The Pursuit Of Marriage (15 page)

“Don’t stop,” he said softly.

“I can’t imagine it still hurts. In truth, as I was wearing a glove, I don’t imagine it hurt all that much to begin with.”

“It didn’t, Miss Effington.” He smiled. “But it will if you stop.” He plucked the damp glove from her hand, tossed it beside the dry one, and took both her hands in his.

“My lord, I don’t think—”

“Miss Effington, I—” His gaze searched hers.

“Yes?” She had the distinct impression he was about to say something very important. Even perhaps a declaration of…what? Feelings? Intent? She certainly didn’t want such a declaration. He leaned closer. “I don’t believe I’ve ever…”

“Yes?” She strained forward. Or perhaps she did.

“That is to say I…” His lips were a bare breath from hers. If she moved the tiniest bit….

“Yes?” The word was little more than a sigh.

The moment between them lengthened, stretched. She held her breath and waited for him to say something or, better yet, kiss her again. And realized she wanted him to kiss her again. More than she’d ever wanted anything. She didn’t care what kind of man he was reputed to be—only what kind of man he was with her. “Yes?”

“I…” A myriad of unreadable emotions flashed through his eyes. At last he drew a deep breath. “I think we should set a deadline for our wager.”

“Yes, of—” She straightened and stared at him. “What?”

“I said, I think we should set a deadline for our wager.” He smiled politely, and she wondered how much more it would hurt if she slapped him with an un-gloved hand.

“You still want to go through with our wager,” she said slowly. “Even after…”

“You said yourself it was only a mere kiss.” He stood and extended a hand to help her up. She ignored it, got to her feet, and forced a smile every bit as polite as his. “It was exceedingly mere, my lord. Scarcely worth mentioning again.”

“My sentiments exactly. Now then, Miss Effington, about that deadline.”

“I, for one, have no need of a deadline. I can single out your Miss Wonderful the very moment we return to the ballroom.” She snatched up her gloves, turned on her heel, and started down the path. “But you’re right. I cannot allow our wager to go on forever.” She turned abruptly. “A fortnight. That should be long enough. If you can’t find Lord Perfect in two weeks’ time, you shall owe me forty pounds.” She swiveled again and started off.

“What of Miss Wonderful?” he called after her.

“I told you. I shall point her out to you this very night.”

“But what if I don’t think she’s wonderful?”

“Oh, you will. I’m certain of that,” she muttered.

She hadn’t the vaguest idea who exactly she would present as Miss Wonderful, but it shouldn’t be all that difficult. She’d simply pick one. Any one would surely do. Any insipid, simpering, lovely young thing. Regardless of what he said he wanted, he no doubt wanted what every man wanted: a pretty creature who would look good on his arm and obey his every whim and keep her mouth shut.

“But what if you don’t think the Lord Perfect I select is actually perfect?”

“Then you owe me forty pounds!” she called over her shoulder. She rounded a bend in the path and came face-to-face with Delia and St. Stephens.

“Cassie! What…” Delia’s gaze skipped from her sister to Berkley and back.

“Come along, Delia.” Cassie hooked her arm through her sister’s and pra
ctically dragged her toward the
house at a brisk pace.

Delia cast a helpless glance at her husband, who turned a questioning gaze toward Lord Berkley, who continued to smile pleasantly as if nothing whatsoever had happened. As if he hadn’t kissed her as she’d never been kissed before. A mere kiss indeed! Why, the man deserved to be smacked again, and very hard, for that smile if nothing else.

“Why are we running?” Delia said in a low voice.

“We aren’t running,” Cassie said but slowed her pace slightly anyway. “We are simply anxious to return to the ballroom, where I will point out Miss Wonderful to Lord Berkley, thus fulfilling my end of the wager.”

“I see,” Delia’s voice was thoughtful. “Then the wager is still on?”

