Part 20 (1/2)

But Lady Sara fell for it. She raised a hand to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”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 G.o.d!

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 G.o.d 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 cl.u.s.tered 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.”