When Hugo finally lifted his head, it was to see the stars reflected in her eyes. He smiled lazily down at her. “Now you have to admit that’s more fun than waltzing.”
Arabella could think of nothing to say.
“No quips?” he prompted.
She blushed slightly. “We should be getting back.” She tried to ease herself from his embrace but his arms moved not at all.
Still smiling in that sleepy way, he shook his head. “Not yet. That was just the waltz. We’ve supper togo yet.” His lips lightly brushed hers. “And I’m ravenously hungry.”
Despite the situation, Arabella nearly giggled at the boyish tone. But she became much more serious when his lips returned fully to hers, driving her into far deeper waters than she had ever sailed before.
But he was experienced enough correctly to gauge her limits, to stop just short and retreat, until they were sane again. Later, both more serious than was their wont, they returned separately to the ballroom.
———
Despite her strategies, Arabella was seen as she slipped from the ballroom. Max, returning from the card-room where he had been idly passing his time until he could, with reasonable excuse, gravitate to the side of his eldest ward, saw the bright chestnut curls dip through the doorway and for an instant had thought that Caroline was deserting him. But his sharp ears had almost immediately caught the husky tone of her laughter from a knot of gentlemen nearby and he realised it must have been Arabella, most like Caroline in colouring, whom he had seen.
But he had more serious problems on his mind than whether Arabella had torn her flounce. His pursuit of the luscious Miss Twinning, or, rather, the difficulties which now lay in his path to her, were a matter for concern. The odd fact that he actually bothered to dance with his eldest ward had already been noted. As there were more than a few ladies among the ton who could give a fairly accurate description of his preferences in women, the fact that Miss Twinning’s endowments brought her very close to his ideal had doubtless not been missed. However, he cared very little for the opinions of others and foresaw no real problem in placating the ton after the deed was done. What was troubling him was the unexpected behaviour of the two principals in the affair, Miss Twinning and himself.
With respect to his prey, he had miscalculated on two counts. Firstly, he had imagined it would take a concerted effort to seduce a twenty-five-year-old woman who had lived until recently a very retired life. Instead, from the first, she had responded so freely that he had almost lost his head. He was too experienced not to know that it would take very little of his persuasion to convince her to overthrow the tenets of her class and come to him. It irritated him beyond measure that the knowledge, far from spurring him on to take immediate advantage of her vulnerability, had made him pause and consider, in a most disturbing way, just what he was about. His other mistake had been in thinking that, with his intensive knowledge of the ways of the ton, he would have no difficulty in using his position as her guardian to create opportunities to be alone with Caroline. Despite—or was it because of?—her susceptibility towards him, she seemed able to avoid his planned tete-a-tetes with ease and, with the exception of a few occasions associated with some concern over one or other of her sisters, had singularly failed to give him the opportunities he sought. And seducing a woman whose mind was filled with worry over one of her sisters was a task he had discovered to be beyond him.
He had, of course, revised his original concept of what role Caroline was to play in his life. However, he was fast coming to the conclusion that he would have to in some way settle her sisters’ affairs before either he or Caroline would have time to pursue their own destinies. But life, he was fast learning, was not all that simple. In the circumstances, the ton would expect Miss Twinning’s betrothal to be announced before that of her sisters. And he was well aware he had no intention of giving his permission for any gentleman to pay his addresses to Miss Twinning. As he had made no move to clarify for her the impression of his intentions he had originally given her, he did not delude himself that she might not accept some man like Willoughby, simply to remove herself from the temptation of her guardian. Yet if he told her she was not his ward, she would undoubtedly be even more vigilant with respect to himself and, in all probability, even more successful in eluding him.
There was, of course, a simple solution. But he had a perverse dislike of behaving as society dictated. Consequently, he had formed no immediate intention of informing Caroline of his change of plans. There was a challenge, he felt, in attempting to handle their relationship his way. Darcy had pushed too hard and too fast and, consequently, had fallen at the last fence. He, on the other hand, had no intention of rushing things. Timing was everything in such a delicate matter as seduction.
