That Scandalous Evening Page 5

  He glanced at Adorna, smiling and flirting. “I suspect that is true. However, scandal is seldom allowed to rear its ugly head in my sister’s home. In fact, it has been almost ten years since the last scandal.”

  She tried to wrestle her hand free. “Eleven.”

  “Time flies.” He gripped tightly. “Do you want me to drag you across the ballroom? I believe that would cause the kind of infamy you delight in.”

  She stumbled forward under the threat.

  “Very wise,” he murmured. Holding Jane Higgenbothem’s hand once again sent an odd sensation of pleasure within him. Forcing her to do his bidding caused an even greater pleasure, and with notable deliberation, he placed her hand on his arm. “Now let us make a circle of the ballroom and squelch any rumors that may already be circulating.”

  “There are no rumors.” Stiffly she walked beside him, obviously finding no gratification in his company.

  “There will be if you don’t smile.” He grinned down at her, demonstrating his self-control and hoping he annoyed her as much as she disturbed him.

  Yet she walked at his side through the crowd, her gaze resting on no one, serene as a black swan cruising through a pool of gabbling white geese.

  The woman had no right to act so sedate. Not considering her succès de scandale. “Has anyone recognized you yet?”

  “No.”

  “They will.” Her fingers flexed just the slightest bit, and he felt an unworthy sense of triumph. Like a ragamuffin teasing a lost puppy, he picked at her, and he wondered at himself. He had scarcely thought about Miss Jane Higgenbothem in years. He could have sworn he hadn’t. But when he saw her, all the old rancor came rushing back. He still wanted revenge, and on more than one level.

  She was still as damnably tall. Her figure still put him in mind of the Valkyries, strong and curvaceous. She still spoke in that rich, clean voice with its lucid intonations, and her features were still too distinct for a feminine face.

  Yet although Miss Higgenbothem appeared to be the same, she had matured. She no longer looked at him with worship-struck eyes. All those years ago, he had been immensely annoyed and embarrassed by her guileless adoration. Now he found himself speculating if she remembered that final scene in his home quite as well as he did.

  “I have come face-to-face with three ladies who met me during my season. They looked right through me.” Her chin was up. Her back was straight. As haughtily as ever his sister Susan had, she stared down the ill-mannered sots who dared observe them. “As a chaperone, I find I am invisible.”

  “What a fanciful flight.” Imperiously he nodded to a classmate from Eton while guiding Miss Higgenbothem around him. He was not going to introduce her to that debaucher. “I might have expected as much from you.”

  “Indeed, I am not fanciful, my lord.” Her voice contained frost. “Do you often notice a young lady’s chaperone?”

  He didn’t, of course, but he was the Marquess of Blackburn. He didn’t have to admit he was wrong.

  She chuckled dryly.

  “I’m doing this for your own good,” he snapped.

  “Ah. And I thought you were doing it because Adorna commanded you. It must be very uncomfortable, my lord, to be a leader of society and fear the memory of an old calumny.”

  “I would not find the recollection nearly as uncomfortable as you, Miss Higgenbothem.”

  She paused, then in a colorless tone, she said, “For Adorna’s sake, you are correct.”

  For just a moment, she had been itching for a fight. His Jane had been acting like the creature of fire and passion with whom he had briefly skirmished. Now the dutiful chaperone had returned.

  He was, of course, relieved. “I imagine the performance of your duties brings you great satisfaction.”

  “I can’t imagine you care, my lord.”

  “I’m making conversation, Miss Higgenbothem.” He paused beside one of the pink-painted pillars that ringed the ballroom, placed his palm against it, and leaned close.

  “Ah. Conversation.” Now she sounded bored. Bored! When before she would have been adoring.

  She had not removed her hand from his sleeve, and he studied her.

  As a girl, she had been bony, with angles of figure and face. Now he saw she had gained weight, enough to smooth out the angles and give her grace. Too, age had softened the raw vulnerability and untamed eagerness. Her determined chin, her enigmatic eyes, her placid brow, revealed nothing of her former fire. Only the mouth was the same: full, tender, and perhaps passionate—for the right man.

