Anne Barbour Read online

  She became aware that Serena was speaking again. “Here comes Candace Macclesfield. Do you remember her?”

  “Yes, Mama. She has come to visit twice since my accident.”

  Miss Macclesfield, a plump brunette of twenty summers, was not one of Miss Bridge’s close friends, but her recent betrothal to the Viscount Ramsden had propelled her into the parlors of everyone of her acquaintance so that she could gloat in a suitably genteel fashion. Amanda had dealt with her handily, since the damsel’s thoughts were so taken up by her coming good fortune that Amanda’s few lapses were hardly noticed. Amanda turned to greet the young woman with a smile and was soon deep in conversation, most of which concerned bride clothes and nuptial journeys.

  From across the room, Ash watched Amanda unobtrusively. He was surprised at the look of sympathy mixed with exasperation he had intercepted earlier from her, when they had still been standing on the stairway, mixed, he thought, with a tinge of embarrassment. All three, certainly, were understandable. He would make it one of his first priorities when they were married to put as much distance between himself and Papa and Mama Bridge as possible. When he was married. He experienced the most peculiar sensations as the words echoed in his mind.

  The past week had not been pleasant for Lord Ashindon. For the first few days after he had left Lianne, his thoughts had been wholly occupied with his lost love. The taste of her mouth beneath his haunted him and her green eyes plagued his dreams. As he had so many years ago, he found himself railing again at the fates that conspired to rob him of his one chance for happiness. He recalled the anguish in Lianne’s eyes at the news of his betrothal. For the first time, he knew a twinge of irritation at this most perfect of females. Had Lianne really expected him to remain unmarried? To deny his duty to his family? Did she begrudge him the right to make a life of his own, after she had come close to destroying it?

  Ah well, Lianne was what she was and perhaps could not be blamed for being unwilling to relinquish the devotion of one who, after all, had declared himself hers, heart and soul. She was only human, after all. It was borne to him with some astonishment, that he had never before thought of the lovely Lianne in the light of mere mortality. He was even more astonished some days later, when his thoughts persisted in drifting to Amanda Bridge, and he discovered that he was looking forward to the Marchford ball with more anticipation than he would have thought possible.

  Now, gazing at her, he thought back to the moment when she had descended the staircase toward him, straight and slender as a young goddess. She moved with a grace and surety she had never displayed before her “incident,” as he was coming to think of her swoon in Grosvenor Chapel. What had happened to her in those few moments, to change her so completely? Where before she had simpered girlishly and giggled at every pleasantry, her smile was now all womanly mystery. He watched her as she moved through the crowd of guests, her long-legged stride at once seductive and innocently appealing. It seemed to him that she moved with an athletic grace she had not displayed before, as though, suddenly, she reveled in her youth and strength.

  A thoroughly unladylike concept, he mused, and thoroughly un-Amandalike. She usually took small, kittenish steps. And speaking of thoroughly un-Amandalike, was it really she who had evinced an interest in the affairs of Napoleon and Wellington? To say nothing of her passionate sentiments on behalf of those who had spilled their blood for England. Good God, did the little Bridge actually possess a brain?

  For the next hour or so, Ash performed his social obligations. He danced with his host’s daughters, and those of several of his acquaintances. He conversed lightly with various matrons who had been friends of his mother’s, and he chatted with gentlemen known to him from his clubs. At last, from the ballroom, the sound he had been waiting for struck his ears.

  He moved to Amanda’s side, and as he took her hand in his, he was conscious of a surge of anticipation rising within him.

  “They are playing a waltz, my dear, and I think this is our dance.”

  Chapter Nine

  Amanda’s eyes widened as Lord Ashindon, without speaking, led her onto the floor. It was with some trepidation that she lifted her arms to him, for she had not been entirely truthful when she had told the earl that she could waltz. She was acquainted with the steps and had lurched around the floor once or twice in her father’s arms at family get-togethers, but she had never in her adult life actually danced. On the few occasions when she had been asked, she had refused, unable to bear the whispers and pitying looks she was sure would follow her progress.

