There was a sense of impenetrable mystery about Kev Merripen. She was obsessed with the tantalizing thought of what it would be like to slip past all his secrets, to reach the extraordinary heart he guarded so closely.
Melancholy swept over her as she glanced at the beautiful interior of the mansion, the guests laughing and chatting while music floated lightly over the scene. So much to enjoy and appreciate, and yet all Win wanted was to be alone with the most unavailable man in the room.
However, she wasn't going to play the wallflower. She was going to dance and laugh and do all the things she had imagined for years while lying in her sickbed. And if it displeased Merripen or made him jealous, so much the better.
Divested of her cloak, Win went forward with her sisters. They were all dressed in pale satins, Poppy in pink, Beatrix in blue, Amelia in lavender, and herself in white. Her gown was uncomfortable, which Poppy had laughingly said was a good thing, as a comfortable gown would almost certainly not be stylish. It felt too light on the top, the bodice low and square, the sleeves short and tight. And it felt too heavy from the waist down, with wide triple skirts caught up in flounces. But the main source of discomfort was her corset, which she had gone without for so long that she found herself resenting even the slightest constriction. Though it was only lightly laced, the corset stiffened her torso and pushed her br**sts artificially high. It hardly seemed decent. And yet it was considered Indecent to go without one.
All things considered, however, it seemed worth the discomfort when she saw Merripen's reaction. His face went blank at the sight of her in the low-cut ball gown, his gaze traveling from the tip of one satin slipper peeking from beneath the hem up to her face. He stared an extra few moments at her breasts, lifted high as if they had been cupped by his hands. When his eyes finally looked into hers, they flickered with obsidian fire. A responsive shiver chased beneath the framework of Win's corset. With difficulty, she looked away from him.
The Hathaways went farther into the entrance hall, where a chandelier shed sparkling light over the parquetry floor.
"What an extraordinary creature," Win heard Dr. Harrow murmur nearby. She followed his gaze to the lady of the house, Mrs. Annabelle Hunt, who was greeting guests.
Although Win had never met Mrs. Hunt, she recog-nized her from descriptions she had heard. Mrs. Hunt was said to be one of the greatest beauties of England, with her beautifully turned figure and heavily lashed blue eyes, and hair that gleamed with rich shades of honey and gold. But it was her luminous, lively expressiveness that made her truly engaging.
"That's her husband, standing next to her," Poppy murmured. "He's intimidating, but very nice."
"I beg to differ," Leo said.
"You don't think he's intimidating?" Win asked.
"I don't think he's nice. Whenever I happen to be in the same room as his wife, he looks at me as if he'd like to dismember me."
"Well," Poppy said prosaically, "one can't fault his judgment." She leaned toward Win and said, "Mr. Hunt is besotted with his wife. Their marriage is a love match, you see."
"How unfashionable," Dr. Harrow commented with a grin.
"He even dances with her," Beatrix told Win, "which husbands and wives are never supposed to do. But considering Mr. Hunt's fortune, people find reasons to excuse him for such behavior."
"See how small her waist is," Poppy murmured to
Win. "And that's after three children-two of them very large boys."
"I will have to lecture Mrs. Hunt on the evils of tight-lacing," Dr. Harrow said sotto voce, and Win laughed.
"I'm afraid the choice between health and fashion is not an easy one for women," she told him. "I'm still surprised that you allowed me to wear stays tonight."
"You hardly need them," he said, his gray eyes twinkling. "Your natural waist is hardly wider than Mrs. Hunt's corseted one."
Win smiled into Julian's handsome face, thinking that whenever she was in his presence, she felt safe and reassured. It had been like that ever since she had first met him. He had been a godlike figure to her, and to everyone at the clinic. But she still had no real sense of him as a flesh-and-blood man. No idea if there was potential for them to be more together than they were individually.
"The mysterious missing Hathaway sister!" Mrs. Hunt exclaimed, and took both Win's hands in her gloved ones.
"Not so mysterious," Win said, smiling.
"Miss Hathaway, what a delight to meet you at last, and even more to see you in good health."
"Mrs. Hunt always asks about you," Poppy told Win, "so we've kept her informed about your progress."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hunt," Win said shyly. "I am quite well now, and honored to be a guest at your lovely home."
