A Ballroom Temptation Page 4

  Her frown disappeared. “I am. The attacks don’t last long; they’re just so disruptive.”

  And terrifying, no doubt. Thinking of her suffering through them alone . . .

  “I have something for you.” He poured a cup of the apothecary’s remedy and handed it to her. “Drink.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Drink. Now, and then again later this evening. The apothecary said it would help.”

  She peered at him over the cup. “I will drink it if you will sit and visit with me while I do.”

  There was a time when the request would have made his heart race. “That’s not a good idea, Regina.”

  “Why not?” She was the picture of the indulged young wife, pouting in her high-necked nightgown surrounded by a small fortune in pillows. “It’s been forever since we’ve talked.”

  Ten years, in fact.

  “Fine.” Adam pulled a chair around to her bedside.

  She clapped her hands in delight, nearly upsetting her tea. He grabbed the cup, holding it while she pushed herself further into a sitting position.

  “What would you like to talk about?” he asked, handing it back to her.

  “How was they journey back? Were there storms? Did you like the other people on the ship?” Her questions spilled out in rapid succession.

  Adam couldn’t help but laugh. “The journey was fine. No storms. I didn’t talk to the other passengers much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I—” Adam fixed her with his most serious glare. “You drink while I talk. That’s the deal.”

  She took a dutiful sip. Adam waited.

  She sighed and took a full swallow. “That’s awful.”

  “It will help.”

  “So why didn’t you talk to the other passengers?”

  “I wasn’t exactly joyful company. Father had just sold my life out from under me . . .”

  Her frown returned. “It was how he said then? You were happy there?”

  Adam wasn’t certain he’d ever been happy, per se, but the last few years were the best of his lifetime. “Yes.”

  It was dangerous territory to discuss. When he was sent away at eighteen, Regina had been his sole reason for getting out of bed in the morning. He’d been hopelessly in love with her, the way only a naive young man can be. He had never acted on it. Regina was an honorable woman. Even if he’d tried to, she wouldn’t have welcomed it. But his feelings hadn’t been a secret—not even from his father.

  “Why didn’t you write me?” Her voice was shaky.

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but his whole life had been turned upside down. Much like it was when he’d read that his father had sold the Carolina land. “My father would have read them.”

  “Not about that. You could have written me about . . . other things.”

  “And you would have enjoyed that? Soulless letters about crop rotations and the weather?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I would. You were my dearest friend. I missed you.”

  And that was the trouble. Regina had relied on Adam for companionship, and he had steadily fallen further and further in love with her.

  “I missed you, too.” It was the truth. It wasn’t the whole truth. He’d also gotten over her. But it was enough of the truth for now.

  “Why didn’t you marry that girl? Your father would have let you stay if you had married, and then we could have stayed near each other.”

  “I couldn’t love her.”

  “Adam,” she admonished. “You know I would never—”

  “I know.” And he did. She’d never felt that way about him. “But it wouldn’t have been honorable to marry her while I felt that way about you. Drink your tea.”

  She sipped thoughtfully. “Will you go back?”

  He couldn’t lie to her any more than he could have lied to that girl who was never going to be his wife. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “But you don’t have any money,” she exclaimed. “There isn’t even anywhere left for you to go back to.”

  Adam reached out, calming her panic with his hand over hers. “If I need to I can hire out as crew for the crossing, and earn my way as a tenant farmer once I get there.”

  “You really won’t stay?”

  How could he? “No.”

  “What if it’s just for the season?”

  “Regina—”

  “I’ll pay you,” she insisted. “I have money from my family. You can still go, but if you just stay for the season you can leave with much better prospects.”

  “What good does my staying a few more months do?” It was sweet that she wanted more time with him, but Adam wouldn’t survive sharing a roof with his father.

  “I need you to look after your brother.”

  “Sebastian?”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Before Adam knew it, she was sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m worried about him. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. When I do see him, he’s arrogant and pompous . . .”

  “Regina.” It sounded like his brother was behaving like most young men of the aristocracy.

  She shook her head. “You don’t believe me. Your father doesn’t think there’s anything wrong either, but Sebastian’s not strong like you. He’s going to get involved with something awful, and then it will be too late.”

  Even if it was true . . . Her breathing was escalating in a very concerning way, and there was something alarming about her color.

  “What do you imagine I can do?” Adam asked to calm her down.

  “Just spend the season keeping an eye on him. If you still don’t think he’s headed down a bad path, I’ll believe you.”

  “And if he is?”

  “Do whatever you have to to put him back on the right one.”

  Adam was hardly the man to be putting anyone on a righteous path. He’d fallen in love with his stepmother, defied his father, and was now a penniless farmer with no land.

  “If I stay here with father, we’ll kill each other.”

  “We’ll find you a flat of your own.”

