Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open…
Self-control abandoned ship.
“Me?” she asked, her voice a little too high if the twitch of his eyebrows was any indication.
He cleared his throat. “Yes. You.”
“I mean…I just meant…not Margaret?”
Her mother’s stiffness beside her was worse than words. When she risked a peek over, even Margaret had dropped her smile to cringe a bit at Louisa’s awkward attempts at language.
Louisa drew in a deep breath, held back a sigh of irritation that Tumberland had put her in this untenable situation, and smiled. “I would be honored.”
His lips twitched like they had in the alley. She would have bet money that he was trying not to laugh at her, the lout.
But then again, she would not bet because she was a lady. A proper one, at that.
And if Tumberland was so insistent on judging her this evening, she would do whatever it took to show him that despite the ghost debacle and the alley incident, she could indeed be a sister-in-law who did not disgrace him.
She placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her toward the adjacent room where dancing was already underway. It was a lively reel and she found her smile growing. This she could do.
There were few feet close enough to tread on. Best of all, she was able to spin and laugh and enjoy herself when she danced.
“You are happy,” he murmured beside her.
She shot him a sidelong look. “Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be?”
His expression was that same bland one he wore all the time but while his facial features were not overly expressive, there was plenty of emotion to be found in his eyes. “It seemed before as though your smile was a bit…forced.”
She winced at the accuracy of that description. Drat. She’d been trying so hard and she still hadn’t pulled it off. “I, uh…it is just that I am not used to such crowds.”
“Mmm.” His murmur of acknowledgement was tinged with disbelief that she opted to ignore.
“You look beautiful this evening,” he said.
She peered up at him with suspicion. Was this another test of some sort? “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured when his gaze met hers evenly.
The music came to an end just as they reached the edges of the crowd around the dancers. Before she could even acknowledge her disappointment that they had missed this set, a whole new fear crept in as the music started up again.
A waltz.
“Is everything all right?” Tumberland asked.
Blasted man with his keen observational skills.
“Of course.” She looked up at him a bit too wide-eyed, perhaps, but she was pleased to note that at least her smile hadn’t faltered. “Why do you ask?”
His lips twitched with mirth. “Because you look as though your mouth has frozen in a grimace.”
Her smile faded fast with her sigh. Wonderful. They had not even reached the dance floor and she’d failed her first test.
“Do you not enjoy waltzing?” he asked.
She winced as a memory flashed in her mind. Alone. In a nightgown. Dancing with a ghost. She fought back a groan. Would she ever live that down?
Likely not.
“I think I can safely say that I am a better dance partner than…what was your imaginary partner’s name?” he asked mildly.
If there had been any hint of cruelty in his gaze or his tone, she could not find it. When he looked down at her, she caught the devilish glint in his eyes. He was…
Why, he was teasing.
She was torn between irritation and amusement. Laughter won out as it typically did but she bit her lip to hold it back. With a rueful shake of her head she sighed, “Sir Edmond.”
“Ah, yes. Sir Edmond.” Tumberland gestured for her to lead the way onto the dance floor. “A ghost, was he not?”
Embarrassment washed over her but she always had been good at laughing at herself so the humiliation didn’t last long. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but found she couldn’t resist taking part in the jest. “I suppose that was a first for you,” she teased.
He arched his brows as he wrapped one arm around her waist and her hand found his shoulder. “Being confused for a spirit, you mean?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Oh no,” he said calmly, his voice so mild and so dry it was nearly impossible not to laugh. “I am mistaken for dead men all the time.” He frowned. “It’s quite insulting, really, now that I think about it.” He tilted his head down and she caught that wicked laughter in his eyes. “Am I too pale, do you think?”
“Oh no, not at all.” She shook her head quickly. “Although, now that you mention it…” She should not say it. Do not say it. “You are rather…stiff.”
She said it.
He let out a low, rumbly laugh that had her blinking in surprise. She wasn’t certain why, but she’d assumed this man did not laugh. Not really. For all his dry wit, he did not seem the sort to burst out laughing like she was prone to do. He was far too…well, stiff for that sort of thing.
Wasn’t he?
Memories of their last conversation came back to her. So proper, even when sitting on the ground in the dirt. So serious looking, even when laughing at her.
The man was a riddle. And she always had been keen on riddles.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you are trying to read my mind.”
She smiled at his refreshing bluntness. “Perhaps because I am.”
He arched his brows. “And what have you discovered thus far?”
“Pathetically little,” she said honestly.
For the life of her she could not figure him out. He seemed so very proper, all wicked glints and subtle humor aside. Her parents and sister certainly seemed to think he was a paragon of virtue and respectability. Even prim, perfect Prudence found him faultless.
But then he said things, he did things…
He made her feel things.
