Scandalous Brides: In Scandal in Venice\The Spanish Bride (33 page)

“Certainly not! The old hedgehog. He would never suit our purposes.”

“Oh? And what are ‘our’ purposes?”

“To make certain parties sick with jealousy, of course.”

The pavane ended, and sets began to form for a country-dance. Nicholas held out his arm to his wife.

“Come, my love,” he said. “Dance with me, and let Carmen rest from all your scheming.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation, but allowed him to lead her away.

Carmen waved them off, then looked about for acquaintances she should greet.

Her searching gaze fell on Peter, who had just entered the ballroom and stood conversing with a small group.

And Lady Deidra on his arm. With rather too much bosom showing in her white satin gown for such a young woman. Surely her mother, who stood nearby like a great battleship in gray silk, should have prevented her from so exposing herself.

Peter looked up then and caught Carmen staring at him. One corner at his lips quirked up, as if to smile at her.

Or as if to mock her sour thoughts.

She tilted up her chin and looked away. But it was almost as if she could still feel his gaze on her, warm against her skin.

She drew her fur-edged satin shawl closer about her shoulders.

“Carmen?” a quiet, incredulous voice said from behind her. “Carmen Montero?”

She looked over her shoulder to see a tall, handsome man with red, curling hair and wide green eyes. His face was a ghostly white as he looked at her.

She was becoming so familiar with that expression on people’s faces as they looked at her. But this was a particularly welcome face.

“Robert Means!” she cried in delight. “How utterly wonderful to see you. Nicholas told me that you were in England, but that you seldom came to Town.” She held out her hand to him.

He took it between both of his, holding it very tightly. “I don’t, but I am very glad to be here now! Oh, Carmen, I never expected to see you again this side of the hereafter.”

“Nor I you. Not after the battle we saw! But come, walk with me. Tell me what you have been doing all these years.”

Robert offered her his arm. “Only if
you
will tell me all of what you have been doing. I am sure it must be more exciting than my tales of the wilds of Cornwall.”

“I am certain not! Are you still a wicked cardplayer?”

“When I get the chance of it. There is little society where I live.”

“But more than in Spain, I am certain!” Carmen smiled at him.

“Perhaps a tad more variety than in Spain, true!” he answered with a laugh. “But I had
your
society in Spain. That quite made up for any discomforts. I have thought of you so often over the years.”

Carmen was not at all certain she was happy with the direction of their conversation.

She liked Robert Means; she always had. But she had always had the uncomfortable sense that his feelings for her went beyond friendship.

She had quite forgotten that, until now, with his warm gaze and soft smile on her.

She laughed lightly and tapped his arm with her fan. “I have thought of you, as well. But you cannot deny that there must be some pretty girl for you in Cornwall! You have always been far too nice to remain a bachelor.”

He shook his head. “There was some talk in my family of a match with my cousin.” He nodded toward a young brunette in pink silk across the room. “But we did not suit. I am afraid, Carmen, that I gave my heart away years ago, and there has been no one to compare since.”

Carmen swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced another light laugh. “Oh, Robert! We should not be so serious at such a merry party.”

He laughed ruefully. “How very right you are! Shall we dance instead?”

“Oh, yes. Let’s.”

Peter watched with narrowed eyes the progress of Carmen and Robert Means around the room.

Robert Means, of all people! Robert, the man who ...

Robert had always proclaimed his love for Carmen, to Carmen herself, to any of the regiment who would listen. Indeed, Peter had once thought Robert as devastated by Carmen’s betrayal as Peter himself was. He had thought that to be the reason Robert had buried himself in Cornwall.

Now, as he watched Robert laugh with Carmen, saw the light of avarice and lust in those green eyes, he knew that Robert’s feelings did not come from love, but from a very deep hatred. For Carmen, perhaps, yet most assuredly for Peter. He could not say from whence it sprang. Was it jealousy?

Whatever it had been, and was, Peter knew one thing for very certain. He could not bear to leave Carmen in Robert’s presence for an instant longer.

