Beguiled by Her Betrayer

Chapter Twenty

He intended it to be light-hearted, she could tell, and that was good because it meant he did not have the slightest suspicion that she could accept no other man, feeling as she did about him. With the realisation that she had been unjust to resent his secrecy had come the even more painful understanding that she could love him without reserve. I wish I could hate you, I really do. It would be so much easier if she did not ache for him, yearn for him.

‘Perhaps I will. Whether there is one who can tolerate me is another matter.’ Cleo smiled to show it was a joke and her cheeks felt stiff and unyielding. ‘Was that your Lady Caroline in the first dance of the set?’ She managed not to wince as she said it.

‘She isn’t mine. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.’

‘But she would be perfect, I am sure. And she seems to like you.’ This was like driving pins under her own fingernails. What was she doing? But perhaps it was best to be sure, to kill stone-dead any lingering, weakening hope. Hope that was entirely without foundation. After all, Quin did not even desire her enough to make love to her when she had begged him. ‘She is very lovely and assured. And you said the connection to her family could only be advantageous.’

‘Yes,’ Quin agreed, frowning at his champagne as if it had gone flat. ‘She has been her father’s hostess for the last year, now her mother’s health does not permit her to entertain much, and her languages are very competent. I heard her talking to a number of diplomats at a reception last year.’

‘You had better fix your interest with her before someone else snaps her up. I am amazed she is still unspoken for.’

‘Her mother’s illness took her out of society for a while or I suspect she would have been. As you say, I must begin my campaign. I have a set of dances reserved with her later this evening, which means I should call with flowers in any case. That will save me encountering her father accidentally on purpose and starting things off that way.’

‘Excellent,’ Cleo said and managed what she thought was an entirely creditable smile.

‘Miss Woodward?’

She looked up into the face of the man who had taken the next set, the man she had been trying not to think about all evening.

‘Dryton,’ Quin said with a smile that she recognised as one of his diplomatic expressions. Did he not like the earl either?

‘Lord Dryton,’ Cleo said, injecting as much warmth into her voice as possible.

‘I am sorry to disturb your conversation, Miss Woodward, but the orchestra is reassembling and I believe I have the pleasure of the next set.’

‘Of course.’ She gathered up her fan and reticule. ‘Thank you so much for a delightful supper, Lord Quintus.’

Quin rose as good manners dictated, but she had the odd feeling that he was squaring up to the other man. ‘It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Woodward. I will surrender you to Lord Dryton’s...safe hands.’

Was that a hint, a warning that Dryton was not safe, or simply some male sparring? Cleo put her hand on her partner’s proffered arm and left the supper room without looking back.

* * *

The evening wore on, the room became hotter, more crowded, the dancers less inhibited, even the chaperons became more relaxed. Cleo’s feet ached, her head was spinning, but she kept smiling somehow. ‘Here is Lord Quintus for his second set,’ her aunt remarked complacently. ‘You are doing very well so far, Cleo. Your grandfather is pleased, I believe.’

‘Thank you, Aunt.’ She looked up to see Quin was almost at her side. ‘Lord Quintus.’

‘Miss Woodward.’ He bowed to her aunt, took Cleo’s hand and led her on to the floor, through the crowd of couples forming up into sets, and across to the far side by the windows. ‘You seem a trifle flushed, Cleo. Would you prefer to sit this dance out? I can fetch you a glass of lemonade to that alcove by the open casement there.’

‘Thank you. Yes, I...I am finding this a trifle overwhelming. But is that not an indiscreet thing to do?’

‘A separate room or the terrace certainly would be.’ He guided her through a screen of ferns and palms to a bench seat. The breeze whispered through, cool and smelling of grass. ‘But here we are in full view, if only in glimpses through the greenery. It is quite unexceptional. One moment and I will fetch the drinks.’

He returned with two glasses of lemonade and they sat for a while, turning the condensation-dewed glasses in their hands, letting the fresh air blow away the mingled odours of too many hot, scented bodies.

‘I have not forgiven you, you understand,’ she said abruptly. It was as though the words were the continuation of a conversation. ‘You took me to him because you were ordered to and because you wanted his patronage. You sold me.’