The Perils of Presumption (The Conclave Series Book 1) Read online

  The earl raised his glass in a mocking salute before downing it in one swig and leaving the railing, disappearing once more. Damnit. Perhaps there were doors to a card room from that balcony? Ben turned and began to forge through towards the stairs.

  His way was blocked by another obstacle soon - the beginning of the dancing. The group of musicians began to perform a lively piece featuring soaring violins and earthy cellos playing off each other. Ben was swept to the side as a tide of ladies and gentlemen began to surge forward, plucking each other back and forth in the well-practiced dance moves. The soft murmur of voices persisted as the partners exchanged words each time they swept past each other in the age-old dance which was still such a mystery to Ben.

  At long last, he managed to reach the stairs and place one foot upon the step, but some instinct had him glancing back over his shoulder before continuing his ascent. Standing near the door, surrounded by a group of other gentlefolk in their finest, was Charlotte. To Ben's eye it looked as if she glowed from within, created a little aura of peace around her where she stood in the madness. Her green dress was plain, though finely made and fashionable enough, and her hair was caught into a knot at the top of her head, with tendrils teasing at her neck and temples. There was an absent smile touching her lips as she nodded in response to the pretty brown-haired woman at her elbow - Lady Kenward again.

  They were standing while Lord Kenward greeted the Duchess, and before Ben's very eyes, Lord Hastings slid into view. His face was once more fixed in a bright smile, and he bowed over Charlotte and Lady Kenward like a simpering fool before engaging them in conversation.

  Ben's feet were already carrying him across the ballroom before he consciously decided to make them move. As he made his way around the edges, avoiding the flying elbows of the dancers, he reminded himself to be a gentleman. Apologise. Make peace.

  When Ben finally arrived at the group, mentally prepared to face Charlotte, he found them all dissolved in hearty laughter. Lady Kenward was in the process of smacking Hastings on the shoulder with her fan.

  Ben cleared his throat and executed a hasty bow, trying to match their smiles with his. "Good evening. Lady Kenward, Lady Whitcomb, Lord Hastings. Wonderful to see you all again."

  Their laughter slowly died as Charlotte turned towards him, her residual smile lingering but turning quizzical. "Oh! Lord Winters, hello. I didn't see you there."

  The two ladies courtesied, and Hastings sketched a scant half-bow, the smirk lingering on his lips.

  "Yes, so sorry to interrupt a good joke," Ben offered with a hopeful glance at Charlotte.

  "It was certainly not a good joke," Lady Kenward tinkled with a playful shudder. "We won't sully your ears with it, Lord Winters."

  "Please, I beg of you, allow me to sully him," Hastings interjected with a roguish wink.

  "Oh, I don't-"

  "Go on then," Charlotte gave a little flick of her eyes upwards. "He won't leave it alone until everyone has heard it, I am sure. I know his kind."

  Hastings turned fully towards Ben now. "Doesn't it make you dizzy to waltz?"

  "What? Yes, I suppose so." Ben was having trouble listening to the man. Hastings wouldn't be going anywhere yet, plenty of time for him to drag him aside. First, he needed to get a moment with Charlotte.

  "But we must get used to it. It is simply the way of the whirled."

  Ben paused, staring at Hastings for a moment, then forced a low, brief laugh though his lips. "Ah, yes, I see."

  "Exactly, that is the response you deserve, Lord Hastings," Lady Kenward said. "We ladies are merely forced to giggle politely."

  "If such is your defence for laughter, Lady Kenward, I would not dare contradict you," Hastings murmured with another bow.

  Ben couldn't focus. The way Charlotte was looking at him, so evenly and almost as if... waiting. Waiting for him? Was this his chance to make peace?

  The words blurted from him before he could call them back. "Dance?"

  Lady Kenward and Charlotte both froze, giving him twin looks of confusion. "Pardon?" Charlotte asked slowly.

  Ben took a deep breath and tried again. "Will you dance? With me? That is... Lady Whitcomb, if your card is not already full, may I have the next dance?"

