Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (13 page)

“
But I am in your place, or,
rather, one like it. Being widowed, I find people constantly
throwing their daughters my way in the hopes she shall be the next
marchioness of Hartforde.”

“
I see,” she said stiffly. “What a
trial it must be for you.” She was not so dense that she could not
appreciate the relevance of his comment to herself. She gave him
her most dazzling smile when the dance ended, and as he led her off
the floor, she turned to him and said softly so no one but he would
hear, “Rest assured, sir, I shall resist being thrown.”

Someone quickly claimed the next dance and Isobel
soon lost sight of Lord Hartforde. She was absolutely mortified
that such a great man thought she was the sort of woman concerned
only with snatching a marquess. She sighed to herself as she
recalled she had not exactly been a brilliant conversationalist. He
was justified if he thought her dull.

“
I have been waiting an eternity
for this dance,” her new partner said earnestly, bowing as he
offered her his hand. “James Stanton Fredericks, Lord Strathemoore,
at your service,” he reintroduced himself to her. “Your beauty has
dazzled me so, I have done nothing but pine until now.” His blue
eyes twinkled as he swept her onto the floor.

“
My lord, you’ll turn my head with
talk like that!”

“
Then I shall continue. You may
depend on it!”

“
Rascal!” She caught a glimpse of
Lord Hartforde talking to Mrs. Vincent, who was wearing a
dangerously low-cut gown. If he thought for even a minute she was
the least bit interested in being the next marchioness of
Hartforde, he was seriously mistaken, she decided, when she saw
Mrs. Vincent place her hand on his arm. “I see your ankle has fully
recovered, my lord,” she said, flashing a smile at
Strathemoore.

“
You were cruel to leave me at
Marblestone as you did, Miss St. James. I was so desperate for an
introduction, I own, I was willing to risk my life to get
it!”

“
Come, now, my lord, would you
have me believe you would be so reckless?”

“
Any man who would do such a thing
would have to be desperately in love, do you not agree, Miss St.
James?”

“
He would be a fool at best, sir.
But an endearing one,” she added, when he looked
crestfallen.

Lord Strathemoore brightened, then continued a
stream of easy conversation until the dance ended and she was
snatched up by her next partner. He watched her thoughtfully as she
danced, admiring the bright upswept curls, and he wondered what she
would look like with her hair loosened. He thought to himself that
she was a damned fine woman. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she
was an heiress.

II

At last Isobel could stand it no longer. Her feet
were tired and sore from being stepped on, and she could feel her
carefully coiffed hair coming loose. She wanted nothing more than
to rest a moment where she would be undisturbed by a gaggle of men
who cared more for her prospects than they did for her. As soon as
the next dance started, she excused herself and sought refuge in
the hallway.

She went about halfway up the stairs before sitting
down and resting her chin in her hands to listen to the strains of
music floating up from the ballroom. It felt good to sit down. Her
thoughts drifted again to Lord Hartforde and she sighed when she
thought of his obvious disdain for her. “You absolutely must not
make a fool of yourself over him!” she admonished herself. Besides,
what reason had she to think such a man would have even the
slightest interest in her? His comment to her about the number of
women who wished to be the next marchioness of Hartforde was a
point well taken. He had every right to warn her he was not
interested. Men like Lord Hartforde did not concern themselves with
anybody’s bastard daughter, and she would do well to remember it.
She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of voices from
down the hall and she leaned into the shadows of the rails to avoid
being seen. A dark-haired woman was walking slowly along the
hallway doing nothing to fend off the hands of a tall gentleman
whose face Isobel could not see on account of his being absorbed in
a contemplation of the front of the woman’s dress. She recognized
the brunette as Mrs. Vincent, and as soon as the light glinted off
the man’s golden hair she recognized Lord Hartforde.

“
Why not, my lord?” Mrs. Vincent
was saying in a cajoling tone.

