Mastering the Marquess (13 page)

On their arrival in Grosvenor Square, the Countess of Framingham had swept them all into a large group and Silverton had not come near her again.

But dinner was now over, and their hostess had risen to lead the guests from the dining room. Meredith sighed with relief as she saw Silverton walk ahead of her, deep in conversation with a handsome, dark-haired man. She hoped he would be too busy with his friends to take much notice of her for the rest of the evening.

As she strolled with the elderly baronet up the wide marble staircase to the ballroom, she suddenly realized that Silverton would surely ask both her and Annabel for at least one dance.

She swallowed a startled gasp as butterflies took flight in her stomach. Part of her longed for his attention, although it provoked a terrible sense of yearning she knew could never be appeased. A man like him—one of the highest peers of the realm—could never be with a woman like her.

Even worse, how could she allow herself to feel this way if there was any possibility that Annabel might have to marry him? And how did Annabel feel about him? Although certain that her sister knew nothing of her grandmother's plans, Meredith could easily imagine Annabel falling in love with Silverton.

“Is there a problem, Miss Burnley?” Meredith had come to a stop near the top of the staircase, the baronet waiting patiently by her side.

“Goodness, no, Sir Phillip,” she replied hastily. “I was simply admiring the beauty of this magnificent staircase and the unusual frescoes on the ceiling.”

Fortunately, her elderly companion saw nothing odd about this explanation. Instead, he launched into an enthusiastic description of the types of Italian marble that had been used in the construction of the grand staircase and imposing entrance hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, Meredith allowed him to guide her to the entrance of the ballroom, where Annabel eagerly awaited her.

Her sister stood in the doublewide doorway, her eyes as round as dinner plates as she gazed into the brilliantly lit room. Meredith halted next to Annabel, amazed by the ostentatious and riotous splendor of the Countess of Framingham's ballroom.

The huge space was lit with several gigantic crystal chandeliers and a dozen gold candelabras placed on large alabaster side tables. The walls were covered in panels of burgundy velvet surrounded with white satin damask, the whole then bordered with burnished gold moldings. The draperies were scarlet silk lined with snowy white taffeta, trimmed with numerous gold fringes and tassels. An elaborate frieze scrolled across the ceiling, displaying a veritable jungle of painted foliage.

And on either side of the doors were two gigantic stone lions, carved so as to appear ready to spring on the unsuspecting guests.

To complete the fantastical effect, large pier glasses hung on those parts of the walls not covered in velvet, reflecting the glittering throng in an endless profusion of light and color.

It was vulgar and absurd, but the artist in her could not help responding to the stimulating nature of such an overwhelming spectacle.

Annabel began to laugh. Meredith smiled, her troubled heart soothed by the girl's amused delight.

“Oh, my goodness!” Annabel exclaimed as she reached over and grabbed Meredith's hand. “This is going to be fun!”

Silverton brooded. He leaned against a massive gilt column in the corner of Lady Framingham's ballroom and brooded. He never brooded. He never crossed his arms over his chest and scowled moodily at his friends when they tried to talk to him.

But when Nigel Dash had sauntered up to say hello, Silverton had practically bitten his head off. His old friend had beaten a hasty retreat, but not before uttering a smothered laugh.

Silverton knew he was acting like a madman, but as far as he was concerned she had driven him to it.

The source of his uncharacteristic behavior was currently gliding across the dance floor with her latest partner. Meredith's delicate gown of silky gauze whispered over her body, clinging lovingly in all the right places. Her luscious white bosom rose above her low-cut bodice, displaying what he considered an unreasonable amount of smooth, tempting flesh.

She looked like a princess, although in this particular version of the fairy tale her highness was not a demure innocent but a voluptuous and bewitching woman.

He did not, however, feel like the prince to Meredith's fairytale princess. Silverton knew he was really the big, bad wolf, and he wanted nothing more than to snatch up his prey, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off to some secluded corner of the garden where he could devour her in peace.

He snorted at the absurdity of the image, and at this ridiculous struggle to control his baser instincts. But that was how she made him feel—base and primitive. He had never felt primitive before in his life, not even at Eton when he had been forced to pummel the occasional tormenting older classmate into submission.

Since that moment when Meredith had drifted on a silver cloud into his uncle's library, he had felt overcome with a ravenous hunger. He had already danced with her twice, but if he didn't get his hands back on her soon, he would go insane with jealousy and frustration.

Silverton frowned when he thought about her response to him during those dances. When he claimed her hand, she had risen from her chair with friendly anticipation, smiling rather shyly as he led her onto the floor.

But once there, she had acted like a skittish colt whenever his body brushed hers as they moved through the intricate figures of the dance. Her hands had trembled through her fine kid gloves, and he had seen a hectic flush come and go across her clear skin. When the dances were over, she had seemed as eager to return to her chair as she had been to leave it.