“Absolutely.” Cassie nodded with a bit more vehemence than was perhaps necessary. “Regardless of the fairness of our bet, he agreed to it, and I fully intend to end this absurdity with either forty pounds or Lord Perfect.”

“I see,” Delia said again.

“What, exactly, do you see?”

“He’s done something even more annoying than usual, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Cassie hissed.

“What has he done now?”

They climbed the terrace steps and reached the French doors leading into the ballroom foyer. Cassie clenched her teeth and turned toward her sister. “He didn’t kiss me. Again.”

Delia choked back a laugh. “He is making quite a habit of not kissing you.”

“Well, he did kiss me once, then—”

Delia raised a curious brow. “Oh?”

“Yes, but it was insignificant. A mere kiss. But he didn’t kiss me again. Oh certainly, he might have hesitated because I slapped him, but I—”

“You hit him?”

“He insisted,” Cassie said staunchly. “I didn’t want to, but he kept going on and on about how I had given my word and—”

Delia laughed.

“You think all this is amusing?”

“Yes. It’s perhaps one of the most entertaining things I’ve seen in a long time.” Delia grinned. “I can hardly wait to see what happens next.”

“Neither can I,” Lord Berkley came up behind them. “Neither can I.”

A few moments later, Cassie and her sister, St. Stephens and Lord Berkley stood in a large circular alcove just off the ballroom. Tall palms and other tropical plants were clustered in the center of the alcove, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the gardens below. It was the perfect spot from which to survey the room.

Cassie’s gaze skimmed the crowd.

“So which one is she?” Lord Berkley asked coolly.

“One moment, my lord,” she said under her breath.

She’d been entirely right when she’d told Delia the room was thick with Miss Wonderfuls. The problem was simply which one to cull from the herd.

“Well?” Delia said low in her ear. “Who’s it to be?”

“I haven’t decided,” Cassie muttered. “I was considering Miss Carmichael.” She nodded at a group of smiling young ladies, chatting and giggling and casting flirtatious looks at every eligible man who unknowingly wandered within range.

Delia shook her head. “She has a tendency toward silliness, I believe.”

“What about Miss Bennet?” Cassie’s gaze settled on a slight blonde laughing with a touch too much fervor.

“She’s a bit too high strung to be wonderful, I think,” Delia said. “Besides, she talks a great deal.”

Cassie stifled a sharp reply.

Delia glanced around the ballroom, then nudged her sister. “There’s your Miss Wonderful. Miss Bellingham.”

Cassie followed her sister’s gaze. Felicity Bellingham was the daughter of the widowed Lady Bellingham. This was her second season, and while no one had paid her much notice last year, she’d apparently blossomed since then and was now considered one of this season’s beauties. There were already any number of wagers about town as to how soon she would make a match. She was of a medium height with very dark hair and eyes that were reported to be a rather startling shade of violet. Cassie had heard her described as charming and witty as well. And she didn’t like her one bit.

“I should think Miss Frey over there would be a better choice,” Cassie murmured.

“Miss Frey is quite nice.” Delia’s words were measured. “And how fortunate her hair is thick enough to cover the impressive expanse of her ears.”

“Beauty is not one of Lord Berkley’s requirements.” Cassie waved off her sister’s comments and ignored as well a stab of what might possibly be conscience. “Besides, you just said she’s very nice.”

“She has to be,” Delia murmured.

“Well, Miss Effington.” Lord Berkley stepped to her side. “Who is it to be?”

“Yes, Cassie, do tell us,” Delia smiled sweetly.

Cassie rolled her gaze toward the ceiling and sighed in surrender. “Miss Bellingham, I should think.”

“Miss Bellingham?” Berkley’s eyes widened in surprise and, possibly, delight. “Miss Felicity Bellingham?”

“There is only one Miss Bellingham,” St. Stephens said firmly. Cassie’s heart sank. “You’ve met her, then?”

“No.” Berkley’s gaze settled on the girl. “But I have heard of her.”

