Duty Before Desire (29 page)

Arcadia gave him an arch look. “Don't suppose I didn't hear that naughty remark.”

“The what?”

“The naughty remark.”

“The what?”

“The … Oh! Don't laugh at me.”

“I like the way you say ‘naughty.' It makes me want to misbehave for the pleasure of hearing that word upon your lips.” His gaze traveled to her mouth, and lingered there. “In fact, I like the way you say everything. Your voice is sinfully delicious. If it were a pastry, I'd gorge myself on it and gain five stone. I'm a glutton for your voice, Miss Parks.”

His own voice, pitched low and rumbling in his chest as he complimented her so outrageously, made her joints feel loose. Arcadia's breath caught, lifting her breasts further from their precarious confinement. She felt womanly and good and didn't much care who saw.

But then, suddenly, the music ended. Arcadia blinked. “Over already?”

Sheri tucked her to his side to lead her to the dining room. “Nothing simpler. Painless. In time, you may even find the activity pleasurable.”

He was being wicked again.
Naughty.
And she liked it. It was the first glimmer she'd seen, since her dancing lesson, of the man who teased and argued. She'd seen Lord Sheridan nearly every day, but she'd missed Sheri. She'd missed her friend.

“It was a triumph,” she said, slanting a look up at him. “Silly to you, I know, but a triumph for me.”

He leaned over and said in her ear, “Victory becomes you, peahen. Well done.” And the warmth was in his smile again, as well as the little bit of longing in his eyes that she sometimes glimpsed, a yearning boy who wanted so much to please and to be pleasing.

“Thank you, Sheri. I couldn't have done it without you.”

He waggled his brows. “Naturally not.”

After a pleasant supper topped by a splendid birthday cake and several toasts raised in honor of the marchioness and the betrothed couple, the dancing resumed. Once more, Sheri led spinsters and antidotes out onto the floor. Deborah had retired after supper, so Arcadia had the raised sofa all to herself. Poorvaja had abandoned her post and slipped away at some point. Arcadia was grateful her dear ayah had made the effort to come, even if she hadn't been able to see the ball through to the end. In fact, she reflected, feeling pleasantly full from her meal and a little bit tired, the ball wasn't nearly so tawdry as it had first seemed. The clothes were indecent, of course, but everyone had been so lovely, it was hard to keep thinking of the ball as a cesspool of orgiastic excess.

Soon, she spotted Claudia making her way over, towing Mrs. Dewhurst behind her. The two women climbed onto the dais. Claudia plopped onto the sofa beside Arcadia in a billow of rose muslin. “What a crush!” the woman exclaimed.

“Is that good?” Arcadia asked.

“Not always, but in this case, yes,” Claudia said. “Everything has been perfect, wouldn't you say, Lorna?”

Mrs. Dewhurst's turquoise eyes swept the room. “Most agreeable,” she agreed. “You and Sheri make a handsome couple, Miss Parks. It was a pleasure to watch you dance.”

“Please,” Arcadia said, “if you're on
Sheri
basis with my intended, then you must call me Arcadia, as well.”

“And I'm Lorna.” She tucked a wayward corkscrew curl behind her ear, then nudged Claudia to make room for her on the seat.

Claudia clapped. “Now that we're all cozy, I must tell you the brilliant idea I've had, Arcadia.”

“Another scheme? You warned me yourself—”

“There is no potential for this one to end in catastrophe. I swear it to you upon my brother's life.”

Arcadia leaned forward to look over at Lorna. “Does she have a brother?”

Above cheeks generously sprinkled with freckles, Lorna's eyes danced. “Many, in fact. She may value them very cheap.”

“I never would!” Claudia protested. “Oh, you're both abominable. I adore you immensely. This is exactly like being with my sisters. Anyway, if you're quite finished heaping scorn upon my head, then I shall tell you The Plan.” Her eyes went wide with import.

“How do you do that?” Arcadia marveled.

“I told Lorna about the yoga demonstration you promised me, and she is also rabidly interested.”

“Not my precise words …”

“I suggested,” Claudia continued, “and Lorna agreed, that Elmwood would be the perfect venue. It's not too far from Town, but out in the country just a bit, so it will be nice and private.”

