What a Lady Wants

by Victoria Alexander

  “We?” Nigel asked.

  “Four of us of altogether, sir.” The man, obviously the leader of the quartet, nodded toward the back of the ballroom where three other musicians waited anxiously.

  Nigel glanced at Felicity. “Apparently you are not the only one who is unaware of the change of location.” He turned toward the musician. “My good man, you are indeed in the right place at the right time but due to circumstances”—he flashed Felicity a quick grin—“of a divine nature, the right place has become the wrong place.”

  The man’s brows drew together in confusion. “What?”

  Felicity stepped forward. “Lady Windham’s party has been moved to a different location.”

  “I see.” The musician’s expression lightened. “Well then, if you would be so kind as to direct us, we’ll be off.”

  “Certainly, I…” Nigel paused. “I say, would you do something for me before you go?”

  “Of course, sir,” the other man said slowly, obviously concerned about Nigel’s something. “But we should be on our way.”

  Nigel waved off the objection. “I shall take full responsibility. Besides, you said you were not expected to play until later in the evening.” He turned to Felicity and swept a polished bow. “My dear Lady Felicity, would you do me the very great honor of allowing me the first dance?”

  She raised a brow. “Here?”

  “We have the ballroom. We certainly have the time.” He waved at the musicians. “And now we have the music.”

  “Beg pardon, sir.” Unease sounded in the musician’s voice. “But we did contract to play—”

  “For my sister, yes, and you shall. But first”—his gaze met Felicity’s and her heart leaped—“you shall play for us.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “I shall pay you what ever my sister is paying you, and as you will still be able to play for her, you shall make twice as much for scarcely any additional work.”

  “One moment, sir.” The musician hurried off to join his friends.

  Nigel watched the discussion among the small group. “What do you think, Felicity?”

  “About whether they’ll play for us or about whether our dancing here alone is completely inappropriate and the stuff scandal and gossip is made of?”

  He slanted an amused glance at her. “Are you afraid of scandal then?”

  “I am afraid of what scandal leads to. I rather enjoy my small place in society, and I should hate to be ostracized. There is that matter of my desire to marry, you know.” She shook her head. “What will people think if we are caught?”

  “They will think I am the cleverest fellow to have arranged a private dance with you.”

  “Given your reputation, they will think seduction is in the air.”

  He choked. “Seduction?”

  “It’s just a word, Nigel. Good Lord,” she said under her breath, “one would think you were the virgin and I was the miscreant.”

  “Felicity!” Shock sounded in his voice, but there was a distinct smile in his eyes.

  “You and I both know seduction, real or imagined, of someone like me—marriageable, of good family, untouched as it were—would lead to a forced marriage. And you have no desire for marriage.”

  “But you desire marriage.”

  “Indeed I do but I never said I desired it with you.”

  He stared in indignation. “What’s wrong with me? If I recall, you said I was a catch.”

  “I didn’t say I wished to catch you.”

  “You said I was reformable and desirable.” He nodded. “I remember that distinctly.

  “Yes, well, it would take a great deal of effort. I’m not at all sure you’re worth the trouble.”

  He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “I assure you, I am well worth the trouble.”

  “My lord.” The musician approached, accompanied by two of his friends. “We’ve agreed, but if it meets with your approval, only the two violins and viola will play. It takes too long to get the cello out of its case. And just one piece, then we must be on our way.”

  “Excellent.” Nigel grinned. “How fast can you be ready?”

  The man nodded to his friends and all three set their cases on the floor, pulled out their instruments, and prepared to play. The leader propped his violin under his chin. “Is that fast enough for you, sir?”

  “Aren’t you going to tune the instruments?” Felicity asked.

  “It’ll take time and”—the musician grinned—“it will cost you extra.”

  “In that case, we shall take what we can,” Nigel said firmly. “A waltz, if you please.” He held his hand out to Felicity. “Now then, let me ask once more, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

  It was undoubtedly a mistake, and even though Nigel didn’t mean it as such, perhaps the most romantic thing she could have imagined. Of course, a man like Nigel was probably as skilled at romance as he was at everything else that had to do with relations between men and women. She ignored the question of exactly what everything truly meant.

  She cast him a brilliant smile and put her hand in his. “I can’t think of anything I should like more.”

  At once the strains of a popular waltz filled the air. She moved into his arms, and if he held her longer than was strictly necessary before he started to whirl her about the floor, it was no more than a moment and she might have been mistaken. Or it might have been that, given the type of man he was, that fraction of a second was part and parcel of his flirtatious manner. Regardless, it made her stomach flutter and warmed her to her very soul.

  “I’ve never danced in an empty ballroom before.” Nigel grinned. “I rather like not having to worry about accidentally careening into another couple.”

  She laughed. “I can’t imagine you careening into anyone, accidentally or otherwise.”

  “Oh, the occasional collision has its uses.”

  “No doubt.” He led her through a complicated step, and she moved with him as if they had danced together always. Forever. “You’re an excellent dancer.”

