by L. L. Muir
His chest rose as he sucked in a silent, deep breath of his own and she realized, if a real, mortal man had done that, it would mean she’d affected him as much as he’d affected her.
She wished he was real, that his reaction had been genuine, even though he was far too handsome and destined to be boring as hell.
He grinned. “I believe I can wait a moment or two for number three. That is, if you will cease assuming I am tiresome simply because I have a pleasant face. I will have you know that I am acquainted with a number of handsome and beautiful people who prove to be both amusing and intriguing.”
He looked down to Ashlynn’s toes and back up to her eyes without missing a button or detail in between, hinting that she was one of those people he was talking about. And if it were possible to blush in one’s dream, she could have lit her frumpy clothes and her sheets on fire.
She decided to ignore his insinuation and address his comment instead. “If you were real, you couldn’t read my mind.”
“Real?” He shrugged. “I have excellent hearing, and I suspect you are unaware when you are muttering.”
“Mutter—” She clamped her lips shut. Yes, she did mutter. She talked to herself so often, she probably did it in the aisles at the grocery store!
No wonder people gave her a wide berth. They thought she was a nut!
The orchestra, situated near a water fountain off to the left, struck up a new piece of music that got everyone’s attention. She hadn’t noticed the end of the last one.
“Perhaps you would care to dance, Miss… I realize we have yet to be introduced, but considering our inconsiderate host failed in his duties, you will forego the formalities?”
He was asking her name. And asking her to dance. She wondered if her creative mind was awake enough to suggest a memorable heroine’s name to give him, but after waiting a few seconds, she realized that was a no.
“I’m Ashlynn. Garrity.” Something she never admitted, when awake.
“Beaufort.” He cleared his throat. “Alexander, at your service.” He inclined his head and bowed.
“So I call you Lord Beaufort, or Mister Beaufort?”
He straightened. His smile widened and his eyes came to life like he was genuinely amused. “To you, I am but Alexander.”
“Alexander’s a good hero’s name,” she muttered.
He coughed in surprise. “Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint, Miss Garrity.”
“Just Ashlynn.”
“Ashlynn.”
A shiver ran through her like he’d run a finger up her bare spine as he spoke her name. And she realized Ashlynn wasn’t such a bad name for a heroine. Maybe not right for Regency times, but when he said it like that, like it was two separate names, it sounded lovely.
“Ashlynn?”
“Hmn?”
“Dance with me?”
She closed her eyes for a second and tried to imagine a stunning gown fit for a mature version of Cinderella. Maybe a dark blue…
His heavy steps retreated quickly. She looked up to see what she’d missed. From six feet away, he stared, almost horrified, at her body.
Oh no!
With dread, she looked down, prepared for something really horrible, like the meat dress Lady Gaga once wore as a nod to anyone who stuck up for what they believed in. But happily, she was only wearing a dark, sparkling gown that was nearly as black as Alexander’s suit and tails. Long dark gloves made her arms look thinner than they were.
Pulling back the hem, she looked for her feet. Thankfully, she was wearing thickly padded slippers that matched the dress, not her fluffy pink pig slippers, or something illogical, like shoes made of glass.
She stepped away from the bannister and twirled a little so she could see the dress move. No woman on earth could have resisted twirling in a gown like that—midnight blue with matching sheer swaths of fabric circling her skirt like fondant draped around a wedding cake. And when she twirled, the skirt doubled in size, making her waist seem tiny in comparison.
She could have twirled until she got dizzy had she not caught sight of Alexander’s face. He looked alarmed and a little dizzy himself as he retreated another step.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” She didn’t see him as the type who would run, but it looked like that third kiss was off the table.
“What magic is this?” He dragged his eyes away from the dress and looked at her face. “Some gypsy’s trick? What are you?”
She shrugged and shook her head. She couldn’t help what she was. She’d never been able to help it.
“I’m a writer.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It took a little while to calm the man down. And considering the tone he’d used when he’d asked if she was a witch, she figured the best way to move their conversation forward was to admit that she had played a trick on him, and if he was very nice to her, she’d explain everything later.
Like when her alarm clock woke her up, ended the dream, and got her off the hook.
Unfortunately, after he claimed he would be patient and wait, an awkward silence fell between them. He watched the others dance while she fussed with the dress.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I guess I don’t know how to act in a dress like this.” She shrugged and finally put her hands behind her back to keep from plucking at the material and maybe ruining the fabric.
“Since I suffer the same discomfort,” he said, gesturing to his own outfit, “I suggest we join the other dancers, and you can explain yourself while I guide you around the maze. After all, you seem to be dressed for it now. What do you say?”
“I’m not much of a dancer, but I’ll try,” she said. “And maybe you’ll feel safer with other people around.”
He laughed, but didn’t deny he’d been thinking the same thing. “Not going to drag me off into the shrubbery, then, to sacrifice me to the devil in order to pay for that dress?”
“You have my word, sir.”
“Now, now. Alexander, if you please.”
