Читать книгу Sins and Scandals Collection - Nicola Cornick - Страница 35

“WHAT IS LORD GRANT LIKE?” Mrs. Lottie Cummings, ton hostess extraordinaire, scandalous matron and one of Lady Joanna Ware’s dearest friends, ignored the guests piling into her reception rooms in favor of quizzing her friend on the shocking news of her affaire. “You know I have only ever heard tell of him, Jo darling, and have not even seen a portrait.”

“Well,” Joanna said, “he is tall.”

“So is my aunt Dorothea.” Lottie gave an impatient wiggle. “Dearest, you are going to have to do better than that.”

He is not really my lover … Why on earth had she let this go on for as long as it had? Why not simply say: “We are not lovers. It is all a hum …”

Joanna was not sure. Anger at Alex’s high-handed behavior, and what she acknowledged was a rather childish pettiness because he disapproved of her and disliked her, had made her want to punish him. It was a foolish game of tit for tat and unworthy of her. The trouble was that if she denied the liaison now it would cause almost as much of a sensation as the original announcement. Such were the rather superficial obsessions of society. And a deeper, more disturbing truth was that she actually liked the idea of Alex Grant as her lover, liked it all too well as she imagined what it might be like to take him to her bed, to feel his hands on her body, to give herself to him with all the abandoned desire she had never actually felt for a man before. She had loved David passionately when they had wed, but the intensity of her infatuation had never been matched by physical desire. When David had touched her she had felt vaguely anticipatory, as though something more exciting should be happening. Unfortunately it never did. And then the relationship had turned so hideously sour that she had never wanted David to touch her ever again.

In recent years-in most years, actually-her marriage bed had resembled the snowy wastes of the Arctic, pristine, empty and untouched, and having lost her illusions about David Ware, that was exactly how she had wanted it. She had been horribly lonely through the years of her marriage, a wife and yet no true wife, but even when David had died she had not trusted any man sufficiently to allow him close. And Alex Grant could not be that man. He was not for her. David had poisoned him against her, she was sure, and most importantly he was cut from the same cloth as David, an adventurer, an explorer, a man who would forsake his home and his family, and walk out into the unknown, leaving everything that should have been most precious and valuable to him behind.

“Well?” Lottie prompted impatiently.

“He is dark,” Jo said.

Lottie sighed. “Again, my aunt Dorothea can give him a run for his money on that.” She threw up her hands. “Darling … you know I lead such a boring life! A little more vicarious excitement, if you please.”

“That’s the best I can do, Lottie,” Joanna said. “Lord Grant and I are not really lovers. The gossip is not true.”

Lottie was looking at her pityingly. “Jo, darling, you don’t have to explain or excuse yourself to me. Nobody blames you for taking a lover! Why, it is an age since David died. And I hear that lovely Lord Grant is very, very luscious. Is it true—” Lottie’s dark eyes sparkled suddenly “—that he has the most fearsome scars on his chest from wrestling a polar bear?”

“I have no notion,” Joanna said. “Why would anyone want to wrestle a bear? It sounds highly dangerous.” She remembered the slight limp that characterized Alex’s gait. She had a vague memory that David had mentioned that Alex had been badly injured on some expedition some years before. Unlike her late husband, however, he did not seem inclined to make capital out of it.

“Lottie,” she repeated, “you aren’t listening to me. Lord Grant and I are no more than acquaintances and pray don’t talk like this-you are shocking Merryn.” She looked at her younger sister, who had been sitting quietly by whilst Lottie chattered. Merryn was as restrained as Lottie was loud, her serenity an antidote to Mrs. Cummings’s staggeringly indiscreet personality. Merryn had the habit of silence, a habit she had fostered throughout their uncle’s long and difficult last illness. It was bad luck for the youngest, unmarried daughter, Joanna thought, that convention dictated that nursing duties always fell to them. Sometimes she felt just a little guilty at having left Merryn to cope with their uncle alone. She had escaped the stultifying atmosphere of the vicarage years before and had never returned. As far as she knew, neither had their middle sister, Tess. Merryn was the one who had borne the brunt of the Reverend Dixon’s choleric nature.

