Almost Heaven (8 page)

“Ravishing.” echoed Lord Howard. With a meaningful grin at Thomas Everly’s outstretched arm he said, “Everly, one usually asks a lady for the honor of escorting her forward – he does not thrust his arm in her way.” Turning to Elizabeth, he bowed, said, “May I?” and offered his arm.

Elizabeth chuckled, and now that she was betrothed she permitted herself to break a tiny rule of decorum. “Certainly, my lords,” she replied, and she placed a gloved hand on
each
of their arms. “I hope you appreciate the lengths to which I’m going to prevent the two of you from coming to fisticuffs,” she teased as they led her forward. “I look like an elderly lady, too weak to walk without someone on each side to hold her upright!”

The two gentlemen laughed, and so did Elizabeth – and that was the scene Ian Thornton witnessed as the trio strolled by the group he was with. Elizabeth managed to stop herself from so much as glancing his way until they were nearly past him, but then someone called out to Lord Howard, and he stopped momentarily to reply. Yielding to temptation, Elizabeth stole a split-second glance at the tall, broad-shouldered man in the midst of the group. His dark head was bent, and he appeared to be absorbed in listening to a laughing commentary from the only woman among them. If he was aware Elizabeth was standing there, he gave not the slightest indication of it.

“I must say,” Lord Howard told her a moment later as he escorted her forward again, “I was a bit surprised to hear you were here.”

“Why is that?” Elizabeth asked, adamantly vowing not to think of Ian Thornton again. She was becoming quite obsessed with a man who was a complete stranger, and moreover, she was very nearly an engaged woman!

“Because Charise Dumont runs with a bit of a fast set,” he explained.

Startled, Elizabeth turned her full attention on the attractive blond man. “But Miss Throckmorton-Jones – my companion – has never raised the slightest objection in London to my visiting any member of the family. Besides, Charise’s mama was a friend of my own mama’s.”

Lord Howard’s smile was both concerned and reassuring. “In London,” he emphasized, “Charise is a model hostess. In the country, however, her soirees tend to be, shall we say, somewhat less structured and restricted.”  He paused to stop a servant who was carrying a silver tray with glasses of champagne, then he handed one of the glasses to Elizabeth before continuing: “I never meant to imply your reputation would be ruined for being here. After all,” he teased, “Everly and I are here, which indicates that at least a few of us are among the first stare of society.”

“Unlike some of her
other
guests,” Lord Everly put in contemptuously, tipping his head toward Ian Thornton, “who wouldn’t be admitted to a
respectable
drawing room in all of London!”

Consumed with a mixture of curiosity and alarm, Elizabeth couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you referring to Mr. Thornton?”

“None other.”

She took a sip of her champagne, using that as an excuse to study the tall, tanned man who’d occupied too many of her thoughts since the moment she’d first spoken to him. To Elizabeth he looked every inch the elegant, understated gentleman: His dark claret jacket and trousers setoff his broad shoulders and emphasized his long, muscular legs with a perfection that bespoke the finest London tailoring; his snowy white neckcloth was tied to perfection, and his dark hair was perfectly groomed. Even in his relaxed pose his tall body gave off the muscular power of a discus thrower, while his tanned features were stamped with the cool arrogance of nobility. “Is-is he as bad as that?” she asked, tearing her gaze from his chiseled profile.

She was caught up in her private impressions of his elegance, so it took a moment for Lord Everly’s scathing answer to register on Elizabeth’s brain: “He’s
worse!
The man’s a common gambler, a pirate, a blackguard, and worse!”

“I-I can’t believe all that,” Elizabeth said, too stunned and disappointed to keep silent.

Lord Howard shot a quelling glance at Everly, then smiled reassuringly at a stricken Elizabeth, misunderstanding the cause of her dismay. “Don’t pay any heed to Lord Everly, my lady. He’s merely put out because Thornton relieved him of £10,000 two weeks ago in a polite gaming hall. Cease, Thorn!” he added when the irate earl started to protest. “You’ll have Lady Elizabeth afraid to sleep in her bed tonight.”

Her mind still on Ian Thornton, Elizabeth only half heard what her girlfriends were talking about when her two escorts led her to them. “I don’t know what men see in her,” Georgina was saying. “She’s no prettier than any of us.”

