Seducing an Angel

/3/

THE second set would have to be the one, Cassandra decided. She could not stand here all night without looking ridiculous – and without making this whole painful exercise pointless.

But when the opening set ended, the Earl and Countess of Sheringford came to speak with her. She saw them coming and raised her fan again.

She half smiled and half raised her eyebrows. If they were going to ask her to leave, she was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed.

"Lady Paget," the earl said, "despite all our efforts to keep the ballroom cool by having all the windows opened, it is overwarm in here after all. May I have the pleasure of fetching you a drink? Wine, perhaps, or sherry or ratafia? Or lemonade?"

"A glass of wine would be very welcome," she said. "Thank you."

"Maggie?" he asked his wife.

"The same, please, Duncan," she said, and watched him walk away.

"Your ball is very well attended," Cassandra said. "You must be gratified."

"It is a great relief," the countess admitted. "I hosted a number of events for my brother before I married and felt no more than a twinge of anxiety each time. It never occurred to me in those days that some massive disaster might occur to spoil the event. This is the first entertainment I have hosted in London since my marriage three years ago, and everything feels different, most notably the level of my confidence.

Perhaps we ought to have returned sooner, but we have both been so happy in the country with our children." /She/ was the massive disaster that was threatening to ruin this particular evening, Cassandra understood. She pursed her lips and said nothing.

"I have been terrified," Lady Sheringford continued, "that no one would come to the ball except my brother and sisters and mother-in-law, though it was a comfort to know that they would all at least bring their spouses – except my brother, of course. He is not married yet."

"You need not have feared," Cassandra said. "The notorious always draw attention to themselves. People are incurably inquisitive."

The countess raised her eyebrows and would have spoken, but the earl had returned with their drinks.

"Perhaps, Lady Paget," he said as Cassandra sipped her wine, "you would do me the honor of dancing the next set with me."

She smiled at him and at his lady, then back at him.

"Are you sure," she asked, "you would rather dance with me, Lord Sheringford, than beg me to leave Claverbrook House?"

"Perfectly sure, ma'am," he said, smiling and exchanging a glance with his wife.

"We are sufficiently acquainted with… notoriety, Lady Paget," the countess said, "to be happy to ignore it in others. Especially when the other person is our guest."

"Your /uninvited/ guest," Cassandra said, drinking more wine.

"Yes, even then," the countess agreed. She laughed unexpectedly. "I met my husband at a ball to which he had not been invited. I have always been thankful that we were both there anyway. I might not have met him otherwise. Please enjoy yourself."

Someone had touched the countess on the shoulder and she turned to see who it was. It was the devil, Cassandra could see – Mr. Huxtable.

"Oh, Constantine," the countess said, smiling warmly, "/here/ you are. I was afraid you had forgotten that you were to dance this next set with me, and I would be left a forlorn wallflower on the sidelines."

"Forgotten?" he said, slapping a hand to his heart. "When I have lived all day in eager anticipation of just this moment, Margaret?"

"Oh, foolish!" She laughed. "Have you met Lady Paget? Constantine Huxtable, Lady Paget, my second cousin."

He fixed her with a steady look from very dark eyes, and bowed.

"Lady Paget," he said. "My pleasure."

Cassandra inclined her head and fanned her face.

"Mr. Huxtable."

She read speculation in the polite stare of his eyes. But he would definitely not be the one, she decided. For those eyes also looked somewhat hard and dangerous, as if he were warning her without the medium of words that if she had come with the intention of casting some cloud over this ball of his second cousin's, she might find herself answering to him. He would be too much of a challenge. She might have been intrigued by him if this were merely a game she was playing. But it most certainly was not.

"Your ball is a grand success, Margaret," he said. "As I predicted it would be."

He continued to look at Cassandra as he spoke.

Cassandra drank the rest of her wine.