“Don’t mind me,” Merryn said, her pansy-blue eyes lighting with amusement. “Oh, and I think that the polar bear story was an invention, Lottie.”

Lottie was pouting. “Well, if Jo has not seen Lord Grant’s chest, we cannot know for sure, can we? Do you make love in the dark, Jo darling? You are even more prim and proper than I had imagined!”

“I am exceptionally straitlaced,” Joanna agreed truthfully. “Lottie, I know I may seem flighty, but it is all show and no substance.”

Lottie opened her dark eyes very wide. “Oh, I know that, darling! All the gentlemen say you have a heart of ice! So clever of you to be so beautiful and heartless and unobtainable, for it keeps them panting after you!”

“I don’t do it to encourage them,” Joanna said a little uncomfortably, for Lottie’s words held an undercurrent of envy as well as being close to the truth. “It is simply that I do not trust men very much.”

“Oh, well, darling—” Lottie planted a consoling hand on her arm “—neither do I, but what is that to the purpose? I seduce them and cast them aside and that keeps me happy.”

Joanna wondered if it was true. She knew the conquest bit was-Lottie’s discreet affaires were well-known in ton circles, but whether her infidelities made her happy or not, Joanna had never been able to tell. They both lived in a world of mirrors where artifice and superficiality were highly prized and depth and sincerity mocked to scorn. Lottie never ever broached serious subjects with her and after ten years in the ton Joanna never confided in anyone either, having discovered early on that secrets were not respected. What was meant for private discussion quickly became the on dit.

“Well, if you wish to set your cap for Lord Grant, pray do not worry about cutting me out,” she said now. “I am not having an affaire with him.” She sighed. “And I cannot believe that you invited him this evening, Lottie, nor laid on this rather extravagant display in his honor.”

When she had arrived at Lottie’s rout and discovered that Alex Grant was promised for the evening, she had been appalled and incredulous. That Alex, with his apparent contempt for the adulation of society, should be such a hypocrite as to accept this ball in his honor had disappointed Joanna in some obscure way, reinforcing as it did that he was just another self-aggrandizing adventurer after all. And there could be no mistake. Lottie had said he had sent a message to confirm his attendance and as a result the dining room was decorated with huge ice sculptures, one of which was a life-size model of a man wielding an icy sword in one hand and the British flag in the other, clearly meant to represent Alex himself as he conquered yet another swath of virgin territory. There were also drapes of white satin sheathing the staircase to imitate a frozen waterfall and green and red lanterns hung from the ballroom ceiling to emulate the northern lights. The highlight of the entire display was a rather moth-eaten stuffed polar bear standing in the corner of the entrance hall and glaring balefully at all the guests as they arrived. It was all gloriously vulgar, but somehow it worked because Lottie had such brazen style.

“Is it not marvelous?” Lottie beamed. “I excel myself.”

“You certainly do,” Joanna murmured.

“And you are dressed the part, too,” Lottie added, casting an approving glance over Joanna’s white satin evening gown and diamonds. “How inspired! I adore you in the color, Jo darling! The other ladies will all be dressing as debutantes now you have set the fashion!”

“I do not think,” Merryn said unexpectedly, “that all this show will be quite to Lord Grant’s taste, Lottie. He is reputed to be somewhat reserved.”

“Nonsense.” Lottie beamed. “He will adore it.”

“Well, if he does not I am sure he will be too polite to say so,” Merryn said. “I hear he is the very epitome of chivalry.”

“You seem to know a great deal about him,” Joanna teased gently as her sister blushed. “Who can have been singing Lord Grant’s praises to you?”

“No one,” Merryn said, blushing harder. “I have been reading of his exploits, that is all. Mr. Gable has been writing about him in the Courier. He is quite the returning hero. Apparently he turned down an invitation to dine from the Prince Regent, which only made people more determined to secure his attendance at their events. He is the toast of all the clubs.”

