Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Anthony stared at his reflection in the looking glass. His rented quarters had not initially provided one, but after a few quick words with the servant assigned to care for the rooms, one had been obtained.
It was cracked. There was some age spotting down one side, and no matter what he did, his cravat was resolutely crooked.
He swallowed, and his cravat moved. He had experienced nerves before, everyone did, but nothing like this. Nothing like the knowledge that he was going to be entering the lion’s den of events, and presenting himself at the Port Royal Assembly Rooms that night at the ball.
The ball, the ball. He was a sufficiently proficient dancer, if needed, but he had never enjoyed them. Samuel had always laughed at his attempts to woo the ladies through dance; it had always been his wit, his words which had conquered them.
But now here he was, dressed to the nines for a ball held in a town where he had but three days previously attempting to publicly humiliate a staunch pillar of the community.
And then bedded his daughter.
Anthony coughed and shook his head slightly as though that would help with the correction of his cravat.
He must not dwell on it; he just had to concentrate on getting through the evening.
He was a count, it was expected of him to attend the only social event that Port Royal had to offer, but he would not have to suffer any more.
Within a week, there would be ship that could take him back to London – or at least, part of the way.
A week to enjoy Miss Nerissa Fairchild. Unless she was truly serious about joining him.
Anthony tugged at the cravat once more, but everything that he attempted to do just seemed to make it worse – and then he realised why, and groaned, hanging his head. It was a looking glass; everything was backwards.
He pulled the cravat off and fell back onto the bed, his head dropping into his hands. What did he think he was doing? It was madness to go to the Assembly Rooms tonight, complete madness.
But it would be a chance to see Nerissa again.
The night air was warm as Anthony stepped out onto the street with his top hat under his arm and his cravat mercifully straightened by a servant. It was as warm as the night before, when he had taken Nerissa and –
Anthony cleared his throat, but he could not help a smile from spreading across his face.
“Oh, I am so close Anthony, don’t stop, please never stop!”
He jerked his head to the left as he realised that his feet had taken him precisely to the Assembly Rooms without his conscious thought.
Ah, it was just as well. It was just a few streets away, and now he had no time to think about how to hold himself in public, how to ensure that he did not embarrass himself with his dancing, and how to hide his feelings – and very physical desire – for Nerissa from the entire town.
Anthony stopped dead and groaned. Well, it would have been an excellent idea if he had managed not to think of that.
What if the dances here were different from the ones in London?
What if he danced with Nerissa, how would he be able to hold in the powerful emotions that were even now welling up inside him?
There was no point standing here; other inhabitants of the good town were arrived, nodding at him curtly and with as little politeness as possible. He couldn’t just stand out here forever.
As he stepped in, the announcer bustled towards him, a little man with a large moustache.
“And who shall I say?”
Anthony swallowed, and found that his nerves had not left him, which was unusual. Typically he faced the situation and all thought of concern went out the window.
“Count…Count Stratham. Anthony Quiversley.” The temptation to give another name had been strong for a moment, and Anthony smiled to himself. As though he would ever give up that glorious name of his father’s.
He strode forward a step behind the announcer, and the double doors were opened to the brilliantly lit Assembly Room. It was packed, with nigh on forty people at least, some of them dancing, most of them chattering around the edges, sharing the town’s gossip just in case anyone had missed it.
“Anthony Quiversley, Count Stratham,” declared the announcer in a bold, deep voice that was nothing like how he had sounded in the entrance hall.
Anthony tried to hide a grin at the little man, but it quickly faded as the entire room fell silent, all turning to stare at him.
And those stares were not welcoming. He could make out that in one corner the judge who had presided over his case was now shaking his head, and there were two young ladies whispering by the punch bowl and looking absolutely scandalised.
An older woman who was standing near the doorway gave him a dirty look and ushered away the young lady accompanying her.
Anthony’s shoulders were tight and his throat seemed very dry, but there was nothing he could do now.
There was no leaving this ball until a socially acceptable period of time, and it was only eight o’clock now.
