A Fine Passion (30 page)

With hope in his eyes, Roger went.

Clarice blew out a breath, then turned to Alton. “Now, where next? The Hendersons’?”

They separated, Alton going ahead to the last ball on their list, at Lady Hartford’s, there to speak with his Sarah. Clarice and Jack would meet him there after they’d waltzed through the Hendersons’ ballroom and met Nigel and his Emily.

Nigel was heartened to hear of Clarice’s success in clearing Roger’s path. Greatly encouraged, he introduced them to Emily, who proved to be a sweet-tempered young lady but no meek miss. She searched Clarice’s face in rather studious fashion, then shook hands, and murmured, “I always thought the snide remarks your half sisters made couldn’t possibly be true.”

The smile that went with that statement drew an answering response from Clarice. Despite the difference in age and experience, they found common ground in discussing Nigel and his manifold shortcomings.

“Here!” he protested. “I thought you were supposed to help me win Em’s hand, not tell her all my weaknesses.”

Clarice rolled her eyes. “I’m quite sure Emily knows of them already. We’re merely passing the time.”

Jack smothered a laugh at the look on Nigel’s face.

But Alton’s assessment proved true; Nigel’s case was the least urgent. After bestowing her clear approval, Clarice and he took their leave. He steered her up the long ballroom, noting, as she did, the interest they provoked, the quick looks, the questions whispered after they’d passed.

Music rose from the dais at the end of the room, the lilting strains of a waltz. Halting, he caught Clarice’s eyes. “We’re here supposedly to enjoy the ball. Shouldn’t we dance?”

He raised a brow and watched her slowly raise one in return as she considered just what he was suggesting, that their appearance at three balls in a row with absolutely no attempt to enjoy the entertainment offered would assuredly raise speculation as to their purpose and potentially focus interest on whom they had met, whom they’d been speaking with.

Clarice smiled. “Yes. Let’s.” As he stepped onto the dance floor and swept her into his arms, she murmured, “I warn you it’s been years since I last waltzed.”

“Just relax.” He stroked his fingers along her spine as his hand came to rest on her back. “I believe you’ll find it’s not something you forget.”

He drew her to him, and revolved, immediately reminded how well matched they were, how delightful it was that she was so tall, that her legs were so very long. With her in his arms, the waltz took on another dimension, one of deeper, more specific pleasure.

Clarice felt it, knew it, let her mind drink in the sensations of being held so masterfully, captive to a strength far greater than her own, surrounded by it, by him, yet not threatened.

She looked into his face as they whirled, the rest of the dancers dissolving about them, studied his clean-cut, almost austere features, and wondered why. Why, with him, it was so different.

Never before had she liked being held, not in the sense of being controlled, of being confined, of a strength that could accomplish that. His strength, the warm steel she could sense enveloping her, could, if he wished, immobilize her, trap her, restrict her, yet nowhere in her was there even the slightest fear that he, it, ever would.

They were lovers, and if she didn’t feel threatened when he held her beneath him, or before him, then no fear was likely to surface here. Instead, this, the dance, the exhilarating precession of the waltz, became another element of their loving, another landscape in which they could explore their physical and sensual connection.

A connection carried through the heat of his hand as it rested, heavy, on her back. In the strength in the fingers that held hers, that powered their sweeping turns, in the effortless control that guided them unerringly through the swirling throng. Their thighs brushed, forest green satin softly swooshing as her skirts caressed, then fell back. She felt alive in his arms as she never had before, more conscious of her body, of her breasts lightly brushing his coat, of the heady promise in the muscled body so close to hers, of the beckoning heat in his eyes.

A heat that welled and rose through them both.

The music faded, then died. Together with the other dancers, they swirled to a halt. She didn’t need to speak, simply smiled into his eyes, let her eyes acknowledge their passion.

She saw his response etched in gold and green, then his lashes lowered as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed.

Then his lids rose; their eyes met. The moment held, stretched.

To them both, for that instant, they were the only people in the room.

Then reality returned on a wash of sound. She let her smile deepen as he changed his hold on her fingers and set her hand on his sleeve. “I think that’s the first waltz I’ve ever truly
waltzed
.”

He didn’t say anything, merely smiled, satisfied.

