Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

“Perhaps. Do you really wish to find out?”

She paled slightly at his seriousness. “No, of course not. 'Tis absurd, as I said. The matter will not arise.”

“Good.” The quick glance she shot him showed she recognized the parallel to an earlier conversation. Jack smiled to himself as she turned away to precede him into the house. He was in control again, which was where he preferred to be.

~ ~ ~

HALF AN HOUR into the royal duke's ball, however, he realized he had congratulated himself too soon. He'd had his first misgivings when Nessa had emerged from her chamber, clad in that scandalous gown of pale peach gossamer satin. When she moved, it gave a disturbing impression of near-nudity under the transparent gauze overdress. Judging by the way other men's eyes followed her, Jack was not the only one to notice.

In the carriage, he'd noticed she wore a new scent, subtle but intoxicating. She sat just close enough to tempt him without quite inviting his touch. Did she have any idea how maddening she was? He rather suspected she did.

“What an amazing assemblage,” she commented now from his side. “And to think I was proud of the attendance at our little soirée.”

Her eyes were wide, reminding him forcibly of the innocent Nessa he'd met last autumn. That memory, combined with her seductively sophisticated appearance now, produced in him an almost overwhelming surge of desire. Clinging to the remnants of his hard-won control, he nodded.

“It's to be expected when one of the royals throws a ball, it happens so seldom. In no way does it diminish your own triumph.”

She smiled up at him, but something of his desire must have shown, for she quickly became coquettish again. “I trust I'll do you credit tonight, as well. Surely having my dance card already full can be construed as another sort of triumph?”

“I am astonished we were not trampled to death in the stampede when we arrived,” he said dryly. “You did save me a waltz or two, did you not?”

“Three, in fact, to include the supper dance. You are my husband, after all.” She dimpled up at him until he didn't know whether to shake her or kiss her breathless.

“I'd nearly forgotten,” he teased, then decided abruptly that he'd gone far too long without certain husbandly rights. His resolve to stay out of her bed suddenly seemed absurd. She was his wife, damn it. Tonight would see the end of this silly estrangement, he was determined.

The dancing started then, opening with the traditional minuet and followed by a waltz. Nessa danced both with him, and her airy grace wrought his frustrated desire to a fever pitch before he was forced to relinquish her to another partner.

Watching her go down the room on the arm of Mr. Pottinger, he redoubled his resolve. Before he slept tonight, Nessa would be totally his again!

~ ~ ~

NESSA LEFT Jack's arms reluctantly. This standoffish role was becoming more and more difficult, she thought as she allowed Mr. Pottinger to lead her into the country dance forming next. All she really wanted to do was go home with Jack and resume those “lessons,” which had been in recess for far too long.

“You are beyond stunning tonight, my lady,” declared Mr. Pottinger in his affected lisp as they took their places in the dance. “Every other woman here is cast completely in the shade.” His gaze swept over her admiringly and she had to force herself not to flinch.

Again.

Not for the first time, she regretted her choice of attire. Somehow, this gown had not appeared nearly so scandalous when she'd had it fitted in the modiste's shop a few days ago. She'd had her first misgivings when her looking glass confirmed Simmons' shocked exclamations, but had decided it was just the thing to break through this odd reserve Jack had erected against her of late.

What the deuce was wrong with the man? The more outrageously she flirted with him or tried to invoke his jealousy against others, the cooler and more controlled he seemed to grow. This gown had been a last-ditch effort to incite his desire— and it seemed to be working. Unfortunately, every other man present appeared similarly affected, a consequence she foolishly hadn't considered.

Mechanically, she went through the intricate figures of the dance, her mind still occupied with her husband. Her scheme to simultaneously punish him and enjoy herself had been less than successful. Oh, flirting and feeling desired by numerous men had its appeal, but as the novelty waned, the appeal grew less and less. Tonight, she had to fight the urge to hide herself from leering eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had gone too far.

The sight of her sister's face as the dance concluded confirmed her fear.

“Nessa!” Prudence exclaimed in a strangled whisper the moment Mr. Pottinger took his leave of her. “What can you be thinking?”

Philip, Nessa noticed, was discreetly averting his eyes. She fought down a blush. “I'm merely taking your advice, Prudence.”

Her sister flushed to the roots of her pale brown hair. “I meant for you to carry it out in private , Nessa! Not for all the world to witness! How—”

But then Sir Lawrence appeared to claim Nessa for the next dance, and Prudence had perforce to contain herself— though her shocked eyes still spoke volumes. Lifting her chin defiantly, Nessa accompanied Sir Lawrence to the floor. Even if Prudence were right—as a niggling voice told her she was—she would carry off this evening with aplomb.

Sir Lawrence appeared to be struck completely speechless, which Nessa thought was just as well. She was sick of fulsome, lust-barbed compliments tonight. The hours she must still endure stretched endlessly ahead. Perhaps a fictitious headache…

“You look pale, my lady.” Sir Lawrence finally found his voice. “Perhaps we should sit out this dance until you feel recovered.”

The thought of escaping all of the eyes— both lecherous and condemning— appealed mightily. “Yes, let's,” she said eagerly. “Somewhere… out of the way.”

“I know just the spot.” Taking her hand, he led her between the dancers to the opposite side of the enormous room, then through a curtained alcove. A dimly lit hallway opened onto at least a dozen rooms, most with doors ajar. The sounds of low conversation and laughter came from more than one of them.

He did not lead her into any of the rooms, however, but past them, through another archway and down a half-flight of stairs, then around a corner. When he finally stopped, they were in a sort of miniature conservatory filled with greenery and blooming hothouse flowers. The room would have been dazzlingly bright during the day, as half the ceiling and all of one wall were of glass. Now it was lit by at least a dozen hissing gas lamps.

Nessa looked about at the fairyland surroundings in surprise and more than a little misgiving. “Sir Lawrence, I don't believe—”

Before she could finish, however, he released her hand and clutched her to him, pressing his mouth against hers. For a moment she froze in complete shock, then began to struggle. He released her at once, and she backed away from him, drawing the back of her hand across her mouth. “Are you mad? What can you be thinking?”

She turned to go but he blocked her way, going down upon one knee in the doorway. “My lady— Nessa— pray forgive me. I was overcome by your beauty, by your sparkling wit, by… everything about you.”

Frowning, she stepped to the side, attempting to go around him. Yes, she had definitely been an idiot to wear this gown! “Very well,” she said severely, “just never let it happen again. I'm going back to the ballroom now.” Jack had been right, it seemed. “My husband—”

“Does not deserve you,” interrupted Sir Lawrence, his handsome young face eloquent with feeling. “'Tis a violation of all that is right that a woman like you should be bound to such a reprobate instead of worshipped as you deserve. As I will worship you.”