Chapter 12
When he had first seen her across the ballroom, Rupert had been sure he was hallucinating. What else could account for the fact that Ellie was here, dancing with Lord Pembroke of all people, in the most beautiful and flattering gown of white and silver that he had ever seen on a woman?
Plus, he had been dreaming of her for days.
As he slowly got his strength back and had begun to venture around London, Rupert had thought he’d seen her everywhere: walking along Grosvenor Square with a little miniature dog on a leash, standing in line for bread outside of the French bakery, in a maid’s humble smock, and atop a horse in Hyde Park.
It was as if his thoughts of her conjured her visage, but of course, whenever he looked more closely, he could see that it was not her at all.
And why would it be? A governess in a household in Sussex would not be here in London.
Which was why he was sure, at first, that this was another trick of his mind. There was no way it was Ellie. He watched with some amusement for a moment, then looked away, fully prepared to look back and see a woman who only vaguely resembled her.
But when he looked back, his jaw had nearly dropped. Because there was no denying it. The woman who was dancing with Lord Pembroke was not a pale imitation of Ellie.
It was Ellie.
Although it was Ellie as he had never seen her before. She was a vision in the dress, her hair pinned up into an elaborate coiffure, just a few strands of which were coming loose around her face as she whirled around in the arms of this other lord.
She looked polished and perfect, and if he had not been thinking of her constantly over the past few days, he wasn’t even sure if he would have recognized her.
It was a far cry from the woman soaked in river water, or being bucked from her horse. That woman had been hearty and wild; this one was delicate and feminine.
Yet, both were extremely appealing.
“Who is it that you are staring at, my dear?” His mother asked sharply, and Rupert startled quickly and looked around.
His mother was standing next to him, holding a crystal glass of champagne, and her eyes were following where his had just been.
They grew wider when they landed on the target of his stare.
“The young lady in the white?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You have good taste, my dear.”
“Why?” Rupert asked quickly--too quickly. “Who is she?”
“She is the sister of the Viscount of Ashford,” his mother said.
“Miss Beatrice Ashford. She is newly returned from the continent, where she was living in France for two years after the death of both her parents. Some say that this time may have made her too wild, or that she is too old now to be considered a debutante, but I disagree… She is very beautiful, and I think the time away has matured her admirably. And as you know, her brother is formidable.”
Rupert grunted. He and Lord Ashford had never gotten along exceedingly well. He had found Theodore far too reserved and stuck up, while he knew Theodore thought he was too wild and reckless by half. But he was not thinking of Theodore right now. He was thinking of Ellie. Or Miss Beatrice Ashford.
He could hardly believe what his mother was telling him. That the governess he had met on the road was not a governess at all, but a lady, and a member of the ton. Not only was she a member of the ton, but actually the sister of a gentleman he knew!
It took everything in his power not to let his jaw drop.
“And she is unmarried,” he said stupidly. Of course she was. His mother had said she was Miss Ashford.
“Yes, she is unmarried.” The Dowager Duchess sounded far too pleased as she said this, but Rupert didn’t care. Straightening up, he squared his shoulders, and excitement swept over him.
Ellie was a lady. An unmarried lady.
Which meant he was allowed to go and speak to her. He was allowed to dance with her. He was allowed even to court her, if he wanted to.
But first he wanted to make her squirm.
“Excuse me,” he said to his mother, and then he strode off across the dance floor, toward Ellie, rather Miss Ashford, and Lord Pembroke. He couldn’t exactly interrupt their dance, but when they came to the end of the line and naturally had to wait their turn again, he saw his opportunity.
Darting forward, he said, to Miss Ashford’s turned back, “Would you mind if I cut in?”
She turned around sharply. For a long moment, she stared up at him, and Rupert was delighted to see the absolute shock that filled her face. He relished it, in fact. Hopefully she was getting as much of a shock as he had gotten when he’d seen her.
Then something else darted across her face, something harder to determine. Was it excitement? Relief? Annoyance?
He couldn’t tell, but either way, he could not keep himself from smiling triumphantly down at her as he bent low.
“How very good to see you once again, Miss…” He let the sentence hang, and she flushed. She knew he was about to call her by the wrong name. But then he smiled. “Miss Ashford.”