“Have you ever noticed,” Penelope put in philosophically, “what sheep men are? Where one goes they all follow.”

“I just wish she’d choose one to wed and leave the rest to us,” said Georgina.

“I think she’s attracted to him.”

“She’s wasting her time in that quarter,” Valerie sneered, giving her rose gown an angry twitch. “As I told you earlier, Charise assured me he has no interest in innocent young things. Still,” she said with an exasperated sigh, “it would be delightful if she did develop a
tendre
for him. A dance or two together, a few longing looks, and we’d be rid of her completely as soon as the gossip reached her adoring beaux good heavens, Elizabeth!” she exclaimed, finally noticing Elizabeth, who was standing beside and slightly behind her. “We thought you were dancing with Lord Howard.”

“An excellent idea,” Lord Howard seconded. “I’d claimed the next dance, Lady Cameron, but if you have no objection to this one instead?”

“Before you usurp her completely,” Lord Everly cut in with a dark look at Lord Howard, whom he mistakenly deemed his rival for Elizabeth’s hand. Turning to Elizabeth, he continued, “There’s to be an all-day jaunt to the village tomorrow, leaving in the morning. Would you do me the honor of permitting me to be your escort?”

Uneasy around the sort of vicious gossip in which the girls had been indulging, Elizabeth gratefully accepted Lord Everly’s offer and then agreed to Lord Howard’s invitation to dance. On the dance floor he smiled down at her and said. “I understand we’re to become cousins.” Seeing her surprised reaction to his premature remark, he explained. “Mondevale confided in me that you’re about to make him the happiest of men – assuming your brother doesn’t decide there’s a nonexistent skeleton in his closet.”

Since Robert had specifically said he wished Viscount Mondevale to be kept waiting, Elizabeth said the only thing she could say: “The decision is in my brother’s hands.”

“Which is where it should be,” he said approvingly.

An hour later Elizabeth realized that Lord Howard’s almost continual presence at her side indicated that he’d evidently appointed himself her guardian at this gathering, which he deemed to be of questionable suitability for the young and innocent. She also realized, as he left to get her a glass of punch, that the male population of the ballroom, as well as some of the female, was dwindling by the moment as guests disappeared into the adjoining card room. Normally the card room was an exclusively male province at balls a place provided by hostesses for those men (usually married or of advancing years) who were forced to attend a ball, but who adamantly refused to spend an entire evening engaged in frivolous social discourse. Ian Thornton, she knew, had gone in there early in the evening and remained, and now even her girlfriends were looking longingly in that direction. “Is something special happening in the card room?” she asked Lord Howard when he returned with her punch and began guiding her over to her friends.

He nodded with a sardonic smile. “Thornton is losing heavily and has been most of the night very unusual for him.”

Penelope and the others heard his comment with avidly curious, even eager expressions. “Lord Tilbury told us that he thinks everything Mr. Thornton owns is lying on the table, either in chips or promissory notes,” she said.

Elizabeth’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. “He-he’s wagering everything?” she asked her self-appointed protector. “On a turn of the cards? Why would he
do
such a thing?”

“For the thrill, I imagine. Gamblers often do just that.” Elizabeth could not imagine why her father, her brother, or other men seemed to enjoy risking large sums of money on anything as meaningless as a game of chance, but she had no opportunity to comment because Penelope was gesturing to Georgina, Valerie, and even Elizabeth and saying with a pretty smile, “We would all very much like to go and watch, Lord Howard, and if you would accompany us, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t. It’s so very exciting, and half the people here are already in there.”

Lord Howard wasn’t immune to the three pretty faces watching him with such hope, but he hesitated anyway, glancing uncertainly at Elizabeth as his guardianship came into conflict with his personal desire to see the proceedings firsthand.

“It’s not the least inappropriate,” Valerie urged, “since there are other ladies in there.”

“Very well,” he acceded with a helpless grin. With Elizabeth on his arm he escorted the bevy of girls forward through the open doorway and into the hallowed male confines of the card room.

