This man was dangerous in a much different way. There was a feeling of peace about him. Of settlement. That he had searched inside himself and accepted what he‟d found. And with those friendly eyes, he was the type of man to whom you spilled all your deepest secrets.
Sarah seemed to understand that too, as her face vied between wariness and hope. Wariness built from years of crushed interactions. Hope for another friendly face in this madness.
William‟s smile widened. "May I escort you ladies to your destination?"
Caroline made the decision based on instinct. "Yes. Perhaps you would escort us near the dance floor? The music is about to start."
And if he hurt her friend at all tonight she‟d rip off his arms.
The humor in his eyes seemed to say that he understood this fully well. It increased her wariness as well as her comfort. An odd combination, to be sure.
He held an arm out to each of them.
"From where do you hail, Mr. Manning?"
"From London, but most recently from the Americas. Diplomatic matters for the King."
The room grew more crowded as the musicians tuned their instruments.
"How intriguing. Where did you travel?" Sarah asked.
Caroline kept an eye on her friend and their new acquaintance; at the same time she was searching the crowd, categorizing the behaviors of all the "suitors."
Which ones needed to have a further eye kept upon them, which were inclined to drink or behave badly.
A long violin note heralded the start of the music and dancing. William Manning asked Sarah to dance, and they went merrily into the throng. A young man asked Caroline as well, but she declined, sinking into a chair near the matrons‟ area. A place to watch charges and catch up on the gossip.
A perfect place to make sure the flames of her plan were fanned.
The elder matrons rose, and a number of the more salacious middle-aged women took their places. A cross-section of neighborhood gentry and women of the town. All slightly scandalous.
"A good choice of suitors for Lady Sarah. Can you imagine Sloane as a peer?
Any woman‟s dream husband."
"Sloane? No, Sebastien Deville." Another voice tittered. "Can you imagine what he would be like to come home to every night?"
"Except if you were married to him, it would be highly unlikely that you would be the one he would come home to."
"But having all of that attention on you even for an instant…"
"An instant is all it would be. Deville gives, takes, and goes on his way."
"I‟ve heard that the giving and taking is worth every amount of the resulting pain."
"You should try him then, dear. Although he is very choosy. Surprising, given his avaricious nature with the debutantes."
"I can speak to his talents," said a sensual woman whom Caroline disliked on sight. Bold. The type of woman who attracted or repelled. "And I will speak to them again soon."
"Harriet, your overconfidence is tiring," another woman said. "I haven‟t seen him so much as look at you tonight. I think he has other prey."
"Who?" Harriet looked around as if there wasn‟t another option to her beauty or skills. She met Caroline‟s eyes for a second before moving back to the conversation. "Besides, he is going to win this competition. And I for one intend to ensure a place near him."
"Why?"
"Do you know what a man like that will do with the title and power he gains?"
A thread of desire and greed wove through her words. "He‟ll move mountains."
"When has Deville shown any desire to be part of society? He loathes it."
Harriet shrugged, a secret smile curving her mouth. "You don‟t look beneath the surface. He‟ll win. Nothing will stop him from it."
Caroline begged to differ. She had a few well-placed plans to stop Sebastien Deville from winning.
"I still think Sloane has a chance. And Lord Benedict has just as much of a reason, if not more than Deville to win."
"And don‟t forget Timtree."
"Amanda, you just like Timtree because he tutored you in the rose garden."
The woman‟s cheeks tinged pink, but she held her head. "He showed good sense in the horse hunt."
"Yes, but what would he have done had the rings been in the right places? It takes more than cunning to win this type of competition."
A woman near her turned to another. "What is this about the right place?"
"The rings were not positioned as they should be. Declared to be a prank."
"Oh! And the epees too?"
"Likely a prank as well." The one woman turned back to the main conversation, but the other, the one closer to Caroline, looked thoughtful.
Caroline leaned toward her. "I heard it was the Cheevers ghost," she confided.
The woman‟s eyes widened and she looked around. "The ghost? Are the rumors true?"
"Only the best houses have ghosts, of course. A mischievous spirit. I heard from one of the maids that she saw the ghost touching the blades and flashing a light.
Lady Tevon said she heard it was spotted on the grounds of the hunt. And Mrs. Dalworthy mentioned seeing something ghostly in the halls."
None of them had said any such thing. Though that wouldn‟t matter an hour from now. Not with the setup she had created earlier, before the fencing competition, planting the seeds. A little water here and…
The woman‟s eyes turned speculative. "Of course. That must be what I saw last eve. And it makes so much sense."
Caroline nodded solemnly. "Be careful."
"Oh, I will."
And within fifteen minutes the conversation rippled through the assembly.
"Have you heard? The house is haunted, it‟s true. More than ten sightings already. Mrs. Kitchner says a spirit was in her bedroom. And that it moved her silver brush while she was sitting right there."
Perfect.
The woman who had "started" the rumor had long since left and another had taken her place. She turned to Caroline. "A ghost. My word!"
Caroline put a hand to her chest. "Incredible!"
