Julia London (67 page)

“When are you coming again to Pemberheath? The new barn at Rosewood is finally finished, but it is positively too grand to be a barn! The children are quite proud of it.”

“I miss the children
dreadfully,
” she moaned genuinely. “Uncle Ethan has promised we may visit in a fortnight.”

“Oh my, your gown is
beautiful,
” Abbey proclaimed honestly.

“Do you really think so? I have had the worst luck finding a seamstress.”

“Really?” Abbey beamed. “I know of one who is quite affordable. I commission
all
my gowns from her—”

“I beg your pardon, darling, but shall you not introduce us?” Glancing to her right, Lauren saw a tall man with finely chiseled features and soft gray eyes. Lord, but he was handsome—almost as handsome as that arrogant Mr. Christian. She quickly covered that forbidden thought with a bright smile.

“Michael, darling, I am so very pleased to finally introduce to you Countess Bergen,” Abbey happily replied.

Lord Darfield took her hand and gallantly bowed very low over it. “A true pleasure,” he said charmingly. “My wife speaks very fondly of you and your enormous tomatoes.”

Lauren graciously curtsied. “I am quite fond of your wife, too, my lord,” she said, laughing lightly, “but it is her patronage of my tomatoes that makes me adore her!”

“You are being kind, Countess Bergen, for I rather think we both know it is an obsession. We have eaten so many tomatoes at Blessing Park that I rather fear they may sprout from my ears!” the marquis exclaimed as he took two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and handed them to the women.

Lauren laughed as she brought the flute to her lips.

“Countess Bergen!”

Lauren smiled helplessly at Abbey. The way Lady Harris kept introducing men to her, she would have sworn the woman had been retained by Ethan to find her a match.

“Countess Bergen! Please allow me to introduce you to his grace, the Duke of Sutherland.”

She reluctantly looked over her shoulder—and instantly choked on her champagne, spraying the marquis’s coat sleeve. A
duke
? Her country gentleman was
the
Duke of Sutherland? The marquis grabbed the flute from her hand before she dropped it and Abbey slapped her soundly on the back. The so-called duke did not make the slightest attempt to keep the insolent smile from his lips. With exaggerated flourish, he pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her. “My apologies for having startled you, madam,” he said with polished grace.

“Oh dear, I am
dreadfully
sorry!” Lady Harris said in horror. Shocked senseless, Lauren nervously grabbed the handkerchief from him and indelicately wiped her mouth and hand. She could not take her eyes from him, let alone speak. Abbey broke her trance by stealthily kicking her with her foot, and Lauren obediently stumbled into an awkward curtsy. The
duke
, blast him, grinned broadly. “Your grace,” she heard herself rasp, “what a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

With a smile of great amusement, he took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, his gaze on her face. “The pleasure is all mine …
countess.
”

“I had hoped you had met before,” Lady Harris said, looking pointedly at Lauren’s hand, which was still in the duke’s.

Abbey gaped at her as Alex grinned cheerfully and slowly released her hand. “I am quite certain I would recall the enormous pleasure of encountering such a celebrated … and lovely … countess,” he said smoothly.

Lauren blanched and covered her mouth with a half-cough, half-choke. She glanced uncomfortably at a beaming
Lady Harris. “His grace has traveled often to the continent, Countess,” her hostess chirped. “Perhaps he has met that wonderful cousin of yours, Count Bergen? Shall we call him over?”

“Cousin?” Alex interrupted politely, his all-too-knowing smile deepening.

“No, no, not exactly,” Lauren stammered. Alex quirked a brow. Lady Harris, Abbey, and Lord Darfield all leaned forward as if afraid they might miss her explanation. “I mean, that he … He would be the nephew of my husband. Was the nephew. Is,” she stupidly attempted to clarify. Completely disconcerted, she clumsily thrust the handkerchief at Alex. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“No, my lady, I would that you keep it. You may need it again,” he said, and had the audacity to wink very subtly. At Lord Darfield’s choked laughter, Lauren’s pulse surged with mortification, and even worse, some indefinable emotion that made a rash of heat flood her face. She thought of a million retorts she should have made, but the scoundrel had turned her tongue to mush. She could only stand helplessly as he greeted Abbey with sophisticated charm. “Lady Darfield, as always, an immense pleasure.”