Mrs. Hunt gave Win a dazzling smile, retaining her hands as she spoke to Cam. "Such graceful manners. I think, Mr. Rohan, that Miss Hathaway will easily attain the popularity of her sisters."
"Next year, I'm afraid," Cam said easily. "This ball marks the end of the season for us. We're all traveling to Hampshire within the week."
Mrs. Hunt made a little face. "So soon? But I suppose that is only to be expected. Lord Ramsay will want to see his estate."
"Yes, Mrs. Hunt." Leo said. "I adore bucolic settings. One can never view too many sheep."
At the sound of Mrs. Hunt's laughter, her husband joined the conversation. "Welcome, my lord," Simon Hunt said to Leo. "The news of your return is being celebrated throughout London. Apparently the gaming and wine establishments suffered greatly in your absence."
"Then I shall do my best to reinvigorate the economy," Leo said.
Hunt grinned briefly. "You owe quite a lot to this fellow," he said to Leo, turning to shake Merripen's hand. Merripen, as usual, had been standing unobtrusively at the side of the group. "According to Westcliff and the other neighboring estate, Merripen has made a rousing success of the Ramsay estate in a very short time."
"Since the name 'Ramsay' is so seldom coupled with the word 'success,'" Leo replied, "Merripen's accomplishment is all the more impressive."
"Perhaps later in the evening," Hunt said to Merripen, "we might find a moment to discuss your impressions of the threshing machine you purchased for the estate. With the locomotive works so firmly established, I'm considering expanding the business into agricultural machinery. I've heard of a new design for the thresher, as well as a steam-powered hay press."
"The entire agricultural process is becoming mechanized," Merripen replied. "Spindle harvesters, cutters, and binders… many of the prototypes are on display at the exhibition."
Hunt's dark eyes glinted with interest. "I'd like to hear more."
"My husband is endlessly fascinated by machines," Mrs. Hunt said, laughing. "I believe they've eclipsed all his other interests."
"Not all," Hunt said softly. Something about the way he glanced at his wife caused her cheeks to flush.
Amused, Leo smoothed over the moment by saying, "Mr. Hunt, I would like to introduce Dr. Harrow, the physician who helped my sister to recover her health."
"A pleasure, sir," Dr. Harrow said, and shook Hunt's hand.
"Likewise," Hunt replied cordially, returning the shake. But he gave the doctor an odd, speculative look. "You are the Harrow who runs the clinic in France?"
"I am."
"And you reside there still?"
"Yes, although I try to visit friends and family in Great Britain as often as my schedule allows."
"I believe I am acquainted with the family of your late wife," Hunt murmured, staring hard at him.
After a quick double blink, Harrow responded with a regretful smile, "The Lanhams. Estimable people. I haven't seen them for years. The memories, you understand."
"I understand," Hunt said quietly.
Win was puzzled by the long, awkward pause that followed, and the sense of discord that emanated from the two men. She glanced at her family, and Mrs. Hunt, who clearly didn't comprehend, either.
"Well, Mr. Hunt," Mrs. Hunt said brightly, "are we going to shock everyone by dancing together? They're going to play a waltz quite soon-and you know you are my favorite partner."
Hunt's attention was immediately distracted by the flirtatious note in his wife's voice. He grinned at her. "Anything for you, love."
Harrow caught Win's gaze with his own. "I haven't waltzed in far too long," he said. "Might you save a place for me on your dance card?"
"Your name is already there," she replied, and placed a light hand on his proffered arm. They followed the Hunts to the drawing room.
Poppy and Beatrix were already being approached by prospective partners, while Cam closed his gloved fingers over Amelia's. "I'll be damned if Hunt's the only one who's allowed to be shocking. Come dance with me."
"I'm afraid we won't shock anyone at all," she said, accompanying him without hesitation. "People already assume we don't know any better."
Leo watched the procession into the drawing room with narrowed eyes. "I wonder," he said to Merripen, "what Hunt knows about Harrow? Do you know him well enough to ask?"
"Yes," Merripen said. "But even if I didn't, I wouldn't leave this place until I made him tell me."
