Chapter 22 #2
He wasn’t sure if love was the proper term for his feelings. There hadn’t been much love in his life. He only knew he needed Joan, craved her company, and if she were to care for him, he would probably shout aloud in triumph, as if he’d won the biggest wager in his life.
That, more than anything else, brought his thoughts into clarity.
Wagering, as he had once told her, made things more interesting—more important.
Lady Courtenay had warned him to consider his intentions, and tonight he realized exactly what those were.
He lingered a few moments, waiting for any sort of alarm or doubt, even apprehension of being trapped, to surface.
Instead all he felt was the overpowering urge to walk across the room to Joan’s side.
And so, with very little qualm, he gave in to it.
Joan had looked forward to the Brentwood ball for several days, but it didn’t begin as a roaring success.
She thought she looked rather well—almost lovely, in fact—thanks to Mr. Salvatore’s latest creation.
Every time she and Evangeline had visited him, she had brought up the idea of a gold gown, and every time he’d brushed her query aside.
But one day, to her surprise, he had sent her a swatch of fabric, a shimmering gold brocade with a pattern of leaves and flowers woven into it, saying he’d found it in a silk warehouse and was willing to make it up into a gown with some ivory satin if she still wanted it.
Since Mr. Salvatore had never missed yet, in her opinion, Joan sent back an acceptance the same day.
And when the gown arrived two days later, she’d almost gasped in joy.
It was lovely; it made her hair look darker, her skin paler, and really needed no ornamentation at all.
And best of all, the cut emphasized her waist, making her look slimmer.
Evangeline had lent her a pair of white satin slippers with an arched heel.
Joan felt very daring wearing them, but she held her head high as she walked into the room.
As her aunt had pointed out, Tristan was tall enough that she could wear raised heels and not tower over him, and he was the only man she really wanted to dance with.
The kiss in his bathing room had branded itself on her mind so hotly that she’d given up pretending she didn’t want his attention.
She wanted him to notice her, she wanted him to be stunned by how lovely she looked, and she wanted him to kiss her again.
And if it led to one of those moments all spinsters dreamt of, when a gentleman got down on one knee and confessed his undying love and asked her to marry him, she was prepared to say yes.
She didn’t expect it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t imagine it.
But the gown didn’t make quite the difference she thought it might. Abigail looked surprised, and Penelope’s eyebrows nearly went into her hairline.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as her aunt turned aside.
Abigail seemed mesmerized by the neckline of the gown. “It’s very low cut, don’t you think?”
Joan took a good look around the room. “No more than that gown, or that one.” In fact, some gowns seemed designed to display the wearer’s bosom. Her gown completely covered hers.
“Perhaps it appears lower than it really is because there’s no lace or trim at all. It looks as simple as a chemise.”
She resisted the desire to look down. “But it’s not. Don’t you like it?”
“It doesn’t look like anyone else’s dress,” said Penelope.
“Everyone else’s dresses don’t suit me very well.” Joan lifted a fold of her gleaming skirt. “If you didn’t know me, how would I look to you?”
Abigail cocked her head to the side. “Sophisticated. Daring.”
“Married,” said Penelope. “What?” she said in response to her sister’s expression. “Married to a wealthy, indulgent gentleman. Is there anything offensive about that?”
Abigail pursed her lips. “No.”
“Good, for it’s my goal in life.” Penelope shook her head as she surveyed the gown again. “It would make me look like I was wearing a fancy dress, but it really does suit your coloring, Joan.”
It was a little disappointing that they hadn’t both fallen over in raptures of envy, but Joan resolved not to think of that.
Wanting to wear what other women would envy had never served her well.
She thought the gown was lovely, and if even just one other person did .
. . for instance, perhaps Tristan . . . she would count it a success.
Abigail and Penelope excused themselves a few minutes later.
Their mother, fretting over their lack of dance partners recently, had impressed her son into finding gentlemen for them to dance with, and they were now required to stand with her until the assigned partners arrived—or so Penelope described it.
