With This Ring (23 page)

Haven’t you cost us enough?

Dade’s voice rang through her mind.
That’s what he’d said when she asked for gowns, when he revealed to her that it was all they could do to afford to fill their plates.
And he’d said it so wearily, as if she’d been begging treats from him for years and he was worn to a frazzle by it—except she hadn’t, not really.

For the thousandth time in her life, she wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

She wanted to tell him that he needn’t worry any longer.
She wanted to tell him that she planned to fix it all.

How would he see her when she made the match of the decade?
What would he think when she handed him the key to the front door of Worthington Manor someday?

Orion gazed at her evenly, with no more surprise at her appearance than if she were dressed in an ordinary gown on an ordinary afternoon.
That was only to be expected.
To interest Orion, one must grow wings, or a shell.
Perhaps fins.

Only Mr.
Hastings’s gray eyes gleamed with appreciation.
Elektra rewarded him with a smile.
His lips curled slightly in response, and he shared an exasperated glance at her brothers.
Elektra’s belly warmed at his defense of her, as if he’d donned silver mail and challenged Dade and Orion to a joust in her honor.

What an unusual man.

Of course, then he ruined the moment by allowing Just Wonderful Miss Bliss Worthington to retake his arm.
Bliss turned her attention to Elektra, all unaware of her cousin’s sudden bloodthirsty gaze.

“You look very fine, Elektra.
Shall we?”

“Oh, God, yes,” breathed Dade.
“Please, let us bloody go already.”

Orion nodded.
“I am sufficiently prepared, as well.”

“Miss Worthington, please, lead the way.”
Mr.
Hastings waved Elektra down the last stairs with his gleaming black silk hat, which also looked very Lementeur, adorned as it was with a perfectly matched blue silk band.

In fact, Mr.
Hastings’s sapphire-and-black could have been specifically designed to coordinate with Bliss’s summer-sky-blue silk gown with silver braid trim at the neckline (really, why bother?
No one was looking at the gown, not with that bosom!) and the dainty cap sleeves.

More bloody points for Bliss.

*   *   *

Bliss looked very pretty, indeed.
She sat across from Aaron in the Worthingtons’ elderly carriage, which held six easily.
Mrs.
Worthington was between the two younger ladies, facing forward, while Dade, Orion, and Aaron took the less desirable back-facing seat.

For a moment upon boarding the creaking contrivance, Aaron had wondered if the Worthingtons expected him to take a manservant’s place up with the driver.
At some point since this very morning, “Hastings” seemed to have graduated to something nearing gentleman’s status in the household.

It hadn’t been Elektra’s doing, as he’d thought.
She’d seemed entirely surprised to see him join the party, although thankfully not much bothered by it.
Who then?
Dade would just as soon “Hastings” fell off the nearest cliff—Aaron was fairly certain that the eldest Worthington sibling saw him as a harmless but annoying moocher.
Orion might have enjoyed dissecting him, or stuffing him, or doing whatever it was he did in that den of horrors he called a study, but Aaron couldn’t imagine him giving a damn whether Bliss had an escort or not.

In the end, he decided it must have been some impulse of Iris’s, some half-formed thought of rounding out the party, which now she’d completely forgotten about as she chatted amiably with Bliss about Shakespeare and his farm animals.

Then Aaron ran out of inconsequential matters with which to distract his thoughts.
His eyes slid slowly back to her, as if they were naught but steel balls and she, a powerful magnet.

She’d been beautiful when mud-stained and dressed like a boy.
She’d been stunning when riding in the pony cart in a bright spring gown.
But this …

There were words he could use.
Exquisite.
Flawless.

Incandescent
.

Those were all perfectly nice words.
They were also entirely inadequate.

She’d floated down those frayed stairs like a heavenly visitation, come to urge them all up from their worldly cares.
Of course, there would be no colorless debutante chiffon on a woman like Elektra.
Her gown enhanced her slender figure, draping closely against hip and breast, clinging like water to her flesh while still managing to give an impression of modesty.
The rich purple silk turned her skin to purest alabaster and her upswept hair to moonlit gold.

