The Duke's Night of Sin (11 page)

Well, he’d soon find out where she was. Sebastian had just started across the ballroom toward them when he saw the goddess shake her head before bending and whispering something into Gemma’s ear. Gemma lowered her head momentarily, then raised it again and lifted her hem an inch from the floor as she glided toward him.

“Lord Sebastian—I beg your pardon, your ascension is still so new. Allow me to begin again.
Your Grace,
I was not expecting you in Bath.” Gemma’s eyes sparkled.

“There is no need to beg pardon. In truth, Lord Sebastian is preferable—as long as I remain in Bath.” He cast a serious gaze. “I do not expect you to understand, but I have learned that people are far more guarded when in the presence of a duke, and I would like our visit to be as comfortable for everyone as possible.”

She nodded, though he could see she was dubious about his explanation. “Lord Sebastian, I haven’t seen you since—” The light suddenly drained from her smiling face.

Since Quinn’s funeral.

“My visit was somewhat unexpected, that is true, but your letter to my grandmother suggested great changes at school,” he told her as calmly as he might given the fact that, if her letters were truthful, he would ensure this Miss Bonnet was promptly set to the street. “When I called for you at the school, I was informed by Mrs. Huddleston, herself, that you were here—with Miss Bonnet.”

“Oh, yes, she is here. I have learned ever so much from her lecture tours especially.”

“I have heard of these lecture tours. And that though tonight you are guests of Lord and Lady Philamont, the ball is one of Miss Bonnet’s so-called lecture tours.”

“Yes, but tonight is a special experience, for
Lady Penelope is nearly out.” Gemma smiled. “And because I am next eldest. Miss Bonnet is teaching us
everything.”

“Everything?” Sebastian tried to clarify.

“Well, not history or French, or anything so trivial. She is teaching us what is important in life—how to be a lady.”

“And how does one go about being a lady?”

“By learning …” She paused, searching for the right words. “By having others do everything for you.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. His grandmother was right in her urgent request that he retrieve Gemma from Mrs. Huddleston’s School of Virtues. Only he wasn’t going to inform her of this while standing in a public place. It was clear she greatly admired this Miss Bonnet.

“Gemma, I should like to make Miss Bonnet’s acquaintance. Perhaps I shall visit the school tomorrow morning,” he said, affixing a warm smile to his lips.

“She would like to meet you as well, Lord Sebastian—only she cannot.” Her earlier buoyant expression sank.

“Is that so? How do you know?”

“Because when I informed her that you were here, and I expressed my wish that she know you,
she told me that she had no acquaintances in Bath who might introduce you to her—except me, and well, I am not permitted.”

Sebastian straightened and scanned the room for a teaching mistress. “Where is she, Gemma? Perhaps I have an acquaintance who can facilitate a proper introduction.”

Gemma looked dubious. “Do you?”

Sebastian was surprised by her quick question. He glanced about the ballroom, withholding his negative reply until the Master of Ceremonies finished announcing the next set. “Gemma, I—” He held his next words. Because, though he did not see a soul he recognized, there was one person whom he might coax into making an introduction to appease a new duke in want of a dance partner—the Master of Ceremonies. “Actually, I believe there is a gentleman who may be able to assist us. Now, where may I find Miss Bonnet?”

Gemma was beaming with excitement. She placed her hand on his arm and turned him until he was facing the point where he first saw her. “There, in the peacock changeable silk gown. She is beautiful, is she not?”

Dear God.
There was the beguiling woman he’d noticed when he first entered the ballroom.
She is the reprehensible Miss Bonnet?

Her shining hair was dark as jet, her skin as smooth and pale as porcelain. She was beautiful beyond compare, that much was obvious to everyone in the ballroom judging by the numerous glances cast her way. But as he drew closer, what most drew his notice, and nearly robbed him of breath, was her remarkable resemblance to Lady Priscilla Sinclair.

Yes, he had to meet this woman, but he had to arrange the introduction very carefully. “Do allow me a moment longer, Gemma. I must fetch my acquaintance.” She nodded and started back toward Miss Bonnet. “Gemma—”

She came back to him. “Yes, Lord Sebastian?”

