Page 17 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

A myriad of colors filled the ballroom—bright silks and glittering jewels shimmering in the candlelight as the ladies milled about, their bodies seeming to vibrate with anticipation of the night to come.

But none of them had any appeal—because none of them were her .

Alexander glanced at the longcase clock in the corner. It was almost a quarter past seven.

The doors opened and Alexander’s heart swelled with hope as the footman straightened his stance, ready to make an announcement.

Lady Rex…

“Lord and Lady Radham!”

Damn.

Radham entered the ballroom, his diminutive wife on his arm—an exquisitely beautiful creature who, despite having recently emerged from her confinement, had managed to regain the figure that had once made her the toast of Society. Radham caught sight of Alexander and his expression hardened.

And well it might, given that Robert Staines—the man whose death Alexander had caused—had been Radham’s elder brother.

“Sawbridge.” He gave a curt nod, while Lady Radham clung to her husband’s arm, as if seeking protection from the vile beast standing before her.

“Radham”—Alexander bowed—“and Lady Radham. I trust you’re well.”

“Quite so, thank you,” she replied, after a pause, frost in her tone.

“We hadn’t expected to see you at a ball so soon after your… accident ,” Radham said, his voice almost a snarl. “I trust your leg’s healing?”

“It still pains me a little.”

“And rightly so,” Radham said.

“Andrew.” Lady Radham spoke in a soft warning, and Radham turned to her. They exchanged a smile. Then he patted her hand and resumed his attention on Alexander.

“I trust you’ll be restored to full health soon,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you,” Alexander said, “I’m ashamed to say that—”

“There’s Lavinia!” Lady Radham cried. “We must say how-do-you-do to our hostess. I wouldn’t have her think me uncivil.”

She steered her husband toward the opposite end of the room, where Lady Walton stood in conversation with one of the footmen.

No, Lady Radham—I wouldn’t have you uncivil to anyone other than myself.

“Decided to show your face again, Sawbridge?” a male voice asked.

Earl Thorpe stood before him.

“Thorpe,” Alexander said, offering his hand, which the man took, “your wife must have lost some of her fire if she’s given you permission to speak to me .”

“Henrietta’s at home with the children,” Thorpe said, “otherwise she’d insist I call you out.”

“I’ve done nothing against her honor.”

“Perhaps not, Sawbridge, but you’ve made quite a name for yourself.” Thorpe grinned and clapped Alexander on the back. “Don’t look so downhearted,” he said. “Give it a few months and the world will have forgotten your little transgression.”

“Hardly a little transgression , seeing as I got my best friend killed.”

“He got himself killed,” Thorpe said. “He chose to race a carriage while blind drunk. And you hardly escaped unscathed. I take it your dancing days are over.”

“My leg’s almost healed, but I don’t intend to dance tonight,” Alexander replied.

“Probably for the best—it’ll spare you the humiliation of rejection if you asked anyone to partner you.”

“There’s nobody here tonight with whom I wish to dance.”

“Then you’d better sit,” Thorpe said. “A gentleman standing at a ball is considered fair game for an unpartnered lady.”

“Even though any lady I asked would refuse?”

“The victory is in being asked ,” Thorpe said. “But I daresay there’s one or two more… forgiving ladies inclined to accept you tonight. You might try Lady Walton, seeing as she was benevolent enough to invite you. But take care not to offend anyone. I’ll wager every man in the room is poised to call you out should you misbehave tonight. You wouldn’t want to find yourself at the point of a pistol at dawn.”

Alexander let out a snort. “A duel? I doubt half the men in the room, save Colonel Reid, perhaps, would know one end of a pistol from the other.”

“Which makes them all the more dangerous.”

“How so?”

“You’d then be at risk of facing the infamous Farthing.”

“The what ?” Alexander asked.

Lady Portia Hawke approached. One friendly face, at least—Foxton’s sister had been almost civil to him in Hyde Park the other day. He nodded at her and was encouraged when she returned his smile.

“The Farthing is the latest sensation,” Thorpe said. “He makes a living fighting duels by proxy. If a man fears for his life due to a lack of prowess with a pistol, he hires the Farthing to do the deed instead.”

“And who is the Farthing ?”

“Nobody knows. He’s called the Farthing because he’s capable of hitting a farthing at fifty paces.”

