A Rogue Walks into a Ball Page 18

  He turned. “Sarah. You can’t know how good it is to see you.”

  If he thought he was going to charm her into doing his bidding, whatever that was, he was mistaken. She supposed she should be glad he’d come, because now she could tell him in person that everything between them was now finally over.

  “Jack,” she said, forcing a polite tone as she moved farther into the room so they could lower their voices, because she certainly didn’t want the servants to hear this conversation. “You didn’t need to come, but now that you have, I have something to say to you.”

  “Let’s walk in the garden,” he said, as though the idea of prolonging this encounter were anything but ill-conceived.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He cocked his head. “I have a few things to say as well, and I doubt either of us wants to be overheard.”

  She pressed her lips together in irritation, but she saw his point. “Very well.”

  They walked in silence across the grass, putting some distance between them and the house as their steps led them toward the walled garden, whose wrought-iron door stood open. After a few moments, she spoke, glad that because they were walking, she didn’t have to look at him.

  “I’m not increasing,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said. She couldn’t be certain, but it almost sounded as though his voice held a note of disappointment.

  “I was going to write you this afternoon.”

  “Were you?” he said, glancing at her with an unreadable expression. “I imagined you ignoring my request and departing on some voyage with a babe in tow.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I wouldn’t have done that. And I would certainly not have kept the knowledge from you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Why was he being so reasonable and calm? They were talking about a baby they might very well have created! He might really have been left with no choice for his future, and now he had one.

  “So you see, you are completely released from any obligation to me.”

  They had reached the gate to the garden, and she thought he would stop, but he stepped a few feet inside, not replying, but standing there as though waiting for her to follow. She couldn’t guess what else he wanted to say, but she didn’t think she could stand to hear him insist again on the value of a marriage built on two people who were pretty good together.

  He still didn’t reply, so she stepped impatiently into the garden. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “Everything,” he said. “I love you, Sarah, and I want to marry you. I want you to say yes this time because now we’re both free.”

  If some part of Jack had cherished the hope that Sarah might burst out in whoops of delight at his words, he was to be mistaken. She looked, instead, irritated.

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” He’d guessed she wouldn’t be overjoyed to see him—he couldn’t forget the look in her eyes as she’d spoken to him of her love, a look that had said she understood there was no hope. He’d given her no reason that night to believe that his feelings were as deep as hers, but then, he’d been completely unable to see himself that they were.

  For a man who’d been in the business of giving his characters happy endings, he hadn’t expected he’d ever have such bliss himself, because that would have involved letting someone else into the secret spaces he’d always kept for himself. He hadn’t even known how much of a coward he’d been until Sarah had come into his life.

  But now everything was different because of her.

  She gave an impatient toss of her hands. She had such beautiful hands, with elegant slim fingers, and she could never seem to speak without using them. He loved that about her.

  “I don’t know what’s made you think coming here and saying these things to me would be a good idea, but it’s not going to work. You don’t mean them.”

  He stepped closer, wishing he could sweep her into his arms and that that would be enough for her to feel his heart beating for her, only for her. But he’d hurt her badly, and he understood why she was refusing to hear him. He had expected something like this, and he’d come prepared.

  Reaching into a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. The sheet was large, the same size used in posting advertisements for plays around town, and she watched with her brows drawn together in irritation as he unfolded it.

  “I do mean what I said, Sarah, with all my heart. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to be the companion of all my days and the mother of my children. And I want to share all of who I am with you.”

  He turned the paper around so she could read the words.

  “What’s this?” she demanded, her eyes scanning the page. “Breaking the Habit,” she read aloud, “a new play by the author of She Knew She Was Right, The Devil in the Details, and Once and Again—Lord Jack Hallaway.”

  Her eyes shot to his. “You can’t put this up! What about Kate finding out you wrote the play to help her find her way?”

  “My sister, it seems, has a suitor, some yet-to-be-named fellow. But the truth is that not wanting Kate to know I am the author was only another excuse to keep my identity secret.”

  “It was a worthy excuse,” she allowed.

  “And one that made it easy to continue keeping my identity secret. But Kate wasn’t the only reason for anonymity, of course. I’d been writing anonymously for several years by the time I wrote She Knew She Was Right, and I had got used to it. Anonymity allowed me to write anything I wished, knowing that my work wouldn’t bring scandal to the family or risk offending someone.” He paused. “I’m proud of the plays, but they are not the sort of thing people expect a gentleman to write.”

  “Society would be in far better shape if more men did write such plays,” she said with a fierceness that he dared to hope meant something.

  “Just say the word, Sarah, and I’ll have these posters printed and hang them up all over London. I mean it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life secret from you, and if other people know about it too, I don’t care.”

  “Oh, Jack,” she said, and he heard a catch in her voice that gave him another reason to hope.

  “I want to share my life with you, Sarah, and I’m sorry I didn’t see at first what that really meant. But I do now.”

