Hastily shaking Lord Barton's hand, a quick flash of a smile at his wife and daughter, Rumford hurried through the mingling guests to the drinks table and snatched up the first glass that came to hand, knocking back the crisp glass of white wine in one. Staring blindly at the table of drinks, he was still floored by Lady French's beauty. There was no denying that she was beautiful. The first time he had seen her, he had been convinced she was a goddess. Though, seeing her tonight. In that dress, she was elegant, graceful and gorgeous. The perfect portrayal of a future Countess. Everything a man with aspirations could ever want in his future wife.
Yet, all Rumford yearned to do was escort her from the ball, lead her upstairs, lock them away in the privacy of his chambers and slowly peel the form fitting dress from her feminine frame. Leisurely taking in every inch of her bare skin. Committing every curve, every blemished, every scar and freckle to his memory. Exploring her, not as a man or as a husband would, but as a lover. Striving to learn how she liked to be touched, where she wanted to be caressed and kissed.
Exchanging his empty glass for a full one, he took a more dignified sip of his drink. He held the rim of his glass close to his lips. The rest bite in his duties allowed him the chance to rein in his thoughts. Although, that had become an impossible task since he met her.
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Willing his heart to hush its incessant beat. Regardless of what Rumford wanted, his heart hammered against his ribs, desperate for her to hear the truth it guarded. The unrequited love he harboured for her, burned as fierce as the craving he had to taste her flesh, to dip his tongue into the honeypot of her essence, to bury himself as deep as he could inside of her, needing to become one with her. His eyes slowly opened. Aware, he was very much damned for the rest of his existence with this exquisite creature of temptation. Making it even more crucial for him to temper his affections and the physical effect she had on him.
"Lord Gold," A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "My apologies for being so late."
Rumford downed the rest of the wine in his flute before he shuffled his feet to face them. "Lady Mills, your apologies for your tardiness are not required." He said as he slightly canted himself forward, eyeing her. "Your apologies for coming to this ball uninvited would be most appreciated, though."
A wicked smile curled the corners of her mouth as she bobbed to him. "Oh, my Lord, surely not. I was under the impression, the messenger with my invitation had simply gotten… Mislaid."
"Ah, indeed." He schooled his features as he inclined back to his full height. "Much like our last conversation."
"Come now, Rumford." She said his name so sweetly, his top lip flexed into a snarl. "We both understand things can be said in the heat of the moment. Business is business, after all."
"Oh, of course, business is business, until you involve yourself in my business." He countered.
Viscountess of the Delamere Forest. Her given name, Regina. Once, Rumford had admired her cunningness and ambitious nature. Her mother, Cora, had been of a similar temperament. Seeing marriage as an opportunity to heighten her status. Cora had played the game well over the years. Coming from a middle-class upbringing, she had managed to marry an elderly, insignificant Lord, who had died a year or so after their banns had been read. But in the short time of their marriage, Cora had flitted through the social sphere of the upper society, making a name for herself. Because of that, she had been the talk of the capital after her first husband's death and was remarried by the end of the season. Improving her status from a meagre Lady to a Baroness. However, for the newly dubbed Baroness, it was another marriage, where her husband died after siring two young daughters.
Some would say, the then Baroness was picking her husbands' due to their elderly years and title. Another reason why Rumford had bowed himself out of the limelight, when Regina's mother had come sniffing around him.
"My Lord," Her mother had extended her hand, expecting him to kiss her black gloved hand. "I believe we have something in common."
Eyeing her proffered hand, Rumford had declined it and simply given her a curt bow of acknowledgement. "And what would that be, Lady Mills?"
The same exact smile Regina had inherited, had crept its way onto her mother's face, as Cora had revealed what they'd mutually shared. "We're recently widowed, of course." Then her hand had unwelcomingly laid on top of his forearm before she had swiftly glided to stand close to his side. "We could find solace in each other's arms, my Lord."
"As much as I am… Flattered. I am, as you so eloquently pointed out, recently widowed and still in mourning." Shifting his feet, her hand had been forced to fall from his arm as Rumford had given a decisive nod of his head. "If you'd excuse me." And had also excused himself from the rest of the festivities.
Two weeks later, reading through his newspaper at breakfast, Cora's marriage to a Viscount was announced. It had caught his eye for a fraction of a second before flicking to the next page. Regina had been the one to catch his attention. Or more, her business dealings.
There weren't many Lords, who ran businesses alongside their estates. Many were happy with living off their estates and their inheritance. For this reason, during a drawn-out bidding war for a carpet factory, Rumford had noted his adversary was Viscount Coeur. After the next council meeting in the capital, Rumford had beelined to confront the Viscount and subtly weigh up the other man's interest in business. Deciding whether he'd become a problem in the future.
