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Lady Carlisle raised her plucked and painted eyebrows so high that Sapphire thought they might reach her receding hairline. Then, spotting an acquaintance, Lady Carlisle fluttered her fan and walked into the next room, her husband in tow.
Sapphire waited for Angelique inside the doorway of a large parlor a little farther down the hall. Exquisitely decorated with stylish furniture and rich-hued draperies, the sound of clinking glasses and restrained laughter came from inside.
“So, my chicks, shall we stick together?” Lucia asked, putting one arm around Sapphire and the other around Angelique. “Or shall we scatter?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Angelique said, narrowing her gaze and pursing her plump lips seductively. “I believe I recognize that gentleman under the window.”
Sapphire looked at the man and lowered her voice as she spoke. “Angel, how can you know him? We’ve barely been here long enough to—”
“Find me if you need me,” Angelique said, moving off in her new lavender and white silk evening gown.
Lucia and Sapphire watched Angelique cross the room, and then Lucia turned to her goddaughter. “So what will it be, my dear? Shall we corner this scoundrel together?”
“Thank you, but no. I can do this on my own.”
“Very well, puss.” Lucia pecked the air close to Sapphire’s cheek with her rouged lips and walked away, lifting her hand to Lady Morrow who stood beyond them. “Lady Morrow,” she called in her French accent, “so good to see you again, ma chère.”
Sapphire’s pulse raced and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She leaned against the wall for a moment and watched the stylishly dressed guests come and go. There were at least two hundred guests socializing in the two parlors to the right of the front hall and the large drawing room on the left that seemed to have been cleared of furniture for dancing. She was overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds: the glittering jewels hanging from slender necks and earlobes, the stiff white cravats gentleman wore around their necks, the hushed voices, the lively strum of instruments as the musicians struck up a lovely dance.
Sapphire watched as couples moved opposite one another, advancing and retreating, locking arms and then separating to weave their way among the other dancers. She tapped her kidskin slipper beneath her gown, remembering how Armand and her mother had hosted parties at Orchid Manor. They had danced half the night in the tropical garden where Armand had built a platform for such occasions. How her mother had loved dances…. When Sapphire closed her eyes, she could almost hear Sophie’s laughter, see Armand draw an arm around her and whisper in her ear. She remembered dancing with Maurice, as well, and the feel of his arms around her…
“You would care to dance? Excellent.”
Sapphire’s eyes flew open as a man closed his hand over hers and pulled her into the drawing room to join the other dancers. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Blake Thixton released her, pushing her onto the dance floor in the direction of the other ladies as they and their partners separated. Sapphire realized she knew the steps from lessons in Martinique; it seemed as if her mother had spent her whole life preparing her for this introduction to London society. The dance was a variation of the Roger de Coverley and she took her place across from Thixton, staring at him.
She forced a smile, advanced, retired and curtsied to his bow. The moment they joined hands to begin the figure, he spoke harshly beneath his breath. “I thought I warned you not to come here again.”
To the many men and women who lined the walls of the drawing room to observe, or to the other dancers, it must have appeared that Sapphire and Thixton were conversing pleasantly as they danced. She would certainly not be the first one to disclose otherwise.
“I must speak with you,” she said, loathing the fact that he was holding her so tightly when he rested his hand on her waist. Loathing the fact that her eyes kept straying to his mouth, that strange waves of heat washed over her each time he spoke.
“Let me guess—you must see me so that you can tell me more about how you are Wessex’s daughter and what the estate owes you.”
“Yes.” The dancers parted and he released her. “I mean no,” she said in his ear, and then sailed away.
It was a full minute before they were joined again, and as they danced he watched Sapphire with impenetrable brown eyes. It was something near to hatred she felt for those eyes at this moment. “I don’t want money,” she said under her breath. “I want to be acknowledged. I want my mother, who was Lord Wessex’s legal wife, to be acknowledged.”
He spun her around, proving to be a superb dancer. “Surely you jest.”
She was forced to move away from him to remain in step with the music, but the moment he took her hand again, she met his gaze with determination. “I assure you, sir, I do not jest.”
The dance came to end and all the dancers bowed, curtsied and clapped.
“I want you to go now,” Thixton said, his disdain for her obvious in his voice as he looped her arm through his and escorted her off the dance floor. “Go now or you will find that it is I who does not jest.” In the hall, he released her. “As I told you before, there are laws against fortune hunters like you, and the constable will be more than happy to take you to prison where you belong.”
“Fortune hunter! Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but I—”
Thixton turned and strode down the hall and entered a room, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, Sapphire stood there seething, her gloved hands pressed to her sides as she tried to catch her breath. Another dance had begun and the sound of the orchestra seemed to swirl around her in the twinkling candlelight.
Her gaze shifted to the door where Thixton had gone. There were no guests in the hall. It was completely inappropriate for an unmarried woman to follow a man into a room without a proper chaperone, but without considering the consequences, she hurried down the hall, drew back her hand and rapped hard on the door.
