Bound By Temptation (11 page)

Violet turned from Peter and perused the crowd herself. “I know of only three, and one of them had died the day before the invitations were issued. You’d have to ask Marguerite to be sure, though.”

“I am surprised she was up to entertaining so soon after—”

“The birth of her daughter. It has been several months now.” Violet finished the sentence. “Don’t be so shy, Clara. I am well past discomfort at my
own childless state. I’ve discovered I am quite happy as an aunt. I do love babies, but I equally love leaving them behind at the end of the evening. Peter and I have stayed with Marguerite and Wimberley for both of her confinements, and I can assure you there are many aspects of the process I do not miss at all.”

Clara glanced at Peter and was surprised at his level of comfort with such an intimate discussion. For a moment, another face flashed before her eyes, a man who would not have been comfortable with such discussion. She pushed it back, roughly. She smiled at her friend. “I am so happy for you, for both of you. I know I’ve said it before, but every time I am with you two, you remind me of how much is possible.”

It was Peter’s turn to answer. “You flatter us, and I can assure you there are many moments when we do not act with such accord.”

“But those are the moments that prove how strong you are together,” Clara responded. “I can remember from my own marriage. When Michael and I fought, I always knew that no matter how strong the disagreement, it did not affect the soundness of our relationship. I see that with you.”

“You are—” Violet began before a voice from behind interrupted.

“Violet, I am so pleased to see you. St. Johns, Lady Westington, it is a most delightful affair.”

Clara felt a thousand butterflies rise and take flight as Masters’s deep voice wrapped tight about her. He stepped from behind Peter’s broad frame.

“Mr. Masters.” Clara nodded to him, afraid that her voice would break.

“Brother, I am surprised to see you,” Violet answered, her back so stiff she might have been an iron pole. Her welcome was not warm, but neither did she turn away.

“I found myself desiring company now that I have returned,” Masters replied. He addressed Violet, but his gaze had returned to Clara.

Clara watched as Violet started to say more, to ask about Masters’s trip, and then Violet caught his stare. She followed the line of his gaze to Clara.

Violet’s glance sharpened. She could tell something was not quite as it appeared. She was clearly trying to figure out the relationship. It must mean that the strain between them was clear.

Clara dropped her gaze to her hands. He looked as awkward as he had that last morning. She had never felt her actions tawdry before that morning. Now those same feelings washed over her.

With an effort, she relaxed each clenched finger, one by one. She strove to focus on nothing, save that her hands should look at ease and relaxed. This accomplished, she proceeded to adjust her breathing—smooth, even. Her shoulders were next. Her face was hardest. She relaxed her brow, letting the lines between her eyes smooth out.

The smile was even more difficult. It must not look forced. She lifted her head. “I was not aware you were in Town.”

He looked away when he spoke. “My task was
more difficult than I imagined. There have been delays. I will perhaps be forced to travel again.”

Clara turned to Violet. “I met your brother in Norfolk while he was looking for Isabella. He returned to London, believing her to be here.”

Violet allowed her attention to be distracted. “But she was not. I did get that report.” She nodded at Masters. Her tone was bitter.

Masters drew his shoulders back. This time his eyes were on Violet, although he addressed his words to Clara. Clara could almost feel his unspoken desire for his sister’s understanding. “As I said, the task was more difficult than expected. I’d heard rumor of a red-haired governess. Your inquiries, Lady Westington, appeared to be bearing fruit, and I followed the family after they had moved to London for the Season.”

“But nothing came of it.” Violet was clearly unmoved by her brother’s silent entreaty.

“You are correct,” Masters answered. “It took my agent several weeks to confirm that the girl was not Isabella.”

Violet would not be stilled. “Did you even bother to check yourself?”

Masters was clearly uncomfortable. He’d become even stiffer than usual. “Yes.”

