Page 72 of Scales and Sensibility
“Oh, but Mrs. De Lacey, if I could have one quick word—”
“Just a moment for my daughter’s sake, if you please…”
There was no way to push past the gathering circle of local matrons and their husbands without risking the touch of bare skin. Elinor could have screamed with frustration. She hung onto her patience with every ounce of self-control she still possessed.
Then she remembered: for this one last night of her life, she was still Mrs. De Lacey. Why on earth should she bother with self-control?
“Will everyone please move out of my way?” she bellowed.
There was a moment of frozen silence. Then the local gentry scattered before her, bowing and scraping and apologizing in agonized embarrassment.
“Muchbetter.” Elinor unfurled her aunt’s second-best black evening fan to cool her face as she sailed forward. Sir Jessamyn sat up alertly on her shoulder, his golden gaze sweeping the room.
“Benedict,” she murmured to him. “Look for Benedict, not for food. We need to find—”
She was cut off by a sudden fanfare of flutes and horns. Sir John stood before the orchestra in the corner of the room, looking ready to burst with pride as the guests paused in their conversations and turned to listen.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We’ve gathered in honor of the prettiest girl in England tonight. And now, ready to lead off the first set of the evening…my daughter!”
He pointed to the center of the room, where Penelope stood next to a politely smiling Benedict. His gaze searched through the crowd and met Elinor’s; his smile turned rueful. He gave an infinitesimal shrug.
She tried to give him a reassuring smile in return, but his face was lost to her within seconds as other young ladies and their partners surrounded him, taking their places for the dance.
At least Penelope couldn’t do anything in front of so many people, Elinor told herself. Her cousin would have to trick Benedict into taking her out of the ballroom if she wished to create a compromising situation. All that Elinor had to do was intercept him the moment that the first set of dances ended, and he would be perfectly safe.
“Mrs. De Lacey.” Gavin Armitage bowed before her. His evening coat emphasized his broad shoulders, and gold thread glittered on his waistcoat, picking out a pattern studded with tiny jewels. “May I have this dance?”
She smiled thinly. “Thank you, but I do not dance tonight.”
“Oh, but you must. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you dance before, in London, so you can’t pretend to be too old and staid. How can you possibly refuse me?”
“With great ease.” Elinor turned pointedly away from him. She couldn’t dance with anyone, of course; there was too great a risk of bare skin brushing in the turns of the dance. But with Gavin Armitage, of all people, she felt no need to pretend regret. Surely blackmail removed any need for courtesy between them?
She would have walked away without looking back, but Sir Jessamyn let out a warning chirrup. She turned just in time: Mr. Armitage’s bare hand had been about to close around her bare arm, in the dangerous gap between her cap sleeves and her glove.
“I beg your pardon!” She snapped her fan out between them like a shield.
His blue eyes were glittering with anger, his social mask dropped for the first time since she’d met him. “So you should,” he said. “Why is Miss Hathergill dancing with Benedict Hawkins, may I ask?”
“She must have promised him this dance,” Elinor said coldly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“She promised it to me,” said Mr. Armitage. “Now she’s shifted my dance to the second set. What have you been telling her, Mrs. De Lacey?”
“To marry you, of course,” she snapped. “Much good may it do either of you.”
She was horrified to realize that she was trembling, an involuntary response to the menace that suddenly thickened the air. She took a shallow breath, and forced herself not to step back. They were standing in a crowded ballroom, for heaven’s sake. There was nothing he could do to her. But as Elinor looked into Gavin Armitage’s eyes, she suddenly had no doubt whatsoever that hewouldphysically hurt her, if need be, to get what he desired.
He might even enjoy it.
Good God. She fought not to let the horrifying realization show on her face.I can’t let him marry Penelope after all.
Her cousin was many things, almost all of them horrid. But even Penelope didn’t deserve to be wed to Gavin Armitage.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
Elinor lifted her chin. “If you will recall,” she said coldly, “I have until ten o’clock to secure your future happiness.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Gavin Armitage stepped back. “Until ten o’clock.”