"I believe the dancing is about to resume," Lord Sheringford said, taking her empty glass from her hand and setting it down on a table close to the wall. "Shall we, ma'am?" He offered his arm.

"Thank you." She set her hand on his sleeve and let her fan fall on its string from her other wrist.

She wondered if the earl and countess were merely trying to control the potential damage her presence at their ball was likely to cause or if they were simply being kind. She rather suspected the latter but was thankful to them either way.

Cassandra looked at the earl curiously as they took their places in the set. How could he have abandoned his poor bride on her wedding day? But her lips twitched with something like amusement when she thought that perhaps /he/ was looking just as curiously at /her/, wondering how she could possibly have killed her own husband. With an axe, no less.

The orchestra began to play and they danced while Cassandra looked about. They were the focus of much attention, she and the earl. The two notorious ones. But why watch them? What did people expect to happen?

What did they /hope/ would happen? That she and the Earl of Sheringford would suddenly clasp hands and make a dash for the ballroom doors and freedom and a reckless elopement?

The mental image caused her to smile openly, though with a contemptuous curl of the lips. And she met the glance of the Earl of Merton at the same moment. He was dancing with the lady with whom he had been talking before the first set began.

He smiled back at her.

It was definitely at her he smiled. He looked at no one else before returning his attention to his partner and bending his head to listen to something she was saying.

Stephen danced the second set with Vanessa. He would have danced it with Lady Paget if he had not already reserved it with his sister. He was very glad to see that Meg and Sherry had gone to speak with her at the end of the opening set and that Sherry had led her out for the second.

Stephen felt sorry for her.

That was doubtless a foolish waste of sympathy. Where there was smoke, there was usually /some/ fire, even if just a tiny spark. He really did not believe the axe murder story – though it was more description than story, as it came without supporting details. He was not sure he believed the murder story at all, in fact. She would be in custody if it were true. And since a year or more had passed since her husband's death, she would probably be long dead herself by now. Hanged.

Since she was very much alive and here tonight at Meg's ball, either she was not her husband's murderer at all or there was sufficient lack of evidence that no arrest had yet been made.

She looked bold enough to fit the part of murderess, however. And that startlingly glorious hair of hers suggested a passionate nature and a hot temper. Despite what Nessie had said about a woman's ability to heft an axe, Lady Paget looked strong enough to him.

All of which were thoughts and speculations that were unworthy of him.

He knew nothing about either her or the circumstances of her husband's death. And none of it was any of his business.

He did feel sorry for her, nevertheless, knowing that almost everyone else in the ballroom was having similar thoughts to his own but that many would not even try to rein them in or allow her the benefit of any doubt.

He would dance the next set with her, he decided, before remembering that it was to be a waltz and that he liked to choose one of the very young ladies for the waltz – one who was more his ideal of feminine beauty than Lady Paget was. He especially wanted to do so this evening, as the third set was also the supper dance and he would be able to sit beside his partner during the meal. He had several candidates in mind, though all were much in demand as partners and all might already be engaged for the waltz. A few, of course, could not dance it anyway because they had not yet been granted the nod of approval by one of the patronesses of Almack's Club. The waltz was still considered rather too risquГ© a dance for the very young and innocent.

He would dance the set after supper with Lady Paget, then. Maybe some other gentleman would have the courtesy to dance with her or at least converse with her during the waltz. Perhaps she would not even still be here after supper. Perhaps she would slip quietly away now that she had discovered that her reputation had preceded her to London. It would be something of a relief if she /did/ leave. He did not particularly want to dance with her.

Miss Susanna Blaylock had already promised the waltz to Freddie Davidson, Stephen discovered when he approached her after the second set. She looked quite openly disappointed and told him that she was free for the /next/ set. Stephen reserved it with her. It was, of course, the dance after supper.

And then, before he could continue with his quest for a waltzing partner, a few of his male acquaintances drew him into their group to ask his opinion upon whether one of them ought to purchase a set of matched bays or matched grays to pull his new curricle. Which would look more sporting? Which would be more manageable? More fashionable? Faster?

