Chapter Nine
The mixture of laughter and conversation permeated the atmosphere of Lord and Lady Devertan’s ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers dripped light like molten gold; the air shimmered with beeswax and ambition.
It was almost distracting enough to pull Pere from her thoughts—rather, irritation from earlier that day—but only for a moment.
Squeezing her hands into fists in her kid gloves, she tried not to glare as she surveyed the room.
Her pulse still thrummed with the ghost of a kiss she refused to name.
Her brother paused near her and leaned in close, his voice just a low whisper. “If Ramsford—”
“I’d love to say I can handle myself, but there would be something delightfully satisfying in seeing you give him an unexpected right hook. I’d probably start applauding.” She glanced to Henley and raised an eyebrow.
Henley blinked, then furrowed his brows. “Do I have a reason to?”
“Other than soothe my irritation, no. Unfortunately.” She watched her brother relax slightly.
Did he truly think her that daft to allow Lord Ramsford any liberties? Yet, as the thought crossed her mind, a heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered that she had indeed allowed liberties.
Just not to Ramsford.
And honestly, she hadn’t exactly allowed them … she’d been caught off guard by it. And if she returned the kiss, she excused her behavior as momentary insanity.
Hawthorne was no better than Ramsford, maybe even worse. At least Ramsford pretended to be interested in her; Hawthorne made it clear he was not.
The thought pinched her heart slightly—or at least her pride—but she shook it off.
“Good.”
Pere paused and quickly thought back to her conversation with her brother; she’d already forgotten as she dove back into her irritation with Hawthorne. Ah, yes, the lack of reason to beat Ramsford senseless. It really was a pity.
However … she could always disclose Hawthorne’s actions, but while it would certainly earn him a black eye, it would also earn her a husband, and she wasn’t that desperate to be shackled to Hawthorne. So, she’d kept her peace and would continue to.
But, it would be a lovely threat should he vex her at any point in the future. The thought brought a grin to her face.
“Please stay near me.” Henley spoke lowly as he led her around the ballroom to a chair near the refreshment table. “Do you wish to sit?” he asked when they arrived.
“No. I’ll stand,” Pere replied, her eyes scanning the ballroom.
She needed a new target, a new suitor.
Her gaze landed on a circle of gentlemen who were laughing, and she recognized one her brother had once mentioned while at Eton.
“What of Lord Woodbury?” She dragged her gaze from the gentleman in question to Henley, who wore another scowl.
“You really must try to appear less irritated all the time. You’re going to look like a grandfather before you’re a father. ”
Henley’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced to the side for a moment before clearing his throat. “Woodbury you say?”
“I didn’t misspeak.”
“Must you be so defensive? You wonder why I scowl and then you give me a clipped answer,” he chided her.
Pere twisted her lips. “Very well, yes, please.”
“Was that so hard?”
“Yes. I’ll need to sit just from the exertion of it all.” Pere gave her brother a half smile.
“Woodbury is … not a rogue, but I don’t think matrimony is what he’s currently interested in,” Henley replied skeptically.
“Rather he’s interested in…” Pere asked.
Henley looked up, as if searching for the right word in the coffered ceiling of the ballroom. “Life experience.”
“How delightfully vague,” Pere replied dryly.
“It’s as delicate as I can put it.”
“So, don’t put it delicately,” Pere said with a mockingly sweet tone.
Henley sighed, giving his head a single shake. “No.”
“You’re not helpful.”
“I suppose not, but that’s not going to change anytime soon so…”
“Do you have any suggestions, gentleman-wise?”
Henley regarded her. “Yes, but they aren’t the men who would belong on that list of yours.”
“I’m not desperate but I’m open to suggestions,” Pere admitted softly, her eyes continuing to scan the room. Her attention landed on Woodbury again. “Maybe I can convince him.”
Henley started to speak, then paused, his mouth snapping shut with a barely audible noise.
Pere’s gaze shot to him, and noted the way his fists balled up, and his shoulders straightened as his attention focused on a point over her shoulder.
Rather than spin around like she wanted to, she moved slowly and scanned the place her brother’s attention had lingered.
“Ramsford.” Her brother bit the word just as she saw him. He was meandering through the ballroom, his eyes scanning the room.
“I think he’s looking for me,” Pere muttered as she turned to her brother.
“He’s not getting near you.”
“Yes, he is, for only a moment though. I’ll end it myself.” Pere tugged her gloves on tighter, squeezing her hands and feeling the urge to bounce on her toes, like her brother did when shadow boxing at home.
Was this what it felt like to anticipate a fight? Interesting. Not that it would come to blows—and if it did, it certainly wouldn’t be hers. She glanced to Henley, who was still wearing that furious glare, but this time it was aimed at her.
“Pardon?”
Pere blinked.
“You’re not going near him so you can’t exactly end anything … especially since there’s nothing to end—”
“Wait.” Pere held up a hand gently and spoke calmly. “Hen, let’s consider this rationally.”