When she got no response, she knocked even harder. “Mr. Thixton, I’m not through with you!”
The door jerked open and Thixton looked down on her. “Did you not hear what I said?” He knew she was trouble, had known it a week ago when she’d shown up on his doorstep trying to see what she could squeeze from the stone of his inheritance. And she was even more beautiful tonight—her rich auburn hair glossier, her eyes even more beguiling and her mouth—it took his breath away. The curve of her sensuous lips made him hard at once, made him want to take her there in the doorway the same way he had taken the sad Mrs. Williams that night on the balcony. But something told him she would not be such an easy conquest and certainly not as easy to forget.
“Sir, it is you who are apparently hard of hearing!”
“Get in here.”
He pulled her into the room and closed the door behind them.
They were in a dark-paneled, masculine-style room dominated by a large billiards table. A billiards room that smelled of tobacco, leather and him.
Taking a step back, Sapphire rested her hand on the edge of the walnut table. “You have to listen to me.”
“I have to do no such thing.”
He strode toward her and she realized then that he had removed his coat. The white shirt beneath his black waistcoat was impeccably pressed, as was the cravat at his neck. He wore his clothing well.
She took another step back, confused by the ridiculous thoughts that were popping into her head. “Yes, you do have to listen to me. I was—am Lord Edward Thixton’s legitimate daughter and—”
“Wait a minute.” He pointed his finger at her, still walking straight toward her. “Were you sent here by that cousin? What is his name?” He snapped his fingers, the side of his mouth turning up in a half smile. “Charles,” he said. “Charles something. He said he knew the best ladies of the evening.”
His hand snaked out, and before she could get out of his way, he grabbed her wrist again. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Why this game, hmm?” He pulled her close to him, gazing down at her with an incredibly smug smile. “You do clean up nice, I’ll give you that. A prettier whore I don’t believe I’ve ever seen.”
“Let go of me, sir,” she said as she struggled to remove herself from his grasp. But he overwhelmed her, not just with his physical force, but with his nearness—the smell of him, the heat of his body in the places where it touched her.
Instead of getting away from him, she somehow managed to entangle herself further in his arms. “Let go of me,” she insisted, pushing against his chest as her heart pounded.
“One kiss,” he said. Holding her close, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, her skin, he could smell the depth of the unrest she could unleash on him. He could feel it and he knew he would be able to taste it in her mouth. “Just a sample of your wares first before I put out any hard-earned money.”
“Sir!” she spat, so angry now that she could barely focus on the face hovering over her as she bent backward in order to keep his body from touching hers any more than it already was. “I assure you I am no—”
His mouth came down hard over hers, muffling her last words. She’d been kissed before, by Maurice, and by a few other young men on Martinique, but never like this. His mouth was merciless, searing her lips like a flame, forcing them apart. He held her with one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders, crushing her. When she tried to move her head to escape, she felt his hand slide upward until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck, holding her trapped in his arms.
Sapphire’s legs went weak. She couldn’t think. Her mind was screaming but she could make no sound. To her horror, Blake thrust his tongue into her mouth, and as she grasped a handful of his waistcoat to loosen his hold, she somehow rose upward, deepening his kiss even further, forcing little whimpers from her throat.
She feared her pounding heart might burst from her chest. He was smothering her, filling her with heat.
Suddenly, there was a sound.
Thixton jerked back, glancing over his shoulder, but did not release her.
7
“Pardon me, Lord Wessex.” The intruder cleared his throat. He stared at Sapphire, who was trying to extricate herself from Thixton’s arms. “I hadn’t realized you were—” he cleared his throat again, obviously amused “—occupied.” His hand on the doorknob, he backed out the door, smiling lasciviously at Sapphire.
He thought she was some sort of wanton, as well! “Wait,” Sapphire cried, flustered, trying to smooth the bodice of her gown. She still couldn’t catch her breath. “This isn’t how it appears, sir. I only—”
“Lord Wessex.” The intruder, still smiling, bowed to Thixton and paid no attention to Sapphire as he pulled the door closed behind him.
“How could you do such a thing?” Sapphire demanded as she took a step back from Thixton, still trying to straighten her gown. Then, realizing a thick lock of her copper hair had fallen from its fashionable upsweep, she tried furiously to return it to its place, but when she pulled out a pin to fasten the stray lock, more hair came tumbling down.
Thixton just stood there staring at her, seeming a little perplexed. “You really aren’t a harlot, are you.”
“Certainly not.” She pushed back a lock of loose hair and then gestured angrily in the direction of the door. “Little good the truth will do me now! That man…that man will go out there and tell everyone I was here alone with you.”
“And that you were kissing me?” he asked, taking a step toward her, smiling again.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. “I was not kissing you, sir,” she spat.
He took another step toward her and she sidestepped him by going around the other side of the billiards table.
