Page 12 of When She Loved Me
“Um, I do not.” She pushed aside the curls that had escaped her bonnet and which the wind tried to sweep across her face. “No engagements at all until your betrothal ball this weekend.”
He didn’t think it was her intent to so boldly lay that out as a reminder of their circumstance, but it hung between them, nevertheless. He nodded tightly, his eyes on the ribbons in his hands.
“My lord, are... you worried I might say something to Sabrina or...?”
Trevor tipped his eyes toward her and shook his head. He stared at her lips, so temptingly full, so damnably delicious he now knew, and confessed, “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Nicki patted his arm one last time and clambered down from the high phaeton, without awaiting his assistance. “Think nomore upon it, my lord. I couldn’t bear to lose you as my friend over something so absurd, so... unfortunate.”
He nodded tightly, his teeth clamped painfully, guessing as he watched her disappear within the house that had he unlocked his jaw and opened his mouth, something irrevocably stupid, something completely dangerous might have spewed forth.
“Think no more upon it?” Trevor considered her words, shaking his head at the improbability of that as an option. “I can think of little else,” he grumbled as he moved the team away from her stoop and back out onto the road.
Chapter Four
TREVOR WENTWORTH ANDhis mother, Lady Leven, welcomed Baron Kent and his two daughters in the foyer of the Earl of Leven’s townhouse. The house itself was not large enough to house an extravagant ball for tonight’s betrothal celebration, but as the Wentworth/Kent wedding was to be a smaller—hurried—affair to quickly set Trevor’s finances to right, the numbers tallied on the guest list totaled not many more than fifty. The wedding itself would take place only seven weeks from now, whether the bride was ready or not.
Given that this past week Sabrina had been more accommodating than previously, Trevor was somewhat surprised to find, upon her entrance, that the blonde beauty had quite obviously taken to tears sometime recently. Her eyes shone just a bit red still, and her nose too was colored yet with evidence of a crying snit. Aside from that, Sabrina was lovely as usual, gowned in a silk, high-waisted confection of shimmering ivory, her hair dressed regally atop her head, small manipulated ringlets artfully posed to frame her face. Trevor bent low over her hand, noting without amusement that she seemed to become quite rigid when he touched her.
Lady Elinor conversed with Baron Kent, that man dressed formally as Trevor had never seen him, in black evening wear complete with knee breeches and low boy boots and clinging still to the declining custom of wearing wigs upon such ceremonial occasions. His artificial piece, atop his round and red-faced head appeared entirely comical to Trevor, the piece being perhaps asize too small that it seemed to only have been slapped upon him rather than fitted properly.
Then Nicki was standing before him. And while evidence of Sabrina’s tears had moved him not at all, to see that Nicki apparently had suffered the same circumstance—this evidence being not so pretty as Sabrina’s, Nicki’s face being blotchy and her nose bright still—weakened Trevor that he stumbled over his words of greeting when she finally raised haunted green eyes to him. His jaw tightened imperceptibly, and he was struck with the sure knowledge that likely these two sisters had not shared their separate turmoil, whatever they be—Trevor had only ideas—but had only cried separately.
“Hello, Nicki,” he said in a lowered voice.
He watched her back straighten, saw a determined smile overtake her features, and bent over her hand just as he had with Sabrina while Nicki said, “Good Evening, my lord. What a beautiful home you have.”
He stared knowingly into her eyes, he let his expression tell her that this false attempt at trite pleasantries was both unnecessary and transparent. But Nicki, being unable to hide herself completely from him, being ever, he supposed, of a forthright nature, shrugged at him as if to say, “I don’t know how to do this after all.”
“You look lovely, sister,” he said purposefully, putting them both into an awareness of their positions. But she was truly lovely, outshining, he thought once again, even the bride-to-be. Dressed in a high-waisted gown of pink silk gauze, the bodice was low and trimmed with darker pink cording and silk ribbons, the sleeves pleated and decorated with ribbon as well. The skirt of her gown was gored and flowed outward and behind in a smalltrain. He then belied his pointed words by allowing his gaze to stay perhaps a moment too long and hungrily upon the presentation of her bosom, shaped so prettily, so temptingly within the confines of the tight-fitted bodice. If Nicki noticed, she gave no indication, indeed seemed to be more concerned with those words, happily latching onto them as a model for the evening.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said then lightly, her smile relaxing just a bit as she moved away from him, affecting a great interest in the foyer itself.