"Viscount Coeur," Rumford had smiled as he had approached the Viscount, who had been chatting to his step-daughter, Regina, in the corridor, outside the council chambers. "I hope there's no hard feelings."
"Hard feelings?" The Viscount had queried, a not-so-subtle glimpse at his step-daughter's face.
Without missing a beat, Rumford had bounced his gaze between the two, saying. "It's just business at the end of the day. Though, you certainly gave me a run for my money, my Lord."
"Erm…" The elderly looking gentleman had given his step-daughter a hard, pleading look. "Yes, my Lord, I certainly did."
Rumford's eyes had followed the Viscount's gaze to Regina, who rolled her eyes with a heavy huff, collapsing her shoulders. "It was me."
It hadn't stunned Rumford. Someone pretending to be someone else was literally Rumford's life. Feeling a kinship with Regina, understanding the burden of being someone else, he had offered to tutor her. That was until she had gone behind his back, struck a deal to undermine him, shook hands on it and stole the business from Rumford. It had hurt him. The betrayal had struck him deep. Another reason for him to keep himself guarded from people. Not to trust anyone. Especially Lady Regina Mills.
Snapping his heels together, clunking the heels of his boots, Rumford gave her a short nod of his head and dismissed her. "Go home, Regina." He swivelled on his feet, putting his back to her as he added. "You're not welcome here."
"Oh… Well, that is a shame." She tittered. "I only came to offer my congratulations to the happy couple."
Rumford's brows pushed together, creasing his brow, whilst he studied her from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, and slowly turned to face her. "Happy couple?"
Her evil grin was framed by her dark red lips before Regina apprised him. "A cousin of mine, informed me, a friend of his son's had lost his sweetheart to the Earl of the Frontlands." The diamond earrings sparkled with her shaking her head. "I told him, he had to be wrong. The Earl's sworn off marriage. Not possible, I told him. But…" Her eyes travelled across the room and Rumford followed them, finding Jefferson and Lady French lingering in the open French doors, observing the people dancing. "After seeing the beauty on Mr Mandermer's arm tonight, I have to concede and offer my congratulations and best wishes to the both of you."
"As your business is concluded, I propose you slither your way out of my house and back under the rock you came from." He instructed, clasping his hands behind his back, and walked away from her.
As he excused himself through the crowd, making his way across to Jefferson and Lady French, Rumford could feel Lady Mills's gaze follow him, burning into the back of his head. There was no point in rebuffing her claims. Not when, he'd be announcing their engagement at the end of the evening. Sucking in a breath and drawing in his stomach, his right hand moved to cover his stomach, guarding the knots his guts was tying itself into.
It didn't matter that Regina knew. She knew what everyone else was going to know. They had fallen in love. Couldn't bear to live without the other, so he had proposed. There was always gossip of such things happening. Yes, he had spent nearly a decade, refusing offers from fathers' wanting him to marry their daughters. It added truth to him being head over heels in love with Lady French.
Yet, knowing that Regina knew before everyone else, and took great interest in the news and wanted him to know that she knew, unsettled him. She wasn't a foolish young woman. Facts, gossip and speculation could make or break someone's reputation. Regina was well versed in using these tools to get what she wanted. Something he wished, in that very moment, he had never taught her. Especially as Rumford had no idea of her intentions and the end goal she was after. Rattling his cage or wanting to rut another knife into his back, it could be either, but Regina had a motive for wanting him to know that she knew.
"Ah!" Jefferson proclaimed, when Rumford sidestepped a group of people to get to them. "You've finally finished dallying with everyone."
"For now." He gave Jefferson a tight smile as he spoke.
Sheepishly, Lady French took a sip from her drink, avoiding Rumford's gaze, but eventually, flashed her beautiful blue eyes at him. He swallowed under her scrutiny. Even if it had been for the briefest of seconds. His back straightened as he clasped his hands behind him and gave her an indulgent bow, tilting his head forward to cast his gaze to the floor. As he righted himself, his gaze travelled up her dress, taking in the detailed embroidery. The tail of his left eyebrow twitched, recognising the pattern bare some resemblance to his own attire.
When his gaze met with hers, Lady French offered him a kind smile and he reciprocated before saying to her. "Your dress is exquisite, my Lady."
"Mr Mandermer was gracious enough to acquire it for me." She beamed a smile at Jefferson.
Shifting his gaze to Jefferson, Rumford gritted his teeth. "Very gracious of him, indeed."
The quick quirk of Jefferson's right eyebrow was an indicator that he had recognised a tone in Rumford's voice. "Not at all. Though," A wide grin spread his lips as his gaze wandered down Lady French's attire, with a hand presenting her. "You have to admit, she's definitely the belle of the ball."
