His Mistletoe Bride Page 12

  Caught off guard, she had taken refuge in the one excuse that popped into her head, and in doing so, she had clearly offended him. She winced as she recalled the angry glitter in his eyes. Nay. Offended was too neutral a term for how Lucas felt about her now.

  Annabel gazed at her in shock. “You mean the Merritt ruby necklace? The one the earls give to their brides?”

  Phoebe nodded, feeling bleak. “The very same.”

  Annabel shook her head. “Heavens. Then why is he acting like . . .”

  “Like a ruthless flirt?” Meredith finished in a sarcastic voice. “Because he was too dense to realize how embarrassing the situation would be for Phoebe. I was surprised Aunt Georgie didn’t try to stop him, but she told me she thought it was a lovely gesture of support. The entire family standing behind her, that sort of thing.”

  Phoebe grimaced. Her aunt had already made an abject apology to her before they came upstairs to the ballroom, and that was almost worse than anything.

  Well, not worse than having to watch Lucas flirt with one woman after another. He had refused to look at her on the way over in the carriage, and now he ignored her. Obviously, he had not been asking her to marry him when he offered the necklace. He was likely assuaging his guilt that she had received no bequests from her grandfather, while Lucas had inherited everything. Perhaps he thought the necklace counted as some part of his imagined obligation to her.

  She took a steadying breath. “You must not worry about me. You have all treated me with a great deal of love and respect. No one owes me anything.”

  Meredith gave her a puzzled look. “You do understand what the necklace means, don’t you?”

  Before she could answer, the waltz came to an end. Phoebe’s gaze fixed on the spot where Lucas and his buxom partner had swung to a halt not far from where they sat. His glance flicked in Phoebe’s direction and the breath seized in her lungs.

  But instantly he was smiling again into the laughing face of the woman on his arm. She took his elbow, plastering herself against his side as they strolled off the dance floor toward the refreshment table.

  Jerking her gaze away, Phoebe swallowed a tight ball of misery in her throat. “If you do not mind, I would prefer we not discuss this topic.”

  Meredith cast a disgusted glance in Lucas’s direction. “Of course, dear. But I don’t want you to worry. I promise everything will work out just as it should.”

  Phoebe gave her a polite smile, though her heart ached. Nothing would be fine. Not as long as she remained in London, reminded on a daily basis that she was falling in love with a man who neither respected her nor deserved what she wished to give him. The sooner she returned to America, the better.

  “Meredith, look,” cried Annabel. “There’s Sophie and Simon. I was beginning to think they weren’t coming.”

  Phoebe exhaled a sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction from her foolish woes. Fixing a smile on her face, she rose with Meredith and Annabel to greet the Earl and Countess of Trask. Phoebe had met them a few days ago at a small dinner party the countess had hosted, and had liked them immediately. Especially Sophie, Lady Trask. Only a year or two older than Phoebe, she was a cheerful young woman who wore spectacles and did not seem to worry if the ton thought her fashionable or not. Lord Trask had been a tad forbidding, but he so obviously adored his wife and their little daughter that Phoebe had soon been able to see past his stern exterior to the kind, honorable man beneath.

  A man much like Lucas, or so she had thought.

  Her smile began to slip, but she pinned it back in place as Sophie swooped in to hug her sister-in-law.

  “Annabel, how are you? And where is that scapegrace brother of mine? I can’t believe he has abandoned you already.”

  Annabel laughed. “No, he’s sulking over there in the corner with Silverton. We sent him away so we could talk.”

  Sophie gave Meredith and Phoebe quick hugs, murmuring a friendly greeting. “Talk about the menfolk, I presume. What an excellent idea.” She turned to her husband and made a shooing gesture with her hand, rattling the gold bangles on her slender arm. “Be off with you, Simon. I’m sure you’d much rather hole up in the card room all evening, or talk business with Silverton.”

  Lord Trask had just finished making his bows to them, but now he studied his wife with a severe expression on his handsome features. “Sophie, I want you to sit down and not move from that chair until I get you something cold to drink. If you’re not here when I get back, I will hunt you down and haul you right back home.”