There was a pause, and Clara was not sure he would proceed, even though it was clear that Violet was ready to shake him if he did not. Peter stood back. Plainly he understood that Violet could fend for herself and would not welcome his help.

Finally, Masters began again. “I waited for several hours, for two days running. The governess did not keep to a proper schedule in taking the children out. On the second day, I spied the girl. It was not Isabella.”

Violet’s face grew grim at his words. “And yet you are still here, enjoying company, not off searching again.”

Masters turned to address her fully, but spoke softly. “I am well aware of my responsibilities and I will be off again as soon as I have a direction to follow.”

“See that you are. If you had not—”

“I am well aware of what I did.” Masters closed his lips tight.

Violet looked as if she wanted to say more.

Peter reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come, let me get you some refreshment. I believe a glass of punch would not be amiss.”

Placing her hand over his, Violet turned to him. “Am I to understand you have a flask in your pocket?”

Peter just smiled.

Violet turned back to her brother as Peter, after a brief nod to each of them, began to lead her away. “She cannot simply have disappeared. Find her.”

Masters stared across the room as he answered, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “I will return to Coventry where I last heard of her.” He turned and stared at Violet. “It would be most helpful if you could
persuade Lady Smythe-Burke to talk. I cannot believe that she has no idea which of all her recommendations Isabella intended to take.”

Violet stepped away, following Peter. “It is not hard to get Lady Smythe-Burke to talk—the problem is getting her to answer.”

Then they were gone, melted into the crowd.

Clara was alone with Masters—as alone as one could be in a crowded ballroom.

“You did not need to tell her that we had met.” Masters did not hesitate to speak.

“It was unavoidable. Did not you catch her glance? She knew at once that there was something we were not telling her.”

“But she would never have asked.”

Clara tittered. She was so nervous she actually tittered. If she had not wanted to run from the room before, she did now. “Perhaps she would not have asked you. The strain between you is evident. But I assure you, it would have been mere moments before she tore a hem and needed my assistance in the withdrawing room. She would have been questioning me in great detail before five minutes had passed.”

“Women.” The word was filled with more description than a hundred sentences.

Clara did not answer. There really was nothing to say—about anything.

“I am sorry that I left without saying farewell.” The words came from his lips, but it did not seem that he had spoken them.

She still did not answer, but she did raise a brow.

He looked out over the crowd again. “I would admit I was not sorry at the time, but later I came to believe that it was poorly done.”

She snorted. First she tittered and now she snorted. He truly had the most ill effect on her. The man actually considered that an apology. That did demand reply. She might not believe that he actually owed her an apology after his actions with Mr. Green, but that was not the point. “You are sorry that your manners were poor. Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes.” It was clear he still did not understand there was anything wrong with his statement. He did not look at her.

“I am showing poor manners myself. I should not have let you apologize. I can never thank you enough for what you did with Mr. Green. He came and told me the full story.”

He still did not turn to her. “I only did what any man would have done. It was nothing.”

“It certainly was not nothing. I was most distressed at first to learn the truth. And I would confess some slight anger that you had not consulted me before confronting him, but over time I have come to fully appreciate your actions. I know there was far more involved than either Mr. Green or you would admit to.”

“Again I say, it was nothing.” His voice revealed nothing.

It was time that he looked at her. He might not share the details of his actions, but she would not be avoided. Shrugging her shoulders, she let her dress slip slightly lower. The deep burgundy silk was only a shade away from crimson. She was surprised he had not remarked on the fact—naming her a scarlet woman.

He caught her movement. She felt his eyes shift toward her and then stick as if glued to the pale flesh her gesture had revealed. She placed a single gloved finger high on his shoulder, granting him a better look. He did not fail her.

“It was something,” she said. “I can only offer my gratitude—and no, I do not mean in that fashion. I mean it with deep sincerity.”

His eyes remained on her bosom as he answered. “If you say so.”

She was not sure he had even heard her, so fixed was his gaze.

