Beguiled

Lord Graydon’s handsome face began to fill with bewilderment. He would realize the truth in a few moments. He would feel like an utter fool. Lily cast one last pleading glance at Aunt Margaret, who only motioned her toward the dance floor.

It happened, somehow. Lily couldn’t remember whether she had walked into Lord Graydon’s arms or whether he had pulled her. One moment she was merely standing, and the next she was with him, gliding across the dance floor. She didn’t know how it was that her feet managed to make all the right steps, but somehow they did so. Lily felt as stiff as a stick of dry wood, and just as unreliable. Lord Graydon seemed to think so, too, for he said after a few rigid turns, “It’s very crowded, is it not? Is it much worse than what you’re used to in the country?”

Lily couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Keeping her eyes on her feet, she shook her head.

“I’ll not let you trip, Lady Lillian,” he said gently, much nearer to her ear so that she felt the warmth of his breath. She lifted her head to find that he was smiling down at her with an expression as innocent and unthreatening as a schoolboy’s. He tightened his grip on both her hand and waist and spun her about in a rapid turn, causing Lily to gasp aloud before he returned their movements to a more normal pace. With the same smile on his lips, he added, “You dance very well, my lady.”

The kind lie was so blatant that it almost made Lily smile in turn. She could dance well when the circumstances were right. At the moment, however, she didn’t doubt that she was dancing with all the grace of a lame cow. Fortunately, Lord Graydon was capable of pulling her along with enough ease to keep her from appearing too clumsy to the onlookers in the room. In the morning, the gossiping would start. Aaron had told her it would, but the idea hadn’t particularly distressed Lily before tonight. Now, having had her first taste of the ton, she was fully grateful that polite society wouldn’t be able to add “ungainly” to her list of shortcomings.

“Are you enjoying your visit to London this season, Lady Lillian?” Lord Graydon asked.

She shook her head. No.

A flash of surprise lit his blue eyes, though his features betrayed nothing more than polite interest.

“Have you only recently arrived? I disremember seeing you before at any other functions.”

Lily shook her head once more, and could see that he was becoming slightly wary. It would only be a moment more before he finally understood the truth, before his admiration turned to distress. He would be too much of a gentleman to desert her in the middle of their dance. She would have to endure the hellish moments of his dismay until the music ended.

“Perhaps,” he began hesitantly, “we should find a way to make your stay in town more enjoyable. I would be honored if you would allow me to bend my efforts to the task, my lady.”

Lily felt as if her heart had dropped all the way from her chest and into her feet. If he could only know how she had longed for a man to say such sweet words to her. If he could only know…But realization was dawning as he gazed questioningly into her eyes. Little by little, as they danced without speaking, she could see that he understood. He was stunned for a few moments, and then, as her vision blurred with tears, he began to look angry. His hands tightened on her once more, and he released a hard, taut breath as he twirled her about sharply. He was more than angry, she realized. He was furious. People were watching them, had been watching since they’d begun to dance. He must have suddenly realized how foolish he appeared at having tried to converse with her—with a woman who didn’t speak. He would feel as if he’d been duped by Aunt Margaret, perhaps even by Lady Jersey, perhaps even by Lily herself, into dancing with a freak.

“Don’t cry,” she heard him command tersely. “The dance will be over soon. For pity’s sake, don’t let them see you in tears.”

Lily tightly shut her eyes, but he said, “Look at me.” And again, more firmly, “Look at me, Lady Lillian. Into my face. Yes, just like that. Keep your eyes on mine. Now…smile.” He smiled into her stunned expression as if to show her how it was done. “Smile,” he said again. “At me. As if I’m the most charming, witty fellow you’ve ever known. If they’re going to talk, let’s give them something worth talking about.”

Something worth talking about? she thought incoherently, unable to fathom what the words meant. He wanted her to smile at him?

“Not like that, as if I’ve just sprouted two horns,” he chided. “You’re supposed to look as if you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you enjoying it? I am. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room. In all of London, for that matter. And you’re dancing in my arms. Even if you are looking at me as if I were a horrible apparition.”

Lily didn’t believe him. He couldn’t mean what he said, for she’d never seen anyone who looked as if he was enjoying what he was doing less than Lord Graydon did at that moment.

He spun her about again until Lily began to feel breathless, then he leaned closer and whispered, “Let’s give the gossips something to talk about. Shall we?”

She didn’t care what his motives were. If he could pretend to enjoy himself to save face, then so could she. With a definitive nod, she lifted her chin and gifted him with her most dazzling smile. He blinked at her, then his own smile widened. “Very well, then, my lady.”

The remainder of the dance was pure enjoyment. Lily relaxed and matched Lord Graydon’s daring movements step for step. By the time it was over they were both flushed and grinning. Lord Graydon bowed over her hand with a gallant flourish, kissing her fingers grandly as the rest of the assembly looked on.

“Thank you, Lady Lillian. You’re a marvelous partner. I’m honored to have been allowed to lead you out in your first waltz.”

Lily replied with an elegant curtsy.

With unhurried and deliberate care, Lord Graydon returned her to Aunt Margaret’s side, and then, with Lady Jersey beaming and Isabel fluttering and everyone in the room watching, he said, “May I call on you one day soon, my lady, with the hope that I might have the pleasure of your company for a drive?”

He was still furious. Lily could hear his anger clearly beneath the gentilesse of his words. He was doing what was expected of him, what was necessary to keep from appearing foolish. She should tell him no and release them both from the burden of any further pretense, yet when he gazed into her eyes she found herself nodding.