“Please do not mention the introduction just yet.”

He shot her a sheepish grin. “I should like to request that she dance with me, and I do not want to lend her any time to fashion an elegant refusal.”

“Very well.” Gemma laughed softly, then turned and made her careful, studied promenade back to Miss Bonnet.

S
iusan’s gaze threaded through the crowd. Drat it all, the only gentleman with any potential, Miss Gentree’s new guardian, had disappeared into the mingling masses. Odd that she hadn’t known the girl was a ward, but now that she considered it, she realized that she had never asked her or any of the girls, about their families. In fact, aside from Lady Penelope, who had secured from her titled parents admission to the ball this night, Siusan realized she knew nothing about any of her students at all.

There was the great pity. The girls were separated from their families, just as she was. How alone they must feel. Why had she never considered that before? Her own family was everything to her. She missed her brothers and sisters terribly, even her great silly goose of a sister, Priscilla.

And so must her students.

Well, she would correct her omission beginning tonight. She would endeavor to know them all. “Miss Gentree, where is your guardian? I do not see him.” She let her gaze flit over the ballroom.

Miss Gentree’s eyes glittered as brilliantly as the chandeliers above. “He believes he may have an acquaintance in attendance tonight.” She sucked the seam of her lips into her mouth and glanced over her shoulder.

“Oh, how fortunate for him.”
Well, why should he not?
For all Siusan knew, he resided nearby. Mayhap she should ask. She had made a vow to herself to know her students, after all. She would not be prying. “He came to the cotillion. He must reside in the region. How splendid for you.”

Miss Gentree shook her head. “No, my lady, he is not from this region but rather from Devonshire … as I am.” Miss Gentree seemed rather agitated. She twisted her fan in her hands, and her feet could not seem to remain still.

“Devonshire, really?” Siusan snapped open her own fan and waved it before her face to conceal her continued search for Miss Gentree’s guardian.

When he entered the ballroom, he had been looking directly at her. She had little doubt he would coax an introduction to her. A smile fluttered upon her lips. Mayhap he would even ask her to dance. “His arrival at this particular ball is quite fortuitous. How delightful he happened upon your very first ball.”

Miss Gentree’s gaze darted about the crowded ballroom. “That he happened upon this ball, in Bath, is what I fear,” she muttered. Her eyes were glistening as if she was about to cry. “Mrs. Huddleston told him I was here when he called for me at the school this night.”

“Dear Lord.” Siusan bent her knees and offered her a lace handkerchief from her reticule. She leaned closer to the girl. “Is something amiss, Miss Gentree?”

“My dear Miss Bonnet,” crooned a sophisticated male voice from behind her. She straightened and whirled around.

There stood Mr. John Charles, the Upper Rooms’ new acting Master of Ceremonies—and Miss Gen-tree’s knee-weakeningly handsome guardian.

“Miss Bonnet, it would be a great honor if you
will allow me to present Sebastian Beaufort, the Marquess of Wentworth.” Mr. Charles gestured to Lord Wentworth, who bowed graciously before her.

Miss Gentree was blinking madly, but Siusan did not think the display was to drive back her tears. She looked positively dumbfounded. “Lord
Wentworth
… is m-my guardian,” she added.

“And may I present to you, Lord Wentworth, Miss Siusan Bonnet.”

Siusan dropped into an overlong curtsy to conceal the amused smile itching at her lips.

“I confess, until but a moment earlier I had no acquaintances in Bath,” Lord Wentworth admitted, “except my ward, of course, but I could not endure listening to such exceptional music without dancing.”

Siusan didn’t believe this for a moment.

“And so I begged the Master of Ceremonies the honor of an introduction to my ward’s favorite instructor, trusting she enjoys dancing as much as I.” He smiled down at Miss Gentree, who was still blinking confusedly, then, looking proud as a peacock, back at Siusan.

How clever of the man to have arranged their introduction through the Master of Ceremonies. Why, she doubted she would have thought of it
though she was certainly grateful that he had. Now they would be required to step onto the dance floor together.

“Shall we dance then, Miss Bonnet?” Sebastian asked her. “I fear it is the cost of our introduction.”

