Perhaps she had simply mistaken it and struggled to find the right words. ‘I am not unaware of the debt I owe you. It would have been most uncomfortable for me if you had revealed the … the circumstances of our previous meeting. You deserve my gratitude, my lord.’
‘It is not necessary.’
And … and I should apologise for my … behaviour towards you,’ she persisted. ‘It was most regrettable.’
‘There is no need.’
‘But I hurt you!’ Her eyes snapped up to his in some confusion. She could not read his expression behind the bland mask. No, she realised, it was not bland but icy with controlled temper. ‘I see the evidence of it on your hand—you cannot deny it.’
‘Very well, then. Yes. You did. Unnecessarily, as it happened. I had no intention of either harming or molesting you, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’
‘I realise that … I should explain.’ She was getting nowhere here. ‘There were circumstances …’ What should she say? She did not wish to bare her soul over the matter of her past experiences, her innermost fears, and certainly not in the centre of a ballroom with a partner who had an amazing effect on her senses and who was less than accommodating to her attempts to make remission. She had apologised and he was totally insensitive to the fact. What could she say? How could she explain? In the event she did not have to.
‘I need no explanation, madam.’ If his eyes froze her, his voice would reduce her to an icicle if she allowed it. ‘You reacted as you saw fit.’ Why did those words have all the air of a snub rather than a soothing offer of forgiveness? She could not be mistaken. There was a cold condemnation in that smooth voice and she did not know what she had done to deserve quite so harsh a judgement. ‘I do not need to know,’ Lord Nicholas continued in preparation for launching the final deadly arrow. ‘But at least you are more conventionally dressed tonight than when we last had the misfortune to meet.’
Any number of sharp replies coming into her mind, Theodora opened her mouth to utter them. Then closed her lips. Since when are you free to comment on what I might or might not wear, my lord? She could not say that aloud, of course—or not here! This was not the time or place to create a scene. The fact that she had indeed been in the wrong ruffled her temper further but she kept a firm hold on it. She smiled, a miracle of control, and chose her words with deadly precision. ‘Yes, I believe that I am, my lord. Everyone who has danced with me has complimented me on my stylish dress à la mode and the appropriateness of this particular creation. Madame Therese is a true artiste, is she not?’
He could not deny the delicate gloss of sarcasm over her words and had the grace to wince a little. But only inwardly.
‘I am delighted that you approve my appearance, my lord. It gives me so much confidence. Without your approval I should be desolate indeed.’ Thea did not let up. But why was he so cold? Perhaps she must accept that, in all truth, being struck by a riding whip would make him so. She had read the contempt in his eyes as their first meeting drew to its unfortunate ending—an infinite quality of disdain—and there was no difference now. But she denied his right to taunt her!
‘I think that you do not lack for confidence, madam.’
A flash of anger darkened her eyes at this lethal sniping. She bit down on any further sharp response. She could not understand the reason for it, but gathered all her social skills about her.
‘Perhaps we should talk of something less controversial, my lord? A ballroom is no place for such a frank exchange of views.’ The smile was still in place. She would keep it there if it killed her!
‘Of course, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’ Nicholas, too, bared his teeth in what could have passed for pleasure if anyone was observing the handsome couple. ‘What do you suggest that we might have in common to discuss?’
Before she could think of anything polite to reply to this challenge, the waltz had drawn to an end and he escorted her with frigid good manners back to where her parents and the Faringdons were ensconced. He bowed to her, and with equal chill to Lady Beatrice. Thea’s hand was soon claimed. She saw Lord Nicholas treading the measure of a country dance further down the set with Judith.
Nicholas made no attempt to approach Thea for the rest of the evening. Theodora made sure that her eyes did not follow him as he danced with other ladies of his acquaintance.
‘Nicholas is quite my favourite cousin,’ Judith observed in a deceptively neutral voice in an interval between dances.
‘Is he?’ Thea studied her dance list intently.
‘And he is so handsome. Do you not agree?’
‘Certainly. I doubt any woman here tonight would disagree.’
Judith gave up, not a little surprised at the lack of interest between them. Nicholas had not set foot near Thea since that one first waltz. But there would be time and enough for them to get to know each other. She would see to it that they did.
Nicholas returned to Faringdon House in a thoroughly bad mood. He was furious with Beatrice. Even after he had warned her off, his aunt had produced a beautiful débutante—he could not deny her lovely face and figure—whom she considered suitable. Suitable? She had no idea! He was also furious with himself for taking out his ill temper on the girl. He might have kept the semblance of good manners, but his comments had been unwarrantable. And he was equally furious with Theodora Wooton-Devereux, whose presence in his arms had left a lasting and most uncomfortable impression on him. He resigned himself to an uneasy night.
Theodora returned to Upper Brook Street equally angry and confused, despite the success of her first public occasion in London. How dare he treat her so! She did not deserve his damning opinions of her or his icy set-downs. And why should he react quite so violently against her? Was he so dull and hidebound that he should condemn her for one social solecism? Well—she did not care! But she determined as she removed the pearl drops from her ears that she would get the better of Lord Nicholas Faringdon!
Chapter Four
Since both Lord Nicholas Faringdon and Miss Theodora WootonDevereux moved in the first circles in London society, it was to be expected that their paths would cross with frequency. And they did. If they had not done so by accident, they would certainly have done so by design. For both Lady Beatrice and the Countess of Painscastle considered Theodora to be a most suitable and enlivening match for their uncooperative relative, and Nicholas an equally desirable husband for so delectable a débutante. The opinion of neither lady nor gentleman was sought.
So they came quite naturally within each other’s orbit at the social events of the Season, whether it be alfresco breakfasts, riverboat parties on the Thames or the more conventional soirées and balls. Unfortunately for those most interested in the match, who watched the pair with keen eyes, it appeared that there would be little chance of his lordship fixing his interest with the lady. For there was a decided edge to their meetings from the very beginning.
‘Lord Nicholas.’ Theodora curtsied and smiled politely upon meeting his lordship as she descended the steps from the Painscastle Town House in Grosvenor Square, closely followed by Judith, two days after Lady Aston’s drum. ‘I had thought you might have returned to the country.’
‘My estate will survive a day or two without my presence.’ He bowed his head unsmilingly.
‘I expect it will.’ She unfurled her parasol with graceful expertise and only mild interest. ‘I understand that the land belongs to your nephew?’
‘Yes. He is the Marquis of Burford.’
‘Tom is hardly more than a baby and lives in New York.’ Judith added the explanation, struck by the unexpectedly stark confrontation.
‘And you administer it, my lord.’
‘I do.’
‘I see. A worthwhile occupation, I expect.’
Lord Nicholas inclined his head.