Part 3 (1/2)

”Miss Hargreaves, you look ravis.h.i.+ng,” he murmured, after greeting f.a.n.n.y and Cade. He offered her his arm and guided her toward the ballroom.

”Not matronly?” Caroline asked tartly.

”Not in the least.” He smiled faintly. ”You never did, actually. When I made that comment, I was just trying to annoy you.”

”You succeeded,” she said, and paused with a perplexed frown. ”Why did you want to annoy me?”

”Because annoying you is safer thana”” For some reason he broke off abruptly and clamped his mouth shut.

”Safer than what?” Caroline asked, intensely curious as he led her into the ballroom. ”What? What?”

Ignoring her questions, Andrew swept her into a waltz so intoxicating and potent that its melody seemed to throb inside her veins. She was at best a competent dancer, but Andrew was exceptional, and there were few pleasures to equal dancing with a man who was truly accomplished at it. His arm was supportive, his hands gentle but authoritative as he guided her in smooth, sweeping circles.

Caroline was vaguely aware that people were staring at them. No doubt the crowd was amazed by the fact that the dissolute Lord Drake was waltzing with the proper Miss Hargreaves. They were an obvious mismatcha and yet, Caroline wondered, was it really so inconceivable that a rake and a spinster could find something alluring in each other?

”You are a wonderful dancer,” she could not help exclaiming.

”Of course I am,” he said. ”I'm proficient at all the trivial activities in life. It's only the meaningful pursuits that present a problem.”

”It doesn't have to be that way.”

”Oh, it does,” he a.s.sured her with a self-mocking smile.

An uncomfortable silence ensued until Caroline sought a way to break it. ”Has your father come downstairs yet?” she asked. ”Surely you will want him to see us dance together.”

”I don't know where he is,” Andrew returned. ”And right now I don't give a d.a.m.n if he sees us or not.”

In the upper galleries that overlooked the ballroom, Logan Scott directed a pair of footmen to settle his father's fragile, tumor-ridden form onto a soft upholstered chaise longue. A maidservant settled into a nearby chair, ready to fetch anything that the earl might require. A light blanket was draped over Rochester's bony knees, and a goblet of rare Rhenish wine was placed in his claw-like fingers.

Logan watched the man for a moment, inwardly amazed that Rochester, a figure who had loomed over his entire life with such power and malevolence, should have come to this. The once-handsome face, with its hawklike perfection, had shrunk to a mask of skeletal paleness and delicacy. The vigorous, muscular body had deteriorated until he could barely walk without a.s.sistance. One might have thought that the imminent approach of death would have softened the cruel earl, and perhaps taught him some regret over the past. But Rochester, true to form, admitted to no shred of remorse.

Not for the first time, Logan felt an acute stab of sympathy for his half brother. Though Logan had been raised by a tenant farmer who had abused him physically, he had fared better than Andrew, whose father had abused his very soul. Surely no man in existence was colder and more unloving than the Earl of Rochester. It was a wonder that Andrew had survived such a childhood.

Tearing his thoughts away from the past, Logan glanced at the a.s.semblage below. His gaze located the tall form of his brother, who was dancing with Miss Caroline Hargreaves.

The pet.i.te woman seemed to have bewitched Andrew, who for once did not seem bored, bitter, or sullen. In fact, for the first time in his life, it appeared that Andrew was exactly where he wanted to be.

”There,” Logan said, easily adjusting the heavy weight of the chaise longue so that his father could see better. ”That is the woman Andrew brought here.”

Rochester's mouth compressed into a parchment-thin line of disdain. ”A girl of no consequence,” he p.r.o.nounced. ”Her looks are adequate, I suppose. However, they say she is a bluestocking. Do not presume to tell me that your brother would have designs on such a creature.”

Logan smiled slightly, long accustomed to the elderly man's caustic tongue. ”Watch them together,” he murmured. ”See how he is with her.”

”It's a ruse,” Rochester said flatly. ”I know all about my worthless son and his scheming ways. I could have predicted this from the moment I removed his name from the will. He seeks to deceive me into believing that he can change his ways.” He let out a sour cackle. ”Andrew can court a mult.i.tude of respectable spinsters if he wishes. But I will go to h.e.l.l before I reinstate him.”

Logan forbore to reply that such a scenario was quite likely, and bent to wedge a velvet-covered pillow behind the old man's frail back. Satisfied that his father had a comfortable place from which to view the activities down below, he stood and rested a hand on the carved mahogany railing. ”Even if it were a ruse,” he mused aloud, ”wouldn't it be interesting if Andrew were caught in a snare of his own making?”

”What did you say?” The old man stared at him with rheumy, slitted eyes, and raised a goblet of wine to his lips. ”What manner of snare is that, pray tell?”

”I mean it is possible that Andrew could fall in love with Miss Hargreaves.”

The earl sneered into his cup. ”It's not in him to love anyone other than himself.”

”You're wrong, Father,” Logan said quietly. ”It's only that Andrew has had little acquaintance with that emotiona”particularly to be on the receiving end of it.”