“You’d have to have been dead not to have heard of Miss Felicity Bellingham,” St. Stephens said under his breath.

“And I am quite looking forward to meeting her.” A distinctly wicked gleam sparked in Berkley’s eye, and he adjusted his cuffs. It was a most annoying habit and something someone should do something about.

“I’m certain we can find someone to introduce you.” Cassie wasn’t entirely sure why she wasn’t feeling anything that felt remotely satisfying, when she should be feeling nothing but triumph.

“Oh, I’ve met her. We chatted on several occasions. Indeed, Cassie, I believe our mother is quite well acquainted with her mother.” Delia cast her sister an innocent look, then turned to Lord Berkley. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to introduce you.”

“I should like that very much.” Berkley offered Delia his arm and they turned to go. Berkley glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “Well done, Miss Effington, well done indeed.”

Cassie smiled weakly.

Delia and Berkley started off, and St. Stephens leaned close. “I should start thinking about how I planned on spending my forty pounds if I were you.”

“Splendid,” she snapped.

She would obviously win this ridiculous wager of theirs. Berkley didn’t stand a chance. Victory was almost within her grasp.

Then why did she feel as if she were about to lose? And lose something far more important than forty pounds?

“Were you aware that Effingtons do not like to lose?” Lady St. Stephens said under her breath as she and Reggie made their way around the ballroom.

“It had apparently slipped my mind,” Reggie said wryly. “Do you have any suggestions as to what I should do now?”

“Yes. No. Perhaps.” Lady St. Stephens paused for a moment to exchange greetings with an overly inquisitive matron who directed her words to Cassie’s sister but fixed him with a speculative eye. Reggie could almost see the clockwork gears of her mind turning. He smiled in a noncommittal manner and firmly steered Lady St. Stephens back on course.

“Well, that should trigger no end of gossip,” she murmured.

Reggie stifled a grin. “Lady St. Stephens in the company of the infamous Lord Berkley, you mean?”

“You needn’t sound so pleased.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Although, in truth, I came to terms with gossip and scandal some time ago, and I pay it little heed. Now then, as for your dilemma,” her brows pulled together thoughtfully. “It seems to me, as Cassie has presented you with a Miss Wonderful, I think it’s imperative that you do now produce a Lord Perfect.”

“Why?” He shook his head. “Won’t that just compound the problem?”

“It’s a risk, I suppose, but you have little choice at the moment. You want her to realize she wouldn’t be at all happy with a Lord Perfect, which I suspect may already be happening. That growing awareness, coupled with just a bit of the jealousy she’ll feel with you paying any attention whatsoever to Miss Bellingham—”

“I wouldn’t want to lead Miss Bellingham on,” he said quickly. “I should hate for her to think I had a serious interest in her.”

“My dear Lord Berkley, Miss Bellingham is one of the belles of the season and is certain to make an excellent match. I daresay a bit of attention from you will be insignificant among her other suitors.”

He raised a brow.

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded. And I do think your concern for her is admirable. I suspect Miss Bellingham is the kind of young lady who would appreciate the scheme we have in mind. I shall have a word with her and secure her understanding.”

“Thank you.”

“Now then, as I was saying, Cassie’s realization that Lord Perfect will not suit her at all, together with the jealousy I’m confident she will feel at your attention toward Miss Wonderful, should produce a great deal of amusement.”

“Amusement?”

“Did I say amusement?” Lady St. Stephens stopped short and stared at him with the precise look of innocent surprise he already recognized as Cassandra’s. “I meant results. The results that you want. Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Of course,” he murmured and considered her for a moment. “Lady St. Stephens, you are on my side, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be absurd, my lord. The only side I am on is that of my sister. Fortunately for you, I am confident your side and hers,” she grinned, “are one and the same.”

Eight

There is nothing more frightening in life than discovering one’s beloved sister has turned into a completely foreign and terrifying creature. A woman.

Reginald, Viscount Berkley