A long serpentine of stone steps led them into the thick of the party. It was a wonder she didn’t go flying at some point since her attention was not on her footing, but on the warm body moving beside her. His arm squeezed her wrist against him with every step, presumably, for a little extra support.
Men and women alike inclined their heads as the two of them passed by. Since Alexander didn’t seem to notice them, Ash figured they were just part of the subconscious wallpaper, filling in the background of a dream she had limited control over.
When they reached the maze, he turned to face her and the warmth of his body receded. A sudden chill raised goosebumps on her arms, but she wasn’t about to wake up just to pull her blankets tighter.
He took her right hand in his left, then tucked his right hand behind him. She looked at the other couples and realized that the other women held their skirts in their left hands, and other than the one point where a couple’s hands touched, their bodies made no other contact.
It made her worry just how far back in time she’d sent herself.
Alexander suddenly pulled her into the dance, guiding her as best he could with only the one hand. It was a waltz, so she picked it up easily enough. She had learned it in elementary school, but back then, the girls had been forced to lead little boys who didn’t want to move their feet more than an inch or two.
After they blended in with the line of other dancers, Alexander loosened his grip to run his fingers over hers. “You are cold. I apologize.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure dancing will warm me up just fine.”
He seemed pleased by her answer, but he soon dropped his smile. “I concede I am not as patient as I’d hoped. So, tell me, Ashlynn Garrity, how you managed your magic trick. I’ve been amazed by magicians from time to time, but never by a writer. Tell me how you changed into that gown in the blink of an eye, and without a maid’s assistance. And pray, tell me quickly. I fear I have gone quite mad, as if I have conjured you out o
f my imagination, that perhaps I am dancing with myself and do not know it.”
She gave him the rundown of her completely typical day thus far and didn’t worry about how crazy she sounded. After all, it was her dream. When she got to the part where she willed her clothes to change into something more appropriate, he stumbled and stopped dancing altogether. She had to drag him out of the way of a couple dancing by. Then he dragged her to a stone bench to the side of the maze.
He gestured for her to sit, but he stayed on his feet so he could pace back and forth in front of her. And while he was working out what to say next, two women appeared beside him.
“Forgive us, my lord. We noticed this lady’s hair has fallen and we’ve come to rescue her.”
“Yes, we have,” said the second woman while she tugged on Alexander’s arm and tried to turn him back toward the dancers. “We promise to return her to you in no time.”
He introduced her as Miss Ashlynn Garrity. Obviously, he didn’t remember the names of the other two and left it to them to fill in the blanks. Then he offered a hesitant bow and turned away.
With each step he took, Ash’s chest tightened. “Wait!”
Not ten feet away, he spun around. His face mirrored the same panic she felt.
She shrugged helplessly. “I’m scared.”
His face lightened, but he said nothing while he waited for her to explain. With round eyes, her would-be rescuers tried to reassure him and send him away again, but he ignored them and struggled to keep his attention on her.
“I’m afraid, if I can’t see you,” she told him, “You’ll disappear. I will lose you.” It would sound silly to anyone listening in on the dream, but at the moment, it was exactly what she felt—that she would regret it if she lost him before her alarm went off. In fact, she was going to be pretty bummed either way.
If only she’d forgotten to set it. But of course, she hadn’t. She remembered clearly. It was all part of her ritual. Rituals were everything.
Alexander winked at her, then dropped his smile and addressed the other two. “I will not move from this spot. Do what you will to her hair, but I insist you do not block my view of her.”
One woman nodded and gave him a little curtsy, but when she turned away from him, she rolled her eyes and exchanged another wide-eyed look with her friend. But for Ashlynn, the two were all saccharine smiles. They patted their heads and pulled out a pin here and there without ruining their own intricate hairdos. Then, with the pins in their mouths, they attacked Ashlynn’s hair, always careful to leave a clear lane between her and Alexander.
“Forgive us, my dear,” said the taller of the two, whose name was already forgotten. Her voice was barely above a whisper and clearly not meant to be heard by their audience of one. “But you cannot dance with Lord Beaufort looking like a kitchen maid.”
“Especially,” said the other, “since no one would put it past him to dance with a kitchen maid…”
“I fear he does not possess a clear sense of his class and position,” whispered the first. “But he will, just as soon as the Season begins.”
A sharp poke in the head proved they weren’t really paying much attention to her, so Ash felt safe crossing her eyes at her patient hero. He smothered a laugh, then crossed his own eyes at her. She bit her lips together and decided it might be safer for her head if she held very still and stared at the man’s shiny boots.
It only took a few minutes, but the women finally stepped aside and announced she was fit to dance again. To Ash, it felt like their work would all tumble down around her shoulders if someone didn’t find a bottle of hairspray.
Alexander bowed in their general direction. “My thanks, ladies. She is lovely—though she was perfectly lovely to begin with.” He held out his forearm like Ashlynn was a large bird of prey expected to land on it. But if it meant they could be alone again, she could play the obedient female game.
She placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her away.
CHAPTER SIX
The party guests were lined up along the wide path that ran down the middle of the gardens, alongside the maze. Men on one side faced the women on the other. When they weren’t crossing back and forth, or twirling in the middle, it looked like a royal dinner party minus the table.