  “Conversation,” she repeated, “accompanied by a smile, is that not correct, my lord?” She smiled with those lips, but it did not pacify him; her attitude presently reminded him of his sister’s. Jane was humoring him.

  She asked, “How long must we keep up this charade?”

  Humoring him, and none too politely, either. “Until I say we are done,” he said from between clenched teeth.

  “Very well. When we have spoken the proper amount of words, proper being defined by the Marquess of Blackburn, then you must sound the alert, and I will cease speaking at once.”

  “This is not a game, Miss Higgenbothem.”

  “I did not think so, my lord.” They had circled the far end of the ballroom, and Jane was able to look across the dance floor to the crowd that surrounded Adorna. “Satisfaction, I believe you said. Yes, there is a great deal of satisfaction in chaperoneing Adorna. I have been her chaperone and companion since the death of my sister ten years ago, so I know the challenges. But tonight was a test of sorts, not for Adorna, who has always shown herself perfectly at ease in society, but for me. It has been so long, you remember, since I last visited London.”

  He started walking again. She fell in step. “Surely you have been back since—”

  Jane whipped her head toward him and glared. “Don’t be absurd. Who would have me?”

  Indeed. Who would have her? She had been totally ruined by both her actions and his.

  “Tonight appears to have been a success for you.”

  “A success for Adorna, at least.” Jane glanced at him, then glanced away as if she could not stand to look at him for too long. “We are staying with Lady Tarlin. Do you remember Lady Tarlin, my lord?”

  Remember her? They had been childhood friends, the kind of friendship that never included romance and always included teasing. As he reached manhood and left to pursue the fair life as the leader of London’s ton, they had drifted apart, and when next they’d met, it had been during Violet’s first season.

  Jane’s season, too.

  From his lofty position as ton leader, he had been vaguely glad to see Violet, yet not glad enough to really befriend her. After all, she was just a debutante. He had been carelessly kind, helping her find her feet as one of the season’s successes, even introducing her to Tarlin, a rare chap with a good head on his shoulders.

  For all the thanks he got. When scandal had struck, Violet had ripped a strip off of him that might have left a lesser man bleeding and uncertain. Responding now to Jane’s question, he said, “Yes. I remember Lady Tarlin. I believe she was your friend during the…” He hesitated.

  “The Disastrous Season, my lord, is how I have always referred to it. I find it apt, and it stops me from any romanticizing I might do.”

  He looked down at her again. She wore that spinster’s cap with confidence. Her still hands, her calm eyes too, clearly indicated this woman would not romanticize anything.

  “She is sponsoring Adorna, and when we first arrived tonight, she remained by our sides, introducing Adorna and easing me into my newfound duties.” Humor warmed her voice. “I found it quite edifying to inspect the men with a judicious eye, and reach conclusions about their suitability for my niece.”

  It appeared she could laugh at herself now, as well as at him. Her young, earnest, humorless attitude had been modified, and he found his own attitude making an unwilling adjustment. He could honestly say he enjoyed her company—when she disp
layed a proper demeanor.

  “I confess,” she continued, “I took pleasure from deciding on the suitability of Adorna’s companions. So I sent Lady Tarlin on her way to mingle with friends, and I remained.”

  Although Blackburn was looking down at Jane, he could have sworn he was steering a fair path. But someone bumped him from the side, and he turned to excuse himself. And found himself facing a disgruntled Lord Athowe.

  “Sorry, Blackburn.”

  Blackburn didn’t speak, but bowed slightly and moved on, well aware that Athowe was watching Jane with a slight frown wrinkling his pudgy face.

  Apparently the little worm couldn’t quite recall Jane’s name.

  But although Jane’s expression remained unclouded, her quick, indrawn breath told Blackburn that she recognized Athowe. “Have we had enough conversation now?”

  “Conversation is the accepted pastime for those who do not dance.”

  “You used to dance.” She grimaced like someone who had betrayed interest where she should have none.

  “I used to believe society’s conviction that the best way to find a wife was to meet her at a ball and dance with her, much like a buyer who goes to market and rides the mare before he buys it.”