And in that shimmering pile of silky gold nested a handful of blue butterflies.

Her hand in his, her laugh in his ears, her smile blinding his vision, as they ran through a whirlwind of azure wings.

Aaron had been born to astonishing wealth.
He knew a fine gown when he saw one, so he knew that Mr.
Button had quite outdone himself.
The lads would be slavering and the ladies pining with jealousy.

But the girl inside the dress made the delicious work of art seem like no more than simple gown—especially when she smiled at him.

He’d had the most alarming urge to drop to his knees right there in the foyer, to rip the signet ring from his pocket, confess his many sins, and beg her to marry him on the spot.

The only thing that had saved him from such rashness, aside from the fact that she had hocked his signet ring to an innkeeper, had been the flash of hurt in her eyes when her brothers had behaved as if she were no more than an irritant, and this important evening nothing but a shallow, inconsequential waste of their time.

So he’d cheered her up with his mugging and his cheeky bow, and now he kept his gaze down so that she could not see the longing in his eyes.
He hoped the house where the ball was being held was nearby, for he didn’t think he’d be able to maintain his jocular distance for long.

When the carriage stopped, he leapt from it as if a sharp spring propelled him.
Knowing how old those cushions were, it would not have surprised anyone if it had.
They all seemed to take his abrupt exit in stride.
One would likely have to behave very oddly indeed for a Worthington to take notice of it.

He took the opportunity to aid Iris from her seat and down the rickety carriage steps.
Then he held out his hand to Bliss.

Because he feared he wouldn’t be able to release Elektra’s hand once taken, he continued to escort Bliss across the court and up the front steps.
All the while, he was intimately aware of Elektra being helped from the carriage by Dade, who knew his manners, after all, while Orion escorted his mother inside the house.

Oh, hell.
For the first time, Aaron looked about him.
This was the city residence of the Duke of Camberton, a house Aaron knew nearly as well as he knew Arbodean itself.
Neville, who was now the current duke, had once been Aaron’s closest friend!
They had played together as children, though they’d not crossed paths in fifteen years.
Neville, who had gained his title at twelve years of age, had always been of a more scholarly bent.
Aaron remembered a tall, thin, quiet boy who possessed a quick mind and a shy nature.

Once he’d become the boy duke, of course, he’d been far too above Aaron to spend summer afternoons rambling around the Camberton estate while their parents kept company.

Aaron admitted privately that the young man he had been would have been bored stiff by anyone who wasn’t more interested in drinking and wenching than in books.

It was too bad.
Neville would have been a much healthier companion than Wells, if only he’d had the sense to see it at the time.

Unfortunately, if he entered this house, his identity as “Hastings” would be punctured in approximately eight seconds.
He was going to have to beg off, at once!

No, don’t panic.
He would not be announced as Lord Aaron.

Elektra seemed to sense his unease.
She leaned close to whisper in his ear.
“If you don’t speak to the duke, and only bow, he’ll never know.”

Never know he was just a servant, she meant.
Either way, he meant to take her advice.
It was possible that Neville would not recognize him.
He’d been away for a very long time, time which he’d spent filling out, changing, becoming a man instead of a feckless boy.

Then the second half of this revelation made its way into his consciousness.
Neville, that weedy, thoughtful boy with a wild shock of black hair, was Elektra’s chosen prey.

Oh, I am staying right where I bloody am, thank you very much!

Chapter Nineteen

Elektra had moved ahead of Aaron after the reception line.
Aaron caught up with her and bent his lips to her ear.
“Does this Neville bloke—?”

She pulled back to gaze at him with reproof.
“You mean the Duke of Camberton.”

Now he was taking etiquette lessons from a Worthington?
“Aye, does this duke bloke know you’re gunnin’ for ’im?
Seems like a lot o’ young ladies here tonight ’ave the same idea.
Some of ’em are right pretty, too.”

“I take that as a backhanded compliment, Mr.
Hastings.”
Elektra tossed her head like a prideful filly.
“And yes, Neville will come to heel shortly.”

She said it so effortlessly, with such ease of assumption that of course the aforementioned prey, er, fellow would fall instantly and permanently in love with her and beg her to wed him.

