Waltzing With the Wallflower (7 page)

Irritated, he made his way to the balcony and noticed Cordelia already waiting for him. He released the breath he had been holding and reached out to touch her arm.

She whipped around so quickly he stumbled backwards.

“Is it true?” she asked, tears streaming down her soft face.

“Pardon?” It was truly a night from Hell.

She hiccupped and wiped a tear from her eye. “Is it true? Are you only paying me attention for your own personal gain?”

“Of course not!” Feeling fierce and out of control he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her body into his. “You know me better than to be that type of man. I care for you deeply. I would never harm you in that way, Cordelia,” he added. She lifted her face to his, and he forgot the eloquent speech he was about to make on her behalf.

“Cordelia, I—” He reached for her, wiping more stray tears from her cheeks, and then his lips followed. Her cheeks tasted of salt and rosewater. Losing his already unstable control, he drank her in—all of her.

She stopped the kiss, gently pushing against his chest. “So none of it is true then?”

“Cordelia, I think you would know if you were my mistress. In fact, I guarantee you would know, and you wouldn’t be as scandalized as you look right now. Though perhaps a bit more satisfied.”

She blushed and pushed at him. “I’ve been the object of many conversations tonight, but being your mistress was one piece of gossip I wasn’t made privy to. Though I am relieved to know you don’t wish to proposition me. That wasn’t what I was referring to.”

Ambrose pulled her into his arms again and kissed her, murmuring against her lips, “Then what has you so put out? For I won’t have you crying in my arms unless it’s from joy, my dear.”

She sighed, nestled against his chest. “The bet. I was told you made a bet and that if I became the toast of the ton you would win.”

He froze, unable to speak, move, or do anything except continue to hold her and try to think of a way he could either lie or distract her from the truth.

“Let’s not talk about gossip,” he finally said as he lifted her chin to kiss her again.

This time she pulled back, pain glistening in her eyes. “Tell me it’s not true, Ambrose.”

He cursed, and looked away. “Cordelia, it isn’t important anymore. I care for you—you must see that!”

“You care for me?” she echoed in a tiny voice.

“Of course I do; you know I do.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

She had him there. “I was a fool! I wanted to help you, to pull you away from the wall. Anthony and I—”

“Anthony was in on it too?”

“Don’t forget Wilde as well, brother,” Anthony said as he joined them on the terrace.

“Helpful,” Ambrose muttered under his breath. “Cordelia, as I said, what’s done is done, but it is of no importance anymore.”

“Oh?” She lifted an angry brow. “Pray tell me why it isn’t important that you’ve lied to me for over three weeks. I’m in such suspense!”

“It’s difficult when you look so angry! Nothing else matters now. As I said before, I care for you! I, I….” Why couldn’t he say love?

“You what, Ambrose?” Her eyes looked hopeful.

“I… It wasn’t just a bet. It isn’t just a bet anymore. This is about us, can’t you see? It’s more than a silly bet.”

“A silly bet? Can I assume you’re labeling me as the
silly
part of this bet? Silly that I would be such an easy target? Naïve because of my family? Or just plain stupid because I fell for it so readily? For what other reason would a titled lord pay any mind to me? Or bother to kiss me senseless?” Tear sprang into her eyes. “You say you care for me—you really were going to ask me to be your mistress!”

It had crossed his mind, but this was not the time to say it out loud. Furthermore, as soon as the idea had cropped up, he pushed it immediately out of his mind and realized she deserved more than that. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t, Ambrose, just… leave.”

He didn’t move.

“Fine, I’ll leave. Good evening to you both.”

She pushed past Ambrose and Anthony.

When Ambrose looked up, it was just in time to greet his brother’s fist. Expletives flew out of his mouth as he sailed to the hard ground. “What was that for?”

“You idiot. You fool!” Anthony yelled. “Could you have handled that any worse?”

“Could you have
helped
me handle that?” Ambrose shot back.

“I cannot believe you! You kiss her senseless, dance every waltz with her. Half the ton thinks you’re to be engaged, and the other half thinks she’s already your fiancée and here you are on the ground because you can’t very well defend her honor and pride? Is
I love you
really too difficult coming from your mouth?”

