by Darcy Burke
He should have stayed home tonight. They all should have stayed home.
“Is she asleep?” Lady Pickering asked.
“It appears that way.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. “I’ll go and wake her.”
As he made his way to Mrs. Tucket, he realized Lady Pickering was following. They passed a few ladies who, based on the direction of their attention and their whispered murmurings punctuated with “Overton’s ward,” were clearly discussing the snoozing chaperone.
As Tobias neared the woman, she jerked. “Goddamn bloody hell!”
Everyone in a ten-foot radius turned toward her immediately, their eyes wide. A hush fell over the corner as each person stared at her in expectant silence.
Mrs. Tucket had fallen back into her restful state, her chin on her chest, her lips parted. At this distance, Tobias could hear her snores.
Refusing to make eye contact with anyone, he gently touched the chaperone’s shoulder and whispered, “Mrs. Tuck—”
She jumped so violently that she nearly fell from the chair. Tobias had to clasp her elbow and throw his arm across her middle to keep her seated. Slumped, but seated.
In her confusion—at least he hoped it was confusion—she brought her other hand around and socked him in the jaw. He stumbled back, letting go of her elbow, which allowed her to use that hand to shove him over onto his arse.
The silence around them was deafening, and somehow the music for the dancing seemed quite far away. Then there was chattering and…laughter. Small at first, the amusement grew until Tobias could no longer hear the music at all.
Scrambling to his feet and tidying his clothing, Tobias went back to Mrs. Tucket who, blinking and yawning, straightened in her chair. She looked up at Tobias as if she hadn’t just knocked him over.
“Did you have a nice nap?” he asked quietly, forcing himself to smile. He needed to send her home, which left him as Miss Wingate’s chaperone. How could he act in that capacity when it was taking all of his energy just to think of her as Miss Wingate and not Fiona, the woman who had quite invaded his dreams the past three nights? Goddamn bloody hell indeed.
“I fell asleep?” She waved her hand. “Just for a moment. Where is Fiona?” She squinted toward the dance floor.
“Dancing with Lord Gregory.” Tobias glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Lady Pickering was only a few feet away, her expression a mix of humor and pity. He looked at her pleadingly and mouthed the word, “Help.”
Thankfully, she came toward him without delay. “I’ll be delighted to take over as Miss Wingate’s chaperone.” She gave Mrs. Tucket a warm smile. “You go on home and get your rest.”
“I don’t need to go home,” she said stubbornly.
Tobias feared this was going to turn into even more of a scene than it already had. As if his current notoriety wasn’t bad enough. Pivoting so that he faced the wall and had his back to most everyone around them, he fixed Mrs. Tucket with his most serious stare. “If you don’t go now, it’s going to reflect poorly on Miss Wingate,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.”
Concern darkened her features. “How can that be?”
“You did that…thing you do when you sleep. The cursing. Then you hit me and knocked me over.”
Her face turned a rather ghastly shade of gray. “I understand. And I offer my gravest apologies.”
“I’ll escort you downstairs, and my coach will take you home. Lady Pickering will take care of Miss Wingate. All will be well.” He offered his arm, assisting her to leverage herself up. Thankfully, she’d brought her cane this evening. It had fallen to the floor, probably when she’d demonstrated her remarkable pugilistic skill.
Tobias bent and swept it up, handing it to her so she could make her way to the doorway. He worked very hard not to look at anyone as they left.
Once he’d turned her over to a footman who promised to see her settled in the coach when it was brought round, which the man had promised would be quickly, Tobias returned to the ballroom. His steps grew slower as he passed through the doorway, and he asked himself why he wasn’t leaving too. Not returning home with Mrs. Tucket, but there were so many other places he could go.
White’s. Where there were probably even more wagers about him, as well as Trowley and others like him waiting to pounce. So perhaps not there.
The Phoenix Club, of course. He’d kept to the library the past few nights to avoid talking with anyone about the incident with a maid who wasn’t even a bloody maid.
Barbara’s. His former mistress would welcome him back eagerly. She’d continued to send him notes every few days, encouraging him to change his mind. Yesterday’s had been angry, however, as she’d heard about his affair with a Phoenix Club maid. She’d accused him of being a lying ass. Not Barbara’s then.
As if he would have gone there. She was no longer an option. When he thought of a woman who he wanted to spend time with, he increasingly imagined Fi—dammit, Miss Wingate. He thought of their charming discussions about maps and geography, teaching her to dance, listening to her learn the pianoforte. He thought of her hunger for life and thirst for information, and he wanted a first-row seat as she experienced everything she wanted, everything she felt her life had been missing.
When she’d kissed him, something had unlocked inside him. Now, he wanted his ward and having her was impossible.
Before he could retreat and leave as he should have, she was coming toward him smiling, her hand on Lord Gregory’s arm. Tobias deeply regretted not leaving.
“Thank you, Lord Gregory,” she said, taking her hand from his sleeve. Her cheeks were prettily flushed from their dancing. Her eyes were also alight, probably due to his charm or good looks.