Aaron’s gut went cold as he thought perhaps she might be right.

Of course, it would be a terrible match.
With her powerful will and her infectious madness, she would roll right over poor shy Neville, like a boulder dressed in white organza and pink silk dancing slippers.

Wouldn’t that be better for her than some bloke who would try to control her or dominate her?

Yes, of course, but Elektra Worthington required much more precise handling.
Elektra needed someone strong, someone who had come through the fire—someone who had learned from his mistakes.
She needed someone who had spine enough to stand up to her, but was patient and tolerant enough to shore her up when she became frightened and angry.

Would absentminded Neville even grasp the depths of Elektra’s fears?
Would he be able to withstand the hot flash of her temper long enough to see the sensitive girl hiding behind it?

Now that he thought about it, he wondered how much Neville had changed in the fifteen years since assuming his title.
What if all the wealth and power had corrupted the quiet lad, turning him into a tyrant or, worse, a deviant?

One never knew what lay beneath the surface of even one’s closest friends.
If he’d even for a moment suspected what Wells was up to, he wouldn’t be standing here right now, lying his soul away to a beautiful girl!

As instructed, he didn’t speak when introduced to Neville.
His bow was low and swift and Neville wasn’t looking at him anyway.
He was just another bloke in the reception line.

Neville’s gaze, like so many similar male gazes, followed Elektra.

It seemed that she had already attached His Grace’s attention.

Aaron caught up to her once more.
“How well do you really know this toff?”

Elektra pasted a serene smile on her face.
“Don’t say ‘toff.’
And I have met him on two previous occasions.
The first time we spoke of our horrid names and swore to bestow upon our children names both short and common.”

She smiled more sincerely at the memory.
“Now that I think on the matter, I believe I was campaigning for Henry.
The second time we danced at Mrs.
Teagarden’s ball at the assembly.
It was only a country reel but I made him take note of me when I commented on the unusually early migration of the geese this spring.
He fancies himself quite the naturalist, although not on Orion’s level, of course.”

Aaron stared at her.
“What do you care about geese, then?”

“Nothing at all, I fear, but he does.”

“You’d spend the rest o’ your days pretendin’ then?”
He tilted his head to frown down at her.
“That don’t seem right, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

Her chin came up.
He’d stung her, he knew.

For a long moment, she fixed him with that beautiful green-blue gaze.
Then she stepped closer, reaching a slender hand to run her fingertips through the hair at his temple.
“Always so mussed, Mr.
Hastings.
Of course, you never stop to check the looking glass.
Nor do you ever think twice before speaking your mind.
What I wouldn’t do to be like you, my dearest Mr.
Hastings.”

Her hand dropped away.
He ached at the loss of her warm, delicate touch, then ached further as the mask of formidability closed over her lovely features.
She nodded at him in a distant fashion, then turned and left him there.

He should take his own leave now.
Elektra was safely back in the bosom of her family and seemingly recovered from her bout of temporary insanity.
With her sights set on a new target, one who hardly stood a chance as far as Aaron could see, she was well on her way to fulfilling her dreams.
She would soon become a duchess, wed to a man so rich and powerful and respectable that no one would ever so much as whisper a derogatory comment about “those mad Worthingtons” ever again.
Neville had ten times the wealth needed to restore Worthington Manor to its former glory.
She could have everything she’d ever dreamed of.

As for “Mr.
Hastings,” no one but the two of them would ever know about how she’d climbed aboard him like a horse, wrapped her arms about him, and kissed him like
he
was the answer to her dreams.

No one but he would ever know that it was that thrice-damned kiss that haunted him, that played across his memory every time he saw her pink mouth, that woke him in the middle of the night with a granite erection and her name on his lips.

Yes, he truly ought to be on his way.

Just one dance. You’ll never have another opportunity to hold her in your arms.

He would be on his way—after just one dance.

*   *   *

Elektra saw, across the room, the Duke of Camberton glance in her direction.
He blushed when he caught her gaze.
Neville was rather sweet, really.
He clearly liked her.
He was somewhat attractive.