Carmen laughed at something Robert said to her, her dark head tilted back to reveal her swan-like throat. Peter remembered how he had loved to slide his arms around her waist and bend his head to nuzzle at that creamy skin. She had always smelled of jasmine, and sunshine ...

His hand tightened on the champagne glass in his hand. Those days were long past, and if she wished to flirt with that bedamned Robert Means, or anyone else, then why should he even care.

Yet he did. He cared very much.

If only he could speak with her alone again, and discover what had truly happened in Spain and during her life after. Then perhaps he could cease thinking of her day and night. Cease pondering what she might be doing when he was meant to be going over estate accounts, or taking Lady Deidra driving in the park.

Lady Deidra.

She tugged lightly on his sleeve then, drawing his gaze away from Carmen and her attentive escort.

“Do you not agree, Lord Clifton?” she said, her voice soft and sweet. Her blue eyes gazed up at him steadily, a bit vacantly.

Such English eyes, pale and modest, framed in yellow lashes. They did not flash and fire like darker eyes, speaking of warm nights and fragrant gardens.

Peter pushed away such thoughts, and looked around at the small group they were conversing with. Political men from his club, and their proper wives. They all watched him expectantly.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Quite.”

Apparently that was the correct answer, for Deidra smiled at him and nodded. The hum of conversation resumed around him, and he looked out at the ballroom again.

Carmen and Robert were still walking about the periphery of the party, their faces smiling as they spoke quietly together. As he watched, they turned their steps toward the dancing.

He felt his resolve to remove her from Robert’s somehow-poisonous presence strengthen.

“Would you care for some punch, Lady Deidra?” he said, interrupting whatever old Lord Pinchon was saying.

She blinked up at him. “Why—yes. Some punch would be lovely. Is everything quite all right, Lord Clifton?”

“Yes, certainly. Now, if you will excuse me ...”

As he moved away, Lady Deidra watched him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the conversation, nodding and asking Lord Pinchon a question.

She was so very poised, the perfect, polished political hostess.

Now, where the devil was Carmen?

Then he saw her, dancing now with Robert. Her tall, slim figure swirled through the figures, gracefully dipping and swaying as Robert twirled her about. Her slippers seemed to fly, barely touching the parquet floor. She laughed up at her partner, her face alight.

The sophisticated countess had vanished, and here was his Carmen again. The brave, laughing girl who had loved to dance around campfires, who he had kissed under Spanish stars and held in his arms.

Made love to.

The music ended, quite startling Peter, who had not realized he had spent so many minutes staring. Carmen was leaving the dance floor on Robert’s arm.

Peter thrust his empty glass at a passing footman, and strode across the floor. He did not even see the many pairs of eyes that watched him with great interest, including those of Lady Deidra and her mother.

He halted at where Carmen stood, Robert Means’s arm linked in hers.

“Condesa,” he said quietly. “Dance with me.”

Carmen gaped up at Peter. The music was beginning again, couples moving past them, but all she could see was him.

All she heard were his words, not the whispers and giggles of the other guests.

She closed her eyes tightly, and those words echoed in her mind.
Dance with me
...

“Dance with me, Carmen!”

She laughed up at her major. “You are moon-mad, Major Everdean! How can we dance here? Outdoors ... with no music? And I am not wearing my ball gown!”

She pirouetted about in her trousers and boots.

“Can you not hear it?” His face, golden with the touch of sunlight, was merry as he looked down at her. The lines about his eyes deep with a smile.

“Hear what?”

“The music, of course. I believe it is a waltz.”

Carmen heard only the rush of the river they were strolling beside, the sounds of voices and laughter from the nearby encampment. But she cocked her head to one side, pretending to hear the lilting notes. “I do believe you are correct, querido! A waltz, indeed.”

He held out his hand. “So
—
will you dance with me, Carmen?”

“I would be honored, Peter.” She dipped into an elaborate court curtsy, as if she wore the grandest satin ball gown and diamonds.

