Mr. Beaumont, Caroline mused a while later as they wended their way through the crowded ballroom to look for Stokeford's whereabouts, was an extremely amiable young man. Superior looks aside, he was quite engaging, had proclaimed their meeting a “delightful coincidence” as he was, he explained, quite looking forward on the prospect of having an introduction with her, inquired graciously how she finds London when Caroline imparted to him the fact of her being new in town, and told her about his recent return from France. Indeed, she was a little surprised on the knowledge that such vivacious fellow as he was a close relation to the often dyspeptic Lord Stokeford. Their little chat had ceased the moment they found Stefan standing by the open French doors, throwing surreptitious glances at Sophie who was engaged in a conversation just nearby with one of her acquaintances.
“Now, there’s our dear Stefan,” remarked Robert with amusement. “I daresay he is just contriving some way how to snatch Miss Winscott right under Lady Railing’s nose.”
Caroline giggled and Laurie said, “Ah, that’s the fair Miss Winscott, then? Poor cousin. Knowing the Baroness, he hasn’t a chance!”
It had not taken long before their quarry perceived their presence. But contrary to what Robert said, Stefan was far from being glad to see the threesome; in fact he wore a slight frown the moment they reached his side.
“Hullo, Stefan! But do you know? I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Davis tonight!” Laurie told him jovially.
“So I see,” replied his cousin flatly, as though such piece of news was not worth recounting.
“I was really surprised to learn that Mr. Beaumont is indeed your cousin, my lord!” Caroline exclaimed cheerfully. “Oh, but I daresay I shouldn’t be at all amazed, as I see that he bears some resemblance in you!”
The Earl seemed to be a little ill-humored tonight, as he settled in answering monosyllables again. “Indeed” seemed to be the only convenient rejoinder for him.
But Caroline seemed not to mind at all (as she always did), and therefore continued to prattle on until Sophie made an appearance. Introductions were made between her and Mr. Beaumont, who in all graciousness had given Sophie few flatteries, and mused loudly that ‘tis no wonder why his cousin was quite taken with her.
The fair Sophie blushed. Stefan looked as if he was eager to reach for his impertinent cousin’s neck.
The group eventually separated; Laurie had been dragged away by an old acquaintance, Robert led Sophie to the dance floor, Caroline pleaded exhaustion and repaired to the retiring room, and Stefan—well, he was left to his own devices.
The retiring room was full and Caroline, in vain hopes to find her friend Miss Sutherton there, had retreated the crowded space, wandered aimlessly in a while, until she stumbled into a deserted dimmed corridor. Gladly she embraced the momentary peace, relieved herself the warmness she acquired inside the ballroom, and strolled languidly along. Suddenly, the tranquility was then vanished as she heard the footsteps from behind her, followed by the eerily soft voice:
“Miss Davis.”
With an astonished gasp, Caroline spun around, only to be confronted by Lord Randwick who stood barely a foot away.
“Lord Randwick!” she exclaimed unsteadily. “My, you gave me a start! W-why are you here?” Dismay was laced through her voice, barely concealed that it was little wonder her countenance betrayed the sentiment as much. She had been fairly warned not to be alone with a gentleman ever again, especially one who bore extreme audacity like Lord Randwick.
“Why am I here, eh?” said his lordship with one insolent brow rose. “Why, this is Almack’s. My presence here certainly needs no excuse.”
She did not like that sly smile spreading across his face, nor the gleam of malice in his eyes. He had made unwelcomed advances towards her before—that was when he was in his cups: he had been definitely odious. Now that she found the young lord was quite in possession of soberness, he looked more sinister.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Caroline gave her dark head a light shook. “Why are you here with me?” she asked bluntly.
Lord Randwick advanced towards her with the grace of a cat. “Will you deny me the pleasure of your company, my dear Miss Davis? As you recollect, I rather have a great fondness of you.”
“Though I assure you I am not in the least flattered, yes, you had said as much before, sir!” she countered, taking a step backward.
“In the hedge maze,” he nodded. “I believe I was in the middle of proclaiming myself, but a stranger out of nowhere had made an untimely interruption,” he said contemptibly.