  Sophie started to bluster, but Annabel was already dragging another chair over into their little group. Meredith guided Sophie into it, inspecting her with a worried eye.

  “Are you feeling unwell? Perhaps you shouldn’t have come tonight. It’s always such a dreadful crush at Lady Framingham’s affairs.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes as she settled into the chair. “I’m breeding, not sick. And I still have another three months to go, according to Dr. Blackmore. There’s no need to worry, and there’s no need for me to sit at home like a bump on a log.”

  She scowled up at her husband, but Phoebe could see the affection lurking in her gaze. It made her heart contract with an odd little ache. Would she ever marry as happily as the Stanton women had? Would she ever marry at all?

  “No one expects you to sit home all the time,” Lord Trask replied, “but you were feeling a little light-headed earlier. Given your propensity to trip over your own feet, I have no desire to see you combine that little habit with a fainting spell.”

  Phoebe blinked at the earl’s plain speaking, but Sophie spluttered out a laugh. “Simon, you beast! You know I only trip over my feet when I’m not wearing my glasses. I promise I will keep them firmly on my nose tonight.”

  Lord Trask looked skeptical, and his wife wrinkled her nose at him. “Truly, I’m fine. Now, please go away. I promise I won’t stir from this seat until you get back.”

  He gave her a faint smile as he touched her cheek. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Don’t worry, Simon,” said Annabel. “We’ll sit on her if we have to, and hold her down.”

  With a grin, Lord Trask sketched a bow and melted off into the crowd.

  “Now,” Sophie said, rubbing her hands with relish, “what are we talking about? Anything interesting? Any scandals breaking out that I don’t know about?”

  Meredith slid her glance in Phoebe’s direction, and her heart clutched.

  “Oh, nothing worth speaking about,” Meredith said evasively.

  Sophie frowned. “Really? That’s disappointing. I was hoping—” She stopped, pushed her spectacles up on her nose, and leaned forward to peer at something across the room.

  “What in heaven’s name is Lucas doing with Mrs. Dorkington in that window alcove? I realize she’s a widow, but he shouldn’t let her drape herself all over him like that. Goodness! What will Grandmamma think?”

  They all followed the direction of her gaze. There, in an alcove across from them, stood Lucas, one arm propped against the wall as he loomed over the buxom woman he had been dancing with. The woman had one hand on his chest, standing very close as she giggled up into his face. Bile rose in Phoebe’s throat, and she had to swallow hard to force it down.

  “Drat the man,” muttered Meredith. “This time I really will slap him.”

  Annabel let out a little groan. “Oh, Grandmamma won’t like this one little bit.” She cast a swift glance around. “And it looks like other people are starting to notice, too.”

  Phoebe ran a swift gaze around their nearest neighbors. Sure enough, more than a few were watching Lucas and Mrs. Dorkington, some with tolerant amusement, others with disapproving frowns.

  Her heart sank. How could Lucas make such a spectacle of himself? She understood his anger, but did he have to punish them all?

  “What’s gotten into him?” Sophie asked. “I thought . . .” She glanced at Phoebe, then back to Meredith. “You know.”

  “We seem
to have hit a few bumps in the road. There was an unfortunate scene at Stanton House this evening, and Lucas is quite annoyed with Phoebe. Not,” Meredith hastened to add, “that it was any fault of hers. Quite the opposite, in fact. But Lucas has obviously chosen to express his dissatisfaction in typical male fashion.”

  As one, Meredith, Sophie, and Annabel turned and glared across the room at Lucas. He happened to glance over just at that moment, and caught the full force of their irate gazes head-on. His jaw dropped and Phoebe could swear he turned red. Then he frowned and turned back to Mrs. Dorkington. Phoebe did notice, however, that he removed his hand from the wall and took a step back from the widow.

