by Julia Quinn
“Just be yourself,” he said curtly. “Just be yourself, and stay away from—”
“I know. I know. Stay away from married men, Ned Blydon, and rakes of every variety. Just be so good as to let me know if you think of someone else I must add to the list.”
Dunford scowled.
Henry smiled all the way home.
Chapter 13
One week later Henry was ready to be presented to society. Caroline had decided that her charge would make her bow at the annual Lindworthy bash. It was always a huge affair, Caroline had explained, so if Henry was a smashing success, everyone would know about it.
“But what if I am a miserable failure?” Henry had asked.
Caroline had given her a smile that said she did not think that was much of a worry and said, “Then you shall be able to lose yourself in the crowd.”
Fairly reasonable logic, Henry had thought.
Belle came over on the night of the ball to help her dress. They had chosen a gown of white silk shot through with silver thread. “You are very lucky, you know,” she said as she and a maid helped Henry into it. “Young ladies just out are supposed to wear white, but many look hideous in the color.”
“Do I?” Henry asked quickly, panic rising in her eyes. She wanted to look perfect. As perfect as she could, at least, with what graces God had bestowed upon her. She desperately wanted to show Dunford she could be the kind of woman he’d want by his side here in London. She had to prove to him—and to herself—that she could be more than a farm girl.
“Of course not,” Belle said reassuringly. “Mama and I never would have let you buy this gown had it not looked perfectly enchanting on you. My cousin Emma wore violet at her debut. It shocked some, but, as Mama said, white makes Emma look yellow. Better to defy tradition than to look like a pot of custard.”
Henry nodded as Belle did up the buttons at the back of her gown. She tried to turn around to look in the mirror, but Belle put a gently restraining hand on her shoulder, saying, “Not yet. Wait until you can see the full effect.”
Belle’s maid Mary spent the next hour carefully arranging her hair, curling it here and teasing it there. Henry waited in agonized suspense. Finally Belle popped a pair of diamond earbobs on her ears and draped a matching necklace around her throat.
“But whose are these?” Henry asked in a surprised voice.
“Mine.”
Henry immediately reached up to her ears to remove the jewelry. “Oh, but I couldn’t.”
Belle pulled her hand back down. “Of course you can.”
“But what if I lose them?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do?” Henry persisted.
“Then it will by my fault for having lent them to you. Now be quiet and take a look at our handiwork.” Belle smiled and turned her around to face the mirror.
Henry was stunned into silence. Finally she whispered, “Is that me?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle in time with the diamonds, and her face glowed with innocent promise. Mary had swept her thick hair into an elegant French twist and then pulled feathery tendrils out to curl mischievously around her face. These wisps glowed gold in the candlelight, lending her an almost ethereal air.
“You look magical,” Belle said with a smile.
Henry stood slowly, still unable to believe the reflection in the glass was really hers. The silver threads in her dress caught the light when she moved, and as she walked across the room, she shimmered and sparkled, looking not quite of this world, almost too precious to touch. She took a deep breath, trying to control some of the heady feelings rushing through her. She had never known, never dreamed she could feel beautiful. And she did. She felt like a princess—like a fairy princess with the world at her feet. She could conquer London. She could glide across the floor even more gracefully than the women with rollers for feet. She could laugh and sing and dance until dawn. She smiled and hugged herself. She could do anything.
She even thought she could make Dunford fall in love with her. And that was the headiest feeling of all.
The man who occupied her thoughts was presently waiting downstairs with Belle’s husband John and their good friend Alexander Ridgely, the Duke of Ashbourne.
“So tell me,” Alex was saying as he swirled some whiskey around in a glass. “Who exactly is this young woman I’m supposed to champion this evening? And how did you manage to get yourself a ward, Dunford?”
“Came with the title. It was even more of a shock than the barony, to tell the truth. Thank you, by the way, for coming by to lend your support. Henry hasn’t been out of Cornwall since she was ten or so, and she’s terrified at the prospect of a London season.”
Alex immediately pictured a meek, retiring miss and sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
John caught his expression, grinned, and said, “You’ll like this girl, Alex. I guarantee it.”
Alex arched a brow.
“I’m serious.” John decided to pay Henry the highest of compliments by saying she reminded him of Belle, but then he remembered he was speaking to a man who was as besotted with his wife as John was with his own. “She’s rather like Emma,” John said instead. “I’m certain the two of them will get along quite famously.”
“Oh, please,” Dunford scoffed. “She’s nothing like Emma.”
“Pity for her, then,” Alex said.
Dunford shot him an annoyed look.
“Why don’t you think she’s like Emma?” John asked mildly.
“If you had seen her in Cornwall, you’d know. She wore breeches all the time and managed a farm, for God’s sake.”
“I find your tone hard to discern,” Alex said. “Was that supposed to make me admire the girl or scorn her?”
Another scowl from Dunford. “Just beam approvingly in her general direction and dance with her once or twice. As much as I loathe the way society panders to you, I’m not above using your position to ensure her success.”