Joanna had shuddered at the word hero. “I cannot see what there is to celebrate in a failed attempt to find the Northern Pole. As I understand it, David and Lord Grant set out to discover a northeast trade route via the Pole, failed to do so, became trapped in the ice, David died and Lord Grant sailed home.” She raised her hands heavenward in a gesture of exasperation. “Hardly a cause for celebration. Or am I missing some essential fact here?”

Lottie tapped her wrist disapprovingly with her fan. “Do not be so harsh, Joanna darling. It is all about excitement and danger and the adventure of exploration! Lord Grant is the very essence of the noble hero, silent, solitary and fiendishly attractive, just like David.”

“David,” Joanna said dryly, “was hardly silent and solitary.”

Lottie fidgeted, avoiding her eyes. “I suppose David was rather more forthcoming—”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Joanna said even more dryly.

Lottie grabbed a glass of champagne and drained it in one gulp. “Jo darling, you know I am sorry that I let him seduce me, but he was such a hero that it seemed impolite to refuse!” She fixed Joanna with her big, dark eyes. “And it was not as though you cared!”

“No,” Joanna said, turning her face away, “I did not care whom David seduced.”

There had been so many women. In the months following David’s death she had received visits from any number of them claiming to be her late husband’s mistress, including two former servants, three publicans’ daughters and one girl who worked in the milliner’s where Joanna had habitually bought her hats. She had wondered why David had seemed so keen to accompany her shopping when he had last returned to London. And considering that he was barely in the country most of the time, he had a most remarkable record of debauchery. That he had been able to conduct an affaire with Lottie and that she and Lottie were still friends was, Joanna thought bitterly, a reflection on the emptiness of her marriage and the shallowness of her friendships.

She caught Merryn watching her and gave her sister a reassuring smile. Merryn had lived so sheltered a life in the Oxfordshire countryside. Joanna had no wish to shock her sister.

“Anyway, we were speaking of delicious Lord Grant, not of your dead, dissolute husband,” Lottie said with her usual insensitivity. She seemed impervious to the atmosphere. “Does he kiss nicely, Jo darling? My advice would be to jilt him if he does not. It is appalling to be slobbered over by a man who does not understand how to kiss. Trust me, I should know.”

Merryn started to laugh and Joanna’s distress eased a little. At the very least, Lottie could always be relied upon to lighten the mood with some outrageous comment or exploit. Joanna spared a moment’s sympathy for the luckless Mr. Cummings, a banker rich beyond the dreams of avarice whose sole purpose in life appeared to be to fund Lottie’s lifestyle and be henpecked for his troubles.

“I am not going to talk about that,” she said. For a moment the frenetic buzz of the ballroom disappeared and she was back in her library, held in Alex Grant’s arms, and he was kissing her with explicit demand, and the warmth unfurled through her body and her toes curled within her evening slippers.

Lottie gave a little crow of pleasure. “Look at her face! He must kiss beautifully!”

“How gratifying to know that if I am to be jilted it will not be for my lack of expertise,” an amused male voice drawled from beside Joanna. “Your servant-in that as in everything-Lady Joanna.” His glance slid over the white satin evening gown. “How very charming and virginal you look tonight.”

Joanna jumped and spun around on her rout chair. Alex Grant was standing looking down at her, his dark eyes glittering. It was difficult to see how she could have missed his arrival, since an admiring throng of guests were pushing and jostling to claim his attention. The noise in the room was rising and there was a buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd like a breeze through corn. Joanna had seen it before with the eager crowds who had flocked to greet David as a conquering hero, had seen, too, the way in which David had lapped up that attention. Once again she felt a shiver of memory and the coldness seep into her bones.

Behind Alex was a very handsome young man, as fair as Alex was dark, who was watching her with a bright and inquisitive appraisal. Joanna smiled at him and he looked gratified and blushed rather endearingly. Joanna looked at Alex, who did not blush and looked even more sardonic. Joanna had the feeling that it would take a great deal to put him out of countenance.

“So, are we still lovers?” Alex asked softly as he bent over Joanna’s hand. His breath stirred the tendrils of curls about her ear, sending goose bumps skittering over her skin. She looked up into his eyes. He had eyelashes a woman would kill for, she thought, thick and dark. Nature could be very unfair. And he had eyes that she could see now were very dark gray rather than brown, but so smoky that they were unreadable.