  Chapter Twelve

  The Purpose of Dancing

  Charlotte blinked up at Ben, her brain frozen over in astonishment. She hadn't truly expected him to show up. He just wasn't the sort of person you imagined seeing in a plush ballroom setting like this. He looked supremely uncomfortable, face flushed, dark eyes anxious and vulnerable, and he was wearing a very unfashionable suit.

  And yet... he was quite handsome, she noted in surprise. She so rarely saw him with any smile on his face, let alone this shy, sweet one he was giving her now.

  She hesitated, glancing back at Hastings. After she had found out that the earl was in the Conclave, all she had thought about was her upcoming dance with him. About getting closer to him, questioning him if she could. Gaining his trust.

  "Lottie, dear?" Sophie's voice sounded in her ear, and Charlotte glanced up to see a quizzical smile on her friend's face.

  "Sorry. Yes, terribly sorry. Of course, Lord Winters. I would be honoured to dance with you." Charlotte mentally pleaded with Lord Hastings not to forget his promise, then pushed away her thoughts and accepted Ben's proffered arm.

  Ben led her through the crowd, blocking her from being jostled by the rowdy passers-by, until they reached the edge of the dance floor. There were still a few more strains of the current song, and Charlotte watched the ladies' skirts swishing in and out between the gentlemen's prancing legs.

  "How are you enjoying your first ball?" Ben leaned down close enough that his breath brushed Charlotte's ear, and she gave an involuntary shiver.

  "I like it very well so far," Charlotte murmured, turning her face up to his. "Though it has all been quite a whirlwind."

  "I am glad to see you are well, Hastings didn't make himself a nuisance once I left the other day, did he?"

  "Not at all, he was a perfect gentleman," Charlotte reassured him. The last strains of the previous song died out, and the musicians started up again, this time a waltz.

  Oh, dear. Charlotte was sure her ears were a little pink as Ben led her out onto the dance floor and placed his hand at her waist. She lifted her fingers to slide them tentatively against his shoulder. He held her at a proper distance, but it was still closer than they had ever been before, and his body heat felt like a firebrand to her touch.

  His other hand clasped warm and calloused over hers; surely a true lord wouldn't have such rough hands. She wondered where he had acquired them. The corner of his lips tilted up into a half smile when the music began, and they took their first steps of the dance.

  "I am glad it isn't one of those ones where I am forced to let you go," Ben confided, then gave a self-deprecating chuckle at the implication. "That is, throwing you about to other partners. I wanted to talk to you."

  "Oh?" Charlotte kept her smile fixed in place and steeled herself for another diatribe about how she was a foolish woman who should go back to the country where she belonged. Of course, Ben wouldn't want to dance with her like a normal gentleman might.

  "I'm sorry," he said, executing a clumsy half-turn.

  She stumbled, then caught up with him and clung to his shoulder, making her feet continue their rhythmic movements. "Beg pardon?"

  "Oliver's been pointing out the error of my ways, and the annoying part is that I think he's right," Ben continued. His gaze was fixed over her shoulder, and Charlotte desperately wanted him to look at her so she could read his eyes. "I've been a right arse to you, Charlotte. I shouldn't have assumed what I did. I'm not really used to talking to ladies. Or at least, ladies like you. Equals, and ones I consider friends."

  Charlotte tilted her chin up. "We are friends, then? It is hard to tell with you sometimes."

  "I could say the same to you," Ben responded, then took a deep breath and looked down to her. "
I care about you, just like I did Avery. I ask for your patience with me, and I ask you to assume the best of me rather than the worst. The way I see women treated in London, especially through my work - well, I won't speak of it around gentlefolk. But it makes me angry and over-reactive. Whatever else you might think of me or blame me for, tell me we can at least be friends."

  There was another bumbling half-turn at this point, and Charlotte followed along in a daze. Ben had never spoken so gently and honestly with her, looked at her with that dark, even stare, and it was making her heart beat quickly for some reason.

  It was smart to say yes. The reason she resented Ben was the same reason she should befriend him. He was the leader of the whole bloody Conclave. Somehow it felt wrong to think of Ben in that way, though, as if she were just using him.