Ambrose scowled. “In my defense—”

“You have no defense! You’re a coward! The girl is going to be ruined; I hope you realize that! You’d be an idiot not to know that the sudden drop in attention from you will destroy anything she’s accomplished.”

“None of this is my fault!” Ambrose defended.

“Not your fault?
Not your fault
?” Anthony cursed. “She loves you! You love her! When such things happen, you apologize and propose!”

Ambrose didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, he held out his hand for his brother to help him up. But his twin made no move to take it. Instead he offered an icy glare.

“Name your seconds,” Anthony muttered.

Ambrose froze. “You can’t be serious. Are you challenging me to a duel?”

“I am.”

“Over a bet?”

Anthony ran his fingers through his hair. “If you think this is over an asinine bet, then you are beyond help, and I hope the bullet gives you a quick death, brother.”

“Where are you going?” Ambrose struggled to his feet.

His brother paused in the doorway. “If you aren’t man enough to fix this, then I shall do it. I will clean up your mess and propose to Cordelia myself. I won’t have her ruined because of your failures. Name your seconds, Ambrose.” Anthony stormed from the balcony, leaving Ambrose alone to nurse his bloody lip and wonder what the devil had just happened.

Chapter Eight

The Aftermath

The absolute arrogance. She didn’t need his help, but even as she told herself that, she scoured the room for the closest indoor plant to hide behind. What was wrong with these people? Why did they have no plants?

The impending tears stung her eyes, and she knew she had only seconds before someone noticed her puffy eyes and scarlet nose. The telltale signs of her broken heart and injured female dignity.

She swallowed back the rising knot in her throat and glanced towards her aunt sitting amongst the matrons. The woman was busy gossiping with her circle. She would not want to leave.

The murky despondence that enveloped her with Ambrose’s rejection had to be set aside. In her mind, Cordelia would have to envision her future without him, force herself to accept the truth and move on. Though the pain stole her breath and burned like a twisting knife in her stomach.

Cordelia bit back a curse. When it really came down to it, she was all alone in this world. Her aunt and uncle were her sponsors, but they had no genuine concern for her situation. The three men who she felt most comfortable to confide in had been toying with her. She was an object to them. The spoils of a bet and that was where it left her. Their bet. Her spoil.

Here she was, right back where she started. In the corner and hiding from the devouring eyes of the ton. Nothing gained but perhaps a bit wiser for the wear.

An excellent reason to be more careful in the future.

Though after this, she feared her only future was that of an old spinster maiden.

Or worse. Sir Bryan.

God have mercy, he spotted her.

A frantic search revealed no quick escape. She would have to speak with the man. In all fairness, he was a kind gentleman. It’s just that she couldn’t breathe when he was near. Swallowing her sensibilities, Cordelia drew a deep breath and awaited his arrival.

“Lady Cordelia, I have been trying to gain an audience with you all evening.” He stepped into the crowd beside her. “You have been highly sought after all night. Have you any space on your card for me?” His warm smile brought her an odd mixture of guilt and comfort. It might not be so bad. She could pray her married life would be blessed with a perpetual head cold.

With a sigh, she lifted her card and scanned it. Anthony’s name was scrawled across the next line. Certainly he wouldn’t be claiming his right after what had just transpired. And if he did have the gall to ask for it, she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of humiliating her further.

“As it happens, Sir Bryan, I do.” She returned his smile and took his offered arm, following him onto the dance floor. She would have to get used to his close proximity if they were to spend the rest of their lives together. May as well learn to breathe the fetid odor now.

“I have been hoping to speak with you,” Sir Bryan whispered as they took their place in the dance, “concerning the lady, Cristina.”

Cordelia’s heart stopped beating for an instant then seemed to drop into the pit of her stomach. Her shock must have registered on her face, because her partner tilted his head in bewilderment. Then muttered on. He spoke of nonsensical things like love and destiny and his chances. Cordelia felt dizzy. A rushing sound filled her head, drowning out what he was saying. She had but one lucid thought:
Even Sir Bryan is toying with me.