She realized that she was staring-and that he was smiling, one eyebrow raised in quizzical challenge.

“As much as we ever were,” she said tartly. “Which is to say not at all.”

“A pity,” Alex said. “I have seldom had so little physical pleasure from an affair.”

“Well, if you would rather be in the Haymarket than Curzon Street, pray do not let us detain you,” Joanna snapped. Really, this man was beyond provocative.

Lottie gave an agonized squawk at the thought that her guest of honor might turn on his heel and leave. “No, indeed, Lord Grant will find my rout a great deal more fun than a bordello. I guarantee it!”

Joanna caught Merryn’s eye. Merryn giggled.

“May I introduce my cousin Mr. James Devlin,” Alex said, drawing forward the tall young man. “He is a great admirer of yours, Lady Joanna.”

Introductions were exchanged. James Devlin bowed to Joanna and then to Merryn. He looked suitably dazzled, though Joanna suspected he had practiced that look quite a bit on impressionable debutantes. Merryn, she was happy to see, remained composed and seemed unimpressed, though a tiny telltale blush suggested that her sister was not indifferent to Mr. Devlin’s admiration. Joanna felt a huge rush of relief and pleasure, followed by an equally strong pang of anxiety. She knew that she was protective of Merryn-as the eldest of three girls she had mothered the others, a state of affairs that had been almost inevitable given her parents’ indifference to their offspring. She did hope that now Merryn had emerged from their uncle’s sickroom she might have the chance to form an attachment to a nice young man. But could James Devlin be described as nice? Probably not. He looked far too dangerous to be let loose on innocent young ladies.

Alex, meanwhile, was being extremely courteous to Lottie, thanking her for hosting such an elegant event. Despite her dislike of him, Joanna was intrigued to see how easily, how seductively, he could charm.

“You do me too much honor, Mrs. Cummings,” he said.

“I told her the same,” Joanna said sweetly. “As you hate being lionized for your fame, my lord, I am sure you must detest all this fuss.”

James Devlin smothered a laugh. “Lady Joanna has you there, Alex.”

“I am sure that I can cope with it,” Alex drawled, “since Lady Joanna is here to ensure that I do not become too conceited.”

“Oh, but your reluctance simply makes you more desirable, Lord Grant,” Lottie gushed. “Every lady here would love to melt that icy aloofness of yours and set your world alight!”

Joanna stifled an unladylike snort of laughter. “Pray speak only for yourself, Lottie,” she said. “I have no desire to start a conflagration, though your ice sculptures may prove useful in putting out the blaze.”

“Ice sculptures?” Alex said, slanting a look down at her.

“Yes, indeed,” Joanna said. “If you have not already seen them, my lord, I suggest that you look at once. You will particularly admire the rendition of yourself laying waste the unresisting acres of the Arctic and planting your flag in truly phallic fashion!”

Lottie glared at her and stroked her fan suggestively down the sleeve of Alex’s immaculate evening coat. “Perhaps you may settle a small matter for me, my lord?” she purred. “Is it true that you wrestled a polar bear and have the scars to prove it? Joanna absolutely refuses to tell me!”

“Because I have no notion,” Joanna said, “and less interest.”

Alex gave her another quizzical look. It brought the blood burning hotly into her face, which was exceptionally annoying since the last time she had blushed had probably been when she was about twelve years old.

“You disappoint me, Lady Joanna,” he said.

“I am aware of that,” Joanna said. “You have made your disapproval of me quite plain.”

“Oh, please,” Lottie fluttered, “do show us. Are they as impressive as Lord Nelson’s wounds were? I hear that he, too, encountered a bear in the Arctic wastes.”

“Madam—” Alex flicked Lottie’s fan firmly away as the feathers tickled his wrist “—I fear I would need to know you a great deal more intimately before I strip off in your ballroom, or indeed any other room.”

He turned to Joanna and offered his hand. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Lady Joanna? I seldom dance, but I imagine I might manage the cotillion.”