  She had been silent too long now regardless. "I... I think we can be."

  "Good. That's good." Ben exhaled a sigh and his steps gained a surer rhythm.

  He wasn't a particularly good dancer, but he didn't tread on Charlotte's feet, and he was leading her confidently enough, so she relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the waltz in his arms. It was peaceful not to be twirled this way and that by some lord trying to prove his skills. Rather, they swayed together, and by the time the waltz was over, Charlotte was feeling almost dreamy in mood.

  When the music stopped and Ben released her waist to lead her back to Sophie, she felt quite cold, and was glad to be distracted from the sensation by the rapid approach of Lord Hastings. He was looking dashing tonight, his thick auburn hair waving back from his brow and broad shoulders emphasized by his stylish jacket.

  "I do beg your pardon, Lord Winters. Good partners are so limited tonight, don't you think? Lady Whitcomb, might you do me the honour? Next up is the quadrille, I believe." He smiled at Charlotte.

  She exhaled a breath of relief. Her feelings about Ben were too intense, too uncomfortable and confusing. She needed some space. "Yes, thank you," she exclaimed.

  Ben hesitated before handing Charlotte over to Lord Hastings.

  The earl's fingers clasped over her hand briefly to secure it on his elbow. "Come, my lady, I have saved you from the gouty grumbling dragon, where is your heroic prince's 'thank you'?"

  Charlotte laughed and followed Lord Hastings back to the dance floor. They joined up with the rest of their set in a circle as the musicians prepared for the quadrille. "It is just your luck I always preferred the dragons, my lord."

  "Now I am the dragon and you the prince, for you have wounded me deeply," Lord Hastings said in mock drama, drawing a few smiles from the rest of the set.

  "I am certain your ego can handle the blow, my lord," Charlotte murmured.

  That got a chuckle from the others, and then the music began. This was the sort of thing Charlotte was comfortable with, prepared for. Hiding her true aims beneath aimless chatter, smiling at the other lords and ladies, and always listening.

  "Did you know that the Duchess is holding another musicale for that pianist niece of hers?"

  "Again? But my ears are not yet recovered from last time."

  Laughter.

  "Careful now, they say the Duchess has spies everywhere and with that talk you won't receive an invitation."

  "That would be insupportable - there's absolutely no one else to make fun of this season."

  "It has been a bit of a dull one. Say, Lady Whitcomb, have you brought any companions with you worthy of good sport?"

  "Only the incomparable Lady Sophie Kenward - mock her if you dare."

  More laughter.

  "Speaking of entertainment, Lord Hastings, will the Conclave be hosting a gala this year? Nothing like a group of practitioners to throw an interesting party."

  "I know not, Lady Winthrop. I leave such matters to Lord Winters."

  "Oh dear. He does not seem like the sort who would put on a gala."

  "No indeed. Just look at him tonight. Completely dour faced."

  And so, the quadrille continued, with nothing gained except Charlotte's mounting frustrations, until near the end of the dance. Charlotte was executing a complex move that required crossing the circle to change partners briefly before sailing back towards Lord Hastings, only to find that he was no longer there.

  She spun to a stop outside the circle, shooting a mystified and apologetic glance to the rest of her set. They continued trying to move through the dance, closing the circle after her, and she glanced around for Lord Hastings.

  There, she spotted him being pulled through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor by another gentleman, one she didn't recognize. He was a little taller than Lord Hastings, wearing a fine blue suit, with a handsome face pulled into a stern expression. His eyes were pale blue, his hair dark brown, and he spoke to Lord Hastings urgently.

  This was highly unusual. Charlotte was not even supposed to cross a ballroom unescorted, but at the moment attentions seemed fixed upon the dancers. She turned sideways and slipped through the crowd, careful to avoid eye contact and not do anything to draw attention, until she neared Lord Hastings and the other man.

  She drew close enough to hear just the tail end of their exchange.

  "Thank you, Your Grace," Hastings muttered. "Who found him?"

