Читать книгу Every Night I'm Yours - Christie Kelley - Страница 10

As Avis dressed for her cousin’s ball, she continued to tell herself that everything she had designed was for the best. Emory Billingsworth was a gentleman and would not speak a word of their affair. As a writer and a friend, he would be a good choice to initiate her into the passions of the flesh.

As her maid placed the final pins in her hair, Avis reviewed her list of the benefits and disadvantages of her planned affair. Discovering the truth of what happens between a man and a woman—to satisfy her curiosity—was most definitely a benefit. Putting a stop to these persistent dreams, another plus.

Yet, being ostracized by Society wasn’t something she desired. And the thought of pregnancy terrified her. Since her friends had reminded her of the consequences, Avis had thought of little else.

She enjoyed meeting with her friends and attending the balls and the theater. But she was twenty-six-years old. She wanted, no needed, to discover what she was missing by remaining a spinster. The way her married friends giggled and whispered about their husbands when they thought no one could hear them had only increased her curiosity. Assuming she could find her courage to go through with the idea, she would spend only a night or two with the man anyway.

Once she had contained her inquisitiveness, they would end their time together and resume their platonic friendship. She had worked out every detail of their relationship from how she would ask him to how they would end as friends. Everything would work out perfectly.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine Emory Billingsworth kissing her. Unfortunately, the only image that came to mind looked nothing like Emory and far too much like Lord Selby.

She clenched her fists in her lap. Selby was a cur. She hated him. She most certainly did not want to kiss him…again.

“All done, ma’am,” her maid said with a satisfied smile.

Avis stood up and walked to the mirror. While not an “Incomparable,” tonight the woman reflected back at her appeared different, almost alluring. Highly unusual for her normally rather bookish self.

The lower than normal neckline on her new emerald gown might have something to do with her bold feelings. The dress gave her a sensual look, not something for which she normally strived. Her brown hair was piled into curls upon her head with long, spiral tendrils framing her face. There was a hint of confidence in her smile; hopefully, that same self-assurance would reach her mind, too.

With a nod of determined satisfaction, she departed for the ball. She would make the arrangements with Emory tonight. Everything was organized. She could sneak him into the house after dismissing her servants for the night. Then all she had to do was make sure he left via the back entrance before the servants awoke for their morning preparations.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of her former home. As the maroon and gold liveried footman opened the door, a familiar ache touched her soul. She did not miss the house, only her mother. She had been dead for ten years, yet the pain remained. Her heart wept for all the wrongs that had played out in that house, misdeeds a child couldn’t fix and a wife should never have to endure.

With a deep breath for courage, she walked up the steps. Bateman opened the door and smiled broadly at her.

“Miss Avis, welcome home,” he said as if this was still her home.

“Good evening, Bateman. Is everything ready?”

“Yes, miss.”

Avis walked up to the first floor and gave an approving nod. The ballroom was exactly as she and Celia had ordered. Long pink and white roses stood in crystal vases at every corner and near every entrance to the room, just as she’d requested. Glancing up at the ceiling, she was taken aback to notice the yellow silk draped across it like the blazing sun on a summer afternoon.

That girl knew nothing about decorating a room for a ball.

“Avis!”

She turned to see the new Lady Watton all but running to her. She remembered what her mother said about controlling her temper—breathe, count to ten. One, two, three, four, five—

“Why is the ceiling draped in yellow?” At least she’d made it to five.

“The room is perfect, isn’t it?” Celia twirled around as her jonquil dress flared out and her golden tresses spun with her. She looked like a golden canary in her elaborate birdcage.

“I thought we had agreed on the pale pink silk for the ceiling?”

Celia twisted her bow shaped mouth into a frown. “But pink wouldn’t go with my new gown.”

“That is true,” Avis said, resigned.

The sound of voices from the hall announced their first guests, saving her from a whimsical conversation about the importance of fashion matching the ball decorations.

“I must go and greet my guests,” Celia said with a slight giggle. She and Lord Watton took their positions at the entrance to the ballroom.

Avis watched the people arrive and greeted many of her acquaintances, but she searched for only one person. Finally she glanced back to the entrance relieved to see Emory assessing the room. His perfectly combed back, graying blonde hair drew attention to his broad forehead and brown eyes. He wore black form-fitting breeches and a well-padded emerald jacket that spread across his narrow shoulders like moss on a tree. The cravat he wore was tied in some new fashion. They would look splendid dancing together.

He scanned the room once more but did not seem to notice her.

She was determined to rectify that.

While she still had her courage, she strolled across the deserted dance floor, her gaze locked on her victim. Halfway to him, a large body bumped into her. The man caught her close to keep her from tumbling to the floor. She looked up into sparkling blue eyes and wanted to scream.

“Selby, you oaf! Don’t you ever look where you are going?”

“I must apologize, Miss Copley. I barely recognized you,” he said with a pointed look at the valley of her breasts exposed by her dress.

She yanked herself away from him. “You are a beast.”

“Hmm, probably so,” he said with a rakish grin.

Avis strode away from him, still looking for Emory, who had managed to disappear into the crowd. The musicians finished tuning and the dancing was set to begin. Avis moved off the dance floor, glaring over at Selby. He irritated her in so many ways she couldn’t begin to count them.

She finally located Emory in a crowd of men, which meant she wouldn’t get the chance to talk to him until later. Everything was fine. It was only a small change to her plan. She could talk to him later. Strolling out of the room, she headed down the hall to her father’s—no, Watton’s—study.