  He wanted to help her, if only to ease her mind. It was just one season. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Yes, you can. I hardly need it, because your father gives me everything I ask for. It’s just sitting there.” She abandoned her teacup, coming halfway out of the bed to plead with him. “Please, Adam. Please say you’ll do it.”

  “Fine,” he sighed. He motioned her back into her pillows and tucked the blankets in around her. “I’ll do it. Drink your tea.”

  • • •

  There was a chill coming off the windowpanes from the night air on the other side. Jane wrapped the blanket further around her shoulders, but she didn’t leave the chair she’d pulled up to the sill. In the square, the street lamps danced as the wind snuck through their covers.

  A knock sounded.

  “Come in.”

  Charlie opened her bedroom door. “I saw your light. Can’t sleep?”

  “I think my accidental nap this afternoon has thrown off my schedule.”

  He chuckled. “You need to get back on London time anyway. Those early Scottish country hours will be the death of you once the whirl starts.”

  The whirl would be the death of her, regardless of her sleeping habits. Jane had never looked less forward to anything in her life. “How was your evening?”

  “Enjoyable. I spent the night reconnecting with old friends at my club.”

  The same old friends who had fled en masse when news hit that the Baileys had lost their fortune. “That sounds lovely.”

  He smiled again, and Jane hated herself. Charlie was happy. For the first time in three years there weren’t worry lines around his eyes. What did it matter if they were true friends, as long as their c
ompany brought her brother some much-needed joy?

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your brooding.” He turned to leave.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Oh!” Charlie turned back, pulling a slip of folded paper from his coat. “This came for you. I think Ambrose forgot about it in the chaos of the carriage breaking and then your shopping misadventure.”

  Jane took it, lighting up when she saw Lord Rhone’s seal. “It’s from Hannah.”

  “I thought that might improve your mood.”

  “My mood is just fine.”

  “If you say so. Good night Janey.” He smiled again and left her to her letter.

  She was too busy breaking the seal and poring over the letter to respond.

  Dearest Jane,

  Thank you so much for your letter. You really didn’t need to write the day you arrived (I’m certain there are a million things to do to prepare for the season), but I’m so glad you did.

  As if she would do anything else. Someday soon they would have to finish filling in Hannah’s knowledge of proper social etiquette.

  Gavan informs me I am doing a terrible job concealing my jealousy from him. It’s true. I’m bored out of my mind. I wish I was with you, getting fitted for new dresses by the Madame and dancing until my feet fell off.

  The Madame’s dresses should be arriving any day. Of all the things Jane hated about being back in London, that was not one of them. Visiting the French modiste was like visiting the continent for an afternoon. She would have to see if something could be made up and sent to Hannah as a surprise present.

  Instead I am living in my nightgown while Morag and the other clanswomen rush to make me anything that will fit. (Gavan’s enormous child has forced me out of yet another wardrobe.)

  Perhaps not. Although, surely someone as brilliant as the Madame could manage it.

  I suppose it’s futile to daydream about another season. Even if I hadn’t left town in disgrace, it will take all of my efforts once the baby is born to counteract Gavan’s efforts to turn our child into an unbearable egotist.

  She laughed out loud. It would certainly be a struggle. All of the Dalreochs were blessed with an abundance of confidence.

  Speaking of which, I have to go. Gavan insists on telling wildly biased tales of his exploits to my stomach each night before bed. Promise me you’ll have all the fun I can’t, and that you’ll dance with at least one handsome stranger. We miss you. Fiona sends her love.

  Sincerely,

  H. & the unruly Dalreochs

  Jane missed them dreadfully. Had Fiona finished embroidering the pillow they’d started together? Or what about Corelli’s third opus? Lord Rhone’s sister was unlikely to become a piano prodigy anytime soon, but they shouldn’t let her practice fall by the wayside. Honestly, Jane would even settle for hearing how her ward’s progress with The Art of War was going. Jane should be there, making sure Fiona kept up with her studies, instead of wasting her time in London.

  And this nonsense about dancing with handsome strangers . . . She would not be dancing with any strangers, handsome or otherwise. Jane had absolutely no interest in the traditional pursuits of the season. Her eyes gave away the lie as they traveled across the square to the warm glow in the upstairs window of the Marquess of Clairborne’s town house.

  Perhaps one handsome stranger. The sort who went out of his way to help women in distress and brought medicine to his ailing mother. She sighed, fogging the glass with her breath. If Adam—Lord Wesley—asked her to dance, she might consider saying yes.

  Chapter 4

  “Aunt Matty?” Jane knocked on her aunt’s door. “Are you ready yet? If we don’t leave soon we’re going to be—”

  The door swung open. “I’m ready.”

  Jane was speechless. Her aunt was always beautiful, but she was almost never impeccable. Her coiffure was breathtaking. The lines of her ball gown were flawless. There wasn’t a missed button or a loose thread anywhere. And the style—peach and cream satin with cap sleeves and a tiered skirt. Nothing about it was shocking, which was a shock in itself. It exuded elegance.

