Page 49 of Her Notorious Rake
Celeste leaned over to him. “Dalton, do you think Lord Neville will propose to Miss Hayesworth tonight?”
“Anything can happen, my dear cousin.”
At last, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the impressive Neville house and he descended, heaving a sigh of relief.
“I daresay this is a great improvement to a country cottage for the girl,” Uncle Ernest stepped down onto the wet cobblestones beside him.
Dalton pressed his lips together and hurried up the steps without a word, though he was probably red with anger. Inside, he was greeted cordially by Lord Neville and his sister. He didn’t miss the lack of smiling on Lord Neville’s part, his usually cheery expression slipping.
After bowing over Lady Neville’s hand, Dalton retreated to a private alcove to sip a glass of champagne. Now that he’d begun to cut back on his carousing, he noticed a significant lack of headaches in the morning. He could owe that to abstaining from heavier drink.
He turned his gaze to the dancers, in the middle of a set. Gemma wasn’t amongst them. Though, presently, a new set began, and Lord Neville led Gemma into the middle of the floor. The crowd hushed and watched in reverence as Lord Neville and Gemma stepped into their places at the head of the line, and the orchestra began to play the next song.
Gemma was beautiful. Heavenly. Dalton caught his breath, mouth dry, and forgot all about the champagne glass in his hand. Envy again twisted in his stomach as Neville led Gemma in the dance, masterful, proud as any man ought to be of Gemma on his arm.
But halfway through the dance, Gemma locked eyes with Dalton, and her mouth fell open in surprise, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. Like she was pleased to see him. Dalton raised his glass to her with a nod and couldn’t find it in himself to care when Neville noticed their locked gazes.
“Dalton?” Celeste’s voice broke the moment and he turnedaway, struggling to breathe. “Will you dance the next set with me?”
Dalton smiled tightly. “Of course.”
When it was time, he maneuvered Celeste over to stand beside Neville and Gemma. If he hoped to win Gemma, then he needed to fight for her.
Gemma smiled at him softly as the music started with a violin solo. They rotated each other, Celeste in his arms, Lord Neville in hers, but they didn’t look away from one another. Dalton’s throat was tight, his pulse singing, as he at last guided Celeste into Neville’s arms and swept Gemma away down the line. It was part of the dance, of course, but his heart squeezed as he gazed down into her starry eyes.
“Lord Blakemore,” she breathed.
“Miss Hayesworth. You are my north star. Meet me in the garden after this set?” he whispered before she returned to Lord Neville. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted. She glanced at him over her shoulder before Lord Neville led her through the next round of steps, and as the orchestra finished the song, she dipped her chin in a subtle nod. A silentyes.
***
Gemma rushed to find Prudence as soon as the dance ended. “He asked me to meet him in the garden,” she whispered to her friend, grasping her hand tightly.
Prudence’s eyes went round.
“And I said yes,” Gemma sank onto a settee in the alcove they’d retreated to.
“At the soiree Lady Neville is giving you? I think Lord Neville hopes to propose to you this evening.”
“I pray he doesn’t,” Gemma frowned. “Especially not in front of all these people.”
“Well, what will you say to Lord Blakemore in the garden?What do you think he wishes to speak with you about?”
Gemma shook her head vigorously. “I don’t know. I can’t make him out whatsoever.”
“He’s an impenetrable man, isn’t he?” Prudence whispered behind her fan.
“Indeed, he is. Well, I must go. And meet him in the garden.” Gemma braced herself, straightening her shoulders. She glanced around until she located the back doors leading onto the Neville’s garden terrace, and watched as Blakemore slipped out the large double doors.
After a few moments, she drove forward, eager to follow. She was waylaid by Lady Neville. “At dinner my brother should like to toast you. Would you mind very much?” she said to Gemma, her expression nothing but kind, genial. She would make Lord Neville’s future bride a wonderful sister. But not Gemma.
She thanked Lady Neville for letting her know and excused herself, saying she needed a breath of fresh air. Lady Neville lifted her eyebrows, concern sparking in her pale eyes. “Oh yes, do enjoy our terrace,” she grasped Gemma’s hand, casting her a sympathetic smile. “It’s lovely weather today. No clouds in sight all day. Perhaps we will be so fortunate to enjoy such fair weather tomorrow.”
“That would be wonderful,” Gemma told her as warmly as she could.
She quickened her pace to the door and slipped out unnoticed. No one else attempted to detain her.
Out in the fresh, cool air of the Spring night, she strained for a glimpse of Lord Blakemore in the shadowy garden. Hurrying down the terrace steps, she hastened along the lit path towards the bowers of roses that lined the garden entrance. But she stopped short when two figures came into view around a corner. It was Celeste, in Lord Blakemore’s arms, her mouth lifted to him.