Her eyes widened. So she knew that he knew her real name now.
However, she still said nothing. Her lips had parted slightly, but she looked incapable of speaking.
“Your Grace!” Lord Pembroke said from behind her, nodding. “How good to see you again. I had not realized that you would be attending social events this season. I thought that you were still in mourning after the passing of your father.”
Miss Ashford blinked. She glanced over her shoulder at Lord Pembroke, then back at Rupert.
“Your Grace?” she repeated faintly. “You are…?”
“This is the Duke of St. James,” Lord Pembroke said quickly. He sounded confused. It was clear that Rupert knew Miss Ashford, and he probably wondered why it was that she did not know the name of the man who knew hers.
“The Duke of St. James…” she repeated, her eyes widening.
Rupert smiled smoothly. “Indeed. Miss Ashford and I became acquainted some days ago, shortly after her return to the country, quite by accident. I am delighted to see her again, so soon after our first encounter, that you must forgive me for being terribly rude, Lord Pembroke, and stealing her away from you.”
“But of course!” Lord Pembroke stammered. “You must dance with her. Miss Ashford, you do not mind?”
“N-no…” She looked very much as if she minded, however, as Rupert took her hand and led her back into the dance, leaving Lord Pembroke behind without a second glance at him.
Seconds later, they were swept back into the dance. Neither, however, could take their eyes from one another, and it was only a few moments before Miss Ashford spoke.
“You did not tell me you are a duke,” she said. Her voice sounded flat, as if the shock had still not worn off.
“And you did not tell me that you are a lady,” Rupert shot back.
She colored, her eyes flashing. “There was a very good reason for that, Your Grace,” she said. “I was a woman alone on the road! I had to protect myself. If I had said I was a lady, I could have opened myself up to kidnapping and blackmail.”
“As it were, you still barely survived being shot,” Rupert said lightly.
Her eyes narrowed. “That was not my fault.”
“Was it not? Because those men certainly were not after me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
They stared at one another, and Rupert realized, with a delighted skip of his heart, that they were both still on their guard.
They suspected the other of continuing to lie.
It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he could not deny that he found it a highly amusing and enjoyable situation.
Miss Ashford, however, gave him a rather disparaging look.
“You were deceptive, Your Grace,” she said. “You lied to me even though you had absolutely no reason to.”
“I simply did not want to frighten a governess on the road,” Rupert said, enjoying the crease of frustration on her forehead. “I thought that if you knew I was a duke, you would feel intimidated and not let me help you.”
“Or you knew that your reputation precedes you,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
For a moment, he was caught off-guard, and he stared at her. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, nearly missing a step in the dance.
“I mean that the Duke of St. James is known to me,” Miss Ashford said, her smile sly, clearly triumphant that she had managed to unnerve him. “You are a rake.”
The words sounded so much more like condemnation when they came from her than they had when Thomas had said them. It was exactly as he had feared: she did know what people said about him.
“I did not think you were the kind of woman to listen to idle gossip,” he said lightly.
“It is not idle gossip,” she said, “Nor, it seems, have you been idle.”
“I do not know what you mean,” he said, although he did not fully meet her gaze.
“You were linked to the Marchioness of Colgate last year,” she said. “We heard that even in France. Everyone heard about it.”
“That was greatly exaggerated,” Rupert said quickly.
“And it was said that the Countess of Grover was disappointed by you.”
“She is a dear friend and nothing more.”
“And then of course there is the story of you running off with one of the princesses--”
“That,” Rupert interrupted, starting to laugh now, “is utter nonsense. I have never even met any of the princesses!”
“That cannot be true,” she said. “You are a duke!”
“But only recently have I become one,” he pointed out.
“And for most of it, I have been in mourning. My father was acquainted with the Queen, and I hope to be as well, but really, Miss Ashford, you must not exaggerate my influence. For much of the past few years I have been travelling, as you were. I was not in England conducting these illicit affairs that you accuse me of.”
Miss Ashford gave him a long, skeptical look. “But what were you doing abroad?”
He flushed, and she flashed him a grin.
“Rumors do not spring up out of nowhere, Your Grace,” she said. “And I am sure that you have done at least something to earn yours.”