They resumed their progress to the door—and saw Moira, mouth open in stunned amazement, standing with two younger ladies by the side of the room, all staring, dumbfounded, at them.

Distantly, supremely haughtily, Clarice inclined her head without breaking her stride. Jack briefly studied the three ladies, then followed her lead. Once they’d merged with the still-considerable crowd, he murmured, “Who were the other two?”

“My half sisters. The darker-haired one is Hilda, the other Mildred.”

“Clearly they hadn’t expected to see you in such surrounds.”

“No.” They gained the stairs and started down. “Given she intercepted my letters to Alton, Moira must know I’ve been coming up to London every year, but I’ve never before ventured back into the ballrooms.”

“Do you think she’ll guess why you’ve broken with habit tonight?”

“Possibly, but possibly not. She and her daughters are avidly devoted to all the gadding about, the balls, dinners, and parties, especially during the Season. It may not immediately occur to them that my return to the ballrooms isn’t simply due to social starvation.”

“She obviously hadn’t seen you until just now, so she didn’t see you with Nigel and Emily.”

“Or earlier at the Fortescues’.” Clarice nodded. “Good. Let’s get on to Lady Hartford’s.”

They did. Like Lady Fortescue, Lady Hartford was thrilled to greet Clarice. Not having any daughter to establish, she hadn’t previously met Jack, but smiled and welcomed him effusively. “Your aunt Cowper was here earlier, but I believe she’s gone on. She mentioned she was exceedingly pleased that you’d returned to town.”

Jack used his charming, completely noncommittal smile to escape. Leading Clarice into the crowded ballroom, he murmured, “I sent a note to my aunt Davenport—she’ll have passed the message on to Aunt Emily. I requested a meeting tomorrow morning, if possible. No doubt there’ll be a note waiting at the club when I get back.”

Clarice caught his eye with a speaking glance. “Just as well Amelia Hartford thought to mention Lady Cowper.”

Unrepentant, Jack shrugged. “I would probably have remembered to tell you, but you’d have coped, regardless.”

Clarice humphed and gave her attention to the massed throng. Lady Hartford’s ballroom was smaller than the norm, yet if anything, there were more guests than the usual crammed within its walls. “We’re unlikely to achieve much here.” She leaned close as Jack steered her protectively through the crush. “Private conversation will be impossible.”

Reaching the center of the ballroom, they paused to search for Alton.

Jack bent his head, and murmured, “By the windows. They just came in.”

Clarice turned and looked. Alton was just shutting a door leading out onto the terrace. Beside him, eyes only for him, stood a young lady, blond, well coiffed and gowned, graceful and slender.

Because she was watching, Clarice saw their expressions in the instant before they turned to the crowd, in that moment before they set aside the topic they’d been discussing.

The sight made her catch her breath in empathy. Was love always so painful?

“Come on.” Gripping Jack’s sleeve, she tugged him in Alton’s direction.

Jack caught her hand, linked her arm with his, and by dint of his broad shoulders and grim determination, forged a path through the milling guests.

Sarah was at first trepidatious over meeting Alton’s powerful sister, but she lost all reticence when Clarice mentioned Moira. Color returned to Sarah’s cheeks and sparks lit her fine blue eyes. Unfortunately, with too many eager ears far too close, they had to converse using subtle references; openly discussing the matter presently exercising them was simply not possible.

Clarice took Sarah’s hand and squeezed it meaningfully. “We’ll meet again soon, in more congenial surrounds. Meanwhile, if I can—” Clarice stopped, studying a lady she’d glimpsed between two gentlemen’s shoulders. “That’s Claire, isn’t it? Over there?”

Sarah couldn’t see, but Alton looked over the heads and nodded. “Yes.”

Clarice glanced at Jack. “Stay here—all of you. I want to speak with Claire alone.” She grimaced as she surveyed the crowd. “If I can manage it.”

She tacked through the crowd, conscious that both Jack and Alton watched her. It was only fifteen feet to where Claire stood chatting to some gentleman; it took a full ten minutes to cover the distance. Emerging through the crowd opposite Claire, Clarice caught her eye and held it. Claire blinked, recognizing her, paused, then, realizing why Clarice was standing back, she smiled at the gentleman and quickly brought their exchange to an end.

The gentleman moved on. Claire came to Clarice.

