A Summer Seduction (7 page)

“How do you do, Mrs. Howard?” Genevieve stepped up to greet Damaris. “I am so glad you could come. I see you have already met Sir Myles.”

“Yes, I was fortunate enough to make his acquaintance last Yuletide.”

“It must have been a large gathering at Lord Morecombe’s,” Genevieve commented. “We quite missed Rawdon from our celebrations.”

“But fortunately Miss Bainbridge and her brother included Lord Rawdon in their Christmas party,” Damaris inserted smoothly. “I know you are grateful to them that your brother was not alone on such a festive occasion.”

“Yes, of course.” Genevieve turned a considering look upon her. She was not, Damaris thought, as practiced as her brother in concealing her emotions, but while Genevieve could not match Rawdon’s air of indifference, she seemed equally proud.

It was not hard to see where both had learned such qualities.
The white-haired woman standing beyond Genevieve was ramrod straight and regarded the world with a regal expression. Diamonds glittered in matching hair combs and were echoed among the sapphires that encircled her throat. Though time had worked its way in the wrinkles lining her face, it clearly had not softened her. The blue gaze she turned on Damaris was incisive, and Damaris felt sure the countess did not miss a single detail of her appearance.

Genevieve introduced her grandmother, who nodded in response to Damaris’s polite curtsey.

“Mrs. Howard. I am surprised I have not met you before,” the countess said to Damaris.

“I have been back in the country for only a year or so.”

“Indeed? You were living on the Continent?”

“For much of my life, yes.” Damaris smiled but did not elaborate.

“Fascinating. We must talk more later in the evening. I have a number of acquaintances in Vienna.”

“It is a lovely city, though I confess I have not spent much time there. I look forward to chatting with you.” Privately Damaris determined to stay as far away from the woman as she could. She could well imagine the exhausting effort it would entail to evade the countess’s subtle interrogation regarding her history.

“No doubt you will enjoy that, Grandmother.” Rawdon inserted himself into the conversation, firmly taking her arm. “But first I must claim Mrs. Howard for the waltz. I believe it should be starting soon. Mrs. Howard?” He nodded toward
the others. “If you will excuse us, I should introduce Mrs. Howard around.”

Rawdon neatly separated Damaris from the other three and steered her away. She sneaked an upward glance at him.

“To whom are you planning to introduce me?”

“Why, no one if I can help it,” Rawdon replied imperturbably. A grin lit his face and was gone in an instant. Damaris realized that she would very much like to bring that smile to his lips again. “I can see that Sir Myles would like to steal you for the evening, and I have no intention of giving him or some other fellow the opportunity.”

“Lord Rawdon! That sounded almost as if you were flirting with me.”

“Almost? Clearly I have fallen short of the mark.”

Damaris let out a little chuckle and whipped her fan open, wafting it gently. “If you do not plan to introduce me, what are we to do? Do you mean to promenade about the room, then abandon me to fend for myself?”

“I am sure you will not spend any time alone,” he replied drily. “However, my intention was to find some old dragon of a female sitting along the wall and settle you down beside her. Two old dragons, preferably, so you will have guardians on either side.” He glanced down at her. “Although I have little doubt that will suffice. I shall be lucky if you are not surrounded by admirers while I am still standing beside you.”

“Since you have had ample opportunity to be alone with me several times before this, I believe I shall take your words with a grain of salt.”

“Ah, but that was in Chesley. We are in London now; a man must be more careful.”

“The city renders my company more desirable?” Damaris tossed back.

“My dear Mrs. Howard, I am sure you realize that your company is always desirable.” His sideways glance held a flash of heat. “But in the city, there is so much more competition. I feared if I did not lay my claim early, I would lose all hope of a waltz with you.”

“I would not have thought you the type to shy away from competition, my lord.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I confess, I do not… in most situations. But you see, with you, I must seize every advantage. You have not heretofore seen me at my best.”

