CHAPTER 21
Eva managed not to gawk and coo like a shopgirl, but the DeVere ball proved to be everything any woman ever dreamt a ball to be. The candles, the gowns, the musicians, the dinner room—she memorized all she saw, so she could tell Sarah and Rebecca.
Gareth claimed the first dance with her, as her escort. She enjoyed it so much she could not stop smiling. Then Gareth introduced her to other people. A great many people. Some of the gentlemen also asked to dance. After the fourth one, she looked for Gareth but could not see him.
She decided to find a chair near the wall. No sooner had she sat when another gentleman approached. She already knew him. It was the Earl of Whitmere, to whom she had been introduced her first day in London.
“Miss Russell! I thought that might be you.” He bowed, then glanced around. “I don’t suppose Aylesbury came after all.”
“No. Mr. Fitzallen escorted me.”
“Only to desert you? Well, what can one expect. He has many friends to attend upon, if you know what I mean.” He smiled confidentially. Insinuatingly. “Aylesbury thought I should amuse him tonight, but I chose to amuse myself. I am so glad that I did.” Another smile, full of meaningful flattery.
This earl was flirting with her.
For the Earl of Whitmere, flirting included talking about himself a great deal. She let him, wondering if there were some special etiquette involved in avoiding a peer’s company.
“Are you rested? Shall we dance?” he finally asked. “I would be most honored.”
“Mr. Fitzallen—”
“Fitzallen must have fifty ex-paramours here, dear lady. For reasons unknown, they all remain his friends. I daresay you will not see him again until the night is over.” He offered his hand. She took it and they joined the next dance.
She felt some obligation to be more vocal. As the country dance brought them together, she found a few questions to ask about his estate. He found a few to ask about her family. By the time it ended, he did not bore her as much.
To her surprise, one of the other men with an introduction asked for a dance. Lord Whitmere stood down, looking regretful. “Perhaps I will see you later, Miss Russell.”
While she danced this time, she noticed that Gareth did as well.
His partner never took her eyes off him.
The lady was a very fair woman of incredible beauty; her gaze communicated too much for a public place.
She looks the way I feel sometimes. That reminded her of Lord Whitmere’s comment about Gareth’s paramours and of Jasmine Neville describing how highborn ladies never wanted to give him up.
Rather suddenly she did not feel magnificent and beautiful, but very ordinary. Foolish too. What she had known with Gareth was not at all special to him. She was but one affair in a long line of them, enjoyed by a man who anticipated enjoying many more. How stupid of her to lose sight of that.
A nice young man, close to her in age and appearing very young, she thought, asked to accompany her to dinner. So she sat with him while he regaled her with talk of his horses.
Afterward, while she sat on a bench close to the musicians, listening to them play, Lord Whitmere again asked for a dance.
It was different this time. She could not name why or how, but his attention seemed more set on her.
Their talk remained small, but she could not shake the sense that some assessment was under way, as if he were determining whether she measured up and had been worth the trouble.
His gaze made her uncomfortable, even though he was as friendly and gracious as before.
When you are dancing at the ball, remember how you feel right now, Eva. Remember the bastard brother who can make you weep with desire.
She did remember, and a nostalgic simmer warmed her blood. Yet every time she saw Gareth, he conversed with another woman, making it clear that his blood warmed for many, not only her.
“Will you remain in London long?” Lord Whitmere asked as he led her away after the dance.
“Not much longer at all.”
“Pity. With a little more time, I believe you and I could become great friends, Miss Russell.” His smile, confident and condescending, said much more.
He meant friends the way she and Gareth were friends. The earl had dishonorable intentions.
She almost laughed at the phrase. And at her shock. Who was she to be insulted? She had boldly abandoned her virtue already, and did not even feel guilty about it. Had he guessed that? Did he consider spinsters of a certain age fair game?
“Surely life in that village you described does not compare with the excitements of town during the Season,” he said. “Pray consider staying at least another week.”
“I would not want to wear out my welcome as a guest.”
“Ah. Yes, I see. A small problem, however, for which there is always a solution. I shall put my mind to it.” He bowed, kissed her hand, and walked away.
* * *
Whitmere stood near the musicians, eyeing Eva.
Gareth eyed Whitmere.