As she sat in the overlarge chair, memories of watching her father working here overwhelmed her. She glanced down at her arm and the faint jagged scar still visible after almost twenty years. Looking over at the raised hearth, she wondered if the servants had ever cleaned all the blood off the bricks. All she’d wanted was a hug from her father. Instead, she had this constant reminder that business had been more important to him than her love.

She shoved those dreadful thoughts away, picked up a piece of paper, and dipped the quill into the ink. After penning the note that would seal her future, she sanded it and waved the paper to dry.

It was done. She would give herself up to the passion she had inside of her and allay her curiosity. The only thing left to do was get the message to him before midnight.

After returning to the ballroom, she scanned the room for him. She found Emory only two feet from the man she wanted to ignore. While Emory didn’t appear to notice her stare, Selby naturally did. It seemed the wretch was spying on her tonight, though she had no idea why. Instead of dwelling on Selby any further, she waved a footman over.

“Yes, miss?”

“Bring this to the man by the terrace door,” she whispered, pointing toward Emory.

The man hesitated.

“Over there,” Avis said, again pointing to Emory.

“Ah, yes, miss.”

She couldn’t watch. Instead, she turned and walked toward Jennette knowing her plan was in motion.

Banning continued to make inane conversation with Billingsworth’s friends, wondering when Avis would try to contact the man again. He hoped he had forestalled her first attempt when he jostled her on the dance floor. Letting Billingsworth make a fool out of her…or worse was not an option. Banning would do everything in his power to make certain Avis didn’t give herself to that letch.

“I have great news to announce tonight at midnight,” Billingsworth said to his small crowd of admirers.

“About what?” one of the men asked.

“My latest novel. Walking with Emily is going to be a huge success.”

Banning smiled along with the rest of the group but wondered exactly how Billingsworth’s unpublished novel would be a success when he couldn’t find a publisher. Banning watched as a footman headed toward the group with a note on a silver salver. He’d seen Avis talking to the same footman and could only assume she meant the missive for Billingsworth. Banning moved slightly closer to him, ready to grab the note if necessary.

“Sir, I believe this is for you,” the footman said to Billingsworth.

“Actually, if the note is from Miss Copley, it would be for me,” Banning said with all the arrogance an earl could possess.

The footman turned toward Banning with a bow. “My mistake, my lord.”

“Are you certain, Selby? Perhaps the lady had an assignation with me in mind,” Billingsworth said with a coarse laugh.

The men in the group chortled, except Trey and Somerton who both gave Banning curious looks.

He slipped the paper into his jacket pocket. “It is a note regarding some business I am supposed to have with her cousin, Lord Watton.”

“Of course. The Ice Maiden wouldn’t have anything to do with assignations when she can keep herself warm with her words,” Billingsworth said, raising chuckles from his toadies.

The urge to strangle the man forced Banning’s hands into fists. How could the bastard talk so poorly about her when he greedily took her money and pretended to be her friend? And Banning hated how people called her the Ice Maiden, especially since he’d coined the term for her. But that had happened a very long time ago.

He moved away from Billingsworth’s group, found a secluded corner and opened the note.

Meet me in the study at midnight…A

He would certainly do just that. He crumpled the paper back into his pocket and checked the time—quarter past eleven.

“Lord Selby, have you forgotten our dance?” the tinny voice of Miss Olivia Roebuck sounded from behind him.

The woman would not leave him alone. She had been after him the entire Season. Banning turned and faced the young woman. Her blonde hair styled into a halo of curls, and her big blue eyes looked angelic, but he knew better. Several times in the past few months, she had tried to get him into a compromising position. He only agreed to dance with her tonight because the girl’s mother pressed him into it.

“Of course, Miss Roebuck. I believe this is our quadrille.”

“There is a waltz coming up next if you would prefer to wait?”

“No,” he said a bit too roughly. “I would love to dance with you now.” And be done with it.

He only prayed the quadrille wouldn’t last too long. He had to keep his unexpected appointment with Avis.

Miss Roebuck droned on about some new on-dit as they walked to the dance floor, but Banning kept his eyes on his prey. Avis stood in the corner with his sister, talking about something, and he doubted it was the latest gossip.

As soon as the dance ended, Banning returned the pouting girl to her mother and searched for a corner to pass the next few moments. His gaze landed on Avis as she stood across the room. She leveled him a glare before averting her eyes to the dance floor. He loved the way her cheeks turned rosy when he stared at her. As the minutes passed, he wondered what he would say to her. Some measure of the truth, but just how much? He’d never told anyone what he’d seen Billingsworth do to those girls all those years ago.

Miss Reynard had suggested lying to Avis, and it might just come to that. He skirted the crush on the dance floor and reached the hallway just in time to see the door to the study close behind her. Standing outside the room, he stared at the door.

A rush of apprehension overwhelmed him. He suddenly felt as though he could be making the biggest mistake of his life. But he had to stop her. He’d failed the others. He would not fail Avis.

Forcing the unease away, he slipped inside.

Avis turned at the sound. Her mouth dropped open, and her amber eyes widened in surprise or shock, he wasn’t sure which.

“Wh—What are you doing here?” she sputtered.

Banning smiled. “Were you expecting someone else?”

He hadn’t thought her eyes could get any bigger, but they did. She backed herself against the large, cherry desk.

“You must leave—now!” she exclaimed, pointing to the door.

“I cannot do that, Avis.”

“Selby, get out of here!”

Slowly he advanced on her until he stood only inches away. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession emphasizing her full breasts, which she seldom exposed to this degree.

“I’m expecting someone,” she cried. “You must leave before he arrives.”

A loud cheer from the ballroom turned both their heads toward the door.

“He won’t be coming.”

“Who?” she whispered, looking up at him.

“Emory Billingsworth.”