Until You Read online

  “Chérie amie?” The question flew out before Sherry could stop it, prompted by the discovery that he had escorted a female to the theatre, immediately after dining with Sherry and his family.

  The girls, whom she’d been introduced to earlier, were happy to oblige Sherry with all the information a newcomer to their circle, and an American, might need in order to fully appreciate the finer subtleties of the gossip.

  “Chérie amie is a courtesan, a woman who shares a man’s baser passions. Helene Devernay is the most beautiful courtesan of them all.”

  “I heard my brothers talking one evening, and they said Helene Devernay is the most heavenly creature on earth. She loves lavender, you know . . . and Langford had a special silver coach built for her with lavender velvet squabs.”

  Lavender. That flimsy lavender gown that Dr. Whitticomb had objected to, the meaningful way he’d said, “Lavender, was it” to the earl. It had belonged to the woman who shared his “baser passions.” Sherry knew kissing qualified as passion. She didn’t know what constituted baser, but she could sense the fact that they were intense and somehow scandalous and personal. And he shared all that with another woman only hours after dining with his unwanted fiancée.

  * * *

  Even though Miss Charity now knew Lord Westmoreland was somewhere in the ballroom, she was almost as angry with him when Sherry returned as she’d been when Sherry left. “I intend to report Langford’s conduct to his mama, first thing in the morning! She will ring a peal over his head for this night’s work.”

  Stephen’s bland, amused voice made Sherry stiffen in angry shock as he strolled up behind them and spoke to Miss Charity first. “For what am I to be called to task by my mother, ma’am?” he asked, a lazy, white smile sweeping across his features.

  “For being late, you naughty boy!” she said, but all traces of animosity were vanishing from her voice as he aimed that lethally attractive smile directly at her and kept it there. “For stopping too long to speak to the patronesses! And for being entirely too handsome for your own good! Now,” she finished, forgiving him entirely, “kiss my hand properly and lead Sherry onto the dance floor.”

  Nicki had been shielding her by keeping his back to the room, but he had no choice except to step aside. Sherry’s anger escalated when she heard Miss Charity cave in so easily, and it doubled when she reluctantly turned and found herself the object of amused blue eyes and a smile so warm it could have baked bread. Aware that every head in the ballroom seemed to be turned their way, Sherry reluctantly extended her hand, because that was what she was required to do. “Miss Lancaster,” he said, pressing a brief kiss to the back of it, continuing to hold it despite her effort to jerk it free, “may I have the pleasure of the next dance?”

  “Let go of my hand,” Sherry said, her voice shaking with anger. “Everyone is looking at us!”

  Stephen studied her hectic color and flashing eyes, and he marvelled that he’d been able to ignore how magnificent she looked when she was angry. If he’d realized during the last few days that a slight lack of punctuality could rouse her from her indifference to ire, he’d have come down late for every meal.

  “Let go of my hand!”

  Grinning helplessly because he was happy and she was evidently this unhappy over his near-absence, Stephen teased, “Are you going to make me drag you onto that dance floor?”

  Some of his satisfaction with that faded as she yanked her hand free and said, “Yes!”

  Momentarily thwarted, Stephen stepped aside as some young dandy squeezed past him and bowed before her. “I believe the next dance is mine, if you don’t mind, my lord.” Left with no choice, he backed off a step and watched her curtsy prettily to him and stroll onto the dance floor. Beside him, DuVille observed him with amusement. “I believe you have just been the recipient of a crushing setdown, Langford.”

  “You’re right,” he replied affably, leaning his shoulders against a pillar behind him. He was so happy he even felt charitably toward DuVille for a change. “I suppose there’s nothing alcoholic to drink?” he said, watching Sherry dancing with her partner.

  “Not a thing.”

  To the vast disappointment of everyone in the room, neither Lord Westmoreland nor Nicholas DuVille seemed inclined to ask anyone to dance except the American girl. When Sherry remained on the dance floor for a second dance with the same young man, Stephen frowned. “Didn’t anyone warn her that it’s a mistake to show partiality by dancing twice with the same partner?”

  “You are beginning to sound like a jealous beau,” Nicki remarked, slanting him an amused look from the corner of his eye.

  Stephen ignored him, glancing around at the hungry, eager, expectant, hopeful female faces watching him and feeling like a human banquet being served up to an audience of refined, elegantly dressed cannibals. As the music wound to its end, Stephen said, “Do you happen to know if her next dance is taken?”

  “All of her dances are taken.”

  Stephen saw Sherry’s partner politely return her to Charity Thornton, and he observed the crowd of men crossing the dance floor to claim their partners for the waltz that was just beginning so that he could see in advance who he was about to preempt. Beside him, DuVille shoved away from the pillar they’d been sharing. “I believe this dance is mine,” he said.

  “Unfortunately, it isn’t,” Stephen drawled mildly. “And if you try to claim it,” he added in a voice that stopped DuVille cold, “I will have to tell her that my sister-in-law put you up to playing the gallant suitor.” Without a backward glance, Stephen shoved away from the pillar and presented himself to his unwilling partner.

  “Nicki has the next dance,” Sherry informed him with stony hauteur, deliberately using the familiar form of address to show the earl what particularly friendly terms she was already on with “Nicki.”

  “He’s relinquished the privilege to me.”

  Something about his implacable tone made Sherry reverse her earlier decision and decide it was wiser to get the dance over with instead of delaying it or attempting to refuse, or causing any sort of scene. “Oh, very well.”

  “Are you having a pleasant evening?” Stephen inquired as the music began and she moved woodenly in his arms, dancing with none of the grace he’d seen in her in the last set.

  “I was having a pleasant evening, thank you very much.”

  Stephen looked down at her shining head and caught a glimpse of her resentful profile. The letter in his pocket went a long way to dilute his annoyance over her attitude. “Sherry,” he said with quiet determination.

  Sherry heard the strange softness in his voice and refused to look up. “Yes?”

  “I apologize for anything I’ve said or done that has hurt you.”

  The reminder that he knew he had hurt her, and undoubtedly believed he still could, was more than her lacerated pride could withstand. Her temper ignited and burst into flames. “You needn’t give a thought to any of that,” she said, managing to sound bored with the topic and disdainful of him. “I feel certain I’ll have several more suitable offers of marriage by the end of the week, and I’m excessively happy that you gave me this opportunity to be introduced to other gentlemen. Until tonight,” she continued, her voice beginning to vibrate with the raging hostility she really felt, “I naturally assumed all Englishmen were arbitrary, moody, vain, and unkind, but now I know that they are not. You are!”

  “Unfortunately for you and for them,” Stephen stated, stunned by the apparent depth of her anger at his tardiness, “you happen to be already betrothed to me.

  Sherry was riding her wave of triumphant defiance, and that remark didn’t slow her down in the least. “The gentlemen I’ve met tonight are not only the soul of amiability, but they are also much more desirable than you!”

  “Really?” he said with a lazy grin. “In what way?”

  “For one thing, they are younger!” Sherry fired back, longing to slap that arrogant, insufferable smile off his face. “You are much too old f