Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) (20 page)

She put her head down to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes.

“Come along, dear,” murmured Mrs. Brown, well aware of Felicity’s true quest here tonight.

She had not told her chaperone the full extent of what had happened between her and Jason in the parlor, but given that the whole staff knew they had spent the better part of an hour together in there with the door closed, Felicity had been forced to give some account of herself.

She had admitted only to kissing him.

Though Mrs. Brown still did not approve of the duke, the mere report of a kiss had led her scandalized chaperone to conclude that Felicity must win him.

It was the only decent outcome.

Nevertheless, Felicity had forbidden Mrs. Brown from meddling by lecturing Jason or trying to force him to comply.

“You don’t understand,” she had told the older woman. “I love him, I know him, and if I try to pressure him, he’ll never trust me, even if he does bend to my wishes. He has to come to this decision on his own, don’t you understand?” she had asked through her tears. “Because of his rank, Jason has been hounded all his life by people with ulterior motives. If we pressure him, he might assume I only risked my reputation on purpose to trick him and snare myself a duke. That I took advantage of him, just like so many others would if he let his guard down. I won’t have it!”

She felt sick to her stomach now, though, for she saw it didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps she should have worn a little rouge on her cheeks, for as she proceeded into the ballroom, she could feel the blood draining from her face.

He had written in his letter that he wasn’t coming.
I guess he meant it.
Felicity’s steps faltered. The fire in her heart that had burned for him for so long became a pile of ashes in her chest as she realized the man she loved would never love her.

“Now, now, didn’t you tell me he doesn’t usually come out until later in the evening?” Mrs. Brown asked under her breath.

“Yes, but he knew this time was different,” Felicity whispered in a strangled tone.

Just then, from behind her, the majordomo announced a name that stopped her in her tracks. “His Grace, the Duke of Netherford!”

Felicity nearly sobbed aloud.

She caught her breath and feigned a little sneeze to explain away the tears that suddenly welled too thickly in her eyes.

“Bless you,” several smiling gentlemen around her offered.

Rather mortified and not daring to turn around to see Jason, she grabbed the handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at her eyes, her hand shaking, fool that she was. “Oh this springtime pollen, everything is blooming…”

It was all she could do not to break down crying like a true watering pot. Good Lord, she’d had no idea she had become this fragile over the past two weeks.

But then, she wondered, how could she feel otherwise? She’d been heartlessly rebuffed again and again by the only man she had ever loved. The man who did everything he could to convince them both that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Yet here he was.

I knew it.
She sniffled as she managed to get hold of herself again.
I knew he’d come. He may not love me yet, but someday, he will. He has to.

Mrs. Brown gave her arm a discreet squeeze of encouragement. Felicity glanced at her in gratitude. With that, they proceeded into the ballroom to greet the mighty patronesses of the subscription ball.

Since the terrifying ladies had been admirers of her great-aunt and were friends with Mrs. Brown, their brief review was not as painful for Felicity as it was for most other young ladies. As she went to make her curtsy to them, she still refused to look behind her, but she was dying to see Jason’s face, read his reaction to her gown, and tell him with a glance how happy she was that he was there.

Yet, strangely, at the same time, she felt a pulse of anger toward him for putting her through all this. Why did he pretend not to care about her when it was so obviously a lie? Did the fool think he was being noble?

Whatever the answers were, she struggled to get her wild swings of emotion under control, knowing she must be ready for battle when they came face to face once more.

Her decision on one point was absolutely firm, however.
I’ve been chasing after that rogue since I was eight years old. Tonight, for once,
let him come to
me.

Resolutely turning her attention to her other admirers, she waited to see if and how Jason would approach, and how long it might take him to do so.

As it turned out, he sauntered toward her through the crowd as soon as she had extricated herself from a reluctant conversation with Cousin Gerald’s friend Lord Tuttle, who was known to all as a thunderous bore.

