Chapter 121

Stillmore pulled her closer. He had made mistakes here. Ones as big as her mouth. And right now, not only did he not know what she'd said to that bloody damned bitch, Babs Langley, but his biggest worry was that damned bracelet he'd had to pretend he hadn't seen her give the runt.
But here was the thing. The goddamn bracelet didn't matter. Nothing did. He didn't say, 'as long as he could keep her.' He just knew that finally, that look of harassment in her eyes had died, and as they met his, there wasn't just that flicker of vulnerability. There were things he'd never read there. An openness that dried his breath at the very back of his throat.
A step to the side. A step back. Bracelet? Hadn't he given Babs a bracelet all these months ago? What had it meant in terms of anything lasting? Nothing. He let her go. Stepped into the neighboring set as she stepped into the one to her left.
He mustn't think about the bracelet. The watch either. She might have taken it for the runt. She might not. A step around her. A step back. The first time they danced, he'd thought her beautiful, in an unconventional way. His throat, already constricted, tightened as if his cravat was a damned garrote. There was just no denying he was smitten, and seeing her sitting there with Babs Langley, she was the one he couldn't tear his eyes from.
That night with her had been something. How many times had he thought so?
And told himself it was only sex. Because it was and yet, it wasn't. He might as well own up about that. Or he'd have told her earlier he did damn well worry about her position, that it was always worth keeping in with Lady Kertouche, instead of saying she might as well leave. He might have said he'd thought again about all of this, and he was trying to live with her. But these things made him sweat. He might have said, look, I'll pay your lodgings for a year.
Now, as the two sets stepped through each other, drawing a breath of pure bergamot from the center of her hair in passing, he wondered one thing. Could he live without her?
He had no idea what the future held, but one thing he did know. Tonight when they arrived home, he was not going to shut the bedroom door on her.
Tomorrow? Tomorrow was something he was damned to. Tomorrow he was going to prove himself worthy of her. There were things he'd done he couldn't undo, things that blotted his conscience like ink stains, sadnesses at the bottom of glasses, but on one thing he was not mistaken. If she would have him, this was his chance to live a better life. She'd broad-sided him back to life. If she'd simpered, or cowered, or behaved like Babs, it wouldn't have happened. He'd just been so lost he'd thought he'd fallen too fast.
He turned again and stepped into the set behind him. As he did a voice washed over him.
"Kendall, are you deliberately ignoring me? Another little game? Hmm?"
Christ with nails in his palms and thorns up his nose, her bloodyship Babs Langley. In this new set. Bold as brass and twice as bitchy, there beneath his nose in this complicated set of dance turns he couldn't remember. Where was his damned woman?
He glanced over Babs' satin clad shoulder, searching the set beside his.
Somewhere. She must be somewhere on the polished floor. Silvery gray was a fairly common color, and the floor was full. Disquiet streaked like a rat across his gut that he'd only come across her once since they'd parted in the middle of this complicated, bloody dance. Unless she'd gone to powder her nose?
"Hmm?"
He grunted. He knew he did. But he'd nothing to say. Christ in a rowing boat half way up the Thames, maybe it had done him good to be without the charms of a woman's body. To break from that downward spiral he'd somehow hit after Marietta left him. Maybe even before then when he was doing everything to keep her and she was leading him a merry sexual jig. It let him see this mortar-faced whore for what she was. Another bloody ball breaker. Splendor was different. At least he was going to take the chance on that, as opposed to doing his usual scene over that bloody runt and the bracelet.
"Oh, Kendall, please don't tell me you really like that-well, she's not exactly little is she-whey-faced giantess?"
"I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself and your bloody mouth shut."
"You mean you do like her? And here was me thinking this was a game? All designed to win me back."
Step. Hop. Bloody kick. Where he'd like to land his foot right now was no one's business. He just prayed that wherever she was, Splendor wasn't seeing this, although it would be all right if she was. After all, there were things at stake for her too, here, so she was hardly likely to flounce from the floor ... the floor, damn it all to hell, she still wasn't on. If she'd gone to powder her nose, she'd have come back by now.
"If that's what you think, that you're either so important or desirable, you're welcome. What did you say to her?"
"Nothing. Why do you think I would say anything?"
"Because I know you well enough to know when you're lying through your teeth. What was it? That you are the love of my life?"
"Oh, Kendall, don't be so glum. What is wrong with you? As I've just said, why would you think I'd say anything?"
He paused. His cravat felt so tight he longed to slacken it. Why give her the advantage though? Because another step and hop would result in him booting her elegantly clad derriere right across the floor? In him being called out by Baxby in all probability? She was not worth that poor bastard's life.
It was far better to keep his powder dry. To step closer. "Because you have a big mouth."
"Me?"
"Believe me, if anyone is in a position to know that little secret of yours, it's me. Now, if you will excuse me?"
He gained the brightly lit hallway in a second. The powder room in the next. He didn't care that the sensation it caused as he prowled across the lushly carpeted floor, staring behind this pot plant and that, would be on everyone's lips tomorrow. What he cared about was the fact the place was empty ... of her.
He wrinkled his nose trying to catch her exotic scent. Had she even been here at all?
Flinging the door open again, he faced the fact that she hadn't. But she wasn't on the dance floor either, and the alcoves and salons were empty. If she was not there, then she must be down the stairs. Oh God, not talking to that runt? His breath tightened, this time in bands across his chest. But she had also been talking to that blood damned Langley bitch whose presence he felt lingering over this upstairs gallery like a funereal ghost. Something had been said, but what? What?
He started down the stairs, the first half dozen flying beneath his feet, hearing, seeing nothing, except the faint buzz and blur around him and that ... that silver thing lying on the step there. He rushed the next five steps, his feet thudding on the richly patterned carpet, damnable Babs Langley rustling behind him, her tongue clattering in her head.
"Kendall. Kendall, wait ... "
A fan. Her fan. And not just her fan, a glove, gray, silk and perfumed with Splendor's dazzling scent. Her glove. What the hell was that doing lying on that stair? Discarded. Dumped. As if she'd flown in a great hurry.
He picked it up. Straightened. Opened, shut the fan. Between powder rooms and fans, he was going to have quite a reputation.
Surely, the only place she could have gone was home. As to why?
He fought back the fear that clutched his heart like a gauntlet. If she had run off with the runt, he would only look an even bigger fool than he did already standing here clenching an abandoned glove, if he went after her.
No. He must stay here, calm his murderous heart. Come dawn would be the time to think about this, if that was what she'd done.
The house that beckoned him could wait, half an hour at least. When the half hour was up, when he rode back through these ubiquitous streets, if she had not fled him, that would be the time to talk.