A Love That Never Tires (15 page)

“I also have refreshments laid out in the dining room,” Patrick said.

“You’ve thought of everything.”

He squeezed her small, gloved hand. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is, Patrick,” Linley said. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Let’s just hope the evening is a success,” he replied. “Do you think you can play hostess to three hundred guests?”

“You invited three hundred people?”

Patrick grinned. “I invited everyone.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“All for a good cause.”

Gradually, the guests filed their way into the house. Patrick stood in the foyer, greeting them as they entered. Linley and her father patrolled the ballroom while Archie and Reginald stationed themselves in the drawing room next door. Schoville told everyone not to worry about the dining room—that would be his territory.

“There are a lot of very important people here tonight, Button,” Linley’s father whispered to her. “I believe your marquess has proved himself useful, after all.”

“We are very fortunate to have a friend like Lord Kyre, Papa.”

Linley recognized quite a few faces from the Robeson’s and Lord Markham’s balls. The Duke and Duchess of Darlington stood with Lady Carrington. Lord Dewitt and Lord Luccombe leaned against a far wall while their wives flittered around the room. Patrick was right—he must have invited everyone. At least everyone who was anyone in London.

“La Infanta!” Lord Finchdale sauntered across the dance floor to where Linley and her father stood. “If it is all right with your escort, I would be honored to claim that dance you promised me.” Finchdale took her by the arm and hauled her onto the dance floor. “I wanted to dance now because I paid the band to play my favorite song!”

“Oh,” Linley said, wishing he didn’t hold her so tightly to him. “What song?”

“Steamboat Bill!” He dragged an unprepared Linley across the parquet floor.

“Aren’t you going a little fast?” she asked, trying to follow his steps.

Finchdale didn’t seem to care, he was having too much fun. That, or he was knee deep in a bottle of brandy. “Can’t you keep up, Señora?”

“Not at the pace you’re going.”

Finchdale bumped into one young couple, and then ricocheted into another, nearly knocking the other dancers down. Linley tried to twist her neck around to watch where they were going, but it was all she could do just to hold on for the ride.

“You’re going to get us killed,” she said.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened across Finchdale’s forehead, and his slick red hair flopped into his eyes, further impairing his already impaired vision. Still, he twirled, and slipped, and dipped, and twisted, holding Linley hard against his hip.

“Don’t they Castle Walk in Spain?” he asked.

Around and around they spun, growing dangerously close to the crowd that gathered to watch the spectacle. Linley searched for flashes of Patrick in the sea of amused faces. She saw her father on the outer perimeter of the ballroom, oblivious to his daughter’s dilemma. She saw Reginald talking to a pretty blonde. She saw Archie. She saw Gaynor. She saw…a footman carrying a tray of drinks.

And then she saw—at very, very close range—his chest.

They barreled into the unsuspecting footman, sending the tray of drinks crashing to the ground. The music stopped. Broken glass and champagne coated the floor. Finchdale slipped, losing both his footing and his grip, and the inertia of their spinning slung Linley face first into the crowd.

Face first into Gaynor Robeson.

Linley held out her arms, hoping that Gaynor would catch her. But at the very last second, the well-dressed young woman stepped aside. Just out of reach.

Sending Linley sprawling to the ground at her feet.

“My goodness, Miss Talbot-Martin!” Gaynor cried. “That was quite a show!”

Linley dragged herself up to her feet. “It was unintentional.”

“You didn’t ruin that beautiful gown of yours, did you?”

“No,” she said, inspecting the jade green velvet and blue chiffon. “The dress is intact.”

“That is a relief!”

Suddenly, Patrick materialized at her elbow. “Are you all right?” he asked, breathless. “I could kill Finchdale.”

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I went to make sure we had enough canapés to send out with the second round of
hors d’oeuvres
,” he explained. “I got here as soon as I could.”

By then, the glass had been swept up, the champagne mopped, and the last of the crowd shuffled off. The music resumed, and so did the dancing. The only evidence that remained of the Steamboat Bill fiasco was the hot, red tint creeping up Linley’s face.