Her heart leaped when she spotted Jason heading her way, tall and striking amid the crowd. His formal black tailcoat made his shoulders look a mile wide. He wore a snowy-white cravat and a pale silk waistcoat with small, elegant silver pinstripes.

As his gaze locked on hers with his usual stormy intensity, she tried to steady herself, unsure how this long-awaited moment might go.

Surrounded by scores of other well-heeled guests in their finery, Felicity observed the proper etiquette and curtsied to him politely. “Your Grace.”

“Miss Carvel.” He bowed, following suit.

Then they stared at each other in guarded silence.

“You came,” she said at length, acknowledging at least that.

“Hmm. Curiosity got the better of me. I had to see this gown.”

She smiled ruefully and smoothed her skirts, glancing down at herself, then gazed back up at him. “And?”

He shrugged, looking her over. “If there is a word better than
splendid
, I can’t think of it right now. I seem to have lost my tongue.”

She was impressed with the pretty compliment. But the mention of his tongue made her shudder with blissful remembrance…

“You look delicious,” he murmured, holding her stare.

The memory of their passionate encounter on her parlor couch glowed in his dark eyes. She tucked her chin to hide her blush, pleased. Sometimes he acted so distant, she wondered if he had forgotten that day, as though the memory of her had faded into the sea of women whose favors he’d enjoyed.

Well, his days of loose living would soon come to an end if she had anything to do with it.

She gave him a hard stare. “We need to talk.”

His gaze fell. “I suppose.”

She reined in a quick surge of exasperation with him. “You
do
know that you owe me an apology?”

His gaze swung guardedly to hers, but he gave no reply.

A duke had his pride.

“Jason.”

“Would you settle for a dance?”

Her lips twisted with wry patience in spite of herself. She let out a sigh, shook her head, and shrugged. “Why not. But you’ll have to wait. I’ve only got one opening left on my dance billet.”

“I’ll take it.”

“It’s the last dance of the night.”

She could almost hear his mental groan, but to her amusement, he suppressed it. “Let me see that.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” she exclaimed as he pulled her dance billet out of her hand.

“Just checking…”

Half amused and half indignant—a familiar combination when it came to him—she folded her arms across her chest and waited.

For a moment, she secretly admired his patrician profile while he studied the little printed card that listed the night’s dances and the names of those to whom she had promised each one.

“Right.” He gave it back to her. “I’ll see you then, Miss Carvel.”

She arched a brow in suspicion; he gave her a wink and sauntered away.
He’s actually going to behave?

But she should’ve known better.

He was Naughty Netherford, after all.

Just a few songs into the ball, the gentleman with whom she was to stand up for the fifth dance did not appear. Looking around worriedly, she moved out of the way of the couples parading toward the dance floor.

“Miss Carvel!” When the fellow hastened over to her, he looked upset.

Probably due to the large red wine stain spilled down the front of his clothes.

“Oh, Miss Carvel, I’m so sorry,” the unfortunate young gentleman stammered. “I fear I’ve had a bit of an accident! I tripped, and I— Well, I must cry off. So embarrassing. I have to go home and change at once. My apologies.”

As he dashed off, mortified by the mishap, Felicity found the Duke of Netherford standing right behind him, hands folded behind his back, a polite smile on his lips, and a sparkle of deviltry in his eyes.

“Jason,” she said softly, “what did you do?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am here to rescue you, my darling, from the dreaded fate of being left a wallflower. I believe a spot just opened up on your dance card?”

“Unbelievable,” she said under her breath, but she refused to let him see her laugh.

He held out a white-gloved hand and waited, his other arm gracefully tucked behind his back.

“You’re not a monster, you are the spawn of the devil. But so be it.” She slapped her gloved hand down rather cheerfully atop his.

His fingers closed around hers. Watching her with a gleam in his eyes, he led her to the dance floor.

Felicity’s pulse quickened as she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Now I know why you wanted to see the list. You didn’t think I was lying.”

“No. I wanted the waltz.”

