Page 42 of To Dare the Devil

The concert was an excellent one. Herr Thalberg was a master of his art, and his hands flew over the piano in a mesmerising blur. Yet Kathy could not focus on the beautiful music. Lord Vane sat on the other side of the aisle in the front row, and she found she could do nothing but stare at the back of his head, his golden hair glinting in the candlelight.

It was a warm evening, and the concert rooms were stuffy. Kathy shifted in her seat. Her bottom was feeling decidedly numb and, as wonderful as the music was, she was rather longing for the interval. Stretching her legs and a glass of cold lemonade or fruit punch sounded like a wonderful idea, and perhaps there was the possibility of a word with his lordship.

She had not realised he was coming tonight, except perhaps she should have, for it was a charitable event to raise money for widows and orphans. Unwillingly, her gaze returned to him. He had turned his head, revealing his strong profile as he spoke to Humphrey Price who sat beside him. Mr Price had escorted Miss Morcombe, a friend of Rosamund’s and the girl turned, noticed Kathy staring, and waved at her. Lord Vane did not. Kathy stifled a sigh and had to concede the truth she had been trying to smother for some time now. She was in a very bad way. Lud, but she was a fool. He might desire her, but he was an earl, and she… she didn’t know who she was. No, she scolded herself, that was not true. She was Kathleen de Beauvoir, and she was an educated woman with a brain in her head … but no matter how accomplished she was, she was no countess. It was a ridiculous idea. Besides, he might well desire her, but desire was not love, not regard, not a basis for anything real and long-lasting.

Except there had been a moment, on the steps of that awful building, when she had touched his cheek. She had understood his distress for the poor devils within the workhouse for she had felt it too, but to realise that it he really cared, really, honestly wanted to help these people had soothed any last doubts about him. He had appeared to need her, to want her with him. It had made her believe he wanted her by his side always. Not just in whatever professional capacity she worked for him, but something more than that. Her heart had leapt at the possibility.

Not to mention the fact he’d said, ‘we will do something about it.’

Well, she’d been done for.

And then he had opened his eyes and the naked longing she had seen in his expression had stolen her breath. But she had been mistaken. She must have been, for she had seen no evidence of it since. He was as charming as ever, and so very appreciative of all she did, but politely distant. She had imagined it then. No doubt her own silly fantasies at work once more. Would she never learn?

She had spun her romantic dreams about a dying man, imbuing him with all manner of heroic attributes he had no claim to, and that had not been his fault. He was just a man. And now that man was trying to remake himself, and what had she to do but fall into the same silly trap all over again?

“Kathy, do get up, there’s a dear. I am parched and shall do murder if I cannot have a glass of something chilled.”

Kathy tore herself out of her distraction to regard the Duchess of Bedwin, or Aunt Prue as she called her, though she was not truly her aunt at all. But Prue had a tendency to adopt people she liked as family, and she was Mama’s cousin, after all. Kathy had come with Aunt Prue and her daughter Rosamund, all of them escorted by Rosamund’s older brother, Jules, Marquess of Blackstone.

“Sorry, Aunt Prue, of course.” She got to her feet, stepping out into the aisle and instantly colliding with Lord Vane.

“Oh!” she said, mortified, as he reached out to steady her. “I beg your pardon.”

The warmth of his hands sank into the thin silk of her sleeves and shivers raced over her skin, a deliciously distracting reminder of that moment in her front parlour, when he had taken her hand in his.

“Miss de Beauvoir! The fault was mine, I assure you. Are you hurt?”

Kathy shook her head, too stunned to say anything.

“Vane, have a care. The ladies are under my escort this evening, and his grace will be tetchy if I return them with bruises.” Jules drawled from behind her.

“Blackstone,” Lord Vane replied, his tone polite but cautious as he released his hold on her. “I beg your pardon.”

“It was my fault,” Kathy said at once. Well, it was true, but Jules had moved closer, placing her hand firmly upon his arm, his posture somewhat protective.

“Come along, ladies,” Jules said, moving her along, away from Lord Vane.

Rather to her own surprise, Kathy planted her feet.

“Jules,” she said under her breath. “You’re being rude.”

But Lord Vane had already taken the hint.

“Forgive me, Miss de Beauvoir, Blackstone. I believe I see someone I must speak with,” he said, bowing to them both before hurrying away.

Kathy glared up at Jules, who shrugged.

“Working for the man is one thing,” he said, his tone dark. “Socialising with him, quite another. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”

“In the first place, I am not a little girl,” Kathy said, stiff with indignation. “And in the second, he’s changed.”

Jules snorted, and Kathy was tempted to kick him.

“He has!” she insisted, “And I’m not your little sister, I might remind you. You are not my guardian.”

“I’m escorting you tonight, and I’m in enough awe of your brother’s fists to do a decent job of it,” Jules retorted.

Kathy harrumphed. Brothers. They were all as irritating as each other, whether or not they belonged to you. “And I suppose you are all sweetness and light, and never put a foot wrong? Hmmm?”