That made Leo chuckle. "You may be the only one in this entire mansion who would dare try to 'make' Simon Hunt do anything. He's a bloody big bastard."
"So am I," came Merripen's grim reply.
It was a lovely ball, or would have been, if Merripen had behaved like a reasonable human being. He watched Win constantly, hardly bothering to be discreet about it. While she stood in one group or another and he conversed with a group of men that included Mr. Hunt, Merripen's gaze never strayed far from Win.
At least three times Win was approached by various men with whom she had engaged to dance, and each time Merripen appeared at her side and glowered at the would-be dance partner until he slunk away.
Merripen was frightening off suitors right and left.
Even Miss Marks was unable to deter him. The governess had told Merripen most firmly that his chaper-onage was unnecessary, as she had the situation well in hand. But he had replied obstinately that if she were to act as chaperon, she had better do a better job of keeping undesirable men away from her charge.
"What do you think you're doing?" Win whispered to Merripen furiously, as he sent off yet another abashed gentleman. "I wanted to dance with him! I had promised him I would!"
"You're not going to dance with scum like him," Merripen muttered.
Win shook her head in bewilderment. "He's a viscount from a respected family. What could you possibly object to?"
"He's a friend of Leo's. That's reason enough."
Win glared up at Merripen. She struggled to retain a grasp on her composure. She had always found it so easy to conceal her emotions beneath a serene facade, but lately she was finding that more and more difficult. All her feelings were lurking too close to the surface. "If you are trying to ruin my evening," she told him, "you're doing a splendid job of it. I want to dance, and you're scaring away everyone who approaches me. Leave me alone." She turned her back to him, and sighed with relief as Julian Harrow came to them.
"Miss Hathaway," he said, "will you do me the honor-"
"Yes," she said before he could even finish the sentence. Taking his arm, she let him lead her into the mass of swirling, waltzing couples. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Merripen staring after her, and she sent him a threatening look. He returned it with a scowl.
As Win walked away, she felt the pressure of a frustrated laugh in her throat. She swallowed it back, thinking that Kev Merripen was the most infuriating man alive. He was a dog in the manger, refusing to have a relationship with her and yet not allowing her to be with anyone else. And knowing his capacity for endurance, it would probably go on for years. Forever. She couldn't live like this.
"Winnifred," Julian Harrow said, his gray eyes concerned. "This is far too lovely a night for you to be distressed. What were you arguing about?"
"Nothing of import," she said, trying to speak lightly but succeeding only in sounding stiff. "Just a family squabble."
She curtseyed and Julian bowed, and he took her in his arms. His hand was firm on her back, guiding her easily as they danced.
Julian's touch reawakened memories of the clinic, the way he had encouraged and helped her, the times he had been stern when she had needed it, and the times they had celebrated when she had reached another milestone in her progress. He was a good, kind, high-minded man. A handsome man. Win was hardly oblivious to the admiring feminine gazes he attracted. Most of the unmarried girls in this room would have given anything to have such a splendid suitor.
I could marry him, she thought. He had made it clear that all it would take was a bit of encouragement on her part. She could become a doctor's wife and live in the south of France, and perhaps help somehow in his work at the clinic. To help other people who were suffering the way she had… to do something positive and worthwhile with her life… wouldn't that be better than this?
Anything was preferable to the pain of loving a man she couldn't have. And, God help her, living in close proximity. She would become bitter and frustrated. She might even come to hate Merripen.
She felt herself relaxing in Julian's arms. The bleak, angry feeling faded, soothed by the music and the waltz rhythm. Julian swept her around the drawing room, guiding her carefully among the dancing couples.
"This is what I dreamed of," Win told him. "Being able to do this… just like everyone else."
His hand tightened on her waist. "And so you are. But you're not like everyone else. You're the most beautiful woman here."
"No," she said, laughing.
"Yes. Like an angel in an Old Masters work. Or perhaps the Sleeping Venus. Are you familiar with that painting?"
"I'm afraid not."
"I'll take you to see it someday. Though you might find it a bit shocking."
"I suppose Venus is unclothed in that work?" Win tried to sound worldly, but she felt herself blushing. "I've never understood why such depictions of beauty are always in the nude, when a bit of tactful drapery would yield the same effect."