Damaris glanced up at him. “Indeed. Perhaps not. Have I seen you at your worst?”

He lifted his brows a trifle. “I sincerely hope you will not witness me doing anything worse than knocking a man down in his own house.”

Damaris’s mouth curved up provocatively. “Still, I have not yet been frightened away.”

She saw the little leap of light in his eyes, and she glanced away, startled by the sizzle that ran through her in response. Lord Rawdon was not the sort of man it was wise to tease. It was even stranger that she should have the desire to do so. Since the disaster of her impulsive marriage and the further pain of its aftermath, she had been the most cautious of women, unflappable and steady, even a trifle boring. When she
had flirted, it had always been with someone like Sir Myles, uncomplicated and lighthearted, the sort of man who enjoyed the art of flirtation itself and would press for nothing more.

Yet here she was, with a man who was anything but uncomplicated, beneath whose still surface lay a wealth of dangers—and she found herself wanting to push at that controlled calm just to see what would rise to the surface. She had for years avoided danger, and now she was enjoying the thrill of standing on the edge. It was beyond foolish, she knew, but somehow she could not seem to turn away.

They stopped at the periphery of the dance floor and watched as the cotillion wound to a halt. Then Alec led Damaris onto the floor for the first waltz. She realized suddenly that nearly every eye in the place was on her and Rawdon. She had not taken into account the ripple of interest that would follow when Lord Rawdon took the dance floor with a stranger to the
ton.
Clearly she would not be unnoticed, as she had foolishly hoped.

But still, she reminded herself, no one would know who she was; they would not know her connections. Even if Rawdon or his sister were willing to answer any questions about her—and she could not imagine either one of them deigning to respond to impertinent inquiries—they knew nothing about her, really. The curiosity would die down as soon as she returned to Chesley; the
ton
was nothing if not fickle. There was no need to worry.

She refused to waste this dance fretting about such matters. It was a heady feeling to be standing so close to Rawdon,
almost in his embrace. Whatever careful inches separated them, it was impossible not to feel surrounded by him. The heat emanating from his body warmed her; the faint scent of cologne, cigar, and brandy teased at her nostrils. Damaris looked up into his face. She was so close she could see the clear striations that ran through his light blue eyes like shards of glass, giving his gaze its glittering quality. His strong-boned face was compelling. She realized that she would like to run her fingers across the flaring bones of his cheeks. She wanted to see that firm mouth curve once again into a smile. She wanted, in fact, to feel that mouth against her own.

Damaris realized that she had been staring into his face for far too long, and she pulled her gaze away, glancing across the dance floor. She saw Genevieve dancing with Sir Myles, and the pair of them made a pretty picture, with Genevieve all white and silver beside Myles’s dark green jacket and golden-brown eyes and hair.

Rawdon did not try to make conversation as they danced, and Damaris was grateful. She was too full of unaccustomed sensations. It was so much nicer simply to float in the music and the pleasure of dancing, to gaze up into Alec’s face and think about kissing him, to feel the pressure of his fingers at her waist, subtly guiding her through the turns. It was with regret that she heard the music build to its crescendo and stop. They remained standing together for a moment after the music ended, then his hands dropped away from her. There was a hint of regret in his eyes, and Damaris wondered if he could see the same emotion in hers.

As they walked off the dance floor, first one man and then another made his way toward them to greet the earl. Casting a dry glance at Damaris, Rawdon introduced her to each of them, and in a few moments, she found herself in the midst of an admiring group. Rawdon, with a bow, excused himself, and Damaris spent the next few minutes bantering with the men as she filled up her dance card.

The rest of the evening was filled with dances and conversation. Damaris could not help but feel a touch of pride to think that even though she was all of twenty-eight years old now and a widow from the country, she could still fill up her dance card and have a covey of admirers clustered around her. Yet she could not suppress a niggling sense of disappointment that Rawdon did not return to join her as the evening wore on. She saw him dancing at one point with his sister and another time with his grandmother, and now and then she caught sight of him around the room, engaged in conversation. It was impossible to tell from his face whether he was enjoying himself or filled with boredom.