Lady French raised her hand to her mouth, hiding her bemused smile and guarding her very short chuckle. "Pun intended, Mr Mandermer."
"Merely, the truth." Jefferson said, while his grin changed into a genuine smile for her.
Grasping at the lapels of his jacket, Rumford pulled down hard on them, cutting the collar into the back of his neck. Resentfulness, possessiveness, enviousness. He blew out a heated breath as he turned his gaze to the dancing couples. These feelings had been gnawing more and more at him. Seeing them share tea together, a private joke, a moment where the two of them were at ease with each other. Rumford wanted those moments for himself. He wanted to be the one to sit down for tea with her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and to have been the one, who had taken her on a tour of the house, telling her the history and showing her its secrets. Except Jefferson and the children had been occupying her time. Kidnapping her, when Rumford had gotten called away to deal with a matter, or her father had beckoned him to one side, wanting to discuss living arrangements and the future of their estate.
It wasn't their fault. How could they not be enthralled with her? Lady French was beautiful, clever, humorous and so patient with the children, he had thought he'd been having a heart attack at how adorable it had been. She would make an excellent mother…
Heavy lines formed across his brow. An excellent mother. 'Yes, she would've made an excellent mother', he conceded, naturally turning his gaze round to Lady French and Jefferson, but focused more on her. Their predicament had taken that chance away from her. She would never experience the joys of falling in love with someone, or the rapture a husband and a wife could share between the sheets, or the burden of carrying a precious life in her womb. With the contract signed and stamped, Lady French was stuck with him. A better choice than the man her father had originally intended for her to marry, but not the man she was destined to fall in love with.
Jefferson motioned to the side with his head, whispering something to Lady French, which made a smile bloom wide on her face, lightening her eyes and causing small crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Rumford's grip tightened on his lapels. He was desperate for her smile, like that, for him. No matter how hard he had tried, she was guarded with him. Quick to tear her gaze away from him. Stiffening whenever he touched her. Shifting an unseen step away from him. It killed him, every time, yet he wouldn't have it any other way.
"I'm parched." Jefferson abruptly announced. "Would you care for another drink, my Lady?"
"Oh…" She lifted her glass, studying the mouthful of a punch.
Before Lady French could answer, Jefferson snatched the glass from her, taking her choice away from her, and veered the question to Rumford. "My Lord?"
"Not for me, thank you." He answered, while he shook his head.
"I'll be right back." His friend gave Lady French a smile, then moved to excuse himself through the crowd.
It was as Jefferson was skirting round Rumford, an elbow snuck underneath Rumford's arm, nudging him in his side, while being followed with a low, insistent whisper. "Dance with her!"
Twisting to follow the source of the whisper, Rumford watched Jefferson's back as his best friend began to mingle through the crowd. Waving and smiling to the other guests. Jefferson was always so comfortable in these situations. Loving the attention, while Rumford found them tedious. If these gatherings didn't serve a purpose to him, he wouldn't bother, but they made conducting business easier. While the wives were distracted, the gentleman could quietly converse in corners, hashing out agreements and shaking hands without the scrutiny of the room, who'd be distracted with the festivities.
"The evening is absolutely enchanting, my Lord." Lady French complimented the evening, triggering him to swing his attention round to her.
"You're very kind to say so, my Lady." He graciously bowed his head to her. "I will pass your praise onto Mrs Potts and the staff, as it was their hard work, which has made the evening what it is."
She gave a nod of her head. "I will also offer my own praise, when I see her in the morning."
With nothing to occupy her hands, Lady French played with the black ribbon around her wrist, from which hung her dance card. The Gold coat of arms stood out broadly from the white background of the card. The family colours of black and gold, highlighted the proud lion, with the colours introverted in the four separate sections, diagonally cut across the lion. Swallowing, Rumford could hear his father in his ear, 'You can be brave, son. You're not like that man, who dared to call himself your father. And you'll remember that, whenever you see our crest on your signet ring'.
Releasing his lapels, his hands gravitated together and his fingers sought out the signet ring on his right little finger, whilst he said to Lady French. "I hope… You've been enjoying yourself."
"I have, my Lord." Lady French told him, giving him a smile that coiled his gut. "Mr Mandermer has been keeping me company."
"Good." He forced a smile for her, giving her a poor imitation of her smile.
"Have you?" She inquired.
His left eyebrow raised at her. "Me?"
"Yes," The right corner of her lips curled up in amusement. "You, my Lord."
Rumford considered her question and decided to tell her the truth. "I'm happier, now I'm in your company."