“Alex, really, you stand on such formality,” Abbey laughed, and gave him a familiar hug.

“Sutherland, you surprise me. I’ve never seen you advance so deeply into a ballroom,” Lord Darfield grinned insolently, and turned to his wife. “Speaking of ballrooms, darling, they are playing a waltz.”

“Yes, but I should very much like to—”

“I am quite certain the countess will be here a while longer?” he said to Lauren. “Excellent,” he said to her dumbstruck nod, and practically pushed his wife toward the dance floor.

“Perhaps the countess would do me the honor?” Alex asked cheerfully.

Dance
with him? Oh no, not on her
life
would she dance
with him. “Ah, no thank you … you see, my friend Charlotte—”

“Posh!” declared Lady Harris, and tapped Lauren’s arm with her fan. “Charlotte Pritchit can fend for herself!” The duke smiled smugly at that. “I shall wait here and explain to Miss Pritchit if you like,” she insisted, and gave Lauren a little push.

Bloody hell, but there was no graceful way out of it. The scoundrel smiled as if he had never been more amused. She considered giving him the cut direct for having lied to her if nothing else, but she could hardly do so without bringing undue scrutiny on herself, and well the rogue knew it. “Certainly,” she said with a cool glower, and deliberately placed her hand on his arm as if she were touching a leper. He grinned, covered her hand with his, and escorted her to the floor.

As he led her through the crowd, Charlotte’s words suddenly popped into her head:
He is one of the most popular men in all of England.
Dear God, all this time she had been dreaming about the Duke of Sutherland!
Not
a country gentleman, a
duke
! A rumble of panic began to build in the pit of her stomach.

Still grinning when they reached the dance floor, he bowed and swept her into a waltz, whirling her toward the middle of the floor before she could even lift her skirts to give him a perfunctory curtsey. The stab of panic only sharpened when she noticed how easily she fit within his arms. How on earth could she have been so naive as to mistake him for a country gentleman? Dear God, there was a marquis, a duke, and an earl or two residing near Pemberheath. Why had she not seen it? And Holy Mother, he danced with such
grace.
He was probably trained on the continent, because one simply did not possess such skill of movement. He danced like he kissed … blast it all, she
would
have to think of that
now
! Bloody marvelous! She had been quite thoroughly kissed by a
duke
! Shaken by the extraordinary
turn of events, she could do little more than stare at his snowy white neckcloth.

It was tied so perfectly that it naturally led her to glance surreptitiously at his formal attire. He wore black tails in which his square shoulders filled every inch, and a white satin waistcoat that fit his lean waist with no room to spare, just as he appeared in her daydreams. She dared to look up, to where a brown curl had fallen across his bronzed forehead. He smiled languidly, just oozing dukelike charm. “Well, well, Miss Hill. You seem to be faring much better than I thought.”

Lauren snapped awake at that. “Countess Bergen,” she corrected stiffly.

To her great irritation, he feigned surprise. “
Countess?
My apologies, madam. I could have sworn you first introduced yourself as simply Miss Hill.”

“Then perhaps we both misunderstood, for I could have sworn
you
first introduced yourself as a gentleman,” she shot back. He flashed an irrepressible grin before pulling her close to avoid colliding with another couple. When they were safely past, he did not release her, but kept her close.
Too
close—his cologne tickled her nose.

“Forgive me, but I am rather mystified. You failed to mention your lofty connections when first we met,” he remarked with a cheerful smile.

Yes, but he had not exactly told her who
he
was! Oh, he was the
epitome
of pomposity! “Could it be, sir, that you have duped a whole
range
of acquaintances into thinking you are a gentleman? And by the by, you certainly failed to mention
your
connections!”

His deep, rich laugh sent a peculiar shiver down her spine. “
Touche
, madam. At the time, it did not seem appropriate. I did not think it wise to startle you with my identity after your brush with near disaster, nor did I think Mrs. Peterman would be terribly amused. But as to your name, is
it Lauren Hill—or is that yet another false identity?” he asked, twirling her about again.

“As I said, it is
Countess
Bergen,” she countered angrily.

