A Most Scandalous Proposal (2 page)

At his appearance, Sophia inclined her head.

“Ah, Revelstoke.” Acknowledging Benedict with a nod, Julia suppressed a jolt of surprise. She’d become so used to seeing him in his scarlet uniform that his bearing in eveningwear and starched cravat startled her. By rights, he should have looked like any other man of the
ton
, but the black superfine of his coat, matched to his ebony hair, only served to set off his dark complexion and sparkling blue eyes.

Snap!
The lorgnette put in a reappearance. The dowager’s frown lines deepened as she inspected the new arrival. Her gaze lingered on his sharp cheekbones, square jaw, and shaggy waves of hair that hung nearly to his shoulders, too long to be fashionable.

Or, for that matter, respectable.

“In my day, a young lady would never dream of addressing a gentleman in such a familiar manner. Why, I never called my husband by anything other than his title in all the years of our marriage, even in the most intimate of settings.”

Benedict’s shoulder brushed against Julia’s as he leaned close and whispered, “That was more than I needed to know about their marriage.”

She ducked behind her fan to hide both her grin and the blush that suddenly heated her cheeks. And why should she blush over Benedict of all people? She’d experienced the warmth of his breath wafting just beneath her ear on any number of previous occasions. She ought to be long accustomed to his brand of cutting commentary.

The dowager let out another harrumph, raised her considerable chin, and sailed off in a cloud of ostrich feathers and plum-colored silk.

“I believe she overheard you,” Julia said.

“Without a doubt. The old dragon just trod on my foot.”

Sophia giggled into her fan.

He turned his gaze on Julia, and her heart gave an odd thump. Normally, when he had a chance to seek her out at these functions, it was for one of two reasons—to save her from overzealous suitors or to escape from the pack of society mamas and their daughters. They might pass an agreeable hour or two on the sidelines exchanging pithy observations on the
ton
’s foibles, laughing together as she tried to match him in wit.

In all the years of their friendship, she’d had occasion to witness many moods etched on his face. Rarely had he turned so serious an expression on her, and never this strange intensity.
Thump
. Another pang in her chest. And where was that coming from?

Rather than press her fan to the spot, she tapped his forearm. “What’s happened?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Sophia chose that moment to interrupt. “I suppose I’ll have to tell the news myself.”

Julia turned to her sister. She watched as Sophia’s features suddenly bloomed with renewed excitement. Something else was amiss there. Julia craned her neck. Had William Ludlowe actually put in an appearance?

“What news?” Benedict leaned closer. “What’s going on?”

As if on cue, a collective sigh passed through the room, emanating from the females in attendance. A late arrival stood between the plaster columns of the entrance, his tall form easily visible over the heads of lesser men. Waves of golden blond hair flowed neatly back from an even-featured face that set feminine hearts to racing all across the room. The snowy linen of his artfully tied cravat stood in stark contrast to the austere black of his eveningwear.

Elegantly coiffed heads tilted toward each other, and the twitter of conversation increased its pace, punctuated by giggles. Sophia’s smile broadened, and her fan fluttered double time, while the rosy glow on her cheeks extended to her forehead. On Julia’s other side, Benedict let out a groan.

An easy smile graced the newcomer’s lips as he nodded to an acquaintance. His gaze glided over the room to alight almost immediately in Julia’s corner. Sophia grasped her arm, and her fingers tightened until Julia was sure she’d be sporting bruises tomorrow.

“Oh,” Sophia sighed. “He’s coming this way. How do I look?”

Julia didn’t spare her sister a glance. With her neat golden hair swept off her lovely face and an ice-blue gown that, despite its age, displayed her figure to its best advantage,
Sophia set a standard of beauty to which most of the
haut ton
could only aspire. If not for their mother’s humble origins and the hints of scandal surrounding their parents’ marriage, she might have been declared an Incomparable in her first season. Still, she’d turned down enough offers of marriage to cause their father to pull out what little remained of his hair.

“You look perfect as always.”

The ragged edges of Sophia’s fan flapped so fast that the breeze cooled Julia’s own skin.

Benedict tugged at her other arm. “Might I have a word? In private?”