“Nobody possesses that level of marksmanship. A man that skilled would have no need for disguise. Unless…” Alexander glanced at Thorpe. “Where did you say your wife was tonight? Isn’t she an infamous duelist?”

Thorpe’s expression darkened. “Henrietta is skilled with a sword, not a pistol—and she knows better than to profit from dishonor and cowardice.”

“I thought a duel was the ultimate act of honor.”

“But to hire another to fight it on your behalf?” Thorpe shook his head. “Nothing could be more dishonorable. The Farthing is to be reviled, not revered. Ah, Lady Portia. How pleasant to see you.”

Lady Portia scowled, her eyes dark with distaste.

“Forgive us, Lady Portia,” Alexander said. “A duel is not an appropriate subject of discussion when ladies are present.”

“Or, indeed, at all,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned her back and disappeared into the crowd.

“Quite the pariah, aren’t you?” Thorpe said. “How about we indulge in a wager? Fifty guineas says you’ll not find a single woman to stand up with you.”

Alexander shrugged. “Very well. I care not.”

Thorpe let out a snort. “Sometimes a man can be too rich.” Then his eyes widened and a broad grin stretched across his face. “How about we make it a round one hundred if you can get that lovely creature over there to dance?”

“Which lovely creature?”

“By the entrance. I’ve not seen her before, which, at least, means you’ve a fair shot at her if she’s not heard of you. Though you’ll have a fight on your hands. I wonder if the poor woman knows that the unattached males in the room will view her as fresh prey to fight over?”

Alexander craned his head to get a look, but the door was obscured by Colonel Reid’s tall form.

Then the colonel moved aside and Alexander caught his breath.

A vision of beauty stood in the entrance.

She was dressed in pale-purple silk that shimmered in the candlelight. The simplicity of her gown was not overshadowed by the fashionable creations adorning the other ladies. Rather, in its elegant lines that accentuated her form, it outshone every other gown in the room as the sun outshone a candle. Her hair was fashioned into curls, dotted with tiny violet flowers that matched the stone in the choker she wore around her neck. The jewel glimmered as her chest rose and fell, the only evidence that she was a living, breathing woman—as opposed to the statue of a goddess.

The murmur of conversation dissipated as the crowd turned toward the newcomer. For a moment, uncertainty shone in her eyes, as if she believed herself unworthy of the company.

But she was wrong. They were unworthy of her .

“Lady John Rex!” the footman announced.

A murmur rippled through the crowd and her eyes widened with alarm as she glanced about.

Then her gaze fell on Alexander, and his heart soared as her lips curved into a smile.

He stepped away from Thorpe and approached her, hand outstretched. But before he reached her, their hostess appeared.

“Lady Rex, how delightful!” she said. “I’d almost given up on your coming.”

Mimi dipped into a curtsey. “Lady Walton—Countess—forgive me for being late.”

“Only fashionably so,” came the reply. “You’ve arrived at precisely the right time, for the first dance is about to begin, and I would very much like you to lead it—if I’m not being too forward.”

Mimi glanced about, apprehension in her eyes. Then Walton appeared at his wife’s side and extended his hand.

“Lady Rex, would you do me the honor of partnering me for the first dance?”

Alexander stared at their host. For what purpose was he honoring Mimi—a woman he barely knew other than by association to Alexander himself, a man whom he detested?

But rather than show surprise, or discomfort, Mimi took the earl’s hand and nodded.

“Perhaps you’d care to name the first dance,” he said.

Shit . Would she betray herself—her ignorance of Society parties and dances?

But, after a slight hesitation, she nodded. “Captain Cook?”

“Excellent choice,” Lady Walton said, and she glided across the room toward the lead musician, who nodded and began tuning his violin. Then Lord Walton led Mimi to the top end of the dance floor and the melee of guests shifted into focus to form a line that stretched toward the opposite end.

As Lady Walton returned, Colonel Reid approached her, but she shook her head and placed a protective hand over her belly.

“My dancing days are done, I’m afraid, colonel,” she said. He nodded and moved toward two ladies standing nearby. Shortly after, he escorted one onto the dance floor, joining the end of the line. Alexander caught Lady Portia Hawke watching them, arm in arm with her brother, Foxton. She whispered in his ear and Foxton shook his head. He released her arm then strode across the floor, while she frowned and sat, waving away a footman who approached with a tray of champagne glasses.

