But Lady Sara fell for it. She raised a hand to her breasts. "I-I read Mrs. Fairfax."
"Do you?" An infuriating smile lazed on his lips.
Lady Sara nodded, her mouth agape.
"Dark prose for such tender years. Does your papa know?" Kesseley laughed as if pleased with his little performance and started to walk away.
"Perhaps you enjoy dancing, my lord?" Lady Sara called after him.
He halted, turned, his eyes glittering dangerously. "I wound who dances with me."
Oh dear God!
Lady Sara stepped forward. "I think you will find I won't break so easily."
"You won't?" He gave her a dark, intimate look that could break a lady without laying a finger on her. Lady Sara audibly gulped. Taking her hand, Kesseley kissed it slowly, keeping his eyes on her face as Edward looked on.
Henrietta pressed her fingers on her mouth, remembering how he had expertly kissed her the night before. How his hands had caressed her as if he knew how to touch a woman. She knew Kesseley's favorite dessert was quince tart, that he had a nice baritone voice but rarely sang and that he kept a journal of his sketches and ideas in his library where he would work late in the evenings by a wood fire. But Kesseley the man was an enigma. She knew nothing of the lips he had kissed before hers, or of the ladies he must have known in the most intimate manner. Yet, he seemed to have had a great deal of practice.
"I believe a lady of such delicate bones as yours might snap like a twig under me," he said, Lady Sara's hand still in his.
"You do not know me, my lord," she said.
Kesseley arched an eyebrow. "I don't? Well, I think I do. Dance for me." He swept Lady Sara away from Edward.
"What does he think he is doing?" Edward hissed.
"It seems pretty apparent!" Henrietta cried without thinking.
This was Henrietta's evening! Hers! When she admitted everything in her soul to Kesseley-all her beautiful words, the tender dreams in her heart. And he was dancing with another lady! They were supposed to be engaged by now, discussing how to tell their parents, planning the wedding, thinking up names for their children. But her lovely plans were slipping away from her and she could do nothing to stop it.
Edward yanked her into the swirl of dancers. "We're dancing. And don't look so lost. Gaze at me like you used to."
"Pardon?"
"That in love in love look that always made me nervous. Look like that again." look that always made me nervous. Look like that again."
"What are you talking about?"
"For God sakes, Henrietta! You're in love with me."
"No, I'm not!"
At least Edward had the presence of mind to keep count with the dance. She stumbled along, unable to dance, have her heart broken and converse at the same time.
"Then why did you follow me to London?" he said. "I know being a companion is a ruse. You and Lady Kesseley never got along. I bet you tricked Kesseley into bringing you here because he was always so sweet on you."
"Are you saying I used Kesseley?" Her voice cracked with hurt. Henrietta tried to drop Edward's hand, but he held tight, not letting her escape the dance.
"You always used Kesseley. We would laugh about it."
"I did not," she whispered, hot tears swelling in the edges of her eyes. All those tiny, inconsequential promises she had made to Kesseley-and then broken-came hounding back to her conscious, like money collectors demanding their due with interest. Edward narrowed his eyes at Lady Sara. "We were supposed to be married."
"You'd better remind her!" Henrietta cried, for it didn't look like Lady Sara remembered.
Kesseley raised Lady Sara's arm, letting her twirl underneath and he kept his hand on her waist. They looked apart from the rest of the dancers, better, more beautiful, their elegant bodies moving in graceful unison. He leaned down and whispered to her. She flushed, her pale skin turning a lovely pink. As if feeling the heat of Henrietta's stare, Kesseley turned slightly, giving her the full force of his devastating smile.
She stopped. Edward stumbled on to her, causing her to fall backward. He caught her. "Are you well?"
"No!" Henrietta cried and fled, dodging all the dancers, running past the main stairs into the dressing room. A servant looked up and asked if she required anything. Yes, I require Kesseley, the old Kesseley, who was always sweet on me, Yes, I require Kesseley, the old Kesseley, who was always sweet on me, she thought. She emitted a strangled cry, hurried out and blindly reached for a door. The servants' stairs. She closed herself in. she thought. She emitted a strangled cry, hurried out and blindly reached for a door. The servants' stairs. She closed herself in.
She squeezed her bottom lip between her teeth and closed her eyes. She couldn't cry here, not at the ball, not where everyone could see. But the tears spilled out anyway.
She blew on her face, trying to think of obscure mathematical formulas, anything to block the image of Kesseley whispering in Lady Sara's ear and that lazy, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. Her whole evening had fallen into shambles. How had everything gone so badly wrong? Yet in her heart, she knew the answer. Edward was right, she had used Kesseley. She deserved this hurt.
