by L. L. Muir
“I promise ye, cousin, that if I do dance, I shall do so verra, verra slowly, aye?”
Another guest arrived and Connor was glad for the crier drawing the lady’s attention away. Her husband offered to introduce him around, but Connor insisted he could get along on his own for a bit, and the man rejoined his wife.
Alone in the midst of a grand crowd, it was not unlike Remembrance Days on the battlefield. People looked past him, through him, unseeing for the most part, while they chatted away, playing their own roles for the sake of the hostess.
For an historical cosplay, he half expected to find someone dressed as Thor, or William Wallace, all covered with blue paint, but the scene was so well controlled, he was a wee disappointed.
The music came to an end as did the dancing. People paused from their play-acting and began searching for the next bit of entertainment. He was entirely aware of the glances, both outright and sidelong, garnered by his traditional Scottish garb, but while others looked their fill, he searched for the green-eyed lass among the mob of dancers breaking apart and returning into the throng.
Though he was half a head taller than most of the men in the room, he still couldn’t locate his prey. But since he did remember her startling green eyes and the emerald necklace she’d been sporting, he hoped one of the other young ladies might know her. So he turned to the nearest miss playing debutante.
“Pardon me, lass—” He ceased speaking when it appeared she was choking. Her pale eyes rounded like saucers and her gloved hand wrapped around her throat—an obvious sign of distress. “Are ye choking, then?” He tried to move behind her, hoping to wrap his arms around her and give her a good squeeze—a move he’d seen practiced a dozen times on the telly—but the distressed young woman ducked out of his reach and hid behind a portly man as if she were more afraid of his touch than of choking to death.
“What is the meaning of this?” The man turned a bit red around his pork chop sideburns when he realized his words had drawn a great deal of attention.
“I thought yon lass was choking,” Connor said, “but she seems right enough now.”
“By my word, you are presumptuous.” The man never so much as glanced at the lass, so she might have keeled over dead for all he’d noticed.
Another man stepped up and whispered in the rounder man’s ear, his last words were clearly, “Cousin to Lady Grant.” And whatever else the man had intended to say caught in his throat and he, too, began choking. But since no one else seemed concerned, Connor grabbed the fellow’s forearm, swung him round, and pounded on his wide back.
The crowd fell silent but for a young woman’s giggle. Then she, too, fell silent, but not before Connor located her. It was Miss Berry Lips. And though she blushed nearly red enough to match those lips, she was having a devil of a time keeping quiet.
He gave her a discreet wink, then turned back to the man and his daughter. “Perhaps this choking problem runs in the family then?”
A mature woman bearing a striking resemblance to the choking lass, with the same dark hair and pale eyes, stepped up next to the gentleman. She smiled with an unfortunately decaying set of teeth. “My daughter was simply surprised when you addressed her, my lord. She’d had no proper introduction, you see. But since you are clearly not…local…”
Connor laughed. “Proper introductions? Where are we, the eighteenth century?”
A mixture of light laughter and murmurs ran through the crowd like a wave moving through a football stadium. Then all was quiet again until the orchestra struck up another tune. The Choking Family, along with everyone else, receded and left him standing alone with a great deal of space to himself. But on the edge of that space, the lass with the berry lips failed to escape with the others.
Still amused, she hadn’t realized he’d been relegated to a poor-mannered leper.
“Ye’d best run away, lass, before ye’re seen speaking with a man to whom ye’ve never been introduced, aye?”
She shrugged a nearly-bare shoulder. “You are probably right. However…”
He took a short step to the side, to close the distance between them while pretending to ignore her. “However?”
“However, I would risk a small scandal to help you a little.”
“Help me how?” He let his gaze fall to the floor so he could at least regard the hem of her gown while they spoke.
“We English are rather proud of our modern century, so I dare say you’ve dealt us all a great insult. But even here, in 1811, we still require adherence to society’s rules, which include never speaking to someone of the opposite sex without a proper introduction first. Especially at a ball. I am surprised you don’t adhere to the same in Scotland.”
He laughed outright, then had to pretend he was laughing to himself. After he felt it safe, he spoke again.
“Here in 1811? Does this mean I’ll not have the chance to taste a Coca-Cola?” It was the surest test he could think of. If she knew what the fizzy drink was, he would know it was all just a game, and he hadn’t been sent through some worm hole in time.
“Is it a Spanish treat? I’ve heard they’ll be serving Spanish delicacies later this evening.” A small gasped escaped her and he found her following the progress of a tall handsome gentleman as he entered the ballroom. “Best of luck, sir. I’ve helped you all I dare.”
After a fleeting, genuine smile, she lifted her skirts and maneuvered her way into the masses of bodies decked out in historical finery, the likes of which Connor hadn’t glimpsed near the moor, in real time, for nearly two hundred years. There wasn’t a poorly rigged costume in the lot, and when he considered the sheer number, it all came down to two possibilities.
Either he had stumbled onto a set of a Regency period movie, or Soni’s uncle had deposited him back in history, and he truly was living out his two days of mortality in 1811—an era devoid of Irn-Bru and indoor plumbing, both of which he had been hoping to test.