“Flattered as I am that you are prepared to try for me,” Joanna said, smiling demurely, “I fear we cannot dance if you wish to join me in discouraging rumors of our affaire, my lord. Alas, my card is full anyway.”

“Then discard it and start afresh,” Alex said. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Don’t you ever say please, my lord?” Joanna asked, stung by his high-handedness. “It may be that I would have a greater desire to converse with you if you exercised a little courtesy.”

Something wicked kindled in Alex’s eyes, making Joanna catch her breath. “If you please,” Alex murmured. “You see, Lady Joanna, that sometimes I will beg-if there is something I want enough.”

Their gazes locked for a long moment. A smile crept into Alex’s eyes. Joanna felt as though the ground was shifting slightly under her feet. But she was getting the measure of this man now and his ability to discomfit her. She allowed a cool little smile to tilt her lips in return.

“Unlike you, my lord,” she said, turning to James Devlin, “your cousin had the foresight to send me a note this afternoon requesting the first dance with me.” She got to her feet and offered her hand to James. “Mr. Devlin, I should be delighted. That is—” she hesitated “—if you will be happy sitting out on your own, Merryn?”

“I shall go and chat to Miss Drayton,” her sister said. “Don’t worry about me.”

The look of chagrin on Alex’s face as he realized that he had been outwitted was rewarding, Joanna thought. Dev shot him a look that was half rueful, half triumphant. “You are always impressing on me that planning is half the battle, Alex,” he said. “Those are your own tactics.”

“Outmaneuvered, my lord!” Lottie declared. “You will have to dance with me instead. Mr. Cummings will be delighted-once he has opened the ball with me he never dances again but retires to his study to look at those tiresome piles of money.” She stood up and held out a hand imperiously to Alex and after a moment he took it. Joanna’s stomach gave a little lurch. Lottie, it seemed, was indeed intent on seduction, for she was already sliding her hand through Alex’s arm in a most intimate way and looking up at him with a predatory, catlike gleam in her eyes. And really, Joanna thought, it was contrary of her to be cross when not only was she not Alex’s mistress but she had practically told Lottie to seduce him anyway.

The eager press of guests in Lottie’s reception rooms fell back a little to allow them through the archway into the ballroom. All about her, Joanna was aware of the feverish whisper and hiss of conversation, the sycophantic smiles of the ladies as they fluttered to attract Alex’s attention, the hearty greetings of the men, the whole of society angling for his attention and notice.

“I say, ma’am,” Devlin said, walking beside her, “is this not extraordinary? Who would have thought that Alex, of all people, would be so in demand! It is like escorting royalty!”

“I think Lord Grant is probably more popular than the Prince Regent,” Joanna said dryly. “Society is very fickle, Mr. Devlin, and very bored. We are always looking for the next sensation and at the moment that is your cousin. Explorers are all the rage. No doubt this time next year the fashion will be for Chinese wallpaper or Scottish breeds of dog.”

“Alex is hardly comparable to a dog, ma’am,” Dev protested, though with a smile. “And he is the quarry of all the matchmaking mamas, of course.”

“Is he?” Joanna felt a strange dropping feeling in her stomach. “I had no notion that Lord Grant was seeking a bride.”

“Oh, I do not think he wants a wife,” Dev said candidly, “but Balvenie currently has no heir.”

“I see. Of course.” Joanna felt the cold gnawing inside her. David, too, had wanted a son. “Yes,” she said. “Most men want an heir.”

Even though she sought to keep her tone level there must have been some note in it that caught Dev’s attention for he gave her a quick, puzzled look. She smiled at him blandly and saw his brow clear. Oh, it was so easy to pretend …

It had taken them so long to fight their way through the crowds that the cotillion was already over and the orchestra, seeing them approach, swung into a lively rendition of Thomas Arne’s march from Britannia in Alex’s honor. Glancing at him, Joanna saw that his face was absolutely impassive. Lottie was clinging to his arm and beaming with reflected glory and the entire ballroom broke into spontaneous applause.