He walked over. The earl’s attention focused so completely that he did not notice Gareth until Gareth spoke.
“I told you I would thrash you, Whitmere. She is not for you.”
“Then who is she for? You? Go dance with her three times and declare yourself if that is how it is.”
Gareth looked at Eva. A young man to whom Gareth had introduced her sat by her side now, speaking earnestly. “She has plans that do not involve either one of us.”
“I, at least, would not object to plans. I would be happy to help her with them, in fact.”
There it was, of course. The real temptation that men like Whitmere presented. Money enough to relieve a woman, whether wife or mistress, of all duties so she could pursue her own interests. Eva had already figured that part out.
“You are wasting your time,” he said anyway. “She is gentry through and through. If you make an overture, it will insult her. That is why I will thrash you.”
Whitmere chuckled. “Then thrash away. Just tell me where and when. Because while the overture has not played, the strings have warmed up, and she did not appear insulted at all. Surprised and curious, but not insulted.”
He walked away, too pleased with himself. Gareth walked over to Eva. He wanted to scold her. Warn her. But surely she had seen Whitmere’s interest for what it was.
“Will you grant me the honor of a dance, Miss Russell?” he asked, interrupting the earnest young Mr. Pierpont. Pierpont took umbrage and frowned. Gareth stared him down. Eva took his hand, and he led her toward the musicians.
“That was a little rude,” she said.
“He was boring you. I did the chivalric thing.”
“How good of you to notice. That he was boring me, that is. Your arrival startled us both, however. I had almost forgotten you were here.”
“Whenever I looked for you, you were well occupied.”
She wore a false smile while they danced. When the music stopped, she hid a yawn behind her gloved hand. “I know these balls go on until morning at times, but I am ready to leave whenever you are.”
“Then we will go now, if you like.”
He was not sorry to depart. He escorted her to the reception hall, then went out to tell a servant to call for the coach. When he returned, he could not see Eva. Then he noticed a bit of her dress showing from behind a pedestal that held an antique statue.
Stepping to one side, he saw Eva deep in conversation with the Earl of Whitmere.
* * *
Eva looked up at the earl. The corner behind the statue was not entirely private. She doubted following him there would be thought scandalous.
The implications of his words would be, however.
“If you are agreeable, write to me, and I will put my secretary on it at once.”
She did not know what to say. If etiquette existed for such a situation, no one had told her. Nor had he been explicit. He would leave that for his secretary, she supposed.
She smiled noncommittally and stepped around the pedestal. Ten feet away, Gareth stood, watching.
Lord Whitmere acted as if nothing at all were untoward. He bowed to her. He nodded to Gareth. He returned to the ball.
Gareth tucked her arm around his and escorted her out. “I trust he was not importuning you behind that statue.”
“I am not sure that importuning is the right word.”
“How so?”
They settled into the coach and it moved down the street. “He cajoled me to stay in town for at least another week, or fortnight. Or longer.”
“In order to enjoy the pleasure of his company, I suppose?”
“Mostly to further my artistic studies, and meet important artists and other connections. To hear him speak of it, there is no other place for an artist to be.”
“There is an advantage, that is true. Not an insurmountable one. Nor do men ask women to stay in town for altruistic reasons alone. I think you know that.”
“Yes.” Other than a crisp tightness in his tone, he did not sound angry or jealous.
Of course not. If she could have no expectations of him, he would not have any of her. Gareth would be very fair about that.
So why did she want to hit him?
“Behind the statue, he was proposing a solution to my exceeding my welcome in your brother’s house. An alternative, so I could stay if I choose. One of his properties is vacant. A house just north of Cavandish Square. He is prepared to let it to me at a very good rent.”
“How good?”
“A shilling a month. I am to write to his secretary, a Mr. Hoburn, about it.”
Silence. No anger. No curses. Just Gareth sitting there, as if they discussed the weather.
After a moment, Gareth said, still in that cool, noncommittal tone, “An advantageous arrangement.”
Her breath caught. Her heart felt sick and angry and horribly disappointed.
The coach pulled up in front of Langley House. Fighting her emotions, she found the poise to enter the house with him. In the reception hall, Gareth gestured for the night footman to leave.
“You were among the loveliest women there tonight, Eva.” He moved to kiss her.