Faith

by Deneane Clark

  Amanda Lloyd, well used to the ton’s typical overreactions, had largely ignored the crowd’s response to the appearance of her brother-in-law. Now, however, as she turned away from the group of older ladies she was greeting, she began to realize something unusual was happening. Excited whispers were circulating through the room, rising in volume as they increased in number. Curious, she followed the stares of those nearest her to the dance floor. Her eyes widened. She watched a moment, grinned in satisfaction, and hurried to her husband’s side.

  “Jon!” she hissed excitedly. “Look at Gareth!”

  Jonathon Lloyd excused himself and turned from his conversation to see what his wife was talking about, sure Gareth had done something to yet again upset his peace. To his surprise, he saw his brother waltzing silently around the ballroom, staring into the eyes of Faith Ackerly. He watched until the music ended, then nodded as if pleased.

  “I hadn’t thought it would happen so soon,” he told Amanda. “But he couldn’t have made a better choice.”

  As the music drew to a close, Gareth stopped dancing. He reluctantly released Faith, took a small step backward, and bowed slightly from the waist, his eyes never leaving hers.

  When his arms fell away, Faith finally managed to shake off the spell that had held her from the moment Gareth appeared at the top of the stairs. Numb, she watched him bow, then automatically sank into a graceful curtsy, her mind spinning furiously. She realized she’d danced the entire waltz while gazing adoringly up into Gareth’s eyes at one of the largest events of the Season. And strangely, it wasn’t the fact that nearly seven hundred people had witnessed her behavior that bothered her. What upset her was that once again she’d been unable to control her reactions to the unsettling Marquess of Roth.

  She rose from her curtsy and looked directly into his brown eyes, determined that this time they wouldn’t be her undoing. “Thank you, my lord,” she said in a deliberately cool voice. He quirked an eyebrow in amusement, as if he knew what a churning emotional mess she was on the inside. Still, he said nothing, merely offered an arm to escort her from the dance floor.

  Faith strolled along beside him, her head held high, trying to ignore the curious stares being rudely directed at them. Grace had often been the center of such attention, had actually seemed to enjoy raising eyebrows and courting gossip, but Faith had always preferred to avoid it. She felt more dreadfully conspicuous than ever before. For the first time in her life, she felt extraordinarily tall, awkward and clumsy and gauche. The feeling made her more determined than ever to say what she had to say to Gareth so that they could clear the air. After that, she could avoid seeing him for the rest of the Season.

  She slowed her steps so she could have a moment to speak to him before he returned her to the group of young men with whom she had been conversing. “My lord,” she said. “I’d hoped I might have a word with you tonight.”

  Gareth matched her pace. “By all means, princess,” he replied in that deep resonant voice that sent chills down her spine. “What is it you wish to say?”

  “Perhaps somewhere quieter,” she suggested, glancing around. “Where nobody will stare at us or try to overhear our conversation.”

  Gareth half-smiled. “I believe the only balconies to be found in my brother’s home are connected to the bedchambers.”

  Faith stiffened slightly at the teasing insinuation but bit back the sharp retort that rose to her lips. She forced herself to relax. “The garden, perhaps,” she suggested, her tone carefully level. “In twenty minutes?”

  They reached Faith’s friends, and Gareth lifted her hand for a kiss. “That would be most acceptable, Miss Ackerly.” He nodded to the group of resentful young men and strode abruptly off.

  Faith watched him go, thinking how very different he looked, here among all the other men in their brightly colored jackets, tight breeches, and heavily starched cravats twisted into impossibly intricate knots. Gareth seemed to prefer dark-hued jackets with long trousers instead of the more widely accepted breeches, and a softer, more simply tied neck cloth. It was a style of dress of which Faith found she reluctantly approved.

  With a hidden sigh of resignation, she turned back to the group of young men and accepted several of the dances she had earlier declined, no longer able to justify her refusal after having danced with Gareth.

  Gareth stepped neatly around a tall hedge to keep an eye on the doors that led from the ballroom without being seen himself. Faith had asked him to wait for twenty minutes, but he knew precisely what the crowd in the ballroom would think if he and Faith were to disappear at the same time so soon after their closely watched waltz. So, as a precaution, he made quite a show of leaving.

  He knew a momentary spurt of annoyance when he encountered Evelyn Hedgepath in front of his brother’s town house, just arriving at the ball. Given the altercation from the other evening that had driven him to find solitude on the balcony, Evelyn was the last person he wanted to see.

  “Good evening, my lady,” he said, left with no polite alternative.

  “Good evening, my lord,” she returned, assaulting him with a dazzling smile that told him she forgave him for the public setdown on their last encounter. “Leaving so soon?”

  Gareth nodded. “I have an early day planned. To that end, I hope you’ll excuse me.” He bowed slightly and touched a hand to his hat. “Enjoy the ball, Evelyn.” He turned and finished descending the steps.

  Evelyn watched as he gained the street, but frowned when he didn’t move toward the line of coaches picking up and dropping off their aristocratic passengers. Instead, he strode down the walk and turned into the narrow alleyway between the Seth town house and the home next door. Bemused, Evelyn went inside.