“Clarice.” They exchanged nods. Claire cast a glance at the shoulders all around them. “This is not a suitable venue in which to discuss the topic I surmise you wish to talk about.”

Clarice met her eyes. “Indeed. What about the withdrawing room?”

Claire hestitated, then said, “There’s a small parlor I know of. We could try there.”

Clarice waved. “Lead on.”

They slipped from the ballroom. Somewhat to both their surprise, the parlor was empty. “Lucky.” Claire sank into one armchair. She waited while Clarice sat in the other, then said, “I take it you wish to speak of Alton’s wish to marry Sarah. It seems an eminently suitable match to me. I’ll certainly tell Conniston so when he asks.”

Clarice held Claire’s gaze and swiftly considered how much to reveal. Claire was a few years older than she, more Alton’s age, yet years ago they’d been contemporaries of sorts. Not friends, perhaps even, in the hothouse of tonnish matchmaking they’d been rivals, yet they’d had much in common; Claire had been a viscountess’s well-dowered daughter, beautiful enough to attract the attention of many, sensual and clearheaded enough to know her own mind. To make her own decisions.

Sitting back in the armchair, Clarice nodded. “While I’m happy to know you’ll support the match—and yes, while I’ve barely had time to make Sarah’s acquaintance, I agree it’s an excellent match on all sides—I’m actually here to discuss Moira.” When Claire’s brows flew up, Clarice smiled grimly. “Moira and her blackmailing schemes.”

Briefly, she outlined Moira’s threat.

Claire’s features hardened. “The bitch.”

Clarice nodded. “Indeed. The reason I thought to speak with you is that you’re in the best position to assess how this situation might play out.” She studied Claire’s face. “How will Conniston react? Are you under threat, too?”

Frowning, Claire shook her head. “I’m really very fond of Sarah—not as a daughter, of course, more like a younger sister.” She met Clarice’s eyes. “Conniston and I have an agreement, have had from the first. I always tell him who my lovers are. He doesn’t care, but it does make for less awkwardness all around. He knows that Alton and I…but that was nearly ten years ago!”

“So Conniston won’t mind?”

“Not about Alton
per se
, but he won’t stand for what Moira’s proposing. Well, what gentleman would?”

Clarice grimaced. “So we have to shut Moira up.”

“Can you?”

Clarice wrinkled her nose. “Yes. But it’s reminiscent of descending to her level, not something I’m keen to do.”

Claire studied her. Clarice would have said that of all the ladies in the ton, Claire understood her the best.

Eventually, Claire nodded. “A word of advice then, if you’ll take it, from one who has remained within the ton while you escaped it.” She met Clarice’s eyes. “Ladies like us, we’re not the sort to let the river of life toss us where it will. We make our decisions and steer our own courses. You and I, we chose different tacks, but choose them we did. We made our own beds, and, once done, we have to lie in them. In this case, that means that whatever you need to do to stop Moira, you will indeed do, because that’s the sort of lady you are. However, while dealing with Moira and managing the outcome, don’t forget that you haven’t yet finished your bed.”

Clarice didn’t follow. She frowned, openly inviting elucidation.

Claire smiled lightly and rose to her feet. “Years ago, I chose to turn my back on love and accept Conniston’s marriage of convenience. For me, that was the right choice, and I don’t regret it in the least. You, on the other hand, chose to turn your back on society and leave the door open for what might come…you haven’t yet chosen finally, haven’t yet completed your bed.”

Frowning more deeply, Clarice rose, too. “You’re saying I still have…but no. In that respect, I made all my decisions long ago.”

Mildly shaking her head, Claire turned to the door. “No, you didn’t. You made the first part of a
two
-part decision. Now you’re back in the ton, trust me, you won’t be allowed to let that second decision remain unresolved, as you patently have for all these years.”

Hand on the doorknob, Claire looked at Clarice, and grinned. “You know, I’m quite looking forward to seeing what your bed looks like when you finally tuck in the last sheet.”

Clarice made a disbelieving, dismissive sound, and followed Claire out of the room.

Clarice found Jack and the other two waiting where she’d left them; after confirming that Claire was on their side, she warned them that they had to tread warily. Until they decided how to spike Moira’s guns, then needed to lie low. In pursuit of that aim, Clarice and Jack left.