More suited to the colors of the curricle? Which would the /ladies/ prefer? Stephen joined in the discussion and the bellows of amused laughter it occasioned.

If he did not draw away soon, he thought after a couple of minutes, there would be no lady left to dance with him – and he hated not to waltz.

"Why not one gray and one bay?" he suggested with a grin. "Now, /that/ would draw you all the attention you could possibly desire, Curtiss. But if you fellows will excuse – "

He was turning as he spoke and did not finish his sentence because he almost collided with someone who was passing close behind him. Sheer instinct caused him to grasp her by the upper arms so that she would not be bowled entirely over.

"I do beg your pardon," he said, and found himself almost toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Lady Paget. "I ought to have been looking where I was going."

She was in no hurry to step back. Her fan was in her hand – it looked ivory with a fine filigree design across its surface – and she wafted it slowly before her face.

Oh, Lord, her eyes almost matched her gown. He had never seen such green eyes, and they did indeed slant upward ever so slightly at the outer corners. Viewed against the background of her red hair, they were simply stunning. Her eyelashes were thick and darker than her hair – as were her eyebrows. She was wearing some unidentifiable perfume, which was floral but neither overstrong nor oversweet.

"You are pardoned," she said in such a low-pitched velvet voice that Stephen felt a shiver along his spine.

He had noticed earlier that the ballroom was warm despite the fact that all the windows had been thrown wide. He had not noticed until now that the room was also airless.

Her lips curled into a faint suggestion of a smile, and her eyes remained on his.

He expected her to continue on her way to wherever she had been going.

She did not do so. Perhaps because – oh. Perhaps because he was still clutching her arms. He released them with another apology.

"I saw you looking at me earlier," she said. "I was looking at you, of course, or I would not have noticed. Have we met somewhere before?"

She must know they had not. Unless – "I saw you in Hyde Park yesterday afternoon," he said. "Perhaps I look familiar because you saw me there too but do not quite recall doing so.

You were dressed in widow's weeds."

"How clever of you," she said. "I thought they made me quite unidentifiable."

There was amusement in her eyes. He was not sure if it was occasioned by real humor or by a certain inexplicable sort of scorn.

"I do recall," she said. "I did as soon as I saw you again tonight. How could I have forgotten you? I thought you looked like an angel then, and I think it again tonight."

"Oh, I say." Stephen laughed with a mingling of embarrassment and amusement. He seemed particularly inarticulate this evening. "Looks can deceive, I am afraid, ma'am."

"Yes," she said, "they can. Perhaps on further acquaintance I will change my mind about you – or would if there /were/ any further acquaintance."

He wished her bosom were not quite so exposed or that she were not standing quite so close. But he would feel foolish taking a step back now when he ought to have thought to do it as soon as he let go of her arms. He felt it imperative to keep his eyes on her face.

Her lips were full, her mouth on the wide side. It was probably one of the most kissable mouths his eyes had ever dwelled upon. No, it was definitely /the/ most kissable. It was one more feature to add to a beauty that was already perfect.

"I beg your pardon," he said, stepping back at last so that he could make her a slight bow. "I am Merton, at your service, ma'am."

"I knew that," she said. "When one sees an angel, one must waste no time in discovering his identity. I do not need to tell you mine."

"You are Lady Paget," he said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

"Are you?" Her eyelids had drooped half over her eyes, and she was regarding him from beneath them. Her eyes were still amused.

Over her shoulder he could see couples taking their places on the dance floor. The musicians were tuning their instruments.

"Lady Paget," he said, "would you care to waltz?"

"I would indeed care to," she said, "if I had a partner."

And she smiled fully and with such dazzling force that Stephen almost took another step back.

"Shall I try that again?" he said. "Lady Paget, would you care to waltz /with me/?"

"I would indeed, Lord Merton," she said. "Why do you think I collided with you?"