The waltz ended, and a new song began, a minuet. She waited several more minutes before she heard the shuffle of feet below. Her little retreat was about to be invaded. She opened the door and stepped out, wiping the last of her tears away.
Peering into the ballroom, she didn't see him. Just beyond the treacherous battlefield of dancers waited the card room. She would be safe there.
"You really ought to thank me," a deep male voice said.
Henrietta whirled around just as Kesseley disengaged himself from a group of laughing bucks clustered along the wall. The rakish Lord Blackraven demeanor had disappeared, but the coldness remained.
"Lady Sara already promised me a second dance, and her father invited me to their house party after the Season. I think the one you always wanted might be free after all."
"What do you think you are doing?"
"What you told me to do," he said, as if it were a bird-witted question. Then he drew down his eyebrows, looking very much like a hawk ready to swoop on its prey. "Come to think of it, perhaps I should thank you." He laughed, paying her a low, mocking bow.
Henrietta wandered into the card room, dazed. Mrs. Whitmore, with her flaming hair and jewels, recognized her and waved her over to their table. Greetings and introductions were exchanged. Then Henrietta picked her cards and hid behind them.
Even numbers failed her this evening. All the suits blurred together in her head. She couldn't remember what cards were played, which suit was trump. And it was so hot in the card room that the chandelier dripped hot wax down onto her arm.
But that didn't burn as much as watching Kesseley in the ballroom twirling different ladies, all of them too eager to have their toes broken. Henrietta tried to keep her eyes on her cards, but she couldn't stop herself from watching him, like an urge to cut herself with her own knife. Her whole inside ached. How could she have been so stupid, blind, ignorant, impetuous, cruel, so-so everything?
She clutched her mother's pendant tight in her hand.
Mama, I've lost him.
In the third game of the last rubber, Mrs. Whitmore said, "Look, Lord Kesseley is dancing with Lady Sara again. I think her father will be very pleased."
The game paused and the players put their cards to their chests and watched the pair. Lord Kesseley held Lady Sara in his arms, her vivid blue eyes gazing up at his face. Clearly smitten.
The ladies let out a collective "Ahhh."
"It's always nice when there's true affection between marriage partners."
"It will be quite a brilliant match. An earl and a duke's daughter."
They continued to speculate when the wedding would take place, who would be in attendance, the amount of dowry the duke would consider. Mrs. Whitmore reasoned if Kesseley pressed the foiled attempt to Gretna Greene, he could get more than the twenty thousand pounds.
Henrietta felt like her insides were being ripped out. She shrunk in her chair and lowered her head, not wanting to watch Lady Sara waltz away with the man who dwelled in the quietest place of Henrietta's heart.
At last the wretched waltz ended, and the ladies returned their attention to the game. Mrs. Whitmore led a heart. The lady to Henrietta's right trumped it with a five. Henrietta overtrumped. Then she led the last trick, tossing out the jack of hearts.
"No, Miss Watson, you can't play that," Mrs. Whitmore said. "Hearts led the last trick. You had to play your heart then."
Henrietta gaped before realizing the woman meant Henrietta's cards, not that broken, ailing organ pumping her blood.
"I don't feel well this evening. Please excuse me," she said weakly and rose. Edward waited behind her. How long had he been there?
"I wanted to know-that is, would you dance with me? Again?" He looked as bereft as Henrietta felt. "We never finished our first dance."
His stricken face sunk Henrietta's misery and guilt deeper. She wasn't the only one having their heart destroyed. And what was worse, Kesseley had only done what she had begged him to do. He had turned into some living version of Lord Blackraven and stolen Lady Sara.
Oh God, she hated herself.
"I am so sorry. I am so very sorry." For everything. It's all my fault. I was so ignorant. For everything. It's all my fault. I was so ignorant. "II think I might faint. I need to find Lady Kesseley." Henrietta ran her hand over her perspiring face. "II think I might faint. I need to find Lady Kesseley." Henrietta ran her hand over her perspiring face.
"I shall take you to her," Edward offered.
She clutched his arm, and they cautiously crept into the ballroom as if it were a dangerous jungle full of tigers and panthers. But the most fearful beast of all waited between the card room and his mother. An entourage of young bucks and admiring ladies, including Lady Sara, surrounded him, hanging on his words.
Henrietta felt Edward's arm tighten. They clung to each other, trying to hurry past unnoticed.
No such luck. Kesseley halted them. "Tell Mama I'll be joining Bucky and his friends this evening." He tugged the sleeve of a red-headed man who laughed inanely.
Henrietta could only nod, her throat tight.