It was circumspect of him, of course, not to stand up with her more than once on this, her introduction to London society. Nor would it do for him to dance attendance on her. Such things would only serve to make her noticeable in the wrong way. Still, she could not help but wish that he were a little less able to stay away from her, no matter how correct it was.

And no matter how foolish she was to wish it.

Damaris realized that a small headache was beginning to form at the base of her skull and she wanted very much to
slide out of her slippers for a few minutes. She had left one dance empty on her card before the midnight supper, out of an unacknowledged hope that the earl might return and claim it. Now she seized the opportunity to slip away and enjoy a few minutes of solitude. Making an excuse to her last partner, she made her way toward the other side of the ballroom, where a set of double doors lay open to a side corridor.

A knot of people stood not far from the doors she sought, and for a moment, Damaris thought that there was something vaguely familiar about one of the men whose back was turned toward her. Quickly she looked away, for fear he might turn and see her and she would have to stop politely to chat. As she walked past, a woman said, “Excuse me, Mr. Stanley.” Ah, so not someone she knew, after all—the name Stanley was unfamiliar to her. But a moment later the woman strode past her, then whirled to stand directly in Damaris’s path.

The lady who faced her rather belligerently was younger than Rawdon’s grandmother, perhaps, but not by many years. Her hair was still brown in the back, but the front and sides were heavily streaked with pewter gray, and her eyes, hooded by age, were an oddly similar hue. Those metallic eyes now flashed at Damaris.

“You!” Her low voice shook with barely suppressed rage. “How dare you come here? In front of all the
ton
!”

D
amaris stared at the older
woman. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” The other woman came two steps closer, and it was all Damaris could do not to back away from her fierce gaze. “Do you think you can appear here and humiliate us like this? Do you intend to try to wring some gold from us in order to save ourselves the embarrassment?”

Damaris blinked. She had never seen the woman before, but it was not hard to guess who she was. “I presume you are Lady Sedbury.”

“I suppose I should be grateful you did not try to call me Grandmother.”

“Trust me, I will never do that.” Damaris carefully kept her voice dry and detached. She could see the resemblance to her father in the woman’s gray eyes. His had been a lighter shade, with a hint of blueness, but the shape was the same, large and wide-set, though age had made the woman’s lids heavier.

“Why are you here?” Lady Sedbury went on. “You must leave immediately.”

“I am here because I was invited, and I hardly think it is your place to order a guest out of Lord Rawdon’s home.”

“Just how do you think the Staffords would like it if they knew that their ‘guest’ was the bastard daughter of a common actress?”

“I think they would be most surprised to learn that my father was your son,” Damaris replied, relieved that her voice did not shake. “Do you care to tell them?”

“Of course not! Is that what you are threatening?”

“I threaten nothing. I believe it was you who mentioned explaining my birth to the earl and his family.”

“It has been so long—I thought you at least must have the decency not to show yourself in polite society. Lord knows, your father left you well enough provided for that you should have no need to importune us.”

“I have no interest in you,” Damaris said flatly. “Whatever you think, you are wrong. I would have lived the rest of my life quite happily never seeing your face. Nor do I have any interest in ‘disgracing’ your name or whatever you imagine I am about. I have said and done nothing to suggest to anyone that I am in any way connected to the Sedbury family.” Lady Sedbury’s face flamed with dangerously high color, but before she could say anything, Damaris plowed ahead. “However, just because you were able to make your son desert his child and the woman he loved, just because you could bend him to your will and make him marry a ‘suitable’ girl, do not for an instant think that you are able to make
me
do anything. As you said, I am amply provided for, and you have made it clear that there
is no familial feeling between us. You have no power over me, and I shall live where I see fit and visit whom I wish.”