Rogue in Red Velvet (31 page)

Dankworth’s jaw dropped. Apart from that, he sat completely still.

“We will, of course, offer Mrs. Rattigan a home with us if she should wish it and a commensurate amount on her marriage, should she wish to enter that estate for a second time.” Lord Dankworth glanced around, and sat.

Silence fell then Lady Stobart laughed, a little too shrilly.

Alex groused to himself. What Lord Downholland had said was, “Here’s my goddaughter. She’s rich, she’s single, so have at her, lads.” Undoubtedly what would happen once they entered the ballroom. Word would flow from here to there seamlessly.

The attention of the dinner guests went from Lord Downholland to his nephew, to a softly blushing Connie and back to his lordship.

The complete omission of his name had struck Dankworth dumb.

The Duke and Duchess appeared unsurprised but he’d expect that anyway. The old buzzard—her, not him—never showed a scintilla of emotion. Alex doubted she had any, other than the passionate desire to control everything and everyone who came her way. He met his father’s gaze and the old main raised a brow. Alex nodded. He hadn’t told his father the news, he had no right to but now surely his old man wouldn’t object to his courting Connie.

Julius raised his glass and smiled at Connie. “Congratulations, my dear. I can’t imagine it happening to a better person. I’m sure you’ll take care of your inheritance.” He drank and that broke the spell.

The other people did the same, inured by years of good manners and childhood training.

The duchess regarded Connie with fresh appreciation, visibly assessing as a future asset for her family, as did many others here tonight.

Alex was part of her family, her sister’s son and the duchess was nothing if not dynastically minded. He could use this and he had every intention of doing so. Her approval would go a long way towards furthering his case and Connie’s acceptance in society. Especially since Julius wouldn’t enter the lists against him and Julius’s brother was currently away from home, visiting a friend in Rome.

Lines of fury delineated Dankworth’s face. He set his jaw and lifted his glass with everyone else, and after a few minutes, actually found something to say. “Congratulations, dear Connie. I’m deeply jealous but maybe you need the estate more than I do.”

Because if he married his seventeen-year-old heiress, he could bring his estate right up to scratch.

After a couple more toasts, the ladies left the room. Alex watched Connie go, her shapely body beautifully on show tonight, if not as beautifully as he could remember that time at Mother Dawkins’s. His groin ached from need of her.

The gentlemen lingered long enough to discuss the Parliamentary war in more detail and hash out where each of them stood on the recent turmoil. Allies must be made and in the next few weeks, the coffeehouses, dining rooms and clubs would be abuzz.

Alex had already decided to support the irascible Pitt as the best of the worst but he had also made up his mind not to tell anyone yet. Besides, he had no seat in the Commons or the Lords, so his support was merely influence. He prided himself that he had some of that. For all his self-imposed indolence, when he spoke, people listened.

Except for one exasperating woman who thought she could tame him. And the worst of it was that she was right. If she crooked her finger, he’d arrive at her side like a panting dog, eager for the smallest titbit.

After an hour, they joined the ladies in the drawing room. On the surface, the scene appeared perfectly civilized, with a young woman playing the harpsichord and pretty groupings sitting in the arrangement of sofas and chairs, chatting in low voices. Nobody shouted, nobody showed any obvious passion, and the harpsichord player had another young woman standing just behind her, to turn the pages of the music. Zoffany would have made a charming conversation piece from the scene. He’d have begged to do it, because this room contained some of the wealthiest and most influential people in the country.

Only nothing was ever that simple. The groupings told some of the story, with the mothers only concerned with matching their daughters sitting together, no doubt discussing the latest prospects, which would include him, others discussing the political situation, some just gossiping. And a group that fell silent for a second or two when he entered, then hastily talked about something else.

They had a couple of hours before the first guests would arrive for the ball. Alex accepted tea, not his beverage of choice for the evening. He wanted to space out his drinks tonight. He’d need all his wits about him for what lay ahead.

The news was probably winging its way around London even now, transported by the servants who were standing silently in the dining room but they had ears. It would bring the fortune hunters slavering at Connie’s heels.

He crossed the room to stand behind her chair. Since she was sitting next to Helena, Julius joined him, leaning his hand down to press his sister’s shoulder gently. Alex had no right to touch Connie in that way. Not yet. And at the moment she’d flinch away from him.

He would just have to gaze his fill on her pearly skin and the brooch he’d sent her glittering from under its veil of lace. At least he had that and her tolerance of him standing just behind her, watching her. He enjoyed the artistry that had led her to mask the brightness of the cut with lace. He’d give her more diamonds. He’d promised and she would have them.

Helena lifted her hand and covered her brother’s, so briefly it was hardly a gesture at all and anyone not watching them would have missed it. “So are you for Pitt?” Julius asked.

Alex grinned. “What do you think?”

“I think he lives on Brook Street and his house has been very busy of late. And yes, I’m for Pitt but I’m also for Newcastle. He’s a steadying influence and we need that now.”

“And the Jacobites?”

“Where there’s a Jacobite, there’s a scheme,” he said promptly. They had every reason to know that. “Not the spent force some people believe them to be. There’s still a lot of support in the country.”

“The Tories are moving away from them,” Julius remarked. He was gathering opinion, offering leading questions to assess the views of people around him.

“I love this.”

Connie had spoken quietly but Alex remained attuned to her every word. He wasn’t even sure she’d meant to speak aloud. “What do you love?”

“The discussions and knowing the people you’re talking to have a real influence on how the world works. It’s exciting.” She flicked open her fan and employed it vigorously. “I should claim that I’m bored, shouldn’t I?”