Good Lord.

Well, /good Lord/!

He held out his arm for her hand.

It was a long-fingered hand encased in a white glove. It might never have wielded an axe, Stephen thought. It might never have wielded any weapon with deadly force. But it was very dangerous nonetheless. /She/ was very dangerous.

The trouble was, he really did not know what his mind meant by telling him that.

He was going to waltz with the notorious Lady Paget – and lead her in to supper afterward.

He would swear his wrist was tingling where her hand rested on his sleeve.

He felt stupidly young and gauche and naive – none of which he was to any marked degree.

The Earl of Merton was taller than Cassandra had thought – half a head or more taller than she. He was broad shouldered, and his chest and arms were well muscled. There was no need of any padding with his figure. His waist and hips were slender, his legs long and shapely. His eyes were intensely blue and seemed to smile even when his face was in repose. His mouth was wide and good-humored. She had always thought that dark-haired men had a strong advantage when it came to male attractiveness. But this man was golden blond and physically perfect.

He smelled of maleness and something subtle and musky. He was surely younger than she. He was also – and not at all surprisingly – very popular with the ladies. She had seen how those who were not dancing had followed him wistfully with their eyes during the last two sets – and even a few of those who /were/ dancing. She had seen a few glance his way with growing agitation as the time to take partners for the waltz grew close. Several, she suspected, had waited until the last possible moment before accepting other, less desirable partners.

There was an air of openness about him, almost of innocence.

Cassandra set one hand on his shoulder and the other in his as his right arm came about her waist and the music began.

She was not responsible for guarding his innocence. She had been quite open with him. She had told him she remembered seeing him yesterday. She had told him she had deliberately discovered his identity and just as deliberately collided with him a short while ago so that he would dance with her. That was warning enough. If he was fool enough after the waltz was over to continue to consort with the notorious Lady Paget – axe murderer, husband killer – then on his own head be the consequences.

She closed her eyes briefly as he spun her into the first twirl of the dance. She gave in to a moment of wistfulness. How lovely it would be simply to relax for half an hour and enjoy herself. It seemed to her that her life had been devoid of enjoyment for a long, long time.

But relaxation and enjoyment were luxuries she could not afford.

She looked into Lord Merton's eyes. They were smiling back at her.

"You waltz well," he said.

Did she? She had danced it once in London a number of years ago and a few times at country assemblies. She did not consider herself accomplished in the steps.

"Of course I do," she said, "when I have a partner who waltzes even better."

"The youngest of my sisters would be delighted to take the credit," he said. "She taught me years ago, when I was a boy with two left feet who thought dancing was for girls and wished to be out climbing trees and swimming in streams instead."

"Your sister was wise," she said. "She realized that boys grow up into men who understand that waltzing is a necessary prelude to courtship."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Or," she added, "to seduction."

His blue eyes met hers, but he said nothing for a moment.

"I am not trying to seduce you, Lady Paget," he said. "I do beg your pardon if – "

"I do believe," she said, interrupting him, "you are the perfect gentleman, Lord Merton. I know you are not trying to seduce me. It is the other way around. /I/ am trying to seduce /you/. And determined to succeed, I may add."

They danced in silence. It was a lovely, lilting tune that the orchestra played. They twirled about the perimeter of the ballroom with all the other dancers. The gowns of the other ladies were a kaleidoscope of color, the candles in the wall sconces a swirl of light. Behind the sound of the music there were voices raised in conversation and laughter.

She could feel his heat, flowing into her hands from his shoulder and palm, radiating into her bosom and stomach and thighs from his body.

"Why?" he asked quietly after some time had elapsed.

She tipped back her head and smiled fully at him.

"Because you are beautiful, Lord Merton," she said, "and because I have no interest in enticing you into a courtship, as most of the very young ladies here tonight do. I have been married once, and that was quite enough for this lifetime."