“
Perhaps you have convinced me,
after all.” Lord Hartforde raised his head from his study of Mrs.
Vincent’s bosom and looked at the library door, a short way down
the hall.

Why, he’s nothing but a common
womanizer!
she thought as she watched him
pull Mrs. Vincent to him.

“
Alexander…my lord.” She stopped
walking and sank down on a small bench. He sat next to her and
began kissing her. Isobel was unable to look away, amazed to see
Mrs. Vincent actually seemed to be enjoying it. “Alexander…” she
moaned as her arms went around his shoulders.

He lifted his head. “Yes, Angelica?”

“
Not here, my lord,” she said
breathlessly, pushing away his hand and adjusting the front of her
gown before standing up. “Come with me.” Her face was flushed with
some emotion Isobel could not identify.

He followed her down the hall and, reaching in front
of her, put a hand to the door. He grasped her shoulder and kissed
her full on the lips. He broke their embrace with a look of
reluctance, while one hand fumbled behind him to open the door. He
whispered her name as he pushed her through. The door dosed firmly
after them.

Isobel blinked at the spot where they had stood.

“
Miss St. James!” Lord
Strathemoore took a few steps up the stairs toward where Isobel
still sat. His blue eyes were concerned. “Are you ill?”

“
I’m quite all right. I only
needed a respite from the crowd.” She wondered what it would feel
like if Lord Hartforde were to kiss her like that.

“
I had hoped to persuade you to
dance with me again,” he said, encouraged by the peculiar look she
was giving him.

“
Oh, come, now, surely you don’t
expect me to believe you have been frantically searching for me all
in the hopes of another dance?” She laughed and took the hand he
offered her.

“
Well, perhaps not frantically.”
He smiled. “But will you dance with me again?”

“
Perhaps we might just have a
glass of punch. I find I’m somewhat in need of refreshment. It’s
rather warm, don’t you think?” She took his arm and smiled up at
him again.

The viscount thoroughly enjoyed the envious looks
sent his way as he escorted Isobel to the table where punch was
being served by liveried footmen. Lord Chessingham’s daughter had
caused quite a stir, and any man with pretensions to fashion was
anxious to make her acquaintance. He had been watching her
carefully during the evening and his vigilance had been rewarded by
the discovery that she was most receptive to the men who were more
circumspect in their attentions. When he went to claim his first
dance, he had carefully tailored his behavior to that discovery.
His jesting imitation of his rivals he now judged to have been a
success. He handed Isobel a glass of punch before taking a glass
for himself.

Isobel was sitting down when she saw Lord Hartforde
coming toward her. “No, Lord Strathemoore,” she was saying, “it
would be positively wicked to dance with you yet again. Besides, I
promised this one to someone else.” James was laughing as she put a
finger to her lips and wrinkled her brow. “If only I could remember
who it was!” He frowned when he saw the light that came into her
eyes when she caught sight of Hartforde.

“
I believe ‘twas I.” He bowed and
extended his hand to Isobel.

“
Why, Lord Hartforde, I thought
you had gone!” She took his hand and suppressed a tremble as he
placed his hand around her waist and swept her out among the
dancers.

“
How could I leave when you had
promised this dance to me?”

She thought she heard a faintly mocking tone in his
voice. “My, your gallantry quite overcomes me,” she said dryly.
Why, she wondered, did his hand over hers have to be so warm? His
lips curved into a smile at her words and Isobel felt herself
blushing.

“
I do seem to have that effect on
you,” he remarked, taking in her flush and, mistaking its cause,
increasing the pressure of his hand against her back when the
opportunity arose. He had thought her beautiful before, but tonight
she was disturbingly so.

“
I believe you overestimate your
appeal, Lord Hartforde,” she said curtly. “Not every woman in this
room is dying to find herself in your arms.”

In spite of his prior experience with her candor, he
was taken aback. “Just most of them,” he teased.