A pink glow immediately tainted her cheeks and faintly flowed down the nape of her neck, diminishing at the distinct line of her collar bone. Lady French shyly casted her gaze away from him. Throwing it to the tall windows beside her, looking out onto the east gardens. His eyes lingered on the smooth slope of her neck. Curling his fingers together, he kept himself from tracing his finger down the line of perfection. The temptation grew stronger each time the chance presented itself. So much so, he had no choice but to give in a few times, letting his hand linger on the small of her back in the guise of direction.
Forcing his gaze down to his tangled fingers, Rumford tightened his grip, grounding himself with a burst of pain. Wishful aspirations and yearning desires had to be confined. His survival in this future marriage demanded it.
As his eye caught his gold signet ring, he turned his hand to get a better look at the black and gold lion on the flat surface of his ring. Repaying the gift his parents had given him and growing the wealth for his own son had been Rumford's duty for so long. The cost of being who he was, was not to be himself at all. He didn't belong in this world, which was made more apparent with being in Lady French's presence. But then, Rumford couldn't think of any man, gentleman or not, who deserved her attention or, most importantly, her affections. Making the guilt he harboured, for allowing her to stoop to a level beneath her, trapping herself in a marriage to him, hard to deal with. Lady French deserved everything and all he could offer her was a prison.
Rumford gave his head a forceful shake and threw a hand out towards Lady French. "Shall we get this dance out of the way?"
In the slightest of movements, her lips pursed together drawing his eye, whilst hers focused on the hand he offered before rising to his face. "If you do not care to dance, my Lord, then don't feel that you have to on my behalf."
"It is not, I do not care to dance." He informed her. "Simply, it'll be expected due to our announcement this evening and I have business to discuss with many people tonight."
Her blue piercing eyes stared at him, freezing him in place, until her eyes diverted with a blink to his hand and she placed her silk gloved hand into his, giving him a short sharp response. "Of course, my Lord."
Carefully latching his thumb over her delicate fingers, Rumford folded his other arm behind himself and pivoted to lead Lady French to the cluster of people creating a perimeter to the dancefloor. Eyes turned, studying them, as they approached. A divide naturally formed in the wall of people, permitting them access to the dancefloor. A dance was still in progress and required them to be at the bottom of the line to join. With everyone's eyes on them, Rumford chose to wait for the next dance.
"This one's nearly over, my Lady, we'll wait for the next one." He shared, slightly turning in her favour, keeping his voice low.
"As you wish." She muttered beside him.
"Believe me, this is not at all what I wish for." He mumbled without thinking.
There was a wisp of two words, said on a breath, quieter than a dormouse - 'I know'. His brow crinkled at those two words, which lingered, but appeared to be unsaid. Turning his head to look at Lady French, whose attention was on the dancers, Rumford could've sworn she had said these two innocent words. Charging him with a silent allegation.
Slowly, Lady French's head turned and her gaze met his, showing a fierce fire burning in the depths of beautiful crimson eyes. Confusion weighed his brow down over his eyes. She turned her gaze away, leaving him to study her profile. He couldn't recall what he could've said to anger her. He hadn't been rude, or untoward, or asked anything of her that wouldn't have been expected at such a gathering. Why she was angered with him was lost on him, but even as he muddled through his thoughts, seeking answers, he was still struck with how beautiful she was tonight. How beautiful she was in every moment, whether it be with anger in her eyes, a faraway look in her eyes as she read or the broad smile she gave happily to the children.
"The dance has ended." Lady French told him, canting her head slightly in his direction to look at him from the corner of her eye.
Breathing in, more to awaken himself than to brace him, Rumford looked away to the dancefloor to see the couples dispersing and another set of couples take to the floor. Instinctively, he rubbed his thumb across the backs of her fingers in his hand. He felt her gaze as he led her forward onto the floor. More than he did the hundred pairs of eyes watching them. It was hers, though, that made him fortify his persona.
There were whispers as Rumford escorted Lady French to the beginning of the line and glanced round at everyone, meeting their questioning looks. He deposited Lady French to the ladies' side and took a few steps to his spot opposite, pulling down on the hem of his waistcoat underneath his coat. It had been a long time since he had danced. The last time would've been a ball, which Milah had organised before her duties and other responsibilities became too much for her. And arguments had become a daily occurrence, slamming doors heard throughout the halls, and an undeniable tension presided over their home. Swivelling his feet on the polished floor, he turned with minimal effort to face Lady French again, whilst he lowered his hands to his sides and snubbed out the thoughts of his dead wife.
