Sapphire’s pulse raced and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She leaned against the wall for a moment and watched the stylishly dressed guests come and go. There were at least two hundred guests socializing in the two parlors to the right of the front hall and the large drawing room on the left that seemed to have been cleared of furniture for dancing. She was overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds: the glittering jewels hanging from slender necks and earlobes, the stiff white cravats gentleman wore around their necks, the hushed voices, the lively strum of instruments as the musicians struck up a lovely dance.
Sapphire watched as couples moved opposite one another, advancing and retreating, locking arms and then separating to weave their way among the other dancers. She tapped her kidskin slipper beneath her gown, remembering how Armand and her mother had hosted parties at Orchid Manor. They had danced half the night in the tropical garden where Armand had built a platform for such occasions. How her mother had loved dances…. When Sapphire closed her eyes, she could almost hear Sophie’s laughter, see Armand draw an arm around her and whisper in her ear. She remembered dancing with Maurice, as well, and the feel of his arms around her…
“You would care to dance? Excellent.”
Sapphire’s eyes flew open as a man closed his hand over hers and pulled her into the drawing room to join the other dancers. Before she could open her mouth to speak, Blake Thixton released her, pushing her onto the dance floor in the direction of the other ladies as they and their partners separated. Sapphire realized she knew the steps from lessons in Martinique; it seemed as if her mother had spent her whole life preparing her for this introduction to London society. The dance was a variation of the Roger de Coverley and she took her place across from Thixton, staring at him.
She forced a smile, advanced, retired and curtsied to his bow. The moment they joined hands to begin the figure, he spoke harshly beneath his breath. “I thought I warned you not to come here again.”
To the many men and women who lined the walls of the drawing room to observe, or to the other dancers, it must have appeared that Sapphire and Thixton were conversing pleasantly as they danced. She would certainly not be the first one to disclose otherwise.
“I must speak with you,” she said, loathing the fact that he was holding her so tightly when he rested his hand on her waist. Loathing the fact that her eyes kept straying to his mouth, that strange waves of heat washed over her each time he spoke.
“Let me guess—you must see me so that you can tell me more about how you are Wessex’s daughter and what the estate owes you.”
“Yes.” The dancers parted and he released her. “I mean no,” she said in his ear, and then sailed away.
It was a full minute before they were joined again, and as they danced he watched Sapphire with impenetrable brown eyes. It was something near to hatred she felt for those eyes at this moment. “I don’t want money,” she said under her breath. “I want to be acknowledged. I want my mother, who was Lord Wessex’s legal wife, to be acknowledged.”
He spun her around, proving to be a superb dancer. “Surely you jest.”
She was forced to move away from him to remain in step with the music, but the moment he took her hand again, she met his gaze with determination. “I assure you, sir, I do not jest.”
The dance came to end and all the dancers bowed, curtsied and clapped.
“I want you to go now,” Thixton said, his disdain for her obvious in his voice as he looped her arm through his and escorted her off the dance floor. “Go now or you will find that it is I who does not jest.” In the hall, he released her. “As I told you before, there are laws against fortune hunters like you, and the constable will be more than happy to take you to prison where you belong.”
“Fortune hunter! Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but I—”
Thixton turned and strode down the hall and entered a room, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, Sapphire stood there seething, her gloved hands pressed to her sides as she tried to catch her breath. Another dance had begun and the sound of the orchestra seemed to swirl around her in the twinkling candlelight.
Her gaze shifted to the door where Thixton had gone. There were no guests in the hall. It was completely inappropriate for an unmarried woman to follow a man into a room without a proper chaperone, but without considering the consequences, she hurried down the hall, drew back her hand and rapped hard on the door.
When she got no response, she knocked even harder. “Mr. Thixton, I’m not through with you!”
The door jerked open and Thixton looked down on her. “Did you not hear what I said?” He knew she was trouble, had known it a week ago when she’d shown up on his doorstep trying to see what she could squeeze from the stone of his inheritance. And she was even more beautiful tonight—her rich auburn hair glossier, her eyes even more beguiling and her mouth—it took his breath away. The curve of her sensuous lips made him hard at once, made him want to take her there in the doorway the same way he had taken the sad Mrs. Williams that night on the balcony. But something told him she would not be such an easy conquest and certainly not as easy to forget.
“Sir, it is you who are apparently hard of hearing!”
“Get in here.”
He pulled her into the room and closed the door behind them.
They were in a dark-paneled, masculine-style room dominated by a large billiards table. A billiards room that smelled of tobacco, leather and him.
Taking a step back, Sapphire rested her hand on the edge of the walnut table. “You have to listen to me.”
“I have to do no such thing.”
He strode toward her and she realized then that he had removed his coat. The white shirt beneath his black waistcoat was impeccably pressed, as was the cravat at his neck. He wore his clothing well.
She took another step back, confused by the ridiculous thoughts that were popping into her head. “Yes, you do have to listen to me. I was—am Lord Edward Thixton’s legitimate daughter and—”
“Wait a minute.” He pointed his finger at her, still walking straight toward her. “Were you sent here by that cousin? What is his name?” He snapped his fingers, the side of his mouth turning up in a half smile. “Charles,” he said. “Charles something. He said he knew the best ladies of the evening.”
His hand snaked out, and before she could get out of his way, he grabbed her wrist again. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Why this game, hmm?” He pulled her close to him, gazing down at her with an incredibly smug smile. “You do clean up nice, I’ll give you that. A prettier whore I don’t believe I’ve ever seen.”