But just as she got up the courage to call to him, a land maid happened by, and the man hailed her as his savior.
When Clio told Triton about it later, he rolled his eyes and muttered about boneheaded land men.…
—From The Curious Mermaid
Mary stared at the gentleman. He looked to be in his sixth decade, with a rather ordinary face save for his large brown eyes. He wore a soft cap and a wine-colored banyan over breeches and shirt.
“Not Joanna?” He slowly set aside his quill, staring at her. “Then you’re the other one.”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Ah.” He stood at last, and she saw that he was only a few inches taller than she. “I’m William Albright, the Earl of Angrove.”
Belatedly she dipped into a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She didn’t tack on Father, because she suspected it wouldn’t be welcome from “the other one.”
“You do resemble Joanna.” He examined her with what looked like dispassion. “No wonder Martha thought you might be Cecilia.”
Might? Everyone else seemed certain she was Cecilia.
Mary felt sweat start on the small of her back. Did the earl himself think she was an impostor?
He rounded the desk. “I suppose I must call you Cecilia.”
“Only if you wish,” Mary murmured, trying—and probably failing—not to sound sarcastic.
If the earl noticed her tone, he made no indication. “I find it difficult to believe the baby survived.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Oh, I know that Martha held out hope, but I never did. It’s been twenty years, after all.”
Mary wasn’t entirely certain what to reply to this. At last she settled on, “I’m surprised as well.”
He grunted. “Blackwell found you in a bookshop, did he?”
She nodded.
“I understand that you were a maidservant in Lord Caire’s household. Were you treated well?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “Lady Caire has always been the kindest and most loving of mistresses. I really couldn’t have hoped for a better position.”
“Good. Good. Yes, well…,” the earl replied, trailing off. He glanced at his desk. “I’m afraid I still have letters to write. As a rule I dislike being disturbed before six of the clock.”
“I-I’m sorry to have interrupted you.” She pressed her fingernails into her palms to keep from displaying disappointment at his cool dismissal. “I was on my way to the sitting room, but I’m not sure exactly where it is.”
He nodded and strode toward the door behind her.
She turned and saw a large mirror framed in fantastic gilt curls hanging beside the door.
They were both reflected in it.
The earl paused. “See here.” He gestured to their reflections. “You have the look not only of Joanna but of myself.”
He was right. Mary caught her breath as she gazed at the mirror. Her eyes were the same shape and color as the earl’s. What was more, her high forehead and rounded chin were his, as was her straight nose.
The earl said thoughtfully, “You have the Albright eyes, same as my father and his father before him. Breeds true in our family, make no mistake.”
Our family. Mary caught her breath at the words.
“You’re an Albright all right,” he continued carelessly. “The only question is whether or not you’re Cecilia Albright.” He went to the doorway and gestured down the hall. “Continue that way. The last door in the corridor leads to the gray sitting room.”
With that he reentered his study and shut the door.
Mary inhaled shakily and started down the hallway again. What did the earl mean that she was an Albright but possibly not Cecilia? Were there other missing Albrights?
And more importantly, if he decided she wasn’t Cecilia, would he toss her back out again?
Was all this upheaval for naught?
The hallway was lined on one side with windows that overlooked the road at the front of the house. As Mary passed one she looked down and saw Lord Blackwell dismounting from his chestnut mare. She slowed to watch as he walked to the mare’s head, catching her bridle and murmuring something to her. His raven’s-wing head was bent to the mare, and the horse swiveled her ears as if she were listening to what he said.
His movements were sure and gentle, his broad hand stroking the glossy neck. He chuckled when the horse tossed her head at him, and Mary knew:
Lord Blackwell loved that horse.
The thought sent a tickling feeling down her spine. Odd. She’d not considered him the sort of man to care so tenderly for an animal. He’d seemed vain and arrogant to her in the bookshop.
But she really didn’t know him, did she?
She wanted to know him. The realization was sudden and complete. She wanted to find out how the man stroking his mare so tenderly could be the same one who deliberately provoked her into wild emotion.
He glanced up then, as if he’d heard her thoughts, and when he stilled, she knew he’d seen her watching him from the window. He swept her a low bow, and she fought back a smile while at the same time her cheeks warmed.
Shaking her head, Mary turned from the window and continued to the sitting room.
She paused before she entered to run a calming hand down her skirts. Then she opened the door.
The room was obviously called the gray sitting room due to the color of the walls and chairs, both in a calming dove gray accented by white and dark blue. In the middle of the room Lady Angrove and the marchioness sat side by side on a settee, with Jo in a chair nearby.
“Oh, Cece, there you are!” Jo exclaimed. Her sister beamed and stood up to take her hands. “You took so long to come down that I vow I began to believe you were lost.”
“I’m afraid I was,” Mary replied. “I had to get directions from the earl.”
Jo’s eyes widened. “You met Father?”
“Yes. He was in his study. I’m afraid I interrupted his work.”
“Oh dear,” Jo said, while at the same time the marchioness made a sound perilously close to a snort.