“Anything you wish,” Alex said affably, ignoring his friend’s caustic comments. “Although don’t think I’m doing this for you. Emma said she’d have my head if I didn’t help Belle out with her new protégé.”
“As well you should,” Belle said pertly, entering the room in a cloud of blue silk.
“Where is Henry?” Dunford asked.
“Right here.” Belle stepped aside to let Henry enter.
All three men looked at the woman in the doorway, but they all saw different things.
Alex saw a rather attractive young lady with a remarkable air of vitality in her silver eyes.
John saw the woman he’d come to like and admire tremendously this past week, looking rather fetching and grown-up in her new gown and coiffure.
Dunford saw an angel.
“My God, Henry,” he breathed, taking an involuntary step toward her. “What happened to you?”
Henry’s face crumpled. “Don’t you like it? Belle said—”
“No!” he burst out, his voice oddly raw. He rushed forward and clasped her hands. “I mean yes. I mean you look marvelous.”
“Are you certain? Because I could change—”
“Don’t change a thing,” he said sternly.
She stared up at him, knowing her heart was in her eyes but quite unable to do a thing about it. Finally Belle broke in, saying in an amused voice, “Henry, I really must introduce you to my cousin.”
Henry blinked and turned to the black-haired, green-eyed man standing next to John. He was magnetically handsome, she thought rather objectively, but she hadn’t even noticed him when she’d walked into the room. She hadn’t been able to see anyone except Dunford.
“Miss Henrietta Barrett,” Belle said, “may I present the Duke of Ashbourne?”
Alex took her hand and dropped a light kiss on her knuckles. “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Barrett,” he said smoothly, casting a wicked glan
ce at Dunford, who had clearly just realized he’d made a cake of himself over his ward. “Not as delighted as our friend Dunford, perhaps, but delighted nonetheless.”
Henry’s eyes danced, and a wide smile broke out over her face. “Please call me Henry, your grace—”
“Everybody does,” Dunford finished for her.
She shrugged helplessly. “It’s true. Except for Lady Worth.”
“Henry,” Alex said, testing the sound of it out. “It suits you, I think. Certainly more than does Henrietta.”
“I don’t think Henrietta suits anyone,” she replied. Then she offered him her cheeky smile, and Alex saw in an instant why Dunford was falling like a rock for this girl. She had spirit, and although she didn’t realize it yet, she had beauty, and Dunford didn’t have a chance.
“I expect not,” Alex said. “My wife is expecting our first child in two months. I shall have to make certain we don’t name her Henrietta.”
“Oh, yes,” Henry said suddenly, as if she’d just remembered something important. “You’re married to Belle’s cousin. She must be lovely.”
Alex’s eyes softened. “Yes, she is. I hope you get a chance to meet her. She would like you very much.”
“Not half as much as I will like her, I’m sure, as she had the good sense to marry you.” Henry shot a daring glance over at Dunford. “Oh, but please forget I said that, your grace. Dunford has insisted I not speak to married men.” As if to illustrate her point, she took a step back.
Alex burst out laughing.
“Ashbourne is permissible,” Dunford said with a half-suppressed groan.
“I hope I’m not off limits too,” John added.
Henry looked askance at her beleaguered guardian.
“John is fine as well,” he said, his voice growing slightly irritable.
“My congratulations, Dunford,” Alex said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. “I predict you’ll have a resounding success on your hands. The suitors will be breaking down your door.”
If Dunford was pleased by his friend’s pronouncement, it didn’t show on his face.
Henry beamed. “Do you really think so? I must confess I know very little about going about in society. Caroline has told me I am oftentimes a touch too candid.”
“That,” Alex said in a self-assured voice, “is why you are going to be a success.”
“We should be on our way,” Belle cut in. “Mama and Papa have already left for the ball, and I told them we would be along shortly. Shall we all go in one carriage? I think we’ll be able to squeeze in.”
“Henry and I will go alone,” Dunford said smoothly, taking her arm. “There are a few things I would like to discuss with her before she is presented.” He steered her toward the doorway, and together they swept from the room.
It was probably just as well that he couldn’t see the three identical smiles of amusement directed at their backs.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Henry asked once their carriage had started out.
“Nothing,” he admitted. “I thought you might like a few moments of peace before we arrive at the party.”
“That is very thoughtful of you, my lord.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he scowled. “Whatever you do, do not call me ‘my lord.’ ”
“I was just practicing,” she murmured.
There was a moment of silence, then he asked, “Are you nervous?”
“A bit,” she admitted. “Your friends are lovely, though, and they put me quite at ease.”
“Good.” He patted her hand in a paternal manner.
Henry could feel the heat of his hand through both of their gloves, and she ached to prolong the touch. But she didn’t know how to do this, so she did what she always did when her emotions bubbled too close to the surface: she grinned impishly. Then she patted his hand.