He had not responded to her smile. He gazed at her with intense eyes while they danced. And then his eyes softened and smiled again, and his lips curved attractively upward at the corners.

"I believe, Lady Paget," he said, "you enjoy being outrageous."

She lifted her shoulders and held the shrug, knowing that by doing so she was revealing even more of her bosom. He really had been the perfect gentleman so far. His eyes had not strayed below the level of her chin.

But he glanced down now and a slight flush reddened his cheeks.

"Are /you/ ready for marriage?" she asked him. "Are you actively seeking a bride? Are you looking forward to settling down and setting up your nursery?"

The music had stopped, and they stood facing each other, waiting for another waltz tune to begin the second dance of the set.

"I am not, ma'am," he said gravely. "The answer to all your questions is no. Not yet. I am sorry, but – "

"It is as I thought, then," she said. "How old are you, Lord Merton?"

The music began again, a slightly faster tune this time. He looked suddenly amused again.

"I am twenty-five," he told her.

"I am twenty-eight," she said. "And for the first time in my life I am free. There is a marvelous freedom in being a widow, Lord Merton. At last I owe no allegiance to any man, whether father or husband. At last I can do what I want with my life, unrestrained by the rules of the very male-dominated society in which we live."

Perhaps her words would be truer if she were not so utterly destitute.

And if three other persons, through no fault of their own, were not so totally dependent upon her. Her boast sounded good anyway. Freedom and independence always sounded good.

He was smiling again.

"I am no threat to you, you see, Lord Merton," she said. "I would not marry you if you were to approach me on bended knee every day for a year and send me a daily bouquet of two dozen red roses."

"But you /would/ seduce me," he said.

"Only if it were necessary," she said, smiling back at him. "If you were unwilling or hesitant, that is. You are so very beautiful, you see, and if I am to exercise my freedom from all restraints, I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not."

"Then you are doomed, ma'am," he said, his eyes dancing with merriment.

"No man is perfect."

"And he would be insufferably dull if he were," she said. "But there /are/ men who are perfectly handsome and perfectly attractive. At least, I suppose their number is plural. I have seen only one such for myself.

And perhaps there really are no more than you. Perhaps you are unique."

He laughed out loud, and for the first time Cassandra was aware that they were the focus of much attention, just as she and the Earl of Sheringford had been during the last set.

She had thought of the Earl of Merton and Mr. Huxtable yesterday as angel and devil. Probably the /ton/ gathered here this evening were seeing him and her in the same way.

"You /are/ outrageous, Lady Paget," he said. "I believe you must be enjoying yourself enormously. I also believe we ought to concentrate upon the steps of the dance for a while now."

"Ah," she said, lowering her voice, "I perceive that you are afraid. You are afraid that I am serious. Or that I am not. Or perhaps you are simply afraid that I will cleave your skull with an axe one night while it rests asleep upon the pillow beside mine."

"None of the three, Lady Paget," he said. "But I /am/ afraid that I will lose my step and crush your toes and utterly disgrace myself if we continue such a conversation. My sister taught me to count my steps as I dance, but I find it impossible to count while at the same time conducting a risquГ© discussion with a beautiful temptress."

"Ah," she said. "Count away, then, Lord Merton."

He really did not know if she was serious or if she joked, she thought as they danced in silence – as she had intended.

But he was attracted – intrigued and attracted. /As she had intended/.

Now all she needed to do was persuade him to reserve the final set of the evening with her, and /then/ he would discover which it was – serious or not.

But good fortune was on her side and offered something even better than having to wait. They danced for a long while without talking to each other. She looked at him as the music drew to a close and drew breath to speak, but he spoke first.

"This was the supper dance, Lady Paget," he said, "which gives me the privilege of taking you into the dining room and seating you beside me – if you will grant it to me, that is. Will you?"

"But of course," she said, looking at him through her eyelashes. "How else am I to complete my plan to seduce you?"

He smiled and then chuckled softly.