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For a moment, Jemima was tempted to let Deveril squirm, but her sensibility toward keeping Lady Deveril ignorant and spare her pain was a greater consideration. She shook her head. “Sadly, I shall be leaving for London tomorrow.”
“And where will you stay?” asked Lady Deveril.
Deveril, Lord Ruthcot and Jemima exchanged quick looks before Lord Ruthcot said smoothly, “Miss Mordaunt will be visiting my family in Kensington, in fact. And she has promised me this next dance. Lady Deveril, pray excuse us.”
“That won’t please my lord,” Jemima remarked when they were once again so close Jemima could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek.
“I didn’t do it to please his lordship, though hopefully he will appreciate the reprieve. I did it in the hopes of pleasing you. I want you to imagine what it might feel like to get even closer to me, my lovely Jemima.” He dropped his voice to a gentle purr. “To feel the strength of my arms about you, and surrender yourself to my utter devoted worship of you.”
She swallowed, attempting her most laconic tone as she raised her face. “Hardly the kind of talk that should be indulged in on this dance floor. And I never gave you leave to address me in such familiar terms.” Nevertheless, she smiled.
“Not the kind of talk indulged in by a simple debutante, no, but you are so much more exciting than any of those simpering misses lined up against the walls. See the envious looks they’re sending you.”
“I wish no one would look at me. It’s horrible.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I wish I didn’t have to be here, on show. I wish I didn’t have to do my duty when the clock chimes midnight, and I must make my way to the Red Room because of some ludicrous, childish wager that Deveril entered into.”
“You could run away with me.”
For a moment, she thought he was serious. She could almost contemplate doing such a thing. She glanced up and caught the flare of surprise in his eyes as he perhaps read her thoughts.
He pressed his lips together. “You didn’t discount that out of hand, did you, Jemima?”
“Not until I realized you were teasing me.”
He held her closer. “Your reaction suggested you found it a more enticing prospect than being with Deveril. That you actually prefer me.”
“No, Lord Ruthcot. I have already told you. Above all, I would prefer my freedom.”
“So, if Deveril gave you your congé tomorrow you wouldn’t come to me?”
“If Deveril gave me my congé tomorrow, he’d sweeten his betrayal with a treasure chest to enable me a modest freedom at any rate.”
“You would soon grow tired of sleeping alone. Especially when you’d run through all your money.”
She detected hurt pride in his tone and smiled, sad that the music signalled she’d soon have to leave his orbit. “I might visit you occasionally, though it would be on my terms, Lord Ruthcot, and only if my loneliness got the better of me. But I would not run through all my money. I have kept good accounts since I could tally. My father depended on me in that regard.”
He detained her. “You haven’t told me who Sir Richard was.”
“No, I haven’t, because you’ll only become jealous, though I assure you he was no more than a man who was good to me.” She hesitated. “No, he was more than that. He was the most heroic gentleman I’ve ever encountered and in some very strange way you resemble him.” She hadn’t thought this before. She was about to say more when she spied Lord Daniel heading in her direction.
“And now I must leave you, Lord Ruthcot. Our time on the dance floor is at an end.”
I might visit you on my terms…
He felt the aching loss of her departure, her words like cold steel when he’d been sure she was as conscious as he of the heat increasing between the two of them.
Why had she asked him to ensure she was invited? He’d thought it was so she could coordinate some incendiary meeting between them, but her words of just now belied that.
He watched her converse with Lord Daniel for a few moments. She looked consummately at ease, as if this truly was her domain among the wealthy and titled. He tried to detect a slip of composure, a lapse of syllable that would hint at lowly origins, but the more time he spent with her, the more he was confused.
Intrigued, also, and increasingly concerned.
What were these allusions to her past? He’d never truly puzzled over this as he knew every courtesan played with stories that bolstered their position. A dozen different stories for a dozen different men. So what had Jemima told him? That she came from a good family. Of course she’d say that. That her father had been murdered. Well, people who lived in squalid slums were at the mercy of cut throats around every corner. That she’d been betrayed by a lover and forced into a sham marriage. Thus ruined, she could never return and shame her loved ones? Surely these claims were designed to whip up his sympathy? That’s what girls in Jemima’s position did for their own advantage.
He watched Miss Galloway join the pair; saw the brief exchange of concerned looks between Jemima and Daniel before Jemima gracefully deflected Miss Galloway, and Daniel made his way toward the girl he was courting, and her mother.
Jemima was remarkable. Her effortless grace was a joy to watch.
Then he saw Deveril slide his eyes in her direction, and the raw longing and covetousness in his expression made Miles feel physically ill. This man had a beautiful, adoring wife clinging to his arm, and yet his burning passion for another woman made him insensible to the unconditional love of an untried debutante whom he’d married out of expediency.
