The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

An exquisitely embroidered reticule and a wrap that was like a whisper of silk completed the ensemble. But all Jemima noticed was that the counterpane was red, and the walls papered in a gold and crimson.

“The walls are very…bright. I had hoped we might have a…room with calming blue walls,” she whispered and he, clearly thinking it an odd remark and that she clearly hadn’t quite regained her senses, put his hand gently on her back and said slowly, “There is a Blue Room and I’d have requested it if I hadn’t heard Lady Griffith instruct Lord Ruthcot’s manservant to put his master’s things there. This, I am sure, is far more sumptuous. A fitting place to spend the hours of midnight to six together and then, my dear, the wager is won.”

He smiled, and she shook her head. “What of your poor wife?”

“What of her? She’s a delightful little thing, don’t you think? She’ll never know, and no one will tell her for that’s the way these matters work. I wouldn’t dream of hurting her for the world, but I wouldn’t give you up, Jemima dearest—no, not for the world.”

He began untying her cloak, unbuttoning her gown, slipping off her petticoat, until she stood in just her chemise and stays. He lowered himself to his knees and slowly, gently, removed her shoes, contouring her foot, kissing the bridge; his eyes closed in rapture as she looked dispassionately down at him.

He frowned slightly before appearing to changing his tone to one of reassurance. “You are my angel, and I will never let you go for I am obsessed. I could never live without you.”

There was no time for lovemaking. That was a small relief. Jemima let him dress her in her new gown, her thoughts on a d

istant plane. He took great care with her lacing, buttoning, smoothing; as if she were the most exquisite, rare and precious of all his artifacts. Meanwhile, she dreamed of the Rosetta Stone, and wondered if the three texts would supply the translation she needed for the clay tablet that—she prayed—still lay on the bottom of the urn in the Blue Room.

So Lord Ruthcot occupied that room. If she wanted to be gone before midnight, reclaiming the stone tablet should be easy. She’d simply tell Lord Ruthcot there was something at the bottom of the Grecian vase upon the plinth by the bookshelf, and could he do her the courtesy of slipping it to her on the dance floor for it was small enough to hide in her reticule. She would promise to explain, later.

But no, how could she? He would ask questions or say something publicly. It was too dangerous and she couldn’t jeopardize what she was so close to gaining on her own. She couldn’t afford to be beholden to anyone, least of all a dangerous man who had feelings for her. Once he knew the meaning behind her mission, he would insist on helping her, and she knew what men were like. They wanted to control what they fancied.

And Jemima had had enough of being controlled by a man, regardless of what she felt for him.

Chapter 14

Of course, she turned heads on the dance floor, for all that she tried to hide among her surroundings.

The ballroom of Griffith House had been dusted, polished, and decorated so that it resembled a great Oriental Caravan. The household’s eldest daughter, Miss Serena Griffith, was coming out this year, and tonight’s ball was to help accustom her to society. Until a month before, she’d still been in the schoolroom.

Jemima noticed that Miss Griffith and Lady Deveril greeted one another with unusual warmth, and was informed by Miss Galloway that the pair had been schoolmates together at a smart seminary in Kensington. Jemima began to wonder what Miss Galloway didn’t know.

However, the challenge now was to get Miss Galloway to keep her lips buttoned. Deveril had exhorted Jemima to ensure that the young woman’s overall presentation was seemly enough not to cause unwanted attention.

“And what of my gown?” Jemima had asked.

“You don’t like it?” He’d looked hurt.

“It is exquisite, and will have every head in the ballroom turned to me as you lead me in a waltz—including that of your poor wife.”

Deveril reddened, but said with a measure of control that was clearly difficult, “First of all, I won’t waltz with you tonight, Jemima. I shall keep my hands to myself where you’re concerned until we meet back in this bedchamber at midnight. Second, Lady Elizabeth is not “poor” by any measure of the word. She is heaped high with praise, love and attention from me, and has never uttered a word of complaint. And why not? Because, between the two of you, I am the happiest and most complete of men, and such a man will always be a good husband and a good lover.”

“But my gown,” Jemima whispered miserably. “It is too beautiful for me.”

She looked up as Deveril drew her to him and tilted her chin upwards. “Nothing is too beautiful or too good for you, Jemima, my truest love. Just think of tonight as an escapade, and nothing more than a silly wager that can have no ill consequences as long as you simply pretend to be someone else—Daniel’s country cousin.”

Resigned, Jemima kept herself hidden as best she could in the corner of the ballroom, near the supper table where a large potted palm helped shield her with its greenery.

She tried to keep Miss Galloway occupied, too, but the young lady was overawed, and it showed all too noticeably. Finally, Jemima was able to induce her onto the balcony for her to cool her heated cheeks, and so she could stop her exclaiming, “Lor’ did you see that bracelet? Reckon it must ‘ave set back her fella more ‘n a pretty penny.”

She was never more pleased than to see Lord Ruthcot when he appeared. He couldn’t have approached her alone and unaccompanied, she supposedly being an unworldly cousin of Lord Daniel’s, but with Miss Galloway by her side, the conventions were preserved.

As Miss Galloway simpered, dropping a curtsy for his lordship, Jemima exhorted in a whisper, “Please keep Miss Galloway occupied to prevent her drawing undue attention to either of us. I can’t imagine what possessed me to think coming here was a good idea, though I do thank you for humoring me to arrange it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Selfish motives entirely. I did it so I could see you again. Would you do me the honor of this next dance?”

Jemima nodded reluctantly, though on condition, she told him, that he devote the rest of the evening to Miss Galloway.

Overhearing this, Miss Galloway protested on a hiccup she didn’t try to mute. Instead, she giggled, saying, “An’ who were that ‘andsome valet of yours wot I saw attending you this evenin’, m’lord. Very nice eyes, he had, indeed he did.”

Lord Ruthcot laughed. “My late brother’s servant has, in fact, caught up with me only this evening. I spoke to him just before the ball and he’s agreed to serve me. I’ll happily introduce you to John if you’d like to leave the festivities now.”