Chapter 13 #3
The way her heart leapt at the sight of him was ridiculous. She did not have a claim to him. Lucasta tore her eyes away, looking anywhere else.
Selina was enjoying the attentions of Major Mallory, who had been beaten to Cici’s side by Mr. Plimpton.
Minnie had, with her unerring accuracy, located the one eccentric scholar in the crowd and was deep in a discussion of Old English syntax, pretending not to see Ashley’s freezing stares in her direction.
And Annis had been cornered by a fellow diplomatic envoy, who loudly demanded how much of a threat she thought this upstart Sheikh Mansur of Chechnya might pose to Catherine the Great’s plans for expansion in the Caucasus.
“If I am in demand,” Lucasta said, fixing her attention on the table laden with the night’s repast, “I shall take advantage to find as many sponsors for my concert as I can.”
“Sponsors and not suitors?” Trevor probed, scooping a pile of candied lemon onto Lucasta’s plate.
She sneaked a spoonful of sugared almonds, debating how forward she was allowed to be. It was glaringly impolite of a young lady to presume a young man had an interest in her. But if Trevor was as unenthused as she was about his father’s plans, her greatest fear could be laid to rest.
She looked about to see how likely she could exchange an unobserved word with him in the supper room, where couples hovered at side tables or small groups stood chatting and balancing their plates.
The evening had been a constant stream of young men inviting her to stroll about the room, young women wanting to be seen with her, and gossipy matrons who wanted to know just what she had done to fascinate Lord Rudyard.
Her face hurt from holding a polite smile for hours, as if she were sitting for a portrait.
“Your father,” Lucasta began.
Trevor examined an oyster, then replaced it on the tray. “Yes?”
“I only hope you know I have no expectations. Of you,” she rushed to say. “That is, I would not presume so high.”
His eyes narrowed, and he swept a glance over the others milling about the refreshment table. “You mean to say you don’t intend to settle just yet.”
“I do not intend to settle at all,” she said. “What I mean is…I will sympathize if you are not in accord with your father’s wishes.”
He moved on to a bowl of dried oranges. “He gave me to understand I would have no rivals. Yet I find that not at all the case.”
Her heart thumped and she held her plate with both hands to steady it. Some men thrived on rivalry. None of the men here tonight had taken the least notice of her until Smart Jeremy made his careless remark.
No, not careless. Calculated. But she still wondered, why?
“Of course you should be at liberty to choose as you wish.” She was careful to steady her voice, too.
Trevor’s eyes were blue like Cici’s, but a darker, stormier shade.
“Picture a man who returns from the Continent ready to establish himself,” he said.
“Perhaps improve a somewhat soiled reputation. Then imagine he finds the most difficult choices already made for him: whom to take to wife, and how to support her. All that remains for him is to select a house in town, choose a club, and find a tailor.” He lifted a brow, dark gold like his hair. “What man would not agree?”
It was as good as a declaration. And yet she could not, must not let him think she conceded. “As I said…”
She caught his scent first, then the warmth of his presence behind her, and then a familiar melting voice poured down Lucasta’s spine.
“Miss Lithwick.”
Trevor’s face shuttered. Lucasta looked up into the deep gold-brown of Jem’s eyes.
“Milord Rudyard.” She wished she didn’t sound breathless.
“The sun left us when I returned you home yesterday.”
His eyes were not on her as he delivered this pretty compliment, but on Trevor Pevensey. There was something guarded in Jem’s look—hostility? Annoyance bubbled. He had waited an awful long time to approach her.
“What a foolish thing to say,” she answered, noting with alarm that she stood in the canyon between the two men’s bodies. “The clouds have come in nearly every day of this month, and yet we still have no rain.”
“You will honor me with a dance after supper? I have requested the musicians play the Duke of York’s Cotillion. Though I notice,” he added, and his eyes twinkled with mischief, “they are the same band as at Lady Clara’s party, with the same wretched second violin.”
She pursed her lips so she would not catch his grin. Trevor watched her face closely.
“How enterprising of you, Lord Rudyard, to invite me to tread once again on your toes.”
“A small sacrifice,” he murmured, and with a short bow moved away.
Trevor watched him move among the company, paying small compliments here and there. “M’father doesn’t like that man,” he said shortly.
“He’d accept in a moment did he offer for Cici’s hand,” Lucasta said in surprise.
“It doesn’t appear to be Cici he’s interested in,” Trevor replied.
Lucasta’s heart executed the most astonishing pirouette at that remark, and still had not settled when the music struck up and Rudyard claimed her. He was Smart Jeremy to this crowd, Rudyard to the rest of the world, Jeremiah Falstead to her, and fast becoming Jem. She must not, must not be a fool.
“I have secured my first performers for the Foundling Hospital’s benefit concert,” she reported as they bowed and began the country dance. “The Gorgons have consented to perform one of Haydn’s string quartets.”
“We shall sell out on that basis alone.” He swept her through a turn, his hand firm and strong through her protective layer of chintz.
“I had a note from Judith today,” he added. “She demanded I bring you to see her again.”
“As soon as she would like,” Lucasta said immediately.
“Alas, I have business tomorrow. The day next?”
“I believe I am free of obligations.” She ought not seem too eager. Indeed she ought to spend all her spare time organizing the concert. The governor’s board had set a date mere weeks away, wanting to take advantage of the nobility in town before Parliament concluded.
Rudyard watched her as the ladies chasséd to their places, his face arresting her thought, the stern nose and sharp jaw such a contrast with his sensual lips and melting eyes. She wanted his company as much as she wanted his sister’s.
Goose.
“The violinist seems behaving tonight.” He bent his head and spoke low near her ear as they came together for the promenade.
“He is much improved. I knew he was a fiddler and not a concert violinist. I wonder if he would sell me his Amati in that case.”
Rudyard glanced at her face. “I suppose I ought not ask for a second dance.”
There would be speculation if he did. Worse, there would be more danger for her. With his hands holding hers at her back and waist, his gloved fingers tight and firm around her own, his leg brushing her skirt, Lucasta had the strange sense that she’d stepped into a place made for her.
“I suppose not.” Her voice came out husky.
“Everyone will think I am paying court to you.” His fingers squeezed hers. She recalled how he caught her when she fell out of his carriage, the press of his body against hers. She felt faint.
“We mustn’t have that.” She barely breathed.
“And your escort, I think, is begging for a reason to call me out.”
“Trevor?”
Her cousin watched them from the side of the room with a baleful glower. Her fellow Gorgons regarded them with considerable interest as well.
In fact, every eye on the room, save those of their fellow dancers and the musicians, appeared glued to Jem and Lucasta. Her stomach twisted in knots.
“I will call upon you in two days.” They reached their place and completed the figure. As Lucasta executed her final curtsy, Rudyard caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. It was no more than a slight pressure on her glove, yet she felt as if she’d touched a live coal.
But then he raised his head and glanced about the room, as if confirming that every eye rested on them. Satisfied to find this the case, he held her hand a bit more than was proper, let his gaze linger on her face a beat too long.
The sense of betrayal nearly made her stagger. Her knees went liquid and her mind blanked.
Lucasta, though, had trained for performances. Smart Jeremy was putting on some sort of display, and though she didn’t understand his intentions, she could guess her role. She smiled, nodded her head with cool politeness, and withdrew her hand.
And promised herself that, for the rest of the evening, she would not watch his progress, see whom he spoke with, take note of the least thing he did or said.
He wanted something from her. She had to figure out what it was.
But he didn’t want her.