And the night continued on. She turned down dance after dance, while Sarah continued to accept them. It worked just as she planned, with the men who were coming to ask her to dance turning to Sarah instead. With her gentle movements and pinkened cheeks, courtesy of their new friend, Mr. Manning, who kept showing up at random intervals to spar with her, the other men began watching Sarah speculatively on their own.
The look on her face said that her London unhappiness was all but forgotten, at least for tonight.
Good.
But Sarah‟s future happiness was worrisome. She bowed to her father in everything, and would never risk his wrath. As she partnered with William Manning for a second dance, Caroline‟s anger at the earl grew. He would never let someone landless and title-free marry his daughter. And he would never release her from this competition. Further, Sarah would never leave.
She watched the activity from the shade of Manning‟s pillar after she returned from another bout of ghost gossip in the retiring room. She had to commend Manning—it was a great spot to see without being seen.
A low hum of vibration thrummed through her as someone stepped behind her.
"Aren‟t you going to dance?" a voice whispered in her ear.
She watched the dancers come together and fall apart. She tried to keep her breathing steady. "No."
"Pity." The edge of his coat brushed her shoulder and the back of her bare arm as he rounded her. She kept her eyes on the dancers, the whisper of a wild wind at Roseford brushing through her mind.
"I notice that you haven‟t been dancing either, Mr. Deville. A weak area for you?"
"Is that an offer to find out for yourself?"
"Merely an observation and a question."
"Coward."
There was something heavy and sensual in the air that blanketed her ire, unwillingly pulling her toward him. "You have been much on the lips of the guests. They say you prey on debutantes and discard women like tattered handkerchiefs. I would do well not to speak to you at all."
"Oh, I won‟t discard you, Caroline."
The blanket of heavy air rubbed along her bare skin. "I am hardly going to allow you the opportunity." She edged out of the shadows so that she could be seen, stepping away from the suddenly weighted air.
"Worried for your reputation?"
"Perhaps you should be more worried for yours."
He smiled dangerously. "But where is the fun in that?" He withdrew a cheroot from his coat.
"You surely do not intend to smoke that here."
"If I desire to do so, yes." He tapped it against his sleeve.
She pinched her lips together, her irritation crisper the farther away from him she traveled. "You are no gentleman."
"I believe we have already established that. And it is a good thing, as I don‟t believe you would have much interest in me if I were."
"What a ridiculous comment." She cleared her throat, suddenly hoarse.
"But true, is it not? Your knees are firmly locked in the presence of such men as Everly and Manning. Too poncy or too gentlemanly. Oh, but then you like gentlemanly behavior, don‟t you?"
He lit the roll of paper and cloves. She stared at him in disbelief as he exhaled.
Smoking. In a ballroom.
True, no one could see him at present, but she somehow didn‟t think an audience would make one whit of difference to him.
"I do, and gentlemen don‟t smoke in ballrooms. Ruffians don‟t smoke in ballrooms."
"I guess that makes me a saint." He smiled and leaned against the pillar, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle.
She crossed her arms. "In a sinner‟s world, you would be revered as one."
"Then welcome to paradise." He extended his hands, waving the cheroot in a mock-blessing gesture.
"You choose to be difficult."
"I think we have established how utterly trying to be good is."
"Why is that?" She cocked her head, frustration at the feelings he produced, totally at odds with her good sense, causing her to lash out. "Trying to get revenge against your brother?"
His eyes narrowed, his crossed foot tapped a jarring rhythm against the floor. A sliver of smoke curled into the air.
"To gain society‟s attention?" she continued.
The whispered confession of a man saying that long ago he had desired to turn into a sparrow and fly away echoed in her mind. A desire she could associate more with the persona he had presented at the Grange, but not one she was comfortable reconciling with the smooth social demon in front of her.
"Hardly."
"To gain your father‟s attention then?" She needed him to stay away from her, to stop muddling her thoughts.
Something glittered in his eyes that she couldn‟t read. "I didn‟t realize what a creative mind hid behind that icy exterior, Caroline."
Her name stretched out on his lips irritated her further.
"There is always a kernel of truth in the rumors. And they say that your father is forever cleaning up your affairs. You risk little by your behavior except to drive attention."
He laughed, a brittle, ugly laugh. "Silly girl. Is that what you hear? A kernel of truth to the rumors?"
He pushed away from the pillar, and suddenly she found him directly in front of her, pressing an invisible wall against her chest. "Well, I hear you are a frigid princess." The sibilant last syllable hissed from his tongue. "If it weren‟t for the way you performed last week, I‟d believe it too."
He leaned back and flicked ash into the potted plant hiding them from the main view.
Every disk in her spine tightened and snapped into place. She nodded sharply, pivoted and strode straight back to her spot near the dance floor. Another set was forming, and Sarah had a partner. The biddies and matrons were gossiping like hens, probably waxing on about Sebastien Deville or something equally horrifying.
A man stepped into view next to her. "Mrs. Martin, would you care to—"
"Yes," she snapped, grabbing the startled man‟s arm. He recollected himself and hurried her onto the dance floor.
The first steps of the quadrille began, each turn giving her a perfect view across the floor and into the eyes of a demon surrounded by a cloud of hellfire.