Chapter Sixteen
D eclan smiled, hoping to ease the anxiety on Grace’s face. Clearly she knew that her debut was already a failure. Except for him, none of the ton were here. They wouldn’t deign to attend the come-out of an illegitimate woman of mixed heritage and the daughter of a banker. He doubted that Grace truly cared, but he could see her worry for Miss Gray.
That was why he’d whispered to her that this was just the beginning. He’d known girls who had contemplated suicide after a bad launch. Every debutante needed to understand that the come-out ball was just the beginning of a long and hopefully glorious life. Surely Grace knew that elite society was only a small fraction of the wide world?
Thankfully, she seemed to understand. The dazed look in her eyes had cleared, her smile had strengthened, and she moved with increasing poise on the dance floor. She was athletic, so the movements of the dance were not difficult for her. She’d obviously had lessons and knew where to go when. But the more he looked at her, the more she seemed to come into her own.
He was no poet, able to express how beautiful she was while she blossomed in his arms. But one moment she was placing her feet where they belonged with obvious intent. Then the next moment she was dancing . The girl who’d begun the set had become a woman, who moved for the sheer delight of the music and the night.
He could not credit himself with her change, much though he wanted to. But he could thank God that he was here to witness her delight.
She was even daring to cast him a flirtatious look now and again. Obviously, she was not a practised courtesan. Her coy regard was not that assured. But she showed flashes of daring when her eyes, her hips or some slight lift of her shoulder tempted him to touch her.
And with each glance he dared to draw her closer. How he wanted to take her to places best reserved for fantasies that could not be indulged in the middle of the ballroom. But, oh, he thought about them. Imagined them in graphic detail. And he delighted in the shocking lust he felt for her.
When was the last time he’d felt such a pull to a woman? Never . And the realisation of what he felt was as wonderful a sensation as it was frustrating. Because of course she was off-limits, except in the very proscribed manner of the dance.
In. out. A bow. A spin. And through it all a desire to kiss her until he was senseless with hunger. Worse, he could see the desire in her. Every time their gazes connected, their hands touched or her lips curved as if just for him he knew she felt it, too. She wanted him. Despite what she’d seen him do in Hyde Park and how horribly his family had treated her. Despite everything, she desired him, and he was both humbled and deeply aroused by that thought.
‘Excuse me, old chum, I wonder if I might impose for an introduction?’
A male voice interrupted his thoughts. And it wasn’t until the broad shoulders of an old schoolmate jostled him aside that Declan realised the dance had stopped.
‘What?’ he said, forcing his thoughts to beat back his lust.
‘Never mind him,’ the voice continued. ‘Declan and I are old schoolfriends. No doubt he’s addled by your beauty. Propriety demands that he do the honours, but since he’s been struck dumb I shall introduce myself. Lord Cubitt, at your service. Might I have the pleasure of the next dance? Or the next one you have free?’
Grace smiled, her expression uncertain. Apparently, Lord Cubitt was prepared for such a reaction, and quickly charmed his way around it.
‘Pray, don’t be afraid. You may tell me that your dance card is full. I shall be crushed, of course, but will survive somehow.’
He’d survive on the food offered during supper, because his title was completely impoverished. Still, he was a charming fellow, with a respectable title, and so Declan forced himself to do the pretty.
‘Lord Cubitt will not step on your toes, Miss Richards. Indeed, he is accounted quite a good dance partner.’
Had he emphasised the word dance ? Did she understand that he was not a marriage prospect? He could only hope.
Meanwhile, Grace nodded, flashing a sweet smile at the bounder. ‘I believe you have no need to sulk, my lord. I do indeed have space on my dance card. As does Phoebe, I think.’
‘She will be my next request,’ the man said as he grinned and scrawled his name.
As Lord Cubitt did his work, Declan chanced to glance up. Good God, where had all these men come from? A steady stream of bucks, bounders and jack-a-napes were sauntering through the doors. Enough that Grace’s father and Phoebe’s parents were scrambling to greet them all.
Why ever were this lot here? Had the gaming hells and brothels closed for the night?
‘There, that’s done,’ said Lord Cubitt. ‘But lest I think I can keep you all to myself, I have a few more friends who are desperate for an introduction.’
What? Declan’s eyes widened as he saw a queue of gentlemen lining up, all vying for an introduction and a slot on Grace’s dance card. Good God, it was as if all the reprobates in London had decided to come and court her.
Then, to his shock, he realised that was exactly the case. Every fortune-hunter in London was here, paying homage to Grace. And she, damn it, had no idea who she was allowing to touch her arm, to write their names on her dance card, to demand every single one of her waltzes.
Hell! He was supposed to have the first waltz. Her father had already agreed to it. But he had been too overcome with desire to think of writing down his name, and now... Her card was full while he stood there like an idiot.
Where was her father? Where were Phoebe’s parents? They were supposed to protect the girls from reprobates. But of course her father didn’t know who was who in London, and Phoebe’s mother was at the door, keeping the worst ruffians from coming in. After all, none of these men had a proper invitation. Indeed, he now saw that both fathers were at the French doors at the back, preventing God only knew who from entering.
Damn it! Someone needed to help at the front entrance or Mrs Gray would be overwhelmed.
Bloody hell. He’d have to go.
He glanced back at Grace. The worst she might suffer was if a man took liberties with her on the dance floor. Mrs Gray, on the other hand, might very well be hurt as a few of the bigger men tried to muscle their way in.
‘I’ll be back,’ he said into Grace’s ear. ‘Don’t go outside with any of them!’