She shook off the thought. He was meant for her sister, everyone knew that. Just because he was handsome and had a mischievous glint in his eyes meant nothing. He was only dancing with her as some sort of test, and she’d best not forget it.
“Mmph,” he grunted softly as her foot landed on his toes.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said.
There. See? Her fittingness to be the sister-in-law to a marquess with a long, noble lineage was being tested and she was already failing thanks to her clumsy attempts on the dance floor.
Though she reckoned it was partially his fault for distracting her with talk of ghosts. Perhaps he’d distracted her on purpose, the clever man. She kept her gaze focused on his shoulder as she counted out the steps dutifully, determined not to fail again.
One, two, three—
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Her head snapped up as she trod on his toes…again.
This time he didn’t so much as wince, and for some reason that made her feel worse. “I am sorry,” she mumbled.
“Don’t be.” The hint of a smile did amazing things to his face. Wonderful things. She’d known he was attractive, of course. No one could deny that. But that little hint of smile softened his hardness and made that wicked glint feel far more friendly.
“I am going to have to assume, however, that while Sir Edmond might have been an excellent companion, he was not the best dancer.”
“Indeed, he was not,” she said with a sad sigh that made his lips hitch up farther, much to her delight. “Do not misunderstand. Sir Edmond has many admirable traits, but I am afraid that dancing is not one of them.”
“What a shame,” he murmured.
His eyes danced with laughter and she found it to be infectious. She had to clamp her teeth down on her lower lip to hold back the laugh that bubbled up.
Right alongside the laughter came shock and despair.
What on earth was she doing? She was not h
ere for her own amusement—even if the marquess was surprisingly amusing.
Focus.
But all the focus in the world couldn’t keep her feet on the straight and narrow. When she stepped on him for a third time, she whimpered in distress.
Certainly it had been nice for a moment there to be held in his arms—he had surprisingly strong arms—and yes, it had been nice to dance with a partner, for once. But this?
Having him witness what an utter disaster she was when it came to grace and elegance?
This was torture.
He seemed to come to the same conclusion when she trampled on him again.
“Would you care for a breath of fresh air?” he asked mildly.
“Oh, yes please,” she breathed. She took his arm and he led the way out onto a balcony that overlooked the gardens.
There were enough partygoers out there with the same idea that it was hardly inappropriate, and yet not so many that she could finally relax. In fact, this new intimacy, being out here alone, for all intents and purposes…it made her that much more on edge.
Breathe, she reminded herself. When she inhaled she caught the scent of lilacs in bloom and…something else. Something far headier and much more potent.
She inhaled again, her eyes closing before they snapped open with a start when she realized what she was doing.
She was sniffing him.
Oh heavens. The man truly didn’t have to smell so good—like leather, and grass, and something mysteriously masculine that she could not name.
He leaned against the railing beside her. “Better?”
She nodded as she took another deep, calming breath. “Much.” Then before she could stop herself, she added, “And I imagine your feet are happy for the relief, no doubt.”
He frowned but she caught the hint of amusement there. “A gentleman never discusses his feet in a lady’s company.” He lowered his voice until it was little more than a growl. “I should hate to shock your delicate sensibilities.”
She laughed. “And here I thought I was the one trying to impress you with my proper ways.”
His brows arched and the interest in his gaze was unnerving. No one ever looked at her like that—as though her words were fascinating, and not just silly. As though he was eager to hear what she might say next. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Trying to impress me?”
She shrugged with a rueful smile. “Trying being the key word there.”
“You do not need to try,” he said, so simply, so sincerely, it just about took her breath away. And then his tone shifted and his gaze took on a predatory gleam. “But I am curious, Miss Louisa. Why does my opinion matter to you?”
She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. Was it not obvious? Her entire family was practically preparing for his wedding to Margaret as they stood here talking. An ugly, unpleasant sensation made swallowing temporarily impossible. Her eyes darted away, off toward the garden as her fingers toyed with some moss on the bannister.
Oh drat, what was this awful feeling?
Surely it wasn’t…it couldn’t be jealousy.
“You seem terribly serious all of a sudden,” he said beside her, curiosity clear in his tone.
She finally managed to swallow. Perhaps it was jealousy—but that was odd. She’d never been the envious type. All her life she’d come second—in her mother’s eyes and her father’s, in the birth order, in looks, in charm, in skills.
She’d long ago realized she could not compete with her sister so it was easier to not even try. It had worked out well that they had such different interests and tastes because they never seemed to have the same aims, the same goals…they had totally different dreams.
So why now—why here of all places—did she suddenly, and quite desperately, want what Margaret had?
She risked a sidelong peek and saw concern written all over his face.
“Louisa,” he said softly. “What is it?”