Dunford leaned back, thinking that Henry must be marvelously self-contained to tease him in such a manner on the eve of her debut. She turned abruptly away from him to stare out the window as London rolled by. He studied her profile, noting curiously that the jaunty look that had been in her eye had disappeared. He was about to ask her about this when she wet her lips.
Dunford’s heart slammed in his chest.
He had never dreamed Henry would be so transformed by a fortnight in London, never thought the cheeky country girl could grow into this alluring— although equally cheeky—woman. He longed to touch the line of her throat, to run his hand along the embroidered edge of her neckline, to delve his fingers into the magnificent warmth that lay below it . . .
He shuddered, well aware that his thoughts were leading his body in a rather uncomfortable direction. And he was becoming painfully cognizant of the fact that he was beginning to care for her too damned much, and certainly not in the way a guardian was meant to care for his ward.
It would be so easy to seduce her. He knew he had the power to do so, and even though Henry had grown frightened at their last encounter, he didn’t think she would try to stop him again. He could wash her over with pleasure. She’d never even know what had hit her.
He shuddered, as if the physical motion could restrain him from leaning across the seat and taking the first step toward his goal. He hadn’t brought Henry to London to seduce her. Good Lord, he thought wryly, how many times had he had to repeat that refrain during the past few weeks? But it was true, and she had a right to meet all of London’s eligible bachelors. He was going to have to back off and let her see for herself who else was out there.
It was that damned chivalrous instinct. Life would be a lot simpler if his honor didn’t always intrude when it came to this girl.
Henry turned back to face him, and her lips parted slightly, startled by the harsh expression etched in his face. “Is something wrong?” she quietly asked.
“No,” he replied, a little more gruffly than he’d intended.
“You’re upset with me.”
“Why on earth would I be upset with you?” he all but snapped.
“You certainly sound as if you’re upset with me.”
He sighed. “I’m upset with myself.”
“But why is that?” Henry asked, her face showing her concern.
Dunford cursed himself under his breath. Now what was he to say? I’m upset because I want to seduce you? I’m upset because you smell like lemons and I’m dying to know why? I’m upset because—
“You don’t have to say anything,” Henry said, clearly sensing he did not want to share his feelings with her. “Just let me cheer you up.”
His groin tightened at the thought.
“Shall I tell you what happened to Belle and me yesterday? It was most amusing. It was . . . No, I can see that you do not want to hear.”
“That’s not true,” he forced himself to say.
“Well, we went to Hardiman’s Tea Shoppe, and . . . You’re not listening.”
“I am,” he assured her, working his face back into a more pleasant expression.
“All right,” she said slowly, giving him an assessing glance. “This lady came in, and her hair was quite green . . .”
Dunford made no remark.
“You’re not listening,” she accused.
“I was,” he started to protest. Then he saw her dubious expression and admitted with a boyish grin, “I wasn’t.”
She smiled at him then, not the familiar cheeky smile to which he’d grown so accustomed, but one born of sheer mirth, artless in its beauty.
Dunford was entranced. He leaned forward, not realizing what he was doing.
“You want to kiss me,” she whispered with wonder.
He shook his head.
“You do,” she persisted. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re looking at me the way I always want to look at you, but I don’t know how, and—”
“Shhh.” He pressed his finger to her l
ips.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered against him.
Dunford’s blood pounded. She was an inch away from him, a vision in white silk, and she was giving him permission to kiss her. Permission to do what he’d been aching to do . . .
His finger slid from her mouth, catching on her full lower lip in its descent.
“Please,” she whispered.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “You’re going to go to the ball, meet some nice gentleman . . .”
She nodded. “Anything you say.”
“He’ll court you . . . Maybe you’ll fall in love.”
She said nothing.
He was just a hair’s breadth away. “And you’ll live happily ever after.”
She said, “I hope so,” but the words were lost against his mouth as he kissed her with such longing and tenderness that she thought she would surely burst with love. He kissed her again, and then again, his lips soft and gentle, his hands warm on her cheeks. Henry moaned his name, and he dipped his tongue between her lips, unable to resist the soft temptation of her mouth.
The new intimacy shattered whatever control he’d been exerting over himself, and his last rational thought was that he mustn’t muss her hair . . . His hands slid down to her back, and he pressed her against him, reveling in the heat of her body. “Oh, God, Henry,” he groaned. “Oh, Hen.”
Dunford could feel her acquiescing and knew he was a blackguard. If he had been anywhere other than in a moving carriage on the way to Henry’s first ball, he probably would not have had the fortitude to stop, but as it was . . . Oh, Christ, he couldn’t ruin her. He wanted her to have a perfect time.
It didn’t occur to him that this might be her idea of a perfect time.
He took a ragged breath and tried to tear his lips from hers, but he made it only to her jawline. Her skin was so soft, so warm, he couldn’t resist trailing a kiss all the way up to her ear. Finally he managed to pull away, loathing himself for taking such advantage of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, needing to keep her at arm’s length, then realized that any touch between them was potentially explosive, so he pulled back his hands and moved across the seat cushion. Then he moved to the opposite seat.