Fortune's fools (17 page)

Max gave a nod to his brother, acknowledging his adroitness in maneuvering Kate into his company. Then Max glanced down at Kate, who wore a cream-colored gown with emerald green trim. He tore his gaze away from the creamy rise of her full breasts and smiled into her eyes.

"You are beautiful, Kate," he said without thinking. "The green on your gown matches your eyes perfectly."

She turned pink with pleasure and whispered, "How kind of you to notice, after all the hours I searched for this trim."

"Your efforts were not wasted, my dear," he said softly as he guided her around the dance floor, his hand on her back and the other holding her hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the arrival of the Beauchamp family. Mrs. Beauchamp waved as they sailed past.

Clearing his throat, Max continued more sensibly, "Has your father gotten over his anger?"

"Oh yes. It never lasts for long. I am back to being simply 'Kate' again," she said with a chuckle. His eyes narrowed, and she explained, "When Papa is really angry, I am 'Mary Katherine O'Connor.' When he is less angry, 'Mary Katherine.' Then 'Mary Kate' and finally, when he is back to his usual self, I am once again 'Kate.'"

"Then I am glad you are merely 'Kate' again. And how is Early Girl after her near miss?"

"I sent to the stables to find out, and MacAfee said she is quite happy to be back in her own stall. Max, I cannot thank you enough."

He gave her hand a squeeze and grinned down at her, his gaze admiring. Kate returned that smile. Their rotation around the room had lead them back to the spot where the Beauchamps were standing and watching.

Glancing their way, Max's smile faded, and he commented politely, "Fine weather we are having. I do hope it holds."

Kate's own smile froze and faded away. As they continued their circuit of the room, Max grew more frustrated. The girl in his arms was perfect in every

way—except for fortune. She was closer to his height and fit perfectly in his arms. He imagined waltzing with Miss Beauchamp, and his lip curled with disdain. She would certainly not be gazing up at him admiringly. He would probably not even be able to see her face. It would be permanently fixed on his waistcoat.

"Is something wrong, Max? You suddenly look angry or upset about something," said Kate, concern in her eyes.

He shook his head, tightened his hold, and twirled her recklessly through the other dancers. Onto the balcony they waltzed, where other couples, also in search of a stolen moment of privacy, lingered.

Dancing her toward the far corner, Max stopped suddenly. His hands slid to her bare arms, and he studied her fiercely for a moment before pulling her close. Kate melted against him, molding her body to his as their lips met in a fiery kiss.

Then it was over. He set her at arm's length and shook his head.

Agony in his face and voice, he said, "I cannot, Kate. I..."

"Cannot what?" she asked.

"You know. I cannot go on like this. Every time we meet, it becomes clearer and clearer to me that... but I cannot do this. I must not. I have to . . . Miss Beauchamp . . . I . . ."

Kate stepped away so that his hands dropped to his sides. "I understand, Max. I am sorry. I wish ... but it was not meant to be, and I do understand. You have a responsibility to your family—to your father and your brothers." She stepped around him. Placing a hand on his arm, she added, "I wish you much happiness. Always."

He touched her hand until she slipped away, returning to the ballroom. Max peered into the darkness, gathering his wits and his courage. Redoubling his resolution, he returned to the ballroom in search of the wealthy Miss Beauchamp.

He had no difficulty spotting her, along with her mother. This time, however, her mother appeared bent on playing the part of chaperon. She was keeping Palmer at arm's length from Philippa, but as soon as Max appeared, she practically handed Philippa to him.

"There is our Mr. Darby," she gushed. "You see, I told you so, Mr. Palmer. I told you he had claimed dear Philippa's first dance. A shame it cannot be a waltz like the last one, eh, Mr. Darby?"

"There is something to be said for the quadrille," said Max dully.

Philippa's blue eyes sought his for a moment, and her brow puckered adorably. Then she took the hand he offered and followed him onto the floor for the next dance.

"I trust you are well this evening," he said formally.

"Yes, thank you "

They made it through that set by dint of civilities. When it was over, Max returned her to her mother. Philippa was claimed for the next dance, and Max slunk away, loitering on the edge of the dance floor, as far from Mrs. Beauchamp as he could get.

