Candice Hern (85 page)

Meg lifted a hand toward Sedge in a gesture of welcome, smiling uncertainly.
Please come to me, Sedge.

To her astonishment, he turned on his heels and quit the room.

Meg winced involuntarily, as if she had been physically struck. As she watched him walk away she heard one of the thin ivory sticks of her fan crack beneath her fingers.

Chapter 20

Sedge moved through the crowded ballroom in something of a daze. Vaguely aware that acquaintances here and there beckoned to him or greeted him, he navigated the crush of people like a nag with blinders. He would not be deterred from his single-minded purpose: escape. He desperately needed fresh air, for he was feeling very warm and the knot in his stomach had become so tight he thought he might truly become ill. He headed outside through the first set of French doors he encountered.

Sedge found himself on a large terrace. He stood still for a moment, tilted his head back, and breathed deeply of the cool night air. Hopefully, the fresh air would calm his wretched stomach, his racing heart, and his spinning head. His poor brain was not used to so many complications. He felt as confused as he had when Meg had rejected him. But this time, it was his own reaction that confused him.

He wanted her, did he not? He had behaved like a bloody fool over her, so apparently he did. And her eyes had beckoned him, had they not? Clearly and openly. Then, why had he stalked off like that?

Sedge wandered over to the balustrade overlooking the lantern-lit garden below, and considered that he was probably the world's biggest fool. A fool who could not seem to make up his mind. He wanted Meg Ashburton. But when he saw her surrounded by all those prigs and popinjays, somehow he did not want her anymore. Was that it? Or maybe he simply preferred to have her all to himself, as he had at Thornhill. Strange. He had never been afraid of a little competition before now, and he seldom suffered from jealousy. What was wrong with him? He did not seem to know whether he was coming or going.

"Sedge?"

His shoulders flinched at the sound of the achingly familiar voice. Sedge was not sure he could turn around without scooping her up in his arms. Despite everything, he still wanted to do that.

He kept his hands on the balustrade and simply turned to look over his shoulder. "Hullo, Meg." After one brief look, he whipped his head back around and fixed his gaze on the garden below. One quick glance told him she looked more beautiful than ever, wearing that shimmery, clingy blue thing, cut low at the bosom with a neckline so wide it merely skimmed the tops of her white shoulders. If he had not torn his eyes away, he might have found himself leering at her in much the same way as Cunningham had done.

Meg moved to stand next to him, her shoulder almost brushing his as she, too, gazed out into the garden. Sedge ached to touch her, but kept his hands clutched tightly around the top railing of the balustrade. She did not speak right away, and he closed his eyes, pretending she was not there. But he was not very good at pretending, and the fragrance of wild violets assaulted his nose.

"I have the next set free," Meg said.

Oh, God.

"I—I'm sorry." He turned toward her slightly, but without looking her in the eye. "It's my leg. I—I cannot dance. My leg ... is still a bit stiff. I'm sorry. I... I would have loved to dance with you, Meg." As he spoke her name, his gaze at last lifted to meet hers, and he found himself drowning once again in those sherry eyes. Oh, God, had she really wanted to dance with him? Did that mean she was willing to give him another chance?

"I am glad, at least, to see you no longer need crutches," she said, her voice soft and her eyes locked to his. "I have wondered how you were doing."

"You have?"

"Yes. Often. Are you able to walk a bit? I am not used to these overheated ballrooms. Would you stroll in the garden with me, Sedge?"

If she had asked him to jump over the moon, he could not have been more surprised. After a startled moment, the corners of his mouth twitched up, and all at once his face arranged itself in the familiar smile for the first time in weeks. He turned and held out his arm. "I would be delighted," he said, straining to curb his excitement, his impatience to be alone with her again.

Meg smiled and took Sedge's arm, and they walked down one of the twin sets of stone steps that curved into a horseshoe as they reached the garden below. Though only a sliver of moon shone in the sky, the garden was hung throughout with strategically placed paper lanterns, creating intimate pools of illumination. They walked in silence from one pool of light to the next, through a series of formal gardens bordered with clipped yew hedges taller than either one of them. They passed other strolling couples, and a few couples otherwise occupied, until the lanterns became fewer and finally disappeared altogether.