  Damn! What had made him say that?

  Through the noise of conversation and music, he distinctly felt her wince, and she removed her hand from his arm.

  “I beg your pardon.” He stopped and bowed stiffly. “My friend Fitz says I am turning into a churl, and it would seem he is correct.”

  “I’ve been saying that for years, Ransom, and you’ve never listened to me.” The evening’s hostess, Lady Goodridge, stepped around the pillar and offered her cheek. He kissed it while she scrutinized his companion. “Miss Higgenbothem, you’re back in London at last. I had begun to wonder if you would ever return.”

  Chapter 7

  Lady Goodridge had identified her, and seemingly without difficulty. Jane could scarcely bear to look at Blackburn, and when she did he was smirking at her with what she considered quite a superior air.

  “There’s no need to be obnoxious, Ransom. Miss Higgenbothem might have remained unnoticed without your interference.”

  “Really, Susan?” Blackburn gazed at his sister demandingly.

  She conceded, “Then again, perhaps not. And, Miss Higgenbothem, I see you’ve gotten over that unfortunate tendency to worship Ransom. So bad for his already-towering conceit.” Lady Goodridge indicated two delicate, pink-cushioned chairs placed against the pillar. “Shall we?”

  “Of course.” A mixture of emotions tumbled through Jane. This imposing woman had never been anything less than kind; indeed, on the occasion of Jane’s disgrace, she had been generous and supportive. But although she was stout, and wore pink in more shades than any one woman had the right, she bore a remarkable resemblance to her brother. The fair hair and firm features that looked so handsome on him gave Lady Goodridge a stern expression that had been known to send timid debutantes fleeing.

  Jane subdued just such an instinct. She was, after all, a long way from a debutante. Still, she stood after Lady Goodridge took her seat.

  “What are you waiting for?” Lady Goodridge waved an imperious hand at her brother. “Go. We are in need of sustenance.”

  He hovered, observing his sister through his silver quizzing glass. “I dread to leave Miss Higgenbothem alone with you.”

  “I have overcome my regrettable tendency toward cannibalism.” Lady Goodridge smiled at him tightly. “At least as long as I am fed. I would like some pigeon, an apricot fritter, and the roast venison. Now, go fetch it!”

  The force of the command surprised Jane, and she waited for an explosion of masculine temperament and injured pride. Instead he said, “Susan, you need a husband.”

  “A husband.” Lady Goodridge reared back. “A husband! What would I do with a husband? I buried the first one within a year of our marriage. I don’t look forward to repeating that experience.”

  “Get a young one this time,” Blackburn advised. “Pick one you like. Papa can’t arrange a betrothal for you this time, and a husband would curb your tendency to be overbearing.”

  “It runs in the family,” she retorted.

  He met Jane’s eyes ruefully. “Sisters,” he said in a tone that suggested she would comprehend his vexation, and with a bow, he marched toward the banquet room.

  Lady Goodridge watched him with unmistakable pride. “One must be firm with him, or he’ll stampede right over the top of one.”

  She seemed to expect an answer, so Jane murmured, “Yes, my lady.”

  “I understand you’re that girl’s chaperone,” Lady Goodridge said as she adjusted her skirts.

  Now Jane remembered Lady Goodridge’s other attribute—she was remarkably blunt, as Jane had once been. “Adorna. Yes, she’s my niece.”

  “Of course. Melba’s girl. I sent my condolences. I was hoping you’d respond.”

  It was a reproach, but Jane would not allow herself to feel guilt. The time after Melba’s death had been wrenching, and Jane had had to adjust to becoming Eleazer’s unpaid housekeeper and Adorna’s only parent, and a sense of loneliness that had never lessened.

  With rare perspicacity, Lady Goodridge said, “But how rude of me to recall a time of such sorrow for you.” Lifting her monocle, she looked across the ballroom. As if she had special powers, the crowd parted to show them Adorna, and Lady Goodridge looked her up and down. “Looks just like Melba.”

  “Yes. She is just as beautiful.”

  “But a widgeon where the mother was not.” She turned a look on Jane. “Still, you’ll do.”