Watching Kate with each subsequent partner was exquisite torture, but it was only what he deserved. How could he have been so stupid as to make her fall in love with him? For he had seen the love in her eyes. There had been no denying it. He had hurt her with his ... betrayal. No matter if she had known he could not, they could not...

Hell and blast!

He turned on his heel and went in search of something strong and lethal. In the card room set up for people who did not wish to dance, Max found full decanters and helped himself to a generous portion of brandy.

"Take it easy on that, my boy," said Mr. Beauchamp. "You will need your wits about you tonight. Or are you already celebrating?"

Max glared at the older man and said, "I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Beauchamp."

"I thought Philippa might have told you, but there. My girl is so shy, she probably could not bring herself to broach the matter, especially here in public."

"I still do not understand, sir."

"Why, that she has decided to accept you. She is quite fond of you, I believe."

"Your daughter? Fond of me?"

"Yes, indeed. And I have taken the liberty of asking our host, who is a particular friend of mine, if we might make the announcement here tonight. What do you think?"

Max looked from Philippa's father to the full glass in his hand. He lifted the glass and drained it.

"Why not? It will make this evening complete."

"Excellent. Come along. I'll go and find Lacey and meet you near the musicians. We'll have them play a little fanfare to gain everyone's attention. Come along, my boy," said the short man, pulling Max after him.

James Lacey stepped onto the musician's platform as the dance ended. After a quick, whispered consultation, the musicians played a fanfare, capturing the attention of all the guests. Mr. Beauchamp joined Lacey on the platform.

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, my good friend Robert Beauchamp has an announcement to make."

A little gasp of excitement rippled through the crowd.

Beauchamp cleared his throat and said, "First of all, I would like my Philippa to join me here on the platform. Come along, my dear child."

The guests parted to allow his pink-cheeked daughter to reach the platform. He took her hand and pulled her close to his side.

With a signal to Max to join them, he continued, "I am pleased to announce the betrothal of my only child to a fine young man, Maxwell Darby." This caused a gasp from the other guests, and then came a round of polite applause.

Max forced a smile to his lips as he gazed across the congested ballroom. In the sea of faces, one stood out, and his smile faded. Kate, white as a sheet. Then she turned away.

Max remained rooted to the floor while the army of footmen passed among the guests, distributing champagne for a toast. Mrs. Beauchamp joined them on the platform, too.

Putting her hand on Max's arm, she whispered huskily, "At least you will always be close by, my dear Max."

Lacey raised his glass and said, "To the happy couple."

Everyone drank to their happiness. Max downed his in a single gulp. He noticed that Philippa did the same.

Then the moment had passed, and the musicians struck up another dance. Max turned to his betrothed and took her hand without asking for permission. He knew what was expected of him now, and he was grimly determined to comply.

As they headed onto the dance floor, he passed his

father, who said, "Well done, my boy. Now perhaps I can escape."

Max glared at his father and then laughed, a hollow sound. Spying Lady Anne's approach behind his parent, he said spitefully, "I wouldn't speak too soon, Papa. Your day is coming, too."

"How delightful for you, my boy," said Lady Anne, kissing his cheek. She smiled at Philippa and said, "Now, do not be jealous, my dear. It is the father that I am interested in. I hope to soon be hearing the same joyous news myself. Now, Tavistoke, you promised to be my partner at whist. Come along, my dear."

Max and Miss Beauchamp made up a set with three other couples, among them Tristram, who was partnering a chattering girl with frizzy brown hair and a large nose. Tristram looked about as miserable as a young man could without breaking the rules of propriety, but he cocked his head and gave a quizzical frown when he saw Max's black mood.

Standing next to his brother and Miss Beauchamp, Tristram commented, "Allow me to offer my congratulations." Max grunted, and Tristram added, "This has turned into quite an exciting event, has it not?"

Max grimaced, but Miss Beauchamp said, "Oh, yes, Mr. Darby. And is this not the perfect setting? Of course, the Laceys' home is also quite impressive in the daylight. Have you ever seen it then, Mr. Darby? And in the spring, the grounds are simply breathtaking."

