A Rogue Walks into a Ball Read online

  Her lips reminded him of flowers too, dusky roses with their understated beauty. Understated... her beauty was understated, overshadowed by the first impression of her distinctive nose, as if her beauty was hidden. Waiting for someone to discover it, though it was right there, plain as day.

  “So what if I did remember your nose?” he said. “Why is it so bad to have a memorable nose? I like your nose.”

  She scowled at him, and he suspected she’d employed that look—a strong look, given the support of a nose that whispered of command, of emperors and generals—to keep people at arm’s length. “You don’t. Nobody has ever liked my nose.”

  He could hear her quickened breathing, sense her desire to escape. She was going to put her moon maiden mask back on and go out among the other dancers and cover up all that fire, and all he could think was, No. She can’t leave.

  The ballroom was filled with beautiful women, but Sarah was the only one he’d wanted to see that night. He hadn’t spoken her name when he was guessing who she was because all those other women belonged to the realm of women with whom he might be expected to dance and flirt, but Sarah was different. She stirred an intense curiosity in him, curiosity to know what it would be like to touch her, to kiss her, to hear her tell him everything she’d never told anyone else.

  He burned for her.

  “Then maybe nobody has ever been able to appreciate you,” he said. And he kissed her.

  Chapter 13

  Mother Superior: Love speaks to us with the irresistible pull of water being drawn into a sponge.

  Sorella Teresa: But that wouldn’t make any sound at all.

  Mother Superior: Keep listening.

  Breaking the Habit, Act 2, Scene 4,

  Sarah knew it was a terrible idea to kiss Jack, for so many reasons.

  One, only a few dozen feet away were hundreds of members of Society hungry for gossip of the kind that involved unmarried ladies and gentlemen.

  Two, she really, really liked Jack, and this made her vulnerable. If there was one thing she’d learned in life, it was that vulnerability was not good.

  Three, she had no idea what had made him kiss her.

  Four, how would she ever sit across from him in Fiona’s sitting room again?

  Five—

  She stopped adding to the list, stopped thinking and calculating, and surrendered to what she’d been wanting for longer than she cared to admit. She kissed him back.

  His lips moved on hers with sensual purpose, coaxing her to let him in, and she did. Allowing herself to dream of kissing Jack so often had surely been a mistake, because now she had no resistance to offer as his tongue swept over hers, sending rivers of heat to her very center.

  She slid her arms around his waist, half in an urgent need to know what he felt like, half because clinging to him suddenly felt like all she wanted from life, and her eager touch only seemed to encourage him to crush her to him more tightly.

  “Sarah,” he murmured, breaking the kiss to bring his lips close to her ear. “Your scent, it’s—God,” he groaned, dragging his mouth down her neck as if he meant to devour her.

  Her thoughts were barely coherent—was rosewater making him wild?—and she moaned as he nibbled a sensitive spot near her collarbone, feeling as though warm honey was filling her veins. Needing to be closer to him, she pushed her hand under the black wool of his coat. Her fingers met the fine cloth of his white shirt, now only the thinnest barrier between her hand and the taut muscles of his back.

  His fingers traced along the edge of her bodice, burning the tops of her breasts until, with a growl, he bent his head. His lips moved on her skin, hot and urgent, and he slipped a finger under the edge of her bodice. Sarah sucked in a breath as need coursed through her, and she knew the desire to give herself completely to him. The thought shocked her enough that she managed to say, “What—what are you doing?”

  “What I’ve been dreaming of doing,” he said in a ragged whisper.

  “You have?” she said dazedly. Jack had been thinking of her and wanting her, just as she had been wanting him? Was it really possible? Her heart leaped at the thought.

  And that was the moment when she heard a click, followed by a gasp.

  Jack’s back was to the door, and he was blocking her view. He lifted his head with what seemed to Sarah like infinite slowness, as though they had every right to be doing what they were doing. He turned to the door, giving Sarah a view as well, and there stood Lady Mintwood and Mrs. Stokes, two of the most accomplished gossips in the ton, with looks of amazed delight on their faces.

  “Goodness,” said Lady Mintwood, “we were looking for a quiet place to chat. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones seeking privacy.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to say something clever to explain why she was in a room alone with a gentleman and what reason they could have for touching each other that wasn’t the reason they’d been touching each other, but no words came out. In the corridor behind the ladies, a few people paused to see what was going on, surely drawn by the scent of drama.

  Just as Sarah was contemplating simply pushing past the ladies and assorted onlookers and running off without making any reply at all, she came to her senses and determined to say that she’d felt faint and he’d been assisting her. It was a thin explanation, but if she could follow it up with a swoon—which did not seem beyond the realm of possibilities just then—it might work.

  She had no chance to put her plan into action, though, because Jack spoke first.

  “Miss Porter and I did wish a private word. But even you ladies, souls of propriety that you are, will surely acknowledge that that is an unexceptionable wish for two people who have recently become engaged.”

  Sarah just barely managed to stifle a gasp, though Mrs. Stokes did not.

  “Engaged, you say?” she said quite loudly, doubtless for the benefit of those gathering behind her. “Why, Lord Jack Hallaway and Miss Sarah Porter, I had no idea we were meant to be congratulating you.”

