The Bridal Quest (26 page)

Did she want so much to outshine the other young women here? She did not really dislike any of them, and it seemed a very petty thing to do. After all, they were interested in becoming the next Countess of Radbourne, and she did not even want the prize.

But even as she had the thought, she knew she was not being entirely honest. It was true that she did not seek to be the Countess of Radbourne, but she had wanted the prize: the look in Gideon's eyes.

She did not want to marry. But she wanted Gideon.

"I am a terrible person," she confessed in a low voice to Francesca.

Francesca shrugged. "Not terrible. Only human. What female does not want a man's admiration ...? Especially the admiration of the man she loves?"

"Francesca! You are quite wrong. I do not love Gideon. I did, I admit, feel a certain low satisfaction in—in making him notice me. And I have been foolishly bothered by the fact that he has been dancing attendance on all the other young women here. But that is utter nonsense, I know. I intended for him to pay attention to them. That is why we worked with him so much."

"No. I worked with him to force you to be around him long enough to realize how you felt. The other women are here only in case you never come to your senses, or he gets so annoyed with you that he chooses someone else."

Irene stared at her. "What?"

"Irene. Really." Francesca linked her arm with Irene's. "My dear girl, I saw how it was with you two as soon as I watched you together in the park that day. It was utterly clear to anyone—or at least to anyone as accustomed as I am to watching people tumble into love—that the two of you were, well, in a word,
destined."

"Destined?" Irene repeated blankly. "You mean, destined for each other? Are you mad? We argued the whole time we talked in the park."

"Yes, you did. But it was the way you argued. You were both clearly upset because you challenged each other's preconceptions. You each had very orderly arrangements, and the other one did not fit into them at all. Naturally you were upset. But the ... attraction was unmistakable. I knew it was just a matter of time until you figured it out. You are a clever girl-Irene gaped at her. "All of this ..." She waved her hand vaguely around the room. "All of this was just a ... a ruse?"

"Oh, no. It wasn't a ruse at all. I did need your help. Your assistance was absolutely essential." Francesca smiled at her, amusement brimming in her eyes.

Irene was torn between anger and laughter, but Francesca's smile was too infectious, and after a moment she lost the battle and chuckled. "You are outrageous," she told her friend, shaking her head. "Well, I hope you will not be too disappointed when your plans do not work out as you had hoped. I have no intention of marrying Lord Radbourne."

"Indeed, that is too bad," Francesca said without any visible sign of distress. "I fear he will be exceedingly unhappy. But ..." She shrugged. "When your heart is not engaged, it simply is not. Poor man. You still find him disagreeable, then? Maddening, I think you called him. Selfish, annoying ..."

"No! I mean, yes, he is all those things," Irene agreed. "However, I do not dislike him. No, indeed. I have come to quite appreciate the man. He is strong and capable, and once you come to know him, you realize that he possesses a sharp wit. He is an excellent man. Everyone—his relatives most of all—have grossly misjudged him."

"Have they?" Francesca murmured.

"Oh, yes." Irene nodded. "It is a wonder, really, that he puts up with them. A lesser man would have tossed them out on their ears by now."

"If you hold such admiration for him, I am at a loss to understand why you would not marry him," Francesca told her.

"You know why I have no plans to marry."

"Yes, but when one meets a man who stirs one so, then such plans usually fail, and the reasons you used to cling to no longer apply."

Irene shook her head. "I am not, I hope, so inconsistent. And he—he does not want a true marriage. To love him would be a futile exercise. He does not want love. Marriage is a business arrangement for him. A practicality."

"Indeed." Francesca frowned. "Is it truly so? The look he sent you did not seem so cold."

"Oh, he is not cold," Irene responded, and again her cheeks turned pink. "He is, in fact, quite bold in that way. But that is not love."

"Ah. Well, many women I know would feel that they could turn such 'boldness' into a deeper feeling. They might believe that with a little effort, such a man could come to love a woman who loved him."