  Gareth circled around to the back of the town house and entered through the garden gate, making his way unerringly to a row of tall hedges near the terrace. He lit a cheroot and mentally ticked off the minutes that had passed since he’d left Faith in the ballroom.

  Actually, he reflected after a moment’s thought about the situation, he was rather surprised the correct-minded Miss Ackerly hadn’t arrived at the same conclusion about the mind-set of the crowd that he had. It made him smile. The fact that she seemed bothered enough by his mere presence that she had actually lost sight of the conventions to which she so strongly adhered was encouraging indeed. Because he now knew without a doubt that he intended to have Faith Ackerly.

  He inhaled deeply and paced back and forth behind the hedge a moment, contemplating the irrevocable direction his thoughts had taken. He couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment marriage to Faith had come into his mind. It could have been when she’d first snubbed him at her sister’s wedding. Or perhaps it had been just the other night, on the deserted balcony as they danced in the moonlight. But Gareth did know exactly when he’d realized that what he intended would become a fact, that his destiny was irrevocably linked with Faith’s. It had been the moment he’d stepped into his brother’s ballroom and looked across the floor to find that despite the rather cold ending to their afternoon drive, Faith had been watching for him.

  His smile turned a bit grim. Arriving at his decision was the easy part. Now he had to find a way to convince Faith she was meant to be his, for he didn’t entertain the foolish illusion that she would be in complete accord with his decision. It would definitely take a certain amount of finesse, a great deal of careful planning, and some very patient persuasion to make Faith come to him of her own volition. Because he wanted her under no other circumstance.

  He looked again at the terrace doors and estimated that fifteen minutes had passed. He watched the whirling couples through the bank of windows and thought of everything he’d always expected his eventual marriage to become. The marriage between his mother and father had been a beautiful union wholly based on love. He could remember back to when he was just a small boy, catching them whispering and cuddling in the hall or holding hands during dinner. When they’d died and Jonathon had inherited the title,
he vowed that he would accept no less in his own marriage.

  Of course, at that time he had been a mere second son with no title to pass on, and he’d assumed he would have all the time in the world to make his decision—time to allow love to find him. But then had come the unexpected inheritance with all its attached responsibilities, and reality had firmly intruded. He needed a marchioness to bring grace to his title, to preside over his estates, to act as his hostess…and to bear his children.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, Faith quietly stepped out onto the terrace, her large gray eyes skipping almost nervously around the deserted space and reluctantly down the lighted pathway. Seeing no sign of Gareth, she turned and looked uncertainly back at the doors, wondering if he had decided not to show.

  “I’m here, Faith.” He stepped out from behind the hedge.

  The uncertainty disappeared from her face so quickly that Gareth was not sure it had been there to begin with. She stepped right up to the edge of the terrace and looked down at him, nearly swallowed by shadows, dressed all in black and standing just off the lighted path. She said nothing, however, and Gareth found himself wondering if this was how Shakespeare’s Romeo had felt as he stood beneath Juliet’s balcony.

  She looked so regally aloof that he mentally shook his head. Faith Ackerly would never behave with the impetuous spontaneity that had caused young Juliet Capulet to first fall in love with Romeo, then throw caution to the winds and secretly marry the sworn enemy of her family. Faith’s passions and loyalties would be quieter, though no less deep, no less strong.

  She broke the locked gaze that held them both and started down the terrace steps, her long elegant fingers delicately lifting the hem of her dress so it wouldn’t trail on the rough stone. She dropped it when she reached the cobbled path, and walked sedately to stand as close to Gareth as it would allow. She looked at him from her position of torchlit safety.

  “There is a rumor circulating inside that you came tonight merely to dance one dance, and that you then left, my lord,” she said. She stood between two of the torches placed at regular intervals along the pathway, their dancing glow turning her hair to shimmering gold.

  “I did,” he answered simply.

  Faith felt an absurd burst of pleasure at the thought that he might have come just to dance with her.

  His next words banished that brief spurt of happiness. “I’d have stayed longer, but you wished to speak with me privately, and I hoped to minimize any chance of causing your reputation harm. People might have correctly speculated that we disappeared together if we left at the same time.”

  Startled, Faith realized she had never even considered what others might think, which was unusual for her. Normally, she carefully considered all aspects of a situation before making a decision. Suddenly angry with herself, she gave him a curt nod in grudging deference to his superior logic.

  “A prudent precaution, my lord. Thank you.”

  Gareth drew his eyebrows together, sensing she’d retreated within herself for some unknown cause. The expression in her large gray eyes remained inscrutable. Still, she had asked him to meet her, and he was more interested than ever in finding out what she had to say that was important enough to her that she would risk her pristine reputation to meet him alone.

  “You wished to say something to me, Miss Ackerly?” he prodded gently.

  Faith nodded and took a deep breath. Gareth stood quietly beside the boxwood hedge, patiently awaiting her reply. Now was the time for the prim speech of apology she had rehearsed all afternoon, the apology that would relieve her of the burden of knowing she’d behaved inappropriately toward him but would drive home the knowledge that she wished to have no further encounters. It was time, she knew, so why did she feel this fleeting instant of sorrow, this odd twinge of regret that they would never dance again? She hesitated.

