Living London Read online

  "Of course, Arynna. My information came from the source." Her eyebrows punctuated her words, and I realized they were playing a game of cat and mouse. I'm not up for this.

  Turning toward me again, Arynna and Elaina — oh honestly, they even have rhyming names — crossed their arms and mirrored a pose I'd seen far too many times in high school. "So, do you remember anything?" Arynna asked.

  Straight to the point. Fantastic. I was against lying, but I didn't want to give the sharks any blood in the water. Just as I took a breath to give a vague reply, a hand touched my shoulder.

  "Jocelyn! I've been looking everywhere for you! There's someone you must meet. Please excuse us." Not waiting for a reply, the woman pulled me away from the sharks. "I got here just in time, I see. What were you thinking, talking with them? You must have addled your wits if you walked knowingly into that bee’s nest."

  She stopped abruptly, turning to regard me. At my confused expression, she blanched. "Oh, no. It's true, isn't it?" she asked with a wince on her beautiful face. "Do you even know who I am?" Her eyes searched mine for a brief second.

  She spoke before I could even take a breath and answer, not that I knew what I'd planned to say. "Never mind. Listen closely. I am Amelia, your best friend, and I am going to get you through this night. Do you understand?"

  She spoke to me like I was a toddler. The shock of it all had worn off, so I found myself speaking before my mind could filter the words. "Excuse me. I might not remember my own best friend, but I certainly understand English and do not need you to treat me like a dimwit."

  Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "Brilliant. You're going to be just fine. Let's take a turn about the room."

  Through the next half hour, Amelia truly lived up to her title as my best friend. She showed me whom to avoid, whom to speak loudly to, who was blind, and whom I should never dance with, ever. Thankfully, it hadn't begun yet, and I felt a little anxious, like I was at my first prom wondering if anyone would ask me.

  "Where are our dance cards?"

  "Excuse me? What are you talking about?" she asked distractedly.

  "You know! Where the guy, er, gentleman assigns himself a dance on a little card." Holding up my fingers, I made a little box shape. It sounded stupid to my own ears, but I knew my Regency books. All the girls had those kind of cards. I wanted mine.

  "We don't have dance cards," she explained slowly, as if questioning my ability to understand once again.

  "Why not?" I asked, feeling oddly disappointed.

  "Well, why would we?" Looking heavenward, she sighed delicately and explained, "If a gentleman asks for a dance, you have to accept, but he may only dance with you twice. Therefore, dance cards are not needed, unless you cannot remember five minutes past." She gave me a pointed look that ended with a grin.

  I gave her a small sarcastic laugh but grinned at the end.

  "Thank you, but I actually remembered the only two dance rule."

  "Shocking." She grinned as she spoke.

  "But what if the gentleman asking has rotten teeth or something of the like, and I do not wish to dance with him?" I whispered.

  "If you refuse, which you will not do, then you forfeit all activities for the rest of the evening."

  Super.

  "Do I get asked quite often?" I wondered, mostly to myself, but Amelia answered anyway.

  "Of course! But don't be surprised if most of them are fortune hunters. You'll be complaining to me later about your sore feet before the evening ends." Her eyes were full of joy as she willed me to share in her memories — memories I would never remember.

  I had been so busy beholding the scene in front of me that I hadn't taken a moment to study Amelia. She was beautiful, with ebony hair and long, sooty eyelashes. Her eyes were a gentle brown and her skin was creamy white. She reminded me of a fairy, shorter than me but with a large attitude. Her confidence was contagious, and I knew our friendship was authentic by her easy smile and her solid determination to help me.

  "What?" she asked, sensing my perusal.

  "Nothing, just…" What was the word? "Woolgathering, I guess." Thank you, my many regency novels for the vocabulary you've provided.

  The orchestra started to play, and I saw people clear the floor as they took their conversations to the edge of the ballroom.

  "Miss Westin?"

  Turning, I looked up, and up. "Yes?" I replied to the giant.

  "Miss Westin, may I have the honor?"

  My mouth said, "Of course," but my mind was wondering how I was going to dance with Goliath.