The quartet began to play, calling all the couples to prepare to dance. On the second beat, Rumford took two steps back and strode to his right before turning to perform a fleuret step until he reached the third couple in the line. He chanced a glance across to Lady French, who was mirroring his movements, as he pivoted to retrace his steps back, stopping on his original spot to meet Lady French's gaze on the other side. Waiting a beat, the pair strode on a slight angle to Rumford's left and crossed paths.
The palms of their hands met, barely touching as the two spun together. In those few seconds, it was like everything else stood still. There was no music, there was no ball, there weren't any eyes watching them and nothing stood between them. No contract, no arrangement. Just a man and a woman.
There had been many times in Rumford's life, he had wished things could've been different. That his father hadn't been a coward and abandoned him. That he could've had more time with the people, who he had dearly known as his parents. That he could've chosen his first wife more cautiously, using his heart instead of his cock. That he could be strong enough to be the man his parents had envisioned him to be. So many things, he had wished to change, but in that moment. Dancing with Lady French, Rumford wouldn't have changed a thing.
Being in this moment with her was everything.
She was graceful. Naturally gliding about the dancefloor, reminding him of the blade of grass he had witnessed dance through the air. So light, so elegant. He didn't dare close the minute gap between their hands. Doing so would spoil the moment, even if it would prove this heavenly creature did exist and would soon be his wife.
With no choice, but to continue the dance, the two parted and carried on, on their destined paths, lapping around the couple, who'd taken their places at the beginning of the lines. Rumford couldn't tear his eyes away from Lady French. Following her eagerly with his eyes, seeing no one but her, as she came around the back of the gentleman, stood in Rumford's original spot. As her head turned to greet him with her gaze, she wore a wide smile and her enjoyment shone in her eyes. The corners of his lips turned up and his heart swelled in his chest, whilst he basked in the smile, she seemed to save for Jefferson and the children. Her smile appeared to waver as she came towards him, meeting him between the lines, where they raised their hands, palm to palm, untouching. His fingers twitched with the urge to grasp her hand. To pull her closer. Hold her against him and spin the night away without a care for anyone else. Devoting himself to her, and her alone. Even if that meant, giving up everything he had ever known.
Troubled with his thoughts, Rumford pulled his hand back and quickened his step, returning to his new spot in the line, forcefully rubbing his tingling fingers. He reprimanded himself, shaking his head at himself. 'Foolish thoughts', he cursed internally. He was the ninth Earl of the Frontlands. Not some foolhardy boy chasing skirt. This rash line of thought was just another reason why he had to control his emotions. Lady French was in his charge now, like so many other people.
However, this wasn't what troubled him. Rumford was scared of where his thoughts had been going. Devoting himself to her? Yes, he cared for the woman. It was hard to ignore that fact with his thoughts solely focused on her – morning, noon and night. He had cared for Milah. Given her everything she had desired, up until a point, when her demands had become too outlandish. But he had never given himself completely to her. Always holding back, a large part of himself. Possibly, it had been the reason their marriage had failed. Yet… Here he was, envisioning himself, giving himself completely to a woman, without any fear, willing to share his darkest secret with her.
What the hell was happening to him? What had she done to him?
Lady French moving a couple of steps caught his eye and he was kicked into action, hurrying the first few steps to catch up with her progress as she promenaded along behind the next two ladies in the line. A chuckle from the crowd pricked his ear. Nothing though, could've taken his gaze away from her. Not while his mind fired off question after question.
'Why's she so special?', 'She's a mere stranger to me, yet why have I developed such strong feelings for her?', 'Was this all being driven by loneliness, or was she the one? My true love?'.
He paused at the end of his steps, frowning at the swirl of questions in his head. Rumford had thought this was merely an infatuation. Something that would ease over time. Slowly developing, over time, into a friendship. Feelings, deeper than he had initially considered, had not been a part of his original reasoning for consenting to her proposal. Protecting her, wanting her, coveting her – were all just as much to blame for his predicament.
"My Lord Gold!" A man whispered to him, snapping Rumford's attention to the gentleman in question, Lord Melluish. "You're several steps behind the young lady." He advised, pointing vaguely towards the beginning of the lines."
"Indeed." Rumford accepted the observation and hastened his step to pass through the middle, to meet with Lady French, their hands barely encountered one another as they spun together.
"Is everything alright, my Lord?" Lady French asked him in a low voice, with a faint line of concern drawn between her brows.
The left side of his mouth twitched with a shy smile as he responded. "Quite fine."
"Really?" Her left eyebrow arched at him. "You appeared to have forgotten the steps, my Lord."
"I…" Rumford's retort was obstructed by the two of them being forced to part and return to their respective lines to face one another.