Lady Angrove rushed into speech. “Naturally my husband is a busy man, but that doesn’t mean he’s not happy that you’ve been found, Cecilia.”
Lady Angrove was a nice woman, but Mary rather doubted her words after having met the earl. She knew better than to voice her thoughts on the matter, however.
“You look very pretty, dear,” Lady Angrove continued.
“Lady Cecilia’s beauty takes a man’s breath away,” said a deep voice from behind Mary.
She turned slowly, aware that her heart had begun to beat faster.
Lord Blackwell stood in the doorway to the sitting room, his bright blue eyes studying her from the top of her precisely curled hair to the embroidered tips of her toes.
Mary fought not to glance away under his scrutiny. The viscount’s gaze was searing. He examined her as if he could see through the silk of her bodice, through the whalebone of her stays, to all her vulnerable places underneath.
She felt her nipples tighten almost painfully as he watched her, and she wondered wildly: did he know what his examination did to her?
Did he know that her center was melting because of his eyes?
Holding his blue gaze was an almost-unbearable torture.
Just a corner of his mouth curled up as he stared into her eyes, and she had her answer.
Oh, he knew all right.
The realization should’ve sent her running from the room in embarrassment. It didn’t.
Instead she raised her chin in challenge.
The curl of his lips widened into a true smile.
The marchioness humphed, bringing Mary abruptly back to the room.
“The gel is pretty enough,” the old lady said. “Put a flowered hat on a donkey and it would look grand as well. The test is if we can instill in her all the rules of society and gentle manners.”
Mary narrowed her eyes. She didn’t much like being talked about as if she were
a doll to be dressed in whatever gown took their fancy. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.”
“’Tisn’t kindness,” the marchioness said bluntly. “It’s duty is what it is.”
“Mother…,” Lady Angrove murmured. “Can’t we simply enjoy Cecilia for the day? I have so much I want to talk about with her, and I’m sure it’s been quite wearying for her already, moving into Angrove House.”
“Oh, and I was going to take her on a carriage ride around the park.” Jo pouted.
The old woman shook her head. “Coddling the gel won’t help her, Martha.” She caught Mary in her eagle-eyed glare. “You must be an asset to your family, my dear. There is no other choice. We cannot have you shaming this house by inadvertent gaucheness. To that end Angrove will hire all the tutors you need to achieve complete competency in your role as daughter of the Earl of Angrove. But you—you and no one else—must be determined to learn everything you need. Do you understand, gel?”
Mary answered without hesitation. “I do, my lady.”
The marchioness didn’t smile, but something in her face softened a little, and she gave an approving nod. “Good. Now. Let’s begin.”
Lady Cecilia had a determined spark in her eye that Henry had never seen on her sister’s face, and that pretty chin was at a stubborn angle. He’d been prepared to take her to wife as she was—a woman of intelligence, hampered by her lack of knowledge of sometimes-ridiculous society manners. But if anyone could learn in weeks what a lady usually acquired over years of tutoring, Lady Cecilia could.
He studied her as the marchioness waved her to the settee opposite her and Lady Angrove and began her regime. Lady Cecilia had been nervous when he’d first entered the room, but now she sat straight and calm across from her mother and grandmother. They couldn’t fault her for her posture, at least. She had the bearing of a countess already.
His countess, Henry reminded himself, feeling almost possessive. Lady Cecilia would be his bride within the month. Would warm his bed and bear his children. And beyond that? He might have something he’d never thought to have with Joanna: a commonality of mind. A possibility of real companionship, in intellect, wit, and interests.
Lady Cecilia could be the wife he’d never hoped to have.
Lady Joanna had reseated herself next to her sister, and the similarity between the two of them was striking.
Yet he could tell them apart easily.
Lady Cecilia held herself differently, was more calm and reserved—and her biting wit was revealed in the small twist of her mouth as she listened to the marchioness.
His own lips twitched. Cecilia might have learned to tamp down her fire and to feign meekness, but he well knew she was a prickly little thing.
He looked forward to navigating her thorns to find the rose within.
She answered the ladies’ questions with a serene air and was untroubled by the lecturing tone of voice the marchioness was using. She was open and polite, but her expression didn’t give anything away.
Henry sat back, watching her. On the whole he preferred the snappish miss he’d met in the bookstore. This solemn facade was too hard to read.
What did she think of her change of fortune?
More importantly, what did she think of suddenly gaining a future husband? Of being affianced to him?
Her dispassion, her very politeness irked him. He didn’t want his fiery maidservant to completely disappear.
Joanna, who had been looking quite bored as her grandmother ground on, made an excuse and left the room.
Henry stifled a smile and stood. He idly strolled around the room, navigating so that he approached the settee where Lady Cecilia sat alone now.
Although she hid it well, she was well aware of his movements.
He paused by the arm of her settee and saw her throat tremble. She ducked her head as if to hide her glance at him.
He banished the beginnings of a smile and sauntered behind the settee. Her head was bent a little downward and the back of her neck was tender and vulnerable. A few mahogany wisps of hair had escaped from her coiffure and were curling against her nape, and he had an urge to touch them. To feel the warmth of her bare skin.
