~Once again, for the amazing cover, LadyWildfire...~

Chapter Five

A young lady must be very careful how she refuses to dance with a gentleman. Next to refusing an offer of marriage, few things are so likely to draw upon her the indignation of the rejected applicant, for unless a good reason is given, he is apt to take it as evidence of a personal dislike.

~ The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen (The Last London Editor; 1860)

“Lord Beverly,” Victoria said stiffly, “by continuously plaguing me with requests to dance after my initial refusal of the first, I feel it is my duty to enunciate quite eloquently yet again that this will not ordain a response in the affirmative on my part. Now, politely remove your presence from my company.”

An unbelievably thick-skinned man there never was when compared to Lord Christopher Beverly. A couple of inches shorter than Vicky, he was a bow-legged dandy of the first design. Even now, dressed in his black evening attire, Beverly practically oozed pomposity and a healthy portion of vanity that just about gagged Vicky. But that could just be because the man harboured a significant fondness for overwhelming cologne that smelt very much like asparagus. Beverly also seemed to be of an opinion that he was the most attractive man at the Hawthorne Ball despite signs of premature balding in a receding blonde hairline and a ridiculously non-existent chin. However, the man was persistent for Victoria’s hand and had been ever since she had first made her debut. Why her family insisted on inviting him to these sorts of affairs was beyond her as she had made her dislike of the idiot abundantly clear, having even once socked him squarely in the eye when his advances became too ardent and forward. For two weeks Beverly had been plagued by questions about where he had acquired the ugly purple bruise around his left eye and he had concocted some story about a burglar in the middle of the night. Vicky knew better, though.

“Now, now Lady Colton,” Beverly drawled in an exceedingly nasal voice, “how long do you insist on denying yourself these urges? Oh, you’re little game of cat and mouse has been ever so fun and I daresay I do admire a bit of a challenge every now and then, but you wouldn’t want me to grow bored, now would you?”

Victoria glowered at the dense man furiously. “Oh, I do want you to grow bored,” she hissed. “Please please please grow bored.”

“You really are a stubborn girl,” he intoned gleefully, sidling closer to her and letting his clammy fingers glide up the skin of her arm.

Vicky shuddered. She was going to hit him again and this time it wouldn’t be in the private setting of the Cunningham’s gardens. This time it would be in the middle of a ballroom packed to capacity, an utter crush.

“Remove you hand,” she ground out, seething.

“Vicky, there you are!” Dani breathed suddenly, exhausted from the exertion of winding her way through the masses to get to her side. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

Oh, thank God. “Excuse me,” Vicky spat at Lord Beverly, abruptly turning her back on the man and applying some distance and some people between him and her. When they were out of earshot, she said fervently to Dani, “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Dani said breezily. “It looked as if you were going to hit him again anyway. You know me, always the martyr.”

“I was going to hit him again,” Vicky confirmed, steering them towards the refreshment table located at the other end of the ballroom. “Truly, it is a wonder I didn’t sooner. The man has been pestering me all evening.”

“Mmm.”

They halted before the refreshments and Dani located some lemonade for herself whereas Victoria procured a flute of champagne. No sooner had she taken her first sip than her beleaguered chaperon, Mrs Eliza Littleford, who just so happened to be her deportment tutor, descended upon her in a flurry of stiffly controlled poise and a puckered face of disapproval. “A lady,” she sniffed disdainfully, yanking the flute glass out of Victoria’s hands, “never indulges in more than one glass of champagne for the evening. Have you learnt nothing, Miss Colton?”

Smothering the urge to snatch the flute glass back and down the rest of the champagne right in front of Mrs Littleford’s snooty face, Vicky settled for glaring mutely at the dictatorial little woman. When Mrs Littleford realised no answer was forthcoming from her charge, she set the flute glass aside and picked up a lemonade instead, pressing it into Vicky’s hand emphatically. “When you are thirsty,” she instructed like a mother reprimanding a disobedient child, “you shall drink the lemonade and that is all. Do I make myself clear, Miss Colton?”

“Transparently,” Vicky bit out.

Nodding with approval, Mrs Littleford next tackled the problem of Victoria’s dance card, which was shockingly empty. “And would you care to tell me why you have not reserved any dances with gentlemen yet?” she asked haughtily, giving Victoria a stern look over her spectacles.

“None have asked?”

Vicky caught Dani’s amused glance over the top of Mrs Littleford’s short head and had to force a glare on her face to warn the other woman off. This was not amusing. Not in the least. It was embarrassing to be harassed so. Vicky was a grown woman and Mrs Littleford’s presence here as her chaperon made it eloquently obvious to everyone in attendance that she was undergoing deportment classes… again. It was chokingly humiliating, to say the least.