  “Only when I have an excellent partner.” His gaze met hers, and amusement showed in his blue eyes. “Practically perfect, I would say.”

  “Practically perfect.” She chose her words with care. “It seems to me when one finds a partner who is practically perfect, one should take advantage of it.”

  His grip tightened the tiniest bit. “Absolutely.”

  “Such a match does not come along often.”

  “No, it does not.”

  “One would be a fool to let a practically perfect partner slip away.”

  “The worst sort of fool.” He raised a brow. “I thought you did not like to talk when you danced?”

  “Without the possibility of collision it’s not at all difficult to do both.” She met his gaze firmly. “Nigel, I have a confession to make.”

  “Excellent.” He grinned in a wicked manner. “I do so enjoy confessions from lovely women.”

  “I wasn’t entirely honest a moment ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think you would be worth the trouble.”

  He laughed. “I knew it.”

  “As well as the effort.” She braced herself. “My effort.”

  “Your effort?” His brows drew together in confusion, then realization dawned in his eyes. He stopped abruptly and she stumbled forward. He steadied her, then took a step back. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. You might well be worth the trouble and the effort.” She drew a deep breath. “You did agree with me that when one finds a match who is practically perfect, one should do something about it.”

  He stared. “I was speaking of dancing.”

  “And I was speaking of…of”—she shrugged—“everything else. Life, as it were.”

  “Life?” The rising pitch of his voice coupled with the horror in his eyes might have been amusing under other circumstances. “Life?”

  “Life,” she said firmly.

  “Life?”
he croaked.

  “Nigel.” She leaned toward him. “The music has ended and those gentlemen are no doubt waiting for payment and directions to Cavendish House. You should see to them.” She smiled pleasantly. “I shall wait here.”

  “Of course,” he said, a stunned look still on his face, and strode off toward the musicians. A low, muttered “life” lingered in his wake.

  She resisted the impulse to laugh. It was the oddest thing. She certainly hadn’t planned to tell him anything at all about her feelings and indeed had been distinctly nervous as she’d done so in anticipation of his response. Which was very much as she had expected. Yet the moment the words were out of her mouth, absolute calm and complete confidence had replaced any trepidation she’d felt. In spite of what she and Madeline had discussed, she knew without doubt complete honesty was the right way to win Nigel. At least at the moment.

  He completed his transaction with the musicians and stalked back toward her, determination in his step. His expression was stern, and it made him, if possible, even more attractive. A weaker woman would have backed down at the look in his eye. It was the tiniest bit dangerous and completely thrilling. Certainly this would not be easy, but she had never anticipated anything about Nigel would be easy.

  He stopped in front of her, a far more respectable distance than at any other time thus far this evening. “When you say life, surely you’re not speaking of marriage?”

  She favored him with her brightest smile. “Surely I am.”

  “With me?”

  “Practically perfect, that’s what you said.” She nodded. “And I quite agree.”

  “I believe I have made my position on marriage clear,” he said in a forbidding manner she disregarded completely.

  “As have I.”

  He stared in disbelief. “But I don’t wish to be married. Not now, not yet. I am not ready for marriage.”

  “I daresay few people are.”

  “Let me be perfectly honest with you, Felicity.” He paused. “I find you quite attractive and most desirable.”

  “As I find you.” She leaned toward him in a confidential manner. “You are most suitable, and even your reputation doesn’t scare me at all.”

  “That’s somewhat gratifying, I suppose,” he muttered. “I will even admit that, in recent days, you seem to have lingered in my mind rather more than I would like.”

  She beamed. “How delightful.”

  “It’s not delightful at all,” he snapped. “It’s bloody well annoying.”

  “Well, I find it delightful,” she said firmly. “Have you dreamed about me as well?”

  “No!” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to pray for strength. “Perhaps. Once or twice.”

  “Or every night?”

  He glared.

  “If we are being honest with one another, and you did say you were being perfectly honest,” she said quickly, “then you must admit you have never had a woman linger in your mind like this before.”

  “Aha. I have you there.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have had any number of women fill my thoughts. All sorts of thoughts. Wicked, lascivious thoughts of lust and desire and the like.”

  “Lust and desire?” She waved off his comment. “Two more words that don’t shock me in the least.” She thought for a moment. “And have you had such thoughts about me?”

  He paused for no more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough. “Certainly not.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Believe this, then. I do not dally with…with…”

  “Marriageable virgins?”

  His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they want marriage!” He fairly spit the word. “And I do not!”

  She scoffed. “Utter nonsense.”

  He stared. “You’re mad, aren’t you? Completely insane.”

  “I don’t think so, although it is a possibility, I suppose.” She sighed. “My dearest friend probably thinks I am. She has warned me about you.”

  “You should listen to her.”

  “Where would be the fun in that?” She shook her head. “No, Nigel, my mind is made up. It was fate that led you over my garden wall that night, and as much as I have never especially believed in fate, it does seem to me when it smacks you in the face, you would be a fool to ignore it.”

  “Fate has nothing to do with this!”