He couldn’t, of course. Any contact between him and Lady Cecilia was strictly regulated according to society’s rules. He could kiss the back of her hand. He could let her fingers rest on his arm. He could take her hand if they danced.
All other touch was forbidden.
Henry trailed his fingers along the edge of the settee, watching as she shivered when his hand passed her shoulders. Yes, she was very aware of him even in the midst of her conversation.
He walked to the other end of the settee and casually leaned over the back, resting his right elbow a handbreadth from her shoulder.
She tensed, and he turned his head sideways to see that a faint blush was climbing her cheeks.
“…And the dressmaker will arrive immediately after luncheon,” the marchioness was saying as she came to the end of a long list of duties and appointments for Lady Cecilia. Her gimlet gaze suddenly pinned Henry. “Since we have a small amount of time before luncheon is served, perhaps Lord Blackwell will escort you about the garden, Cecilia.”
Henry straightened. “I would be honored.” He walked around to face Lady Cecilia and held out his hand. “If I may, my lady?”
“Thank you, my lord.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she put her hand in his.
In any other lady he’d suspect shyness. But even knowing her so little, he doubted it was timidity that kept her gaze firmly averted from his face. She was trying to hide her reaction to him.
Trying to hide the heat that rose between them.
If he leaned a little closer he fancied he would smell her, smell her woman’s scent.
The thought made his balls tighten.
He wrapped his fingers around her smaller hand, aware that he could feel callouses at the tips of some of her fingers. What were they from? What sort of work had she had to do besides watch the Caire children?
Or was it simply that she hadn’t the time to take care of her hands as a lady did? Buffing away any roughness, shaping her nails just so, smoothing cream on every night?
Her hands were practical. Useful.
He wanted to bring her hand to his lips and kiss each callous.
He helped Lady Cecilia to her feet and tucked her hand into his elbow before taking leave of the older ladies.
They strolled out the door and down the hall toward the back of the house.
She was a silent presence beside him, her head coming only to his shoulder. He glanced down at her. “Your mother and grandmother have laid out a rather comprehensive course of study, my lady. I hope you don’t find it too overwhelming.”
“I am content with what is expected of me, my lord,” she replied coolly.
He glanced at her again as he opened the door to the town house garden. “Indeed? I trust you’ll let me know if it becomes too arduous.”
She stopped and turned to him, and he saw that her large brown eyes were narrowed. “And what exactly will you do about it if I tell you I no longer wish to become a lady?”
He hesitated, eyeing her.
She nodded sharply. “Exactly.”
His mouth firmed. “I can advocate on your behalf, my lady.”
“Can you?” she called carelessly over her shoulder as she descended the wide granite steps into the garden. “I find that unlikely, my lord.”
Little termagant. He strode after her and caught her arm to turn her. “I will be your husband.”
She pursed her lips. “But you are not yet. I am governed by my family now. Pray do not pretend otherwise.”
“Cecilia,” he growled.
“Don’t call me that.” Her oval face was suddenly alight with passion.
She was glorious.
He blinked, trying to wrest his mind back to the conversation. “What?”
“My name is Mary,” she hissed, stepping closer, tilting her head up
to glare at him. How had he ever believed her fire had died? It was merely banked. Hidden from public view. “I may be Lady Cecilia now, but the name is a stranger’s. The people who gave me room and board named me Mary. I’ll not give up my name, who I am, simply because it would serve other people for me to do so. I am Mary, not Cecilia, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”
“Very well, Mary,” he drawled.
He shouldn’t.
It wasn’t done.
And yet he simply could not help himself.
She was a flame alight—a living, breathing woman he couldn’t resist.
He framed her face and kissed her.
Chapter Six
Clio could not stop thinking of the land prince and his beauty. She spent long hours talking about him—much to Triton’s irritation.
So obsessed with the idea of meeting the land prince did she become that at last she went to the Sea Wizard and made a bargain: in exchange for her voice he would give her land legs. But there was a catch—if the beautiful land man did not kiss Clio within a week, she would wither and die.…
—From The Curious Mermaid
Mary gasped and instinctively tried to pull away from Lord Blackwell’s embrace.
But his grip was firm—he wouldn’t let her retreat. Instead he held her firmer…and opened his mouth over hers.
He overwhelmed her with sensation. The softness of his lips, the slight rasp of his cheek, his fingers long and strong on her cheeks.
She’d never been kissed before.
This…this was…a revelation. His mouth was hot on hers, his chest firm. She could smell him. A lemon scent, perhaps from his hair, and a hint of tea.
She felt her controls slipping. Felt him urge her on—toward what she wasn’t sure. She mustn’t. She mustn’t.
But part of her wanted what he offered.
Freedom. Sensuality. Bliss.
His tongue ran along her bottom lip. She tentatively opened her mouth, answering him, gasping in sudden wild heat when she felt his tongue touch hers.
Only to have him abruptly let her go and step back.
Once Upon a Maiden Lane Page 5