  "The usual."

  "Right, that's a relief. Where is he now?"

  "In the study. Come." The strange man turned and began striding swiftly through the edges of the ballroom towards a door which opened into a dim-lit hallway.

  Charlotte hesitated, staring after them. She shouldn't. If anyone should glimpse her disappearing alone after a man, her reputation would be done for.

  Sophie! Of course. She turned, glimpsing where her friend leaned on her husband's arm, chatting with another married couple. Rushing through the crowd, she arrived at Sophie in half a moment, glancing back over her shoulder to trace the two disappearing lords.

  "Sophie! I am so sorry, I need you. I've torn a hole in my gown, it's terribly embarrassing," she murmured just loudly enough for the others in the group to hear.

  Sophie turned to her, eyes wide with sympathy, but when she saw Charlotte's face, concern followed. "Of course. Come with me, you poor dear."

  Charlotte linked arms with Sophie and dragged her hurriedly towards that doorway. As soon as they stepped into the dim hall, the sounds and music from the ballroom became muffled, and Charlotte exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. The two gentlemen were striding down the hall and disappearing into a door at the very end of it. She hadn't lost them.

  Charlotte continued dragging Sophie down the hallway as quickly as possible, but Sophie tugged her hand to gain her attention. "Where are we going? What is it?" she whispered.

  Charlotte darted a glance this way and that for any prying eavesdroppers. "We're following Lord Hastings. I think something may be happening. I didn't want my reputation ruined by leaving alone but if you wish not to be involved, you do not have to join me in this."

  "Don't be an idiot. I'm staying." Sophie looked a little afraid, but exhilarated. "Through that door then?"

  "Let us just peer through the keyhole first." Charlotte held her finger to her lips and shuffled forward as silently as she could the last few steps, then crouched down to press her eye to the small hole beneath the doorknob.

  The sight that greeted her had her gloved fingers clamping over her lips to contain her gasp. The door led to a room, a fine study with the same burgundy carpeting and golden decoration, lined with bookshelves, a few sofas and lounges for seating, and there, lying on his side in the centre of the room, was a man. He was dressed in rags, bound and gagged, and a slow line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Bruises were forming all around his cheeks and one eye was swelling shut. Occasionally a low, muffled whimper would escape.

  Standing over him were four gentlemen. Closest were Lord Hastings and the strange man. Another gentleman with a tall, elegant form faced away, so Charlotte could not see his identity, but the last man was turned towards her, staring down at the scene
with an all too familiar glower.

  "Ben," Charlotte breathed. "Dear lord in heaven, what has happened here?"

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Thief in the Coatroom

  "Which one of you gave him all those pretty bruises?" Hastings broke the silence, seeming amused with this circumstance. But then, he always did seem amused.

  "I had the privilege." Oliver examined his hands, which had been thoroughly bloodied in the conflict, before flexing his fingers and bringing them behind his back.

  The thief gave a muffled moan, and his swollen eyes opened just enough to give a fearful glance at the man in question.

  "Well done," Hastings replied with a hint of admiration in his tone.

  "Agreed, well done." Ben cast a concerned eye down to Oliver's hands. They were shaking. Perhaps a surge of excitement from the fight? When Oliver called Ben in, the thief had already been trussed like a Christmas goose.

  "What exactly was he trying to do?" Sutcliffe's stern voice broke over the discussion and all eyes turned to him. The duke was taciturn, usually kept his distance from society, but Ben was glad he was here tonight. He had been a loyal Conclave member and staunch supporter of first Avery, then Ben since the beginning.

  Oliver cleared his throat and dropped his hand to his side. "I nipped off to fetch my flask out of my jacket and I happened to see this fellow slipping into the cloak room. I followed him and saw him rifling through all our belongings and pocketing a few coin purses here and there, but he seemed to be looking for something in particular. Your things, Hastings."

  "What, my coat and hat? It isn't as if I keep a rabbit in there. Anymore." Hastings chuckled, expression undisturbed in the face of this news. "What was he after?"