Abigail rolled her eyes and murmured something about her father being more upset than her mother, but they left, and Joan was once again alone with her aunt.
She scanned the room as discreetly as possible, and had just caught sight of Tristan’s dark head when another man made a very elegant bow in front of them.
“Good evening, Lady Courtenay, Miss Bennet,” said Sir Richard Campion.
“Good evening, sir.” Joan curtsied. Her aunt just dipped her head.
“You look exceptionally lovely tonight.” He included both of them in his compliment, but Joan noticed that his eyes lingered a moment on Evangeline, who looked remarkable in a gown of brilliant blue.
“Did you come over here just to express the obvious?” asked Evangeline lightly. “My niece looks magnificent, and I warrant everyone recognizes it.”
Joan blushed. Sir Richard smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I recognized it from the most distant corner of the room. I wonder if Miss Bennet would do me the compliment of partnering me in the next dance?”
She smiled in surprise. He was the one complimenting her. He was one of the guests of honor tonight, and gentlemen like Sir Richard Campion did not need to dance with spinsters, for any reason. And from the way her aunt looked on in approval, she was most certainly permitted.
“I would be delighted. Thank you, sir.”
He led her out for the quadrille. “Are you enjoying the ball?” he asked as they took their places with the other couples.
Joan could feel the weight of the surprised glances they were drawing. “Yes. I wish my aunt would enjoy it more, though.”
He paused in the act of tugging his glove for just a split second. “How so?”
She looked across the room and saw Evangeline watching them. “I think she gave up much she holds dear to play at chaperone.”
He gave her a long, searching look. “Has she expressed any discontent?”
“Not a word.”
The dance began and they said no more for a while. “I heard you had a great adventure the other day,” remarked Sir Richard when they had a quiet moment while the other couples performed the figure.
“You must mean ballooning.” She lowered her voice. “It was thrilling beyond words! But I gave my aunt quite a scare, which I regret very much.”
“I daresay she was able to understand, once she’d got over any surprise.” His eyes were kind.
Joan ducked her head. “Perhaps. But I had such remorse . . . would you do me a great favor, sir?”
“Of course.” He took her hand and they circled the couple to their left, then their right.
“Would you ask her to dance?” Joan saw his mouth tighten. “For me. I would be so glad to see her enjoy herself.”
He was quiet again for a long time. When the dance ended he led her from the floor and bowed again. “I would ask her for every dance, if she would only consent to one,” he murmured. “I am not the party you need to encourage. Thank you, Miss Bennet, for a most enjoyable set.”
Evangeline stepped up beside her as he walked away. “How did you find Sir Richard’s dancing?”
“Very accomplished.” On impulse, Joan seized her aunt’s hand. “Dance with him.”
Evangeline blinked. “Don’t be silly, dear. I’m here as a chaperone—”
“And nothing will be amiss if you dance once.”
“It would cause talk,” murmured the older woman. “And he hasn’t even asked me.”
“Because he knows you will refuse.” When her aunt merely pressed her lips together, Joan added, “Do it to please me, then. I hate to think you’ve given up all enjoyment for my sake.”
“My dear, I would not dance with him anyway. I dare not.” Evangeline steadfastly faced away from where Sir Richard had retreated to stand with their host, although his eyes veered her way more than once.
“That’s rather cowardly, don’t you think?” Joan caught sight of Tristan. He was winding his way through the crowd toward them, his gaze intent on her. Just the sight of his face made her heart jump and her lips curve. “Haven’t you been telling me love is worth some risk?”
Her aunt glanced at her in amazement, but before she could speak, Tristan was in front of them. He bowed with a flourish. “Good evening, Lady Courtenay.” His voice warmed a degree as he looked at Joan. “Miss Bennet.”
“Lord Burke.” Joan didn’t care that everyone was staring at her anew. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she curtsied.
“I hope you’ll save the supper dance for me, Miss Bennet.”
That meant he would also escort her in to supper. Joan, who had eaten most suppers at balls with her parents or with her friends, felt almost giddy. “Of course,” she said, trying to sound poised and gracious instead of breathless with excitement.
