would have surprised the young girl who had fumbled so in Bath. She hardly believed that she could have changed so much in less than three weeks’ time.

However, Brinton could not know that. What did his gift mean? Was it proper for her to receive it? She was not sure, but he had certainly managed to please her. She closed the fan and hugged it to her for a moment before returning it to its wrappings in the box.

***

Not far away in Grosvenor Square, Lord Brinton was preparing for the ball at home in his London residence, a spacious mansion carved out of three town houses purchased and combined by his grandfather. The earl closed his eyes and concentrated on staying perfectly still while his valet eased a razor along his jawbone. Tyler was an excellent barber, but Brinton knew his own tense nerves could affect the outcome of the man’s efforts. He was grateful that his rooms were peacefully located on the floor above those of his sisters, for he could imagine the bustle of activity that was no doubt taking place in those rooms below.

He had not expected to be nervous. He had surely attended a hundred such balls, and his only concern had always been to honor the usual niceties of proper behavior without creating an impression of interest in any of the inevitable husband-seekers. He had faced battles with more confidence than he was feeling this evening, and it was all because of Gillian.

When Lady Culcarron’s drawing room doors had opened to reveal Lord Pembermore in Scotland, Rafferty had silently renewed his commitment to Gillian’s cause. No matter what he had to do, he vowed that she would never be forced to marry his uncle. When the countess had announced her intention to take the twins to London, however, he had understood at once that her plan was to find Gillian a more suitable mate. At that moment of realization, his resolve had turned in an entirely new direction. Suddenly, he had faced the prospect of seeing Gillian in a conventional marriage with someone else, and he had known then that he could not bear to see anyone in that role but himself.

He loved her. That was one part of her dream that he could at least offer. He would overturn both uncles and wage a campaign to win her himself. If he failed, only then could he find some way to live with his loss.

Sending the fan had been his opening move. Had he done the right thing? How would she receive his gift? He felt as uncertain as a green schoolboy.

“Ahem.” Tyler’s discreet throat clearing brought Brinton back to the task at hand. The burly valet was as tall as his master and looked like a big farm laborer someone had dressed as a valet for a joke. Standing with his arms folded and the razor dangling casually between his fingers, he flashed a grin at the earl. “I’ve been finished for five minutes.”

“You have not,” protested Brinton. “But I apologize for being a bit distracted.”

“A bit!” snorted Tyler. “It has to be a woman—it always is. But this looks serious. Very serious.”

The earl nodded. “Possibly incurable,” he responded with a sad smile. He allowed Tyler liberties that no other servant would dare to presume because he considered the man his friend. But he was not yet ready to open his heart and confide his hopes. Tonight would be a test of sorts, possibly a turning point. He would learn whether Gillian was at all receptive to his suit, and she would meet his mother and sisters.

***

As dinner proved to be a rather lengthy affair, Brinton and his family arrived at the ball much later than he had hoped. He was impatient with the usual ritual of depositing cloaks, being announced, and greeting the hostess. He was eager to find the twins and their aunt.

“Lady Darley,” purred his mother while he fidgeted beside her. “You were so kind to add us to your guest list on such short notice. We would have been devastated to miss your ball just because we arrived in town so late!”

He nodded and uttered something similar, trying to stop his eyes from scanning the ballroom with its lavish decorations. His heart rate seemed to triple when he caught sight of a very short person with chestnut curls, dancing gracefully in a white and gold dress.

He had not believed possible how much he had missed her from the morning he left Scotland. He had hired a gig and retraced much of their journey, stopping in Lancaster to purchase the fan, and returning to Bewdley to recover his curricle. Thoughts of her haunted him on every road he traveled. He had proceeded to his primary estate in Lincolnshire, to pack a suitable wardrobe for London, and had then been required to go to Southampton to inform his family of his plans.

The brief moments he had spent last night with Gillian at the theater had stirred up fires he had banked from necessity. As he glimpsed her now moving through the lively figures of the cotillion, he could feel them burning again hotter than ever.

Brinton waited while his younger sisters made their curtsies. Once he had escorted them and his mother to the chaperones’ area, he was free. He quickly sought out Lady Culcarron. The dance was just ending as he made his bow, and he looked up in time to see Gillian’s partner returning her.

She looked stunningly beautiful, he thought. Her curls framed her face, and the pearls at her throat seemed to emphasize the perfection of her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, and she appeared happy and breathless, no doubt from the dancing. There was no way for him to judge if she was pleased to see him.