Now all he could do was watch as one man after another eagerly led her onto the dance floor.

Of course, he had no business playing the jealous fool. He should be glad for Meredith's success tonight. Her beauty and intelligence would surely attract at least one man who might come up to scratch as a husband. Since he couldn't marry her, why should he begrudge her the opportunity to find an eligible suitor?

But as far as Silverton was concerned, there wasn't one man in the room worthy to kneel at her feet.

He also forced himself to acknowledge that he was doing his best to ignore a nagging sense of guilt. He should be talking to Annabel, not mooning over her sister like a love-struck calf. The young girl had already danced a quadrille with him, and he knew he should solicit another dance before the ball was over.

But Silverton didn't care about Annabel, or any other woman in the room for that matter. He cared only about Meredith.

He sighed with relief as the violins scraped out their final notes and the cotillion finally came to an end. Meredith curtsied to her partner, the Earl of Trask, who led her from the floor to rejoin Annabel and Robert.

When the earl's hand moved up to rest lightly on Meredith's back, Silverton felt a sudden urge to throttle him. He pushed away from the column and stalked across the room to join the others.

“Ah, Silverton, here you are.” Trask welcomed him with a friendly smile. “I was wondering where you were hiding yourself.”

“I'm sure you weren't wondering at all, since you were draping yourself all over the prettiest woman in the room,” Silverton retorted.

Meredith's eyes opened wide. Trask's left brow shot up as the smile froze on his face.

As Silverton glared at his oldest friend, he reflected briefly on the fact that Trask was one of the few completely reliable people in his life. But at this particular moment he had strong doubts that he could depend on the earl's reliability. He saw the way Trask looked at Meredith. He knew what it meant, and it made him want to haul the man outside and draw his cork.

Silverton bitterly acknowledged that it didn't get much more primitive than that.

The two men eyed each other for a moment longer before Trask grinned and moved slightly away from Meredith.

“Good God, man,” exclaimed the earl, “what the devil is wrong with you? You look like you want to pound someone into the dance floor. Is your mother trying to force you to make the usual round of hen-witted debs again?”

Trask's dark eyes gleamed with mischief. Meredith glanced uneasily between the two men, a slight blush staining her ivory cheeks.

Silverton ground his teeth together to hold back the scathing retort his friend so richly deserved. “Trask, I haven't a clue what you are talking about.”

The earl rolled his eyes but held his tongue, clearly deciding it was time to sound the retreat.

Before the situation could deteriorate any further, the orchestra struck up the opening chords of the first waltz of the night. Trask swept a graceful but careless bow over Meredith's hand.

“If you will excuse me, Miss Burnley, I am promised to Lady Randolph for the waltz.” He nodded at Silverton and strolled away to find the voluptuous countess who all the gossips claimed was Trask's latest mistress.

Meredith peeked at Silverton, her cheeks still flushed with a charming shade of pink. When he met her eyes, she bit her lower lip and turned quickly to speak to Robert.

“Mr. Stanton, since we must sit out the waltz, I hoped to prevail upon you to escort me to the punch bowl.”

Robert immediately offered his arm. “I should be delighted, Miss Burnley.”

Meredith smiled at Annabel and made a point, Silverton thought, of avoiding his gaze. It annoyed him that she appeared so eager to leave him alone with her sister.

He glanced at Annabel. She stood quietly by his side, tapping her little shoe as she stared wistfully at the dancers gliding through the waltz. She caught his eye and laughed.

“Yes, I know I shouldn't be so envious, but it does look like such fun, doesn't it?”

“Yes, most vexing, isn't it,” he agreed amiably. “But as soon as the patronesses of Almack's give you permission, you may waltz to your heart's content. And when they do, your sister will be able to join you without any reservation.”

Annabel nodded, looking up at him with a perfect, innocent trust. “I am sure you are right, my lord, as you always are.”

Silverton felt another stab of guilt lance through his chest. Annabel really was a beautiful, sweet girl, and he hoped like hell she wasn't falling in love with him.

He turned his head and scanned the room, searching for her sister. Silverton knew he should be concentrating on Annabel, but Meredith was a lodestone that drew all his attention. He easily picked out her tall, graceful body from the colorful swarm that surrounded her.

Silverton noticed that several other men seemed to be aware of Meredith, too, following her progress down the room with open interest. His jaw tightened in response, and a faint red mist appeared around the edges of his vision.

“Meredith looks to be enjoying herself, doesn't she?”

Silverton jerked his head back to Annabel, who studied him with a merry twinkle in her eye. He smiled ruefully back.

“Yes, she certainly does.”

“I'm so glad. It worries me that Meredith is sacrificing so much on my account. She misses our home in the country, even though she never says a word to me about it.”