  “There is the chance you could be right, but I don’t think so. You have already admitted you have been thinking about me—”

  He snorted.

  “Dreaming about me.”

  He scoffed.

  “Following me.”

  “I most certainly have not!”

  “Lusting over me.”

  “Now see here, Felicity—”

  “No, you see here, Nigel.” She stepped closer and shook her finger at him. “You admit you want me. You further admit, or at least imply, that the only way to have me is marriage. Therefore, the only logical—”

  “No.” He grabbed her hand. “I do not want marriage.” He yanked her into his arms. “But I do want you.” He crushed his lips to hers in a kiss obviously meant to punish or perhaps frighten her. It was at once shocking and exhilarating. She realized he expected her to fight him, to pull away and run shrieking from the room in virginal terror. She had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She threw her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace. His kiss softened, deepened. Her mouth opened to his, and his tongue met hers. Sheer excitement swept through her. Aching need swelled inside her and she wanted more, much, much more. This, no doubt, was lust and desire. And it was exquisite.

  He pulled his head away from hers and stared into her eyes. “I want you out of my life.”

  “Never,” she said with a breathless smile.

  He stared at her intently, then released her and stepped back. “There can be no more of this.”

  “No?” She touched her finger to her lips and realized her hand was trembling. And realized as well his gaze was fixed on her lips. “I rather liked it. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I liked it.” He huffed. “It was exceptional. One would think you’ve had a great deal of practice.”

  “Not at all. Oh, I’ve been kissed on occasion, but not enough to develop any skill at it. I think I’m simply an adept student and most willing to learn.” She gave him a pleasant smile, as if they were discussing something of no more importance than the prospects of rain. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are the most dangerous woman I have ever met,” he said sharply, then blew a long breath. “I will admit, Felicity, that I do indeed want you. More and more each time we meet. Which is precisely why I shall avoid you from this moment on. I am a weak man when it comes to matters of the flesh, and I cannot continue to resist my desire and your…your…”

  “My what?” she said helpfully.

  “Your willingness to learn!” He grimaced. “I will not be the cause of your ruin and I will not be forced into marriage.”

  “I have no intention of forcing you into anything, nor will I permit my own ruin, and I have as much to say about it as you do. Besides”—she raised a shoulder in a casual shrug—“it was only a kiss. A very nice kiss, I grant you, and as much as I enjoyed it, I suspect you can do better.”

  “Better?” His brows rose. “Better?”

  “Much better.” She stifled a laugh. He was so very indignant. “Of course, the gossip could be wrong. Gossip is usually exaggerated. I have often wondered if the truth of any matter is more—”

  “I told you this was the wrong night.” An elderly male voice sounded from the entry of the ballroom.

  “Good God, what now,” Nigel muttered and turned toward the entry.

  “Nigel Cavendish, is that you?” A lady of advanced age stood at the top of the steps leading down to the ballroom and waved. Beside her stood an equally elderly gentlemen.

  “Indeed it is, Lady
Fernwood.” Nigel offered Felicity his arm and lowered his voice. “This discussion is at an end.”

  “Or not,” she murmured.

  He shot her a sharp glance, then escorted her across the floor and up the steps. Upon closer inspection the elderly couple looked even older than they had appeared from across the room. Somewhere in that vague area between seventy years and forever. Still, they were distinguished and quite charming.

  “Lady Fernwood.” Nigel took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You are more beautiful than ever.”

  The aged woman laughed. “Indeed I am.”

  Nigel turned to her husband. “You are looking exceptionally well this evening, sir.”

  The old man snorted. “Have you gone blind? I’m dying, boy, any fool can see that.”

  “We’re all dying, dear,” Lady Fernwood said and patted her husband’s arm. “Although I daresay you will outlive us all.” She turned an assessing eye toward Felicity. “And this is?”

  “Lady Fernwood, Lord Fernwood,” Nigel said in an impeccably proper tone, “may I present Lady Felicity Melville. Lady Felicity, Lady Fernwood is my late grandmother’s cousin.”

  Felicity bobbed a polite curtsy. “My lord, my lady, it is an honor to meet you.”

  “Melville?” Lord Fernwood squinted at her. “Daughter of the Earl of Dunbury, are you? A rascal if ever I met one.”

  “My father? A rascal?” Felicity laughed. “I assure you, you have him confused with someone else.”

  “Don’t get confused,” the elderly man muttered.

  “Of course you do,” Lady Fernwood said. “Regardless, water under the bridge and all that.” Her surprisingly sharp gaze slid from Felicity to Nigel and then to the empty ballroom. “All alone, are you, Nigel? Someone of a suspicious mind might assume something of an improper nature is occurring. I do hope such a person would be wrong.”

  “Such a person would definitely be wrong.” Nigel’s voice was firm.

  “Let us hope so.” Lady Fernwood glanced again at the ballroom and shook her head. “While I myself am not usually prone to confusion, I must admit I am perplexed at the moment. Have we indeed come on the wrong night?”