  Thus, it was no doubt sheer panic that caused the trembling deep within her when Ash placed his arm about her waist and began to draw her into the compelling rhythm of the dance.

  In 1815, Amanda knew, the waltz was considered quite daring, for the lady allowed her waist to be encircled by her partner, to whom she might not even be betrothed! In 1996, of course, the dance was almost laughable, an amusing anachronism favored by golden-agers and ballroom dance contestants.

  What Amanda felt, however, as Ash swept her about the room in great, lazy circles, was not amusement. The pressure of his hand on her back caused a slow heat to rise within her that simmered and bubbled in the sheer exhilaration of movement. This was wonderful! She felt as though her feet might leave the floor, taking her to unimagined heights and delights. She was light as thistledown—she was snowflakes on the wind! She wished the music would go on forever, and when it ended, she wanted to cry.

  His dark eyes hooded, Ash bowed formally. “You were right, my dear,” he murmured as he returned her to the group of giggling damsels with whom she’d been conversing earlier. “You are very well acquainted with the steps of the waltz.”

  Amanda looked after him, the last strains of the music still fizzing in her veins like champagne, and it was some moments before she became aware that Cordelia Fordham was speaking to her.

  “Goodness!” exclaimed the girl breathlessly. “I have never seen you dance so well, Amanda. Nor did I suspect that Lord Ashindon had such talent. The two of you were the cynosure of all eyes!”

  Before Amanda could reply, a very young gentleman materialized at her elbow, requesting, in worshipful tones, her hand for the next dance. Since the orchestra was tuning up for what sounded like a jig, Amanda refused politely, but she watched in interest as a number of couples took to the floor for some sort of reel. The young gentleman asked Cordelia to dance, and Amanda found herself alone.

  But not for long.

  “My love,” a voice whispered tensely in her ear, “I have been waiting in agony for a chance to get you alone!”

  Amanda turned sharply to behold one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. His hair was almost the same shade as hers, molded just as artfully into a tumble of curls. His eyes, however, were not blue, but a curiously light gray. He was just above medium height and wore his evening wear with a slender elegance. He grasped her hand and squeezed it before running fingers up along the inside of her arm.

  Amanda stepped back hastily, observing that he was not nearly as good-looking as she had thought on first glance. The gray eyes were flat and unrevealing, and rather close set. His full lips were petulant, just now pursed in a slight pout. The beginnings of a paunch could be glimpsed beneath his satin waistcoat.

  “Sir!” she exclaimed in her best affronted-maiden manner.

  The gentleman removed his hand at once. “Forgive me, my darling. I was overcome by emotion. You cannot know my anguish at not beholding your angelic countenance for over a week!”

  By now, Amanda was beginning to feel slightly ill. She also had a pretty good idea with whom she was speaking. “Cosmo?” she asked in amazement. “I thought you’d left town.”

  “Surely,” breathed young Amanda’s suitor, “you did not think I could stay away. But, come...” Once more, he took her hand in an attempt to lead her out of the ballroom. “Let us go somewhere where we can be private.”

  Amanda simply stared at him. How could young Amanda
have preferred Cosmo Satterleigh to a man like the Earl of Ashindon? Next to Ash, Cosmo was shoddy merchandise, and seemed faintly ridiculous. Besides, she’d be willing to bet good money it wasn’t young Amanda’s beaux yews that had Cosmo in such a lather. The guy had fortune hunter written all over his dissolute features. Was this the only breed she was going to meet during her sojourn in Regency England?

  “I don’t think so, Cosmo,” she snapped. “I have to—to return to my mother.” She started to move away and then paused. “By the way, what happened to you the other day? At Grosvenor Chapel?”

  Cosmo pressed a shapely hand to his heart in a theatrical gesture. “Oh, my love, you cannot believe what I have suffered! An unforeseen circumstance forced me to be a few minutes late. My fool of a man could not find my walking stick! I arrived at the chapel just in time to witness the Earl of Ashindon bundling you into his curricle like some low woman of the streets. If your papa had not been on the scene, I should have called the wretch to account, believe me! I was devastated! And I have spent every moment of every day since endeavoring to see you. But you are watched constantly,” he concluded bitterly.

