To his eyes, the matter was plain. There was, he was now sure, no rational motive behind her wish to remain unwed. Instead, it appeared that his bride-to-be had been allowed to go her independent way for too long. Independence was all very well but in a woman, in their world, there were limits. She had reached them and now looked set on overstepping them. She needed a strong hand to guide her back to acceptable paths. And, as her father and brothers had proved too weak to carry out that charge, it clearly fell to him to accomplish the task.
Abruptly standing, his expression hard and unyielding, Jason stalked back towards the house.
If he was going to dance to society’s tune, it would damned well be with Lenore Lester in his arms.
CHAPTER FIVE
NO ONE, Lenore was determined, would know that anything was amiss. She entered the drawing-room that evening, a serene smile on her lips, her calm and gracious façade firmly in place. Beneath that mask, dread anticipation walked her nerves. A quick glance about the room confirmed the signal of her senses: Eversleigh was not there. A flicker of relief fed a hope that, perhaps, he had already taken his leave. Lenore squashed the thought. Eversleigh had not accepted her refusal. He would come at her again, nothing was more certain.
Laughing and chatting with the guests occupied no more than half her mind. The rest was a seething cauldron, feeding her tensions, tying her stomach in knots. In the end it was almost a relief to see him enter, just ahead of Smithers. His eyes scanned the room, fixing on her. Lenore stopped breathing. Calmly, he crossed the room, pausing by her side, elegantly offering his arm with a bland, “Miss Lester.”
With a cool nod, Lenore placed her hand on his sleeve, subduing by main force the tremor in her fingers. She kept her head high but her lids lowered, unwilling to risk his gaze. As they started for the door, she glanced briefly at his face. No expression lightened his harsh features; the granite planes of cheek and brow gave no hint of any emotion. Nevertheless, that single glance assured her that His Grace of Eversleigh was dangerously intent.
A shiver of apprehension ran through her. She suppressed it, steeling herself for the ordeal she was sure dinner would prove to be.
Beside her, Jason felt the tremor that ran through her. Consciously he tightened his grip on his temper, tried further than it had been in years by the woman gliding elegantly by his side. Despite her peculiar gowns, this evening’s a creation in dun-coloured silk, she possessed the power to sway his senses simply by walking beside him. His inclination was to engage her in the most pointedly difficult conversation of her life. He resisted the temptation, knowing she was on edge. His forbearance, entirely out of character, amazed him but he shied away from examining his motives. Time enough for that once he had got her agreement to wed.
Throughout the first course, Lenore was both subdued and unusually nervous as she waited for the axe to fall. Eversleigh, seated on her right, was too large a figure to ignore. But when, in the general conversation, he allowed a comment on marriage to pass untouched, she risked a puzzled glance at him. His eyes met hers. His face was still impassive; Lenore inwardly quaked. Then he asked her a question. Hesitantly, aware of the ears about them, she forced herself to answer. Before she knew what was happening, they were having a conversation of sorts, he asking innocuous questions, she responding. The exchange was stilted, Lenore could not conquer her trepidation, but, to the company at large, all appeared normal.
Lenore led the way from the drawing-room, grateful for the respite even if it was temporary. Eversleigh, for whatever reason, had held off throughout dinner. She held no illusions that he would allow the entire evening to lapse without speaking to her again. Luckily, the consensus had called for a repeat of the dancing held earlier in the week. Thanks to Eversleigh, she would be too busy to spare more than a dance for him. And she had her own plans for surviving that ordeal.
The gentlemen wasted no time over their port. They joined the ladies just as the musicians started up. As Lenore had foreseen, she was promptly solicited for the first dance, this time by Lord Percy.
“Must congratulate you, Miss Lester,” his lordship stated, barely able to turn his chin past his collars and the folds of his enormous cravat. “This week’s been a great success. A formidable success, yes, indeed!”
Lenore murmured an acknowledgement, her senses focused on Eversleigh. He had entered at the rear of the gentlemen, accompanying Harry. As Harry moved away to claim a partner, Eversleigh paused by the side of the room, scanning the dancers.
Abruptly, Lenore gave her attention to her partner, plastering a bright smile on her lips. “Did you enjoy the folly, my lord?”
“Oh, yes!” gushed Lord Percy. “Such dramatic views. Do you paint landscapes, Miss Lester? Very partial to a sensitive landscape, y’know.”
“I’m afraid watercolours are not my forte, my lord.”
“But you sing, Miss Lester. I was quite moved by your piece with Eversleigh t’other night. Utterly captivating, y’know. I was really much affected.”
Lord Percy moved on to describe other duets he had been privileged to hear. Lenore allowed him to ramble on, an attentive expression on her face, her mind elsewhere.
To her surprise, Jack claimed her for the next dance, a country reel which, Lenore recalled, he himself had taught her.
“Well, Lennie? How goes things, m’dear? Everything as calm and peaceful as I told you it would be?”
Lenore returned his smile. “I’ll admit that there’ve been no real difficulties, but I would not go so far as to credit either Harry or you with having made any contribution to my peace.”
Jack waved his hand airily. “You mean Tuesday evening. A miscalculation, my dear. Eversleigh set me straight.”
“Eversleigh?”
“Mmm. Devilish knowing, is Eversleigh. Well, he was right.” A wave indicated the crowd about them. “Had better sport today than we’ve had all week.”
Understanding that the activity her brother was referring to had nothing to do with competitive games, Lenore was not clear on the connection to Eversleigh but decided to leave well enough alone. “Do you see much of Eversleigh in town?”
“Some.” Jack twirled her about. “Top of the trees, is His Grace. Spars with the Gentleman himself, is a darling of Manton’s, an out-and-outer of the highest degree.”
“Oh?”
“Gracious, Lennie. You may hide in the country but you ain’t blind, m’dear. You’ve been sitting next to the man for five days.”
“Well, yes,” Lenore admitted. “But such things are not entirely obvious, you know.” Nevertheless, her memory promptly conjured up the sensation of Eversleigh’s arm about her when they had waltzed, of the strength of the muscles beneath his sleeve. She had noticed, certainly, but, used to the vigorous males of her family, she had found nothing remarkable in the fact. Eversleigh was simply slightly taller, his shoulders slightly broader, his chest slightly wider, his muscles slightly harder, his strength that much more compelling.