Chapter 18 #2
He had fought hard against admitting it, but it now seemed futile to deny that his heart was lost. And that frightened him more than words could express. His mouth went dry at the very thought of how much Caroline meant to him, and his limbs felt as weak as jellied eel.
He had been rejected once by someone he cared for. He wasn’t sure he could endure such pain again. So it had seemed better to make sure the choice would never have to be made.
Indeed, he had made quite sure of that.
There was no longer any reason to go on deluding himself throughout the long, lonely evenings with only the bottle for company that he preferred it that way.
At least he could now be honest with himself about that.
He missed her more than he could ever have imagined.
Life seemed sadly flat without the dimension she brought to his existence.
But there was little use in pining over what could never be.
All he could hope for now was that his recent behavior had ensured that Lady Caroline Alexandra Georgina Talcott, heiress and daughter of one of the most powerful men in the country, would not want to even acknowledge the presence of the ill-tempered, penniless earl who had treated her so badly.
Even now, he had to wince at the memory of his cold words, her wounded expression. Surely, she would stay well away from him. And, surely, he could keep up the charade of not caring for one more evening.
But it was going to be a very long evening.
* * *
The grand ballroom was awash in the flickering light of countless candles.
The soft fragrance of tuber roses wafted through the trill of laughter, the buzz of conversation and the lilting notes of a violin as the musicians began the first notes of the opening dance.
It was quite a crush, as one turbaned matron had remarked to another over their glasses of ratafia punch.
Nobody wanted to miss the opportunity to meet the gifted young artist whose praises were being trumpeted throughout town.
It did not do the young man’s reputation any harm that a vague hint of intrigue concerning certain affairs of state had attached itself to his name.
Half the young ladies of the ton had abandoned their allegiance to a certain poet and proclaimed their fascination with the even more romantic young painter.
Caroline had to repress a smile at the sight of yet another gentleman seeking to introduce his giddy sister to Jeremy Leighton. After the requisite small talk, her friend managed to extricate himself from the crowd and take a brief respite in leading her out for a waltz.
“As you see, you had little cause for worry,” she murmured as the melody began in earnest.
Jeremy’s expression appeared glazed, but at least he managed the steps of the dance without a major mishap. “I cannot fathom…” he began.
Caroline laughed out loud. “Don’t try. Why not just enjoy the moment? We all know how quickly things can change.”
He shook his head. “I hardly feel comfortable here. I wish I were back in my studio…”
“You soon will be, though I imagine you’ll be able to work in a good deal more comfort than before. No doubt you will be having to turn away commissions from now on.”
His eyes still roamed the room. “You know, my parents are here. They have become reconciled to the notion that their son is a painter and not an officer of the Royal Navy. I have you to thank for making this dream of mine come true.” His one good hand tightened on hers.
“I wish I could help make a dream come true for you.”
Her lips trembled imperceptibly. “Why, Jeremy, how kind of you, but I have no need for dreams.”
His brows drew together slightly.
“I believe you are engaged for the next set with Miss Allston,” said Caroline as the music came to an end and they moved off the dance floor.
A petite blonde dressed in an expensive gown of figured white silk embroidered with cornflowers was staring with a rapt mooncalf expression at the young artist.
Jeremy blanched. “Lud,” he muttered under his breath and darted a pleading look at his companion.
Caroline checked the urge to laugh out loud as she left him to his fate.
Ducking a bevy of her own admirers, she pleaded the need to absent herself in order to check with her father’s major domo that everything was running smoothly.
Yet as she neared the door to the card room, she paused for a moment, half-hidden by an arrangement of potted palms. Her eyes scanned the vast ballroom, searching carefully among the shimmering silks, glittering jewels and impeccably tailored evening coats.
She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until it came out in a sigh of disappointment.
He wasn’t here.
She had caught a glimpse of Davenport earlier, at the opening of Jeremy’s exhibition, but their paths hadn’t crossed. It was almost as if he were avoiding having to exchange even the simplest of greetings with her.
