Page 5 of Lady of Charade
“Of course we would, Sarah, you know that. However… this has to be what you want,” she said softly, and Sarah smiled at her.
“I appreciate that — I appreciate what all of you would like to do for me, I do,” she said. “I know if I ever need somewhere else to stay, I can turn to any of you. But for now, I will remain where I am, content in what I am able to do. And at the moment, as much as I would love you all to stay, I very much need to sleep.”
“Of course,” Phoebe said, rising from the bed and walking to the door, the other two following her, Elizabeth quite reluctantly as she spun around, continuing to look at Sarah’s accommodations. “We shall see you tomorrow.”
After they left, Sarah locked the door tightly behind them and fell back on the bed, into a long, dream-filled sleep.
CHAPTER2
Another evening, another party. David walked around the edges of the room, keeping an eye out for which beautifully coiffed heads he must avoid and which ones were most likely to welcome him. He attended most of these events because his family expected it of him, for the truth was that he far preferred venues where he didn’t have to put on airs or maintain any particular facade.
He was so busy looking about him that he almost walked into a marble bust that protruded from a niche in one of the side walls. As he sidestepped it, his foot nearly got caught in the large draperies that hung to the floor over the French windows, and he realized that he had never been much of a wallflower, so to speak. For he had no idea how to navigate the edges of a fine room such as this. The room was large and meant to impose, a fantastic, multi-layered chandelier descending from the clouds painted upon the ceiling. Great mirrors bordered the room to provide an even more expansive look, while gold-framed paintings surrounded the room above blue-and-yellow silk sofas.
The first strains of music began, and David saw Lady Lochlin coming his way. She was a beautiful woman, sultry and skilled, but she was also becoming a might too attached for his liking, despite his repeated attempts to dissuade her. That was one thing he was always sure of — he never made promises, especially those he had no intention of keeping.
He looked around wildly for an escape and saw the back of a woman he recognized — one who was always up for a spot of fun and was as averse to a permanent attachment to him as he was to her.
“Sophia,” he murmured in her ear as he stepped up behind her and surreptitiously ran a hand down the bare skin of her arm showing between her cap sleeve and her glove. “Lovely seeing you here tonight, luv. Fancy a dance?”
Sophia whirled around so fast, she nearly knocked him over. David took a hurried step backward as he realized that Sophia… was definitelynotSophia.
The woman, pretty in an innocent, soft way — certainly not his type — narrowed her eyes at him, studying him from head to toe in a way that made him feel quite vulnerable and exposed.
“I believe you have me confused with another, my lord,” she said, and he was stunned by the words coming from her mouth, though it was not so muchwhatshe said, but how she spoke. Her voice was almost… tender in a way, soft and lilting. Her words came out flatter than most, a strange accent that was near to his own way of speaking yet different enough that he could certainly recognize it.
“Ah, yes,” he said, his face warming when he thought of the way he had approached her, for she clearly understood the nature of his relationship with this Sophia. “Forgive me, my lady.”
“Not, my lady,” she said. “Simply Miss Jones.”
“Miss Jones!” recognition dawned at her name. “You are a friend of Lady Berkley and the Duchess of Clarence.”
“That I am,” she nodded, then added, “Lord Brentwood.”
“Ah, so you are aware of my identity,” he acknowledged, rocking back and forth on his heels, unsure of whether this was in his favor or not. “I am simply Mr. Redmond, however, and always will be, being my father’s younger son.”
“Of course,” she said, seeming only slightly embarrassed by her mistake, which was a strange one for a woman of a noble family. “And I am — aware of you, that is,” she nodded, and he wondered if that was laughter he read in her eyes. “You have quite the reputation, sir.”
So her familiarity with him would not work in his favor then. Ah well. He prepared himself to depart.
“However, I would be happy to dance with you if you wish, my— Mr. Redmond.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, his manners and charm quickly covering his surprise at her ready agreement, despite the fact his original proposition had been to another woman. Most women would have told him to be gone out of sight, but it seemed this Miss Jones was the forgiving type.
He held his arm out to her, and she took it gracefully as they joined the other dancers who were preparing for the cotillion. They clasped hands, and David was shocked by the jolt that shot through his body at the contact with her, despite the gloves they were both wearing. Her fingers seemed to fit so perfectly in his. David frowned at the thought racing through his mind. Of all the experiences he had with so many women, he was focusing on the feeling of her hands? Ridiculous.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her pert little freckled nose crunching in concern, and a rush of need to appease her ran through him.
“Of course,” he said. “It is simply… the steps of this dance. I was concentrating.”
Which was a lie — he had learned this dance as a child and could likely do it in his sleep. But it was the first thought that had entered his mind.
“I understand,” she said with a knowing smile as she leaned into him. “I have trouble with this one myself.”
As the music began, he could see that while he had fibbed, she was certainly telling the truth. Her lips moved as she began to count the steps, her head tilting down to gaze at her feet once the couples on the floor began to move in earnest. It was endearing, and so unlike the perfectly practiced steps of most women of his acquaintance.
They didn’t speak much — he had no wish to disrupt her timing — but instead, whenever they neared one another during the dance, he studied her.
She was of average height, which put her about a foot below him. He could tell that if he reached out a hand to brush it over her hair, it would be soft, wispy almost, the light brown color reminding him of cinnamon.