“I…I must talk to you about my father. About Edward Thixton,” she said, attempting to gather her thoughts and remind herself of the reason she’d come here tonight in the first place. Only now she could think of nothing but him. Of nothing but the feel of his mouth on hers. The taste of him…
“But…but,” she stammered indignantly. “A more public place might be more appropriate as you are obviously not to be trusted as a gentleman.”
He surprised her yet again by not leaping to the defense of his honor as any decent gentleman would have. Rather, he tilted his dark head back and laughed.
“How dare you laugh at me! I am not through with you, Mr. Thixton,” she threw at him as she turned and rushed for the door.
“I hope not,” he called after her, still laughing.
Sapphire stormed out of the billiards room, slamming the door behind her. As she pushed her hair from her eyes and hurried up the hallway toward the music, she looked up to see guests lining both sides of the wall, staring at her.
Sapphire strode past them, down the hall and directly into the entrance hall. Without even looking for Aunt Lucia or Angelique, she continued out the front door.
“There you are.”
Lucia couldn’t resist a smile as she looked up to see Jessup Stowe hurrying toward her. He was quite handsome for a middle-aged man, bald pate and all, and they had shared a turn on the dance floor as well as a very engaging conversation earlier in the evening.
“Please tell me you weren’t going to run off without saying good-night, my dear Cinderella. I don’t believe I could have slept tonight without bidding you a fond farewell.”
She offered her hand and watched as he bowed formally and brushed his lips across the back of it. She giggled. “Mr. Stowe, you’re certainly smooth with les dames.”
“Only with ladies as beautiful and charming as you, my Cinderella.”
She smiled, genuinely flattered. “Now I know you’re being insincere. There are plenty of women in this house tonight more appealing to the eye and certainly younger than I am.”
“But it is you, Mademoiselle Toulouse, who has caught my fancy. I don’t often meet women as interesting as you.”
“I must go, Mr. Stowe.” With everyone at the ball gossiping about Sapphire and Lord Wessex, she needed to be certain Sapphire was all right.
“I wish you wouldn’t. One more dance? A walk in the garden, perhaps? “Stowe’s broad brow furrowed. “Or if you’re tired, we could—”
“Tired?” Lucia scoffed as she thrust one slippered foot from beneath her new gown. “I could dance all night on these feet. I could dance most of these young women in their silly heeled shoes right off the dance floor.”
“I bet you could, couldn’t you, Mademoiselle Toulouse?” He grinned.
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain you are unmarried, Mr. Stowe?”
“I am afraid I am. A widow, these past three years.”
“Did you love your wife?”
“I did. A great deal and I miss her.”
“Good answer. Now, I must be on my way, but because you have passed the test, you may come for me Sunday afternoon and take me for a ride in Hyde Park.” She walked toward the door and the footman opened it.
“To think I didn’t even know I was taking an examination and I’ve apparently not only passed it, but won the prize,” the barrister called after her, his face red with glee.
“Good night, Mr. Stowe.” Lucia walked out the door, feeling lighter on her feet than she had in years.
“Sapphire. Sapphire? Puss, I’m coming in.”
The door opened and Lucia entered, but Sapphire didn’t sit up. She just lay there staring at the ceiling. She’d managed to get out of her shoes and gown, petticoats and stays without any assistance, but she was still wearing her drawers and new chemise.
“Are you asleep?”
“How could I be?” Sapphire asked miserably. “It’s a scandal. I’m sure you heard. I’m sure all of London has heard by now.”
“Ah, they have nothing better to do with their lives than gossip.”
Sapphire groaned in frustration. “And now everyone in London will speak poorly of me and call me terrible names. My reputation is ruined. I came to London for my mother’s sake and look how I’ve shamed her, how I’ve shamed my father.”
Lucia sat on the edge of the bed. “Poppycock,” she said softly. “I have to ask, though, puss—were you a…participant, or did Lord Wessex take unfair advantage of you?”
Sapphire felt heat rise in her face. “It was only a kiss. He didn’t…didn’t—”
“I know this is delicate, but I must know, puss. I of all people would never judge you. Participant or victim?”
“He didn’t hurt me, Aunt Lucia.”
Lucia was quiet for a moment while she smoothed Sapphire’s hand in hers. “Did you speak to him of your father?”
“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He…he—”
Aunt Lucia patted Sapphire’s hand and released it. “The new Lord Wessex is quite handsome. Unmarried.”
“He was abominable again.”
“Was he, now?” Lucia asked. “The party was rife with tittle-tattle, everyone was speaking of how handsome he is. They say his interest may lie with the dowager’s eldest daughter. Were he to marry her, the money would stay in the family.”
“Well, her interest might lie in his direction, but I can warrant you he’d not be interested in a shrew like her!”
“Really?” Aunt Lucia rose from the bed. “Well, dear, it’s late. I just wanted to be sure you were all right and to say good-night.” She glanced at the empty side of the bed. “I suppose you’ve seen no sign of our Angel.”