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Wingate. I’ll see you soon.” He winked at her, then bowed his head to Tobias. “Lord Overton.”
“Lord Gregory,” he muttered as the man turned and walked away.
Fiona glanced toward the corner, then looked to Tobias in alarm. “Do you know where Mrs. Tucket is?”
“I sent her home.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Why?”
“Because she fell asleep and gave everyone in her vicinity an earful.”
Lifting her hand to her mouth, she looked at him in abject horror. “Oh dear. I am so sorry, my lord.”
He didn’t want her to call him that. He wanted to hear her say Tobias.
That was never going to happen.
Lady Pickering was coming toward them. Good. Now he could leave.
“Lady Pickering is going to act as your chaperone for the remainder of the evening,” he said.
“How was your dance?” Lady Pickering asked Fiona as she came up beside them.
“Lovely, thank you. I have finally mastered the steps. I didn’t tread on his feet once.” She looked quite proud, and while Tobias was happy for her, he was also disappointed that Lord Gregory’s toes hadn’t suffered.
“Splendid,” Lady Pickering said.
“I’m going to leave,” Tobias announced.
“Probably for the best.” Lady Pickering leaned toward him, her gaze dipping to his jaw. “Looks like you might have a bruise come morning.”
Fiona stepped closer to him and lifted her hand, as if she meant to touch his face. His eyes widened at the implication of it, here in the middle of a bloody ballroom where everyone had already been staring at him all night.
She seemed to realize the error too, thank goodness, for she quickly brushed a nonexistent curl behind her ear. “What happened?”
“Mrs. Tucket hit him when he interrupted her slumber.”
“Oh no.” Fiona winced. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“I’ll be fine.” He touched his jaw and easily found the tender spot. Yes, he may well have a bruise. A brilliant culmination to a brilliant few days.
If he could assume his bad luck was over. He probably should not.
Turning to Lady Pickering, he asked, “You’ll see Mi
ss Wingate home?”
“Of course. Have a good evening, Overton. And behave,” she added in a reproving whisper.
Boring as that sounded, Tobias could do nothing else.
Chapter 14
The maid arranged the flowers Lord Gregory had brought and set them atop a side table in the sitting room. Fiona thanked her before she left, then returned her attention to her guest, who occupied a chair opposite the settee where Fiona sat. Prudence was present but removed from them in a chair near the window that looked out onto Brook Street.
Fiona surveyed the bouquet of daffodils and snowdrops. “Thank you again for the flowers, Lord Gregory. They’re just beautiful. I find daffodils so cheerful.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He sat straight in the chair, his frame stiff as if he might be a tad uncomfortable. One leg was slightly extended while the other was bent at the knee. He almost looked as if he were posing for a portrait. And what a handsome portrait it would be with his blond hair waving jauntily over his brow and his mouth drawn into a slight smile.
“It’s lovely of you to call today.” Fiona glanced toward Prudence, whom she could just see from the corner of her eye. She could not, however, offer any help. Not that she knew Fiona needed any. “You are my first caller,” Fiona said, deciding to be honest about her inexperience.
Lord Gregory’s smile widened. “You are my first call.”
Fiona laughed softly. “We are well matched then.”
“I thought so too,” he murmured.
Realizing the potential implication of what she’d just said, Fiona worried she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want him to think they were courting. Were they courting? What constituted a courtship exactly?
“I’m pleased to inform you that I’ve accepted the invitation to join the Phoenix Club. I am looking forward to the first assembly on Friday evening. You will be there, I presume?”
“Oh, well done,” she said, pleased that he’d taken her advice. “Alas, I will not be there.”
His smile completely fell away. “I expected you would be since your guardian is a member.”
“I believe we had already accepted an invitation for another event.” It was an outright lie, but she didn’t know what else to say.
“I see. Well, that is disappointing.” He glanced away, then looked back to her with a light of hope in his gaze. “Which event? I shall see if I can also accept an invitation.”
Fiona darted another look toward Prudence. Their eyes connected, and Prudence gave her a slight shrug.
“I don’t recall at the moment.” Since the earl had reinstated Fiona’s social privileges, she hadn’t asked him what invitations they’d accepted. But then she’d been rather avoiding him. More accurately, he seemed to be avoiding her. She’d only seen him in passing since the ball on Saturday. “I can send word later or tomorrow.”
“I would like that very much.” His shoulders relaxed the barest amount. “If the weather improves, perhaps we can promenade in the park.”
Fiona had been waiting for that in particular, of course. There was just something about walking amongst the ton in a place she’d been looking at on a map for years. “I would enjoy that immensely.”
Lord Gregory sat forward in his chair, his gaze fixing intently on hers. “It seems we are in accord. I am so delighted. I look forward to our next meeting—soon.” He stood and bowed before departing.
Exhaling, Fiona let her body relax completely as she slumped back against the settee. She hadn’t realized just how nervous she’d been.
Prudence came to sit in the chair closer to the settee—the one Overton had occupied when they’d bumped noses. “There can be little doubt about Lord Gregory’s intentions. Are you pleased?”
“Forgive me for being obtuse, but exactly what intentions are those?”
