Jane closed the lid and dropped the tin into the reticule discreetly tied at her waist, and smoothed her gloved hands over the long placket beneath the gathers of her full pale taffeta skirts. Then she looked over her shoulder to the door for the thousandth time and sighed.
“He sent a missive earlier that he might be late,” she said distractedly. “But he did not give a reason. He only told me that he has a surprise for me and not to worry. Which, of course, makes me worry all the more.”
Ellie squeezed her hand. “You’re sounding a bit too much like me, Jane. Is this what happens when you fall in love?”
She laughed, but gave no answer as a movement by the door caught her attention.
One of the liveried footmen approached the butler, who spoke to the Marquess and Marchioness of Aversleigh before the footman bowed and departed.
The marquess lifted his hand to the orchestra and they abruptly fell silent.
“Rather mysterious, is it not?” Ellie whispered.
But Jane felt tingles skitter warmly over the surface of her skin. She smiled. “Raven is here.”
In the next instant, a dark-headed figure appeared in the doorway. His frostbitten gaze skimmed the partygoers at a glance before settling on her.
She felt the contact keenly in the sudden flip of her stomach and fluttering beneath her breast. But what sent a gasp through the entire ballroom was the older man beside him, leaning on his arm and holding a cane.
“The Earl of Warrister,” the butler announced, his voice ringing out to the far expanse of the terrace windows and up to the vaulted ceiling. “And Mr. Merrick Northcott.”
A collective gasp sucked all the air out of the room. Jane felt her heart rise to her throat as Raven’s gaze locked on hers again.
“A surprise, indeed,” Ellie said. “I thought he had no intention of claiming his birthright.”
“He didn’t, as far as I knew.”
“Well, perhaps his decision has something to do with you. Because, if I’m not mistaken, those are your parents he’s talking to.”
Jane was in utter shock. With everything that had occurred in the past week, her brain couldn’t seem to process any more. So she merely stared at him like a gape-mouthed carp.
Whatever he said to her parents, he received a nod. He bowed in return, kissed her mother’s hand, then stepped down from the dais that overlooked the ballroom and crossed the floor, parting the expectant dancers.
Jane was captivated by the sight of him in the tailored satin-trimmed black broadcloth and high, snowy cravat that accentuated the chiseled cut of his jaw and chin. He prowled toward her, every step purposeful, every eye watching his progress.
Then, the music began again.
He stopped in front of her and inclined his head. “Miss Pickerington. Miss Parrish. How fetching you both look tonight.”
“Pretty words,” Ellie said, surreptitiously dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Though, they might be more convincing if you’d actually looked in my direction.”
His mouth curled in a smirk. “I saw you in your gold-colored finery, Miss Parrish. So did the officer coming this way to ask you to dance.”
She let out a small gasp as she looked over his shoulder and saw that he was right. But Jane already knew that he was aware of every person, always on his guard. To her, he merely held out his hand in expectation. And her fingertips pulsed with longing.
“A gentleman asks,” she whispered.
He leaned closer, a low deep breath of amusement brushing her cheek. “I think you’re the one who needs lessons—lessons on remembering that I’m not a gentleman. However, on this particular occasion, I asked your parents for permission.”
Reaching out, he snatched her hand and then stole around to the center of her back. Before she could recover from shock, he pulled her into his frame for a closed waltz, his steps quick and light and leaving her breathless.
A minute or more passed before she could say, “You likely should have honored your host by dancing with his daughter first.”
“Would you have liked to see me dancing with the marquess’s daughter?”
“No,” she said without hesitation and he grinned. But there was something that needed to be mentioned. “Should I call you Merrick now, or do you prefer Mr. Northcott?”
He pulled her a fraction closer than propriety permitted and gazed down at her warmly. “To you, I will always remain Raven. Northcott to all others.”
She smiled, glad for him, but it wavered under a blanket of apprehension. Not because she doubted his legitimacy. No, after his attack, she was convinced that he was indeed legitimate. Her only uneasiness came from the fact that whoever was responsible for attacking him was still out there. “Do you think it is entirely safe to make a public appearance?”
“Aye.” His wounded arm twitched in a small shrug and he winced slightly, but without a single misstep. “I’m likely in less danger the more people know about me. I have a grandfather now, a name, and a family. And it’s all because of you. My only regret is not believing you sooner.”
“Raven, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said as that sense of disquiet prodded her conscience.
She’d made a promise, after all. And besides, she believed telling him about the letters would come to nothing.
“And there’s something I need to tell you, as well. Don’t look now, but I think that’s Baron Ruthersby.”
Jane startled and saw that horrid man from the brothel speaking with the marquess. “What if he remembers us?”
“Don’t worry. You were beneath the hood and wore a mask, and he was likely too drunk to recall much of the night, regardless. Just be sure he doesn’t hear you speak. That should be simple enough since you’ll be on my arm the whole night,” he said with a rakish wink. “Now, what is it you have to tell me, hmm?”
“Later,” she said, not wanting anything to spoil the evening.
Besides, there were too many eyes watching with speculation, too many whispers behind their fans. Too many people who would doubt him if there was the slightest speculation.
At the thought, a shiver of foreboding skated over her scalp and down her nape.
In the same instant, the music ended abruptly on a discordant screech of violin strings and everyone looked over to the orchestra.
Jane gasped. Standing there was none other than Lord Herrington.
She curled her hand protectively over Raven’s. “You should leave before he does something worse.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Whatever he has to say, let him say it.”
* * *
The ball at the marquess’s town house was a lavish affair, far surpassing anything Raven had ever experienced. But there was no accounting for Aversleigh’s taste in guests.
Why did Herrington have to be invited, tonight of all nights? And he looked three sheets gone, at least, wobbling on his feet. Then, hefting a goblet high, he tapped the crystal with the gold ring on his right hand in high, piercing clinks.
“I have a toast,” he began, words slurring together as he pointed his glass to Raven. The gesture caused the crowd to turn at once, shifting as if to make a path for whatever insults were about to be propelled his way. “To you, whoever you are, for duping my uncle and all these guests. But you’ll never fool me. You’re no son of my cousin. You’re no Northcott.”