Page 4 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Four

A s a debutante, Cordelia was required to wear one of her most demure gowns to the masked ball.

The gown was a pale-blue silk embroidered with delicate silver threading across the bodice and skirt.

It was a lovely enough dress, modest and well-made, but it paled in comparison to the rich velvets and daring satins on display tonight at Lord and Lady Weston’s masquerade.

The addition of a dark-navy domino didn’t help matters. Though it was meant to lend to her mystery, the effect was more schoolroom than scandal. Still, what was to be done? She was unmarried, in her first Season, and new to all of this.

Her sister Rosalind, on the other hand, was dazzling tonight.

A new mother, yes, but also a duchess and a woman utterly at ease with herself—and her handsome, besotted husband.

Cordelia watched them from a polite distance, noting the small, affectionate touches, the way their gazes met and lingered when they thought no one was looking.

That was what she wanted. Not just the full dance cards, pretty gowns and favorable matches. She wanted that warmth. That ease. That quiet, daily joy of loving the person you married.

Cordelia stood at the side of the room, smiling when appropriate, watching the ball behind her mask.

Though it covered much of her face, her identity was hardly a secret—her blue lace mask matched her gown too precisely, and those who wished to know who she was already had their guesses confirmed by the presence of the Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere.

She had already danced twice—first a minuet, then a more spirited reel. The brief respite was welcome. She stood alone, fanning herself lightly, content for a moment to simply watch.

Lady Jane was currently being whisked about the floor by one of the handsomer young lords of the Season. Cordelia smiled, pleased for her. Jane had a way of saying exactly what she thought, which meant she deserved a suitor who saw her worth. Perhaps this one would.

“All alone, Lady Cordelia? Perhaps you would care to accompany me to the terrace. I do believe our last conversation was cut short—thanks to the Duke of Walpole’s unwished-for interruption.”

The unwelcome voice at her back made her spine snap straight.

Lord Basing…

His tone was soft, even coaxing, but the thinly veiled threat beneath the benign statement made her stomach churn. She turned slowly, keeping her voice cool and even.

“No thank you, my lord. I have no desire for your company or your conversation. Kindly leave before I’m forced to involve my brother-in-law.”

His smile tightened. “Come now, Lady Cordelia. There’s no need for us to be at odds. I thought we were friends.”

“I thought the same—until you attempted to force a kiss I did not want.” Her hands clenched at her sides. It would have been so very satisfying to slap the smug look from his face—but that would cause a scene, and scenes were best avoided.

“I didn’t force anything,” he said, his tone low. “I was under the impression you wished for my kiss.”

She scoffed.

“I do not know where you could have possibly come to believe that,” came a new voice, low and unyielding, “You are delusional, Lord Basing.”

Like a knight in shining armor, Walpole joined them, watching Lord Basing as if he’d stepped in horse dung and did not know how to remove it from his shoe.

The duke’s voice was calm—dangerously so, still it even left her a little uneasy.

“Unless, of course, you’re keen to be publicly humiliated, or perhaps pummeled to an inch of your life.

Either outcome suits me. But you will leave Lady Cordelia alone, and you will remove yourself from this event. ”

Relief poured over her like warm bathwater. Walpole stood close enough that she could sense his presence even without touch—solid, commanding, unflinching.

And for the second time in as many days, he was her savior.

Lord Basing sputtered, “Your Grace, this is a private matter?—”

“It is not. You are making a scene, and threatening a lady. If you value your place in society, you will walk away. Now.”

The younger man gave a disgruntled harrumph but had the sense to slink off into the shadows, leaving Cordelia and the duke alone.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She reached for him before thinking better of it and letting her hands fall to her sides. One did not clutch dukes in public. Not even gallant ones.

“I cannot thank you enough. Lord Basing refuses to understand that I am not interested in his attentions, nor do I wish to be courted by him.”

The duke looked at her with a cool, unreadable expression, but oh, how she would love to know what he was thinking.

“I do not like bullies, Lady Cordelia,” he said, his tone clipped. “And Lord Basing has a reputation for pestering women who do not want his attention. I am not the sort of man to stand by and allow it.”

She blinked, surprised by the heat in his voice.

“But please,” he added, quieter now, “do not think anything more of my actions this evening. I have no intention of courting you. Forgive my bluntness—but I warned Basing because you are Ravensmere’s sister-in-law, and it was the proper thing to do.”

Odd how gratitude and hope could so quickly twist itself into disappointment…

He was, of course, a gentleman. He had done nothing wrong in helping her. But his words—so pointed, so direct—cut through the quiet hope she hadn’t even realized she’d allowed herself to nurture.

He continued, “You see, last year, he tried something similar with my sister, Lady Jane. We have history, of a kind.”

“I did not know that.” And nor had Jane mentioned it, but then, she had not confided in her friend either what had transpired several nights before, so she could not be offended.

“I’m sorry for Lady Jane, but I’m glad to see she seems to have overcome Lord Basing’s shallow attempts to gain a wife.

I look forward to spending more time with her this evening. We’re becoming fast friends.”

The first glimmer of a smile appeared on his face and her breath caught. She hoped he could not get any more handsome than he already was, but that was certainly not the case. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I hope this Season is more productive for her than the last,” he stated.

“Productive, Your Grace? Do you not mean you wish her to marry for love …”

He raised his brows, watching her curiously. “One always wishes to see one’s sisters settled and happy, of course.”

“And presumably,” she said lightly, not wanting to cause offense, but unable to hold her curiosity regarding his life alone, “settled so you may also search for a wife without distractions.”

“I am not currently in the market.” His reply was curt and quick. “But since we’re being candid, yes, I do not think either my sister or my future wife would wish to share a roof for long. As much as I love Jane, she is…spirited. She deserves to run her own home, have children and enjoy her life.”

Cordelia’s cheeks grew warm at his mentioning of baring children.

Their conversation was drifting dangerously close to impropriety—perhaps it was already there—and yet, there was something oddly refreshing about it.

He spoke to her plainly, as if she were an equal, not some porcelain debutante who required padding and care.

“I would suggest,” he went on, “that you return to the Ravensmere’s side. Lord Basing will not bother you there.”

“I shall do so. But I wish to watch the dancers a little while longer from my current position. When I’m ready I will return to my sister.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. She could sense his displeasure.

Men like him were not used to being refused. She could almost admire it, his command, his quiet certainty. But she had never been the sort of girl to obey merely because a man said so.

“Do you always ignore advise that is best for you?” he asked.

She stifled a laugh. “I will do as you advise, Your Grace, I assure you. Just not yet.”

“It is a masked ball,” he said. “And masks encourage bad behavior. Men often take liberties when they believe they are unrecognizable.”

She inclined her head. “That’s very true. But I think I’ll manage.”

He looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then he nodded once. “Very well. Good evening, Lady Cordelia.”

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

She watched him walk away, tall and composed, vanishing into the crowd with practiced ease.

Only once he was gone did she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. A moment later, Lady Jane found her, eyes alight with mischief and excitement.

Cordelia smiled, knowing Jane was about to disclose all she spoke about when dancing with Lord Astor. A welcome distraction, even if her friend was a constant reminder of Walpole, who unfortunately had started to never be far from her thoughts.