Regency Reputation. Diane GastonЧитать онлайн книгу.
had no experience with men—other than Gale, that is. Rhysdale looked as if he wanted to try to kiss her again, but she could not be sure. He’d called her alluring, but had he meant it?
Gale had poured on pretty compliments at first, when he’d been courting her. He’d obviously not meant them. How was she to know if Rhysdale spoke the truth?
She paused.
Why was she even thinking this way?
Her task was not to become enthralled with the handsome owner of the gaming house. He was blowing her off course, robbing her of the power to think straight. She must never allow another man any power over her. Not emotionally. Certainly not legally. Never would she marry again and become the property of a man, legally bound to his every whim.
Once had been enough.
Rhys represented a different sort of bondage, one that captured her thoughts and senses. She had no idea how to cope with the temptation to allow his kiss, to allow what was simmering below the surface to burst forth and consume her.
All Celia needed to do was return to the gaming house and play cards, but that presented another temptation. Rhys’s offer encouraged precisely what she should battle. She should eschew the cards and games, not throw herself into playing them. How did she know she would be able to escape when Rhys’s employment ended? Would she be able to stop gambling then, or would she become like her father, compelled to return to the tables against all good sense? Gambling might not be content to have merely killed her father and mother and ruined her young life; it could destroy her future, as well.
She started walking again, though her vision was blurred by the storm of thoughts inside her.
There would be no future at all for Adele unless Celia accepted this risk.
Adele was everything to her. The daughter she could never have, even though only a few years younger.
Rhysdale had given Celia this chance to secure Adele’s future and Celia must embrace it.
She quickened her pace.
All she needed to do was remain resolute. Resist temptation. Play cards and nothing else. What did she care what Rhys or any man thought?
He’d suggested that men might become attracted to her while she played cards with them. What utter nonsense. If anything, it was the mask and nothing more. The novelty of a disguised woman who liked to play cards.
Rhysdale, though, had seen her face. He’d still thought her alluring.
A frisson of pleasure raced through her. She closed her eyes and again stopped walking.
She was back to Rhysdale. He could so easily invade her thoughts.
How pitiful she was. The first time a man showed her any kindness she turned as giddy as a girl fancying herself in love with Lord Byron after reading Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
Had Rhysdale been the reason she agreed to his proposition? Was he, not money, the reason she agreed to face the gambling demons again?
That evening William Westleigh, Viscount Neddington, searched Lady Cowdlin’s ballroom as he had done every other entertainment he’d attended this Season.
He’d thought she was a vision when he first gazed upon her. Pale skin flushed with youth. Hair a shimmer of gold, its curls looking as artless as if she’d just stepped in from a breezy day. Lips moist and pink as a summer blossom.
She’d turned him into a romantic in an instant. He’d felt both exhilarated and weak when she’d allowed him to assist her in selecting wine at the musicale, but he’d lost her in the crowd afterwards.
He needed an introduction to her. If she appeared tonight—if he found her again—he’d beg someone to do the honours. He’d try his damnedest to dance with her and share supper with her.
Thinking of her was a welcome respite from worry over the finances, the estates, the welfare of his sister and mother. Those matters were largely out of his hands and under the control of his father at the moment.
Unless his father fulfilled the bargain they’d made with Rhysdale, they were about two weeks from disaster.
He walked the rooms of this ball three times without finding her, but it was early yet and guests continued to arrive.
‘The Lord Westleigh and Lady Westleigh,’ the butler announced.
Ned twisted away. He was too angry at his father to witness his joviality, as if he had not caused his family the extreme stress that currently plagued them. How his mother could walk at his father’s side foxed Ned.
Of course, she did not yet know how severely her husband had squandered their fortune.
If only the beauty he encountered at the musicale would walk in, Ned could momentarily free himself from thoughts of their troubles. He glanced around the room once again, looking everywhere but in the direction of his father.
The butler’s voice rang out again. ‘Lady Gale, Dowager Lady Gale and Miss Gale.’
Ned turned to the door.
It was she!
She stood a little behind two other ladies, one tall and as young as herself and the other certainly the dowager. This family was unknown to him, but the name Miss Gale now pressed into his mind like a hot iron brand.
She was as lovely as he remembered, this night donned in a pale pink gown that had some sort of sheer skirt over it that floated about her as she moved. Her lovely blonde hair was a mass of curls on top of her head and was crowned with pink roses.
As she and the other two ladies made their way to greet the host and hostess, she paused to scan the ballroom and caught him staring at her. He bowed to her and she smiled, ever so slightly, but enough for his hopes to soar.
Hope that he could find someone to present him to her. Hope that she was unattached. Hope that her smile meant she felt the same strong attraction to him that he felt towards her.
Ned kept her in view and occasionally he caught her eye again. But he’d seen no one of his acquaintance talking or dancing with her. The time neared for the supper dance and he was determined to partner her.
He marched over to the hostess. ‘Lady Cowdlin, may I beg a favour?’
‘A favour?’ She patted his hand. ‘Tell me what I might do for you.’
‘There is a young lady here …’ He paused. ‘I need an introduction.’
‘Who is it, my dear?’ She smiled.
‘I believe she is Miss Gale.’ He inclined his head in her direction.
‘Ah, I knew her mother. A lovely lady.’ Lady Cowdlin gave him a knowing look. ‘I understand, Neddington, that Miss Gale is worth five thousand at least—’
As if he cared a fig about that.
‘But she is not very grand. Her father was only a baron, you know. This is her first time in town and Edna—her grandmother—wants her to marry her cousin who inherited the title.’
That was not welcome news. ‘Who is her cousin? Do I know him?’
‘Luther Parminter. He is the son of her father’s cousin. I am certain you have seen him around London. Of course, now he is the new Baron Gale. He inherited, you see.’
Ned knew who the man was, but could not even count him an acquaintance. Now must he think of him as a rival?
Lady Cowdlin took his arm. ‘Come with me. Let us make this introduction forthwith.’
She brought him directly to where Miss Gale stood next to her grandmother’s chair. Lady Gale stood nearby.