“I'm sure that you both do. But, in any event, it's not possible for you to be at Swallow Hill for some time to come. You are safer here, and that is what is most important to your sister.”

“Yes, I know.” Annabel looked solemn, following her sister and Robert with her eyes as they made their way to the refreshment table.

They both lapsed into silence. Silverton couldn't think of a single topic of conversation, so he decided to ask her a question that had been bothering him for several days.

“Miss Annabel, I hesitate to bring up an unpleasant topic, but have you heard at all from or had any dealings with your uncle or cousin? I hope you would tell me immediately if you did.”

She shook her head vigorously. “We have heard nothing from Uncle Isaac, thank God. I believe that Jacob will be calling sometime next week, but you already know that. I am sure Meredith would send for you immediately if she had any fears.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Actually, Silverton had several questions about Isaac Burnley's bizarre and vicious behavior. He had been reluctant to broach the subject, particularly when the sisters were readying for their debut. But as time passed, he felt a growing urgency to have a thorough conversation with Meredith about her family. Perhaps he might do so when her cousin Jacob came to town. Now that he thought about it, he just might insist on being present for that particular interview as well.

He was racking his brains to think of a way to question Annabel about Meredith's relationship with Jacob when the music came to an end. Glancing over at the refreshment table, he noticed that Robert and Meredith were now talking to Sophia. Trask, who had apparently abandoned Lady Randolph, strolled up to join them.

Silverton was gripped by a sudden desire for watered-down, pink punch.

“Miss Annabel, would you like to join your sister for a cup of punch?”

Annabel dimpled at him. “That would be delightful, my lord.”

They made their way slowly around the edges of the packed ballroom, joining the others just in time to interrupt an argument between Sophia and Trask.

Silverton couldn't help grinning at his young cousin as she gently poked her slender index finger into the earl's massive shoulder. Having known Trask since childhood, Sophia apparently felt no discomfort in lecturing him, even though he was a good nine years her senior.

“Really, my lord. Your aunts are longing to see you. It has been months since you have been to Bath, and they are all too aware of every passing week that you fail to do your duty by them.”

“Oh, hang it, Sophie,” grumbled Trask. “Why can't you mind your own business?”

“I should be happy to mind my own business if you would mind yours,” she replied in a pretty voice that did little to disguise her iron will.

Trask glared at her, but Sophia ignored him, smiling in the vague way she did when she wasn't wearing her spectacles. Robert grimaced sympathetically at the earl when his sister turned away to speak to Meredith.

“Beastly girl, ain't she?” he said in the most affable tone imaginable. “Best to do what she says or you'll never hear the end of it.”

“You're her older brother, Stanton,” growled Trask. “Why don't you keep her nose out of other people's business?”

“I've tried, Lord knows I've tried.” Robert casually shrugged his shoulders. “But she doesn't listen to anyone, including Mama.”

“Well, someone should have the schooling of her,” Trask exclaimed testily.

“Feel free to try, my dear fellow. Just don't get your hopes up.”

“Hallo, Trask, haven't seen you in an age.” Nigel Dash strolled up and clapped the earl on the back. “What's the matter, old fellow? You look like you've swallowed a wasp.”

Silverton and Robert burst into laughter.

“Maybe I have,” muttered Trask.

Nigel looked befuddled for a moment, then shrugged and turned to address the ladies.

“Miss Sophia, you are looking in prime twig tonight. And I must say, Miss Burnley, Miss Annabel, you are both looking first rate, too. And Miss Annabel, I saw you dance the quadrille. You were the most graceful lady on the floor. Don't know how you two managed to pull all this off in so short a time.”

Meredith smiled at Nigel as she gently waved her silver and lace fan. “You are kind, Mr. Dash, but the credit belongs to Lady Stanton. I know the general is the military strategist in the family, but her ladyship's campaign skills and organization are worthy of Wellington himself. We could not have come so far in so short a time without her able guidance.”

Meredith glanced mischievously at Silverton from under her thick black lashes. That simple look was all it took for the blood to heat up in his veins.

“And,” she continued, amusement lighting up her smoky gray eyes, “when her ladyship issues a command, we are all compelled to obey. Is that not correct, Lord Silverton?”

Silverton struggled to collect his wits, which had seemed to evaporate under the impact of her bewitching gaze.

As the violins began to play the opening bars of the next waltz, he forced himself to look away before he made a complete fool of himself. Fortunately, Sophia and Trask were arguing again, providing the distraction he needed to pull himself together.

“My lord, going to visit them in Bath every six months is not enough!” Sophia put her hands on her hips as she peered at the earl.

“Oh, Sophie, please stubble it,” Trask retorted. “Maybe getting you out onto the dance floor will silence you.”

“I doubt it,” mused Robert as Annabel giggled beside him.

Ignoring Robert and grabbing Sophia's hand, the earl dragged her out onto the dance floor.