“Lord Brinton, good evening,” she greeted him, offering her hand very properly. “How nice that you could be here. I have not forgotten that I promised you a dance.” She turned away before he could search her eyes for a clue to the feelings behind her words. Fishing in her reticule, she drew out her fan and proceeded to use it, cooling herself vigorously.

The countess made some comment, but Brinton barely heard it. Gillian was using his fan, the one he had sent her. It did not match her dress at all, yet there she was, using it to chase the heat from her skin and looking up at him with laughing blue-green eyes. The smile he gave her started in his heart and spread slowly outward.

“Would you care to step outside?” he asked woodenly, yet what else could he say? He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her bodily to the nearest bishop. Wouldn’t the gossipmongers love that? Instead, he offered his elbow and sedately crossed with her to the doors that opened onto the Darleys’ terrace.

They walked outside through the intersecting circles of light created by flickering torches flanking the doors.

“I have to thank you for the fan,” Gillian whispered, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear. He knew that she had no inkling of how that would affect him. “I cannot believe you went to the trouble to go back and get it for me.”

He felt intoxicated by her presence. His better judgment warned him that they should go back inside, but instead he found himself steering her toward the darkest corner he could find.

“Do you still like it?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, more than ever,” she breathed.

When she turned to him with such a look of delight, he could not help himself. He bent his head down to meet her lips with a gentle, exploratory kiss that quickly deepened as he felt her respond.

“I missed you,” he murmured softly.

His emotions began to spin him out of control as his joy and his love for her combined with his physical desire. He pulled her tightly against him and rocked her with the urgency and passion of his kisses. He almost didn’t hear the laughing voice that called him back from the brink of disaster.

“Should have known you’d be getting yourself in trouble out here, old man.”

By God, it was Archie.

Rafferty eased Gillian back against the stone balustrade for support before he released her. The look he exchanged with her in the dancing shadows told him that they both knew the interruption was for the best.

The torchlights made Archie a mere silhouette. “Expected to see you in town much sooner than this, Rafferty! ‘A few days,’ we said. Thought you’d changed your mind about coming!”

“It’s a long story, Archie,” said the earl, tucking Gillian’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “I just arrived yesterday and only had time to send you a note.”

He inspected Gillian and even in the dim light recognized the unmistakable dazed, ruffled look of a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed. She could not go back to the ballroom looking like that! Her aunt and everyone else would be scandalized. And he needed to introduce her to his family.

“I have spoiled your hair, love,” he said, turning to face her and touching the disarrayed curls behind her neck with a gentle finger. Someone had artfully gathered up her back hair and fastened it with a tortoise-shell comb, but the shortest tendrils had easily escaped. “Can you repair the damage?”

“I think so.” She reached up with both hands and attempted to tuck in the offending curls without removing the comb.

The motion produced a wonderfully provocative effect with the low neckline of her gown, and Brinton directed a fierce look at Spelling when he caught him staring.

Gillian sighed. “It won’t do. You will have to help me.” She turned to offer her back to him.

The earl swallowed as he admired the curve of her shoulders and the delicate nape of her neck. If only she knew what she was asking! He longed to let his fingers explore in her hair, but what he had in mind would not have been helpful. “I’ll try,” he said gamely, summoning his most rigid control. He removed his gloves and tried to smooth the disobedient locks into place with slightly shaky hands. The softness of her hair tickled his fingers and challenged his restraint almost beyond endurance. His attempts to discipline the errant tendrils met with little success.

“I am afraid it all needs to be redone,” he admitted with a sigh, “although I must say that I rather like it as it is.”

At least they could return now with some degree of decorum. She no longer displayed the bright, dreamy look she had worn after he kissed her. It was a shame, really. How he had loved seeing her with that look!

He offered his arm again, walking her across the terrace and back into the light. Spelling followed close beside him.

“Lucky devil, Raff!” Archie said in his ear as the earl handed Gillian through the door ahead of him. “Who is she?”

“Don’t you recognize her?” Rafferty quizzed back with a quick smile. He moved ahead to reclaim Gillian’s hand and returned her to the spot where they had left her aunt.

Gilbey was there with the countess, and he greeted Brinton warmly. The earl seized the opportunity while both twins were together with their aunt to broach the subject of introducing his family. Gilbey had already met some of them the previous night at the theater.

“Oh, dear,” responded Gillian with a surprising show of nervousness. “Could I not do something first about my hair?”

With good-natured chuckles, the gentlemen agreed to allow her this indulgence, and she headed off with Lady Culcarron toward the small salon that had been designated as a ladies’ retiring room. Gilbey excused himself to seek out the young lady who had promised him the next dance, and moments later Spelling reappeared beside the earl.