It was tempting to sigh,
Men,
adopting his earlier intonation, but it would have been a cheap retort. She was better than that. Well, not much better. She shifted from foot to foot causing her breasts to jiggle slightly within her dress. “Why are you here, Mr. Masters?”

His eyes jumped up to her face. For a moment he looked confused, her question escaping him. She could see his eyes focus as he gathered his wits. “You know why I am here. I have just finished discussing the matter with my sister.”

“I meant why are you at this ball? You must have
known you would meet Violet. I can see there are mixed feelings between you and your sister.”

He kept staring at her. “I must admit that I considered it a strong possibility we would see each other, but contrary to your beliefs, I actually looked forward to the meeting. There are matters we need to discuss—I should have realized a ball was not the place for that discussion. There were also other priorities.”

Her glance had moved to his lips as he spoke and caught there. It was hard to speak. “Are you going to tell me of these priorities or has this become a game?”

“No, no game.” His lips remained parted after he finished.

Clara was lost for a moment, remembering how they’d felt, how they’d tasted. Had he had anything to drink this evening? Would he taste of watery lemonade or brandy? She pressed her knees tight together.

“I am here to begin searching for a wife.” He turned back to the crowd, his face now directed away from her.

Even without his movement, she would have regained her focus. A wife? “I suppose you want someone young and sweet?”

“Yes, and well-bred.” He had clearly missed the sarcasm in her tone.

“What about looks? Do you seek a particular type?” Surely, he could not miss the sharpness with which she spoke.

He turned back to her, his face impassive. He appraised her as he had back on that morning in Aylsham. “Yes, I would prefer a blonde, tall and slender—regal in stature. That is how I have always pictured my children.”

Somebody far different than her own dark hair and full curves. She was not short, but she would never be considered tall and slender. “You speak rather coldly about a woman you would seek to marry—rather like you’re seeking a new horse at Tattersall’s.”

“And what is the difficulty in that? It seems to me that more thought and less emotion should be put into these decisions. Do you disagree?”

Clara considered her own marriage. If Michael had been seeking a mare, she would certainly never have been chosen. Michael had chosen her because he wanted her, plain and simple. “I rather believe I do. My own marriage was certainly not based on my abilities as a broodmare.”

“I must apologize,” he replied softly. “I had meant no statement on your own marriage.” He had not meant to hurt her. Masters looked down at her pale features and cursed inwardly. This whole situation was so damn awkward.

It had never occurred to him that she would be here. He had not even known she was back in Town. Indeed, he’d driven by her house that very day and the knocker had been down—but perhaps she merely hadn’t wanted company.

“Then what did you mean?” She was not going to let him be.

“I merely meant exactly what I said. I think marriage is a serious matter and should be considered with the intellect and not the heart.” There, that should be clear enough.

She was beautiful tonight. The deep red of her gown highlighting her creamy skin and rosy cheeks. He would never have thought red would complement the gold of her eyes, but they seemed to glow, filling her entire face. Or perhaps it was the candlelight. Had he ever seen her lit solely by candles? He must have, but he could not think when.

“I imagine that is why you found Violet’s marriages so desirable,” Clara interrupted his thoughts. “If the heart does not matter, then what does it matter if your spouse is an octogenarian? Although it does seem to make offspring unlikely—and I believe you indicated they were one of the main priorities in marriage.”

“For the man, yes. He must carry on the family name. It is his responsibility. I do not imagine that it matters so much to women.”

Damn, he’d done it again. If anything, she’d turned even paler at his words. Could she not understand that he merely spoke sense? There was no harm intended.

She glared up at him. It was a far different glow that shone in her eyes now. “If that is how you feel, I fear we have nothing more to say.”

She turned and walked away. Her stiff spine re
minded him of that other morning when she had also walked away. It had been what was best then. It was what was best now. He must remind himself of the fact.

He wondered if Peter St. Johns had anything left in his flask. A stiff drink would be most welcome.