Understanding the subtle criticism of the cold manner in which he had always treated his sons, the legitimate one and the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Rochester gave him a disdainful smile. ”You lay the blame for his selfishness at my door, of course. You've always made excuses for him. Take care, my superior fellow, or I will cut you out of my will as well.”

To Rochester's obvious annoyance, Logan burst out laughing. ”I don't give a d.a.m.n,” he said. ”I don't need a s.h.i.+lling from you. But have a care when you speak about Andrew. He is the only reason you're here. For some reason that I'll never be able to comprehend, Andrew loves you. A miracle, that you could have produced a son who managed to survive your tender mercies and still have the capability to love. I freely admit that I would not.”

”You are fond of making me out to be a monster,” the earl remarked frostily. ”When the truth is, I only give people what they deserve. If Andrew had ever done anything to merit my love, I would have accorded it to him. But he will have to earn it first.”

”Good G.o.d, man, you're nearly on your deathbed,” Logan muttered. ”Don't you think you've waited long enough? Do you have any d.a.m.ned idea of what Andrew would do for one word of praise or affection from you?”

Rochester did not reply, his face stubbornly set as he drank from his goblet and watched the glittering, whirling ma.s.s of couples below.

The rule was that a gentleman should never dance more than three times with any one girl at a ball. Caroline did not know why such a rule had been invented, and she had never resented it as she did now. To her astonishment, she discovered that she liked dancing with Andrew, Lord Drake, and she was more than a little sorry when the waltz was over. She was further surprised to learn that Andrew could be an agreeable companion when he chose.

”I wouldn't have suspected you to be so well-informed on so many subjects,” she told him, while servants filled their plates at the refreshment tables. ”I a.s.sumed you had spent most of your time drinking, and yet you are remarkably well-read.”

”I can drink and hold a book at the same time,” he said.

She frowned at him. ”Don't make light of it, when I am trying to express thata you are nota”

”I am not what?” he prompted softly.

”You are not exactly what you seem.”

He gave her a slightly crooked grin. ”Is that a compliment, Miss Hargreaves?”

She was slightly dazed as she stared into the warm blue intensity of his eyes. ”I suppose it must be.”

A woman's voice intruded on the moment, cutting through the spell of intimacy with the exquisite precision of a surgeon's blade. ”Why, Cousin Caroline,” the woman exclaimed, ”I am astonished to see how stylish you look. It is a great pity that you cannot rid yourself of the spectacles, dear, and then you would be the toast of the ball.”

The speaker was Julianne, Lady Brenton, the most beautiful and treacherous woman that Caroline had ever known. Even the people who despised hera”and there were no end of thosea”had to concede that she was physically flawless. Julianne was slender, of medium height, with perfectly curved hips and a lavishly endowed bosom. Her features were positively angelic, her nose small and narrow, her lips naturally hued a deep pink, her eyes blue and heavily lashed. Crowning all of this perfection was a heavy swirl of blond hair in a silvery shade that seemed to have been distilled from moonlight. It was difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Caroline and this radiant creature could be related in any way, and yet they were first cousins on her father's side.

Caroline had grown up in awe of Julianne, who was only a year older than herself. In adulthood, however, admiration had gradually turned to disenchantment as she realized that her cousin's outward beauty concealed a heart that was monstrously selfish and calculating. When she was seventeen, Julianne had married a man forty years older than herself, a wealthy earl with a penchant for collecting fine objects. There had been frequent rumors that Julianne was unfaithful to her elderly spouse, but she was far too clever to have been caught. Three years ago her husband died in his bed, ostensibly of a weak heart. There were whispered suspicions that his death was not of natural causes, but no proof was ever discovered.

Julianne's blue eyes sparkled wickedly as she stood before Caroline. Her immaculate blondness was complemented by a s.h.i.+mmering white gown that draped so low in front that the upper halves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were exposed.

Sliding a flirtatious glance at Andrew, Julianne remarked, ”My poor little cousin is quite blind without her spectaclesa a pity, is it not?”

”She is lovely with or without them,” Andrew replied coldly. ”And Miss Hargreaves's considerable beauty is matched by her interior qualities. It is unfortunate that one cannot say the same of other women.”

Julianne's entrancing smile dimmed, and she and Andrew regarded each other with cool challenge. Unspoken messages were exchanged between them. Caroline's pleasure in the evening evaporated as a few things became instantly clear. It was obvious that Julianne and Andrew were well acquainted. There seemed to be some remnant of intimacy, of s.e.xual knowledge between them, that could have resulted only from a past affair.

Of course they had once been lovers, Caroline thought resentfully. Andrew would surely have been intrigued by a woman of such sensuous beautya and there was no doubt that Julianne would have been more than willing to grant her favors to a man who was the heir to a great fortune.

”Lord Drake,” Julianne said lightly, ”you are more handsome than evera why, you seem quite reinvigorated. To whom do we owe our grat.i.tude for such a pleasing transformation?”

”My father,” Andrew replied bluntly, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. ”He cut me out of his willa”indeed a transforming experience.”