Then Peter swung her in a wide arc, his hand warm at her waist. They were much closer than would ever be proper in a fine ballroom; her very traditional mother would have fainted, had she been alive to see! Carmen cared not a whit. Peter whirled her around, around, until the sky tilted above them, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and laughed until she cried ...

Carmen blinked quickly, back suddenly from her sunny riverback. Peter stood before her, not the dashing English officer who had waltzed with her beneath the branches of trees, but unsmiling and stern. His red coat was gone, replaced with elegant but austere dark green superfine.

This man would not dance with her on a grassy floor until she was dizzy with love and laughter and blossoming love and they collapsed, breathless, onto the ground.

She looked at him now, and saw all that she lost since that magical day. She burst into tears, breaking away from Robert and fleeing the ballroom. The crowd parted before her in utter silence, entranced by the possibility of a scene in their midst.

Peter moved not at all, staring directly before him, until he turned on his heel and left the room in her wake. He hurried past the gawking crowd, the footmen at the front doors, onto the pavement outside the Carstairs’s house. But Carmen had vanished.

The street was quiet, except for rows of carriages waiting for the ball to cease and their owners to return.

Then he heard the faint click of shoe heels on pavement. He turned and saw a fur-trimmed burgundy satin train disappearing around a corner.

He dashed off down the street, calling after her. “Carmen! Carmen, please wait.”

When he came around the corner after her, he found that she had halted at his cry, but had not turned back. She stood there on the pavement, one hand on the wrought-iron railings of a fence. Her shoulders shook a bit, as if she were breathing too deeply, but otherwise she was completely still.

Peter had the sudden, powerful urge to kiss the pale, vulnerable nape of her neck, exposed by her new cropped coiffure.

“Carmen,” he said. “Why did you run away?”

“Why did you follow me?” she answered.

“Well, I ...” Peter paused. Why
had
he run after her so impulsively? “I wanted to apologize.”

“For asking me to dance?”

“It seemed to embarrass you. Perhaps you simply could not bring yourself to dance with the likes of me.”

She turned around. Her eyes seemed too bright, but she was composed. “It would only do my reputation good and no ill to be seen dancing with the famous Ice Earl, aside from those silly gossipy articles. And, if you are as fine a dancer as you once were, I am sure it would have been most enjoyable.”

“Then, why did you leave?” Peter was baffled.

“I was—startled.”

“Startled?”

“Yes. That you would ask me to dance, a woman you dislike so. I suppose I questioned your motives.”

“My motives were only to dance with you!” And to separate her from Robert Means. “To speak with you.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed. I have many questions I would like to ask you.”

“I am here now. Ask me, Peter.”

Peter looked about. The street they were standing on, wide and well lit, faced a small square where there were several benches. “We cannot talk standing here.”

“I do not wish to return to the ball. No doubt it is buzzing with speculation.”

“Then, will you sit with me over in that square? Just for a moment. When you are feeling more the thing, we can return to the ball. Or I can see you home.”

Carmen glanced uncertainly at the square. “Are you sure it will be safe?”

“Carmen, you will be much safer sitting there with me than wandering the streets of London alone.”

She nodded. “Of course. Yes, I will sit with you for a moment.”

“Thank you.” Peter took her arm to lead her across the street. There was a small patch of skin below her sleeve and above her glove that was bare, and that was where his hand fell. It was almost a shock to feel his palm against her warm flesh. It was as soft as velvet, just as he remembered that once all her body had been.

Once her hair had been long and had cloaked her sun-golden, soft nakedness like a shining black curtain, as she leaned forward to kiss him ...

His hand jerked on her arm.

She turned her head to look at him. “Peter?”

He drew his coat closer about him, hoping it was too dark for her to see the new fullness at the front of his close-fitting trousers. “Shall we sit here?”

“Yes, certainly.”

Carmen looked up at Peter as she settled herself on the bench, puzzled. He seemed so—discomposed suddenly. Almost as much as she was. “What did you wish to talk about?”

His eyes were wide as he looked down at her, almost as if he were rather startled to find her there. “What?”