“But I have seen you conversing with several gentlemen. Are you telling me none of those men bothered to request a dance?” Mrs Littleford was saying, irked.

Vicky waved her hand about vaguely. “Oh, they did. But I felt it was best for all present that I declined them.”

“Even Lord Beverly?”

“Especially Lord Beverly.”

“Hmmm.” Mrs Littleford gave a puzzled frown to the dance card in her hand before making a quick scribble in the place of the waltz. “I’m sure Lord Gabriel Sinclair will not mind sharing the first waltz of the evening with you, so I will pencil him in and then inform him of this duty he is to perform.”

A duty? Wonderful. That’s all she wanted him to think of her. A duty, indeed.

“Now stand up straight, Miss Colton,” Mrs Littleford was saying, blithely unaware of the black mood settling across Vicky’s brow, “and remember not to frown so much. No one likes a lady who shows the world how vexed she is.”

Vicky was quite sure she was going to hit the little woman, too. Thankfully, after issuing these instructions, Mrs Littleford resumed her position by the other chaperones on the other side of the dance floor where they could keep a close eye on their charges.

“You had better not be laughing at me,” Vicky told Dani, suspicious of the mirthful tears suddenly appearing in the light-blue depths of her eyes.

“Of course not,” Dani chirped. “I would never dream of it.”

Vicky huffed a sigh and folded her arms, ignoring the glare from Mrs Littleford that she received by doing so. The ball had been a dreadful bore so far and she felt little optimism for its imminent improvement. It was a crush, of that one could be certain, as the Quality of the ton would never dream of refusing an invite to an event such as this one. The plight of Gabriel Sinclair and Victoria Colton would be the most titillating thing to have happened in quite some time and many suitors would be leaping at the chance to make a grab at both their titles and their wealth.

And the Hawthornes would not disappoint.

No expense had been spared for the welcome ball. It was a lavish affair and the whole estate had been transformed into a glittering wonderland of garlands and lights, blanketing everything in warm golden light. Having a vast and opulent ballroom as it was, the effect was quite spectacular.

Due to the scandalous nature of entire ordeal, the ton was treating the Hawthorne event as a game. Bets were made concerning both her and Gabriel, concerning the people they will marry and how long it will take until a proposal was made. There was little else people spoke about at the ball and Vicky had been reluctantly privy to all the sordid titbits involving her person.

How Gabriel felt about all this, she couldn’t be certain. The man was constantly surrounded by a horde of women all vying for his attention, which he was giving all too freely. His swarthy smile was planted on his devilishly handsome face almost permanently and his eyes stared down at the women with sensual promise as they giggled and twittered around him.

It was nauseating. Even now, Vicky spied him leaning close to Miss Oriana Brightmore, murmuring something to the pretty brunette with a languid smile that made her blush. Oh, the dratted man. How dare he contrive to amuse himself at their pleasure? He had no principles whatsoever. Devoid of morality and scruples, Gabriel Sinclair should be shot in Victoria’s opinion.

Dani followed her blistering gaze to where Gabriel was situated. “My, he is certainly popular tonight,” Dani remarked unwelcomingly. “He’s being quite amiable, don’t you think?”

“Quite.” Vicky churlishly thought that she’d like to pour her lemonade down the front of Miss Oriana Brightmore’s pretty red ball gown, which was an odd thought to enter her mind as she had, prior to the ball, thought Oriana to be quite a nice girl.

“Oh, do cheer up, Vicky,” Dani reprimanded with a smile, “after all, this is your very own ball. You should try to enjoy yourself and make the most of it.”

“Mmm.” Feeling childish and wholly boorish, Vicky swivelled her gaze away from Gabriel and his admirers, trying to ignore the twisting fury writhing in her chest, and gave Dani a tentative smile. “You’re right, of course. You always are.”

Dani opened her mouth to retort, but the words she was about to say died on her lips when her eyes darted to a place just over Vicky’s shoulder. “Oh, God,” she squeaked, suddenly ducking out of sight. “He mustn’t see me!”

“Dani, whatever-”

“Mr Chadswick!” she hissed desperately and Vicky looked over her shoulder to witness a portly gentleman of middle years ambling towards them, a thick reddish moustache tickling his pudgy lips. “Oh, Vicky, don’t look!”

“Why on earth are you avoiding this man, Dani?” Vicky teased.