Max's head swung around in amazement. Miss Beauchamp was actually speaking? And in complete sentences? What magic had his brother worked?

When she spied him looking down at her, Philippa again ducked her head. The music started, and they were forced to pay attention to the movements of the dance.

Max had no difficulty avoiding conversation. His fierce frown kept his betrothed from uttering so much as a squeak. By the time the music ended, Max's mood had sunk to such a level that he could have cheerfully throttled her or put a gun to his own head. And each time he looked at Tristram, his happy-go-lucky brother who was not betrothed, he wanted to include him in the planned mayhem hatching in his brain.

As Max escorted Philippa back to her mother, she shrank against him, and he looked down at her with a quizzical expression.

"What is it, Miss Beauchamp?"

"Nothing."

She appeared to be tugging on his arm, trying to slow their progress. He stopped and turned to her, saying, "It must be something. Do you not wish to return to your mother?"

She shook her head. Max, who could only agree with this sentiment, turned in another direction and felt the girl at his side heave a sigh of relief.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" he asked.

"It was not my mother, but the man beside her. I did not wish to dance with him."

Max frowned until he recalled who had been standing beside Mrs. Beauchamp. "Palmer? What is wrong with Palmer?"

"He ... I do not like the way he studies me." Biting at her lower lip, she continued, "Like I am a mouse, and he is a cat. It is most disconcerting."

Max smiled down at the girl, his first real smile for her, and she was not immune to its effect, for she returned it, shyly.

It brought out the knight errant in him, and he said,

"I'll take care of Palmer. You need not worry about him ever again."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Darby."

'"You are welcome. Now, here comes my brother, and since it is the waltz they are striking up, I think he would be a safe partner for my future bride."

This speech made her drop her gaze, but he was happy to think that she had at least confided in him in this small matter. Perhaps he had not made such a horrendous mistake. Perhaps they could iearn to rub along together reasonably well.

"Tristram, I am charging you with looking after my fiancee for the duration of this waltz. Are you willing and able?" he quipped.

"More than willing, Max. Philippa, will you do me the honor?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Tristram," she said, going happily with him onto the dance floor.

Watching chem with a puzzled gaze, Max felt a bony hand on his shoulder. He cringed when he realized it was the Marquess of Cravenwell.

"Well done, my boy. Make certain you do not let Beauchamp bamboozle you with the settlements. It won't do you any good if he ties everything up for any offspring she may produce."

"Must you be constantly harping about money?" asked Max.

"It has always amused me how people without money insist that it is not the most important thing in the v/orld. Those of us who have it know that it is." Cackling at his own witticism, the marquess strolled away.

Max saw Tristram waltz by with Philippa and frowned again. Funny that they addressed each other by their Christian names. He shrugged.

Then he watched as Kate spun by in the arms of Palmer. Her face was fixed with a glassy smile—one that had started out as polite but had faded as it froze there. Then her eyes met his, and he could have sworn he saw tears there.

Max fought the nearly overwhelming urge to race forward and tear her out of Palmer's arms. Each time they passed, the feeling grew, until, finally, he had to turn away.

Blindly, he walked through the onlookers, answering their congratulations with a terse nod. He felt as if his throat were closing, and his chest were about to burst. A ripple of laughter made him pause, thinking he was the target of someone's amusement.

He turned to face the small knot of girls who had no partners and were merely watching the dancers. They were all but schoolgirls, and he started to turn until two words caught his attention— Miss Tattersall s. As this was followed by titters of laughter and pointing toward the dancers, his attention was caught. Kate swept by again, her face full of misery.

"Can you imagine why any respectable female would want to go there?" said one miss.

"What can one expect of the daughter of an Irish horse seller?" said another with a giggle.

Max let out a growl of disgust, and the girls scattered.

Across the ballroom now, Kate's eyes again met his. He waited, watching as Palmer guided her around the edge of the floor. Reaching out, he neatly yanked the unsuspecting Palmer away from Kate. With two smooth steps, Max took his place, pulling Kate into his arms and continuing the waltz with hardly a ripple in the movements of the other dancers. Only a few people saw the astonishing swap, but those who did immediately