And it hadn't, somewhat to his surprise, abraded his sensitivities-if anything, he felt immeasurably relieved to have so definitively staked his claim. Every matron who mattered now understood he fully intended to marry Miss Felicity Parteger. All would assume there was an understanding between them. Most importantly, the good ladies would see it as entirely proper that he, being so much older than she, with so much more worldly experience, would declare his hand in this fashion, then allow her to enjoy her Season without keeping by her side.
No one would now think it odd if he kept a safe distance between them.
"I'll take you back to Berkeley Square, then I'll call on Montague and see what he's learned."
Flick nodded, the joy in her eyes dimming. "Time is getting on."
Chapter 17
Time was indeed passing, but not as Flick had hoped. Four evenings later, she sat in the shadows of Lady Horatia's carriage and tried not to feel let down. Any other young lady would be enjoying herself hugely, caught up in the frantic whirl. She'd been to Almack's, to parties, balls, musicales and soirees. What more could she possibly want?
The answer was sitting on the seat opposite, clothed in his usual black. As the carriage rocked, his shoulders swayed. She could see his fair hair, and the pale oval of his face, but not his features. Her mind, however, supplied them-set in his customary social mask. Ineffably polite with just a touch of cool hauteur, that mask conveyed mild boredom. No hint of interest, sensual or otherwise, was ever permitted to show.
Increasingly, Flick wondered if such interest still existed.
She virtually never saw him in daylight. Since that drive in the park, he hadn't called again, nor had he appeared to stroll the lawns by her side. She appreciated he might be busy with other matters, but she hadn't expected him to bring her here, then leave her so terribly alone.
If it wasn't for the twins' friendship and the warmth of his family, she'd be lost-as alone as she'd been when her parents had died.
Yet she got the distinct impression he still wished to many her-that everyone expected they'd soon wed. Her words to the twins haunted her; she'd chosen, but she'd yet to declare her choice. If that choice meant leading a life like this, then she wasn't at all sure she could stand it.
The carriage halted, then rocked forward, then halted again, this time under the brilliantly lit portico of Arkdale House. Demon uncoiled his long legs-the door opened and he stepped down, turned and handed her down, then helped his mother from the carriage. Horatia shook out her skirts, smoothed her coiffure, then claimed the butler's arm and swept inside, leaving Demon to lead Flick in.
"Shall we?"
Flick glanced at his face, but it was his mask she saw; his tone held the same boredom. Studiously correct, he offered his arm; inclining her head, she rested her fingertips on his sleeve.
She kept a sweet smile on her lips as they progressed through the door and on up the curving staircase-and tried not to dwell on his stiff stance, his bent arm held away from his body. It was always thus, these days. No longer did he draw her close, as if she was special to him.
They greeted Lady Arkdale, then followed Horatia to a chaise by the wall. Demon immediately requested the first cotillion and the first country dance after supper, then melted into the crowd.
Stifling a sigh, Flick held her head high. It was always the same-he assiduously escorted her to every ball, but all that ever came of it was her laying her hand on his sleeve on the way in, one distant cotillion, one even more distant country dance, a stilted supper surrounded by her admirers, a few glimpses through the crowd, then her placing her hand on his sleeve as they departed. How anyone could imagine there was anything between them-anything with the potential to lead to marriage-she couldn't comprehend.
His departure was the signal for her court to gather. Infusing her features with appropriate delight, she set her self to manage the youthful gentlemen who, if she let them, would fawn at her feet.
In no way different from the evenings that had preceded it, this evening, too, rolled on.
"I say-careful!"
"Oh! I'm so sorry." Flick blushed, quickly shifted her feet, and smiled apologetically at her partner, an earnest young gentleman, Lord Bristol. They were swinging around the floor in a waltz; unfortunately, she found dancing with anyone but Demon more a trial than a delight.
Because, if she wasn't dancing with him, she was forever trying to catch glimpses of him as he stood conversing by the side of the floor.
It was a dreadful habit, one she deplored, one she lectured herself on constantly. To no avail. If he was there, her eyes were drawn to him-she was helpless to prevent it. Luckily, the ton's ballrooms were large and excessively crowded; a quick glimpse was all she ever caught. Her partners, as far as she knew, had not noticed her fixation.
Even when she stepped on their toes.
Inwardly wincing, she sternly told herself to pay attention. She hated the taste her silly behavior left in her mouth. Once again, she was a besotted girl peering through the banisters for a glimpse of him. Her idol. The one man she'd wanted but who'd been out of her reach. More and more, she was starting to feel he was still out of her reach.
She didn't like watching him, but she did-compulsively. And what she saw brought no joy. There was inevitably a woman by his side, some hideously beautiful lady, head tilted as she looked into his face, her own creasing into smiles as she laughed at some risque quip. It only needed a glimpse for her to take it all in-the languidly elegant gestures, the saber-witted remarks, the arrogantly seductive lift of a brow.
The women pressed close, and he let them. Some even lifted their white hands to his arms, his shoulders, leaning against him while he charmed and teased, employing the seductive wiles he no longer used on her.
Why she kept looking-fashioning a whip for her own back-she didn't know. But she did.
"Do you think the weather will hold fine tomorrow?"
Flick refocused on Lord Bristol. "I suppose so." The skies had been blue for a week.
"I was hoping I might prevail upon you to honor me and my sisters with your presence on a drive to Richmond."
Flick smiled gently. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Lady Horatia and I are fully committed tomorrow."
"Oh-yes, of course. Just a thought."
Flick let regret tinge her smile-and wished it was Demon who'd asked. She didn't care a fig for the constant round of entertainments; she would have enjoyed a drive to Richmond, but she couldn't encourage Lord Bristol to imagine he had any chance with her.
Supper had come and gone; Demon had coolly claimed her, stiffly escorted her into the supper room, then sat by her side and said not a word as her court endeavored to entertain her. This waltz had followed immediately; she performed without thought, waiting for their revolutions to bring them once more in sight of her obsession. He was standing at the end of the room.
Then Lord Bristol swung her into the turn. She looked-and nearly gasped. Whirling away, she dragged in a breath, struggling to mask her shock. Her lungs constricted; she felt real pain.
Who was she-the woman all but draped over him? She was stunningly beautiful-dark hair piled high over an exquisite face atop a body that flaunted more sumptuous curves than Flick had imagined possible. Much worse, her cloying closeness, the way she looked into his face, positively screamed their relationship.
Blissfully unaware, Lord Bristol swung her up the room. Blankness descended, blessed relief from the clawing, shrieking jealousy that had raked her. The change left her dizzy.
The music faded, the dance came to an end. Lord Bristol released her-she nearly stumbled, only just remembering to curtsy.