Chapter Four
Elliott stepped into the afternoon sunshine with his mind whirling. The details involved in maintaining their one little lie had just become cumbersome. He’d have to contact his sister and get her cooperation. Then there was the dress and the transportation, not to mention dancing instruction, and—oh hell—he’d have to get his mother to support the lie as well. She did have an old school friend in Germany. That was lucky—
Then Miss Gold let out a prodigious sneeze. It was loud, and it doubled her over on the steps.
“All you all right?” He supported her elbow as she straightened up and flashed an embarrassed smile behind her at the butler who had frozen with the door half shut.
“I do apologize. I hope I’m not getting ill.” She turned and—leaning heavily on Elliott—made her way down the steps.
He supported her because that was what a gentleman was supposed to do. And he should not appreciate the delight of having her breasts pressed against his side or the view he had of them beneath her demure gown. But he was a man, and so he did. And while he was distracted, she looked up at him and spoke under her breath.
“No need to worry, my lord. Tomorrow night, you can claim I am laid low by a fever.”
He had no intention of doing that. He’d seen how eagerly she’d listened to the tale of the countess’s first ball. He had seen her desires drawn on the pages of her sketchbook. Elliott had sisters. He knew how much they dreamed of dancing in the arms of a handsome man. Certainly, he could give Miss Gold that. Indeed, it would give him great pleasure to see her attend a ball. But he also knew that she had pride, and so he found another excuse to give her the gift.
“Who would sketch the jewelry from the portrait?”
“Surely you are capable of that,” she said as he handed her up into the phaeton.
He chuckled. “I assure you, I am not.”
“One of your sisters, then?”
“Not likely. Diana sings beautifully, but her handwriting is appalling. And Gwen…” He shook his head. “Gwen reads. She does not sketch.”
Then he climbed up, tipped his hat to Lord and Lady Prout, who were watching them with clear interest, and snapped the reins as he headed toward his sister’s home. “I apologize. I had meant to take you to the Royal Academy to look at the art there, but it seems we have more pressing matters now.”
He felt her jolt beside him and was a little insulted by her shocked stare.
“Whyever would you take me to the academy?”
“Because I said I would. Did you not think I was a man of my word?”
“You said that to the countess, not me. And as a way to pressure her into letting me see the portrait.”
“Even so, I meant to do it.”
He watched her absorb that with a slow nod. “And now?”
He shrugged. “Now I must take you to meet my sister Diana. She will make sure you are set for tomorrow’s ball. Is there anything you can think of that needs doing beforehand? Dress and gloves and the like will be managed by Diana, but do you need dance instruction? How quickly do you think you can learn it? Your curtsey was lovely, by the way. No fear there.”
She slowly closed her mouth as she straightened until he thought her spine would crack. “You were judging my every action in there. Every word, every move to see if I would reveal my lowborn status.”
He frowned. “I was not!” Not then, at least, but now he was going to present her to society. There were certain standards to maintain. She would not appreciate becoming a laughingstock any more than he would. “But I mean to help you tomorrow, and it will do us no good if you aren’t prepared. Tell me what you need.”
She stared at him. “I am not going to the ball. You can tell the countess I have a fever.”
He shook his head. “I cannot, and I will not. As a general rule, I do not lie. There is already so much for me to remember that recalling lies is too exhausting. Therefore, I should very much like you to go to the ball with me tomorrow.” He smiled at her. “Will you do me that honor, Miss Gold?”
She blinked. Once. Twice. And then she frowned. “Gohar. My real name is Amber Gohar. We changed it to Gold when we settled in London.”
He nodded. “Ah. Then I am especially happy to introduce you to society under your true name.” He leaned forward. “We are agreed?”
“I—” She cut off her word as she frowned at him. But he did not look away. And so, obviously flustered, she stammered out her agreement. “I, um, I w-would be pleased to go.”
“Excellent,” he said as they began moving through the London streets. “Now tell me what else you need. Shall I engage a dance instructor?”
“Er, no. I know the dances. Mrs. Dove-Lyon has an instructor who comes to the ladies’ side of the den to teach girls while their mothers gamble.”