Page 11 of Courting Claudia
He must be drawn either to her money or to her father. Richard was still climbing the political ropes. Despite being out of the majority and out of the cabinet, Claudia’s father must still have some leverage he could offer Richard. She probably had no idea what kind of man Richard was.
If Claudia married him, then that bastard would have played a part in ruining both his father’s and his own newspaper. Not that the lack of Claudia’s illustrations could actually ruin the paper, but it would decrease sales among the aristocratic families. And he wanted them reading when he introduced the new political segments.
Even as he made the argument to himself, he recognized he wasn’t motivated solely by his ambitions for the paper. Certainly he didn’t want Claudia to resign. But it was more than that. The thought of innocent and lovely Claudia Prattley at the mercy of Richard Foxmore disgusted him.
Not only should he keep Claudia from marrying Richard so she could continue working for him, he should prevent her from entering into a miserable marriage. He knew about those all too well. Besides, it was the honorable thing to do, since he knew Richard’s character. Surely she didn’t love the bastard.
From one man’s arms to the next—that rarely happened to Claudia in one evening. Richard twirled her around the dance floor, but hadn’t said much of anything since the music began.
He didn’t seem like himself tonight—usually he spent all their time together talking her ear off about all the latest political news. While she had never been particularly interested in his conversation, she’d always felt flattered that he considered her a companion. Since most men never said more than a word to her, Richard’s conversations were his most attractive attribute.
“It’s a lovely ball, don’t you agree?” she asked.
“Most lovely.”
Mr. Middleton was a better dancer, she couldn’t help but notice—smoother on his feet, with nice, strong arms to lead her about.
She glanced at Richard’s face; pink stained his cheeks, as if he’d spent the afternoon in too much wind. His pale blue eyes stared above her head, watching something behind her. Mr. Middleton was handsomer than Richard—darker and more masculine in every way. His mere presence demanded and dared you to stare, while Richard blended with the crowd.
He’d asked about Richard; perhaps they knew each other.
“What do you know of Mr. Middleton?”
Richard balked. His eyes met hers for a moment, then once again he looked past her to whatever he stared at behind her. “What I know of Derrick Middleton is not for the ears of a lady. You would be well advised to stay clear of him, Claudia. He is a dangerous man.”
Dangerous? He hadn’t seemed dangerous. Wild. Exciting. Sensual. Her cheeks warmed, and she knew she blushed. Gracious, she shouldn’t think such things. Especially in the arms of the man she was supposed to marry.
“He was very gentlemanly with me,” she said quietly.
“Any association with a man like that could ruin your reputation.”
Splendid. And she’d danced with him. Perhaps she’d yet again misjudged the situation, as her father always accused her of doing. Richard knew so many people; he no doubt knew the truth. She would have to be very careful. Fulfill her agreement to the paper and then move on.
“I saw you dancing with him,” Richard said tightly. “I don’t think your father would be pleased.”
She thought Richard had been playing billiards at the time. And no doubt he would tell her father. “It would have been rude of me to say no when he asked.”
“How did you meet him?”
Think quickly. “Poppy introduced us. He’s an acquaintance of her father’s.” She hated lying, but she couldn’t very well tell him the truth.
“I see. Perhaps in the future, Poppy will dance with him instead. I realize that we are not officially engaged, but you know that is my intention. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
She smiled at him. “Yes, Richard, I know. I’m waiting for that moment as well.”
“As is your father, I suppose. Has he mentioned it again?”
“Briefly.”
“It will happen in good time, my dear. Once we marry, you can get out of this damp city and live in Westfield Hall and paint all the watercolors you want. Won’t that be nice?”
“Well, yes. But I don’t want to live in the country the entire year. I enjoy London. Father and I have lived here since Mother died. It’s my home.”
“You’ve just forgotten how wonderful country life can be. The air is much cleaner, and I will feel safer if you are there. I worry about you running about the streets like a common person. You don’t consider the dangers, and you trust people that you shouldn’t trust.”
How many times had she heard this speech? That he worried endeared him to her, but, honestly, she could take care of herself. It was not as if she wandered the East End alone. “I suppose we can discuss that more once we’re married.”
“I’m sure your father will agree with me. I believe he would like to see you settled and safe in the country.”