  Sarah stared at the poster, her eyes growing moist. He’d made this mocked-up poster with careful attention to look just like a printed bill, but she could see a small place where the ink had smudged, and that detail just about undid her. Her heart was so full. He was ready to expose his fiercely guarded secret to the world, ready to risk offending and scandalizing people, never mind being laughed at, for her. His words of love had been like a balm on her bruised heart, but she hadn’t dared trust that he spoke from his heart.

  Yet now, how could she doubt it?

  “Sarah?” he said, stepping closer. “Do I have reason to hope?”

  Her eyes met his, and she felt again what she’d felt when they’d made love, that touching of souls, only this time, it went deeper, all the way down to the bottom of her soul.

  “Yes,” she said and threw her arms around him. “I love you, Jack,” she said into his neck.

  He leaned away from her only to kiss her, his lips the answer to everything she’d been yearning for.

  When they broke the kiss, she stood in the circle of his arms. “You mustn’t put that poster up,” she said seriously.

  “I am perfectly ready to do so. Maybe it would be a good thing. I’ve often been tempted to tell my family.”

  “I know they would be overjoyed and so proud of you,” she said. “But let’s wait until after we’re married and consider it then.”

  He chuckled, and she felt the rumble through his chest, the sensation filling her with joy. He was hers, this devilishly smart and handsome and good-hearted rogue was hers. Could life get any better?

  “Or never,” he said.

&
nbsp; “Or never,” she agreed.

  “We’ll decide together when or if the time is right,” he said.

  “Oh yes, together,” she said and kissed him again.

  “Do you know when Annabelle and Mr. Smith will return?” he murmured as he nibbled her earlobe.

  “Not for hours.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice that we’re in a garden.”

  She blushed as she remembered his words about the things they might do in all sorts of places. “So we are.”

  He closed the gate, took her by the hand, and led her to a deeply shadowed part of the garden. He made love to her with the scents of roses heavy in the air around them, both of them murmuring love words as they touched and discovered each other anew.

  Afterward, they lay together in each other’s arms and talked about everything and nothing, watching the shadows gently deepen in the garden around them and knowing that the future was theirs to write.

  Chapter 19

  Mother Superior: Bless you, my children, you are exactly as you were meant to be.

  Breaking the Habit, Act 3, scene 6

  Five months later

  “Oh, there you two are,” Fiona said as Jack and Sarah, dressed for the evening’s entertainment, entered the family sitting room at Weldwood, the Hallaway family estate where Marcus and Rosamund lived. Marcus and Rosamund, who’d welcomed baby Henry two months before, were hosting a house party, and that evening’s ball was to be the culminating event of a week of festivities. “People will be gathering, and we want to present a united presence.”

  “That makes us sound like an army,” Jack said.

  “Considering the way Lucinda Arbuthnot has been maneuvering all the best bachelors to dance with her daughters at every ball for the last month, it’s not a bad idea to take a strategic approach. Besides, you know very well that if people think a young lady is sought after, all the gentlemen will want to dance with her. Hence, it’s desirable that we all appear together. I only wish Kate were back from her honeymoon. You do all look so wonderful together that I’m sure it will make gentlemen think what a fine thing it would be to marry into the family.”

  “Spoken like a mother,” Marcus said dryly.

  Jack leaned close to mutter to Sarah, “We’re going to have to instigate some sort of matchmaking scheme to get Alice married off sooner rather than later, or there will be no end of balls to attend. When my mother gets that competitive gleam in her eye, I shudder.”

  Sarah elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Don’t you want to dance with your wife tonight?”

  “I most certainly do,” he said, “but if we stayed at home, I could dance with you all night. Now I’ll have to share you with all sorts of impudent fellows.”

  “Mmm, yes,” she said distractedly.

  “You don’t have to sound so agreeable about it,” he said in a soft growl that made her toes curl.

  “Oh, I’m not,” she assured him. “But I’d do anything for your mother. And it is only a few dances in support of a cause.”

  “I would feel more optimistic if I thought Alice was at all tempted by the thought that we Hallaways might be able to attend many fewer balls if she found a husband, but as she’s never been invited to a ball she didn’t want to attend, I don’t think she feels any inclination to marry soon.”

  Sarah watched affectionately as Alice and Annabelle giggled over some private joke. “Your sister does love social events.” She paused, a secret smile teasing her lips. “But you know, my lord, you may find that fate soon intervenes and gives you a perfect excuse to miss quite a number of events.”

  “Oh?” he said. “Do you foresee some happy catastrophe at Summerbrook that might cause us to miss the entire coming Season?” he asked with unconcealed eagerness. They’d spent a month recently at the modest and charming estate that Jack had inherited on his father’s death. “Perhaps a problem with our roof, the servants?”

  “For a rogue, my darling, you’ve become rather domesticated.”

  “Only thanks to the very best inducements,” he said with a devilish wink.

  She took his hand and drew it across her still-flat belly for just long enough to allow him to catch her meaning without drawing attention.

  “Sarah?” he whispered, his eyes lighting.

  “Yes,” she said. “In a little under six months, I should think. I wanted to be certain.”