“The gentlemen could come, too,” Lorna suggested, “and we'll make a small party of it. Nothing much, just a day or two, as I know you're beset with wedding plans. You might like a little break from it, though.”

“Indeed I would, though it might be best to wait until after the wedding.” The idea of escaping the city was vastly appealing, so Arcadia readily agreed to the idea—The Plan, in Claudia parlance.

“Good heavens, what is she doing?”

Arcadia tracked the direction of Claudia's attention. Across the room, a raven-haired beauty in amethyst silk was weaving through the glittering mass on unsteady legs. Heads turned as she passed.

“Sheri,” the woman called. “Sheri, Chère, Share! Where are you?”

At that moment, Arcadia's bridegroom was squiring an elderly lady about the perimeter of the chamber. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at the newcomer, then returned his charming smile to the old woman. He settled her into a chair and accepted her pinch on his cheek, then hurried to intercept the lady in purple.

The beauty ran the last several steps and threw her arms around his neck. He swung her in a circle.

Arcadia's throat constricted. “Who is that?” she rasped.

“Lady Fay. Elsa,” Claudia said. “Oh, but you mustn't, you mustn't think …”

Elsa the Beautiful lifted onto her toes and pushed her mouth full against Sheri's.

The ballroom was rapidly falling silent. And the night was rapidly losing the rosy glow Arcadia had imagined after the victory of her waltz. All night, she'd watched her fiancé pay court to other women and she'd found it endearing, but this … This was not attention offered to a lonely old widow or a hopelessly shy spinster. Sheri had his hands on another woman. Had kissed another woman right in front of her.

This fascinating tidbit was not lost on the crowd. Heads swiveled from Arcadia to Sheri and Elsa and back again. “Chère,” the people said again, but this time it wasn't an admiring sigh. This time it was an ominous rumble.

Sheri lifted his face from Elsa's and brought his eyes to Arcadia's. One instant. Two women. Pain sliced Arcadia's heart to ribbons, but she denied herself the right to it even as her soul cried out. Their understanding comprised of a cold marriage contract and a premeditated separation. Fidelity was not in the offering. In fact, Sheri had made it abundantly clear that he neither promised nor demanded fidelity. He'd spoken of illegitimate children, as if her eventual partnering with another man was a foregone conclusion. Why on earth, then, would she think he would be faithful to her, even for the duration of their brief, false betrothal?

But she had thought it, foolishly. Assumed. And it had been proven wrong, like every assumption she'd had about this man.

Then he grabbed Elsa's wrist and dragged her across the ballroom to the dais.

No. Arcadia did not want this. She did not want to meet his mistress. Had he been born in another place, Sheri might have assembled the largest
zenana
in India. Women would line up for miles to be a wife or concubine of the great Chère Zouche, happy for whatever scrap of his attention they might grab for themselves.

But not Arcadia. Her heart was not unselfish enough to share a man. Not this man, anyway.

Raw panic drove Arcadia to her feet, preparing her to fly, but the determined set of Sheri's jaw held her in place. His mouth was a hard slash as he tugged the stumbling, giggling Lady Fay to his side.

“Elsa,” he said tightly, “you have the honor of meeting my betrothed, Miss Parks. Arcadia, my love, this is—”

“
My love?
” Elsa slapped Sheri's shoulder and threw her head back, howling laughter spilling from her beautiful throat and soft breasts bouncing on their purple bed. Her laughter put lie to Sheri's pretty words, exposed them for the hollow noise they were.

For the first time tonight, Arcadia was ashamed. Presenting herself in a shocking state of undress had not done it. Publicly dancing in mixed company had not done it. But Elsa, with her endless, knowing laughter, shamed her to the core.

Sheri saw her eyes shutter, and he felt like he'd just been robbed of the sun. God knew he deserved to wallow in darkness, and he'd begun to suspect that he would do just that on the day Arcadia sailed for India. But that day was not yet come, and he would not allow Elsa's embarrassing display to take the light from him prematurely.

Standing on the dais before him, Arcadia was a goddess, gorgeous and unfathomable. Madame Doucet's ingenious gown of green and gold clung to her bronzed skin like the patina of long ages. The light slipped over the twists and curls of her sun-kissed hair, turning it into a river of liquid gold that flowed over her exposed, kissable shoulders to the promised land of her breasts. All night, he'd wanted to worship at her feet. To tell her how damned proud he was of her for finding the courage to wear that dress and dance in his arms. And after he offered his veneration, he wanted to worship her with his body.