“
You’re nothing but an
arrogant…arrogant…” She stuttered with indignation, unable to think
of a suitable word to put an end to his mocking.

“
Rake?” he supplied. “It makes
life so much more pleasant.” His eyebrows arched at her outraged
expression.

“
It is unbecoming of a gentleman,
especially one such as yourself, my lord, to think himself the
object of every woman’s desire,” she sniffed primly.

“
But am I the object of yours?” He
leaned closer and he suddenly found himself intrigued by the soft
pout of her tips and the flush coloring her cheeks. For a brief
moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like to kiss those
curving tips, and there was a disturbing sensation in his
belly.

“
What a loathsome thing to say!”
She would have pulled away from him if he had not held tightly onto
her hand. “I shall cause a scene if you do not let go of me, sir,”
she said through clenched teeth.

“
My dear Miss St. James, I
apologize if I have offended you.” He knew full well it was an
outrageous thing to say to any young woman, and he was at a loss to
explain just why it was that he found himself deliberately
provoking her.

“
You most certainly have offended
me!”

“
Forgive me, I was not aware you
were unused to gallantry.” Her eyes looked almost purple, they were
so dark. He shook himself, annoyed that he had even noticed such a
thing.

“
Sir”—Isobel was furious now—“if
you had told me I am the loveliest creature on the face of this
earth, that would be gallantry. Asking me if you are the object of
my desire is rudeness in the extreme! And I shall not tell you even
if you were. Which you aren’t!” she added.

“
I am put firmly in my place.” He
inclined his head and attempted to look regretful. He let a few
moments pass and then smiled wickedly. “Ah, Miss St. James.” He
sighed. “You are the loveliest creature on the face of this
earth.”

“
And you, sir, are certainly the
rudest!” The dance ended and she walked away from him, his laughter
ringing in her ears. She looked quickly around and when she saw
Julia talking to Lord Burke, she made her way to them. Lord Burke
made an elegant bow when she approached and Julia took her hand and
squeezed it.

“
Why, Isobel! Lord Burke and I
were just talking about you!”

“
Miss St. James”—Lord Burke
nodded—“I was just praising your beauty to Lady Julia.”

“
You flatter me,” she said. She
glanced around the room and when she saw Lord Hartforde staring at
her she lifted her eyebrows at him in an expression of disdain. She
colored when she saw him laughing at her and she steadfastly
refused to look his way again.

III

Isobel awoke the next morning and quickly shut her
eyes against the faint light penetrating the curtains. She had no
immediate inclination to leave her warm bed, so she pulled the
covers up to her chin and drifted back to a semi-sleep, remembering
every dreamy detail of the previous night: the way men had crowded
around her, anxious to dance with her, how they had begged first
for the privilege of walking with her to the punch bowl, and then
for the honor of handing her a glass. She could see herself
dancing. The refrains echoed in her mind as she was gavotted and
pavaned and minueted nigh on to exhaustion. It was no wonder she
had eventually needed a rest! The scene she had witnessed while
sitting on the stairs…Lord Hartforde kissing…in her dreaming mind
it wasn’t Angelica he held so closely. The woman in his arms was
blond and she was having trouble getting her breath. There was an
aching, fluttering feeling that burst into a longing for…she didn’t
know what.

Her eyes opened and she sat up, angrily ringing for
Bridget. Even the thought of letting that man kiss her was
humiliating! Why, he was nothing but an arrogant rake! His behavior
toward her the past evening had bordered on the rude, and if he
hoped she was going to make a fool of herself over a common rake,
he had best think again! Further expostulating over Lord Hartforde
was interrupted by Bridget’s coming in and opening the
curtains.

When she came downstairs at last, her father was
waiting for her. He reached to fill her cup with coffee when she
sat down and then leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with
himself.

“
What is it, Father?” she asked,
wondering at his being in such a happy mood.

“
Were I to judge only by our
drawing room, my dear, you were quite a success last
night.”