Of course she should want vouchers to Almack’s, a venue to see and be seen, a visible stamp of approval of one’s breeding and welcome among higher circles. She hoped Aunt Pevensey, or Cici, never learned that Lucasta had scorned to take a giftfrom Smart Jeremy’s hands. But the further he stayed from her cousin, the safer she’d be.
Lucasta gave him a stony look. “I wonder what other items you are able to procure outside of the usual means, milord? Tea? Chocolate? French champagne?”
“You think me one of those wily merchants who avoids paying customs duty and excise tax?” He bared his teeth in a smile. “A shame, I suppose, that I am no better than I should be.”
She was expecting the thrust, and yet his softly whispered blow took her off guard. Lucasta stumbled, right there in the steps of the allemande, before all of Lady Clara’s guests. She saw the gulf of shame rising up to meet her as she began to fall—as she’d vowed she would never do—at Smart Jeremy’s feet.
He could havehis revenge right here. All he had to do was let go. Though she had managed to keep in graceful step with him, it was clear she was not practiced at the dance, though only a shade less acquainted than himself. Her hand on his arm was the lightest brush, as if she disdained to touch him. He could simply let her fall, and she would never recover from the humiliation of tripping over her feet in Clara Bellwether’s parlor.
He guessed she was too proud to bear any sort of embarrassment. The gossips would feast on her, and the titters would follow her to every social function hereafter.
Just as the name Smart Jeremy followed him.
He caught her hand and stepped close, pulling her against him and into the turn. He looked down—he did not have to look far, she was so tall—to see that her cheeks had gone scarlet, as if splattered with paint.
Her face was wonderfully transparent, betraying every emotion that dashed through her: fear, mortification, annoyance, and surprise. He waited for remorse. She might mock him for following fashion, but he was still Arendale’s heir. Even Lady Cranbury, who had been one of the loudest detractors of Gerald Falstead’s choice to knit himself to a tradesman’s daughter, had demanded Jem’s approval of her dress.
Miss Lithwick gained her balance and tried tugging her hand from his. Jem tightened his grip so she might not leave him standing alone on the dance floor. The humiliation would be his, if she did. Everyone would assume he had insultedher.
“You said it, and I heard you,” he said softly. “So stay and face me.”
He could see the calculation taking place: to grovel, beg his forgiveness, attempt to gain his favor, like all the others who scorned him behind his back and smiled to his front.
She raised her steady gaze to him, and her scowl said she wasn’t the least repentant.
“You run a grave risk, milord Rudyard. Medusa turned any man she looked upon to stone.”
She was going to brazen it out, the minx. To own what she said, and take the consequences. How rare, for a woman.
“Is there more you wish to say? I thought your epigram quite clever, by the by.”
She did strike him as intelligent. Her eyes held a lively sparkle and an unusual blend of color, streaks of green and gold standing out among the darker brown. While her hair was powdered gray, her black brows and lashes were dark against her slightly olive skin. In poor-fitting gowns she could in no way be mistaken for a leader of fashion, but in the right dress, she could be. She had the bearing to carry off almost anything.
“I suppose none of us are as good as we could be,” she said calmly, starting anotherpassébefore it was time. Gently he steered her back into the correct figure.
She was not inclined to about-face and grovel at his feet. Her deepening scowl said she would carry her point to the last and die upon it. Of all the people in this room, only his friends cared enough to challenge Jem on his pretensions. He couldn’t hide his delight.
“Shall we call a truce? A peace between our peoples. I will stop Ashley complaining about your friends, and we will not allow people to refer to you as—” He almost saidGorgons. That would not go over well. “As anything less than a set of delightful young ladies.”
“I do not think a truce is possible, milord,” she said in a flat tone.
Alarm jumped in his chest. Her epigramhadbeen clever. And gossips loved clever. If her remark were taken up and repeated everywhere—as remarks so easily were—she could lead others to decide that Smart Jeremy was another pompous, useless dandy.
The turn back to society’s disapproval would be swift and devastating. He would lose custom from the upper class, so ready to sneer at him, and the ambitious middle classes followed where their betters led.
And without the barrier of wealth, he would have nothing with which to protect Judith and the others. His title offered flimsy protection, his father, none. Lady Clara’s barbed probes had made that clear.
Jem set his teeth. “You cannot forgive me for caring about the folds of my cravat, I see. Or that I behave as if it were a grand accomplishment to look well?”
“I cannot forgive you for not lessening burdens where you may,” she answered.
“You do not think it a service to help people turn out at their best? Or perhaps you think, with my business, I should be doing more to help the less fortunate.” In fact he contributed to several charitable causes, but no one in this room cared to look past surfaces far enough to see that.
“I do not think you consider the effect of your words.” Her tone was low and serious, and she looked him straight in the eye. “Any more than I did. Yet one should be judged not by appearance, but by actions. You have helped me see that, so I thank you. Milord.”
A hot, white bolt of fury scorched a path through his body, as if he had been stung by some giant scorpion. Jem clenched his teeth. She knew nothing about him, had no basis for fair judgment, and yet her contempt was palpable. If she mocked him for his hypocrisy, for hating this social world even as he tried to use it to his advantage, how much harder would her scorn fall on Judith, about whom she would find even more to disdain?
Shewas the cruel one, with her petty insults and mockery. He was not out to damage but to correct. She and the Gorgons would be the first to flay Judith if he ever made the grave error of presenting her in these circles.