A slow, cruel smile twisted Kesseley's lips. He looked from Edward to Henrietta. "Congratulations on your victory."
"But I-I didn't win. I lost every hand," she whispered.
Kesseley marveled how much easier life in London became when he no longer cared. He rode his anger like a curricle at top speed, the wind on his face, not caring if an unseen pothole sent him flying. To hell with them all.
Kesseley followed Bucky and his friends to an entirely different ball at the notorious Argyll rooms. Under the stately bronze goddesses lining the walls and the eighteen chandeliers that ran down the length of the room, the lightskirts danced. Their provocative gowns of sheer white muslin hung low to expose their bosoms and clung to their limbs, giving the inspecting gentlemen a good eyeful of the merchandise.
Kesseley felt that familiar hunger rise up in him. The one that drove him onto the road to Ely some nights to a particular widow's address. He hadn't realized how frustrated he had become, locked in the house with Henrietta.
Now he felt her flow away from him, like a receding tide as these lovely feminine figures twirled about, their obscenely low-cut gowns ready to slide down their nipples, across their navels, below that sweet triangle of carnal pleasure.
He figured he needed a reward for turning Lady Sara up so sweet in a single night. His father would have been proud. She fell so easily to all that inane conversation about mystery, poisoned souls and dark secrets.
The only secret to tempt Kesseley waited in the curls between a lovely lady's legs.
And it wouldn't take long. In the few moments Bucky and Kesseley stood there, a throng of ladies lit to them like hummingbirds to nectar, teasing those beautiful breasts under their eyes. A variety of ladies to choose from, even removing the raven-haired vixens who reminded him of Henrietta.
In the corner, a doe-eyed auburn stunner regarded Kesseley from under her long lashes. She appeared demure, almost shy. Perfect. He disentangled himself and approached. Her eyes widened with panic as she looked about her for an escape.
Not again!
He halted, ready to turn on his heel. This was lower than he thought possible-to be turned away by a prostitute.
"No, sir, please," she said. She had a fragile voice, the kind that melted strong men. "I want to dance with you, but there's someone else..."
Kesseley bowed and gave her a smile, appreciating her kindness.
She looked nervously about, then stepped forward. "My name is Ann," she said, as if confiding a secret.
"Kesseley, the Earl of Kesseley," he returned.
"Earl," she echoed. Her face was even more beautiful when confused.
He couldn't help himself-he brushed away a dangling auburn curl from her cheek. "Perhaps there isn't someone else after all," he said, putting her small hand in his and drawing her onto the floor.
It was a sweet relief to dance in silence with no complicated intentions. She let him graze softly at her lips, her neck and the line between her swelling breasts. Each knew what happened next-he would whisk her away to her chambers and- He felt a tap on his shoulder. "I believe this lady and I have some unfinished business to complete."
Kesseley turned to find Gilling standing there, reeking like a distillery, with two other men flanking him. One fair and freckled with shoulders like mountains, and the other one skinny and dark, looking as if he thought he had shoulders like a mountain.
Why the two woodpeckers? Was Gilling afraid Kesseley was going to draw his cork in the middle of the Cyprian Ball?
He kissed his dancing partner's hand. "My little darling. Should I set you free?"
"No!" she cried, clutching Kesseley, clearly not wanting to return to Gilling.
A nasty smile snaked across Gilling's lips. "What's a matter, Tommie?" he asked sweetly. "You have to get a whore because your mother's little companion won't open her legs for you?"
Kesseley dropped Ann's hand. "What did you say?"
Gilling's two male companions clamped their hands on his shoulders and tried to pull him away, but Gilling brushed them off. "I said, your mother should tell her champion what that sweet hole between her legs is for. Or hell, maybe I'll just show her."
Kesseley ran his finger under his cravat. "We can settle this two ways. I'm a pretty good shot, but nothing would suit me better than beating the hell out of you. And your two footmen in turn."
"Did you hear that?" Gilling asked his mates. "Lord Kesseley wants to dance."
Kesseley smiled. "That's right, ladies."
Gilling shoved the heel of his palm into Kesseley's shoulder. "Pickering Place. You'll be on your knees before the Watch can come. I'm giving you twenty minutes to change your mind."
As it turned out, Kesseley had thirty minutes to change his mind. Word of the fight rippled through the crowd like a wildfire. Every man at the Cyprian Ball dropped his companion, and with wild glazed looks in their eyes, they all began shouting out bets like madmen.
The Watch couldn't have broken into Pickering Place if they had tried. Human bodies packed the tiny wainscoted passage off St. James like a cork in champagne. The square itself was a tiny, grimy armpit of a courtyard. Men and ladies stood shoulder to shoulder along the wall.