Lord Graydon bowed, gently kissed her hand again, then took his leave of Aunt Margaret and Lady Jersey. He spoke to no one else as he made his way to the assembly room doors, ignoring the stares and whispers of all those who watched him depart.

Chapter Three (#ulink_4ba5c3fd-b836-593f-94e5-7dab650676a2)

He walked for some time, aimlessly, neither knowing nor caring where he went. The night air was cold, and his harsh breathing coupled with it to form a painful, icy knot in his lungs. He tried not to think of what had just happened, of what he had almost done. Instead, he let his anger dwell solely on Lord Cardemore, and on what he would do to that man if he could somehow manage to get his hands around his thick neck.

The idea pulled Graydon to a stop, and he stood where he was and stared thoughtfully into the darkness. Cardemore. He was more than half tempted to go to the man’s house and bid him to the devil. Or personally send him to the devil, more like. The man had claimed to love his sister so well. Love! Graydon thought with silent disdain The inconsiderate swine wouldn’t know what love and care were if they walked up and bit him on the…

“Good evening, Lord Graydon.”

Graydon turned to face the owner of the voice that hailed him. He recognized at once the slender, well-dressed man who’d repeatedly appeared in various corners and side streets during the past several days while Graydon had attempted to repay his debts. He’d been hesitant, at first, to believe that the fellow was one of Cardemore’s minions, but it had become clear, despite the gentleman’s obvious civility and manners, that he was fully adept in the business of being an efficient shadow.

“Your master must pay you well, sir,” Graydon stated, his voice low and calm. “Day and night, is it?”

“I’m paid well enough for services rendered.” He made a slight bow, never taking his eyes from Graydon’s.

“I see. Do you intend to accompany me to my mistress’s home and wait for me until I’ve finished with her? Will you watch over my house while I’m sleeping? Surely Cardemore doesn’t expect me to flee the country in the middle of the night.”

“You’d have to ask Lord Cardemore what he thinks, my lord,” the man answered evenly. “I don’t make a habit of questioning my employers.”

“Certainly you don’t. Dogs are obedient to their masters.”

A thin smile curled the man’s lips. “Wise dogs are, my lord, which is a lesson I recommend you learn to live by until you’ve regained your debts. I was curious to see that Lady Lillian left Almack’s shortly after you did. Perhaps you’d best tell me what transpired, as I shall need to know what to report back to Lord Carde—”

Graydon shoved the man up against the wall of the nearest building, easily lifting him by the collar until they were eye to eye. “To Lord Cardemore? You need to know what to report back to your demon master?” He thrust the man harder into the bricks. “You tell him that he should’ve warned me beforehand that the sister he claims to love so well is mute. You tell him, you filthy cur, that I very nearly humiliated that same sister tonight because I wasn’t prepared, because of my shock. I can only thank a providential God that my mother taught me so well never to embarrass a female in any event, else Lady Lillian surely would have found herself dancing alone on the floor at Almack’s. That’s what you tell him. Understand?” He hauled the smaller man a few inches higher for emphasis.

“Put ’im down, m’lord.”

Graydon glanced briefly to one side, seeing the two burly men who stood nearby.

“Ah, so the shadow has shadows of his own, does he?” His lips pulled back into a feral smile. “How very convenient.”

“Now, if you please, m’lord. We don’t want to make you do it.”

“Don’t you?” Graydon asked softly, lowering the other man slowly to his feet. “But I should like very much to see if you could.” To his captive he said, “Remember the message I want you to give your master. Word for word, you understand? And remember, too, that if I ever see you sneaking around and about me again I’ll make you very sorry indeed.” Then, raising one fist, he deftly sent the man flying into the arms of his guardians. “Now,” Lord Graydon said as his assailants stared at him in disbelief. “Shall we do this one at a time or all together?”

“Guess we’d better teach ‘im a lesson, Bill,” the taller of the two said as he carelessly tossed Cardemore’s insensible minion to the ground. “You hold ‘im, and I’ll school ‘im.”

Smiling, Graydon began to pull the gloves from his hands, but stopped when he heard Lord Daltry’s rather bored voice emanating from the darkness.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” said Daltry as he strolled into their midst, “and I know you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your fun, Tony,” he added affably, placing his large, muscular person companionably near his friend, “but out of respect for your dear mother, I fear I must. I would appreciate it if you…gentlemen—” he drew the word out meaningfully “—would take your friend and leave.”

“Your timing is unfortunate, Matthew,” Graydon said. “I was going to enjoy this.”

“I know,” Daltry said apologetically as the two ruffians took in his size with some dismay. “But, devil take you, can’t you confine your amusements to more conventional venues, like gambling and drinking and women?” With a nod at the man lying on the ground, he repeated, “Take him and go before I change my mind and let my friend vent his ire on you. I can assure you that his temper is dismally volcanic.”

Exchanging glances, the men clearly decided that they’d be better off doing as they were told. When they had dragged their companion away, Daltry turned to Graydon with a sigh. “You,” he said, “are getting to be an exhausting fellow to know. Here.” He pushed a dark garment at him. “You left your cape at Almack’s, along with your coach. I think tonight must be a record of some sort. You’ve managed to set London’s tongues wagging, send your coachman into a state of apoplexy wondering whether he should wait for you to return to Almack’s, and expose yourself to a deathly chill all in an hour’s time. Quite exceptional, even for you.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Graydon, setting the elegant cloak about his shoulders.

“Never seen you look so thunderstruck on a dance floor before,” Daltry continued pleasantly. “Was it the angel’s beauty that put you in such a state, or was it something she said?”