When even Gaynor had lost interest in the scene and joined in on a tango, Linley turned to Patrick and hissed, “Finchdale made a fool out of me!”

“Finchdale made a fool of himself.”

“Did you even see what he did to me?”

“I saw a very drunk young man taking advantage of a very beautiful young woman.”

Linley rolled her eyes.

Patrick reached out and touched her gloved arm. “I’m sorry he embarrassed you.”

“I’ll recover.”

“Of course you will,” he said. “Another girl would have been humiliated, but you wouldn’t let an idiot like Finchdale ruin your evening.”

She nodded. “You’re right.”

“That’s my girl,” Patrick said, taking her hand. “Now, why don’t we show them how the Castle Walk is really done?”

***

Patrick enjoyed the evening more than any he could remember. He lost count how many times he danced with Linley, not giving a damn if anyone had anything to say about it. Sir Bedford seemed very pleased with the fundraising, and between he, Archie, and Reginald, they raised almost two hundred pounds.

Sitting on a sofa in the yellow drawing room, Patrick watched as Linley made her way through the crowd. Even though it had nothing to do with him, he felt proud of her. She was charming, witty, and sincere. She had every guest eating out of the palm of her hand.

Catching Patrick alone for the first time all night, Gaynor slipped through the throng of guests and sat down beside him. “I hope this seat isn’t taken.”

“Not at all,” he said, scooting over to give her more room.

“This is the best party I’ve been to all season,” Gaynor said, searching for something to say. “You should have them more often.”

“This one cost me a fortune. I’d be ruined after two or three more.”

“Then I recommend you start going after girls who can
put
money into your pocket, and not the kind only looking to take it out.”

Patrick sat forward on the sofa. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Kyre, you cannot really be that naïve.” Gaynor leaned toward him. “Linley Talbot-Martin is using you. How else do you think they fund their precious archaeological expeditions? And the way I hear it, you aren’t the first gentleman who’s fallen victim.”

“You shouldn’t lie, Gaynor,” Patrick said. “It does terrible things for your complexion.”

Instead of being insulted, she laughed. “Look at her, practically throwing herself at poor Allard—and you know he would be all too willing to take her up on her offer.”

He scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar green and blue fabric of Linley’s dress. Sure enough, she stood near the marble fireplace giggling at something Allard Robeson said. In all his adult years, Patrick had never been a jealous man, but seeing Linley putting herself on display that like sparked something inside of him. Something unpleasant.

He knew better than to believe anything Gaynor told him, but he was not so blind that he couldn’t recognize flirting when he saw it. And at that moment, Linley was definitely flirting.

Patrick stood up and walked over to her. Placing a hand on Linley’s elbow, he asked, “Could I speak with you? It’s important.”

“Of course,” she said.

Patrick turned to Allard. “Surely you don’t mind if I borrow Miss Talbot-Martin for a moment?”

The young man blinked at him. “Miss Talbot-Martin?”

To her horror, Linley realized Allard Robeson had not the slightest clue who the Miss Talbot-Martin in question was, even though she had been talking with him for a quarter of an hour. He looked at Patrick, then at her, and then at Patrick again before something finally registered.

“Certainly, Kyre,” Allard said, his fingers clenching the glass in his hand as if it took all his willpower not to bash the man’s skull in with it. “You do as you please.”

Patrick led Linley through the drawing room and into the less-crowded foyer. Taking her hand, he pulled her up the stairs. Once on the upper floor, they ducked around the corner of a long, unlit corridor.

The upstairs had not been cleaned or repainted like the lower rooms of the house. Linley took one look at the darkened hallway and started to back away.

“Don’t worry. I just want to talk to you,” Patrick said, seeing her distress.

She still wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t there plenty of rooms downstairs where we could talk?”

“Not where I wouldn’t have to worry about someone listening in.” He took a few steps forward, causing Linley to press her back against the heavily brocaded wall.

“I just think that now isn’t really the time…or the place to be having this sort of conversation. Besides…” She swallowed. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

He looked into her wide eyes. “How would you know how I act? The entire time I’ve known you, I’ve been nothing but your devoted lapdog. I have done everything I could to get your attention. But it seems you only have eyes for Allard Robeson.”

