Lady Beresford's Lover (12 page)

Lord, he was a handsome man, as well as strong and kind. Everything any lady could wish for.

If he knew how deformed she was, he would not be here now. She should find a way to tell him. Instead, wanting to enjoy his company for a while longer, her lips wobbled into a slight smile. “Now about your bill.”

As they strolled the rooms, he told her about the battles he faced. From the bickering about where the money would come from, to those who believed the government owed the former soldiers nothing. There was apparently more sympathy for the widows of officers than anyone else. Most likely because they were ladies, not part of the masses. Several times they stopped and he introduced her to other friends and allies of his as well as those she now knew as well. How easy it would be to live in this world of politics, power, and forward thinkers. With these people her intellect might be valued and she could make herself useful.

As the house had no ballroom, the carpets were rolled back for dancing, the music was supplied by a string quartet, and she found herself in Lord Stanstead’s arms again. If only she could encourage him, if only her body wasn’t somehow disfigured.

“Have I told you how well you dance?” His breath caressed her ear.

Her heart went flying straight to him and she was not sure she would be able to recover it. “Not this evening, but thank you.”

“I would not want you to forget. A lady as talented as you should know you are appreciated.”

Vivian’s chest contracted painfully, afraid of being hurt again. If only, if only, if only.

V
ivian paled and her eyes widened almost in trepidation, as if Rupert had said something to frighten her. No matter what she had been through before, he vowed she would know that he cared for her above any other woman.

From the moment Vivian entered the drawing room, he’d fought to remain as close to her as possible, showing her how his affections were growing, edging out other gentlemen who attempted to stand next to her. He’d make damn sure the other men knew she was his, as well.

The entire time he escorted her around the rooms, his fingers itched to touch her, from her small bottom to her firm breasts. His arms wanted nothing more than to hold her. But mostly, he wanted to taste her, her mouth, and every inch of her body. It was hell not being able to carry her off. Damn if Robert hadn’t been right. She was turning into his obsession, and more. Rupert could barely let her go at the end of the set.

Before the end of the Season she would be his. He would make sure of it.

When a waltz started, he gave thanks to the Deity.

Bending his head, he whispered into Vivian’s ear, “Dance with me.”

She nodded shyly, and he took her in his arms. They moved gracefully together. As if they were meant to be one.

“What made you so interested in politics?” Vivian asked.

“From the time I was born I was taught it was my responsibility to care for my dependents; taking my seat in the Lords was part of that duty. Seeing the damage the war did to the people and lands on the Continent made me decide to help anyone I could who was in need. I’m fortunate that I already had a group of friends who thought like me.”

“You mean the Eveshams, Marshs, and Rutherfords?”

“Yes. There are other friends as well. The Earl of Huntley and Viscount Wivenly are not here this Season. They both married several months ago and have new babies.” He wanted to add that she would meet them later; perhaps at their wedding. But it might be too soon. “You would like them as well.”

“I’m sure I would.” She smiled, yet her voice was sad.

Rupert took advantage of the turn and drew her in closer, tightening his hold on her. “I believe the ladies are planning a campaign to garner support for some of the legislation proposed. I’m sure they would appreciate your help.”

The corners of her lovely pink lips tipped up. “That would be enjoyable.”

“You should mention it to Phoebe.”

“Yes, I shall.”

Her tone was fainter than usual, and although it could be that the noise level of the parlor had risen, Rupert didn’t think so. Something was wrong with Vivian. She was not enjoying the evening as she should.

The music stopped. Tucking her hand in his arm, he snoodled with her to where his friends were gathering, moving as slowly as possible, enjoying having her next to him and not wanting to share her with anyone else.

By the time they arrived, the next set, a country dance, was starting. He glanced at Marcus, raising a brow.

“My lady”—Marcus bowed to Vivian—“may I have the honor of this dance?”

As before, her lips tilted up, however, the smile did not reach her eyes. “You may, my lord.”

Rupert bowed to Phoebe, and she shook her head. “Keep me company, if you would. I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Of course.” He hailed a footman and procured a glass of lemonade for her. “Unless you’d like champagne.”

“No, lemonade is just what I need.”

“I can remain here with you,” Vivian offered, concern shadowing her eyes.

“No, please. You dance and enjoy yourself.” Phoebe smiled, playfully shooing Vivian away. “I expected this. I was tired for the first three months the last time as well.”