That bit wouldn't happen, of course, but a man could dream.

Damn Elsa and her bloody, gin-soaked laughter. He was so angry he could shake her.

Keenly aware of the onlookers pressing in around them, ravenous for a spectacle, he quickly acted to allay the damage. He sent Arcadia a pleading look.
Stay there,
he mouthed. Forcing a laugh, he turned with Elsa and scanned the room. His brother had a hand on their mother's shoulder, seemingly restraining her from flaying Sheri then and there. And Lady Delafield was as puce as her turban.

“My dear, it wasn't
that
funny,” he drawled, pinching the inside of Elsa's arm.

“Owww,” she complained, but at least she'd ceased that infernal laughing.

From his prodigious elevation, Norman's gaze found Sheri's. An unspoken request was met with a nod, and the other man came to them, gently nudging his way through the crowd, mumbling “Excuse me. I beg your pardon. I'm so sorry,” to everyone he passed.

Sheri whispered his instructions to the big man. Norman's paw wrapped around Elsa's elbow. “Well, if it's cake you want, Lady Fay, then it's cake you shall have.” Norman, bless him, employed a tone he must have been cultivating for courtroom use as part of his barrister training. Sonorous and authoritative with just the right amount of dull, he conveyed respectability in a way Sheri never could.

Elsa sputtered. “I don't want—”

“To inconvenience the cook,” Norman interjected, inexorably drawing Elsa from the room at a sedate, respectable pace. “You are all consideration, my lady. But it's already been cut. We'll just slip into the kitchen and nick a slice.”

Huffing through his nose, Sheri hustled back to Arcadia. Claudia and Lorna flanked her now, handmaidens of the golden goddess.

“Will you dance with me?” He'd no right to make the request. She had granted his one waltz. “Let them see all is well between us.”

The corners of her eyes tightened as something crackled to life inside the mosaics. Then it was gone, replaced by a false smile. “I should love to dance, but—” Her eyes slid over his shoulder. Sheri pivoted. Brandon and Henry were nearing the stage.

“Mr. De Vere,” Arcadia said, “would you grant me the opportunity to redeem myself, if I promise to spare your toes?”

Henry shot a wary look at Sheri, but gave a slight bow. “It should be my honor, madam.” He took Arcadia's hand and whisked her to the floor for the final waltz of the night.

Brandon led his wife out, leaving Sheri to partner with Claudia. The music began, and Sheri maneuvered to keep an eye on Arcadia.

If Sheri thought he possessed some special power that granted Arcadia the talent of dancing, he was instantly disabused of that notion. Not only did she not stumble once, but she floated in Henry's hands as if on a cloud. She bent her head, which shone like polished heartwood, close to hear something Henry said. She laughed gaily and swayed her hips. Sheri knew exactly what Henry's hands were experiencing, and he was livid.

The touching.
She hadn't liked the touching of dancing. Yes, well, Sheri understood now and didn't much care for it any longer, either.

“Good thing I'm not looking to you for a boost to my self-esteem.”

Sheri startled. His eyes snapped to Claudia.

“Merciful heavens, you forgot you were dancing with me, didn't you?”

“Of course not!”
Yes.

She lifted a skeptical brow. “You should be smoothing things over with your fiancée, in any event.”

“I will,” he insisted, “just as soon as this dance is over. I had to give Norm some time to remove Elsa. Arcadia and I will make a sanguine departure, not run screaming from the room in the wake of impropriety.”

Claudia's light brown brows drew together on a frown. “That was very badly done of Lady Fay.”

Sheri was a gentleman, and Elsa had been his friend for many years. So he would refrain from agreeing with Claudia and further wishing the woman in question to perdition. “She was simply caught up in a moment of high spirits.”

When the dance ended, Sheri deposited Claudia with her husband and collected his wife-to-be. Arcadia said nothing to him, but offered words of thanks and farewell to everyone they encountered. He ground his teeth in frustration at the glacial pace. He spotted Poorvaja near the door and, when they finally reached it, he asked her to accompany them.