The Master of Ceremonies laughed heartily, sending his wig bouncing on his head. “Oh, indeed it is.”

“Alas, there is no escaping our responsibility. Everyone is watching. Miss Bonnet?” Sebastian offered his arm to the wide-eyed beauty, and to his surprise, she took it and allowed herself to be led to the center of the ballroom.

“A waltz has been called.” She looked into his eyes quizzically. “It is very new.”

“If you prefer, we can wait for a contradance.” Truth to tell, he actually hoped she would choose to do just that. It would be very telling. What sort of instructor of the art of being a lady would be without training in the waltz, one of the most fashionable new dances in all of England? He awaited her reply with bated breath.

She tilted her head to the side and flicked up an eyebrow. “I confess, I
adore
the waltz. Forgive me, my lord, I only wondered if you were comfortable. It has only recently been performed in court.”

“Quite comfortable, I assure you.” An adequate
reply, but the true test would be her skill. “Shall we dance?”

Miss Bonnet tilted her head and smiled as she moved into position.

He flashed a bright smile in response.

The Master of Ceremonies deserved Sebastian’s great thanks for not only arranging an introduction to Miss Bonnet but for using his position to convince the reluctant woman to dance with him. And a waltz, no less. The intimate position would allow conversation, as well as a much nearer study of the infamous Miss Bonnet.

The music began and within a moment she was in his arms staring directly into his eyes as they turned.

This was no shy-and-retiring instructor. There was an elegance about her, as well as an attractive assurance he’d never witnessed in a young woman.
This, from an instructor at a school for young ladies?

It hardly seemed possible. From the moment they were introduced, he had noted her complete ease in what to most would be a very uncomfortable situation. There were too many incongruities. He definitely required further study.

As they turned to the closed position again, he gazed at her face. Her wide eyes, delicate nose,
and high cheekbones were nearly identical to those of Lady Priscilla Sinclair. But there were differences too, and the longer he examined those, the less convinced he was that she was a relation.

Her top lip was deliciously plumper than the lower, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered how those lips might feel moving over his. And her jaw was stronger, alluringly feminine, but more square than oval. Her form, well, it was far more womanly.

Her cheeks flushed becomingly, pinking her ivory face. Damn, she knew he was studying her.

“Y-you are Scottish, Miss Bonnet,” he noted awkwardly, feeling a need to say something.

“Aye.” Her mouth twitched upward before she schooled her features once more. “You are tall.”

“As are you.”

“My, you are very observant, my lord.” She was more graceful and fluid in her movements than any other on the dance floor, and though his intent might well see her removed from her teaching position at Gemma’s school, he simply could not take his eyes off her. “What other startling skills have you to recommend yourself?” she asked.

Had he not seen the flash of amusement on her
lips a moment before, he might have misread her question as derisive instead of intriguingly flirtatious.

“I can claim a clutch of accomplishments that might impress one such as you, Miss Bonnet.” He studied her very expensive gown, which so perfectly accentuated the soft curves of her body. “Though I confess,” he added, “dressing well is not one of them I possess.”

“Nay, it is not.” She shot a glance at his riding boots, then at the slippered feet of the gentleman dancing beside them. “It is a
learned
skill, however, and it is my belief that it is never too late to practice dressing
à la mode.”

That was a pinch, but also his opening to confront her about her curriculum. “Is it a skill you are teaching my charge?”

“Aye, among many others essential to my students’ development as ladies.”

As they turned, he misstepped and moved against her, his chest momentarily pressing against her full breasts.
Bloody hell.
From the twitch of her eyebrow he was sure she believed he had misstepped intentionally. “So sorry.”

“Everyone makes mistakes when learning, Lord Wentworth.” She looked directly up into his eyes
and instantly set him worrying that beneath her scrutiny, he would err again.

“Miss Bonnet.” Now it was his turn to unsettle her. “Do you not believe French, history, literature, and art more appropriate subjects for the young ladies?”

Without realizing it, he had tightened his grip on her gloved hand and her waist, drawing her closer. Though her wit and tongue were sharp, her body was soft … the feel of her against him pleasing.