“That is not true!”

“No?” he asked. “I take you to dinner and you can hardly talk of anyone else. I throw this ball for you, and yet I look over and see you flirting with him.”

“Patrick, the man didn’t even know my name. How could we have been—”

“Even worse! You’ve no idea what lengths I’ve gone to just to make this night a reality,” he told her. “Then to look over and see you wasting your energy on a man who doesn’t even know—or care—what your name is…” Patrick paused and shook his head. “The sight of you together turned my stomach. And to have Gaynor in my ear whispering all sorts of vile things about you—Damnit, Linley, don’t you remember at Claridge’s when I told you I was jealous of Allard Robeson? Does that mean nothing to you? Since the moment you arrived, I’ve turned London inside-out and laid it at your feet, yet you don’t bat an eye in my direction.”

“I’m sorry Patrick. I—I’m not accustomed to flirtations. When you kissed me in the museum, I thought perhaps you liked me. But when you refused to kiss me afterward, even when I practically begged you for it, your actions led me to believe we were nothing more than friends.”

He slid his arm around her waist. “So it’s kisses that you want.”

“No.” She pulled away from him. “You won’t kiss me when I ask you to, but I am expected to pucker up on command?” Linley pushed at his chest as hard as she could, but he did not budge. “I want you to kiss me when I feel beautiful. When I feel like you really want me just as much as I want you. Not when I feel caged!”

He took a few steps back, holding up his hands. “Caged? How could you possibly feel caged when you’re the only free person I’ve ever met?”

“After all these weeks you still know nothing about me. I’m no more free than you, Patrick. I simply choose to use what little space I’ve been given!”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

She hung her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll never understand.”

“Then let’s try to find some common ground.” Patrick kissed her forehead, and then that cute little nose of hers. “Surely you don’t need words to know how I feel about you. If you’ve been paying attention at all these past few days, it should be quite obvious.” He kissed her lips, softly at first, becoming more insistent with each brush of his mouth against hers. “Not everything in this world needs to be categorized and labeled. Not everything can be. I’ve learned it’s best to take things as they are.”

Linley found the taste of him intoxicating, and it wasn’t the hint of champagne on his breath. Her head spun at his words. They made no sense. They went against her very nature. How could she not question this new development—that he possibly had feelings for her, feelings that drove him to the brink of jealousy? It frightened her and excited her all at the same time.

She pressed her body close against his, running her palms up his spine, feeling the warmth of his body through the soft wool of his evening jacket. Thinking back, the signs had been there all along. No man could be that patient, that generous without some small ulterior motive. Surely, no man would put up with her father, and Berenice, and her friends because he liked having someone to go to museums with and to take to dinner once in a while.

Linley wasn’t lying when she told him she was unaccustomed to flirting. What may have been obvious to women like Gaynor had been lost on her. She’d never thought of herself as an object of desire—that any man could be romantically interested in her. But the thought of Patrick watching her, and possibly wanting her, all this time made her heart race.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt beautiful. She felt worthy of all the trouble everyone had gone to on her account. Parties, and frocks, and trips to London did not just appear out of thin air. Her family and friends worked very hard to make her time there a success. And if tonight was any indication, together they had pulled it off.

Below her feet, hundreds of London’s best society danced and drank with one goal in mind—sending her father and his team halfway around the world. The fact that she and their host were noticeably absent would probably raise a few questions…or at least a few eyebrows.

If sitting unchaperoned in a library was social suicide, she could only imagine the uproar of being discovered locked in a passionate embrace. But this was Patrick—her Patrick—touching and tasting her as if she were the only girl in the world.

To hell with the house full of people downstairs, she wanted to kiss him all night long.

Spurred by her encouragement, Patrick’s mouth opened. He nibbled at her bottom lip, pulling on it with his teeth. As if that wasn’t enough, he trailed to her throat, nipping at that sensitive flesh. Linley whimpered, pulling him tighter, pulling him closer.