“You would,” she replied.

“What I don’t understand is why you would promise such valuable real estate on your dance billet to that jackanapes.” He slid his hand around her waist and tugged her just a wee bit closer.

“Only because he’s been whining to me about it since that garden party last week.”

“Ha. You see?” Jason murmured. “Admit it, you’re glad. I rescued you.”

“I admit nothing!” she averred, trembling a little at the way he cupped her right hand gently in his left. She swallowed hard. “At least you are resourceful, I’ll give you that.”

He smiled, scanning the ballroom during the introductory bars of music before the dance started. Then he glanced down at her, and she looked up at him, and it was as though, instantly, all the days of loneliness and suffering and fear fell away.

One moment in his arms brought the bond between them flooding back. If this was not meant to be, then nothing was. Being with this man felt like home. Even their bodies fit together perfectly.

And, loath as she was to admit it, dancing with him was something of a lifelong dream come true.

When they were youngsters, she had often been conscripted to help him and her brother practice their lessons with the dancing master. Jason had complied only because he’d had no choice. He had grumbled his way through it and stepped on her feet repeatedly, sometimes on purpose, for which she usually kicked him in the shins, while her brother had looked on, laughing uproariously at their battles.

But he had mastered the thing by now, and so had she. Except for one dance together on the night of her debut, this was the first time he had stood up with her when they were adults.

It was blissful. Even Jason seemed a little amazed. Neither of them spoke. He finally broke the silence. “You dance beautifully, Miss Carvel.”

“I like the waltz,” she said, feeling slightly awkward with the intensity of whatever this was between them.

“You would,” he whispered, his naughty humor never failing to put her at ease. “Well, I’m here. So what did you want to talk about?”

“Us.”

“Hmm.” To his credit, he didn’t even blanch. “You’ve been turning up lately everywhere I go,” he remarked in a studiedly casual tone.

“You came to my church!” she retorted.

He frowned at her briefly. “There’s no law against it.”

“No, but imagine my surprise.” She studied his chiseled face in amusement. “Did your prayer get answered, Jason? It must’ve been a big one for you to venture into that place. I should hope you were repenting for your wicked ways.”

“You like my wicked ways,” he said very softly as he held her close. His fingers dug into her waist, a wordless reminder of the passionate incident that had taken place between them on her couch.

Felicity swallowed hard.

He was quiet for a moment. “I could’ve been cruel to you that day, you know.”

The cocky arch of his brow informed her he was referring to how she had all but begged him to make her come. She looked away with a blush, then did her best to deflect her embarrassment with a haughty demeanor.

“Well,” she said, “you’ve been cruel ever since.”

“I have
not
been cruel!”

“Cold, then. Very cold.”

He clamped his jaw shut for a moment with a growl and avoided her gaze. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I don’t know why I…why I… Oh, never mind!” he bit off, with the same frustration stamped on his face that she had seen so many times, the same inability to get out of his own way and just let go.

She held on to his hand with great tenderness, staring at him. “It would work between us if you could just believe.”

“You really think it’s that simple?” he muttered, cynic that he was.

“It would be, if you’d trust me. I’d never hurt you, Jason. But I won’t wait forever.”

He looked down at her sharply.

“You’re my first choice, but you’re not my only choice. Do remember that.”

He had furrowed his brow, and now he glared at the crowd around them in ducal annoyance. “Miss Carvel, surely you know by now that I don’t get jealous.”

“Well, I do. And I don’t like sharing you with a harem of other women. It’s not good for you, anyway. So I’m calling your bluff, Jason.”

“Meaning?” He glanced down at her with suspicion.

Felicity braced herself to utter the most audacious sentence that had ever come out of her mouth. “You are in love with me,” she informed him, “and for some mystifying reason, I’m in love with you, too. So I suggest you take an honest look in the mirror and decide if it’s me you want or if you’d rather keep on being the Duke of Scandal. Because you can’t have both.”