She turned her head and glanced up at Julius, carefully avoiding looking into Alex’s eyes. Good, that was good. He still affected her, she still cared enough not to meet his eyes coldly. “Enjoying the view, Lord Ripley?”

“Immensely.” Why should he hide it?

“What do we do now? About—the announcement?”

Alex spoke calmly. “You’ll stand with Lord and Lady Downholland when they greet people. Then you let me lead you out for the first dance.”

“That would be too particular, my lord. Besides, his grace has already asked me to dance with him.” She fanned. He’d made her blush after all. Ah well, a man could try.

Later, when they moved to the extremely large salon set out for tonight as a ballroom, Julius escorted her and didn’t leave her until she was standing by her aunt’s side. Alex ostensibly chatted to several people but took a position where he could keep her in his sights. If that bastard Dankworth addressed one foul word to her, he’d beat him senseless.

Dankworth must have known, because when he did exchange a few words with her, Connie was poised and gracious.

Alex was proud of her.

They only stayed until the small orchestra engaged for the occasion began to play. Then Lord and Lady Downholland, Dankworth and Louisa and the Duke of Kirkburton and Connie led out the dancing.

Connie danced adequately. She didn’t have the sweet elegance and delicacy that other dancers had and Alex could swear she was minding her steps under her breath. Her mouth moved once or twice.

The ball led out with two minuets. Connie danced them both but with different partners. Alex bided his time. He’d been close to her, smelled her sweetness, heard her voice and that had to be enough for now. Unless Dankworth touched her, of course.

Her partner led her towards her godparents but Dankworth intercepted them. Alex moved fast, and murmured a hasty excuse to the people he was standing with. He scooted across the side of the ballroom in her directions. Interested murmurs followed and he heard a few snatches of conversation. “Ballroom steeplechase,” was the gist of them.

He wasn’t doing that nonsense tonight. Probably never again, as it happened, because others had taken up the sport and they were growing a trifle tedious. Besides, he wouldn’t do that to Connie. This was her night.

But he was too late.

Dankworth had already led Connie on to the floor. They went through the careful, elegant steps of the bourré, making the required pattern while people murmured in their wake.

“Heir,”

“Marriage,”

“Possible match.”

Alex wanted to stamp his foot and scream like a small child. Or hit someone hard like a bad-tempered adult.

Neither would help, but at least he’d have the sting of pain to distract him from his heartache as Jasper Dankworth guided Connie around the floor and people speculated about a future match between them. After all, it would be a practical move and perhaps the Downhollands meant for it to happen and were just providing Connie with a suitable portion to bring to her marriage. So they said.

Much they knew.

The dance had an elaborate pattern, which the dancers must execute. Alex had already worked out where they would end up and he was careful to station himself there.

Dankworth bowed to her, murmuring.

Connie glanced at Alex, then back at Jasper, so it wasn’t difficult to guess what he’d asked her.

Miss Stobart in a fetching pink gown stood before him. “Why, Lord Ripley, how pleasant to see you again.”

He couldn’t ignore her. He bowed over her hand and reconciled himself to half an hour of tedium. He felt compelled to lead her on to the floor for the next dance, another bourré. Not to do so would have given her a snub and much though he wished she’d find someone else to chase, he wouldn’t wish her to be known as one of the women Alex Ripley had snubbed. Not that he’d snubbed that many. He’d left that to Julius.

Miss Stobart kept glancing in Alex’s direction but she danced as well as any society lady and unfortunately, she didn’t have to mind her steps, so she had no distraction to stop her flirting and sending him seductive smiles and glances. She’d been performing the formal courtly dances since she was a small child, so she did it as well as she could flirt. Better.

Her skirt swayed enticingly and when the dance called for it, she curtseyed with grace. She’d make some man a perfectly adequate wife. Just not him. She tried all the weapons in her armory. She’d already tugged down her bodice to allow him to see more than her cleavage and now she glanced up at him, gave him a small, secretive smile and let her hand linger in his a tiny bit too long.

After the dance, when he would have bowed to her, she placed her hand on his arm and leaned forward, as if sharing a confidence. “Would you escort me to my mother?” She looked around. “I don’t see her here but she might be sitting in the far corner. Would you mind, sir?”

Frantically Alex looked around for someone else to perform the task. He couldn’t bear this. If he didn’t speak to Connie soon, he’d explode. He imagined pieces of green velvet and human flesh scattered around the ballroom for people to exclaim over. But he dismissed the vision and concentrated on his task. The sooner he could do as she asked, the sooner he could go in search of Connie.

Miss Stobart led him around the ballroom and they had traversed three sides of it before they discovered her mother, talking to her friends in a corner of the ballroom. He had to conclude that his erstwhile dance partner had known where to find her mother and deliberately led him the wrong way. She’d chattered and flirted the whole time, until his head rang with words but he had no idea what she’d said. She’d tapped his arm with her fan, flicked it open as if sharing secrets from behind it and generally made play, so it appeared they were intimate, friendly to the point of being closer.

Damn it.

When he’d extricated himself from the Stobarts’ clutches, he headed off at a pace to find Connie. And nearly bumped into her. She was standing to one side of the room, chatting to a lady he vaguely recognized. When he reached her side, he remembered where he’d seen the lady before, and who she was. He swept into a deep bow. “Your highness, how good to see you here.”

Princess Amelia graciously inclined her head. “I find I enjoy the company of Mrs. Rattigan. She is a lady of great good sense.” From the princess, that was great praise. She rarely gave compliments. “You must visit us in Ealing, Lord Ripley. We have always found you most amusing.”

He could hardly excuse himself from her presence. Royal protocol demanded that he remained until she dismissed him or moved on but at least Connie was stuck, too. The band struck up for a country-dance, a lively tune and Alex tapped a foot to the rhythm.