While he stared rather fixedly at her, she pretended that she knew not of his attention. The stark contrast of Nicki’s dark hair and eyes against the paleness of her gown was truly an eye-drawing sight. But he had no business even considering how exquisite she looked tonight. He had no business thinking about her at all, truth be told, certainly not with such prominence as his mind allowed. Shaking himself internally, he warned himself that she was off limits for more reasons than one. Trevor knew, without a doubt, that he needed to lose this sudden and vexing fixation with her, that it had no place in his life, that it would come to no good end, and most importantly—as he’d tried to convince himself—that it was a nebulous and fleeting infatuation formed solely because he’d always been tempted by things he thought he could not have.
Wentworth’s butler pulled open the door then and a small influx of people entered his Mayfair residence. Taking his place beside Sabrina, now began the tedium of his evening. His betrothed proved to be the epitome of refined gentility as she accepted warm greetings and some heartfelt congratulations, never once betraying her true feelings, and then neither sparing one happy glance at her fiancé at her side.
He knew exactly when Nicki left the foyer, venturing up the stairs to the second floor ballroom, now accompanied by several girlfriends who’d arrived. She, too, cast no glance in his direction, but surely, he surmised, she must be plagued by that prickle of awareness as his eyes strayed again and again to her.
With deliberation, he brought his attention back to Archibald Foote, now standing before him and pumping his hand vigorously while he offered his felicitations and wishes for a long and happy life. Feeling other eyes upon him as well, Trevor presented Mr. Foote to Sabrina, somewhat perturbed to find that her gaze studied him with a perceptive little gleam before she managed to erase that shrewd glare. She said a pretty hello to Mr. Foote, returning to her perfect persona, causing Trevor to wonder if he’d only imagined that she’d given him such a knowing and calculating look.
IT WAS, QUITE POSSIBLY, the longest evening of Nicole’s short life. Oh, she thought her gown was very lovely, one of her favorites, and her hair had seemed to agree with all of Amelia’s plans for it, and there wasn’t a person present that she did not like, the Countess of Leven exempted of course. And she was in Trevor’s home.
But she was miserable, having watched the newly betrothed couple lead off the dancing while a small quartet of musicians accompanied them. Sabrina was beautiful, smiling in Trevor’s arms as if she were the happiest woman in the world. Nicole was sickened by it, knowing full well that earlier this evening, while stillat home, her sister had tearfully begged her father to call the whole thing off, though obviously to no effect. Nicole had cried as well, seemingly in a mirrored plea for Sabrina’s release, though in fact she’d cried for her own broken heart as the baron had raged at them, promising Sabrina she would be penniless if she chose not to honor his contract with Leven.
Trevor, dancing with Sabrina, was tall and imposing and without a smile, but likely no one would make too much of this—an earl of his stature and regard did not deign to show his private feelings upon the public dance floor. Nicole had watched them for a bare few minutes before exiting the ballroom, and finding her way downstairs, where there was relative quiet. She wandered through the foyer and down the corridor, peeking into opened doorways, finding eventually Trevor’s study. Curious, she entered the darkened room, shadow lit by only one small taper lighted upon the mantle. The walls of this room were lined with books, some very old, she noticed with a quick glance. His desk, a huge Chippendale piece, sat near to the far windows, his chair being then able to face inside or out.
While above her the musicians struck up another tune for the agreeable dancers, Nicole gingerly sat in Trevor’s chair, running her hands along the finely carved arms, looking upon his desk, wondering what occupied his time. No papers or work of any kind sat atop the leather inlaid desk. Likely all tucked away into drawers, she guessed, but dared not peruse these. She glanced up, seeing what he might see when he sat here. Negligently, her mind wandered, sadly thinking that one day he would sit here and work, or read theTimes, and he would glance up as the door opened. And Sabrina would walk in. Would he smile? Would their marriage get to that point? Would he think of her?
“Ah, here you are,” said a voice at the door now.
Nicole found Edmund Campion—and not Sabrina—standing at the threshold. Edmund was young, like she, and presently a viscount but one day to be the Marquess of Campion. He’d said a brief hello to her earlier, but his attention had been drawn away by his doting mother, who’d rather have seen his time spent with men of business, and not yet ladies of little consequence.
“Hello, Edmund,” she said with a rueful little smile. They were cousins of a sort and had through the years met quite often. He’d always been kind to her. But just now, she’d wanted to sit here alone, just she and Trevor’s things, the feel of Trevor all around her.
“I saw you leave,” he said, coming fully into the room, even daring as she had, and taking the chair in front of the desk. “You cannot be so wearied at your own sister’s betrothal ball to have need of solitude. And as I was quite aware of all the eyes that did follow you, I know that you would not lack for partners.” He gave an impression of a boy in possession of a man’s mind and demeanor, being quite serious and thoughtful. “But are you truly not enjoying yourself?”
Nicole offered a brief laugh. No, she most certainly was not. She tried then to make it about something else, and not the earl. “Perhaps the season isn’t all a girl hopes it might be,” she suggested. “Same people, same dances, same market.”