The dance began and Mimi moved, forming a figure-eight pattern with her partner as they circled the couple next in line. Then she took his hand as they glided along the line in time to the music.

How the devil had she learned how to dance?

“Perhaps you might ask Lady Portia to dance,” a female voice said, and Alexander turned to see Lady Walton staring at him. “She’s in want of a partner, now her brother’s abandoned her. And it’s the height of bad manners for a man to remain standing at a ball when there are ladies without partners.”

He let out a laugh. “What—and be refused?”

“I daresay Lady Rex wouldn’t refuse you,” she said, as Mimi moved along the line of dancers with the fluidity and grace that was, most likely, the envy of every female in the room. “And,” Lady Walton added, “given that every man is now looking at my husband with envious eyes, your association with her might render you a little more desirable among the company.”

“Is that why you asked her to lead the dance? To make me a little more desirable among the company?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You always were the most insufferably arrogant man,” she said. “I cannot think why Lady Rex associates herself with you.”

“Perhaps because she, unlike the rest of Society, judges me on my current behavior, rather than past sins that I have striven—and failed—to atone for.”

“For that alone, she deserves to be honored,” came the reply. “She must possess a degree of compassion the rest of us lack.”

“You’re very kind, Lady Walton.”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Lady Rex dances well. Remarkably well—I’m afraid my husband is unfamiliar with this particular dance.”

“How can you tell?”

“See there?” She gestured toward the leading couple. “Peregrine took a wrong turn, but Lady Rex steered him on the right path—almost as if she anticipated his move. I wonder what other accomplishments she has. Do you know?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Does she sing, or play the pianoforte? She might entertain us at supper.”

Alexander shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”

“I thought you were a family friend.”

“I-I knew the late Sir John Rex.”

His cheeks warmed as she stared at him. Why did some women possess the ability to look right inside a man’s soul?

“Does it matter who her family is—or was?” he asked. “I thought you were above valuing your friends only in relation to their rank.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “But I find it surprising that you know so little of her background. I thought you set store by such things—background and rank.”

At that moment, Mimi glided past, and Alexander’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze.

Not anymore, I don’t.

Lady Walton smiled. “Perhaps there’s hope for you after all.”

Bugger . He’d said that aloud.

The dance concluded to gloved applause, and the dancers dispersed. Alexander’s gut twisted with apprehension as Walton led Mimi toward the edge of the ballroom, followed by a cluster of young men. His apprehension turned to envy as each man bowed over her hand. But as each prospective dance partner attempted to kiss her hand, she withdrew it, a benign smile on her lips. The last suitor to present himself, a gangly youth, couldn’t contain his enthusiasm as he grinned broadly at her, his face flushing scarlet. She withdrew her hand with a smile, but patted his arm indulgently before retreating to the edge of the room.

She glanced about, and when she met Alexander’s gaze, he felt a tug at his heart, as if an invisible thread connected them. Then she approached him, the pimply youth in tow. Alexander held out his hand to her. The youth scowled, but Alexander set his mouth in a hard line and drew himself to his full height. The youth’s eyes widened as he recognized the stance of the dominant male, and he retreated with a scowl of petulance, as if he’d been denied his favorite toy.

That’s it, young sir—she’ll not waste her time on a boy in the presence of a man .

His heart slid into place as she slipped her gloved hand in his.

“Lady Rex,” he said, “you cannot imagine what joy it brings me to see you here tonight.”

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsey, a smile on her lips, and his blood warmed at the prospect of kissing them—a pleasure she had so far denied him.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?”

Her smile slipped. “Frequently. I’m sure every man alive pays such a compliment to a woman when he wants to—”

“I say!” Thorpe approached and slapped Alexander on the back. “Are you not going to introduce me to this heavenly creature, Sawbridge?”

“This is Lady Rex, as well you know,” Alexander said. Then he turned to Mimi. “May I introduce Giles Thorpe—earl, former schoolfellow, and reprobate.”

Thorpe took her hand. “A pleasure, Lady Rex.”

Her eyes widened, and Alexander caught a flicker of fear in them. Then she blinked and the fear was gone, but she stiffened and withdrew her hand.

“ Former reprobate?” she asked.

