A Marquess and a Secret: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides) Page 6

  The sound of footsteps coming back along the hallway jolted them both into action. Jonathan removed his hand whilst Miss Richards sat bolt upright, her hands in her lap. Lord Richards appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly at them both.

  “I do hope you have saved some tea for me,” he chuckled, as Miss Richards leaned forward to pour him a cup. “And tell me, Lord Michael, do you intend to come to the ball tomorrow evening?”

  “Lord Blakeley’s, do you mean?” Jonathan asked, dragging his attention away from Miss Richards. “I believe I was invited, yes.”

  “And you have accepted, have you not?” Miss Richards asked, a little breathlessly.

  Surprised at the interest in her voice, Jonathan could not help but smile, choosing to push Lord Taylor’s worries from his mind. “Indeed, I have,” he replied, seeing the beautiful smile spreading across her face at his words. “And I do hope I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you there, Miss Richards.”

  Color burned in her cheeks. “But of course,” she replied, with a lift of one eyebrow. “You shall dance with me as many times as you wish, Lord Michael.”

  Jonathan smiled, caught up by the warmth in her eyes. Something was growing between them, he was quite sure of it. The touch of her hand on his was more than enough to convince him, but along with those words, Jonathan was quite thoroughly convinced that the lady held some kind of affection for him.

  An affection he returned.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask to court her, to take their association to a more intimate attachment. However, by the time he found the words to speak to ask her such a thing, Lord Richards was already in full flow about another piece of gossip he had only just recently heard. His question about courting her would have to wait until another time. Perhaps a time when he could be alone with her—if only for a moment.

  Soon, Jonathan thought to himself, catching Miss Richards watching him with those bright eyes of hers. Very soon, indeed.

  8

  By the time the Blakeley ball had arrived, Jonathan had determined that he was quite wrong about Miss Richards. Clearly Lord Taylor, however good his intentions, had either judged her quite imperfectly or had confused her with someone else entirely. After the way she had smiled at him and encouraged him to seek her out for as many dances as he wished, Jonathan had concluded that she was, in fact, not a social climber of any sort. Yes, she was somewhat different from most of the ladies of his acquaintances, but that was still rather refreshing. He could not believe that she was simply after wealth and a title in matrimony, not when she seemed to shun social dictates as she did.

  “I am afraid I am going to have to leave your side rather quickly this evening,” Lord Michael grinned, as they entered the ballroom. “Duties, and all that.”

  “Duties?” Jonathan repeated with a slightly wry grin. “You mean, you must fawn over Miss Carron in an attempt to flatter her father.”

  Lord Michael shrugged, a warmth in his eyes that surprised Jonathan. “I am sure you will hear rumors that ‘Lord Rivenhall’ has set his cap at Miss Carron, but that is to be expected. After all, I have been trying my utmost to make my affections towards her clear to all and sundry!”

  “Yes, you have been rather fervent,” Jonathan murmured dryly. “It is good she knows your true name, I suppose. That way she will not have her heart broken when all comes to an end.”

  There was a short pause, and as Jonathan watched his friend, he saw him clear his throat and shuffle his feet a little uneasily.

  “It may not all come to an end, Rivenhall,” Michael admitted after a few moments. “The truth is, Miss Carron and I get on wonderfully well and—”

  “You barely know her,” Jonathan interjected, astonished. “After all, it was only last week that you first met.”

  “I know that,” Lord Michael replied, frustrated at Jonathan’s interruptions. “However, I find her quite delightful, and given that her father does not yet know my true identity, I am inclined to spend as much time in her company as I can.”

  Jonathan did not know what to say, surprised that his friend had apparently fallen for someone with whom he had not had a long acquaintance. He had always thought that Lord Michael had a much more sensible head on his shoulders than to do something as foolish as that.

  “Besides, you are not able to correct me in this when it is so very obvious that you care for Miss Richards,” Michael continued, his eyebrow raised. “And that has not been a particularly long acquaintance either!”

  “I do not have any deep affection for her,” Jonathan replied at once, as a wave of heat began to climb up his body and into his face. “It is you who keeps insisting that I call upon her and the like.”

  Lord Michael only chuckled, his eyes bright. “You are trying your best to hide your affections from everyone, including yourself,” he replied, shaking his head. “Whatever it is that has been troubling you about that girl, you had better hurry up and get things sorted out, Rivenhall.” A small, calculating smile crossed his lips, making Jonathan’s gut tighten. “After all, we are not too sure how long our charade will last.” His voice grew soft, trailing away to be caught up by the buzz of conversation coming from the other guests.

  Frowning, Jonathan watched his friend move away, evidently searching for Miss Carron. Of course, he was immediately greeted by a great many guests, all eager to make the acquaintance of the Marquess of Rivenhall.

  Jonathan turned away, his stomach rolling with a little anxiety. He was not quite sure what Michael had meant about their charade soon coming to an end, but it had brought him a rather unsettled feeling. Michael was not about to declare that he was not Lord Rivenhall, but there had been something in his friend’s voice that had made Jonathan worry about what his friend was intending.