“It would be more appropriate,” Joanna whispered to Dev, “to have played Mr. Arne’s ‘Much Ado about Nothing.’”

Alex gave her an unreadable look and Joanna realized that he had heard her. Dev was looking from one to the other with a puzzled expression on his handsome face.

“I say, you really do not like one another very much, do you, Lady Joanna? When Alex told me that you were not really … um … intimate I thought that he was merely … um—” He broke off in confusion, sounding all at once a great deal less sophisticated than his appearance suggested.

“I fear I am prejudiced against explorers, Mr. Devlin,” Joanna said, taking pity on him, “having been married to one.”

“Oh, but surely David was the most admirable of men,” Dev said, his face lighting up. “He was a hero of mine when I was only a small boy.”

“I fear,” Joanna said, “that heroes can be uncomfortable men to live with.” She saw his look of blank astonishment and added bitterly, “It can be so hard to live up to the expectation.”

The triumphal march finished on a flourish, the applause rang out again and Alex bowed acknowledgment to the crowd before Lottie positively dragged him into the next set that was forming for a country-dance.

“I hope that Alex will forgive me cutting him out,” Dev said as he and Joanna moved through the opening figures. “I was surprised he asked you to dance, ma’am. A combination of an old wound and lack of inclination usually keeps him from the floor.”

Joanna had been surprised as well. Whilst Alex’s injured leg did not seem to hinder him unduly, she could not imagine that a half-hour country-dance would be comfortable for him. She had observed from the grim set of his mouth when Lottie had questioned him on his polar bear injuries that this was another issue he did not discuss. Like the subject of his popularity as an explorer and the death of his wife, it was not up for debate, and there was something most stern and quelling about Alex Grant when he decided a topic was not open for discussion. Joanna doubted that many people gainsaid him. He was too authoritative and too intimidating.

“Alex only accepted Mrs. Cummings’s invitation tonight as a favor to me,” Dev was saying. “He is nowhere near as unhelpful as he can seem, you know, ma’am.”

“I will take your word for it, Mr. Devlin,” Joanna said, smiling. “And as I am sure that your cousin is indifferent to whom I dance with, so you are in no imminent danger of his calling you out.”

“Well, I hope not,” Dev said. “He did warn me off you earlier, though.” He gave her a look of frank admiration. “Can’t say I blame him, ma’am.”

“Your cousin is presumptuous,” Joanna snapped. She shot a furious look at Alex across the floor. Since it seemed extremely unlikely that David had made Alex promise to protect her in some touching deathbed scene-she was sure that the reverse must be true-she could only assume that Alex had warned his young cousin away because he thought her dangerous to Devlin’s virtue. For a moment she watched Alex dancing with Lottie. Mrs. Cummings was turning a respectable country-dance into something a great deal more tactile. She was all over Alex like ivy, Joanna thought, feeling for those polar bear scars herself. As she saw Alex pry Lottie’s fingers away from his shirtfront, she decided Lottie’s persistent attentions were the least penance that he deserved.

“In your note to me this afternoon you mentioned a favor, Mr. Devlin,” she said, turning back to Dev. “How can I help you? Though if it is anything to do with your cousin, I should warn you that I have absolutely no influence with him at all.”

“Know what you mean, ma’am,” Dev said gloomily. “Alex knows his own mind too well to welcome other counsel.”

“You mean that he is arrogant,” Joanna said.

Dev winced. “Well, that could be one word for it, I suppose. Truth is, I am in bad odor with him at the moment for abandoning my navy commission to take part in an expedition to Mexico.” He looked at her appealingly. “I wondered if you might speak with him, ma’am, and smooth matters over for me?”

“I could try,” Joanna said, “but it would only make things worse for you, Mr. Devlin. I am afraid that when it comes to incurring your cousin’s disapproval, I am streets ahead of you.”

The figure of the dance took them past the corner where Merryn was sitting chatting to Miss Drayton. Joanna saw that Devlin was watching her sister.

“Lady Merryn does not dance?” he said when they came back together again.