Peering behind the line, Rumford watched as the gentleman at the beginning of the line, who had taken Rumford's original spot, and the gentleman to Rumford's right, began performing the same dance they had just concluded. When the gentleman neared him, Rumford turned his gaze away from him and could hear the man's steps behind him, whilst his gaze focused on Lady French's across the way. There was a bemused smile on her face, while her hands worked at straightening her skirt. His brows narrowed a little at her. It was hard to believe, this woman had turned his head so hard, his whole world had turned upside down, and she didn't know it. Couldn't ever know. Rumford wouldn't allow her to think she had some power over him. Much like Milah had believed, she'd had over him.
The lady beside Lady French, Lady Lanford, called across to Rumford. "Lord Gold, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your beautiful dance partner?"
"It would be my pleasure to facilitate your introduction, Lady Lanford." He gave her a curt nod of his head before performing the introduction. "This is Lady French. Daughter of Viscount French, whose estate is near Avonlea."
Lady French turned her head to Lady Lanford and smiled warmly at her. "I'm honoured to meet your acquaintance, Lady Lanford."
Lady Lanford's arm quickly bridged the gap and touched Lady French's arm, whilst she insisted. "You must share with me the name of your modiste, my Lady. Your dress is flawless." Her eyes never left Lady French's dress as she said to Rumford. "Wouldn't you agree, Lord Gold?"
"I have already offered my compliments on her gown, my Lady, but as long as it doesn't bore Lady French, I would gladly offer them again to her." He smiled across at Lady French, when she looked at him. "Breath-taking."
The shapely mounds of her bosom, emerging from the bust of her dress, rose and drew his eye, whilst Lady French's chin lifted before it fell, half turning her face in the opposing direction of Lady Lanford, proclaiming to Rumford as a blush coloured her cheeks. "You flatter me, my Lord."
Lady Lanford held him with her gaze. "With a bold compliment. "
"Bold, but the truth, Lady Lanford." Rumford held Lady Lanford's gaze, staring down the woman's keen observation.
"Excuse me…" Lady Lanford muttered, while her feet edged her away to take her new position at the beginning of the line.
"That was rather brash." Lady French commented as the couple to Rumford's right, moved up to take the spot the other couple had vacated.
A memory, from not so long ago, caused the left edge of his lips to turn up into a smile. "I hope you're not intimidated by my brashness, my Lady."
The colour in her cheeks was diminishing as she looked at him, with a faraway look on her face. The short private moment they had shared in her father's library felt like it had been months ago. Not at all, the week or more ago, it had been.
A few times, he had dreamed of that moment. Played it through until the point of Jefferson's ill-timed interruption. In his dreams, Jefferson didn't enter the library and ended the perfect moment between them. The effortless exchange had persisted and had built momentum. Brazen compliments and comments would've been shared. Daringly, he would approach Lady French and confess a maddening need to press a soft kiss to her lips, to which her lips would part and her white pearly teeth would capture her lower lip, pinning the plump delicate flesh between her teeth. Fuelling the internal burn, he harboured for her.
"Not at all, my Lord." She stated, disturbing him from his musings. "Only charming."
There was no way Lady French could fathom how one word from her could mean so much to him. And why it did, was something he refused to contemplate. Instead, he gave her an indulgent bow, keeping his gaze solely on her. A sea of eyes watched them. He could feel them, as he always did. The scrutinising eye of society, keenly watching for any tells, missteps or weaknesses to exploit. Though, all they would see this evening was what Rumford wanted them to see: an infatuated Earl.
As he straightened his back, he held his hand over his heart, whilst giving her a curt nod of his head, touched by her remembering their conversation in the library. "I'm delighted you think so, Lady French."
"How could I not? You're very charming, my Lord, when you want to be." She shared her observation, with her gaze momentarily caught, firstly, by the gentleman coming to stand to the right of Rumford, and then by the lady, who came to stand beside Lady French.
"My charm is saved only for you, my dear Lady." Rumford willingly confessed.
There was an obvious moment, where everything in the room – the dancers, the musicians, the chatter – skipped a beat. The room had taken notice. Eyes were fixed on them. Ears were tuned in to their conversation. His brashness would've been vulgar to many, but to sell their sudden engagement, Rumford needed them all to see them. To see him, infatuated.
She gave a shallow curtsy to him. "You honour me, my Lord."
"Not at all." A soft smile gently pushed back his cheeks, causing hairline creases to form by the corners of his eyes. "It is you, who honours me, by bestowing such a great gift upon me."
"And what gift is that?" Lady French questioned with a curiously arched brow, while the couples performing the dance crossed between the lines, twirled and took their new positions in the lines.
"Your company, of course." He countered.