  The first set was a reel and turned out to be manageable as the Viscount Mayerton, I discovered, was quite graceful. Winded, I was thankful he offered to fetch me some punch as soon as our set ended. All that movement in a corset was not for the faint of heart.

  Staying by Amelia's side, I turned to ask her a question when I saw her glance behind me and widen her eyes. Stopping mid-breath, I turned around to see the proverbial rake heading my direction. Though never being one to fall for the bad boy vibe, I had to admit I was tempted to walk on the wild side with this one. His walk was more of a masculine strut that was highlighted by his form-fitting black pants. His jacket hugged his shoulders and the crispness of his white, high-collared shirt looked immaculate.

  But his eyes… Oh, have mercy. His eyes were mesmerizing. An almost black gaze watched me with unreadable expression, and long black lashes highlighting the almond shape of his eyes. His skin was more olive than pale, and his cheekbones were as strong as his cleft chin. His hair was perfectly tousled, looking like a woman had just ran her hands through it. I wondered what it felt like. There was no five-o'clock shadow, but he looked like the type who would have one. His steps were full of purpose. His eyes were focused just beyond me. I turned to follow his gaze and noticed Amelia glaring at the gentlemen, her hostility towards him was like a frigid wind. Curious, I glanced back to the gentleman, and his gaze met mine. He offered me a charming grin, but his attention was immediately taken hostage by Amelia. I watched the interchanged with rapt attention, yet when he approached, it was me he spoke to.

  "Miss Westin," the man crooned.

  "Yes?"

  "May I have honor of the next waltz?"

  Glancing over toward Amelia, I waited for some sort of cue as to what I should do. Did I need permission to waltz? Did I already have permission? Help! But Amelia wasn't even looking at me anymore. She was studiously ignoring Lord Rake. On my own, I guess. Ok, I'll wing it.

  "Do you think that is a good idea, my lord?" I asked, trying to gauge his response hoping for a clue.

  "Waltzing is always a good idea." His voice was like melted chocolate, and I wondered if he practiced speaking like that.

  "If you insist," I replied, hoping it was the right answer.

  "Believe me, I do," he whispered as he leaned forward slightly. His words were like a caress. He was everything I imagined the rakes in the books I’d read to be. The perfect combination of forbidden fruit with dark chocolate, yet as much as it was alluring to behold, it was clear he played the game. No doubt well. He strutted off with a lazy swagger, and I wondered why he had spoken with me, when his eyes had greedily devoured Amelia. And why did he ask me to dance? I wanted to kick Amelia for leaving me high and dry.

  "So who is Lord Rake, and why the ice queen?" I asked in a hushed tone once we were alone.

  "Who?" Amelia asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

  "Lord Rake, with the melting chocolate voice and devastating looks. The one you could have frozen with your eyes?" I offered, wanting desperately to place my hand on my hip. But I resisted the temptation.

  "Oh, him," she replied, unaffected by my sarcasm.

  "Yes, and by the way you were no help! What was I supposed to do? Did I do the right thing? I was drowning a second ago!"

  "I'm sorry, I forgot. You've always handled him fine in the past. I didn't see why you'd have an issue now. And yes, you handled him fine. Just don't." She gave me a stern stare. "Do
n't fall for the charm. He's a rake of the first order, and he is up to no good."

  I felt scolded. Didn't she say I'd handled it correctly? At least the next dance was not a waltz, and so far no one had asked me to dance this one.

  "She's right you know," said an unnatural falsetto voice behind me. Turning I saw a man — well, that might be a little strong. The term "metrosexual" would be a closer match. He was dressed in grape-colored trousers, high heels, and a bright green satin jacket accented with a yellow cravat. Lace gloves covered his hands, and he wore the oddest makeup I'd even seen short of a child getting into his mother's by accident. I openly stared, trying to remember if I'd read about this type of fashion statement in any of my books.

  "You need to stay away from him, Jocelyn. He's nothing but trouble. Beautiful, masculine, heart-stopping trouble. But don't let it fool you. He's broken more hearts than I have heels."

  He glanced over at my slack-jawed appraisal. "A pox on it all! It's true, isn't it? You don't know who I am, do you?"