“My sister prefers more intellectual pursuits,” Joanna said, smiling. Merryn was a bluestocking who was unconventional enough to make no secret of her preference for intelligent debate over dancing. It did, however, limit her circle of friends and many people in the ton, Lottie included, thought her a complete original because of her lack of interest in frivolity.

She realized that Dev was watching her with a surprisingly perceptive gaze. “A pity,” he said. “Because I am sure she would be a graceful dancer. But I admire a woman who is different.”

“If you can discuss naval architecture with her then you will win her approval,” Joanna said lightly. The music drew to a close and she and Dev joined in the smattering of applause from the dancers. “She has been attending the lectures at the Royal Institution with some of her friends.”

“Indeed?” Dev said. There was a frown between his brows. “I attended the talk last week, the one about a new design for the American frigates. I must have seen Lady Merryn at the meeting although—” he hesitated “—I thought that I had glimpsed her in quite a different place.”

“Then it seems you have an interest in common,” Joanna said, smiling. She put a hand on Dev’s arm. “A word of advice, though, Mr. Devlin. Merryn has lived in the country for most of her life and is unused to the ways of the ton. I would be sorry to see her … disappointed in any way.”

Again she saw a slight frown mar Dev’s brow and saw, too, an expression in his eyes that she could not understand, but then his face cleared and he put his hand over hers and gave her gloved fingers a comforting squeeze.

“Have no fear, ma’am. I don’t trifle with young ladies.” He paused. “Well, honesty compels me to admit that I do, but I swear I shall do nothing to upset you with regard to your sister.”

“Devlin.” Jo turned to see that Alex had shaken off Lottie Cummings, whom Joanna was surprised to see dancing with John Hagan, and was prowling across the floor toward them, for once ignoring the handshakes and acclaim of those trying to gain his attention. His gaze was on their clasped hands and it seemed to Joanna that Dev released her more slowly, and more provocatively, than was strictly necessary.

“Alex,” Dev said, a grin curling his mouth. “Have you come to cut in on us?”

“Mr. Cummings,” Alex said, his gaze riveted on Joanna’s face, “wishes to discuss your Mexican expedition plan with you, Dev, so you had better unhand Lady Joanna and join him in the drawing room.”

Dev’s face lit up. “Did you put in a word for me, Alex? I say, you are the most splendid chap! Your servant, Lady Joanna.” He sketched Joanna a bow. “Please excuse me.”

“Of course,” Joanna said, smiling. “Good luck.”

“May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Joanna?” Alex asked. He was quite definitely not smiling. “Such energetic flirtation as you have indulged in with my cousin must lead you to require some refreshment, I think.”

Joanna shot him a look of dislike. “We were merely dancing, my lord.”

Alex arched a brow. “Is that what you call it?”

“I heard that you had warned Mr. Devlin to keep away from me,” Joanna said as they passed through the door into the dining room, where Lottie’s ice sculptures were wilting in the heat from the candles. “Being of a charitable disposition I assumed that it was because my late husband had asked you to take a brotherly interest in my welfare and you wished to protect me from young rakes.”

Alex laughed. “You could not be more mistaken, Lady Joanna. Your husband intimated to me that you were well able to take care of yourself and I am inclined to believe him.”

Joanna felt a stab of sensation that felt curiously like misery. So David had made her sound like a brass-faced bitch and Alex had believed him. Of course he had. Why would he not? Everyone believed David Ware to be the most complete hero, and Alex had been David’s closest friend. She gave herself a little shake. What had she expected? David was never going to sing her praises; they had been estranged for years, locked in mutual loathing. How could it be otherwise when David had felt that she had failed him in the only thing he had required of her? Within five years of their marriage they had quarreled violently, terminally, and after that they had barely spoken to one another again.

Joanna drew a deep breath to compose herself. David was dead and it should not matter now. Yet Alex Grant’s poor opinion of her seemed to count for more than it ought.