Henley’s eyes widened.
“No, really, hear me out.” She took a breath and waited for her brother to listen.
He narrowed his eyes but nodded, so she continued.
“If you approach him and forbid his suit, then it could be easily misunderstood that you are acting in spite of my wishes. A forbidden love. However, if I, with you nearby, make the point clear, then there can be no misunderstanding. You can affirm it after, but if I initiate it, then there’s no reason for a man of his caliber to wonder if I would entertain a secret romance.
Does that make sense?” Pere asked, hoping her fumbling words were articulated well enough to get the point across.
She didn’t trust Ramsford, and anyone who had seen Henley’s face whenever she danced with Ramsford could deduce he was displeased. She wouldn’t go around her brother’s authority, but she wanted it to be clear, on every level, this was her rejection, not just her brother’s.
Henley twisted his lips. “I see your point. But when you speak with him, it’s with me close by, and it will be only a precursor to my words.”
“Agreed,” Pere replied. “There’s no time like the present.” She gave a humorless laugh, and turned, searching for Ramsford.
A tingling sensation ran up her spine as she tipped her head and turned for the source. She studied the faces of those around her and then searched deeper into the crowd, almost missing the dark figure by a pillar.
Hawthorne.
Her lip curled slightly, and she narrowed her eyes and turned away.
No, she’d not deal with that problem now; she had other issues to deal with first. Irritated, she turned back toward the refreshment table and locked eyes with Lord Ramsford.
His gaze warmed with a charming smile as he took strides toward her.
“I’ll be a few feet away.” Henley’s words were whispered and she felt him give her a little space—as much as a London ballroom could afford.
In a few short moments, Lord Ramsford was near. “Lady Peregrine.” He took her hand and kissed the air above it, lingeringly holding her fingers before slowly releasing them.
His gaze swept across her face, his expression soft, inviting, warm, and alluring.
“You are very good at what you do, my lord.” Pere glanced down, steeling herself with a breath.
Odd how his warm gaze was ineffectual, irritating even. She knew it was a ploy, a trick to engage her emotions. It was a farce, and she wasn’t a fool for it any longer.
“I’ve been told I’m exceptional at a great many things,” Lord Ramsford murmured softly, his tone all honey and charm.
Pere wanted to spit on his Hessian boots.
“You misunderstand me.” She glanced up, making her expression cold.
“Often, most talented actors seek the stage at Drury Lane, yet you found your own captive audience in a London ballroom. I applaud your ability to draw weak prey, however, I’m not weak nor am I prey, and I think it would be wise for you to expect that anything done in the dim lights of White’s will come to be known in the bright illumination of a London ballroom. ”
His eyes narrowed, and he blinked in confusion before his eyes widened slightly, and he took a step back as she felt someone come stand beside her.
“What my sister is saying in her delightfully charming way is that we see you for what you are, and are not impressed and wish for you to keep your distance. Of course…” Henley took a step toward Lord Ramsford, his tone low and so soft Pere almost didn’t hear it.
“If you refuse, I’ll find my own charming way to communicate my point.
” Henley grinned then, and Pere almost felt sorry for Lord Ramsford. Almost.
“Of course, my lord.” He bowed. “Lady Peregrine.” He backed up a few steps before all but fleeing the ballroom.
“That was more fun than I expected.” Pere turned to her brother, offering a smile.
“It is rather delightful to put a blackguard in his place, is it not?”
“Agreed. You were masterful. I’m proud to be your sister.”
“You did well yourself, quite proper and yet concise.”
Pere curtseyed to her brother, earning her a chuckle. “It is rather bothersome though; he was ever so promising.” She gave a beleaguered sigh. “Can you now introduce me to Woodbury?”
“Haven’t given up?”
“Never.”
“I should have known. Very well, of the men you’ve chosen to … target … I don’t know if that’s the right sentiment, but we’ll use it anyway … Woodbury is one of the better ones.”
“Not a fortune hunter.”
“No.”
“That’s already an improvement from the first.”
“That’s setting the bar quite low, sister.”
“Are you going to introduce me or not?” Pere quipped, starting toward Woodbury.
“Very well, let’s go. Anna is going to be irritated she missed all this,” he seemed to muse to himself.
“I’m sorry she’s still feeling poorly.”
“She’ll feel better soon, it just takes time. Or so she tells me.”
Pere studied her brother, then dismissed his expression of hope. She’d ask about it later; she had a new suitor to charm.
But as they wove through the crowd, her gaze snagged on that shadowed pillar again.
Hawthorne hadn’t moved; he stood like a statue carved from midnight, cane tapping once against the marble floor in silent applause—or warning.
Their eyes locked across the ballroom, and for a heartbeat the music faded.
His lips curved in the faintest smirk, as if he’d heard every word of her triumph and found it … adorable.
Pere’s chin lifted. Let him smirk. She’d just dispatched one rake with surgical precision. The next one watching her wouldn’t fare any better.