Then she mourned the loss of her last shred of romantic notion. No knight in shining armor would be coming for her. Not Sir Lancelot, not Sir Bryan and certainly not Ambrose.

Again the tears threatened to expose her vulnerability, and she fought them. Sir Bryan was a kind gentleman, but her tears were not for him. Suppressing the torrent of emotion, she smiled and nodded at all the appropriate places in Sir Bryan’s confession of his intentions towards Lady Cristina.

“It did make things more difficult, however,” he explained, “when you brought her to the attention of the other gentlemen, my lady.” His tone was confusing. Was he
irritated
with her?

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Surely you knew what you were doing. You have a great pull in this circle, my lady. One nod from you and all the gentlemen surge forward to stake claims on your approval.” He glowered at her as if she had done him some irreparable harm.

“I apologize, Sir Bryan. I had no idea. I sought only to help Lady Cristina. She was crying. They were ripping her to shreds.” How was she to know a small kindness would cause such damage?

He seemed to relax. “No matter now. I shall simply have to work quickly.” His gaze traveled to the outskirts of the room, likely searching for his one true love. The tap on his shoulder startled them both.

“Excuse me, Sir Bryan.” It was Anthony. Indignation rose like bile in Cordelia’s throat. “I believe I had spoken for this dance.”

Cordelia stiffened, hoping Sir Bryan wouldn’t give up without a fight. She could see from his demeanor that he was far more absorbed in thoughts of finding Cristina, for he smiled and excused himself, begging forgiveness for the infringement.

Of all the stupid, despicable, rancid-smelling—

“I need some air.” Anthony grasped her hand in his and pulled her along with him towards the side doors, interrupting her thought.

Once outside, Cordelia tried to wriggle her hand free of his grip to no avail. Since she had no desire to cause a scene, she gave up on the effort and tried another approach.

“My lord,” she whispered through clenched teeth as he dragged her hastily down the path into the garden below the balcony. “Might we slow down? My gown… it makes such swift movement… difficult,” she gasped.

Anthony stopped short, sending Cordelia careening forward, tripping over her skirts. His firm grasp kept her from falling and he jerked her backwards to break the inevitable fall, but it threw her off balance again and she crashed into him, knocking Anthony to the ground. He naturally, pulled her down with him.

That was it. The last straw. Cordelia pushed herself to a sitting position and allowed the pent up tears to fall, hiding her face in her hands. She hated to cry, hated the absolute helplessness of it, but the night had been the most wretched of her life, and that warranted a few sobs.

“Oh, Cordelia.” Anthony pulled up beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. About everything. I know it has been a miserable night.” He lifted his handkerchief to her. “Are you injured? From the fall?”

She shook her head, unable to speak without crying.

Anthony stood and offered his hand to lift her to her feet, but once she was standing, his grasp tightened.

Cordelia looked at him through blurry eyes and cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. “Anthony, why are we out here?” she asked with a sniffle, dabbing the handkerchief at her eyes.

“I want to—that is, I believe it would be best—” He exhaled in resignation. “Oh, curse it, Cordelia, I would like to offer for your hand.”

She could feel her eyes widen in surprise and her gaze shot abruptly to his face, scrutinizing him for the joke that was certain to accompany the proposal. That was a proposal. Wasn’t it? From Anthony. Arrogant, egotistical and never serious Anthony. That had to be it. It was a joke. At a time like this?

Pulling her hand free from his hold, she swatted at him and laughed through another sob.

“That isn’t funny, Anthony.”

He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. “I’m serious, Cordelia. But thank you, for the boon to my confidence.”

She sucked in her breath and with it all her mirth. “Oh, Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“Cordelia, I don’t want to see you suffer because of my brother’s cowardice. I have always admired you…”

“You certainly know how to take a girl’s breath away.” A pity proposal. Perfect.

An exasperated groan escaped his throat, and he raked his fingers through his hair to emphasize obvious frustration. He began pacing back and forth with long strides. “I know I’m not saying it just right.” Abruptly, he stopped pacing and faced her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Would it be so bad?”