Wide keen eyes watched as a rose-coloured blush rushed to flood Lady French's cheeks. "My Lord," She took an obvious breath. "I will become giddy and have to seek a pew to rest, if you keep using your captivating charm on me."
"I eagerly offer you my apologies, Lady French." His smile grew into a sly smile, evidently enjoying himself. "If it would please you, we will take a moment to rest and share a drink together after this dance."
"There's no need to offer your apologies, my Lord, but I will accept your offer of a rest and drink, whilst we partake in conversation." She boldly stated in front of everyone, drawing the intense observation of them to her.
"Indeed, my gracious Lady." Rumford dipped his head to acknowledge their arrangement, whilst the dancers began the dance again, walking a few steps behind the awaiting dancers before retracing their steps and crossing over to greet their partner as they altered sides.
While the dancers lapped to take Rumford and Lady French's place in the line, they both sidestepped to take the vacant spots, second in position. Gazing across at Lady French, it was easy to let his smile remain. He had truly enjoyed their exchanged. Though, he doubted it had meant anything to Lady French, even if she had played her part very well. Evident by the hushed whispers, threatening to subdue the beautiful tune being played, and the array of beady eyes staring at them.
The dance ended, when Rumford and Lady French had retaken their original position at the start of the lines. In unison, the dancers all curtsy and bowed to their parallel partner, and applaud the musicians. Conquering the three steps between them as he clapped to the musicians, Rumford was the first to offer his arm to Lady French, once the praise had ended. Her hand snaked effortlessly to take the crook of his arm. Their gazes met and Lady French's brows raised at him in question. In answer to her silent question, Rumford appeared to lovingly touch her hand, whilst giving her a generous smile as he began to lead them away and into the crowd.
The wall of people parted for them. None of them were able to take their gawping gazes off of them. Rumford met each of their gazes. The attention wasn't uncommon to him, but the slight drag on his arm, proved Lady French wasn't used to the attention. Puffing out his chest, straightening his back, thrusting back his shoulders – Rumford marched on, towing her behind him, meeting everyone with a steely gaze of warning. He couldn't help himself and neither could everyone, who quickly turned away. Dispersing the intense attention on them. The weight of her hand on his arm eased. As they came through onto the other side of the crowd, surrounding the dancefloor, Rumford's step eased and became less determined. His gaze slowly traversed round to Lady French, briefly checking on her before he steered them in the direction of the open French doors, leading out onto the lit patio.
As they approached the doorway, Rumford took her hand from around his arm and put it into his hand, aiding her as they traversed the few steps out of the ballroom. He waited at the bottom of the steps for her to have her footing, then regrettably let go of her hand. Firmly rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, he missed the contact already.
"This evening is so magical." Lady French commented as she lifted her skirts, allowing her to walk the edge of the patio.
The decoration from inside the ballroom flowed out onto the small patio area, which led to the gravel path that branched off in different directions. These gravel paths had lit torches lighting the way to the large conservatory and the path leading to the east gardens. Mrs Potts had lit the small patio area with tall candelabras, which came out for such events. The flowery creepers decorating the ballroom had been strung up between the candelabras, connecting the inside to the outside. Ushering the guests from lingering on the patio to the firepit, sat in the middle of the crossroads of the paths.
His gaze settled on the guests talking around the firepit, struck with aspiration to be alone with Lady French. She was right. The evening was quite magical. Normally, these balls would've been slow and boring. Talking business was only ever the aim for these evenings.
Drifting his gaze to Lady French, fixing on the nape of her neck, Rumford knew there were gentlemen inside he had deals to make with, but the thought of leaving her side physically pained him. He actually wanted to spend the evening with her. Talk, dance and laugh with her. Something he had rarely done with his first wife. Milah would've swanning about the room, making it clear she had been the focal point of the evening and that everyone had to bow to her command. Behaving more like a spoilt queen than the wife of a regal Earl. At the time, her behaviour hadn't bothered Rumford. He had used her as a distraction. Colluding in the dark corners of the room, whisking certain gentlemen to his study, conducting business in the shroud of the evening. And Milah hadn't been bothered – Most of the time, she hadn't even noticed he'd left the room.
Securing his hands behind his back, he left the thoughts of his late wife behind him and moseyed the short steps to join Lady French, telling her. "When you've been to as many balls as I have, they lose their appeal."
"Oh…" Lady French twisted her neck to divert all of her attention to him. "Why… Do you have so many balls?"
"Business." He stated, bluntly.
Her eyes flashed wider at his omission, then she shrugged her shoulders, whilst turning her gaze to the picturesque view of the gardens and the glittery night sky, confessing to him. "I've never really enjoyed them, myself." She smirked as she said. "I'd normally sneak off in search of the library and explore their collection of books."
