Andrew and Logan entered the house and crossed through the marble hall, its plasterwork ceiling embellished with mythological scenes and a mask-and-ribbon motif. Approaching the grand staircase, which curved in a huge gentle spiral, the brothers made their way upward at a leisurely pace.
"Your Miss Hargreaves seems a charming girl," Logan remarked.
Andrew smiled sardonically. "She is not my Miss Hargreaves."
"She's a pretty sort," Logan said. "Delicate in appearance, but she seems to possess a certain liveliness of spirit."
"Spirit," Andrew repeated wryly. "Yes… she has plenty of that."
"Interesting."
"What is interesting?" Andrew asked warily, disliking his half brother's speculative tone.
"To my knowledge, you've never courted a lady before."
"It's not a real courtship," Andrew informed him. "It's merely a ruse to fool Father."
"What?" Logan stopped on the stairs and stared at him in surprise. "Would you care to explain, Andrew?"
"As you know, I've been cut out of the will. To be reinstated I've got to convince Father that I've changed my wicked ways, or he'll die without leaving me a damned shilling." Andrew proceeded to explain his bargain with Caroline, and the terms they had struck.
Logan listened intently, finally giving a gruff laugh. "Well, if you wish to change Father's mind about his will, I suppose your involvement with a woman like Miss Hargreaves is a good idea."
"It's not an 'involvement,'" Andrew said, feeling unaccountably defensive. "As I told you, it's merely a charade."
Logan slid a speculative glance his way. "I have a suspicion, Andrew, that your relationship with Miss Hargreaves is something more than a charade, whether you are willing to admit it or not."
"It's all for Father's benefit," Andrew said swiftly. "I am telling you, Scott, I have no designs on her. And even if I did, believe me, I would be the last man on earth whom she would take an interest in."
Chapter Three
"Not if he were the last man on earth," Caroline said, glaring at her brother. "I am telling you, Cade, I feel no sort of attraction whatsoever to that… that libertine. Don't be obtuse. You know quite well that it is all a pretense."
"I thought it was," Cade said reflectively, "until I watched the two of you during that deuced long carriage ride today. Now I'm not so certain. Drake stared at you like at cat after a mouse. He didn't take his eyes off you once."
Caroline sternly suppressed an unwanted twinge of pleasure at her brother's words. She turned toward the long looking glass, needlessly fluffing the short sleeves of her pale blue evening gown. "The only reason he may have glanced my way was to distract himself from Mother's babbling," she said crisply.
"And the way you smiled at him this afternoon, before he left to see his father," Cade continued. "You looked positively besotted."
"Besotted?" She let out a burst of disbelieving laughter. "Cade, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say. Not only am I not besotted with Lord Drake, I can barely stand to be in the same room with him!"
"Then why the new gown and hairstyle?" he asked. "Are you certain you're not trying to attract him?"
Caroline surveyed her reflection critically. Her gown was simple but stylish, a thin white muslin underskirt overlaid with transparent blue silk. The bodice was low-cut and square, edged with a row of glinting silver beadwork. Her dark, glossy brown hair had been pulled to the crown of her head with blue ribbons, and left to hang down the back in a mass of ringlets. She knew that she had never looked better in her life. "I am wearing a new gown because I am tired of looking so matronly," she said. "Just because I am a spinster doesn't mean I have to appear a complete dowd."
"Caro," her brother said affectionately, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her upper arms, "you're a spinster only by choice. You've always been a lovely girl. The only reason you haven't landed a husband is because you haven't yet seen fit to set your cap for someone."
She turned to hug him, heedless of mussing her gown, and smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Cade. And just to be quite clear, I have not set my cap for Lord Drake. As I have told you a dozen times, we are simply acting. As in a stage performance."
"All right," he said, drawing back to look at her skeptically. "But in my opinion, you are both throwing yourself into your roles with a bit more zeal than necessary."
The sounds of the ball drifted to Caroline's ears as they went down the grand staircase. The luminous, agile melody of a waltz swirled through the air, undercut by the flow of laughter and chatter as the guests moved through the circuit of rooms that branched off from the central hall. The atmosphere was heavily perfumed from huge arrangements of lilies and roses, while a garden breeze wafted gently through the rows of open windows.
Caroline's gloved fingertips slid easily over the carved marble balustrade as they descended. She gripped Cade's arm with her other hand. She was strangely nervous, wondering if her evening spent in Andrew's company would prove to be a delight or torture. Fanny chattered excitedly as she accompanied them, mentioning the names of several guests she had already seen at the estate, including peers of the realm, politicians, a celebrated artist, and a noted playwright.
As they reached the lower landing, Caroline saw Andrew waiting for them at the nadir of the staircase, his dark hair gleaming in the brilliant light shed by legions of candles. As if he sensed her approach, he turned and glanced upward. His white teeth flashed in a smile as he saw her, and Caroline's heartbeat hastened to a hard, driving rhythm.
Dressed in a formal, fashionable scheme of black and white, with a starched cravat and a formfitting gray waistcoat, Andrew was so handsome that it was almost unseemly. He was as polished and immaculate as any gentleman present, but his striking blue eyes gleamed with the devil's charm. When he looked at her like that, his gaze hot and interested, she did not feel as if this entire situation were an obligation. She did not feel as if it were a charade. The lamentable fact was, she felt excited, and glad, and thoroughly beguiled.
"Miss Hargreaves, you look ravishing," he murmured, after greeting Fanny and Cade. He offered her his arm and guided her toward the ballroom.
"Not matronly?" Caroline asked tartly.
"Not in the least." He smiled faintly. "You never did, actually. When I made that comment, I was just trying to annoy you."
"You succeeded," she said, and paused with a perplexed frown. "Why did you want to annoy me?"
"Because annoying you is safer than-" For some reason he broke off abruptly and clamped his mouth shut.
"Safer than what?" Caroline asked, intensely curious as he led her into the ballroom. "What? What?"
Ignoring her questions, Andrew swept her into a waltz so intoxicating and potent that its melody seemed to throb inside her veins. She was at best a competent dancer, but Andrew was exceptional, and there were few pleasures to equal dancing with a man who was truly accomplished at it. His arm was supportive, his hands gentle but authoritative as he guided her in smooth, sweeping circles.
Caroline was vaguely aware that people were staring at them. No doubt the crowd was amazed by the fact that the dissolute Lord Drake was waltzing with the proper Miss Hargreaves. They were an obvious mismatch… and yet, Caroline wondered, was it really so inconceivable that a rake and a spinster could find something alluring in each other?
"You are a wonderful dancer," she could not help exclaiming.
"Of course I am," he said. "I'm proficient at all the trivial activities in life. It's only the meaningful pursuits that present a problem."