His bold green eyes danced with merriment. “Ah, yes. Of course it is.” The look in his eye made her uncomfortably warm, and she tried to put some distance between them. But he stubbornly tightened his hold on her. “Perhaps I should ask it another way. Imagine my surprise to see you first as an impoverished miss chasing a hog, and now, a celebrated countess from Bavaria. Surely you can understand how one might wonder?”

Her anger soared with indignation, and it was only intensified by his devilish smile. Did he think that he was the only one worthy of a title? Well,
that
was hardly surprising! All the aristocrats
she
had ever known thought themselves absolutely infallible! All right, that consisted of her uncle and Magnus Bergen, but nonetheless, they also possessed the tendency toward intolerable arrogance. But theirs
paled
in comparison to
this.
“I am surprised, my lord duke, that you are obviously unaware it is terribly impolite to ask such probing questions of a lady.”

“And a countess, you forgot that,” he agreed amicably.

“You seem to delight in interrogating me!” she blustered angrily. “Do you think I am not a little miffed that you did not reveal yourself to
me
?”

“It is hardly the same thing. Now I should very much like to know why you concealed your identity from me.”

Oh, so now she had
concealed
it. Her brows snapped together as she pressed her lips tightly together.

“Oh, that will not do,” he said of her frown. “You should smile and nod as if my conversation is terribly fascinating, which it is. Anything less than that will have every occupant of this ballroom, including myself, wondering why the Countess Bergen should be so angry with the Duke of Sutherland. Why don’t you instead entertain us both by telling
me just how, exactly, you came by this mysterious new title?”

She opened her mouth to speak. But glancing furtively around them, she thought twice about shouting that she had not just come by her title any more than
he
apparently had, and that his supposed indignation was no more valid than her own. She clamped her mouth shut. There was certainly more than one pair of eyes on them, including those of Charlotte Pritchit, and naturally, Magnus. Only Paul’s surveillance was missing, but he was in the gaming room. She caught sight of Charlotte again, wistfully watching her. In the space of that moment, Lauren concluded she could not escape the arrogant duke without a scene, that she would have to tell him something to appease him in a very few minutes, and that she should at least get some small concession for being forced to his will. A good punch in the nose was more to her liking, but she would settle for a small token of kindness.

“All right,” she whispered angrily, and forced a smile to her lips. “I shall tell you how I came by my title.” He inclined his head in a show of victory. “On one condition,” she added coolly. “You must agree to dance with Miss Pritchit.”

A shout of laughter escaped him. “Charlotte Pritchit? I shall need more than your little story to entice me to that!”

“You heard me,” she breathed, then catching herself, graced him with a smile she hoped he would think sincere.

He did not think it terribly sincere, but it had to be the most alluring smile he had ever seen. “Well?” she demanded. “Will you agree to dance with Miss Pritchit?”

Alex chuckled. Beautiful, bold, and practical to the end. “May I ask
why
?”

“Because.” She smiled sweetly, glancing across the ballroom. “It would be a nice thing to do.”

That reasoning hit him like a left jab from nowhere. A
nice thing to do
? “Is that all? Or do you have any other
odious trades in mind?” he asked, bowing chivalrously as the music came to an end.

Her exceptional eyes danced like fire. “What a
perfectly
arrogant thing to say! Dancing with Miss Pritchit is
hardly
odious! Honestly, you aristocrats are all alike!”

“I beg your pardon, madam, but we
aristocrats
are cut from the same cloth as
countesses
,” he said, his fingers closing tightly around her elbow as he led her from the dance floor.

“Do we have a bargain?” she demanded.

It
was
a very small price to pay. “All right. I shall ask the little mouse to dance!”

With a firm nod of agreement, Lauren jerked her arm free and marched off the dance floor as if leading a charge. He deftly caught her elbow again. “You will incite the crowd into believing there is a fire if you walk out of here like that.”

“I would get this over and done!” she murmured furiously, but paused long enough to snatch a flute of champagne from a passing footman. She took a sip—a good,
long
sip—and slammed the half-empty flute onto a table. Shooting him a look of total exasperation, she marched out into the cool night air with him close on her heels, leading him to a semisecluded spot on the popular balcony.