The tale of being summoned to his family home had been a fiction, intended to keep Miss Emerson from learning of her aunt’s instruction.
As was so often the case with convenient fictions, it had served Mr. Melbourne well. Here was Miss Emerson, as lovely as ever, without a suitor and in the custody of a chaperone who clearly knew nothing of that past interview. Even the brother was oblivious, which meant there was a moment of opportunity for Melbourne to act before it was too late.
The tale of his inheritance, surrendered to Mrs. North, was also a fable, a scheme to ensure that the chaperone did not forbid his presence. Melbourne had only his debts to his name and he had need of funds soon, making the amiable Miss Emerson the obvious solution.
He had to tread lightly, though, and he had to move quickly. His lies would not withstand much perusal: they could only gain him sufficient time to convince Miss Emerson to elope with him. As soon as the chaperone conferred with Lady Dalhousie, he would be revealed. He could only hope that revelation would not occur quickly.
On this particular evening, he chose to take his leave of Almack’s. Captain Emerson did not appear to be a man Melbourne would like as an enemy. A military man, both larger and older than Melbourne, Emerson certainly would know how to fight. Melbourne preferred to cultivate a bruise only when he could capitalize upon it to soften a lady’s objections.
With Miss Emerson, he did not imagine any such encouragement would be required. His usual tactics of flattery, stolen moments and seductive touches should be more than sufficient: she was nigh already his.
Ethan was by nature a gambler, but he had a healthy respect for Dame Fortune. So much had gone well already this night that he would not press on. Instead, he would give the appearance of leaving the field. That would diminish any sense of urgency in the chaperone to speak to Lady Dalhousie.
Melbourne lifted his hat to Miss Emerson, catching her eye from the other side of the ballroom, and watched her countenance light. She even waved to him, careless of convention, and he smiled to himself as he departed. He did not have to look to see the widow or the brother glare at him. Let them be as dour as they liked. His campaign was resumed and Melbourne was determined that this season, it should succeed.
Haste was key.
Chapter 5
His strategy was doomed to failure.
Nicholas could not believe he was dancing at Almack’s, abandoned by Haynesdale, utterly sober yet enjoying himself, simply due to a short interval of dancing with Eliza again. He had chastised Helena during the waltz to no discernible effect but was relieved to see Melbourne leave the gathering. There was something about that man that convinced Nicholas to neither like nor trust him, and he could not wait to compare his observations with those of Eliza.
That was not the only reason he wished to talk to Eliza. That caress of his arm, that fleeting touch that was of much longer duration than expected, haunted him. He would have an explanation—or more.
When the second waltz of the evening began, Nicholas saw his opportunity. He led Helena directly toward her chaperone, smiling when he saw Eliza’s eyes light from across the floor. “Why look, Mr. Galveston is approaching Mrs. North,” he said for his sister’s benefit.
“You will not condemn me to dance with someone as ancient as yourself,” Helena complained under her breath. “You are supposed to be my ally in this, Nicholas!”
“I am your ally.”
“Nicholas!” Helena hissed his name through her teeth.
He spared her a quelling glance. “I am certain I have a year or two upon him.” His sister’s eyes flashed, but she had her way often enough in Nicholas’ view. He bowed before Mrs. North, whose gaze flicked to Helena. “I believe you owe me a reward, Mrs. North,” Nicholas said, offering his hand.
Eliza hesitated and Nicholas knew why. Who could guess what trouble his sister would find if left to her own resources?
Galveston stepped forward in that moment, as if his arrival had been planned. “Mrs. North, might I be so bold as to invite Miss Emerson to dance? I know it is a waltz, but I appeal to you with my pledge of the utmost decorum.”
Relief lit Eliza’s gaze. “Mr. Galveston, I am confident that you will be a perfect gentleman.”
“Miss Emerson?”
Helena seemed to draw upon some inner strength, sparing a last overly-long glance around the room before accepting Mr. Galveston’s hand.
Nicholas grinned as he whirled Eliza away onto the floor. He watched as Eliza ensured that Helena and Mr. Galveston were dancing in an appropriate manner.
“Whatever you said to your sister, Captain Emerson, it was taken into consideration,” she said. “There is a great increment of space between them.”
“Then my reward has been doubly earned,” Nicholas said, pulling her slightly closer. He expected her to retreat but instead Eliza cast him a smile of satisfaction. He had not been mistaken about that caress! “Do I recall correctly that you like to dance?”
“You do and I do. You are a very good partner, Captain. My toes are beguiled.”
“There is praise offered in the tone of a woman who has known less good partners.”
It was bewitching to be so close to her, to feel the indent of her waist beneath his gloved hand, to inhale of her scent and savor it. “Frederick could not abide dancing,” she confessed, as if it was unkind to even utter such a truth. Nicholas felt a surge of pride that was utterly unworthy of him. He could not be jealous of a dead man, but he was.
Ten years with Eliza as his wife. Nicholas could not even imagine such good fortune.