Suppressing the urge to cry out that she did not want to watch Ian Thornton be beggared, Elizabeth forced herself to keep her expression blank as she looked around at the groups of people clustered about the largest of the oaken tables, obscuring the view of the players seated around it. Dark paneling on the walls and burgundy carpet on the floor made the room seem very dim in comparison to the ballroom. A pair of beautifully carved billiard tables with large chandeliers hanging above them occupied the front of the large room, and eight other tables were scattered about. Although those tables were unoccupied for the moment, cards had been left on them, carefully turned face down, and piles of chips remained in the center of each.

Elizabeth assumed the players at those tables had left their own card games and were now part of the spectators clustered around the large table where all the excitement was being generated. Just as she thought it, one of the spectators at the big table announced it was time to return to their own game, and four men backed away. Lord Howard neatly guided his ladies into the spot the men had just vacated, and Elizabeth found herself in the last place she wanted to be – standing almost at Ian Thornton’s elbow with a perfect, unobscured view of what was purportedly the scene of his financial massacre.

Four other men were seated at the round table along with him, including Lord Everly, whose young face was flushed with triumph. Besides being the youngest man there, Lord Everly was the only one whose expression and posture clearly betrayed his emotions. In complete contrast to Lord Everly, Ian Thornton was lounging indifferently in his chair, his expression bland, his long legs stretched out beneath the table, his claret jacket open at the front. The other three men appeared to be concentrating on the cards in their hands, their expressions unreadable.

The Duke of Hammund, who was seated across from where Elizabeth stood, broke the silence: “I think you’re bluffing, Thorn,” he said with a brief smile. “Moreover, you’ve been on a losing streak all night. I’ll raise you £500,” he added, sliding five chips forward

Two things hit Elizabeth at once: Evidently Ian’s nickname was Thorn, and His Grace, the Duke of Hammund, a premier duke of the realm, had addressed him as if they were on friendly terms. The other men, however, continued to regard Ian coolly as they in turn plucked five chips from their individual stacks and pushed them into the pile that had already accumulated in the center of the table.

When it was Ian’s turn Elizabeth noticed with a surge of alarm that he had no stack of chips at all, but only five lonely white ones. Her heart sank as she watched him pluck all five chips up and flip them onto the pile in the center. Unknowingly, she held her breath, wondering a little wildly why any sane human being would wager everything he had on anything as stupid as a game of chance.

The last wager had been placed, and the Duke of Hammund showed his cards a pair of aces. The other two men apparently had less than that, because they withdrew. “I’ve got you beaten!” Lord Everly said to the duke with a triumphant grin, and he turned over three kings. Reaching forward, he started to pull the pile of chips toward him, but Ian’s lazy drawl stopped him short: “I believe that’s mine,” he said, and he turned over his own cards three nines and a pair of fours.

Without realizing it, Elizabeth expelled a lusty sigh of relief, and Ian’s gaze abruptly snapped to her face, registering not only her presence for the first time, but her worried green eyes and wan smile as well. A brief impersonal smile touched the corner of his mouth before he glanced at the other men and said lightly, “Perhaps the presence of such lovely ladies has changed my luck at last.”

He had said “ladies,” but Elizabeth felt . . . she
knew .
. . his words had been meant for her.

Unfortunately, his prediction about his luck changing was wrong. For the next half hour Elizabeth stood stock still, watching with a sinking heart and unbearable tension as he lost most of the money he’d won when she first came to stand at the table. And during all that time he continued to lounge in his chair, his expression never betraying a single emotion. Elizabeth, however, could no longer endure watching him lose, and she waited for the last hand to end so that she could leave without disturbing the players. As soon as it was over the Duke of Hammund announced, “I think some; refreshment would stand us in good stead.” He nodded to a nearby servant, who promptly came to collect the empty glasses from the gentlemen’s elbows and replace them with filled ones, and Elizabeth turned quickly to Lord Howard. “Excuse me,” she said in a tense, quiet voice, picking up her skirts to leave. Ian had not so much as glanced at her since he’d joked about his luck changing, and she’d assumed he’d forgotten her presence, but at her words he lifted his head and looked straight at her. “Afraid to stay to the bitter end?” he asked lightly, and three of the men at the table, who’d already won most of his money, laughed heartily but without warmth.