  What, what, what? ran through Sarah’s frantic mind. What had he just done? He’d kissed her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think that meant he wanted to marry her. Nothing he’d ever said or done had suggested he wanted to marry her, and she’d never expected that he would.

  Why hadn’t he come up with some excuse—any excuse—for what they’d been doing? Their position had been compromising, but couldn’t the man reach for another explanation? Something—anything—so that he wouldn’t be forced to marry her?

  Because nothing could have made her feel more awful than the thought that Jack would have to marry her. The whole idea was far too close to pity, and though she knew every other unmarried woman in the ton would likely have been grateful for his gesture—and delirious at the idea of marrying Lord Jack Hallaway—she felt a dawning sense of fury.

  “It is a very recently contracted engagement,” he said, ignoring the ferocious glare Sarah was directing at him.

  Jack saw, beyond Lady Mintwood and Mrs. Stokes, that among the crowd collecting in the corridor was his mother, and he also saw the moment she understood what he’d just said. Knowing how sacred marriage was to her, he would not have chosen to reveal to her, in front of a crowd of people he barely knew and didn’t particularly like, his plans to marry.

  But he’d had no choice. He’d compromised Sarah.

  He would have expected to feel trapped in such a moment, furious at himself for giving in to an impulse, angry that his future was now no longer a choice.

  But he didn’t.

  He was nearly thirty, and he’d romanced and dabbled with more than his fair share of women. Sarah was different—he’d known that even before he kissed her. But now—now all he could think was that he wanted so much more from her. If he’d thought touching her would satisfy the curiosity she stirred in him, he’d been wrong. He was beginning to suspect that his curiosity about Sarah just might be unquenchable. And that sounded to him like a better foundation for marriage than most people had.r />
  “I see,” Lady Mintwood said, her expression somewhere between suspicious and disappointed. He’d deprived her of being a key part of what would have been one of the juiciest pieces of gossip that Season, and there was nothing she could do about it. “This is all very surprising.”

  “Many of the best things in life are,” Jack said. Then, linking his arm through Sarah’s, which was pointedly stiff, he guided her away from the ladies and into the corridor, where people were starting to disperse.

  Though, not his mother, of course. She was looking at him with shining eyes and a big, trembling smile.

  “My darling Jack and dearest Sarah,” Fiona said, taking each of them by the hand, as if she might unite them in wedlock herself that very moment. “How very, very happy you’ve made me. My most heartfelt congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Jack said, pleased by how warmly she was welcoming his clumsily delivered news. He felt his lips curling in a smile that was surprisingly genuine, given the circumstances. But he felt quite good about the prospects for his marriage, even if his fiancée was currently, from the furtive, dark looks she was shooting him, not entirely reconciled to the turn of events.

  There was a pause in which Sarah might have contributed her own reaction to Fiona’s warm words, and Jack realized that she might actually refuse to go along with the course he’d set. But after a long moment, she smiled, with a stiffness that anyone but Jack would likely have taken for nervous excitement, and said, “I’m so happy that you’re pleased.” Her arm was still in his, and she dug her elbow into his ribs meaningfully.

  “Pleased is far too mild a word to describe my feelings,” Fiona said, before turning a mock-stern look on her son. “Though I might have wished for a better way of learning about your engagement. I hadn’t realized you two were courting.”

  “You might say that the turn of events was a surprise to us as well,” Sarah said.

  “You could definitely say that we were inspired by this romantic night,” Jack said.

  Fiona sighed dreamily at his words. If she detected anything amiss in Sarah’s demeanor, she made no indication. “Well, surprise or not,” Fiona said, “this is wonderful news.” A sly smile teased her lips. “And if I might be forgiven a little maternal crowing, please note that we are at a ball.”

  Jack chuckled and dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “So noted.”

  The best thing now would be to make an announcement to their friends and acquaintances as soon as possible, lest the news carry any whiff of scandal. Extra time spent at theaters had given Jack an appreciation for the value of a little drama at certain moments, and this was definitely one of them.

  “Come,” he said, grabbing Sarah’s hand.

  “What are you doing?” she muttered under her breath, resisting.

  “We need to make an announcement,” he said.

  His mother clasped her hands together. “Yes, you absolutely must, as soon as possible. Otherwise, Marcus and the others will hear your news as gossip.”

  He could feel in the tug of her hand how much Sarah wanted to bolt, but he also knew that her innate politeness would never let her offend his mother, however much she might want to offend him. She came with him to where the musicians were and stood by his side with a smile pasted on her face as he called for attention and announced that Miss Sarah Porter had done him the very great honor of agreeing to be his wife.

  Several moments of silence ensued as his news was received by the guests. Sarah ground out in a heavy whisper, “They’re stunned. I told you so.” But then a round of enthusiastic applause broke out.

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re wrong. Listen to that.”

  “They’re only being polite. They can hardly wait to start whispering about us.”

  “What ideas you have about people,” he said, and as the musicians began a celebratory tune, he led her into a dance.

