“You don’t understand,” protested Hugh.
“Yes, oh, yes, I think I do understand. You’ve carried Julia’s rejection around as some sort of armor, a convenient excuse for shallow emotions and amusing little dalliances. For all your great military service and courage under fire, you haven’t shown courage where it counts. This country of mine was founded on risks and the people willing to take them. That takes a special kind of courage, a courage you can’t even begin to know,” she blazed, her eyes sparkling like jewels. She paused, glaring at him, then gave it up in disgust and turned, fleeing the gallery, the moonlight, the sharp tingling, and him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.The single-word litany resounded in her mind as she made her way back to the parlor. She was the naive one. Imagine thinking an English aristocrat could be interested in her. Hadn’t she despised him for days after their first meeting? Her initial reaction to the man bore more truth than the subsequent softening of her ideas and feelings. She had merely been surprised by the debilitating and exhilarating feelings he aroused, for they were alien to her. Now that she knew and understood more about love, she was confident another gentleman could rouse her to the same emotional state if she allowed him.
The quartet Louisa hired for the evening was playing a sprightly contredanse. Vanessa wondered how long she had been gone and if her absence went unnoticed. Though she asked herself that question, she realized she didn’t care. Suddenly the party seemed as appetizing as flat champagne. She slipped inside the parlor behind a guest nearly as rotund as Madame Rouchardier, then sidled around the edge of the room toward the back section of the large double parlor where the quartet was playing, and the dancers bowed and moved through the figures with more arrogant elegance than competence.
On the dance floor, Paulette was being led out by the Comte Baligny, and Adeline by a young man who displayed more awkward angles to his limbs than lines. Vanessa winced when she noted him accidentally jabbing her sister in the shoulder as they executed siding. Trevor came up beside her, standing silently.
She smiled and waved her hand in Adeline’s direction. “My sister displays more forbearance than I could manage.” He nodded. “Hers is a gentle soul, and she would not hurt or embarrass anyone by her actions.”
She looked up at him, an arrested expression in her eyes. “I’ve always known that, but I don’t believe I’ve ever put it into words before. You’re very right.”
“Where’s Hugh?” Trevor asked abruptly.
Vanessa’s face twisted into a grimace. “He is busily employed with fabricating rationalizations for his actions that have nothing to do with his emotions.”
Trevor cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She shook her head. “It is not important. They are his demons, and I refuse to allow someone else’s deficiencies to cause me pain.”
“And could they?”
“Could they what?”
“Cause you pain?”
She laughed shrilly. “La, Trevor, you are reading too much into a short conversation.”
He looked at her solemnly, then quickly smiled warmly at her when he spied Wilmot making his steady way toward them. “Would you care to dance?” he asked with stiff pleasantry.
Vanessa’s brow knit at the abrupt change in conversation, then she, too, saw Mr. Wilmot. She smiled brilliantly up at Mr. Danielson and nodded, tucking her hand in his arm. “I shall be delighted, and I promise my bad temper shall not resurface.”
“I have no fear of your temper,” he said, “for you are nothing if not fair.”
Vanessa thought of her words to Hugh Talverton, and a fleeting feeling of remorse swept through her. “Sometimes I wonder, Mr. Danielson, sometimes I wonder.”
He looked at her strangely but, leading her out onto the dance floor, he did not question her further. In truth, she was in an uncertain temper. He was curious to know what had transpired between his friend and her. However, his manners were too polished to inquire.
Vanessa danced, smiled, and adopted a deliberate carefree demeanor. If her laughter was a trifle shrill to her own ears, and her eyes overly bright, it did not seem to be noticed by others. She even allowed herself a mild flirtation with this or that young man who squired her to dance and bent so far as to allow Mr. Wilmot to partner her for a set.
Hugh Talverton entered the makeshift ballroom in time to see Vanessa lead down through a set on Wilmot’s arm. He watched them perform the intricate figures of the dance, an arrogant mask hardening his features. He had promised he would protect her from Mr. Wilmot’s unwanted advances. The irony was he afforded her no protection from himself. He was the veriest cad to take advantage of her trust and Trevor’s. Yet he could not deny the curious allure she exuded, and now he was uncertain who was the spider and who the fly.
Remembering the warmth and gentle pliancy of her body against his, the taste of her kiss, the sweet essence that was hers alone filling his nostrils, he hated himself, and God help him, he hated Trevor. The jealousy he bore his best friend ate at his soul, but he steadfastly vowed he would not make the same mistakes he made with Julia. Now that his business dealings were near completion, and there was no need of his presence in the city until the cotton harvest, perhaps he should do as he told Wilmot and leave to explore this raw, untamed land.
His eyes restlessly followed Vanessa’s every move, ignoring the dark-eyed Creole women who wished he’d look in their direction so they might claim his attention. The dance was ending. He stiffened, fighting the urge to rush to her side and claim the next, thus removing her from Wilmot’s orbit. But he did not trust himself, and he told himself he would importune her no further.
“Miss Mannion,” murmured Russell Wilmot as he led her off the dance floor, “I regrettably am not, by nature, a patient man, yet with you, I have exhibited a marked degree of patience. I have desired private conversation with you this past week.”
“I know, sir, and I apologize.” She fidgeted with her fan, her eyes downcast. “But I find I have no words of encouragement to offer you, and in my weakness, I found avoidance easier.”
“You will not forgive my presumption?”
“It is not that! Truthfully, I now know that your actions were not so forward as to be beyond forgiveness,” she said weakly, coloring slightly at the memory of Hugh’s kiss. Desperately she looked around for Hugh; for now she felt like a damsel in distress and would have him rescue her. But it was not Hugh she spied making his way across the crowded room toward her but Trevor. Her face cleared, a faint sigh of relief passing her lips.
Wilmot noted her blush and followed the direction of her eyes. His eyes narrowed, and a scowl darkened his countenance. “You would have me understand that your heart is otherwise engaged?” he growled.
She looked back toward him, startled. The truth of his statement pierced her heart. She loved Hugh Talverton, but it was a love doomed to frustration. She felt helpless, gripped as she was in the throes of her emotion. Gripping her fan tightly, her face pale, she nodded slowly, her tongue cloying to the roof of her mouth.