  Mrs. Dorkington, apparently, did not approve, since she tried to snuggle up to Lucas again. He evaded her attempt with a laugh and took her arm, escorting her back in the direction of the refreshment table and out of his cousins’ line of sight.

  “Men,” said Sophie, her voice dripping with contempt. Awkwardly, she pulled her chair half round to close off their group in a semicircle.

  “You mustn’t be too upset, Phoebe,” she said. “Lucas is behaving like a spoiled little boy, but it doesn’t really mean anything.”

  Phoebe repressed a groan. “I am not upset in the least,” she answered, as calmly as she could. “Lucas is free to spend his time with whomever he wishes. I am just sorry his family should see him behaving so badly.”

  There. She sounded quite convincing.

  “I can see you don’t care a whit,” Sophie replied in a dry voice. “Believe it or not, we’ve all been in your shoes. Not Annabel, of course. I’ll say one thing for my brother Robert. He’s always had a great deal of common sense when it comes to women.”

  Annabel grinned, and the other two women smiled as if they knew the answer to some vexing puzzle. Only Phoebe felt completely at sea, which was not surprising given her lack of experience with the male of the species. And in spite of her reluctance to talk about Lucas—or even think about him—her curiosity was caught.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Sophie glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned in to their little circle. “Simon acted almost as badly as Lucas on the very night we became engaged. He arrived at a ball on the arm of the most notorious widow of the ton, and spent quite a bit of time flirting with her that evening. Needless to say, I was furious.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe it. His manners are so distinguished.”

  “Believe it. We had quite a dustup later, as you can imagine. It turned out to be quite an interesting evening.”

  To Phoebe’s surprise, the countess turned red and began vigorously fanning herself.

  “I can just imagine,” interjected Meredith. “Silverton did the same thing to me before we were married. I was very annoyed at the time.”

  Phoebe let out a little squeak of dismay. Not Lord Silverton, too! Were all her illusions to be shattered tonight? “How is that possible? He is devoted to you. Are all men so faithless before they are married?”

  “Oh, some men are quite faithless even after they’re married,” said Annabel in a cheerful voice. “But you mustn’t think any of our husbands are. They’re all hopelessly in love with us.”

  Phoebe let out a frustrated sigh. Sometimes it seemed her London cousins spoke in a foreign tongue. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because,” said Meredith, “Lucas’s idiotic behavior doesn’t really mean anything. I know it feels horrible to you now, but it’s what men do when they’re upset with the women they really want. Sometimes they don’t know how to express it any other way.”

  Phoebe gaped at her but before she could protest, Sophie picked up the thread of the conversation. “And sometimes they don’t even know they’re doing it.”

  Phoebe gave her head a shake, but it still did not clear the fog. “Doing what?”

  “Flirting. Most men and women in the ton flirt as easily as they breathe.” Sophie tapped her chin with her fan, as if ruminating. “Although Lucas seems to know exactly what he’s doing, which I find interesting. He must like you very much indeed.”

  Phoebe straightened her spine. “I am sure he does not. By any rational measure, his behavior would give the lie to that.”

  Annabel waved her protest away. “Rational has nothing to do with it. Of course you should punish Lucas for being so rude, but Sophie’s right. It means nothing.”

  Phoebe stared down at her hands, gripped tightly in her lap. How could such behavior not mean something when it hurt so much?

  She eased her hands open, smoothing the wrinkles out of her new silk gloves. Looking up, she let her gaze roam over the expectant faces of the other women. “Right is right, even if everyone is against it. And wrong is wrong, even if everyone is for it.”

  Meredith sighed and gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm, while Sophie looked morose.

  Annabel, however, tilted her head with interest. “Is that a quote? Who said it?”

  “William Penn,” Phoebe murmured, still caught in her struggle to understand Lucas’s behavior.

  Annabel nodded. “It’s very apt. I’m sure any number of men I know could benefit from Mr. Penn’s wisdom.”

  “What I still fail to understand, however . . .” Sophie began. Then she cut herself off with a little gasp.

  Meredith peered at her. “What’s wrong?”