Caroline almost broke into a laugh as she reminisced the memory.
“You seem amused,” Lord Randwick drawled. “Don’t you think I didn’t know who was it? It was that sour-faced crotchety cull Stokeford, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was he! And I daresay it was no more than you deserved, sir! Indeed, you had acted very brazenly, and had it not been because of him, I am certain you had done something worse! He is honorable and I won’t allow you to call him hideous names again!” retorted Caroline, with her temper flaring.
The young gentleman let out a derisive snort. “Lud, that’s rich! Stokeford, honorable? His reputation speaks nothing of the kind. I gather you’ve taken a fancy with him, though God knows why, as he’s no lady’s man.”
Caroline, despite herself, blushed and stammered, “F-fancy? You—you’re mistaken! Why, he has designs for my cousin!”
“Hah! Indeed?” Lord Randwick exclaimed mockingly. “Miss Winscott, eh? Well, I’ll not be surprised if she would go scurrying away as soon as she perceives Stokeford nearby.”
“But she didn’t! I didn’t!” she replied, anger already welling up inside her. Why did everyone believe the worse of Lord Stokeford? It was extremely unfair. “If you don’t have anything of significance to say other than throwing insults to Lord Stokeford, then I suggest you leave now, my lord!”
A throaty chuckled cracked. “Not yet, my girl,” his grey eyes gleamed mischievously as he closed the gap between them. But before he had the chance to seize her by the shoulders, another voice rang from nowhere, and this time it was soothingly familiar:
“Caroline!”
Lord Randwick cursed under his breath and had not dared to turn around in order to confront the intruder. He instantly bolted pass Caroline until the darkness of the corridor ahead devoured his form.
Upon perceiving the newcomer, she exclaimed, “L-lord Stokeford!” and startled as she was, she had been oblivious to the fact that Stefan had just called her by her first name, a thing which she hadn’t yet gave him leave to do.
With long strides, Stefan reached her spot in a trice, his face hard to read. “I’ve been hearing voices. Who was that?”
“Oh, can you guess? It was the odious Lord Randwick!”
“Randwick! Good God and you let yourself near him again!”
Caroline frowned. “Well, there’s no one I wish to avoid more! Only that I… I think he deliberately followed me here.”
“Perhaps good sense will tell you, from that unfortunate circumstance in the past,” he said with faint evidence of his flaring temper, “that you shall avoid strolling deserted places, not to mention murky ones, be it the gardens or hallways. But I see that you possess so little after all.”
That remark was rather unwise, as Caroline replied, with all indignation and a great deal offended: “Then pardon me for being less sensible, sir! Indeed, I had not imagined that strolling in an empty corridor to gain a moment’s peace would unwittingly put me in the light of your accusation!”
Stefan, a little abashed, could not summon any response at the moment. He had only to gaze down at the pair of misty green eyes to realize that he had somehow nicked Caroline’s feelings. He cleared his throat to breach the uncomfortable silence that hung between them.
“I… I beg your pardon. That was not so—er, nice of me to say so.”
“No, you are never nice,” Caroline looked away with a suspicious sniff.
“I—oh, dam—drat it, don’t cry now, brat”, he let out an exasperated sigh. “Here, why don’t we take a seat?” Grasping lightly her shoulders, he led Caroline to the nearby upholstered settee propped against the wall.
When her body was settled on the comfort of the furniture and her suspicious sniffs subsided, Caroline offhandedly said in a small voice, “It was a lie, you know.”
His brows rose at this vague admission. “What is a lie?”
She began fiddling the skirt of her green satin gown. “That you are never nice,” she explained and looked candidly at him. “Only that you are ungrateful, sir!”
“And how, pray, have I earned such remark, ma’am?” his voice was not without a hint of amusement.
“Why, you gave me a sound scolding after I had been toes to toes with Lord Randwick when he started hurling insults in your good name!”
Stefan arched a brow. “You were wasting words then,” he replied a little harshly. “And you couldn’t be so deluded as to say I have a good name for I assure you it suffered worse and therefore could not be redeemed.”
