The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

For his own part, Miles knew that if he succeeded in some day making Jemima his mistress, he’d never feel an inclination to be with another.

Would he marry? Not if it meant betraying the woman he loved. To his surprise, a spasm of extraordinary loneliness swept through him as he realised the depth of his longing and the tenuousness of his claim on her.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be at the ball anymore.

He’d failed to orchestrate another meeting, another dance with Jemima, and only the wilting debutantes lined up against the wall were on offer.

He sought out Lady Griffith, offered his regrets and his excuses, and headed towards the double doors the butler was holding open for him.

On the threshold he turned. Jemima was in company with Miss Galloway who seemed reluctant to leave the food table. A few feet away stood Lord Deveril in company with his wife and Lady Griffith. Jemima’s back was facing them but Lord Deveril seemed willing her to turn. He had the look of a man only half attending to his wife’s chatter while his attention was focussed on other matters.

In this case the golden haired young woman in the gold net dress.

The raw desire in Deveril’s expression must equate with the frustrated longing Miles felt.

He was about to

turn and resume his exit when Jemima rose suddenly and cast a glance in his direction. The flare of recognition and the blush that swept up from her bosom was observable even at this distance though she quickly composed herself.

So, she did harbour feelings for Miles that went beyond the cultivated attempts of a woman like herself to have another interested protector waiting in the wings.

Such transparency was a window into her heart; into her true feelings.

And it gave him hope.

Perhaps there was some future with Miss Modaunt after all.

Chapter 15

In such a crowded ballroom, Jemima had managed to keep her distance from Lord Griffith, though she’d briefly been introduced to their hosts on Lord Daniel’s arm amidst a crowd and with the larger, showier Miss Galloway blocking their view of Jemima.

The clock had just chimed eleven when Jemima glanced over Miss Galloway’s shoulder and noticed Lord Griffith standing alone for the moment in the center of the room, looking in their direction. There was nothing in his expression to suggest he had either noticed her or that he regarded her with suspicion, but the possibility of attracting his attention made her drop her head slightly, so it was obscured by her ostrich feathers before she turned her back on him.

Her heart raced into her throat, and for a moment she feared she was about to be ill. This man had ordered the murder of her father, whether or not he had instructed such brutality. He would have no compunction in seeing Jemima dead, considering that’s what everyone thought, anyway.

She forced herself to resist the temptation of seeking out Lord Ruthcot, who a few minutes ago had stood only feet away; though why she thought he should be able to help her made no sense. The only one who could help her was herself. And that could only happen when she could slip away and find the Blue Room.

Just as well, she decided a moment later, that Lord Ruthcot was nowhere to be found. If Deveril watched her too closely, she might inadvertently reveal something of her feelings about his rival in such an unguarded moment. Increasingly she was worried about Deveril’s propensity toward robust action, even brutality, if his jealousy should be aroused.

Lord Griffith remained by a Roman plinth near the doorway slowly scanning the room, and Jemima bent her head as she whispered to Miss Galloway, “I think the time has come to retire while we are still unobserved. Come with me, and I’ll take you to the Gold Room. That’s where you’re expected.”

Miss Galloway looked disappointed, but fortunately she didn’t object. Jemima had seen her receive a somewhat fierce set-down when she’d tried to speak to Lord Daniel earlier.

Of course, they should offer thanks to their hostess, but Jemima couldn’t possibly do that. Best to pretend they were slipping away to the conveniences and to withdraw without a word.

Out in the passage, Miss Galloway was voluble in her astonishment at the event they’d just left. “Lord, I ain’t never seen ham so thin or that tasted so good.”

Jemima felt sorry that Lord Daniel treated her so poorly compared with Lord Deveril whose generosity towards Jemima had known no bounds.

But he’d never let her go willingly; she knew that.

She was shaking by the time she deposited Miss Galloway in the Gold Room and headed along the corridor to her own. She would have to swap the gown she was wearing for the plain, dark traveling dress she’d packed. Her slippers she would change for kid boots, and she’d hide her golden hair beneath a simply trimmed poke bonnet. To all the world, she intended to appear like a respectable governess, traveling alone to her new appointment. Just as she had been a year ago.

As she made her way through the house, she thought of Deveril, dancing with his wife in the ballroom. Was he holding Lady Elizabeth in his arms while dreaming of joining Jemima for this night of passion? Did he ever dream of his wife? Did he love her?

Jemima turned another corner. At the end of this corridor she would turn left, and then her chamber would be the first on the right. She must change swiftly in case Deveril excused himself early. His brief grip had been possessive when he’d encountered her on the balcony for a few seconds. Jemima had been terrified his wife would come upon them when he’d pressed his hot mouth to her ear and muttered, “Keep the bed warm, dearest. I promise you’ll not sleep a wink all night.”

No, she probably wouldn’t for she’d be in a carriage before sailing across the ocean. She hoped she would meet a suitable traveling companion who would lend her the necessary anonymity or gravitas for such an undertaking. She was too young and noticeable to travel alone, she knew that, but other than muting her bright hair and burrowing into drab clothes, there wasn’t much she could do.