The congestion of male forms about his eldest ward brought a slight frown to his face. But the musicians obligingly placed bow to string, allowing him to extricate her from their midst and sweep her on to the floor.
He glanced down into her grey-green eyes and saw his own pleasure in dancing with her reflected there.
His arm tightened slightly and her attention focused. “I do hope your sisters are behaving themselves?”
Caroline returned his weary question with a smile. “Assuming your friends are doing likewise, I doubt there’ll be a problem.”
Max raised his brows. So she knew at least a little of what had happened. After negotiating a difficult turn to avoid old Major Brumidge and his similarly ancient partner, he jettisoned the idea of trying tolearn more of Sarah’s thoughts in favour of spiking a more specific gun. “Incidently, apropos of your sisters’ and your own fell intent, what do you wish me to say to the numerous beaux who seem poised to troop up the steps of Delmere House?”
He watched her consternation grow as she grappled with the sticky question. He saw no reason to tell her that, on his wards’ behalf, he had already turned down a number of offers, none of which could be considered remotely suitable. He doubted they were even aware of the interest of the gentlemen involved.
Caroline, meanwhile, was considering her options. If she was unwise enough to tell him to permit any acceptable gentlemen to address them, they could shortly be bored to distraction with the task of convincing said gentlemen that their feelings were not reciprocated. On the other hand, giving Max Rotherbridge a free hand to choose their husbands seemed equally unwise. She temporized. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to let you know if we anticipated receiving an offer from any particular gentleman that we would wish to seriously consider.”
Max would have applauded if his hands had not been so agreeably occupied. “A most sensible suggestion, my ward. Tell me, how long does it take to pin up a flounce?”
Caroline blinked at this startling question.
“The reason I ask,” said Max as they glided to a halt, “is that Arabella deserted the room some minutes before the music started and, as far as I can see, has yet to return.”
A frown appeared in Caroline’s fine eyes but, in deference to the eyes of others, she kept her face free of care and her voice light. “Can you see if Lord Denbigh is in the room?”
Max did not need to look. “Not since I entered it.” After a pause, he asked, “Is she seriously pursuingthat line? If so, I fear she’ll all too soon reach point non plus.”
Caroline followed his lead as he offered her his arm and calmly strolled towards the supper-room. A slight smile curled her lips as, in the increasing crowd, she leaned closer to him to answer. “With Arabella, it’s hard to tell. She seems so obvious, with her flirting. But that’s really all superficial. In reality, she’s rather reticent about such things.”
Max smiled in reply. Her words merely confirmed his own reading of Arabella. But his knowledge of the relationship between Caroline and her sisters prompted him to add, “Nevertheless, you’d be well-advised to sound her out on that score. Hugo Denbigh, when all is said and done, is every bit as dangerous as…” He paused to capture her eyes with his own before, smiling in a devilish way, he continued, “I am.”
Conscious of the eyes upon them, Caroline strove to maintain her composure. “How very…reassuring, to be sure,” she managed.
The smile on Max’s face broadened. They had reached the entrance of the supper-room and he paused in the doorway to scan the emptying ballroom. “If she hasn’t returned in ten minutes, we’ll have to go looking. But come, sweet ward, the lobster patties await.”
With a flourish, Max led her to a small table where they were joined, much to his delight, by Mr. Willoughby and a plain young lady, a Miss Spence. Mr. Willoughby’s transparent intention of engaging the delightful Miss Twinning in close converse, ignoring the undemanding Miss Spence and Miss Twinning’s guardian, proved to be rather more complicated than Mr. Willoughby, for one, had imagined. Under the subtle hand of His Grace of Twyford, Mr. Willoughby found himself the centre of a general discussion on philosophy. Caroline listened in ill-concealed delight as Max blocked every move poor Mr. Willoughby made to polarise the conversation. It became apparent that her guardian understood only too well Mr. Willoughby’s state and she found herself caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief. In the end, relief won the day.