Thorpe let out a laugh. “I suspect the former referred only to the schoolfellow. But if anyone knows about being a reprobate, it’s Sawbridge here.”

“Your father knew a thing or two about decadence, Thorpe,” Alexander said, piqued at Mimi’s interest in the man. “Famous for it, he was, leading himself, and many of his friends, into ruination.”

“Perhaps, but, as I’ve learned, the generation that follows must pay for the profligacy of the generation before,” Thorpe said. “Your heir, if he comes into being, will, I’m sure, learn that very lesson, Sawbridge.”

“Lord Thorpe, I thought Sawbridge was your friend ,” Mimi said, an edge to her tone.

“In which case he’d do well to heed my warning,” Thorpe replied. “I wouldn’t wish any son—or daughter—to suffer destitution because their parents lacked the foresight to ensure their finances were in order.”

Mimi drew in a sharp breath and stepped back.

“Forgive me, Lady Rex,” Thorpe said. “I understand you’re lately out of mourning. It was most remiss of me to discuss what must be a painful subject.”

“Quite,” she said. “Grief is afforded a set period of time, after which it must be hidden away or ignored altogether. But those dear to us whom we lose should never be forgotten, no matter how painful their memory may be.”

The music struck up once more, and Thorpe bowed over Mimi’s hand.

“I think Lady Rex might prefer a little air,” Alexander said. “Tonight is her first social engagement in London.”

“But I was going to ask you to partner me in this next dance, Lady Rex,” Thorpe said.

“That’s very kind,” Mimi replied, “but I’m promised to His Grace.”

Alexander’s heart soared as she turned her wide, expressive eyes to him, and Thorpe frowned, most likely over having just lost one hundred pounds.

The music began, and Alexander steered her onto the dance floor. Mimi glanced about the ballroom as a number of couples began to twirl about the room.

“I-I’m afraid I don’t know this dance,” she said.

“Allow me,” Alexander said, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “It’s a waltz. Most scandalous, but it has three benefits over a quadrille or cotillion.”

“Which are?”

“The first,” he said, his blood warming at the feel of her soft body pressed against his, “is its simplicity. The steps—a repeated series of three movements—are easily learned, even for one such as I. The second is that the proximity of the couple to each other enables a more frank discussion, without the fear of being overheard.”

“And the third?”

A fire raged through his blood as he felt her body softening in his embrace—a symbol of her trust.

“The third—and perhaps the only reason for a waltz, in my view—is that the man leads.”

“Is that not what your sex does as a matter of course?” she said. “Lead, rule, dominate?”

“By law, perhaps, but on the dance floor, the woman dominates, for she has the power of refusal. And when a woman surrenders that power by submitting to a waltz, she permits her partner to lay his claim on her.”

“I am at your mercy, sir, by virtue of not understanding the true nature of a waltz.”

Alexander spun her round and inhaled the soft scent of rose. His cock surged with need at the sharp undertones of something else.

Female arousal.

“You may exercise the power of refusal now, if you wish, Mimi,” he said.

She shook her head. “The dance has begun. Neither of us would be satisfied if it failed to reach its conclusion.”

He lowered his gaze to her neckline, and his cock stiffened at the sight of her delectable form—the swell of her breasts against her gown, and the tempting valley between them that no manner of intricate embroidery could distract his hungry gaze from. And below her neckline…

Heavens! He was in danger of spending at the sight of the two little peaks poking at the fabric of her gown.

No wonder bloody Walton had such a smile on his face after he’d danced with her, if such a sight had been before him!

“Why, Your Grace, I believe you’re enjoying this dance,” she said, flicking her gaze down to his groin.

“Either that, or there’s a prize marrow in my breeches, Lady Rex.”

She let out an unladylike snort, and a nearby couple glanced toward them. The lady frowned, and Alexander recognized the Honorable Sarah Francis. He gave her a brilliant smile, then resumed his attention on his delectable partner.

How much better a prospect for pleasure she was than some brittle debutante! She had no need for the facade of genteel disapproval at anything he said, no matter how crude, and he was guaranteed entry to her bed. But more than that, her soulful eyes, which gave a glimpse of the woman behind her mask, stirred the heart that he never knew existed. When she looked at him she didn’t see the duke, the title, or the wealthy suitor.

She saw him . Alexander.

What a pity they must part eventually! But he had months yet to enjoy her to the full.