Then he ducked away before he could hear her response, crossing in quick strides to the ballroom door.
‘Mrs Gray,’ he said in his darkest tones, ‘may I be of assistance?’
‘Your Grace,’ the lady said, clearly relieved. ‘Thank you. These gentlemen ...’ her tone cast doubt upon the term ‘...do not have an invitation, and yet they seem to think they can simply descend—’
‘Aw, milady, we mean no disrespect,’ countered an infamous card sharp who existed on the fringe of polite society. ‘We were asked to give Miss Richards a boost, so to speak. Just a dance—’
Declan interrupted, his tone hard. ‘Miss Richards does not need “a boost” in a dance or otherwise. Pray be gone.’ He reached out to slam the door shut, but was stopped by none other than his own cousin.
‘They don’t have an invitation,’ Cedric said, ‘but I do. My deepest apologies, Mrs Gray, for my tardiness.’
He stepped forward, neatly shoving the others back, while Declan winced at the dark purple bruises on the man’s face. There was paste covering the worst of them, but the injuries were there for all to see.
‘Cedric—’ Declan began, though God knew how he was going to apologise for what he’d done.
It didn’t matter. His cousin was addressing the other men crowding forward.
‘Go on, now,’ he said. ‘I hear there’s a new girl at The Rose Garden. Pray give her my regards and she might bestow a kiss upon you for the association.’
Only his cousin would barter a tart’s kisses as a way to quiet an altercation. Though, to be fair, it was effective. Crass, for sure, but effective. The unwanted gentlemen left with a tip of their hats and a grin.
Meanwhile, Mrs Gray had greeted his cousin with a relieved smile. ‘Thank you for your assistance, my lord.’ Then she looked behind her at the dance set now forming. ‘Though I’m afraid the bulk of the fortune-hunters got through the door before I could stop them.’
‘Yes...’ Cedric drawled. ‘I can see that.’
Declan shot him a hard look. ‘Was this your doing?’
‘Mine? Good God, no! Do you think I want more competition for her hand? You’re bad enough. Thank God you’re old and boring, otherwise I’d never stand a chance.’
‘I’m barely three years your senior,’ Declan growled, his gaze on the men now surrounding Grace.
‘And yet you act a dozen years older or more.’
‘You cannot fault me just because you want to remain in your adolescence.’
‘Oh, yes, I can, cousin. I absolutely can.’
Declan ground his teeth together, annoyed with himself. This was unseemly of them, sniping at each other in front of Mrs Gray. So, rather than respond, Declan bowed to the lady.
‘If you would excuse us, Mrs Gray? I would like a word with my cousin.’
‘Of course,’ the woman answered, her worried gaze still scanning the newcomers. ‘I should find Phoebe...’
‘Yes,’ Declan agreed. ‘I think that would be wise.’
He waited while the lady hurried away before he turned to his cousin. But before he could speak Cedric forestalled him, holding up a hand as if to block a punch.
‘I have no interest in anything you say,’ said Cedric, and then pointedly ignored his cousin as he looked for Grace. ‘I believe I shall go and claim my dance.’
‘Her card’s full already. I’m out, too.’
Declan didn’t touch his cousin. He knew better. The man was just as likely to punch him as to treat him with restraint. And could Declan really blame him?
Cedric stopped moving, clearly frustrated. ‘What the hell is all this? Every fortune-hunter in England...’
His voice trailed away as he came to the same conclusion Declan had. They looked at one another and spoke the word at the same time.
‘Mother.’
Meaning both their mothers together. And hadn’t the Dowager Duchess declared this very thing not two hours ago? Her speed and thoroughness were daunting.
Cedric sighed, turning his bruised face towards Declan. ‘You should just give me the ten thousand pounds, and then we can both be done with this charade.’
‘Never.’
‘You owe me.’
Declan winced. He did, but not ten thousand pounds’ worth. ‘I’m sorry, Cedric. I shouldn’t have gone off like that, and I am genuinely remorseful. But you’re not going to use my failing to destroy my family’s coffers.’
‘I’m part of your family.’
‘Nevertheless.’
He could hear Cedric grinding his teeth together and, given the swelling along his jaw, knew that must hurt.
‘A loan, then,’ his cousin finally said.
Declan gave his cousin a long look. Damnation, he was actually considering it. Ten thousand pounds and this whole mess would be done. He could stop pretending to pursue Grace, his cousin would go away, and...
‘No. What you are doing to Miss Richards is criminal.’
His cousin scoffed. ‘Criminal? I intend to marry her. You, on the other hand, are simply toying with her.’
‘You want her dowry, nothing more.’
Cedric didn’t need to respond except with a raised brow. It was considered normal for a man to marry for a dowry. It was downright commonplace. Though one would think a future earl might have more self-respect.
‘Leave her alone, Cedric,’ Declan growled.
‘No.’
‘There are dozens of other fortunes around. Try Miss Gray.’
Though from the crowd of men around her, Phoebe’s dance card was likely full as well.
‘No.’
And there it was. Far from being a lost lamb, ignored by the ton , Miss Richards was now the most sought-after woman in London. And, far from dissuading his cousin, he had made Cedric dig his heels in even further.
It was exactly as Declan had planned, and yet, his body physically rebelled at the idea of Cedric or anyone else having Miss Richards. He was nauseous—and furious. It was all he could do to stand there, watching her dance with those blighters, without decking every single one.
If the sight of Cedric touching Grace had brought him to violence in Hyde Park, how would he handle seeing her wed someone else?