  Not a very enterprising fellow, thought Amanda. She watched as he ran slender fingers through his golden locks in a studied motion.

  “When can we meet?” asked Cosmo as he availed himself once more of her hand. “Can you get away tomorrow? Perhaps we could—?”

  “No,” replied Amanda, firmly disengaging herself. “I don’t want to meet you, Cosmo, tomorrow or any other time.”

  Cosmo gasped disbelievingly. “Do I hear you aright?” He groaned. “I knew it! Your mama and papa have succeeded in turning you against me!”

  “It’s not that.” An urge to laugh rose in her throat, which made her feel guilty, which led her to be gentle with him, which, in turn, proved to be a tactical error. “I find, Cosmo, that I have, er... I fear I was mistaken in my affections.” Surely she had read that phrase in Pamela, or, perhaps, Clarissa. She placed her hand in his, whereupon he promptly clutched it to his bosom like the last rose of summer.

  “You cannot mean this!” He was gasping again. “Please, my dearest—my angel! We can still fly away together. Do but let me—”

  “I believe the lady would like her hand back, Satterleigh.” The voice cut through Cosmo’s babble, and Amanda turned with a start. Her eyes widened in surprised gratitude and her lips curved tentatively, but Ash did not return her smile, keeping his gaze fastened on the hapless Satterleigh.

  “You!” cried Cosmo in accents of loathing. The next moment, he recovered himself and stiffened to his full height, which was slightly less than that of the earl. “The lady and I,” he said dismissively, “were engaged in a private conversation.”

  “Not all that private, actually,” drawled Ash insultingly. “I expect half the room could hear you.” He turned to Amanda. “Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bridge?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I believe I—” But she was interrupted as Cosmo grasped her arm roughly. “You are just going to go with him?” he asked in a choked voice, and to Amanda it seemed as though there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

  Ash stepped forward, but Cosmo, at the expression in the earl’s eyes, released Amanda’s arm immediately.

  “We shall continue our conversation later, Miss Bridge,” he said loftily, and his bow as he turned to leave contained a nice blend of insolence and lover-like determination.

  “Good grief, what a jerk!” exclaimed Amanda as she watched him swagger away into the crowd.

  “Jerk? Mm, I believe you used the word not long ago to me, and I detected a certain censoriousness at the time. Can it be that you and Cosmo have had a falling out?”

  She shot the earl a glance from beneath her lashes. “You could say that.” She smiled wryly. “Somehow, a man who can’t show up on time for his own elopement doesn’t seem a very good bet as a lifemate. Besides, at the risk of repeating myself, I don’t remember him.”

  For a moment, Ash stared at her, nonplussed. From all accounts, Amanda’s passion for Satterleigh had been genuine, if misplaced. Could she truly have forgotten a man she had professed to love?

  A couple jostled them on the way to the dance floor, and Ash became aware that the orchestra had swung into another country dance. He bent his head to Amanda. “Are you sure you are unable to accomplish the steps to the quadrille?”

  Amanda watched the dancers with undisguised interest. “Yes, I’m sure, but it looks like a lot of fun.” She turned to face him, and once again Ash was struck by the magical quality her eyes had assumed over the last week. “Would you teach me?” she asked.

  He nodded dazedly, aware in a corner of his brain that he would have complied if she had asked him to give her lessons in animal husbandry.

  “On one condition,” he added, his lips curving upward. “That you save the supper dance for me. If it is not a waltz, we shall spend the time promenading in stately fashion about the edge of the floor, nodding to acquaintances and exchanging scurrilous remarks about the other guests’ taste in clothing.”

  At this, her smile positively blinded him. “That sounds like more fun than I’ve had since—”

  “William!”

  The voice was soft and musical, but held an unmistakable note of command. Amanda watched with some interest as Ash stiffened and the laughter fled from those disturbing gray eyes. In the next moment, he turned to greet the newcomer.

  “Lianne,” he said, and Amanda thought she detected a slight tremor as he spoke the word. He bent to salute the slender hand that was lifted to him and said quietly, “Lianne, allow me to present Miss Amanda Bridge. Amanda, this is my cousin’s widow, Lady Ashindon.”