“Courtship, marriage. One follows the other. He was clear with his intent to see you again soon.” Prudence gave her a satisfied smile, which said something because she rarely smiled. “As you told him, you are well matched.”
Fiona groaned and dropped her forehead into her hand for a moment. She had said that, but she hadn’t meant it like that. She’d only meant that they shared the fact that it was their first social call in common. Should she have clarified the matter so he didn’t have the wrong idea? Was there a wrong idea? Didn’t she want to be courted by him?
Wiping her fingers across her eyes and down her cheek, she looked over at Prudence, who was no longer smiling. “I was speaking about our newness at social calling.”
“I don’t think he realized that,” Prudence said softly. “Nor did I. If you aren’t interested in courtship, you should tell him as soon as possible.”
“I don’t know what I’m interested in.”
That question plagued her through the day and past dinner, which they had once again eaten without the earl. The question was still uppermost in her mind as she tried to distract herself with maps in the library later that evening.
She’d just immersed herself in the topography of southern Europe when Lord Overton came in. At once, the air changed, filling with a thick tension. Her heart rate picked up speed.
“Good evening, Miss Wingate.”
She straightened in her chair at the table upon which the map was spread. “Good evening, Lord Overton.”
He strolled to the other side of the table. “I apologize for missing dinner again. I was caught up at Westminster.”
“No need to apologize. Speaking of apologies, however, Mrs. Tucket is keen to offer another one to you about the ball the other night.”
He smiled and ran his fingers over the faint bruise on his jaw. “She could have a future as a pugilist if not for her dependence upon the cane.”
“She would argue about the need for the cane, so please don’t tell her that.”
His brow arched. “You think she’d actually want to take up fighting?”
Fiona recalled the way she herded chickens and goats. It wasn’t fighting, but she possessed a temperament that was good at commanding others. Fiona imagined that would be a welcome quality in a fighting match. “I would not be surprised. More importantly, I think she would be frightfully good at it.”
He looked down at the map. “Topography of southern Europe?”
“I am trying to imagine how the French army invaded Portugal. Their path seems difficult.”
“It was.” He moved around the table and stood at the corner, rather near her. His fingertips traced over the Tagus Valley. “Napoleon wanted a shorter route, but it’s more remote and rugged.”
“I close my eyes and try to imagine how it looks.”
“There are drawings, I’m sure. Perhaps those are the books we should look for next.”
He spoke as if they would be together like this for some time. They would not, of course, since they would each likely be wed in the short term.
She tipped her head back to look up at him, only to find his gaze on her instead of the map. He took a few steps to his right—away from her.
“I came to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about the Phoenix Club assembly. We’ll go on Friday.”
She bolted from the chair in surprise. “Why?”
“I heard Lord Gregory accepted his invitation. I thought you might want to attend the ball since he’ll be there.” He focused his attention on the map.
Confusion swept through her. “You keep changing your mind about me. I mean, about things I’m allowed to do.” She added the last in a rush, thinking the first thing she’d said could be interpreted in multiple ways. Perhaps she should take more time to consider her words since she seemed to be doing that often. At least today.
“It seems Lord Gregory is courting you.” He flicked a glance toward her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” she responded. Had Prudence said something to him? How else would he know about Lord Gregory accepting the invitation?
“Then you must go. Once a gentleman calls on you in London, it’s a signal tha
t the courtship is progressing. If he calls on you again, and you continue to dance together and otherwise spend time in each other’s company, a betrothal will be expected.”
Fiona swallowed. “And if it doesn’t happen?”
“It depends on the situation, but in many cases, the woman will be seen as somehow wanting.”
“The woman, not the man?”
His lips stretched into a brief, humorless smile. “It’s not particularly fair.”
“It’s a wonder anyone is able to make a match. How can you determine if you will suit without spending a great deal of time together? And it seems if you do that, you’re committed. Whether you suit or not.”
“That can happen, I suppose. My mother thought she and my father were suited, but after they married, she realized that was not the case.”
Fiona thought of her own parents and exhaled. “This doesn’t just happen in London, of course. Things might be more relaxed in the country, but there are still expectations. I believe my parents did not suit.” She offered a small, commiserative smile. “Perhaps our parents’ failures have made us more cautious. How are things progressing between you and Miss Goodfellow?”
He looked away from her again. “A bit stalled at the moment.” He pivoted so that his hip was against the edge of the table. “It occurs to me that there will be a waltz at the assembly on Friday—it is always the third dance. You should dance it with Lord Gregory. Do you think you can?”
She wanted to ask why things had stalled with Miss Goodfellow but suspected it was her fault because of what had happened at the club in the garden. Because of what she’d done to affect his reputation.
Instead, she answered his question about dancing. “My only waltzing experience has been with you.”
His brows rose slightly. “Then you need another lesson, I think.” He offered her his hand. “I promise I won’t hum.”
She put her fingers against his palm. His hand closed around hers, sending a rush of heat up her arm. As she stood, her entire body tingled with awareness, and she found herself looking at his mouth, recalling their kiss.