  To have formed such a strong attachment to Miss Carron, after such a short acquaintance, did not bode particularly well as far as Jonathan was concerned. After all, the lady might not return his affections. Even if she did, her father would never permit the match since Lord Michael was not the Marquess of Rivenhall, as he had been led to believe.

  Hearing Lord Michael’s loud, booming laugh from behind him, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder – only to see Miss Richards approaching him, a broad smile on her face.

  At once, all thoughts about Lord Michael and his intentions flew out of Jonathan’s head, suddenly caught up by the beauty before him.

  “Lord Michael,” she greeted, holding out her dance card to him. “Were you planning to sign this? After all, there are only a few spaces left, and I have been forced to hide from various gentlemen in order to save you a space or two.”

  Jonathan chuckled, his heart lifting as he took her hand, bowing over it. “I would not have you run any longer, Miss Richards. I shall sign my name this very moment.” Pleased to discover that there was, in fact, more than one dance remaining on her card, Jonathan took great pleasure to write his name for the quadrille and then the waltz. He paused as he glanced down at the names, surprised to see Mr. Greenville’s name there. “Your cousin is present?” He continued to glance down the names, committing as many of them to memory as he could.

  Taking her hand back, Miss Richards let out a long sigh. “Yes, unfortunately for me. He continues to pursue me, despite my rather plain speaking on the matter.”

  Jonathan gave her a tight smile, trying to push away his concern. “I see.”

  “But I shall infinitely look forward to more dances with you,” she continued, with a warm smile. “I must go now. Lord Harper will be looking for me.”

  Jonathan bowed and bid her farewell, the warmth of her smile bringing a happiness to his heart. And yet, as she greeted Lord Harper, something took hold of his mind.

  Without waiting to consider it any further, Jonathan hurried through the crowd and made his way up to the balcony, finding a spot where he might watch Miss Richards in private. He would reassure himself that Miss Richards was not the social climber he had been told. If he watched her and saw ho
w she engaged with each of her dance partners, then he would know for certain that she was just as warm and kind to each of them as he would expect.

  Lord Harper, whom Jonathan knew to be an earl, received a great many smiles and tinkling laughs from Miss Richards, which he easily returned. Miss Richards appeared to be enjoying the dance, and his company, which made him a little jealous.

  When it came to Mr. Greenville’s dance, however, Miss Richards was nothing but cold towards him. Gone were the ready smiles and happy laughter. She kept her face away from his whenever she could and barely spoke more than two words to the man. Jonathan shrugged to himself, recalling how the lady had told him that she did not wish for Mr. Greenville’s attention, but that he insisted on pressing her regardless.

  “That does not mean anything in particular,” he said aloud to himself in a calm voice. “She is not drawn to him; therefore, she pushes him away.”

  However, as the next four dances took place, Jonathan felt himself sinking into misery. Miss Richards was warm and welcoming towards the three men who were of good breeding and held a decent fortune, but to the poor chap who was the third son to the Marquess of Stockport, she barely raised a smile. When it came time for the fifth dance, the one before his own, Jonathan saw none other than Lord Winchester.

  Lord Winchester was the older gentleman, whom Jonathan had seen her dance with the first night they had met. Of course, even Lord Richards had declared him much too old for her, but Miss Richards had been determined to say nothing but good things about him. To see her now, out on the floor with him again, made Jonathan sick to his stomach.

  Miss Richards did not discourage Lord Winchester’s attentions however. She did not turn her face away or give as little conversation as possible. In fact, she was quite the opposite. At one point, Jonathan was quite sure that she batted her eyelashes at the man, giving him something of a coy smile.

  Jonathan felt as though someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. He could not quite believe what he had witnessed, and he was slowly beginning to realize that what Lord Taylor had said was apparently quite true. Miss Richards was not as different from the rest of society as she appeared. She wanted what so many of the other eligible young ladies wanted: a marriage of convenience, which would only serve to elevate her status and wealth.

  The pain that sliced through his heart almost took his breath away. He had not expected it to be so forceful, to cut so deeply. It took all his efforts to remain standing, letting out long breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

  The music came to an end, and the buzz of conversation began to pick up again. Jonathan remained where he was, not even aware that the next dance was the quadrille, the one he had with Miss Richards herself.

  His hands squeezed the railing, his jaw clenched. Why had he done such a foolish thing as to let his heart run after Miss Richards? As much as he had lied to both Lord Michael and to himself, Jonathan knew that he had allowed his heart to swell with affection for her. She had caught his thoughts, both day and night, until he had grown eager to see her again.

  And all for naught.

  “Lord Michael?”

  Jerking in surprise, Jonathan turned around to see Miss Richards approaching him, a rather confused look on her face.

  “Is everything quite all right?” she asked, moving steadily closer. “It is our dance after all, and since you did not appear, I thought I would look for you.” She smiled although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I caught sight of you from the ballroom,” she continued, coming to stand right beside him. “You looked rather fraught, I must say. Whatever is the matter?”