He looked at Marcus, who grinned broadly. “We are hoping for a girl this time.”

“Congratulations.” Rupert stole a quick glance at Vivian. Perhaps by next year they would have a child to celebrate as well.

The music began again, and soon he was left alone with Phoebe.

He settled on one of the chairs next to the sofa, and she turned to him. “You seem quite taken with Lady Beresford.”

“Does it show so much?”

She raised one quizzical brow. “Have you been trying to hide it?”

“Not really.” Not at all, truth be told. “I want to ensure she is . . . taken with me as well. I can only do that by spending time with her.”

“I wish you well, Rupert. You know that. And, despite what others have said, I do not think you are too young to marry. I will say that I have been given to believe something was very wrong with Lady Beresford’s marriage, and that may make her shy of a second one.”

“She said something that gave me the same impression.” He scrubbed his face with a hand. Did the path to love never run smoothly? “I do not wish to frighten her, but I don’t know how much slower I can go.”

A peal of laughter rang out. “My dear, if this is your idea of moving slowly, I do not know that I wish to see you moving quickly. You have only known her for about a week.”

“Do you not believe in love at first sight?” He took out his quizzing glass and turned it upon her. “I thought you were more of a romantic.”

“Only now.” Her gaze was drawn to the dance floor and her husband. “Marcus swears he fell immediately in love with me. It took me much longer.”

Rupert had heard something of the idiot Marcus had made of himself before he’d been banished to the West Indies. Phoebe had not taken what she’d seen as his betrayal at all well, and for years she had held a grudge against him. Given that Vivian had been married before, her experience could have been much worse than Phoebe’s. Rupert might have a harder time than he had expected bringing Vivian up to scratch. “Thank you. I needed that reminder.”

Phoebe reached out, tapping his knuckles with her fan. “If you truly love her, don’t give up. She needs a gentleman who will care for her.”

“I won’t. I only wish I knew what I was up against.” He slid a hopeful look at Phoebe.

She was quiet for a few moments, then apparently caught sight of something across the room, before saying, “I would not betray a trust, but if I can help you, I shall. I think she cares for you more than she will allow herself to acknowledge.”

“You will have my heartfelt thanks.” Rupert knew that his friends had helped one another secure their ladies, or gentlemen, as the case may be.

“Yes, I know”—Phoebe grinned—“and you shall name your firstborn child after me.”

“Not if it’s a boy!” He drew back in mock horror.

Phoebe giggled. “You will make an excellent husband.”

The look on his friend’s countenance was the type of happiness he rarely saw on Vivian’s face. What had happened to her? More importantly, would she allow him to help her?

 

Vivian and Lord Evesham came together again as they performed the simple steps of the reel. She glanced at Lord Stanstead and found him looking at her as well.

“You seem fond of young Stanstead.”

“Young?” She didn’t want to talk or even think about her feelings for Lord Stanstead. That would lead to nothing good for her. “He does not give that impression.”

“No, he came into his title early.” The steps of the dance separated them again. “Because of that and a natural tendency toward conscientiousness, he is older and wiser than his years.”

“How old is he?” Not truly wanting to know the answer. That she was falling in love with a child would make it worse.

“Two and twenty.”

Good God! Two years younger than I.
No wonder Lord Stanstead’s friends were protective of him.

“My lady?”

Vivian just stopped herself from shaking her head in an attempt to focus. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I hardly know how to answer you.” She raised her chin and a brow. “He has been kind to me.”

“Hmm. It think he is fond of you as well.”

“I doubt his attention is more than that of a friend.” Thankfully, at that point they changed partners, but she could tell he didn’t think she was being truthful, and she hadn’t been.

Lord Evesham was being impertinent asking her such a personal question. Especially one she did not wish to answer. He did not press his inquiries further though, and she began to relax. Her next partner was Lord Rutherford, while Lord Stanstead partnered Anna Rutherford.

Sometime later, Lord Stanstead claimed his second dance with Vivian, another waltz. Did it mean anything that all the other ladies were now dancing with their husbands? Come to think of it, no man out of their immediate circle had asked her to stand up with him. Surely, it was a coincidence. She had always been told gentlemen did not live in their wives’ pockets. Still, all of her new friends seemed to have special relations with their mates.