  Sarah managed to maintain her composure all through the rest of the ball, during which what seemed like the entire ton, surely propelled by curiosity as to why Lord Jack Hallaway had chosen to marry her and not one of the perfect and delicate, not to mention younger, beauties in Town for the Season, sought them out to congratulate them. She smiled and chatted and acted as though she was delighted and this all made wonderful sense, which wasn’t terribly hard considering that she barely knew most of the people.

  But his family was another matter. Alice’s enthusiastic embrace nearly knocked Sarah backward, and Kate’s and Rosamund’s clearly genuine expressions of happiness practically undid her. Annabelle’s shining eyes pierced her heart.

  “I knew it all along!” Alice crowed as the ladies stood talking in a less crowded corner of the ballroom once the furor had died down and the flood of people offering congratulations had slowed to a trickle.

  Kate treated her sister to a look. “I never heard you voice any suspicions.” She smiled sheepishly at Sarah. “Sorry, that sounded as though I’m not thrilled about this news, which I am. I just have trouble standing idly by when Alice is making grand statements about her capacities for omniscience.”

  “No offense taken,” Sarah said. She wanted to add that no one could have been blamed for not expecting Lord Jack to choose her for a wife, but this was not the moment for such a truth.

  Still, the Hallaways’ excitement about the engagement was almost too much to bear. Jack’s family was everything Sarah’s own family had never been—warm, accepting, and completely devoted to one another, and the notion that she might, however undeservedly, be considered one of them put a lump in her throat that no amount of swallowing would dislodge.

  And then the marquess appeared and smiled and said, “Miss Sarah Porter, I never would have dared hope for such a fine match for my brother,” in his rich, deep voice, and she knew she’d pay for this night, and probably soon. She and Jack would have to find some way of undoing the engagement quickly, because she cared for him far too much and she adored his family, and the idea that he would marry her because he felt he had to was nothing short of crushing.

  But it was impossible to have a private word with him at the ball. Finally, well after midnight, Sarah and Annabelle left, accompanied by Jack, and Sarah foresaw a chance for them to talk. Not in the carriage with Annabelle present, of course. But when they arrived at Aunt Louise’s town house and Jack escorted the ladies to the door and waited until a sleepy maid appeared to open it, Sarah stopped him as he was about to take his leave.

  “Wait,” she said, determined to speak with him.

  He inclined his head, his expression unreadable in the light of the entryway lamps.

  “Good night, Lord Jack,” Annabelle said with a smile that looked suspiciously arch. “And Sarah. You two had best not linger too long on the doorstep—Aunt Louise’s window is just above you.” With a soft giggle, she skipped off to her bedchamber, trailed by the maid.

  “Was there something you wanted to say?” Jack asked innocuously, as though he couldn’t guess she’d been biting her tongue for hours.

  “You know there is,” she hissed.

  “Shh,” he said meaningfully, pointing to the window above them, though she could see he was enjoying himself.

  Sarah hesitated for only the briefest of moments before she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the dark house.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need to talk,” she said and pushed him into the sitting room.

  “Now?” he asked, his eyebrows rising up as though he wondered if she’d forgotten all sense of propriety. But propriety had been left behind hours ago.

  She carefully closed the door behind them so as not to make a sound. The house was silent except for faint noises coming from the direction of Annabelle’s chamber upstairs, and the maid would soon be finished helping her undress and would return to her own room near the attic.

  “Yes, now. This insanity has gone on long enough.”

  “What insanity?”

  “This engagement!” She dropped her
head into her hands and moaned. “Your mother told me three times that she already looks on me as a daughter, and Alice is already planning colors for the ceremony.”

  “My family is somewhat overwhelming, I know,” he said in a sympathetic tone. “But it’s not as if you don’t know them already. And they have always been charmed by you, you know. I’m sure their enthusiasm will taper off to more sensible levels shortly.”

  She let her hands fall. “I don’t mean the fuss about the engagement,” she said through clenched teeth. “I mean the fact that we are engaged at all.”

  He propped a shoulder against the wall next to him and crossed his arms. “Oh? What else were we supposed to do? The position Lady Mintwood and Mrs. Stokes found us in was completely compromising, and they’re both accomplished gossips. We had to be engaged—there was no other acceptable explanation for us to be in that room alone together.”

  “There’s always another choice. You could have come up with something creative—or let me come up with something. If you’d only waited a moment, I’d have had a chance to explain that I’d just swooned and you were helping me.”

  He gave her a dry look. “You were hardly in the sort of position a person who had just swooned might have been in. And you were flushed as well, not pale.”

  She resisted the urge to stamp her foot, but he was being maddening, standing there as though this was all fine.

  “How can you make light of this? It’s a disaster!”

  He snorted. “A disaster? Really? Being engaged to me is a disaster?”

  But it did feel like a disaster, not because she was horrified by the idea of being married to him, but because of how much she wanted it. She never should have allowed herself to dream of him, but those thoughts had only been fantasies. The whole point of fantasies was that they weren’t real, and you knew they never would be, so you were free to make them as impossible as you liked. Everything worked out perfectly in fantasies.

  But life wasn’t like that. Things didn’t work out perfectly, because perfection was an illusion in which she put no faith. And men like Jack didn’t marry women like her.