He would be here at least three hours, there was no way to leave beforehand without giving offence. He may as well make the most of it.
He bowed deeply, and as he rose gave the room a smile.
No one returned either gesture.
Trying to pretend that he had not noticed this, Anthony’s gaze flickered across the room searching for one face, just one face.
And then his heart stopped beating and his breath caught in his lungs. There she was. Nerissa Fairchild.
She was standing near the back of the room looking directly at him with a knowing smile on her lips, and it was as though everything else in the world had stopped. Her face shone out to him like a beacon of hope, and love, and light.
She was so beautiful. He had thought he had understood her beauty before, but this: this was something else.
Her hair had been washed and dressed with delicate diamonds which made her hair appear even more golden.
A bright golden gown of silk was elegantly placed upon her, with a shining necklace of gold and diamonds around her neck.
But her face, oh God, her face. It was honesty and beauty and innocence and delightful erotic knowing, and it was all combined in a smile that told him that she knew exactly what he was thinking.
They could have been alone in that room together, and Anthony wished that there were.
As his heart started to beat again, and he drew a breath in a desperate ragged moan that he hoped beyond hope was quiet, he knew that he was in very real danger of falling in love with Miss Nerissa Fairchild if he was not too careful.
And then a rush of sound moved back into the room as though the once suspended moment had truly collapsed, and Anthony realised who was standing beside her: Mr Fairchild, her father.
The pleasant feelings of decadence and desire were immediately replaced by irritation, but he forced it down. He would not cause a scene here, not for Nerissa’s sake. The joy that he gained from her face was more than enough to quell the anger.
Finding that his feet still did move, Anthony took a few shaky steps forward, and then found his stride to start crossing the room to make his way towards her.
Her face was beaming, glowing at the sight of him. It was clear to him, and perhaps to everyone around her, that she was pleased to see him, and Anthony found it a comfort and a spark in his limbs to see her.
“My lady,” he said in murmur as he reached her, bowing deeply. He wanted more than anything to reach out and kiss her hand, kiss her mouth, kiss her neck – but even he knew that the Assembly Room was hardly the place to do such a thing.
“My lord Count,” Nerissa smiled, dropping into an equally deep curtsey, “I believe that you know my father, Mr Marcus Fairchild?”
Anthony clenched his teeth and glared at Mr Fairchild and was unsurprised to find an equally fierce glare returned.
“But father,” continued Nerissa, her features growing more excited, “let me introduce you to my future husband, Anthony Quiversley, Count Stratham.”
Anthony reeled backwards from her words, actually taking a step away from her in shock.
“Hu-Husband?” He choked. “Husband?!”
Mr Fairchild was staring at her with equally shocked features, but he did not seem to have the capacity to say a word.
Nerissa was staring at Anthony as though he was mad. “Yes, future husband – or fiancé, I suppose, if you prefer it. I do not know which is best, so I leave it up to your preference.”
“Fiancé,” repeated Anthony in horror. How could she have misunderstood so badly? How could this have happened – he had never made any declarations of love to her, never promised marriage! How could a suggestion of protection have become this?
“Fiancé,” Nerissa said beaming, ignoring the stunned look of her father.
“Did I hear that correctly?” A woman who had been passing them on the way back from the punch bowl stopped and smiled benignly at Nerissa. “Did you say fiancé, my dear?”
“Wait – ” Anthony attempted but he was immediately interrupted.
“Yes,” Nerissa said simply, taking his hand in hers.
It felt right, but it was wrong, wrong for her to think such a thing! Anthony’s head whirled and he felt as though the entire Assembly Room was spinning.
A gentleman walked over to see what the conversation was about. “Is it true then?” The gentleman leered a little at Nerissa, and Anthony’s confusion and panic were shot through with irritation at the stranger. “You are to be married to the Count?”
“Now hold on a – ” Were all the words that Anthony was able to get out before he was once again, interrupted.
“Yes, I am to marry Anthony,” said Nerissa prettily.