  At that second, the doors to the ballroom opened, allowing music, conversation, laughter, and light to spill out into the garden. Faith gave Gareth a stricken look, then turned her head to see who was coming outside.

  Gareth didn’t stop to think. In the blink of an eye, he stepped from behind the hedge and grasped Faith’s arm with one hand, clamping the other hand over her mouth. He yanked her off the path and behind the hedge, out of sight of the people who were coming out onto the terrace.

  The move startled a small shriek from Faith, a sound muffled by Gareth’s hand. Once he had her safely out of sight, Gareth held her close, his hand still over her mouth, his other arm now wrapped securely around her midsection. She’d never felt so safely cocooned—or so infuriatingly imprisoned.

  Gareth peered around the side of the hedge and saw his sister-in-law talking with a small group of ladies who had apparently decided that they needed some air. He straightened and looked down at the still figure he held in his arms. The gray eyes looking back from over his hand were coldly furious, but she held still. Her very stillness was at such odds with the murderous expression in her eyes that Gareth felt his mouth quirk in an unbidden smile.

  Faith saw the amusement cross Gareth’s face. In an instant, she felt her anger go from restrained indignation to white-hot ire. Without thinking, she reverted to pure instinct. She kicked him in the shin.

  The slippers she wore were delicate affairs meant only for dancing, and thus lacked anything resembling strength or substance. They were definitely not constructed for kicking, but the resulting sharp ache in her foot was well worth the satisfaction of watching the smile fade from his face and hearing him stifle a grunt of sudden pain. His eyebrows snapped together as he looked at Faith again, noting that this time her expression was one of smug satisfaction.

  “What the bloody hell did you do that for?” he hissed.

  She didn’t answer. Gareth belatedly realized that he still held his hand over her mouth. He released her, no longer caring if she was set on ruining her own reputation by screaming at him or by walking away to be discovered by the ladies on the terrace.

  Faith took a small step away from him but wisely remained out of sight of the house. “You held me too closely,” she spat back in a low voice. She drew herself up primly. “It isn’t proper.”

  The steady murmur of the women talking on the terrace continued, and Gareth jerked his head back toward the sound. “Did you want them to see you?”

  Faith’s ire faded. “No,” she admitted in a whisper.

  Gareth’s anger ebbed, too, as he looked at Faith, who was now fidgeting, a girlish look of guilt on her lovely face.

  Amanda’s voice came floating over the call hedge. “Would you like to take a stroll through the gardens?” The voices with her grew louder, a couple of them declining, but at least one agreeing to the evening walk. Sudden panic replaced the look of guilt on Faith’s face.

  Gareth momentarily considered pressing Faith up against the hedge, hoping none of the women would look toward them when they passed on the path. That hope immediately died when he looked at Faith again. Her white dress reflected the light from the torches and would stand out like a beacon, as would her golden hair. Faith apparently reached the same conclusion, for she put out her hand and gave him a beseeching look.

  He grasped the hand she offered and looked down at her. Silently willing her to trust him, he tugged on her arm and led her away from the path and into the darkness.

  Eight

  Faith felt a dreamlike sense of unreality surround her as she followed Gareth into the gardens. She had been here many times with Amanda, of course, who had a real fondness for all things growing, the result of which was a lovingly tended paradise many times larger than the gardens of most towns. So, because she was mostly familiar with the layout, she knew precisely where Gareth was heading. He was making for the hedge maze.

  Odd, how mazes were a fixture of many English gardens. Her aunt had one, Grace had one, and so did most of her friends in town. None, however, were as elaborate or as complex as Amanda Lloyd’s. Faith had never been inside. Nonetheless, she was instantly tran
sported back in time, running through that overgrown maze of her childhood, unable to find an exit. Scenes from those hours flashed through her mind.

  The shadows of the hedges stretching toward her as darkness began falling.

  Every sound she could not explain renewing her fears that a monstrous spider would come.

  Duncan’s cruel mouth clamped on the servant girl’s breast while she writhed beneath him.

  Faith’s eyes widened, and her breathing quickened as Gareth pulled her inexorably closer to Amanda’s garden maze. She looked with deepening trepidation at the dark entrance and knew she couldn’t go inside, especially at night.

  She planted her feet and abruptly stopped walking. “I won’t go in there,” she whispered.

  Gareth looked back in surprise. “Why not?” he asked.

  Now that was a very good question, thought Faith, wondering what he would think if she told him the truth. She bit back a wayward giggle as she imagined the look on his face when she told him she couldn’t go in because she was certain they were in grave danger of being devoured by an enormous arachnid. But as he was still looking at her, her hysterical mirth faded.

  “I just won’t,” she said, her chin set stubbornly.

  Gareth looked exasperated. He incorrectly assumed she was refusing as part of some sense of misplaced propriety. He hastened to reassure her. “Look, princess, I give you my word as a gentleman that I won’t ravish you inside that maze.

  Still Faith stalled. “I’ve been gone from the ball for so long. Surely Aunt Cleo will worry. What if we were to get lost?”