Page 21 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Twenty-One

T he following evening was the Lygon ball, one of the larger events in London each Season and a ball to which anyone who was anyone wanted to attend. Nathaniel’s attendance—even before he had become the Duke Ravensmere—had been secured by his friendship with Lord Lygon who hosted with his dear mama ever since the death of his father several years before.

Nathaniel had not escorted Rosalind and Lady Smithe to the ball, even though as Rosalind’s guardian he ought to have. Shamefully, he had remained at Whites most of the day, preferring to eat his meals there too, before returning home, bathing, and changing for the ball—well after the time Rosalind and Lady Smithe were to depart for the event. He greeted his hosts, shaking hands with Lord Lygon and bussing the cheek of the dowager Viscountess Lygon before making his way into the room.

The ballroom was full to the brim. Hundreds of guests danced and gossiped both in the ballroom itself and in the few antechambers the family had opened for the evening. From here, Nathaniel could see that the terrace doors were open, and people milled outdoors, taking the air and a break from the revelries inside.

A group of boisterous and eager gentlemen stood huddled near the side of the room. Their laughter and animated appearance caught his attention. Nathaniel watched them for several heartbeats before a cold shiver ran down his spine at the sight of who had caught their approval and notice.

Rosalind.

She stood before them all like a reigning queen ready to be obeyed, and each of the young bucks was eager to do her bidding. As he drank in the sight of her, his mouth gaped at the vision she formed—utterly breathtaking. This evening she wore a royal-blue empire gown with delicate, puffy sleeves that sat on her slim, pretty shoulders. Shoulders he’d kissed and wanted to do so again. Her hair was swept up in curls atop her head, accented by a blue ribbon tied throughout her dark locks. Her lips smiled, her cheeks pinkened, and Nathaniel knew she was enjoying the gentlemen's company .

No doubt every one of them was giving her compliments. And why should they not? She was a beautiful woman, kind, generous, and passionate. So damn passionate he had spent in his breeches yesterday in the dining room of all places. Not that he could regret their interlude. Even now his cock twitched at the memory. Fuck. He needed to stop thinking of her in that way, and certainly not at social events. No one wanted to see him walking around with his cock leading the way.

Her words had haunted him, and it was one of the reasons he had been a coward and remained at Whites the entire day. He should not let society concern him regarding their guardian-ward position. But if they got wind that something romantic was happening between them while she lived under his roof, her reputation would be ruined. Not to mention her sisters by association. And with Rosalind unaware that she also had half sisters in London—sisters who were children of a mistress and illegitimate—should that scandal break, there would be no telling what damage it could do for the women he was tasked with looking after. He could not, should not, add to the troubles that could befall her and them both should any of that information come to light.

Still, Nathaniel found himself situated not far from where Rosalind stood, being courted by an array of young bucks, with Issacs there too, standing beside her and crowing to anyone who would listen that he had already had an outing with Lady Rosalind. He sipped his whisky and tried not to appear surly and disgruntled not only at his friend, but the others also. But inside he was seething.

He hated every moment of her being surrounded by other men. She was so utterly breathtaking this evening that it was no surprise the men flocked to her. Lady Smithe, whom he could see standing not far from Rosalind, looked as put out as he was—but for entirely different reasons, he presumed. The woman was a widow, rich and still attractive, but she was not Rosalind. There was a hardness to Lady Smithe that Rosalind did not possess, and he assumed it had something to do with Lady Smithe being too opinionated and cutting when she did not think someone warranted her time.

Rosalind, however, was the type of person who would stop and talk to anyone and help them if she could. She was too noble—far too good for him. He had never been the type of gentleman to do anything that did not benefit him. Giving the Ravensmere daughters a dowry each was proof of that. Selfishly, he wanted to be rid of them as soon as they hit the marriage mart, not because he had a kind heart. Paying the illegitimate daughters of the late duke to remain quiet served his purpose too, though it was beneficial to both. The duke's second family did not want to live as paupers or lose their home, for such a life would be hard for women of their ilk. But after meeting Rosalind, he wanted to do better, be better—and yet in that he had failed miserably.

At every opportunity, he dragged her into a room and touched her, drank from her lips, fondled innocent flesh he had no right to touch. He was not her husband. He should be keeping his hands to himself. And still he did not. He was a bastard.

Lady Smithe spotted him and sauntered over, turning to watch Rosalind as she was escorted out onto the dance floor.

"Lady Rosalind is quite the entertainment this evening. I do hope she's not leading the gentlemen on more than she ought. I may have to speak to her regarding her approach to the opposite sex. She’s been quite forward at times…"

Lady Smithe's tone held a little too much venom for Nathaniel's liking, and he glanced at her, noting her pinched mouth and narrowed eyes. "How are you getting on as Lady Rosalind's companion? I had hoped you were friends, but I fear I may be mistaken by what you say."

Her eyes widened and she schooled her features, the opposite of what they had been a moment before. Nathaniel was not convinced, no matter what she said next .

"Oh no, she's the dearest girl—I just worry for her so. Living in the country for so many years has put her at a disadvantage, and I fear the ton may eat her alive if we're not vigilant."

That at least was true, if he did not eat Rosalind first. The thought shamed him, and he frowned as he watched Rosalind laugh at something Lord Kelter said on the dance floor. Her attention flitted about the room before she locked eyes with him. A small, knowing smile lifted her lips and heat churned in his gut. He swallowed the need that rose within him. The woman was a minx and knew exactly what she was doing when she looked at him that way— as if every thought of what they had done yesterday afternoon in the dining room fluttered through her mind. Just as it had been on repeat in his own head, torturing him, taunting him, making him want to leave his room when he had gone to bed last evening and stride up to her door to see how many liberties she allowed him when they were alone. He feared he knew too well, and the thought almost buckled his knees. Dear God, whatever would he do?

"Perhaps you could make your presence known more in the circle of admirers, so they might be more willing to conform to expectations and not become too boisterous or eager."

"I shall do what you suggest. Now," Lady Smithe said, slipping her arm around his, "will you ask an old friend to dance? I fear that widowhood has caused me to become a matron no one asks to dance."

Nathaniel inwardly sighed. He had no plans to dance this evening, at least not with anyone other than Rosalind. Still, Lady Smithe was an old friend—even if she could be prickly at times. He took pity on her and led her onto the floor, pulling her into his arms and into the dance with ease.

For several turns around the room, he did not speak, nor did he take much notice of the happenings around him, lost in his thoughts. But the scent of jasmine raised his awareness, and he looked up to see Rosalind watching him from the arms of her dance partner, her face carefully schooled so much so that he could not discern her thoughts. Still, he could not look away, wishing he were the one holding Rosalind in his arms, not that popinjay Kelter.

He was a doomed man indeed, and there was little hope for him coming out of the Season alive.