Sophia’s eyes went round. “Not now. You cannot just leave me here. What if I faint?”

Faint? In five seasons, Sophia had yet to succumb to that particular malady. “Do not be ridic—”

“Then Ludlowe can catch you.” Benedict’s response was clipped. His fingers curled about Julia’s wrist. “I really must insist.”

“What is the matter with you tonight?” Julia whispered to Benedict. “You’re behaving so strangely, if I did not know better, I’d say you were foxed.”

“Believe me, Julia, I’d like nothing better at the moment.”

She stiffened at the use of her given name. They’d known each other so long, the address came naturally in private, but it was unlike him to forget himself in the middle of a ballroom.

“Oh, M-mr. Ludlowe,” Sophia breathed.

Julia turned her attention to the man before her. His smile might have bedazzled the dowager Countess of Epperley into forgetting her lorgnette—or snapping it out for a better view—but it had little effect on Julia.

“Good evening, ladies. Revelstoke,” Ludlowe added with a nod in Benedict’s direction. “My dear Miss Julia, I must say you look particularly enchanting this evening.”

For a moment, she didn’t react. She couldn’t have heard right. But then he reached for her hand as if it were his due. Belatedly, she disentangled her arm from Sophia’s death grip and allowed him to brush his lips against the back of her glove.

“Mr. Ludlowe.” She deliberately flattened her tone to coolness, hardly what anyone would term friendly.

After another moment, he dropped her hand to turn his considerable charm on Sophia. Julia could feel its effect radiating off her sister in the form of heat. A dazzling smile threatened to split Sophia’s face in two.

“A pleasure, as always, Miss St. Claire.”

If Sophia noticed that he paid her beauty no compliment, she hid it well. Dipping her head, she dropped into a curtsey. “My lord.”

Julia’s mouth dropped open.
My lord?
The evening was growing stranger by the minute.

Ludlowe’s chuckle rumbled, low and smooth as hot chocolate, over their corner. Even the potted palm perked up. “Now, now, Miss St. Claire, let’s not be overly hasty. Nothing’s settled as of yet.”

Beside her, Benedict held himself rigid, the tension seething in the air around him.

“What isn’t settled?” Julia’s question floated free before she could stop herself.

Ludlowe turned back to her. His smile would have melted butter. “You haven’t heard of my good fortune then?”

“No, I haven’t.”

The fine lines on his forehead smoothed to solemnity. “It’s quite boorish of me to refer to it as good fortune, actually. Do forgive me. My fortune is another family’s tragedy, you see.”

What on earth? She frowned, resting her fan against her bosom. “Oh dear.”

“The Earl of Clivesden has met with an unfortunate accident. Horrific, really.”

Foreboding settled over her. “Accident?”

“Poor man. He should never have ventured out on those winding Devonshire roads. Entire carriage tumbled off a cliff into the Channel. His young son was with him.”

She pressed suddenly icy fingers to her lips. “How dreadful.” At the same time, she noted Sophia’s lack of reaction. This must be the news Lady Epperley had imparted to her sister, doubtless with the proper ceremony.

Benedict’s lip curled. “I fail to see how such a tragedy might turn to anybody’s advantage.”

Ludlowe had the grace to avert his eyes. “There’s an appalling lack of male issue in that line. They had to trace the family back four generations to find an heir.”

“You’ll forgive me,” Benedict said, his words clipped to the point of rudeness, “but what’s that got to do with you?”

Ludlowe sketched them a bow. “My great-grandfather was the third Earl of Clivesden’s younger brother.”

Benedict surged forward with such force and suddenness that Julia laid a restraining hand on his forearm. “
You?
” he snarled. “You’re now Clivesden?”

Ludlowe’s smile did not falter for an instant. “Not yet, but my claim is solid. I daresay the Lord Chancellor ought to accept it without delay.”

“As long as the former earl’s widow isn’t in a delicate condition, you mean.” Benedict seemed to be forcing the words through gritted teeth.

Julia slanted her eyes in his direction. What she could see of his neck above his cravat flushed red. Beneath her hand, the muscles in his arm had turned to steel. Why was he so upset over the circumstances? While tragic, to be certain, none of them had actually known Clivesden well.

