by Dayna Quince
She braced one hand on the wall and the other on the door. Her heart pounded. She dare not make a single sound or breath.
His arm stopped and he straightened.
She bit her lip, her held breath burning in her lungs.
He crumpled a paper and tossed it away in disgust then began frantically moving his arm again. The scratch-scratch of his pencil echoing in the tower room.
Jeanie backed away slowly. She didn’t breathe again until she was back at the bottom of the stairs.
He was drawing?
She leaned against the wall and caught her breath.
Was he an artist at heart? A rake by night but by day…he longed to draw.
She closed her eyes and bit her knuckle.
Could he be more perfect?
Did he draw landscapes or scenes from his life?
She was so curious she wanted to slink back up the steps and peek, but sitting as he was, she couldn’t see and if he’d taken himself away, all the way to this tower…
He must want privacy.
Was his artistry a secret?
She chewed her lip. She better head to her room before anyone discovered she was missing, or he came down from the tower to find her there, mooning over him like an infatuated puppy.
Back in her room, she lounged on the great big bed and thought of him.
Out of all the gentlemen, he intrigued her the most, and this new information only fueled it further.
Who was he? What was under those elegant clothes?
She blushed.
Clearly there was a lot, given the breadth of his shoulders under that thin shirt. How did a gentleman like him build those muscles without hard labor?
The dandies in the papers were always drawn as comically thin cartoons with arms and legs nearly the same length.
She wasn’t very experienced with the male species. Weirick, Roderick, and Lord Chester were the only gentlemen she knew well, and they too were physically fit. Were all gentlemen like this?
She wouldn’t truly know until she could see for herself. Asking was out of the question.
She giggled to herself.
“My lord…” She imagined squeezing his upper arm. “How do you make your arms so thick?”
A knock on her door made her squeak with alarm.
She sat up, pulse bounding like a runaway carriage. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Josie.”
Jeanie pressed a hand to her thudding heart. “Come in.”
Josie entered, her hair mussed and her dress caked with mud along one side.
“Goodness, what happened?”
“The horse threw me!” Josie cried. She wiped her face with a handkerchief.
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride. It happened in front of everyone, and Lord Selhorst escorted me back.”
“Look at my dress!” Josie held up the back and displayed the large rent in the fabric. “Can you fix it?”
“I’m not certain the mud will wash out.”
“Mrs. Kemp assures me she can have it right as rain,” Josie said.
She can probably mend it too.
Jeanie’s fingers were enjoying the respite.
“Of course I can fix it.” Maybe. Jeanie grimaced as Josie undressed.
A maid knocked before entering with Josie’s dressing gown and took the filthy dress away.
Josie plopped down on the foot of Jeanie’s bed and sighed. “Out of all the gentlemen to see me struggle. Ugh.”
“You said every one saw it occur.”
“Yes, but what irritates me most is Lord Selhorst.”
Jeanie blinked. “He irritates you?”
Josie scoffed. “Absolutely. He thinks he’s so superior.”
“I thought he was rather nice,” Jeanie muttered.
“To you, perhaps. Every time I go to the library, he’s already there. And he makes a comment about whatever book I’ve chosen. Apparently he’s read everything ever written.”
“We only arrived yesterday. How many times have you gone to the library?”
Josie cocked her head. “Well I had to return some books, and then I thought I’d collect a few to take to my room to read at night.”
Jeanie raised both brows. “And?”
“And what?”
“Lord Selhorst happens to be there for these occasions?”
Josie scowled. “He acts like he has more right to be there than me.”
“Perhaps he likes books as much as you do, and you both have something in common on which to build.”
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Build what?”
“A relationship.”
Josie tossed her head, much like an irritated horse, but Jeanie kept that to herself. Josie would rather read about horses than sit on one. It didn’t help that none of them had proper riding lessons. Chester had tried to teach them, but only Bernie and Georgie really enjoyed the sport.
“The party has only just begun. Try to be amiable if nothing else.”
Josie only scowled in response. “I am amiable, but it’s obvious to me he likes to feel superior to others by talking about his time at university, and all the great novels he’s read, that I as a penniless woman would know nothing about.”
Jeanie sighed. “He didn’t say that to you.”
“He didn’t have to,” she said. And then she folded her arms petulantly.
“You’re jealous,” Jeanie said. So jealous she may as well have turned green. Josie was the most well read out of all the sisters, and she had taken charge of their lessons long ago. She’d taught herself French and Latin, to boot. But those things, while impressive to all of them, certainly fell short of a university degree.
“If you both love knowledge, try to focus on that. You might have more stimulating conversations than you would with any other gentleman.”
Josie rolled her eyes.
Jeanie threw a pillow at her. “You’re acting like a child,” she said, giggling. “You must love him.”
Josie jumped to her feet and threw the pillow back. “I am not, you hypocrite.”
She dropped something and scooped it up.
Jeanie only saw a flash of white.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, very well.” Jeanie scooted off the bed and around to Josie. “Sit and I’ll brush your hair. Hopefully it doesn’t need a wash.”