Alexander leaned his head toward Ash’s. “How adept are you at country dances?”
“Unless it’s the Texas Two-Step, I got nothin’.”
He chuckled. “Excellent.”
He led her around the end of the dancers where the closest couple tried to absorb them into their pattern, but he ignored them and smoothly led her back to the maze, which was nearly empty at that point. As soon as they started down the path, he slowed and exhaled dramatically.
She laughed. “Hate to dance that much, huh?”
He laughed too. “Only one time in my life have I ever enjoyed dancing.” He watched his feet for a second, then her face. “A very recent waltz, if I am honest.”
If she’d have heard the line from the mouth of a real man, she’d have rolled her eyes and told him he was full of crap. But the words if I am honest sounded more like a vow coming from a guy who had been evidently honest since the moment they’d met.
She would need to take a good look at her subconscious when this was all over, to figure out why a woman like her—anti-social, anti-frilly, and anti-chauvinist—wanted to be treated like a 19th century belle of the ball. Maybe it had something to do with the lie she told her readers, that she was married and had two children. Maybe it was less about trying to sound normal and more about what she really wished for.
But a dream like this was no place for self-analysis. Especially with the clock running. And with Alexander waiting for her reaction to his compliment.
“I find that a little hard to believe,” she said. “You’ve had hundreds of dances, I’m sure. Maybe thousands—”
“Dozens,” he said. “I will admit to dozens. But I am quite new to all of this.” With the sweep of one arm, he gestured to the party in general. “My brother, Robert, recently betrayed me by passing me his title. I assure you, I would prefer almost any life to this.”
“Betrayed you?”
“Yes.” He loosened his arm, giving her the choice to let go of him if she wanted. And when she didn’t, he nodded and looked at the path again while they walked. “We had an arrangement, my beloved brother and I. He promised to marry and pass the Beaufort title to his progeny, and I promised to go off and die for King and Country. But instead, he was the one who died, and in a foolish duel, no less.” He sighed. “I suppose I failed my end as well, did I not?”
Ashlynn tried to imagine what an older version of Alexander might look like, and she suddenly realized she was buying into his story, completely forgetting that he wasn’t real. She had to be more careful. It might take a chunk of therapy to get past this dream, but if she started believing it was more than that, she would end up in a psych ward somewhere with no one but a New York editor to bail her out.
And what were the chances Angela Harrelson would cancel a couple of lunches to fly to Idaho?
Zero.
“Well,” Ash finally said, “I’m glad you failed. I’m glad you were here when I…crashed your friends’ party.”
He halted again, stopping her along with him. His brows bunched together in that bemused way he had, like when they’d first met, when he thought maybe she was both insulting and amusing.
“And for the first time, my dear Ashlynn Garrity, I am glad as well.” He took her hand off his arm and raised it, slowly, to his lips. Then he kissed the back of it, glove and all, like he wanted to imprint the moment into the silky fabric. She couldn’t remember any kiss being so romantic, and that included the two on the balcony.
Then, just as slowly, he put her hand back on his arm and resumed walking.
A shiver made her shoulders dance. She couldn’t help it.
He noticed, but kept going. “You are cold again.”
“Mmm,” was al
l she would admit to. And though it was true that the evening air had a lot more access to her neck, now that most of her hair was attached to the top and back of her head, she was pretty sure it was the way he looked at her that had sent that shiver up into her hairline.
“I would suggest you conjure a warm shawl, but too many eyes follow our every move.”
Just to be safe, Ash was careful not to think of shawls. And she veered away from the image of warm sunny beaches just in case she might find herself on one, and alone. The only safe bet was to pay close attention to Alexander.
“If you will trust me, I promise to get you warm soon.” He turned and, with a subtle nod, gestured toward the rows of short trees that lined the farthest edge of the garden, at the end opposite the house.
“Sounds good to me.”
If she were honest, though, she would admit that her chills were gone, chased away by the possibilities of just how he planned to warm her up, and just what those trees had to do with it.
He walked around her, then led her toward the southern end of the pattern, and those trees far beyond the maze. Though it was hard for anyone else to notice, they walked faster than before, and a little surge of adrenaline flooded her bloodstream at the thought that they were getting away with something.
First, though, they had to get past the partygoers who had finished their country dance and were looking around for their next source of entertainment. Unfortunately, many of them seemed to think it would come from her and Alexander.
“Keep your attention on me, Ashlynn. Talk to me and the others will be less likely to interrupt.”
She was happy to have an excuse to stare at him. “What should we talk about?”
“Tell me. Your home—this Ketchum. I suspect it is not found in England. Your speech is American, and yet, you could not have crossed the Atlantic Ocean since just this morning, when you claim to have been there.”
Poor guy. It would only be torture for him if she insisted that she could have hopped on a plane in Sun Valley and made it to England in time for the party. Besides, she didn’t want to waste precious time educating him on technology that would sound just as impossible as her changing her clothes in the blink of an eye.