  The widow was small, and, thought Amanda, as exquisite as an Augustin miniature. Was she imagining things, she wondered, or was there the merest hint of malice in the jeweled green eyes lifted to hers? The countess grasped Amanda’s hand gently in both her small ones and exclaimed prettily, “You must call me Lianne, as well, my dear. I understand that you will soon be joining our family.” She whirled to face Ash. “But you did not tell me, Will—she is quite astonishingly lovely! I am so happy for you, dearest.”

  Amanda glanced swiftly into Ash’s white face. The tension between the earl and his cousin’s widow was thick and heavy, pulsating with an emotion that she found herself reluctant to contemplate.

  “Have you brought her to meet Grandmama yet?” asked Lianne, her eyes bright and interested.

  “The betrothal has not yet been announced,” said Ash curtly. “However, Grandmama has been made aware of my intentions, and I intend to bring Amanda to visit her within the next day or two.”

  “She is such a dear old lady,” said Lianne to Amanda, her gaze mischievous. “I know she will love you. And now, my dears, I must leave you. I have promised the next dance to Reggie Smythe-Wolverton. You remember him, do you not, Wi—Ash? Do forgive me,” she added with a sad smile. “I cannot accustom myself to calling you that.”

  She shook her head slightly, then said to Amanda, “Do please call on me tomorrow.” The roguish sparkle returned to her gaze. “We can have a lovely, comfortable coze. And do not bring W—Ashindon with you, for I mean to tell you all the family secrets.” She shot Ash a wicked glance from beneath her thick fringe of lashes and with a silvery laugh moved away.

  Ash stared after Lianne, his features rigid and his eyes glittering darkly in his white face.

  “Family secrets?” asked Amanda at last, in a tentative tone.

  For a long moment he did not answer, but when he finally turned back to her, his gaze was blank. “All families have secrets,” he said with what might have been called a smile. “The Wexfords have their share, but I don’t suppose they are any worse than most. I trust you were not looking forward to a juicy exposé.”

  “No,” replied Amanda tartly, “but I’m looking forward to discovering more about the Wexfords. For example, this is the first I’ve heard of Grandmama.”
r />   Ash looked startled, and a little ashamed. “Grandmama is the Dowager Countess Ashindon and our matriarch. She is rather— eccentric, and, frankly, I saw no reason to burden you with the ordeal of meeting her until after I had formally asked for your hand.”

  Good heavens, thought Amanda a little wildly. Was she one of the family secrets? One of those hopeless loonies that used to be kept locked in a garret?

  Before she could answer, a gentleman approached to whom Ash turned with a marked expression of relief. “James!” he exclaimed, fairly grasping the man by the elbow. He was tall and thin and rather bookish-looking, with brown hair that fell over his forehead and brown eyes whose depths held a mocking light.

  “Miss Bridge,” said Ash, “allow me to present James Wincanon, my very good friend and erstwhile comrade-in-arms. We were at Eton together, and later served in the same regiment in the Peninsula.”

  Mr. Wincanon declared himself extraordinarily pleased to make Miss Bridge’s acquaintance. “For,” he added a bit stiffly, as though unaccustomed to social conversation, “you are every bit as lovely as Will has said.”

  Amanda was in no danger of interpreting his words as an overture to flirtation, for they were uttered without a smile, yet with a rather unnerving glint in his gaze.

  “You have not met James before,” said Ash, “because he cannot usually be pried from the fastness of his place in Lincolnshire. He is something of a scholar, you see, and plods about the countryside searching for Roman antiquities.”

  “Really!” exclaimed Amanda in delight. “That is an interest of mine. Where are you excavating at present? Perhaps—” She stopped suddenly, aware of Ash’s openmouthed gaze. Mr. Wincanon, too, was staring in amazement. “That is ...” she continued lamely. She took a deep breath and turned in relief as another gentleman, a stranger, solicited her hand for the upcoming dance. Since it appeared to be a waltz, she accepted with alacrity and was soon spinning away from her betrothed and his friend.