  Jane didn’t exactly know what that meant, but she said demurely, “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Now, stop hovering and sit.”

  Jane sat.

  “I understand the father is a merchant,” Lady Goodridge said.

  Folding her hands in her lap, Jane answered, “Adorna’s? Yes, he is.”

  “A misfortune,” Lady Goodridge pronounced. “Still, her mother’s noble background, combined with those looks, a fortune, and her manner, cannot fail to find its mark. How have you managed to raise the girl to be so unself-conscious?”

  “She knows she’s beautiful. She doesn’t seem to realize that everyone is not similarly blessed.”

  “Harrumph.” Lady Goodridge observed Adorna again.

  This time the girl noticed the scrutiny. Her eyes widened when she saw the company Jane kept. Then she gifted them both with a smile.

  Taken aback by the enhancement to an already extraordinary beauty, Lady Goodridge blinked. “I don’t envy you guiding her through her first season. All perdition will break loose now that the bucks have seen her.”

  “It is frightening.” Especially in view of that previous kidnapping attempt. “But she’s a dear girl who loves and respects me, and she’ll listen to my advice.”

  “About nabbing a husband?” Lady Goodridge asked meaningfully.

  Pride rose on a gust of hostility, and she looked Lady Goodridge right in the eyes. “About good manners.”

  A slight smile broke the severity of Lady Goodridge’s features. “You’ve acquired the patina of maturity, Jane Higgenbothem.”

  Lady Goodridge had been testing her, Jane realized. For what reason?

  Lady Goodridge watched her closely. “When my brother returned from the Peninsula, he almost totally abandoned society. Stupid thing, to go running off to defeat Napoleon when you haven’t got an heir yet, and so I told him, I assure you. I told him, ‘Figgy’ ”—Lady Goodridge patted Jane’s hand—“I still call him ‘Figgy.’ ”

  With a composure that amazed her, Jane said, “I can’t imagine he appreciates that.”

  “No, but when he’s doing his arrogant marquess act, I find it quite effective in bringing him down to earth. At any rate, I said, ‘Figgy, you’re thirty-four, titled, still unwed, and, most important, quite wealthy. You need a wife.’ ”

  Jane subdued a smile at the thought
of Blackburn’s reaction. “Did he agree?”

  “He never agrees with me.” Lady Goodridge smiled, her powder cracking. “I am the eldest by quite ten years. You would think by now he would understand I am always right. Miss Higgenbothem, the statue remained in my custody after the ball, and I examined it closely.”

  Jane blushed.

  “I was much impressed, and I am now interested in the progress of your art.”

  A circumstance which did not surprise Jane at all. “I sketch.”

  “In a superior manner, I am sure. But how is your sculpting?”

  Jane barely noticed the great emptiness the subject invoked. “I no longer work with clay.”

  “I feared as much. A great talent lost, and all because of my brother’s wounded conceit. Of course, as serious as he is now, I would be glad of a return to his former insufferability.”

  “He seems to be insufferable enough.”

  “Hm.” Her eyes narrowed on Jane in a most uncomfortable manner. “In his maturity, he does tend to do the things he thinks are right, regardless of how painful they may be. His reckless ardor during your ill-advised visit to his home laid the tombstone on your reputation. I daresay he will now seek to redress the injury.”

  Jane found herself stirring uncomfortably on her seat. “It wasn’t ardor, my lady, but vengeance which drove him.”

  “Come, my dear, you can’t cozen me! If you will recall, I was one of the women who found you.” Lady Goodridge glanced around the ballroom, and her eyes narrowed. With a smile, she focused her attention on Jane. “I recognize ardor when I see it.”

  Heat swept Jane from toes to hairline, and she knew color burned in her cheeks.

  After a short, poignant silence, Lady Goodridge laid a finger on Jane’s chin and turned her face to hers. For a brief moment Jane met her eyes bravely. But only for a moment. She couldn’t maintain her equanimity under that knowing scrutiny, and she dropped her gaze to stare blindly at Lady Goodridge’s lap.

  “Don’t tell me.” Lady Goodridge tapped her finger rather sharply. “You haven’t kissed another man since.”