Lord Stanstead’s large palm rested on her waist, stealing her ability to concentrate on anything or anyone but him. No other gentleman had ever held her so possessively, and she liked it, as if she was to be protected and cared for. Was Lord Evesham correct? Could Lord Stanstead truly have feelings for her?

His low voice cut in on her thoughts. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yes.” More fun than she’d had in years. “Do I not appear to be?”

“You do now.” He smiled at her as if no one else was present or could see them. “I noticed that you appeared nervous or perhaps distracted earlier.”

“I am not used to large gatherings.” Or ones at which her husband. . . dead husband . . . had not made a point of saying something cutting to her. “But I am finding the more political events make me feel less on display.”

“Maybe it is that intelligence is valued over what one is wearing.”

Or how young one was, or how one’s body might look. “I believe you are correct.” She dreaded having to attend the balls Silvia was finding so delightful. “Did you know that Phoebe and the other ladies have started charities to help widows and their children, as well as schools?”

“Yes, and not only that.” He grinned ruefully. “They do not actually trust the politicians will do anything to the purpose. Anna won’t be happy until ladies have the vote.”

Which was an excellent idea, but unlikely to occur. Even peeresses in their own right could not vote. “I must say I agree with her.”

“Not you as well!” Lord Stanstead exclaimed jokingly. “Polite Society will soon be taken over by radical thinkers.”

Vivian laughed and he drew her closer.

“You are in good company,” he said. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing his tone to caress her. “My mother demands a full accounting of what is going on at the Lords and assists my step-father in drafting speeches and legislation.”

“How horrible,” she teased, “for you to be surrounded by so many forceful ladies.” Was that what he looked for in a wife?

“Did you know they all have one feature in common?”

“Do they really?” She caught glimpses of Anna and Phoebe. “None of them look at all alike.”

“No, but they have one feature in common.” He nodded. “Each of them has a determined chin.”

Lord Stanstead made Vivian wish she had a determined chin as well. Then again, not much was right about her, so one more thing hardly mattered. After the masquerade she would make an excuse to spend several days away from London. She could view properties and, without his presence, bar his lordship from her mind. And her heart.

 

“Where is Lady Beresford?” The angry voice of Nick Beresford growled from behind Silvia.

She clamped her lips together. If she were not so well bred, she would have rolled her eyes. Though she could swear her knuckles still stung from the last time she’d made that mistake, which had been at least ten years ago.

She turned to face her tormentor, clipping her words. “Not. Here.”

“That, I can see,” he snapped. “Is she hiding from me?”

The man was going to drive her mad. Silvia breathed deeply through her nose, letting out the breath. She could not raise her voice in Lady Framingham’s ballroom. “I doubt she has given you the slightest thought since you visited Lady Telford’s home. She has developed her own set of friends. Something you would be wise to do as well, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes at Silvia. “What makes you think I don’t have friends?”

“If you did”—she poked her finger at his chest, closer than ever to losing her temper—“you would not be here badgering me.”

“I asked a civil question.”

“I haven’t heard you ask anything in a civil tone since you were ten years old.”

“That is not—”

“Miss Corbet?” Lord Oliver’s
ton
ish drawl cut through Nick’s more belligerent one. “I believe this is my set.”

She gave him a blinding smile. “It is indeed, my lord.” And just in time. She’d been about ready to kick Nick Beresford, and that would have brought down someone’s wrath on her, or broken her toe, maybe both. “Lord Beresford”—she curtseyed—“please excuse me.”

Nick didn’t say a word, but his sharp brown gaze followed her to the dance floor.

“Who is that fellow?” Lord Oliver bowed before taking her hand.

Was that suspicion in his tone, and for what reason? Silvia’s temper hung by a thread, and she wasn’t about to put up with another difficult man this evening. She looked straight into Lord Oliver’s eyes, challenging him. “Someone I know from my home county. Why?”

“No reason.” His tone was softer now, placating. “I thought for a moment he meant something to you.”

“Not at all.” Less than nothing. A mere thorn in her side. They took their places in the line. “I wish to enjoy the dance and not think about him.”

“Your wish is my command.” Lord Oliver smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

They went through the complicated movements of the cotillion. She really had to get ahold of her temper around Nick. Why did he infuriate her so? Every time he was present, it was as if all her nerves were being rubbed raw. Not only that, he was the only person she had trouble being civil to, and he wasn’t even the most irritating person she knew.