  “That’s... it’s,” Jack shook his head, as though not quite able to absorb the news, even as an enormous grin spread over his face, “the most wonderful thing you could have told me.”

  From across the room, his mother indicated it was time to make their way to the ballroom.

  Sarah could feel her eyes twinkling as she said to Jack, “Do you mean because we’ll be excused from events during my confinement?”

  His eyes held hers. “She’s going to be so smart and lively.”

  “Or he.”

  She sighed with pretend weariness. “I suppose any child of yours will be so charming, he or she will have everyone enraptured from the first hour.”

  “I expect so, considering the mother in question,” Jack said. “I love you, Lady Sarah Hallaway.”

  “And I do love you, Jack.”

  A Note From Emily

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you’ve enjoyed A ROGUE WALKS INTO A BALL, the second story in the Hallaway Family series.

  The first story in the series is ONCE UPON A BALL, a novella about Jack’s older brother, the Marquess of Boxhaven. The novella is part of a Regency anthology called MARQUESSES AT THE MASQUERADE that also contains stories from Grace Burrowes and Susanna Ives. You can order MARQUESSES, with the first story in the Hallaway family series, on my Books page. You can also subscribe to my mailing list while you’re there if you want to be alerted to my new releases (the only time I send emails).

  From one book lover to another, happy reading!

  Emily

  Preview of Once Upon a Ball Chapter One

  “Mundie, you’re taking too long,” came an irritated female voice from the doorway of Rosamund’s room. “How am I supposed to make the final adjustments to my attire for the Boxhaven masquerade ball when you are taking so long to complete my gown?”

  Rosamund, who hardly remembered the last time she’d used her surname and at age twenty-two was years beyond the sensation of cringing at the detested nickname, merely said, “I’m just finishing the final stitches, Aunt.”

  She would not, of course, mention that it had taken her longer to finish the adjustments to the gown because the alterations required her to do far more than “just sew on a few ribbons to refresh the look,” as Melinda had ordered when she’d handed the gown to her. Melinda had put on a significant amount of weight, which no one was meant to mention, but it was a fact of which Rosamund, effectively Melinda’s personal seamstress, was well aware.

  Melinda’s eyes traveled over Rosamund’s small room, which was on the top floor of the Monroes’ London town house, as far away from the main family quarters as possible, and came to rest on Rosamund’s untouched lunch tray, which contained a piece of toasted cheese and an apple.

  “You’d have more time to do what little is asked of you if you weren’t always eating.”

  Rosamund managed, from long practice, not to laugh. Since Rosamund was kept constantly busy sewing for the household—and with Melinda and her daughters, Vanessa and Calliope, there was always mending, and her two cousins being out, new dresses to sew—Rosamund undoubtedly made up for her keep in what they would have spent hiring a seamstress. And as she was rarely invited to join the family for meals, she was not costing them a great deal in food. She knew from the housekeeper, Mrs. Barton, that the kitchen staff had been instructed “not to be lavish” with Rosamund’s trays.

  “Of course, Aunt.” Rosamund might have pointed out that if she was not allowed to consume food, she would eventually run out of energy and be of no use, but she’d learned, from the moment she’d come to the house at age fift
een, that it was best to agree with Melinda and say as little as possible.

  “I don’t know why I should have to remind you of your responsibilities, Mundie. One would think you’d be grateful for being taken in and cared for as you have been.”

  This was a familiar refrain.

  “I am very grateful, Aunt.” And she truly was. She had a roof over her head, and meals, such as they were. More important, she had the company of Melinda’s uncle Piggott, who lived in a room down the hall from Rosamund’s little cell, and of the housekeeper, Mrs. Barton. Sometimes of an evening, the three would take a mug of tea together in Uncle Piggott’s room. Rosamund called him Uncle Piggott even though he wasn’t actually her uncle, but Melinda’s uncle by marriage. From the first, he’d insisted that Rosamund was the sort of person anyone would be proud to have as a niece and that he’d be delighted if she wished to call him uncle, as his real, “less pleasing” nieces did. Uncle Piggott, despite having been a vicar or, he would say, because of it, preferred blunt speaking.

  Melinda peered closely at Rosamund’s work and offered a brief snort in judgment, then leaned into the hallway and called for Mary, one of the maids. Mary arrived in the doorway with an armful of fabric, and Rosamund’s heart sank. The Boxhaven ball was only two days away, and she’d foolishly hoped both her cousins would wear the gowns they’d worn to their last ball. But Mary was holding Calliope’s favorite gown from the previous season, which would never fit her without letting out the bust.

  Melinda plucked the gown from the maid’s arms and dropped it on the small table next to Rosamund. “You know what to do, Mundie, and she wants crystals sewn along the neckline as well. You’ll need to finish it tonight, because you’ll be working on Vanessa’s gown tomorrow.”

  Which meant more rushing to finish in time for any last-minute nips and tucks before the ball. Rosamund had often suspected that Melinda took special pleasure in seeing how fast she could make her sew.