Silence descended between them again. The sound of the ballroom reached their ears like a whispered euphony, but both were oblivious of it.
They sat in quietude for like an eternity, until Caroline finally broke it with her soft voice saying, “Your irredeemable name doesn’t signify in the very least, you know. Why, I’ve known some whose names and reputations are sullied beyond imaginable. There is Lord Harris, who, as Miss Sutherton confided to me, is a wild gamester and seducer, and that there was one chamber maid whom he had… well, lured, and the poor lass became pregnant and ended her miserable life in the knife’s blade after Lord Harris refused to acknowledge her and the child—good heavens, but I think the man hasn’t an ounce of conscience in him! Then, I’ve heard about this Lord Byron’s incestuous affair through the gossip of a matron of whose name I couldn’t at all remember, but despite her animadverting the person, she was tittering on his good looks, that he had dark curly hair—well, devilishly handsome, she said! Although I couldn’t see why having dark curly hair would make one handsome, as I’ve seen several who look very silly with it. But perhaps the matron could attest of her having personally seen Lord Byron, of whose poems I had, perhaps, chanced at Aunt Emilia’s library, but unfortunately forgot the titles, as they were—”
“Enough,” Stefan, who was fairly becoming impatient at Caroline’s ceaseless and pointless chatter, interposed with a raised hand. “You’ve conveyed your point, thank you.”
“Oh, have I? Well, you understand now what I mean, don’t you?”
“Very well,” he replied sardonically.
Caroline nodded regally. “You see, if you weren’t at all nice, and that you had a bad reputation, I would never allow you near Sophie.”
He coughed a little, preventing himself from pointing out that she was the one likely to be drawn to a person of bad reputation—Lord Randwick, for one. But he knew better than to stir another bout of squabble between them, and therefore asked instead, “Tell me, brat. Do you think I might have a chance to your cousin?”
“Certainly!” Caroline replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Do you love her, my lord?”
The question which was addressed in a very forthright manner, took him by surprise, and realized that he couldn’t quite know how to summon a proper answer to that. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and glanced at the chit beside him, who was looking at him intently, apparently expecting an answer.
“I don’t know,” he blurted out.
She stared at him dubiously. “You don’t know? Well, if that weren’t the dumbest answer I’ve heard!”
His lordship said icily: “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, forget it!” she replied hastily and added, “Only that ought it not the hero be very much in love with the heroine at the first sight? I must say I am disappointed with you, sir!”
“Good God, this isn’t one of those silly novels you are much inclined to read!”
“That’s romantic novels, if you please!” she countered with defense.
He waved his hand, as if to dismiss something not worth tackling about. “Silly, romantic… They’re the same.”
“But being romantic is not at all being silly! There’s a great disparity between the two!” she replied stubbornly, causing Stefan to shake his head in resignation. If ever there was one female who was as stubborn as an itch on the skin, most meddlesome, and teeth-gratingly annoying, it was Caroline. Suddenly, a ghost of a smile crept on his usual tight lips, making his features free of sternness.
“Why is it,” he murmured, “that every time I am refuting my point to you, I feel as though I am standing helpless against the world?”
Caroline let out a delightful giggle and said, “Oh, I will take that as a compliment, sir!”
For a while Stefan’s eyes lingered on her small face, and wondered for the first time how in the deuce was it possible that whenever he looked intently at her, he saw something new. Tonight, her emerald eyes seemed magnificent than he could remember; her lips fuller than he could remember, and she was prettier than he could remember.
Damn it all, did he actually remember what was she like whenever she wasn’t around? Or was this sensation merely induced by the fact that there were only the two of them, sitting on a dimmed corridor, away from the boisterous surrounding on the other side. For this occasion the world seemed to be theirs for the taking. Was it pure chance, or something had truly brought them here together this night?
She was saying something, but Stefan wasn’t all ears, as his gaze fell on her moving lips while his other senses succumbed to a vague and tingling sensation that was quite new to him. Then, in a flash, it occurred to him that he must be mad—a stark raving and irreparably mad, because for one fleeting and incredulous moment, a sudden thought struck his mind:
What would it be like if I were to kiss her?