Dani, hunched over as she endeavoured to remain out of sight of the cumbersome Mr Chadswick, gazed up at her imploringly. “He’s been badgering me all evening!” she whispered furiously. “The man is odious and I really don’t want to dance with him.”

“Then why don’t you just say so?”

“Oh, I really wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Vicky snorted, rolling her eyes. “Well, he is nearly upon us, so you had better get yourself ready to do just that.”

“Nuh-uh,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “I can’t, Vicky.”

“Oh, very well. Scamper off then. I’ll distract him while you find a safe hiding spot.”

“You’re a saint.”

“Thank you for finally realising that. I’ve always thought so myself.”

Grinning, Dani scooted backwards and quickly submerged herself in a crowd of people, leaving Vicky alone again. Suppressing a disdainful sigh, she spun on her heal to meet the aforementioned Mr Chadswick and had considerably misjudged just how close the gentleman actually was.

The hand clutching the cup of lemonade collided solidly with a plump shoulder.

It ricocheted out of her hand and spilled its contents down the front of her silver gown.

“Good Lord,” Mr Chadswick blubbered while Vicky stood there, gaping down at the mess staining the front of her bodice, “you should really watch where you are going. Here, let me.” Mr Chadswick promptly extricated a white handkerchief from a pocket on his person and began to pat away at her breasts.

“Mr Chadswick!” Vicky gasped, outraged and humiliated at the scene she was now causing. Several people had turned at the commotion and gazed on, amused, at the spectacle Victoria Colton was once again making of herself.

“I say, don’t fight it,” Mr Chadswick protested huffily as he batted away Vicky’s fingers, “I am trying to help you.”

She was going to die of shame. “Oh, God.” Clumsily, she stumbled away from Mr Chadswick’s groping fingers and moved swiftly through the throng of people, refusing to make eye contact with any of them. Needing time to recover from this horrifying situation, Vicky sought out the solitude of one of the private parlours adjoining the ballroom, leaning against the closed door and blowing out a heavy breath.

Oh, she was hopeless. No doubt Mrs Littleford was seeking her out this very minute for an explanation and a swift reprimand of her despicable behaviour. Of course, no one would believe that it had been an accident, that she truly didn’t mean to humiliate herself at every possible opportunity she was given and, Lord, those opportunities were bountiful indeed.

She sighed and pushed herself off the wood of the door and ambled carefully towards one of the comfortable settees. The room was dimly lit, available for use by anyone who required a reprieve of sorts and specifically for the womenfolk. It was just the place Victoria needed to unwind and reflect on what she should now do with herself considering the mass of sticky lemonade down the bodice of her gown. It was effectively ruined now which was a pity. Vicky had been quite fond of this particular gown.

Ineffectually, she made a few swipes at the stained mess. It made little improvement, if anything at all, and Vicky realised that she simply could not venture back out into the ballroom with the stain down her front. It would be testament to what an utter failure she was and she needed to rectify the splotch on the front of her gown. Unfortunately, her fingers could not do the stain justice and she pondered the merits of removing the gown and endeavouring to remove the stain in that way. If she could do that, then she could dab at the offending smear with the hem of one of her petticoats. Then, when the dress was back on, no one would be able to detect the mess now transferred to her petticoat as her gown would cover it.

Vicky thought it was ingenious.

She hurriedly shrugged the gown off her shoulders and stepped out of the silver pool of fabric amassing by her toes. As soon as she applied her petticoat to the stain, it began to absorb some of the liquid from the bodice and relief coursed through her. She would not be an out-and-out failure after all!

Almost shouting with delight, she furiously swiped at the stain just as her ears pricked on a sound- a jiggle of a door handle.

Her heart stopped beating altogether.

If someone walked in, they would see her, half-naked and scrubbing manically at her dress, and then her life would be over. Henry would probably take to beating her after that. And Delores… how would she look her grandmother in the eye after this got out?

The door slowly began to swing open, a wedge of light streaming in through the widening slit.

Panicking, Vicky clutched the garment to her chest and dove behind the nearest settee, praying fervently to the God that seemed to find extreme amusement in humiliating her that this would not be one of those times.

Then- Voices. A woman’s husky laugh and… a man!

Oh God! This was not happening. Victoria told herself that she was not hiding in her unmentionables behind a settee while a lovers tryst was about to occur in the very same room. The universe simply was not that cruel.

“You are a cruel man,” the woman purred as the door closed, enunciated resoundingly with the twist of a locking key. Vicky flinched and tried not to breathe too loudly as she peered at the feet presented to her from the space under the settee. The woman was wearing a beautiful ruby gown and the man’s boots were finely polished and of immaculate taste.