The left side of his mouth twitched with amusement. "If you do feel like sneaking off to the library, permit me to come with you."
Lightly chuckling at him, Lady French turned her gaze on him, forcing him to breath in deeply at her beauty as she jokily scolded him. "You have guests, Lord Gold."
"None of which, I'm interested in conversing with." He seriously confessed to her, but then on his next breath, he played down the seriousness of his admission. "Tedious conversations of homelife and recent gossip willingly shared. Unexciting babble." He rolled his eyes. "Gentlemen bending my ear with matters of the court, while their ladies bat their eyes at me."
"How terrible for you, my Lord." She said with a smile.
Giving her a pointed look, caused her grin to widen before she shook her head and diverted her gaze away from him, casting it towards the conservatory. A slow smile creeped its way onto his face. This was the most they had talked since her arrival and she seemed different. Almost at ease in his company. It wasn't lost on him that she was beaming smiles at him, twisting his gut in knots. Quickening, the solid beat of his heart with just a simple smile. Drawing him to edge closer to her, like a moth to a flame.
He couldn't help his eyes wandering from the side of her face, he could see, to the nape of her neck, to her collarbones, lowering further to the expanse of flesh of her chest. The bodice of the dress pushed up her breasts, constricting them into two perfect mounds. They called like a siren to him, begging him to dip his tongue into valley between her breasts. It was hard, when they were this close, to keep his thoughts under control. Lady French was here, within his grasp, yet he knew he could never have her. Could never lay with her and show her the things that tormented him at night… morning… noon… every moment, whether awake or not. She consumed him, like no other woman. And he couldn't stop himself from wanting more.
There was the sound of footsteps behind them, coming out of the ballroom, that quickly approached and stopped beside Rumford. "My Lord." Swinging his gaze round, George, a footman, gave Rumford a gracious bow. "Lord Haddington is looking for you."
Rumford breathed out heavily. "Haddington." He mumbled the Lord's name, hating the thought of leaving Lady French's side. "I'm sure he is."
"I suggested that he wait for you in the red gallery room, my Lord." George informed him.
"Most agreeable." Rumford nodded his head at the information. "Thank you, Mullens."
"Sir." George gave him curt bow of his head and headed back into the ballroom.
He watched until George was swallowed into the mass of the ballroom. Pursing his lips together, Rumford couldn't think of anything that would grant him more time with Lady French. Sure, he could put off the meetings. Could excuse himself, telling them he'd come and see them later on in the night, but the men he had to conduct business with tonight were persistent and, most definitely, desperate - Just the way Rumford liked them to be. It would be primetime to strike them now. Instead of allowing them time to stew on their situations and possibly change their minds.
"Lord Gold, don't feel you have to stay on my account. I'm quite content to consider the evening on my own." Lady French proclaimed, tugging him round to face her with just her voice.
Behind him, his thumb and forefinger rubbed together as he countered her. "It is not your account, why I consider to stay."
The corners of her mouth flexed into a smile for a second. "Of course, my apologies, my Lord. I forgot about the tedious conversations and unexciting babble, and batting of lady's eyelashes, you have to endure."
"As long as, my Lady, understands the nuisance I have to tolerate. It makes leaving you marginally easier. Although," A sly grin pushed back the left side of his face. "How you expect anyone's company to live up to yours, I couldn't fathom."
"There's no need to lay on the charm, my Lord. There's no audience to hear it." She rebuffed him, rolling her eyes and waving off his sweet talk.
"I am not. I simply state the truth." He told her, intently holding her gaze.
Lady French's eyes danced from side to side, searching for something in the depths of his eyes. Selfishly, he threw himself into the depths of hers. Relishing in the opportunity to bask in the splendour of her attention. The jealousy he had felt for Jefferson and the children occupying her time washed away. Without thinking about it, his shoulders rose and his back straightened, feeling grander under her scrutiny.
There was movement in her throat before she spoke to him. "Then I will take solace in your truth, my Lord."
He bowed his head forward. "And accept my deepest apology for excusing myself, but I will return to your side, as soon as I have concluded my business for the evening."
"For our second dance of the evening." Lady French added, in a tone that suggested it was more of a question than a statement.
His head bounced to accept her point and lifted his head to meet her gaze again, saying. "And then we will make our announcement."
"Very well." Her easy smile escalated the beat of his heart. "Then I shall await your return, my Lord." And she curtsied to him.
After bowing to her, Rumford pulled at the lapels of his jacket and compelled himself to walk away. His heart sank as he climbed the two steps to enter the ballroom, absorbed into the chatter and loud colours of ballgowns and decorations. The dream of wanting to sit with her, share a drink together, pass the time with intriguing conversation.