She stopped dead next to the life-size ice model of Alex himself. “Indeed?” she said scathingly. “It ill becomes you to step in at this eleventh hour to protect your cousin from some imaginary danger, Lord Grant. You have left him to fend for himself in the past, have you not, and his sister, too, so I hear, whilst you traipse about the globe in search of glory—”

Alex’s gloved hand closed about her wrist tightly enough to make her gasp and break off. The look in his eyes was feral though he kept his tone soft. “Is this your attempt to jilt me in full public view?” he asked. There was an edge of steel to his voice. “I confess I had hoped for something more original than a list of all the ways in which I had failed my family.”

“Do not be so hasty,” Joanna said. She held his gaze with hers. “You will not be disappointed by your dismissal, I assure you.” She shook him off, rubbing her wrist where he had held her. His grip had not hurt, but there had been something in his touch and in his eyes, something primitive and fierce, that had shaken her. The tone of their encounter had shifted in the space of a second from enmity sheathed in courtesy to all-out antagonism. Joanna could see that in the heat of the moment she had invested in Alex all the faults she had detested in David, and perhaps that was unfair, but she was in no mood to be generous. He had not extended any generosity to her, after all. He had disliked her from the start.

“You may rest easy for your cousin’s virtue,” she said. “I am not interested in callow youths, whatever you may think.” She looked him up and down. “Nor in adventurers, for that matter, however romantic and mysterious others may find them.” She squared her shoulders. “Lord Grant, I do not know what my husband said about me to make you have such an aversion to me, but I do not care for either your disapproval or your judgmental attitudes.”

“David never spoke of you to me,” Alex said. “Other than just before he died.”

Joanna was gripping her fan so tightly between her gloved hands now that she heard the struts creak. She could see a most indiscreet crowd of guests jostling in the doorway of the room, eager to witness the scene playing out between Lady Joanna and her supposed lover.

“Well,” she said sarcastically, “if David was on his deathbed then whatever he said must be true.”

“Perhaps,” Alex said. His mouth was set in a thin, angry line. “You may tell me if it was true or not. David told me never to trust you, Lady Joanna. He said that you were deceitful and manipulative. Can you tell me what you had done to incur such hatred from your husband?”

Their eyes met and locked and Joanna could feel the burn all the way through her body. Alex’s gaze was narrowed on her face with dark intensity and suddenly she hated him, too, for believing her faithless, feckless husband, for taking David’s word without question, for damning her unheard. She wanted to explain to him; she wanted it with a passion that shocked her, that stole her breath and made her heart ache-but she knew she could not confide in Alex Grant, a man who was practically a stranger. “Trust no one” was her maxim when it came to the ton and she had held true to it ever since the day, as a new bride, she had walked into Madame Ermine’s gown shop in Bond Street and had heard two women discussing her intimate affairs in exquisite scandalous detail. It was from that gossip she had first learned of David’s infidelity. As a result, she trusted no one with her secrets, especially not her late husband’s closest friend, colleague and ally.

“You assume that I am the one who was in the wrong,” she said bitterly, now. “I am sorry you believe that.”

She saw a hint of doubt in Alex’s eyes; or at least she thought that she did. It was faint and fleeting like a shadow that came and went in the blink of an eye. Then he shook his head slightly.

“That is not good enough, Lady Joanna.”

Joanna’s temper snapped. She had been estranged from David for five long years before he had died and had nursed her grief silently through every one of them. This man was trying to force it out into the light of day and in doing so was destroying all the layers she had built up to protect herself.

“Well, Lord Grant,” she said, “it will have to do. I owe you nothing, and nothing I could say would change your opinion of me anyway, so I shall save my breath.” She squared her shoulders. “I recall that you wanted me to end our supposed liaison. Let me oblige you and then we need not see one another again.”

She turned to the ice sculpture and broke off the sword in the man’s hand. The ice gave a very satisfying crack as the sword came free. Mrs. Cummings’s guests caught their collective breath on a gasp.

Joanna snapped the sword sharply in two and handed Alex the pieces.

“That is what I think of explorers and their amatory abilities,” she said clearly so that the entire company could hear her. “It is to be hoped that you can navigate your way better across the frozen wastes than you can around a woman’s body, or you may end in Spain rather than Spitsbergen.” She smiled. “Consider yourself jilted, Lord Grant,” she added sweetly. “Good night.”