“Do go on.”

Gabriel? Oh, no, this was definitely not happening. Not to her. Why God? Why?

The ruby hem glided closer to the shiny boots. “Leading those poor girls on like that,” the unrecognisable woman said seductively. “You are going to make them think that you are serious about this whole marriage thing and we both know that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it?” Gabriel returned huskily and a silence ensued, punctuated only by the suspiciously wet sounds that Vicky hoped to God were not kisses.

“You’re a tease,” the woman breathed at length, sounding out of breath. “A naughty, dreadful tease.”

“Mmm,” Gabriel growled.

At that moment, Vicky squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray with all her heart. Being a headstrong woman, she had never placed much faith in the power of prayer the minister always preached about during his sermons, but just then she was willing to give it a shot and if God was truly fond of her, then He would surely see to it that she did not have endure this.

Her eyes were forced open, however, when a heavy item of clothing was thrown directly in front of her, inches from her nose. It was Gabriel’s black evening coat.

She wanted to die.

***

Gabriel had been enjoying the attentions of an attractive young widow until he caught sight of the tip of dark hair poking out from behind a couch. A fury unlike any he had ever experienced overcame him then.

Having been tormented with sinful thoughts of a black-haired vixen for two solid days, his body was in sore need of release. There were more than enough women at the ball willing to accommodate just that desire as Gabriel was a very attractive man and a reputably good lover, but none quite as lovely as the blonde Mrs Desdemona Fitzgerald. So when she propositioned him with an assignation, Gabriel was quick to accept, only to find his intentions thwarted with the invading image of Victoria Colton bobbing up in his mind, looking dazed and beautiful as he leaned in close to kiss her.

And then. The dark hair behind the couch.

The snooping little minx.

He should take her over his knee and beat her.

Desdemona pressed her breasts against his chest invitingly, tilting her face to his for his kiss as her fingers traced over the buttons of his shirt, plucking them off slowly one by one. “What’s the matter, darling?” she asked sensuously when Gabriel did not respond. Her fingers were tugging his shirt loose from the waistband of his trousers.

“I am thinking,” he growled with more harshness than he intended. After all, it was not Desdemona’s fault that he could not continue this little tryst. It was all the doing of a sable-haired harpy intent on seeing him miserable. “Desdemona,” Gabriel softened his tone and grabbed her arms just as she made for the fastenings on his trousers, “perhaps it would be prudent to continue this later in private.”

She pouted and began to kiss the expanse of chest she had laid open with his shirt. “Are you sure?” she murmured, her tongue lapping against his skin.

He growled inarticulately and yanked her away from him. “I am.”

Hurt, she folded her arms and sulked. “And just what do you expect me to do? Go back to the ball?”

“Yes.”

She frowned at that. “You are being very rude, Gabriel Sinclair.”

“Desdemona, leave.”

With deliberate slowness, she sashayed towards the door, casting him one last heated look over her shoulder before unlocking the door and exiting the room.

As soon as she left, Gabriel lunged for the mass of black hair like the enraged man he was, catching the silken locks in a fist and yanking Victoria Colton to her feet. “Just what the hell-” Holy Christ, she was naked.

She squeaked a feeble protest and clutched her silver gown to her chest tightly, giving him a look that was similar to a frightened rabbit in the talons of a hawk.

Seething, he released her and she stumbled backwards a step.

“Victoria, what in blazing hell are you doing?” he demanded furiously.

“I could ask the same of you,” she retorted hotly, squirming uncomfortably as she tried to arrange the gown so that it covered as much of her as possible. The damage was done, though. Gabriel doubted he’d ever be able to eradicate the image of her delicious body covered only by the sheer material of her chemise and petticoat and that gown draping over her curves like a silken curtain.

Suddenly, he was aware of their predicament- both in a state of undress while a door remained unlocked behind them. With jerky, furious movements, he stalked over to it and twisted the key, before turning back to her. “You had better have a good explanation for this,” he growled. “I have half a mind to haul you across my lap and give you the beating you deserve.”

“That I deserve?” she seethed, her cheeks flaming with her anger. “Why, of all the hypocritical things. You, sir, are an abominable man. How dare you reprimand me when you were about to have your wicked way with a… a whore!”

He cursed and came towards her, grabbing her by the tops of her bare arms (a mistake- if he wasn’t hard before, he was certainly now) and giving her a slight shake. “You are by far the most infuriating woman to have ever walked this planet! Explain yourself!”