  “You,” Jonathan grated, hardly able to look at her. “You, Miss Richards.”

  9

  She frowned, her eyes searching his.

  “Have I done something to upset you?” she asked, with no hint of censure in her voice. “Is it because I came up here to speak to you? You should not be surprised at such a thing, Lord Michael. We are quite safe, I assure you. No one will comment since we are in full public view.”

  Jonathan felt his hackles rise. “No, you would not wish to be caught in a fracas with me, would you? Not if it meant that you would be forced into matrimony.”

  Much to his surprise, a laugh escaped from her lips. “Forced into matrimony? Whatever are you talking about, Lord Michael? I would never be forced into anything.”

  Worried that he might say something out of turn were he to speak, Jonathan turned on his heel and stormed along the balcony, in an attempt to leave Miss Richards behind. He did not want to remain in her company, not when he could not trust himself to speak. What he had witnessed had cut him deeply, and for her to now stand before him and laugh at something he said, it was almost too much to bear.

  “Lord Michael!” Miss Richards exclaimed, hurrying after him. “I will not be put off! You must tell me what it is I have done to upset you.”

  Desperate to escape from her until his thoughts became a little more settled, Jonathan turned into the first door he saw, making to close it behind him.

  Unfortunately, Miss Richards was a little too quick, and in a moment, he discovered that he was even more trapped than he had been before.

  “You should not be here, Miss Richards,” Jonathan grated, unable to look at her. “Your brother will be looking for you.”

  “No, he will not,” came her soft voice, as she stepped towards him. “Please, tell me what troubles you. I do not understand.”

  Unable to bear it any longer, Jonathan swung around to face her, anger and pain shooting through him. He took her in, seeing her confused expression, her wide eyes, her pale cheeks. Evidently, she was unaware of what he had seen.

  The urge to know whether or not she had any kind of feelings for him began to rise. In playing the part of Lord Michael, he had to be the second son, the one who would never have the wealth and title that the eldest son would one day inherit.

  “You have been nothing but kind to me, Miss Richards,” he began, moving closer to her. “You have made me smile, made me laugh, and surprised me with your lack of willingness to conform to society’s standards.”

  “I find them to be ridiculous at times,” she breathed, taking a step away from him as though he were rather an intimidating figure. “But that has never upset you before?”

  A harsh laugh escaped him. “No, it has not. I have found it refreshing, to say the least. It has been a light in what I find to be an often-miserable situation.” He looked at her steadily, his lip curling. “And yet I discover that you are more inclined towards the things that most other young ladies seek.”

  Her expression grew puzzled, and she let out a long breath, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought you cared for me,” Jonathan whispered, his hands curling into fists. “I thought there might be something between us.”

  A slow flush crept up her neck and, for the first time, she looked away from him, dropping her head.

  “I have struggled with my own heart,” Jonathan continued, his voice growing hoarse as emotions of every kind coursed through him. “I have tried not to think of you, tried not to seek you out the moment I attend any kind of function, and yet it has all been for naught. When I called on you, it was one of the happiest afternoons I have spent in a long time.”

  “Lord Michael,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I did not know the depths of your feelings.”

  Jonathan clenched his fists, moving forward so swiftly that Miss Richards was forced to move away, stepping back until she was pressed against the wall.

  “Nor did I,” he grated, warring against the urgent desire to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, despite what he had seen. “I did not know the truth of it all until I saw you this evening, dancing with all the other gentlemen.”

  She blinked up at him, something like understanding in her gaze. “You were jealous?”

  “Tell me you feel nothing for me,” Jonathan replied,
not answering her question. “Tell me that there is no kind of affection in your heart. Tell me that you do not think of me in the same way I think of you.”

  Planting his hands on either side of her head, Jonathan leaned forward, aware that he was too close to her. If anyone discovered them, the scandal could be disastrous. Yet, the closeness made him feel alive, as if he had been holding back everything he felt for this woman. He had to know what she felt for him before he could challenge her with what he had seen. Somehow, he would get the truth.

  “I cannot permit myself to feel anything for you, Lord Michael,” she whispered, her lips trembling, as she tried to keep her gaze steady. “You do not understand.”

  He snorted in derision. “You cannot permit yourself?” he questioned, pinning her with his firm gaze.

  Miss Richards closed her eyes, a single tear landing on her cheek. She was more vulnerable now than he had ever seen her, and yet the anger in his heart would not allow him to feel any kind of compassion.

  “I have longed for your company,” she confessed, surprising him by putting her hands on his chest. “But I cannot have anything more than friendship between us, no matter what I feel.”

  “You admit to caring for me then?” he asked, his heart filling with both grief and happiness in the same moment.

  Her face tipped towards his, honesty shining from her eyes. “Of course, I do, Michael. I just cannot allow myself to feel it, and yet despite my attempts at resilience, my heart will not let you go.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Jonathan had crushed her against him, his lips finding hers. She responded to him at once, her arms twining around his neck. She was everything he had hoped for, warm and soft and sweet. Yet the saltiness of her tears began to mingle with their kiss, making him starkly aware of what he was doing.