Sedge steered Meg into an arbor lit only by the crescent moon and swung her into his arms.

"Sedge, I—"

He stopped her words with his lips. Slanting his mouth across hers, first in one direction, then the other, he explored, enticed, incited. He felt her arms snake around his neck as he deepened the kiss. She was every bit as sensuous, as passionate, as sweet-tasting as he remembered. She opened her lips freely and his tongue swept inside, circling, stroking, fencing with her own. He drank in the sweet, hot taste of her, and all the doubts and concerns of a few minutes before evaporated as quickly as frost on a sun-kissed windowpane. Sedge knew without question that this was the woman he wanted for his wife.

When his lips left hers and moved to the long column of her neck and down to the irresistible expanse of white shoulders, Meg began to mutter faint protests. "Please, please," she begged, arching away from Sedge, who took advantage of the access to her exposed bosom. He trailed kisses along the soft mounds of her full breasts, above the silky neckline of midnight blue—so dark against such white skin—and dipped his tongue down into the valley between them. Her breath became labored. But still, she protested.

"Please, not here," she said in a tremulous voice. "Not now. I... I just wanted to talk to you."

Sedge continued his exploration, back up to her neck and jaw. "Talk," he said between kisses. "I'm listening."

"No. Please, Sedge. No."

Meg squirmed in Sedge's arms, and he realized he had lost his head. He had never forced a woman in his life, and certainly had no wish to force this woman. He would do nothing to dishonor Meg. He wanted her to come to him willingly, as his wife. He stepped back at once, but kept his hands on her upper arms. "I'm sorry, Meg. Blame it on that dress. You are quite irresistible."

She blushed. How could such a remark cause her to blush after the heated kiss they had just shared? Sedge grinned.

"I... I wanted to talk about... about what we discussed the day you left Thornhill."

Sedge's heart did a somersault in his chest. She had changed her mind! "Yes?" he prompted, keeping his voice as level as possible.

"Well," she continued, dropping her eyes, as if suddenly bashful, "I have been giving it a lot of thought. Your... your offer, that is."

"Is that so?" Banking his excitement, Sedge nevertheless thought he might explode with joy. But he would not rush her. Let her say what she wanted to say, what he desperately wanted to hear. Only then would he crush her soft breasts against his chest once again.

"Yes," Meg said. "I have had time to ... to reconsider." She raised her eyes to his. "If you are still interested, that is."

Sedge squeezed her arms. "Oh, Meg—"

"I am willing to be your mistress."

The earth seemed to have stopped spinning and slammed him abruptly to the ground. He dropped his hands from her arms as though stung. "What?"

"I said, I am willing to be your mistress, Sedge."

"No!" He could not have heard correctly. His mistress? "No." He shook his head in disbelief. How could she think that was what he had wanted from her? How could she believe he would be willing to treat her so dishonorably? A gently bred, innocent young woman like Meg. "No." Or was she not so innocent after all? Had he been an even bigger fool than he had thought? Images of her surrounded by a circle of men formed in his mind, flirting with each of them while they ogled her bosom. What had become of the sweet, blushing, artless woman he had fallen in love with at Thornhill? Dumbfounded by her startling suggestion, he could only shake his head slowly, back and forth, refusing to believe that the woman he wanted for his wife was only interested in being his mistress. "No. No!"

Meg's hand flew to her mouth as Sedge shook his head and looked at her as if she had sprouted wings. "No," he kept repeating, as if she were feebleminded and needed to hear the word over and over before understanding.

But Meg was not feebleminded. She understood perfectly.

Mortified, she choked back tears as she turned and fled, following the trail of lanterns that wound through the gardens. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her, for she did not think she could bear the shame.

After thoughtfully and logically concluding that she could, and perhaps should, accept his offer, she had shamelessly thrown herself at him. It had never occurred to her that he might have changed his mind as well.

Sedge no longer wanted her.

