The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp
and her cheeks were stained with color, her lips reddened and soft. She looked, she realized, prettier. But was it as obvious to anyone else as it was to her what she had been doing?
With hands that trembled slightly, she tucked a stray hair or two back into the neat bun at the nape of her neck, and she drew several deep breaths. Her thoughts were not so easily brought out of turmoil. Thoughts and sensations tumbled madly about in her, resisting all attempts to bring them into order.
Why had Lord Leighton kissed her? Was he nothing but a rake, a vile seducer seeking to take advantage of a woman in a vulnerable position? She found it hard to believe. He had been so likeable, not only handsome, but with that charming twinkle in his eye, that easy sense of humor. But then, perhaps that was how rakes were. It would make sense. It would be far easier to seduce someone, no doubt, if one were charming.
Still, she could not quite believe it about Lord Leighton. And there had been that look of surprise on his face when he had pulled back from her, as though he had not quite expected what had happened, either. And he had not gone forward with any seduction—even though she would certainly not have put up any resistance, as lost in his kiss as she had been. Surely his breaking off the kiss was proof that he was too gentlemanly to press the advantage.
He had meant to kiss her, of course, even if it had been an impulsive gesture. But she remembered how the kiss, a light touch at first, had deepened into passion. Had he meant only a mischievous little kiss, but then desire had overtaken him, just as it had her?
That thought brought a small, satisfied smile to Constance’s lips. She would like to think that she had not been the only one swept away by ardor.
She looked again at her image in the mirror. Could it be that Viscount Leighton had found her pretty in spite of her plain clothes? She studied her face. It was a pleasant oval shape and her features were even. She did not think she looked much older than she had at twenty. And there had even been a man or two besides Gareth who, when she was young, had called her gray eyes beautiful and her dark brown hair lustrous. Had Leighton seen past her current dullness to the pretty girl she had once been?
She would like to think so, that he had found her attractive, even desirable, that he had not simply thought her an easy target for his attentions.
Of course, how was she to know what Lord Leighton felt, she thought, when she did not even know how she felt herself! She had liked the man immediately. He had made her laugh, and she had enjoyed talking to him. But there had been something more…something she had felt as soon as he entered the room. The way he had looked at her, the way he had smiled, had set up an unusual warmth inside her, an odd fizz of interest, even excitement. And when he had kissed her, she had been prey to feelings she had never had before, never even dreamed of having. What she had felt, she thought, was lust, the very passion that young women were forever being warned about, the thing that would lead them down the path to ruin.
She had never felt it before. She had assumed she never would. She was, after all, twenty-eight, long past the possibility of romance. But, she thought with another little secretive smile, apparently she was not past the age to feel desire.
Constance started back down the corridor and slipped into the great room. The crowded room was stifling, and the noise was loud and grating on her ears. She wound her way through the people, coming at last back to her aunt and uncle.
To her surprise, her aunt did not take her to task for the length of time that she had spent away. Instead she beamed at Constance and wrapped her hand around her arm, pulling her closer.
“What did she say?” Aunt Blanche asked eagerly, leaning close to hear above the noise. Then, without waiting for a response, she charged on. “To think of Lady Haughston taking notice of us! I could have dropped dead in my tracks when Lady Welcombe introduced her to us. I’d no idea that such a one as she had even noticed us, let alone wanted to make our acquaintance. What did she say? What was she like?”
It took a little effort for Constance to pull her mind back to her stroll about the room with Lady Haughston. What had happened afterward had driven it completely out of her head.
“She was very nice,” Constance said. “I liked her a great deal.”
She wondered whether she should tell her aunt about Lady Haughston’s offer to take her shopping the next day. It seemed, in retrospect, unlikely that the woman had actually meant what she said. The conversation had been pleasant, but it was absurd, surely, to think that a woman of Lady Haughston’s position in the Ton would make such an effort to befriend her. Constance came from a respectable family, certainly, one that could trace its ancestors back to the Tudors, but her father’s title had been merely that of a baronet, and her family was not wealthy. She and her father had lived a quiet life in the country; she had never even been to London before this Season.
Constance could not imagine what had driven a woman like Lady Haughston to seek her out. She had not seemed inebriated, but Constance could only think that she had tippled too much punch. Whatever the reason, by tomorrow, Constance suspected, it would be forgotten…or, if remembered, it would be regretted. In any case, she doubted that Lady Haughston would call on her the next day, and she did not want to tell her aunt that Lady Haughston wanted to take her shopping and then be proven wrong.
“But what did she say?” Aunt Blanche asked in some irritation. “What did you talk about?”
“Commonplaces, mostly,” Constance said. “She asked if I had been to London before and I told her no, and she said that I must be sure to enjoy myself while I was here.”
Her aunt gave her an exasperated look. “Surely you did not keep all the conversation on yourself.”
“No. Lady Haughston said that it was kind of you to bring me here,” Constance told her, hoping that Aunt Blanche would be well enough pleased with that information that she would cease her questioning.
But Constance’s words only seemed to cement Aunt Blanche’s determination to discuss Lady Haughston. She continued to talk about the woman the rest of the time they were at Lady Welcombe’s rout and all the way home in their hired carriage, extolling Lady Haughston’s looks, lineage and virtues—though what her aunt could have known about the latter, Constance could not imagine, since she had talked to the woman for no more than three or four minutes.
“Such a lady,” Aunt Blanche said enthusiastically. “There are some would say she is a trifle showy. But I would not. Not at all. Her appearance is exactly what is pleasing. Her dress was clearly sewn by the best modiste. I have heard that she favors Mlle. du Plessis. She is always in the forefront of fashion. Her family is the very finest. Her father is an earl, you know.” She paused, looking almost starry-eyed. “And to take an interest in us…well, it is just the most complete luck. When I think of what her patronage will do for Georgiana and Margaret!”
Constance had not noticed any particular interest on Lady Haughston’s part in Georgiana and Margaret. Indeed, it had been Constance herself whom she had singled out, though she had no idea why. But she thought it prudent not to point this out to her aunt.
Aunt Blanche looked at her eldest daughter, Georgiana. “You were in your best looks tonight, my dear. No doubt that is why she noticed us. That dress is the loveliest we bought. Although I do think it would have been better with that extra ruffle the dressmaker would not put on.”
Again Constance held her tongue. As far as she was concerned, Georgiana’s dress was far too ruffled as it was, and if it had drawn Lady Haughston’s attention, it would only have been because that elegantly dressed woman had been appalled. Her aunt and cousins were given to flounces, ruffles and bows, bedecking the girls’ frocks with far more ornamentation than was attractive. It seemed to Constance that the ruffles usually served to make Georgiana look stouter than she was, just as the fussy curls she wore around her face only served to draw attention to its roundness.
But Constance had learned long ago that any attempt to convince the girls and Aunt Blanche that a little more simplicity would favor them had only ended up with all three of them vexed with her and certain that Constance spoke only out of jealousy.
So