Chapter 12 #2
“Actually,” Felicity repeated, glowering at her brother before he could say more, “I promised them an outing tomorrow, so I had to send them to bed early.”
“Lissy’s taking us to see Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks Exhibition,” James put in. “The lads are very excited about it.”
“I imagine they are.” Sara laughed, then eyed Felicity speculatively. “I’ve never been. It’s usually in the Strand, isn’t it?’
“Yes.” Felicity glanced up the stairs to where her brothers stood peeking around the banister, then swiftly added, “I suppose we should be off.”
“Yes,” Sara remarked, and after a quick goodbye to James, they left.
The ride to Lady Brumley’s was sheer torture. Sara and Gideon shared so many secretive smiles and fond looks it made her envy their happiness. It also reminded her of Ian ... his kissing her, touching her intimately, whispering endearments ...
She sat up straight. Gideon might know the answer to a question that had plagued her for days. “Gideon, do you speak Spanish?”
“A little.”
“What does querida mean?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “It means ‘darling’.”
Her heart gave a little twist. Ian had called her “darling” that night at the Worthings? What did it signify? Nothing, judging from his behavior this week.
“Who called you ‘darling’ in Spanish?” Sara asked with a smile.
Felicity laughed weakly. “Oh, no one. I read it in a book.”
Sara and Gideon exchanged knowing glances.
The clamor outside the carriage thankfully drew their attention from the subject.
As usual, Lady Brumley’s affair was a great crush.
Coaches crammed the narrow street like dogs trampling each other to reach a bone.
One thing was certain—Ian would have plenty of eligible women to choose from tonight.
The thought depressed her. Firmly, she thrust it aside. Who cared about that philandering lord and his roving eye? Not her, to be sure. Just because he called her “darling” and knew exactly how to use his hands on a woman’s body—
“Drat it,” she muttered under her breath.
“I agree,” Sara said, mistaking the source of her distress. “It’s chaos out there. But don’t worry, we’ll get through. Wait until you see Gideon handle a crowd.”
Once Gideon stepped from the carriage, every eye was on him, and not only because of his imposing frame.
His reputation had apparently preceded him, for everyone gawked at the dark-haired American rumored to have been the Pirate Lord.
With his purposeful stride, which Sara and Felicity had to hurry to match, Gideon knifed through the crowd like a hot blade through ice.
Thank God. She was eager to be out of the winter wind that slapped them like icy metal paddles.
In moments, they were inside the cramped villa and at the ballroom doors being announced.
“There’s Ian,” Sara whispered to Felicity as they strolled down into the swirling scent of crushed bay branches, sweat-dampened wool, and smoking beeswax.
Felicity followed Sara’s gaze to where Ian danced a quadrille.
Superbly. With a pretty woman only half his age, or so Felicity told herself in a burst of temper.
“Ah,” Sara continued, “he’s standing up with Miss Trent. Excellent. I suggested her to him, you know. She’s a bit of a flirt, but her bloodlines are impeccable and she has three brothers. If he can snag her, she’s sure to give him an heir.”
I have four brothers, remember? Felicity wanted to retort. Of course, her own bloodlines were less than impeccable, especially when one considered a father whose liking for drink had sent him tumbling into the Thames.
It didn’t matter. There would be no marriage between her and Ian, and she didn’t want one anyway.
She caught Sara watching her and smoothed her features. “Has Ian offered for anyone yet? Considering how he complained of his difficulty in finding a wife, he seems to have done quite well under your tutelage.”
“Yes.” Sara trained her gaze on Ian. “And I’ve ensured that you’re free to pursue your own concerns.”
“I do appreciate it,” Felicity said hollowly. Sara hadn’t answered her question. Had Ian set his sights on anyone in particular?
The lowering thought dogged her the rest of the evening. Though she gathered information for her column and agreed to several dances, more often than not she found herself watching Ian dance.
Some of his partners she dismissed as inconsequential.
He stood up with Lady Brumley and Sara out of duty, of course.
Then he danced with Lady Jane, who was surely too frivolous for him to consider as a wife, and Miss Childs, whose well-known affection for champagne would tax both his finances and his patience.
It was his second dance with Miss Trent that alarmed her.
Miss Trent had intelligence, wit, an even temper, and worst of all, gorgeous blond hair and sweet blue eyes.
Miss Trent would certainly meet all of Ian’s requirements for an uncomplicated wife, drat her.
Not to mention the woman’s “impeccable bloodlines.”
“I see Ian is standing up with Miss Trent again,” Sara remarked to Felicity after returning from a galop with her husband. “She’d be a good choice for him.”
“If he could ignore her poor taste in accessories,” Felicity said peevishly, seizing upon Miss Trent’s only apparent flaw. “Look at that dreadful reticule she carries.”
“Somehow I don’t think it’s Miss Trent’s reticule that concerns Ian.” There was a hint of laughter in Sara’s voice, but when Felicity shot her friend a chilly look, Sara’s smooth features masked any amusement.
“Speaking of men and their partners, the Earl of Masefield is headed toward you,” Sara added in an undertone. “I do believe he’s aiming for a second dance himself.”
Felicity checked her dance card. “Oh, yes, I forgot. I promised him a waltz.” Thank goodness she’d been practicing with James.
She’d begun the practices under the pretense of preparing James for adult life, but in truth, her lack of ability in that area galled her.
It was one of many inadequacies in her character, skills, and appearance that tormented her of late.
Ever since she’d met a certain viscount, to be honest.
“Lord Masefield seems enamored of you,” Sara commented. “He rarely dances twice with anyone.”
Felicity waved a hand dismissively, her gaze still on her dance card. “He likes to talk, that’s all, and I’m a good listener. It’s my profession, you know.”
In a strained tone, Sara said, “Ian seems to be coming this way as well.”
Felicity’s head shot up. Only a few paces behind Lord Masefield, he barreled toward them looking inexplicably grim.
For a second, she hoped Miss Trent had said something to annoy him.
Then she chastised herself for the thought.
She wanted Ian to marry, so she could put him from her mind once and for all.
Lord Masefield reached them moments later. With a courtly bow, the handsome earl offered his hand to Felicity. “I believe this dance is ours, is it not, Miss Taylor?”
She cast him a smile that broadened as she saw Ian approach. “Indeed it is, my lord,” she said sweetly.
Taking his hand, she stepped forward, but Ian moved to block their path. “I’d like to claim the dance after this one, Miss Taylor, if you’re free.”
Drat the man! Not since their one waltz had he requested a dance, yet he expected her to fall down at his feet because he asked her now. Well, he could forget it. “I’m sorry, but my card is full. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Lord Masefield has this dance.”
Though Ian’s eyes blazed, he stepped aside with utmost politeness to let them pass. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a perfectly even tone, but she felt his gaze boring into her back as they moved away.
Indeed, Ian wanted to strangle her as he watched young Masefield and Felicity face each other for the waltz.
Bloody idiot, that Masefield, a veritable copy of his idiot father.
Neither of them knew enough to come in out of the rain.
Masefield didn’t deserve to dance with her, and certainly not twice.
Sara approached to stand beside him. “Was that wise?” she asked in an undertone. “Asking her to dance when you’ve done so well to date?”
“Have I? I’ve stood up with more women than I can count, and I’ve yet to see her show any sign of caring.”
Sara arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were so sure of her.”
“I was. I am.” He speared his long fingers through his hair.
“Bloody hell, I don’t know anymore. All I know is I couldn’t bear not touching her another minute, especially when that fool Masefield headed toward her.
What is she doing with a full dance card anyway?
I thought she was here to gather material for her damned columns? ”