Haughtily, she tilted her pointy nose in the air and gave him a derisive look. “I,” she began in a tart voice, “was merely trying to rectify a stain on my ball gown. I never thought that such a nefarious thing could befall me in a crowded ballroom! You should be the one explaining yourself to me!”

Cruelly, he shrugged. “Like you said, I wanted to have my wicked way with the beautiful Mrs Desdemona Fitzgerald.”

“Bastard!”

Gabriel considered the implications of doing her physical bodily harm. In the short term, it might prove quite satisfactory. However, it was the long term repercussions that forestalled him. “Because of your idiocy,” he drawled coldly, “I now have to wait for later for the pleasure of Mrs Fitzgerald. I believe you owe me an apology.”

“You are a vile man, the lowest form of scum-”

“That does not sound like much of an apology,” Gabriel retorted. Deliberately, he scraped his eyes over her mussed hair hanging adorably in disarray around her beautiful face, inky ribbons draped artlessly over her smooth, creamy shoulders. His eyes dragged down over the length of her, over the gown she clutched protectively to her breasts, the curve of her waist and the seductive flair of her hips, right down the length of her long, long legs. God, she was so beautiful, so achingly beautiful. “Or,” he growled, “you owe me something else entirely.”

Vicky stiffened under his perusal of her body, finding it hard to identify whether it was rage or desire he inspired within her when he looked at her like that. Perhaps both. Whichever it was, she did not like it, nor did she find the reactions of her own body very amusing either. After all, he had but moments before been primed to fornicate with the blond hussy before her.

“You are despicable,” she hissed vehemently, wishing she wasn’t quite so naked in front of him. Oh, how humiliating. Why did it have to be Gabriel Sinclair that found her in this position? Cruel irony, that- the one man she hated above all others.

He gave her an unperturbed, hooded gaze that simply smouldered as he stared purposefully at her breasts. Her skin became unbelievably warm. “And you,” he murmured, his voice a husky lilt that sent hot shivers racing through her, “have the most tantalizing body I have ever seen.”

Her mouth went dry. He was much too close. She couldn’t think straight with him so close, looking at her like that, like he wanted to consume her. She tried to step away from him, to give them both some space, but he held her tight and pulled her closer, so close that her arms brushed against the hot flesh of his chest, bunched with muscle. Oh dear God.

“You’re mad,” she breathed, frantically, as the desire churned and pooled in her belly. “Let go of me.”

“Mmm.” Not a word, more of an appreciative growl, but the effect was devastating to her senses. Her legs turned to water and she began to tremble. How the man could incite anger and then lust within her so quickly, she had no idea, but it did not help one bit that he was only partially dressed with a shirt that hung open off a perfectly-chiselled chest.

“Gabriel, we should get back to the ball,” she said weakly, endeavouring to push off him but the man was as solid as a wall. A very hot, velvety-smooth wall.

Finding it preposterous that he could affect her so, Vicky attempted to shove herself away from him, pushing her arms out against his chest just as his grip on her slackened.

With a sickening feeling of mortification, she felt and heard her gown slide down her body and crumble to the floor.

“Oh my God.”

His eyes burned into her skin and Victoria thought she would die standing there thus exposed before him. He made no move, just stared at her with an expression of a man starved, a muscle in his strong jaw twitching spasmodically, his lips a hard, unforgiving line.

Clumsily, she fumbled with the gown and pulled it into her arms, turning away from him. With trembling hands, she pulled it over her body and twisted her arms behind her to do up the row of buttons at the back. Without a word, Gabriel stepped close behind her and brushed her fingers out the way, taking over effortlessly and quickly. Her body was about to burst into flames.

When he was done, he uttered a few raspy words, “Fix your hair.”

Although there was not much she could do to tame the unruly mess, Vicky obeyed his command and pinned as many loose pieces as she could back into place. It was hopeless without a mirror though and she suspected she would have to make a detour towards her chambers to fix herself up and maybe possibly change gowns as this one was disastrously creased now.

Once she was done, Victoria moved silently towards the door, unable to face him for fear of finding that look of starvation on his face again. It would undo her, seeing that again. It was best if she just left, if they didn’t speak of this again and preferably never spoke to each other ever again. Yes, that’s what they should do- never speak to each other again. Vicky thought she could pretend that he didn’t exist, that it would be easy, but her loathsome, traitorous body hesitated just as she was about unlock the door and she cast a look at him over her shoulder.

With his shirt open and hanging loosely over his hips, his hands buried deep into his pockets, he was staring at her as if he wanted to devour her whole.

“For God’s sake, Victoria,” he snapped raggedly, “if you know what’s good for you, get the hell out of here.”

She did.