“We’re not at home. I could have a full bath if I wanted.”
“True. But why make someone haul all that water?”
She pushed Josie down onto the stool before the dressing table and when Josie least suspected it, she yanked the object from her fist.
“Give that back!”
Jeanie held it up. “Why would you hide a handkerchief? I saw you wipe your face with it when you came in.”
Josie folded her arms and spun toward the mirror. “I wasn’t hiding it. I have to give it back to him.”
“Him?” Jeanette murmured as she turned it over in her hands and spotted the stitched initials. “P.R.M?”
“Lord Selhorst’s initials, if you must know.”
Jeanie bit her cheek to keep from smiling as she regarded her sister’s reflection. Josie was blushing all the way to the roots of her hair. Was this more than jealousy? Was Josie smitten? If Jeanie asked, Josie would deny it until her voice turned hoarse. Josie was as stubborn as the horse that threw her.
Jeanie handed it back without comment.
“I should have given it to the maid to launder.” She spread it over her lap, her fingers tracing the letters.
“Do it later. I wonder what they stand for?”
“Patrick Richard Madden,” Josie said.
“Hmm,” Jeanie replied as she took out the pins holding Josie’s topknot in place.
“You think I like him,” Josie said.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You know your mind better than me.”
Josie met her gaze in the mirror. “What does that mean?”
; Jeanie shrugged. “If you want to tell me, you will.”
“I don’t like him. I find him annoying.”
Jeanie brushed her hair. “What about him annoys you so?”
“He thinks he knows everything.”
“Oh, yes. That is a most annoying trait. I have a sister exactly like that.”
Josie swatted at her and Jeanie danced away, giggling.
“Are you suggesting I dislike him because he’s too much like me?”
“I didn’t say it. You did.”
Josie huffed. “I think your right.”
Jeanie grinned and re-pinned Josie’s hair. She glanced at her own reflection. What advice would Josie give her regarding Lord Luckfeld and his secret drawing?
But she shouldn’t share a secret he’d taken great pains to hide.
He shouldn’t be ashamed of his drawing. It was a common pasttime, wasn’t it?
So why did he hide it?
What was he hiding from?
Chapter 6
By the following afternoon, Jeanie couldn’t keep herself from staring at him. She was so self-conscious about her actions around him, that somehow he’d know she’d been spying on him, that she couldn’t even meet his gaze.
And it seemed as though he wanted to speak with her, to be friendly.
She ground her teeth every time she thought the word.
He greeted her at breakfast, partnered with her and Josie during a parlor game where they had to recite naughty Shakespeare quotes off the top of their head—thank goodness for Josie’s quick mind—and now they were preparing to fly kites during the afternoon.
Jeanie was determined not to be such a ninny this time and prove she was capable of being a mature woman, the kind he was used to associating with in London. She knotted her nervous hands behind her back, and when he graced her with his winning smile, she boldly met his gaze and returned it.
“I found just the kite for you, Miss Jeanette.”
“Oh?”
He strolled forward with it behind his back and then presented it to her.
“Lavender, like your shell from the beach.”
“Lovely,” she replied, her voice thin and breathy like she’d just run up a hill. “I wish I’d kept it now.”
He winked at her and dug into his pocket. He held open his hand and there was the little purple shell, so small in his dove gray glove.
Jeanie covered her mouth. He’d kept it for her? She took it, absurdly delighted by his actions. She chewed the corner of her lip as she met his gaze once more. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.”
She was doomed to think everything of it. He may as well have given her a lock of his hair, that’s how foolishly she was going to treasure this shell.
“Now you won’t be able to forget me.” He winked again.
Never.
She could feel her cheeks filling with color, her skin stinging from the fierceness of her blush. She couldn’t speak.
He presented his arm, seemingly not expecting her to say anything more or taking pity on her. She cleared her throat. “But what can I give you so that you won’t forget me?”
Did I really just say that?
His smile broadened. “Your smile is unforgettable, Miss Jeanette.”
Her wits scattered again and she stood there like an idiot.
“Will you be my kite-flying partner?”
She nodded.
“Let’s find a place not too close to the others or our kite will crash into another.”
Luc cursed himself.
She was clearly not up to the challenge of flirting. What was he thinking?
Her. He was thinking about her, as usual. He’d spent hours drawing her face yesterday, and now when he closed his eyes, she was all he could see.
“Tell me more about your siblings,” she said at last, the wind nearly carrying her words away.
“My siblings? Well, by brother is twelve and my sister is seventeen.”
“How exciting! Willa is seventeen too, though she acts older than all of us.”
“My sister is fairly mature as well. She will debut next year.”
She grinned and her eyes lit up. “How exciting!”
His heart flipped over itself. He rubbed his chest. “I wish she had half your enthusiasm.”
Her joy melted away. “She isn’t excited about debuting? Entering the marriage mart? Having a season?” Her voice went all light and dreamy, her eyes unfocused.
