She held his gaze, then glanced at Barnaby, before looking back at him. “If any gentleman should ask, you’ll be one of the first to know.” Turning, she started up the steps.
Releasing her hand, Gerrard followed, not at all sure how to interpret that. At face value? Or because, by then, she would be his?
13
It’s one thing to have won over those who know me well,” Jacqueline whispered to Gerrard as, her hand on his arm, they followed her father and Millicent up the front steps of Trewarren Hall. Dragging in a tight breath, she resisted the urge to clamp a gloved hand to her fluttering stomach and plastered a delighted smile on her lips. “Wider society is liable to be another matter entirely.”
“Nonsense.” He smiled at her. “Stop worrying. Just act as you feel you should.” His gaze lingered on hers, then he murmured, “Listen to your heart.”
Difficult when it was thudding. She drew in another breath, aware when his attention shifted to her breasts; she felt warmed by the fleeting touch of his gaze, oddly reassured.
She didn’t need to ask if he would stay by her side; she knew he would. She didn’t need to wonder if his attention would cause comment; in this setting, that was a given. Her mind was racing faster than a bolting pair; she felt starved of breath, yet exhilarated and excitedly expectant.
No wonder her head was spinning.
As they joined the receiving line, she tried not to dwell on the moment in the drawing room when Gerrard had entered in full evening dress. Barnaby had followed him in, but she hadn’t even noticed him for some time. Gerrard in black and crisp white, with a silk waistcoat in subtle swirls of amber and brown, had captured her senses to the exclusion of all else.
The sharp contrast of the black and white emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the lean, hard lines of his long frame and the austere, patriarchal planes of his face. The harnessed power she’d so often glimpsed in him was tonight on full show, the intensity that was an inherent part of him blatant and unrestrained. Sexuality shimmered, an invisible cloak about him; she could almost taste the raw power and his aggressive brand of passion.
Eleanor was going to swallow her tongue.
They’d never competed for the attention of any gentleman; she wasn’t sure they’d be competing over Gerrard, yet Eleanor’s attempt to monopolize him earlier that day had raised the unwelcome specter in her mind, one factor contributing to the manic frenzy of butterflies swarming in her stomach.
The man beside her-not the gentleman, but the man-was another.
She wasn’t sure of him, either, not now she’d seen him in his true colors. Not now she was standing beside him, her gloved hand on his black sleeve, so very aware of his physical presence-and so very aware of her own.
Since the bronze sheath had been made, she’d gained several inches. One at least in height, which left the hem flirting about her ankles in a decidedly provocative fashion. That was the least of her worries. She’d also gained about her hips and breasts, of all places; if she drew in a large breath too quickly, she might be in serious trouble.
As she infused her smile with even greater brightness and curtsied to Lady Trewarren, she made a mental note to locate the withdrawing room before any disaster could occur, so she would know where to run when it did.
Rising from her curtsy, she saw an arrested look in Lady Trewarren’s eyes, and only just suppressed the urge to glance down and check, but her ladyship’s gaze rose smoothly to her face; her eyes lit with real warmth. They touched fingers and cheeks, then Gerrard led her on in Millicent’s wake.
As predicted, her father’s presence instantly created a stir; guests peered over heads and peeked around others to confirm that yes, Tregonning was there, in the flesh. She was grateful for the distraction he provided.
She was about to glance around when she met Gerrard’s gaze, and realized he’d been watching her.
He leaned closer. “Relax.” His hand closed over hers on his sleeve, a warm and reassuring clasp. “You look superb.” His gaze lazily, and quite brazenly, drifted lower, over her breasts, and down. His lips quirked; fleetingly his eyes met hers again, then he looked ahead. “So nice to be proved right. That color is delectable on you.”
She refused to let herself finish the thought; she had distractions enough as it was.
Gerrard knew his role; it was imperative Jacqueline didn’t focus on the whispers, on how people viewed her. Didn’t retreat. Her self-protective shields gave credence to the whispers, hiding what she truly was-a young lady patently incapable of murder.
He was there to distract her; he knew how to do it.
They moved into the throng filling the ballroom. Leaving directly challenging the whispers to Lord Tregonning and Millicent, supported by Barnaby and his deduced facts, they parted from the others; Lord Tregonning and Millicent went one way, Barnaby another. Gerrard turned his attention to keeping Jacqueline absorbed in the whirl of a major ball.
Lady Trewarren had handed all the unmarried young ladies dance cards; the old custom was useful in ensuring, as her ladyship had put it, “No disputes for me to settle.”
“I’ll take the first waltz,” he murmured. “If you’d be so kind.”
She glanced up, met his eyes, then inclined her head. “If you wish.” Catching the tiny pencil attached to the card, she duly inscribed his name on the appropriate line.
“And the supper waltz, too.”
She cast him a glance, but wrote that down, too.
“Jacqueline!” Giles Trewarren appeared out of the crowd. His face was alight with good cheer, and definite approval. “Excellent! I’ve caught you in time. I’d be honored if you would grant me the first country dance.”
In less than a minute, they were surrounded by the unmarried gentlemen of the district, all eager to have their names on her card. Gerrard stood beside her, amused by the surprise he glimpsed in her eyes-she truly had no idea of the effect she, gowned as she was, had on impressionable males.
On less impressionable ones, too.
A certain possessiveness had crept into his manner; he knew it. He said little, but monitored the conversation, ready to step in and redirect it if need be. He didn’t want anyone mentioning Thomas or her mother, and sobering her. Her eyes were alight; she was blossoming, just as he’d known she could.
Matthew Brisenden came up. He cast a dark glance Gerrard’s way, but to Jacqueline his behavior was gentlemanly and deferential; inwardly Gerrard acknowledged it always was. The lad-he had difficulty thinking of Matthew as a peer-continued to act as if he’d elected himself Jacqueline’s champion.
Gerrard quashed the impulse to point out, forcefully, that the position was already filled.
“My dear Miss Tregonning.” A gentleman some years older than Gerrard, well built but tending portly, shouldered through the growing crowd to bow flourishingly before Jacqueline. “You outshine the moon tonight, my dear. Dare I hope to claim the supper waltz?”
Jacqueline smiled and gave the man her hand. Gerrard detected no change in her manner, but to his eyes, the fellow was an aging Romeo.
“Sir Vincent, I would indeed have been delighted, but I fear Mr. Debbington was before you.”
Gerrard recognized the name and was instantly alert. This was the gentleman Millicent had said had his eye on Jacqueline.
Jacqueline glanced at him, then at Sir Vincent. “I don’t believe you’ve met. May I introduce you?”
She did. Sir Vincent Perry eyed him measuringly, but returned his bow. “Debbington.” Sir Vincent turned back to Jacqueline. “Then perhaps you would honor me with the dance after supper, Miss Tregonning?”
Consulting her card, she nodded and wrote in Sir Vincent’s name. “Indeed, sir-the honor will be mine.”
Other gentlemen came and went, joining their circle, securing a dance with Jacqueline, then moving on to meet with other young ladies, but Sir Vincent remained. Jacqueline responded readily to his sallies, but treated him as she did all the others; she did nothing to encourage him.