  Amelia answered for me. "Nope, not a clue, Reg. She's a clean slate as far as names, but she's still our Jocelyn… don't worry."

  "I'm Reginald Whitestone. One of your favorite people in the world, aside from Amelia, of course."

  "It's nice to meet you?"

  He looked at me questioningly. "Excuse me?"

  All I could do was wonder why his hair was coiffed in a style strangely similar to my own and sparkling with jewels.

  Wow. I knew they had dandies and fops, but I had no idea they were this… extravagant.

  "Don't let the costume fool you, Jocelyn. He's running scared. It's his way of avoiding the matchmaking mamas wanting his money added onto their family tree. But that's our little secret." She eyed me, making sure I knew to keep my mouth shut. I nodded.

  "You try being lured into compromising situations by scheming debutantes, and you'd be doing the same thing, I'd wager." He lowered his voice so that it sounded normally masculine, and I was impressed with how soothing it was in contrast to the shrillness of his falsetto.

  "Ladies don't wager," Amelia interjected, scolding Reg.

  "Apologies," Reg said, though he appeared to be anything but repentant. "Regardless, that is why I act the way I do, along with wearing these ridiculous clothes. The same reason that Amelia—" He spoke a bit louder, including her in the conversation. "—tends to turn into the ice queen when around fortune hunters, and you—" He poked me in the arm. "Are the unconventional heiress who keeps to herself. We all are protecting ourselves one way or another." With a self-satisfied grin, he turned his attention to discussing the décor of the ball.

  The orchestra began a waltz. My hands became clammy within their gloves. "What's his name?" I whispered furiously as I saw my partner-to-be head in my direction.

  "Who?" Reg asked, searching for my target.

  "Lord Rake over there. What's his name?"

  "Ah, he's Devon Hillshire, Earl of Heath. You'll call him Lord Heath." His words trailed off as the man in question approached our corner.

  "I believe I am the recipient of this waltz." Lord Heath held out his white-gloved hand, never blinking as his eyes held mine captive.

  Just breathe, I told myself again. He danced effortlessly, holding me in the most proper way, but I noticed his eyes had trouble staying on me. They kept drifting — toward Amelia, if my guess was correct.

  "Why didn't you ask her to dance?" I asked, keeping my honest streak strong.

  "Whom?" he asked, confused by my abrupt question.

  "Amelia."

  His eyes widened as if he searched my face for sarcasm or something of the like. For a moment I thought he'd level with me, but in a split second his demeanor changed back into Lord Rake and the charm poured out in a flood. "Why would I dance with Miss Stockingham when I could dance with you, Miss Westin? Or may I call you, Jocelyn?"

  Ok, even as time warped as I was, I knew the whole first name bit was a big no-no. "No, you may address me as Miss Westin. And I think you know what I'm talking about," I challenged, wondering if I was pushing him too far.

  He paused for a moment, indecision warring with hope on his face. "Miss Stockingham would refuse me." His words were spoken softly, clearly the first authentic words I'd heard him speak.

  "Why?"

  "On principle. After all, I am Lord Heath, and my reputation precedes me." He winked, and I wondered which part of him was the act, the rake or the one who spoke the soft, authentic words.

  "Perhaps you should be braver." Nothing like challenging a man's pride.

  "Braver, you say." His eyes hardened. A shiver of fear tickled my spine but quickly left as he grinned at me. "You are a wise woman, Miss Westin. I'll remember that."

  With that, the song ended, and he escorted me back to Amelia's side. "Miss Stockingham? Please honor me with the next dance?"

  His eyes never left hers, and I wondered what she would say. The silence was awkward at best. I almost nudged her so she'd break the silence and put the man out of his misery.

  "Yes, of course." Her words were cold, contrasting her acceptance. Was there more to the story than met the eye?

  I was so focused on watching Amelia and Lord Rake dance that I didn't hear anyone approach till the last second. "Miss Westin?"

  I turned and saw Lord Ashby, all cleaned up and giving Lord Rake a run for his money. For some reason the darkness of his suit made him appear more dangerous than the boy next door. His cravat was gold and tied perfectly over his white shirt. His waistcoat was black as night with breeches to match. His hair was just as I remembered it, curling slightly and overly long.