"Perhaps. But ... it does not matter. Marriage is not something I long for. And 'tis better, surely, to avoid the pain that could come with such hopes. To love a man who does not return your love must be painful indeed."

"Yes, I suppose it must be." For an instant, sorrow shadowed Francesca's lovely face, but then she shrugged it off. "Well, you are a very strong woman, Irene. I admire you. Few women would be able to turn away as you can. To face not seeing Gideon again. To return to the life you have lived until now. Many would be unable to bear the thought of the loneliness. The pain."

Irene's smile wavered. "I will manage, I am sure."

"Of course you will."

Determinedly, Irene sought to change the subject. She glanced around, saying, "There are a number of new people here tonight."

"Yes," Francesca agreed. "A few local people whom Lady Odelia considers good enough for a large gathering—the squire and his family, the vicar and his wife. And Lady Odelia's invitation is command enough to bring several others here just for the night. They have been tucked into the undamaged rooms in the old wing."

"Not the best of accommodations."

"No, but 'quite well enough for them', as Lady Odelia would say." Francesca shrugged a shoulder. She stiffened suddenly and stared across the ballroom, muttering a soft, "What is
she
doing here?"

"What? Who?" Intrigued, Irene followed Francesca's gaze. She saw a woman with dramatically good looks standing across the ballroom, chatting with Lady Odelia and her sister.

The woman was older than Francesca by a few years, but she was still lovely, even though she must now be on the far side of thirty-five. She was tall and voluptuously built, with auburn hair and large pale blue eyes.

"Lady Swithington?" Irene asked, a little surprised. The woman, until recently married to her second elderly lord, was no longer a mainstay of London society. She had been living with Lord Swithington on his Welsh properties for some years, until his recent death, only rarely returning to London for a Season.

"Yes. Lady Daphne." Francesca looked at her for another moment, then turned back to Irene, offering her a tight smile. "I would have thought that, so soon after Lord Swithington's death, she would not ..." Francesca stopped and offered up a brittle smile. "But of course, I should have known Daphne's mourning would pass swiftly. And she has always been connected to the Lilles. I believe Lady Odelia dotes on her."

"I cannot imagine Lady Odelia doting on anyone," Irene retorted honestly, but she did not pursue the matter. She watched as Francesca glanced around the room, stopping when her gaze fell on the Duke of Rochford, who stood chatting with his sister Callie.

"Well, it is of no matter anyway," Francesca went on brightly. "If you will excuse me, I must check in with all our girls."

"Of course." Irene's curiosity was aroused, but she was too polite to press Francesca on the matter.

The older woman started to walk away, then turned to give Irene a shrewd look. "He may profess no interest in love, my dear, but I think it is safe to say that Lord Radbourne has a decided interest in
you."

With a nod, she was gone.

Irene was not alone long. Soon Piers strolled up to ask her for a dance, then stayed to chat with her and survey the scene. And long before the night was over, she had danced with almost every man in the room, including the somewhat intimidating Duke of Rochford. Only one man did not talk to her or ask her onto the floor—the one man she wanted to do so.

Gideon watched her. She knew that, for she had glanced up a time or two and found his eyes on her. They had swirled around the ballroom to the lilting strains of a waltz, each with another partner, but she had been aware the whole time of where he was, and she knew that he was just as aware of her. Yet still, he did not ask her to dance.

It grew close to midnight, when the music would stop and everyone would go down to the lavish supper laid out in the assembly room. Irene was beginning to despair that Gideon would ever appear when suddenly she looked up and saw him walking straight toward her. He did not look to either side or pause to talk to anyone, but kept his eyes on her, his intent clear.

Her hand clenched around her fan, and her stomach began to jangle with nerves. Her eyes met his and held. She felt as if her heart might jump right out of her chest.

"Irene." He stopped in front of her.