  “Well?”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “Of course I do,” Mathilda agreed. “If you insist on making us do this, we’re going in cannons at the ready.”

  “Making you?” Jane followed her aunt down the hall.

  “I certainly don’t love being forced back into corsets and hoops.” They took the stairs together, careful not to crush each other’s skirts. “But you won’t tell Charlie you hate it here, and I’m not leaving you to face them alone.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Jane that her aunt would also suffer from Charlie’s plan. Jane couldn’t have a season without a chaperone, and Mathilda was the only reasonable choice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be—not tonight. Tonight, we show no weakness.” Mathilda looked Jane over from head to toe. “Amethyst suits you. Madame Baudette is a genius.”

  Her skirts weren’t quite as full as Mathilda’s. The Madame had insisted on a slimmer silhouette to accentuate Jane’s height and slim bone structure. The deep purple of her dress made her pale skin and hair stand out in contrast. Jane had to admit, it was a gorgeous creation.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “I—”

  “Charlie!” Mathilda shouted. “Hurry up. You know how your sister gets if we’re late.”

  “Aunt Matty,” Jane hissed. At least she knew it was still her aunt and not some well-dressed doppelgänger.

  Charlie came out of the study in a deep navy coat that offered the same effect as Jane’s amethyst on his blond coloring. He looked wonderful—exactly as he ought to.

  “Are we ready to make our grand return to the ballrooms of London?” he asked.

  Jane refrained from mentioning that she and Mathilda had made their return last year as Hannah’s companions. It only served to remind her that he spent last year toiling in a less glamorous occupation. For him, this was the true return.

  “I think we are,” Mathilda answered for her.

  Charlie led them out to the carriage, doing an excited jig on his way down the steps. Mathilda laughed, but it was everything Jane could do to keep her dinner down. Please don’t let anyone ruin this for him. Please let tonight go well.

  She let him hand her up into the shadowy confines of the cab and tried not to imagine it swallowing her whole.

  • • •

  Adam had only been standing in Baron Rockford’s ballroom for ten minutes, and he already regretted his promise to Regina. His toe had been stepped on twice, someone had almost spilled a glass of wine on him, and despite it being the middle of January, he was in serious danger of sweating through his dinner jacket. The warring smells of perfume and perspiration were threatening to do him in. And to top it all off, Sebastian had not yet bothered to make an appearance.

  Another heel came down on his toes, and Adam surrendered. He waded toward the doors to the terrace, ignoring the complaints from ball-goers who didn’t move fast enough and caught the serious edge of his elbow. When he broke free into the crisp air of the outdoors, it was like being given a new lease on life. He actually thanked God out loud.

  The milling crowds on the terrace turned to stare at him. Adam moved away from the light spilling from the ballroom windows, toward the darkness of the garden. When he passed the last torch, a strange sound caught his attention.

  It sounded like . . . Adam followed it, picking up his pace as he got closer.

  There in the shadows of the fountain, three figures were grappling with a man who was hunched over. Two of them held the bent man captive while the third hit him. Adam called out, but they were too engrossed in their assault to notice.

  They certainly noticed when Adam slammed into the leftmost man at speed.

  “What the devil—”

 
Adam threw a punch that dropped the second man holding their victim down. He squared off with the last bully left standing.

  “This is none of your concern,” the remaining attacker insisted. His friends were getting back to their feet.

  Adam ignored them in favor of checking on the fourth man. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been worse,” the man answered, testing his ribs with a grimace.

  His opponent was not content to be silent. “I swear, Brandon, when I’m finished with you—”

  Adam turned on him. “You, sir, are reprehensible. Assaulting a man under the cover of night—and outnumbered? You’re no better than a highwayman.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the first man Adam had tackled grumbled.

  “I know if you lay another hand on this man, I’ll personally ensure you each require the services of a surgeon. If you have a grievance, challenge him honorably.”

  The man they called Brandon spoke up. “He can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d win.”

  The shame on the faces of all three of Brandon’s attackers confirmed the truth of that.

  Adam shook his head in disgust. “Go on, get out of here.”

  They left in a sullen pack.

  “They called you Brandon?” Adam asked as he helped the man to an upright position.

  “The not-so-honorable Viscount Brandon. Who do I have the pleasure of thanking for my rescue?”

  “The Earl of Wesley, at your service. Do you know who they were?” he asked Brandon.

  They started a slow walk back toward the lights of the estate, leaving plenty of room between the two groups. “The one striking me was definitely Lord Fairfax. I am not yet familiar with his friends.”

  “If you want to challenge them, I’ll stand as your second.”

  A chuckle came from Brandon as he lit a cheroot. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “It doesn’t sound like I’d be in any danger. The upset at your dueling skills was unanimous.”

  “When other men’s wives are as fond of one as they are of me, one learns to perfect one’s swordsmanship.” Brandon blew out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. “Lady Fairfax is a new friend of mine.”