He grinned, and raised one hand. “Excellent.” A servant, who must have been waiting for his gesture, hurried forward with a tray of champagne.
When Tristan turned to take the glasses, Joan hissed at her aunt, “Dance the supper dance with Sir Richard. Please, Evangeline?”
Her aunt’s face grew pensive as she took the glass Tristan offered her. “Very well,” she said under her breath.
Joan exhaled, and managed to catch Sir Richard’s eye. She gave him a quick, bright smile, tilting her head slightly toward Evangeline, before accepting her own glass of champagne.
They talked lightly through the next three sets.
She had never seen Tristan so charming, so relaxed.
He had a wry way of putting things that made her smile, as long as he wasn’t trying to infuriate her.
Evangeline seemed quite taken by his manner as well, which wasn’t too surprising; she was fairly certain her aunt was doing everything possible to encourage him.
And tonight of all nights, Joan had no wish to dampen her enthusiasm.
Her skin seemed to tingle every time he looked at her, which was often.
His gaze slid over her golden gown with obvious approval.
He gazed at her with a brilliant intensity every time she spoke.
All in all, the evening seemed to grow brighter and happier every moment.
Although that might have been due in part to the wine; every time her glass was empty, a footman seemed to appear with another.
Joan had drunk champagne before, but she had never before felt this same sort of thrill, as if the bubbles continued to fizz in her veins.
When she took her third glass, her aunt put up a hand.
“Yes, it’s my last,” Joan whispered to her. “I know.”
“Your pardon, Lady Courtenay,” said Sir Richard, who had come up behind them. “I beg you to honor me with the supper dance.”
“Oh, do!” said Joan before her aunt could speak. “As you know, I am already engaged, so you are quite free to dance yourself.”
After a long pause, Evangeline gave her hand to Sir Richard. “I would be delighted, sir. I will see you in the supper room, Joan.” With a quick glance of pure gratitude at Joan, Sir Richard led her off.
“Excellent work.” Tristan drained his glass before taking hers as well and handing them off to the attentive footman. “At last, a moment alone.”
Joan laughed, although it sounded more like a giggle. “Oh, no! I only wanted her to dance, for her own pleasure.”
“I hope she enjoys it very much,” he returned, taking her hand and leading her out. “I intend to as well.”
“Oh? How?” She seemed to have a bit of trouble getting her feet lined up. “Curse that champagne.”
“I’ll steady you.” His arm went around her waist, pulling her shockingly close. He grinned down at her. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said breathlessly as the music began. “Much.”
Joan gave herself up to the pleasure of the waltz.
Her borrowed shoes seemed to have been made for dancing; she felt willowy and graceful in them, and not even a quarter inch too tall.
Her gown might look unfashionable or daring to some, but all she cared for was the avid admiration on Tristan’s face.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She smiled dreamily. “Nothing, really. I was merely savoring the dance. You do waltz very well, my lord.”
“That’s something, not nothing.”
“But I didn’t think it until you asked, so when you asked, the correct answer was nothing.”
He grinned. “Thank you. You are my most desired partner.”
She blinked. “For . . . the waltz?”
“Yes,” he murmured, although his jade-green eyes seemed to convey a larger answer.
Her pulse leapt. “I might say the same.”
“I am very, very gratified to hear that.” Without lifting his head he scanned the room.
The waltz was winding down. Joan also glanced around; Evangeline and Sir Richard were on the other side of the dancing area, nearest the supper room.
They seemed to be absorbed in each other, and she felt a moment’s hope that Sir Richard would persuade Evangeline to marry him.
She was sure he wished it, just as she was sure Evangeline wanted it, too, if she could only allow herself to say yes . . .
“Do you trust me?” Tristan murmured, his gaze still flicking from side to side.
If he hadn’t been sweeping her about in the dance figure, Joan would have stopped dead. “Why?”
His lips quirked. “Is that no?”
“No,” she said slowly.
“Is that yes?”
She hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”