  "Lord Ashby! How wonderful to see you again." My words were spoken with great feeling, as I was grateful to see a familiar face.

  "It's a pleasure to see you again as well. If I may be so bold, how are you faring?" His eyes were full of compassion and genuine interest. Everything about his face was readable, open and honest.

  "I'm, well… I'm doing better than I was yesterday," I replied honestly.

  "Wonderful to hear." His eyes warmed mine.

  "Although I did just discover that I have two best friends that I actually like and a reputation of being an unconventional heiress. One discovers the oddest things when they find themselves without a memory." I smiled, giving levity to my words. I didn't have to hide anything from this man. He had already seen me far worse.

  "Always good to know who your friends are, but more importantly, your enemies. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Absolutely." My mind wandered back to the rhyming duo.

  "Would you care to dance?"

  "I'd be delighted."

  He led me onto the dance floor, and we began the cotillion. Again I silently thanked Nanna for teaching me all the dances. This way of dancing was so much more fun than the dark club dances from my time. Here, everything was about organized movement, grace and flow. The men were not afraid to lead and the women weren't insulted to be feminine. Dancing was poetry in motion, and I wanted to start back up again went the song ended.

  "You look beautiful tonight," Lord Ashby commented as he led me from the dance floor.

  "Thank you. You're quite dashing yourself."

  He chuckled, as if I he didn't truly believe my words.

  "Ah, I love dancing. Isn't it so much fun?"

  "Indeed it is, and much more enjoyable with such a graceful partner." His eyes crinkled on the edges, but his dark formal clothes gave him a more mature air tonight.

  "Flatterer," I accused.

  "Temptress," he countered.

  "Why, Lord Ashby, I believe you are a bit of a rake after all," I joked, but my smile stopped when the teasing glint in his eyes left, and he looked shocked.

  Recovering, he replied tentatively, "Miss Westin, I didn't mean to imply that my behavior had dishonorable intentions, please understand—"

  "I meant it as a compliment. To banter with you, Lord Ashby," I interrupted, afraid I had offended him. Weren't rakes the ones who made the best
husbands? Rakes were always the heroes in the books I read. Was I wrong? Was it actually a bad thing to be considered a rake? I was so confused.

  "You mean to compliment me by calling me rake?" he asked, disbelieving.

  "Yes?" I offered, trying to smile and failing miserably. "Lord Ashby, I fear I am to always make a fool of myself in your presence, so please know I would not blame you if you chose to leave at any moment." I wanted to cover my face with my hands and blend into the wall behind me.

  "Given your situation, I believe you're doing the best you can. Do not worry about offending me — I'm made of far stronger stuff. Calling me a rake will not send me to the country estate." He spoke softly to himself. "However it might make me question what I wear next time."

  How does one extract oneself from an awkward situation? I was so tired of working so hard to just seem normal. But I didn't want to go home yet, not with Lord Ashby willing to keep me company. He wasn't the flame that burned the moth like Lord Rake, but he had his own allure that I found magnetic, and I wanted to get to know him better.

  But I was stuck. What did I say? I couldn't talk about the weather again, could I? All I really wanted to do was dance with him again, but I knew the chances of that were slim to none. Even my limited knowledge told me he couldn't ask for another dance without causing talk, and I was already in the spotlight from my fiasco in Hyde Park. Lost in my thoughts, I slipped up and blew out an exasperated breath.

  "Is something amiss, Miss Westin?" Lord Ashby had been watching me. My face heated at the realization.

  "Yes, but unfortunately there's nothing I can do to remedy it, so let us talk of something else. Tell me about yourself."

  The crisp British tones he spoke with were somehow subtler. He carried himself with a confidence he didn't seem aware he even possessed. The eyes of the many young debutantes followed his every move as we spoke about family, siblings, and books. We had a surprising amount in common despite the fact that I was an only child and he was one of eight. His eyes would take on a teasing glint just before he'd make an offhanded remark, and he smiled often, in sharp contrast to the pinched expressions on the faces of those around us.