  Sophie closed her eyes and visibly swallowed as she pressed a gloved hand to her lips.

  “It’s . . . it’s just my stomach,” she said in a thin voice. “It happens. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “You don’t look all right,” Meredith replied. “Do you want me to take you to the retiring room?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No. I just want to sit here.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Phoebe asked. The sickly cast to Sophie’s face sent ripples of alarm racing along her nerves.

  Meredith cast an impatient look around the room. “Blast him, where has Simon gone to?”

  Annabel jumped up. “Don’t worry, I’ll find him.”

  Phoebe also rose from her chair. “We will find him more quickly if we both look. This room is so large, it would be quite easy to miss him.”

  Annabel nodded and headed up the near side of the room.

  “I don’t know,” Meredith said. “Phoebe, you barely know a soul here, and it’s not a good idea to wander about without a chaperone. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed with us.”

  Phoebe hesitated. The room was huge and crowded and noisy, and she really had no idea where to look for the earl. Did it make sense for her to wander about by herself? She bit her lip in frustration. Why had Lucas chosen tonight of all nights to abandon her?

  Then Sophie grimaced and pressed a hand to her stomach, and Phoebe knew she had to do something. “I am quite sure. If I cannot find Lord Trask, then I will look for Silverton or Lucas.”

  “Just be careful,” warned Meredith as she rubbed Sophie’s back. “And don’t leave the ballroom.”

  Phoebe nodded and started to weave her way around the edge of the dance floor. It was slow going as she dodged her way around guests clustering in tight little knots. Every minute or so, she stopped and went up on tiptoe, straining for a glimpse of Lord Trask. After ten minutes she was only a third of the way down the room, making her stomach twist with frustration.

  Glancing at a bronzed clock on a side table, she was startled to note the late hour. Soon the guests would be called down to supper, and she would have an awful time trying to fight the crowd back to the top of the room. Sweat began to prickle between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew tight. She was not used to large crowds and this gathering was not only large, it was packed into a space not big enough to hold it. A bubble of panic began to build in her chest as two drunk men jostled her, pushing her into a column. She hissed when her elbow connected with a sharp jab against the marble.

  Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she leaned against the column t
o compose herself. She knew it was foolish to be anxious—after all, she was in the house of one of the most respected leaders of the ton, not wandering about in the streets. But not once had she gone out on her own since arriving in London. Lucas or one of her relatives—or even a maid—had always been with her, and right now she felt very much alone.

  She let out a snort of disgust at her descent into self-pity. Sophie was ill and she needed her husband. What matter that the crowd pressed so closely or that she was on her own? She would be sure to find one of her party sooner or later, and then all would be well.

  Stepping out from behind the column, she collided with a tall, heavyset man. Cold, unnerving eyes stared down at her, and she had to resist the temptation to shrink against the pillar.

  Instead, she squared her shoulders and dipped him a slight curtsy. “Please forgive my clumsiness, sir. I did not see you.”

  The man studied her for a few seconds, then a cruel smile curled his lips. She had never seen a smile like that before, and it sounded warning bells in her head.

  “What friendly god has dropped you into my lap?” he asked in a voice dripping with smug calculation. “Not that it matters, but I do believe this dreary affair has just become a great deal more interesting.”

  Chapter 12

  The stranger blocked Phoebe in against the pillar and the wall, not only preventing her escape but obscuring her from the view of most everyone in the ballroom. His gaze traveled slowly down her body, then up again, lingering on her chest before returning to her face. By the time he finished, she was grinding her teeth.

  “You are quite the little morsel to be wandering around a ballroom all by yourself, aren’t you?” he purred.

  “I do not wander, sir. I am looking for someone.”

  He propped a shoulder against the pillar and gave her a wolfish smile. “I see. Could this person you’re looking for be a man?”

  Phoebe’s hackles rose at the implication. “I am looking for Lord—”

  “Then look no further,” he teased. “I am a lord, and unlike the one you seek, I would never be so rude as to leave you on your own.”