I think I might want you for myself. She bit her lip. Of course she could not say such a thing. Just because he was kinder than one might first imagine, and had the sort of odd sense of humor that she now knew she adored, and the sort of handsome features that any girl would drool over…
Oh drat. What was she on about? Oh yes. She stared right back into his eyes and reminded herself of where she was and, more importantly, why she was here.
Not to flirt with her sister’s beau, that much was clear. She was here to impress him. To prove to him that she was not, in fact, a liability.
The thought was humbling, to say the least.
She shifted away from him. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”
“My lord, hmm?” He leaned forward slightly as if trying to get a glimpse of her face in the shadows. “I rather thought we were beyond the formalities.”
She shifted away again, realizing a bit belatedly that she was steering them into the shadows, behind some potted trees. Not quite entirely out of sight of the others, but not in full view either. She muttered an unladylike oath softly to herself, but he caught it.
Of course he did.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
She shook her head no but he did not seem appeased. She just barely held back a sigh as she admitted the truth. “It is just that…despite my best efforts, I cannot seem to do anything right.”
His eyes moved over her, studying her face like he was reading a particularly intriguing passage of his favorite book. “You are too hard on yourself.”
She gave an unladylike snort of disbelief and then barely refrained from groaning in irritation over that scoff that gave away too much. At times, it seemed she was her own worst enemy. “I’ve been trying, my lord,” she said again.
“So you’ve said. Trying,” he repeated. “Is that what you’ve been doing?” He reached out and stunned her stupid when he gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“Y-yes,” she managed. “I’ve been trying so hard to be proper and graceful and…and…”
“Boring?” he offered.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or gasp at his comment and what came out was a humiliating mix of the two. A sort of hiccup-giggle that could not possibly be called delicate nor demure.
Oh, hang it all.
She decided right then and there that she would never impress him with a perfect demeanor but she could appeal to him as a man. He was a gentleman, and a kind one at that, from what she could deduce. After all, he’d only teased her in good humor about the ghost incident, and he had not told her family about her disastrous fall from the window…
Despite what Margaret and her mother might think, he wasn’t all that terrifying, nor so very unforgiving. Appealing to his kindness just might work.
“I’m nothing like Margaret, I know that,” she started.
“Thank heavens for that.” He murmured it softly and she was certain she’d misheard. There was no way he was pleased to find that his almost-fiancée’s sister was a lunatic who could not dance.
She swallowed and tried again. “I do not have Margaret’s perfect manners, but I do know that I would never intentionally cause any harm to my sister’s good name, or that of her…her family.”
His brows drew together. “Remind me again why we are talking about your sister and her family? Are they not your family, too?”
She pursed her lips in annoyance. Was he being purposefully obtuse? Must she spell it out for him?
By his puzzled look, the answer seemed to be yes.
“Lord Tumberland,” she said, straightening to her full height and turning to face him head-on. “I know what you are doing.”
“Do you?” he asked, that little lopsided smile teasing her.
“I do,” she said. “I know what this is about.”
He leaned against the balustrade beside him and tilted his head to the side. “I am certainly happy to hear that one of us does.”
She huffed in exasperation. Here she was trying to be noble and forthright, and this impossible man was laugh
ing at her.
Chapter Ten
It was impossible not to laugh at her.
In the nicest way, of course. It was just that she was so sweet, and so genuine, and so…adorable.
All flustered and frenzied one minute and laughing at herself openly the next.
She was like no one he had ever known before, and that feeling was back. The feeling of finding fresh air after living in a stagnant cave. Of seeing life in all its color for the first time. Of digging in the dirt and coming upon a rare gem, something not of this world.
Her freckles were more prominent against her pale skin out here in the moonlight and he found himself tracing their pattern with his eyes as she sighed heavily, the gesture making her chest rise and fall.
Much better to keep his gaze on her freckles than allow himself to take in the perfectly feminine lines of her body and the lush curves that seemed to thwart society’s standards as much as she did.
She muttered something he could not make out, but that was all right. He’d found himself dizzyingly out of sorts throughout this entire conversation. One minute they were talking about ghostly dance partners and now it seemed he was being accused of judging her harshly.
“I promise I will be good from here on out,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I will be the epitome of a fine young lady.”
He tried to imagine this irrepressible imp being quiet and proper. He fought a grin. No, he definitely could not imagine it. She would not be who she was if she wasn’t being curious and adventurous and inquisitive and—
“Is this another test?” she demanded. Her hands were clasping and unclasping in front of her in agitation. “I’ve failed again, haven’t I?”
He was horrified to see tension replacing her natural, jubilant happiness. He’d never before met anyone so close to laughter at any given moment, so it was startling to see her so visibly distraught.
He watched as she steeled her features and straightened her shoulders, adopting the sort of posture and expression that screamed ‘cool, aloof, and untouchable.’
He hated it. She was hiding away the girl that was driving him mad, and he would not stand for it.
The School of Charm: Books 1-5 Page 22