She nodded to him, striving for at least a modicum of cool aplomb. "My lord."

Gideon sent a single hard look at Mr. Surton, who had been standing talking to Irene, and the man was quick to take the hint. "Excuse me. I, ah, I must go speak to ..."

His voice trailed off as he executed a bow in her direction and left.

"I believe this is my dance," Gideon said to her.

"Indeed?" She arched an eyebrow, nettled by his tone. "I do not remember your asking me."

"I am asking you now."

She was somewhat inclined to argue, but then she looked into his eyes and the words died in her throat. Desire stirred and coiled deep within her belly, awakened by the heat in his gaze. She simply nodded and took his arm.

They strolled out to the dance floor. His arm was like iron beneath her palm, and Irene knew that her hand was trembling just a bit. She wondered if he could feel it, and if he understood the jittering tumble of emotions that was dancing through her.

She turned to face him, and he took his hand in hers, his other hand going to her waist. They stood poised for a long moment, as the first haunting strains of the violins began, and then the whole orchestra came in with the surging, unmistakable rhythm of the waltz, and they began to dance.

Gideon did not speak, nor did Irene try to find anything to say. There was too much pleasure, too much emotion, in this moment. It was enough to feel his arm around her, his hand upon hers. It was enough to look up into his face and see the hunger that was written there.

She needed no words to know what he felt; the same needs roiled in her. And when, as the song ended, he whisked her out onto the terrace, she went easily.

There were other couples there, enjoying the cool evening air, and Irene nodded and smiled to them, wafting her fan as the other ladies did, in the pretext of cooling her face. They drifted farther down the terrace, until finally, with a glance back at the others, Gideon slipped around the corner of the house, pulling her with him.

His hands clasped her arms, turning her to face him, and he gazed down into her face. "God, but you are beautiful. You bewitched me tonight."

"I did?" Irene could not suppress a slow, satisfied smile. "I would not have known it. You did not speak to me all evening."

"I tried my best not to," he retorted. "I have tried my best all week. Blast it, Irene!" Temper flared in his eyes. "I thought—I hoped that you would care, that you would notice, at least, if I stayed away from you. I danced attendance on those ninnies, praying all the while that you would see, you would realize. But clearly jealousy does not exist in you, at least not for me. I told myself that if you so disliked the idea of wedding me, then I must find another." He glared at her in frustration. "But I could not! I know I will not ever!"

Gideon pulled her to him, and his mouth came down to cover hers. His lips were hot and eager, his kiss searing, and the hunger in it shook Irene down to her toes. She let out a soft noise, and her hands went to his waist, sliding beneath his jacket. He jerked a little in surprise, and she started to remove her hands, but he clasped them in his own, holding them to him.

"No," he murmured. "Don't leave. You have no idea how much I have longed to feel your hands upon me." He nuzzled his face into her hair, moving to lay a soft kiss upon her ear, then turning his attention to her neck. "You've no idea how hard it is to stand there listening to one of them giggle and chatter, and all the time, all I can think of is the line of your throat when you lift her head and laugh, or the soft curve of your breast, or the way the material of your dress drapes around your legs."

She shivered, as much from his heated words as from the silken touch of his lips. "Gideon ..."

He pressed his lips into the soft hollow of her throat, then worked his way back up her neck. Her head fell back, offering up the soft, vulnerable expanse of her throat. She felt heavy and languid, her blood pooling hotly in the depths of her loins.

"How can I choose one of those silly, insipid girls—" he rasped "—when you are here? Do you honestly think I could settle for their giggles and niceties, when all I long to hear is one trenchant remark from you? I burn for you. Every night I lie in bed thinking of you, with desire dancing over my skin like fire until I think I shall go mad. And not once—not once—do Miss Surton's blue eyes come into my head. Not once do my hands itch to slide over Lady Flora's curves. All I can think of are golden eyes, like molten metal. All I want beneath my fingertips are your breasts ... your hips ..."