He had kissed her. But only because she had been bold enough to invite him to stroll in the relative privacy of the gardens. What man would not attempt to kiss such a brazen creature? The implication of such an invitation was clear. And so he had kissed her, as any man would have done, under the circumstances.

But that was all he wanted. A stolen kiss in the garden. Nothing more. He was no longer interested in a more intimate relationship. She had had her one chance, and she had refused it. He was not giving her a second chance. Sedge was no longer interested in her in that way. He did not need her anymore, as he had thought he did at Thornhill, where she was the only young woman for miles around. He had returned to London, where the number of willing women was legion. He probably had some other doxy already set up in his love nest. Another woman whose arms would welcome him this very evening, after dallying with Meg in the garden.

It was the second time this man had mortified her beyond imagining.

Meg hurried from one pool of lantern light to the next until she had reached the horseshoe steps once again. She stood at the base of the steps, dabbed at her eyes, and pinched her cheeks so that she might appear reasonably normal when she reentered the ballroom. She lifted the skirts of her gown and slowly climbed the steps, her shoulders straight and her chin raised. She would leave this ball with her dignity, if not her heart, intact.

Upon entering the French doors, she could see several gentlemen preparing to rush to her side. Ignoring them, she turned in the other direction and began searching for her brother. Her eyes skimmed the room in a wide arc, finally resting upon Terrence's familiar auburn hair as he handed an unknown young lady through the steps of a cotillion. The set should be almost over. Meg kept her eyes fixed on Terrence while she moved along the edge of the dance floor closer to where he danced. He caught her eye as he twirled in her direction. Meg sent him an imploring look which he acknowledged with a brief nod. She kept herself buried amongst the crowd until the set ended, fobbing off anyone who attempted to engage her in conversation. She only waited for her brother to take her home, she explained, for she had developed a splitting headache.

Satisfied that Terrence would come to her, Meg began searching the clusters of older women—mothers, chaperones, dowagers—who gathered about in groups, gossiping and watching the younger set on the dance floor. Though Meg's height afforded her a clear view of the room from one end to the other, Gram was not so fortunate in her stature. Her short, plump figure was nowhere to be seen at the moment. She might be seated, which meant that Meg could be required to traverse the entire room in order to locate her.

But first she must speak to Terrence and have him bring their carriage round.

Thinking the set might never end, Meg had worked herself into quite a state by the time Terrence came to her side. She really did have a headache now, no doubt from the effort of reining in her emotions. The sting of tears began to build up behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to break down in public. If she did not get out of here quickly, she might do just that.

"What is it, Meggie?" Terrence asked. He laid a gentle hand on her arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You don't look so good."

"I do not feel so good," Meg replied. "I have a blistering headache. If I locate Gram, could you call for the carriage? I really must get home before I collapse."

"Oh, poor Meggie." He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "You do look a bit pinched. I'll take you home, love. But let me take you to Gram, first. She was just over here last time I saw her."

Terrence took Meg's elbow and steered her toward a group of dowagers seated near one of the fireplaces, their plumed and turbaned heads bent together in lively discussion. Gram sat in the middle of the group, pink plumes bobbing as she listened intently to one of the other ladies. "Excuse me, Gram?" At Terrence's words, feathers righted and eyes swiveled in his direction.

"Hello, my dears," Gram said, beaming with pride at her two grandchildren. "Are you acquainted with—"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Terrence interrupted. "But Meg is feeling a bit out of curl. Would you help her to the cloakroom while I see about the carriage?"

Gram sprung up like a marionette manipulated from above. She studied Meg with concerned eyes. "Oh, my poor girl," she said, stepping to Meg's side. "You have been overdoing it, my dear. I was afraid all these busy nights would catch up with you. Come," she said, taking Meg's arm from Terrence. "Let's get you home. I will tuck you up all right and tight, and prepare you a nice tisane to help you sleep."

Terrence hurried away to send for their carriage while Gram walked Meg slowly through the ballroom. Meg kept her head bowed, avoiding the eyes of anyone who dared to approach, though Gram kept most of the interested gentlemen at bay with a stern look. They walked through to the main reception area, where Gram flagged down a footman to retrieve their cloaks.