And enjoy her he would.

The dance concluded, and he steered her toward the edge of the ballroom, almost colliding with Foxton and his sister.

“Lady Portia,” Mimi said, “are you enjoying the ball?”

“Not particularly.”

“Sister…” Foxton growled, and Lady Portia tilted her face to one side and gave a wide smile.

“Oh, I’m having such a pleasant time!” she trilled. “The company leaves a lot to be desired, but I can at least console myself that my brother will soon be exerting his dominance over the gaming room, which might afford me a little room to breathe in the ballroom.”

“I won’t leave until I’m satisfied that you’ll not run wild as soon as my back is turned,” Foxton said.

“Given that you’ll never be satisfied by anything I do or say, brother, I’m afraid you must remain here for the rest of the evening rather than fritter away my dowry at the card table,” she retorted. “What a disappointment that must be for you . I know you hate balls. And company. And dancing. In fact, is there anything you don’t hate, brother?”

Foxton’s face darkened. “Why, you—”

“Lady Portia, how remiss of me,” Mimi said. “I quite forgot to tell your brother that I’d offered to chaperone you tonight. I trust that meets with your satisfaction, sir.”

Foxton glanced at his sister and raised his eyebrows. At that moment, Mimi winked at Lady Portia, and Alexander suppressed a laugh.

“ There , brother!” Lady Portia said. “You have leave to waste your fortune at the card tables, while I relish my freedom—if only for a little while.”

“Don’t worry, little cat,” Foxton said, a sneer in his voice. “Walton refuses to permit an exchange of vowels in his home. My potential loss is therefore confined to the coins in my pocket.”

“Whereas I’ve nothing to lose,” Lady Portia said.

“Except your reputation,” Foxton replied.

“Your Grace, are you impugning your sister’s morality, or my integrity as chaperone?” Mimi said, her voice carrying the sternness of a matriarch.

“Lord save me from the female sex!” Foxton huffed. “Come along, Sawbridge. I daresay you have coins to wager. I’m anxious to discover if I’ll have more success at the card table than I do keeping that hellion in check.”

Alexander withdrew his arm from Mimi’s, and she frowned.

“You’re going with him?” she asked.

Foxton barked with laughter. “Ha! Grasping already, my dear? Take care, Sawbridge, if this merry little widow has set her cap at you. But I’ll warn you, madam—nobody is better at the game than Sawbridge here. You have no hope of victory. Nothing is more off-putting for man than a grasping, desperate—”

“That’s enough, Foxton,” Alexander growled, taking Mimi’s hand. “Lady Rex is an independent woman who knows her own mind.”

“Ye gods, man,” Foxton said. “Has she turned you into a milksop?”

“Certainly not,” Mimi said. “I’m the last person who’d want anyone to forgo pleasure on my account.” She glanced at Foxton, a cold smile on her lips, and Alexander caught a flicker of disdain in her eyes. “I understand how men of your rank detest the very notion of being considerate—let alone obligated—toward others. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening and permit Lady Portia and I to enjoy ours.”

Alexander’s heart swelled with pride at her quiet dignity. To think—a doxy, putting two dukes in their place!

But no ordinary doxy was she.

Lady Walton’s question slipped into his mind.

Do you know anything of her family?

Perhaps that was why she refused to tell him her real name, for fear he’d recognize it. Was she a lord’s daughter, perhaps, who was ruined and suffered the consequences? Was that why she’d risen to Lady Portia’s defense—to protect a wayward young woman as she was not protected herself?

“I fear I’ve been bested,” Foxton said.

“Oh no, Your Grace,” Mimi replied. “A man such as yourself would never permit himself to be bested—at least not knowingly.”

Foxton rolled his eyes. “Come with me, Sawbridge,” he said. “Save me from the tongues of harridans.”

Alexander’s blood warmed at the prospect of the pleasures to be had from the tongue of the particular harridan in front of him. But the urge to remain with her warred with the need to join the men in the gaming room. Tonight was his chance to reingratiate himself with his former friends and secure sponsorship for his reapplication to White’s.

But as he watched Mimi glide across the ballroom, arm in arm with Lady Portia, he was struck with the realization that the prospect of a night of gaming with his friends no longer held any pleasure.

In fact, pleasure, for him, was only to be had in her company.