Ludlowe’s smile remained fixed. “Of course.”

He stepped closer to Julia, and the muscles beneath her fingertips jerked.

“I had hoped to keep the news quiet a bit longer. I might have known gossip would foil my plans.” He acknowledged Sophia with a nod, and she beamed at him from behind the protection of her fan.

“Ah well,
c’est la vie
.” Ludlowe shrugged. “I hadn’t come over with the intention of discussing this matter. I was wondering if Miss Julia would care for the next dance.”

If he hadn’t been looking her in the eye, Julia would never have credited the notion. When Ludlowe turned up at a ball, he remained decidedly ensconced in the card room or on the sidelines. He chatted with the ladies, he flirted outrageously, he might disappear into the gardens for long stretches, but he rarely danced.

The lilting strains of violins in three-quarter time met her ears. Goodness. Ludlowe certainly never waltzed.

An expectant silence fell over the group, while the music swelled around them. She couldn’t possibly, not with her sister standing right there, deflating a bit further with each joyous note. “I’m terribly sorry—”

“She promised the next set to me,” Benedict said over her reply.

“I’m sure Sophia would be delighted,” Julia added quickly. “That way, no one is disappointed.”

Ludlowe hesitated a second too long before nodding. “Your servant. I must insist you save another dance for me later.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. Offering his arm to a glowing Sophia, he led her to join the whirling couples already on the dance floor.

Julia rounded on Benedict, who bent his left arm in invitation. “I believe this is our waltz.”

She ignored him. “Are you planning to tell me what that was all about?”

He held her gaze, the breadth of his shoulders blocking the flickering light from the crystal chandeliers. That disturbing intensity still lit their depths. And where had it come from along with his, well, protectiveness? She pressed her lips into a line and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other.

“After this set. Meet me outside. For now, we’d better make a proper show of dancing. Just so no one is disappointed.”

She took his arm, and he set off at such a clip that she stumbled after him through the crowd until they found a spot among the dancers.

“Why can’t you tell me now?” she persisted. His brows lowered in disapproval, but she ignored the reaction. The waltz permitted conversation, after all.

He set a solid arm about her waist, seized her hand, and spun her into the first turn. “Not here. Not where others might overhear.” He tipped his chin toward an orange turban swaying not far from them. “Lady Witless, for example.”

At the nickname, Julia suppressed a laugh and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. Benedict had so christened the old gossip two years ago when Lady Whitby’s spiteful tongue had run her afoul of a few other matrons who had overheard her and arranged to knock her into the punchbowl. “Stop. You’re terrible. By the by, what are you doing here tonight? I didn’t even realize you were in Town.”

“I only arrived two days ago. I came to have a look at some horses.”

“Ah, of course. No wonder you haven’t seen fit to call. What’s more important than cattle?”

“Quite a few things, it turns out.”

“Oh?”

But his gaze settled at some point beyond her. Well. Whatever was more important must have to do with this mysterious discussion he refused to have in the middle of the dance floor. He guided her through the steps of the dance with practiced ease until she felt as if she were hovering several inches above the floor. This was not dancing; it was floating. On every turn, her stomach tripped over itself.

It was nothing more than a waltz. Meaningless. The buoyancy that lifted her heels on every step had nothing to do with the hand planted at her waist, the fingers flexing into every pivot. Those strong fingers, calloused from the constant rubbing of reins, capable of controlling the most hot-blooded of horses, burned through the layers of her ball gown and stays. And his thighs, powerful from years in the saddle, brushed against hers through her skirts. She should not allow herself to think of such things. This was Benedict, steady and dependable, not one of her suitors.

Suppressing a sigh, she tried again. “I had no idea you danced so well. How is it we’ve never waltzed before?”

He winked. “You’ve never twisted my arm into it before.”

“I twisted? As I recall, this was your idea.”

“Perhaps I ought to have ideas a bit more often.” His words slipped out easily.

For a moment, Julia was dumbfounded. That sounded rather roguish. “Who are you practicing for?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re practicing your flirting on me.” Once again, she tapped him with her fan. “I shall not allow it unless you confess immediately who you intend to pursue.”