To her chagrin, Caroline felt the sting of tears.
Jeremy might have possessed an artist’s rare gift of being able to quickly discern the true emotions of a person, but in the case of a certain individual, his observations were way off the mark.
The earl might unhappy, but it had little to do with her—or at least, not in the way Jeremy imagined.
Clearly, Davenport had no wish to further their…
Their what?
Did she dare call it friendship? Whatever it was, it was something so special to her that she missed it with an ache infinitely worse than all the physical punishment she had endured.
But this was neither the time nor the place to brood on such thoughts.
Mustering all of her considerable will, she pasted a smile back on her face and turned for the corridor.
A short stroll to check on the quantity of champagne was an excellent idea.
Perhaps she would even help herself to a glass in hopes of adding some effervescence to her flat spirits.
It was only out of the corner of her eye that she suddenly caught Davenport’s intense gaze.
He, too, was alone, his dark coat and pantaloons allowing him to blend into the shadows cast by the swaying trees.
He had been observing her, and for just a fleeting moment, she saw the look in his eyes before his face once again took on a familiar scowl and he turned away.
Her heart caught in her throat. Was it possible?
But Caroline had no time to think, for in the next instant, a hand reached out for hers. She scarcely heard Lord Appleby remind her that the pleasure of the next country set was his. The steps seemed to go on interminably, and it seemed like an age before the final note was struck.
Thankfully, a waltz was next—a waltz promised to Lucien. As her cousin approached, she took his arm and quickly led him away from the dance floor.
“You must release me from this dance,” she said in a low voice. “I must tend to a pressing matter with one of our guests.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow but refrained from raking her over the coals concerning her rather odd request. He merely shrugged and announced his intention of using the time to filch a bottle of champagne from the cellars so that he and Lord Knightly might fill their glasses a tad more often—and fuller—than the waiters had been instructed to do.
Caroline looked past the palms. He was still there and still alone, looking as black as a windswept sea. It was the scowl that made her take heart. Before her courage could desert her, she hurried toward him. Seeing as his back was against the wall, he had no chance to escape.
“Good evening, milord.”
Davenport gave a slight start of surprise, then muttered a passably civil greeting in turn.
“I thought, for old time’s sake, I might take up the role of a man again long enough to ask you for the next dance.”
His face betrayed a warring of emotions.
She swallowed hard. Perhaps she had been mistaken after all. “Of course, if you would rather not…”
By way of answer, he took hold of her elbow and ushered her out onto the polished parquet.
And then, suddenly, he was ever so close.
She could feel the warmth emanating from his broad chest, the pressure of his hand on the small of her back.
As the captivating strains of the music filled the room, the earl began to move with the lilting tempo, guiding their steps with lithe grace.
Caroline followed his lead effortlessly.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, giving herself over entirely to the pressure of his hands, the measured strength of his muscled legs.
Attuned as she was to the nuances of his touch, she felt the stiff tension in his limbs begin to ebb out as they glided across the floor.
When at last she ventured to look up at him, she saw the color of his eyes had cleared, though the strange intensity still lingered.
Though loath to lose the harmony between them at that moment, she felt compelled to break the silence. Suddenly unsure of how to begin, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Speaking of gentlemen, I asked Lucien about the song…”
Davenport’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.
“Remember? You wouldn’t tell me what a sodomite is. You told me to ask my cousin. Well, I did.”
The earl nearly tripped over his own feet.
“But he wouldn’t explain either,” she continued, ignoring the incredulous look on his face. “He said he had a good mind to call you out for exposing me to such language. I still don’t…”
The laugh began softly at the back of his throat, then reached such a volume as to draw inquiring glances from the couples around them.
“You are still utterly incorrigible,” he said with a shake of his head.
Caroline drew in her breath. She had approached the earl with the intention of being charming and ladylike, but somehow, things had gone awry—as usual. Her cheeks reddened, but she decided, as she had already made a mull of things, there was no harm in going on.