He chuckled to himself, not loud enough for her to hear.
“She thinks a season isn’t practical,” he said as he unwound a length of string from the kite.
“Not practical? How does she expect to find a husband?”
He shrugged. “She would say,” he made his voice higher, “the same way other people do who don’t participate in the season.”
She laughed, covering her mouth. He wished she didn’t so he could hear her laughter unhindered.
“Your sister and Willa would get along famously.”
“If she refuses to debut next year we’ll trade, shall we?” he teased.
She raised a brow. “I’ll consider it. What is her name?”
“Daphne, and my brother is Charles. He’s a terrible scamp, which for the most part is amusing to me and obnoxious to his tutor, but now he must go to school and he isn’t ready.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Charlie was more than ready, begging to go to Harrow as Luc had, but Luc didn’t have the money for tuition. Not until he married an heiress. Daphne did want a season. Her friends were debuting ahead of her. He could see the longing in her eyes when they would come for visits. But she knew the truth, somehow, and pretended she didn’t want it.
He frowned down at the knot of string in his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at her. He peeked up and she was shading her eyes, smiling as she watched the others running with their kites in the air.
Luc untangled the snare. “Are you ready?”
She grinned and nodded, her eyes alight with merriment. His stomach tightened. He wanted to drop the kite and kiss that smile, absorb it into his soul.
He took off at a jog, tossing the kite in the air.
The wind picked it up and higher it went, Luc feeding it string.
She came to his side, her attention on the kite. “Well done!”
“I’m a master kite flyer. Charlie and I used to do this every Sunday.”
“What a marvelous older brother you are,” she replied.
He tried. He had to fill a role the viscount had left empty for some time.
He met her gaze and she was watching him with a slight frown.
He couldn't hide his thoughts, apparently.
There was something in her eyes, something a bit sad, and he knew what she was about to ask. He didn't want to talk about the viscount. But it always came up when he talked about his siblings.
"Both of your parents are deceased?" she asked.
He nodded.
"For how long?"
“Six years ago,” he said. “Charlie was six. I like to hope he barely remembers the occurrence. Daphne was only eleven. She remembers everything quite clearly. Her mind is like a safe. It holds everything.”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “They are lucky to have you.”
He smiled but under his smile was a wince of pain. Were they? He supposed it could be worse. Had the viscount been able to banish him long ago like he wished, his brother and sister would be under the care of someone else, cousin Eustace perhaps or uncle Donovan. Neither of which would think to allow them to be who they are. But Luc knew what it was to be told you couldn't be yourself, to be pushed down for things entirely out of your control.
“Would you like to hold the kite?” he asked, offering the spool of yarn to her.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I haven't much experience.”
“First rule, don't let go,” he said, chuckling.
She laughed with him and took the yarn from him, their fingers touching, the sensa
tion muted by their gloves, but her touch warmed him all the way down to his core. The little spark grew to a steady flame, maybe only the size of a candle flame but it was there, and he knew it wasn't good.
Flames always got bigger if there was room to grow.
He still had over a week in her company. It was quite possible this flame would turn into an inferno of need for her. An undeniable infatuation he would not be able to hide.
They grew silent, the wind picking up in its ferocity. For a moment he just watched her, her face tilted up to the sky, fingers curled around the spool of rope as the kite danced and swayed above them. Normally such silence would make him uncomfortable but he couldn't bring himself to fill it unnecessarily. She was enjoying herself, who was he to interrupt her?
He smiled at the silly faces she made while trying to control the kite. She widened her stance, and the wind pushed her skirts against her body. He held his breath, unable to tear his gaze away from the curve of her hips and bottom. He closed his eyes for a moment, his need clawing at him.
What am I going to do? I need to be near her. But the closer I get, the more I want her. I can't have her.
If things were different, if the viscount hadn't gambled away his inheritance purposefully to punish him for his muddied blood, he could marry for love.
But he had to take care of his brother and sister. He had to put their needs above his desires. His mother hadn’t, the viscount hadn’t, despite being their true father, but Luc would. He could never be as selfish as his parents had been.
The wind chose that moment to ambush them. Luc rushed forward to catch her before she lost her footing and her hold on the kite. He tripped, stumbling into the back of her, his arms coming around her for a moment. He held her, her back pressed to his front.
"Ouf!" she said.
Luc was unable to move or think. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, but he didn't want to appear to be savoring the embrace so he opened them again and stepped back, holding her shoulders just in case she didn't have her footing.
“My apologies,” he said. "I was worried you were about to fall.”
"I was. That bit of wind was strong enough to almost pull the kite from my hands. Thank you," she said over her shoulder.
He nodded, adjusting his coat. He glanced around. Everyone seemed to be having trouble with their kites. The wind had picked up significantly, and they all fought to remain in control. He heard a shout and his attention stole to the hill where Miss Georgette and Miss Bernadette were standing. Miss Georgette was on her knees, toppled over by the wind. He turned in the other direction and saw that Cage was on the ground with the kite beside him.