Since there were no hulking camera’s positioned around the room, nor mobile telephones lifted into the air for a memorable selfie, he had to conclude that Wickham had performed a proper miracle—nearly as impressive as Soni’s feat of breathing life back into him. The question was why?
As Connor took a closer look at the body of party guests before him, noting the costumes once more, the steps to the dance underway, and the general manners on display, the answer came to him.
Wickham had, indeed, played a very cruel trick on him.
Plenty of lasses…
Aye, he’d been granted the company of more lasses than he could kiss in a month and still keep his head, in an age where those lasses wore gloves—specifically to protect themselves from being touched by a man, even while dancing…
CHAPTER FOUR
Mercy nearly fainted with relief when she caught sight of the elegant figure of her mortal enemy—Rupert Knowles, the Earl of Norleigh, the man responsible for her brother’s desperation, which drove him to take his own life.
The man she intended to ruin, and the sooner the better.
She regretted every lie that had paved her way back to London, especially those she’d told her sweet, unsuspecting cousin, Louis Condiff. He had taken her under his wing and called in more than a few favors to reintroduce her to society. Her actions would reflect poorly on him, she knew. But her regrets on his behalf could never compare to the regrets she would be left with if she chose a coward’s life instead of exacting justice for Denny.
Better to get it over and done as quickly as possible, she thought. For the longer she misled Louis, the more betrayed he would feel in the end.
Tonight. I could do it tonight.
Louis found her then, took a firm but gentle hold on her forearm, then hesitated. “Are you quite certain you wish to meet him? He’s not the sort I would have chosen—”
“Yes, Louis. I’m certain.”
Her cousin sighed, then smiled kindly at her. “I daresay, I shall never understand women.”
Mercy lifted onto her
toes and kissed his cheek. “Do not worry overmuch, for none of us wants to be completely understood, or you men would cease to find us interesting.”
“Doubtful.” He turned and dragged her along behind him in order to cut through the crush. When they emerged into a clear space, the enemy stood directly before her.
He nodded at Louis. “Condiff.”
Louis bowed his head. “Lord Norleigh.” He straightened and pulled Mercy closer to him. “May I present my cousin, Miss Mercy Kellaway, sister to the late Lord Dennison.”
The monster’s brows peaked, then fell quickly. “My condolences, Miss Kellaway. Your brother’s tragedy affected all of us who knew him.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She was grateful she could clench her teeth and still appear to be smiling. “He spoke very highly of you. I wanted you to know that. It is why I begged Louis to introduce us.”
The man’s thinly veiled discomfort at the compliment gave her an inordinate jolt of satisfaction, and she was suddenly hungry for more. But she’d said enough with so many witnesses about. Any more and she might show her hand, so she had to leave it up to the monster to make the next move.
His gaze slipped to her bosom and a genuine smile appeared. “I am gratified to hear that Denny spoke of me at all. And now that we’ve been introduced, I’m sure we’ll become great friends as well. Have you promised the next dance?”
“I have not.”
“Then promise it to me.”
“Of course.”
The music ended and Louis stepped back so Norleigh could lead her off toward the dance floor. Her poor cousin wore the same perplexed expression he’d had when she’d asked him to introduce her to the notoriously peevish rogue. But at least, when it was over, Louis would no longer believe she had poor taste in men, nor worry she was too ambitious for her own good. He would understand that all her flirting would have been for Denny’s sake, and not, in fact, for marriage or money.
The country dance afforded her little opportunity to speak to the man. Each time they came together, they immediately turned and stepped away again. A teasing ritual, to be sure. And luckily, it seemed to work on Norleigh. The man took every opportunity to glance at her bosom when he thought she wouldn’t notice. And when he did look her in the eye, she could tell he was growing more and more interested in her with each pass.
With the first round complete, she was forced to move away from Norleigh altogether, giving her a brief reprieve from his lustful attentions. Since she had little interest in her new partner, her gaze wandered to a familiar form surrounded by gentlemen in proper evening attire—a colorful peacock standing in the midst of half a dozen black crows, one of which was her cousin, Louis.
The Scotsman looked comfortable enough with the company he was keeping, but he frowned like an angry god while one of the gentlemen bent his ear. She would have loved to know what the taller man was saying.
She caught her partner’s attention and nodded at the crows. “Is that not Lord Ashmoore, speaking to the Scotsman?”
The man glanced over his shoulder, then nodded, too breathless to speak.
Mercy missed a few steps and hurried to recover. When next she looked up, the Earl of Northwick, known comrade to Ashmoore, was muttering something in the Scotsman’s other ear. Their two other friends nodded encouragingly from behind, while Louis looked on with a red face. But they all seemed to be frowning in the same direction, and when she followed their attention, she found Norleigh at the receiving end of it.
The monster was oblivious to everything else but gaining her attention again. And by the next round, she was back to her original place, standing opposite the man. She forced a smile, but it was less for Norleigh’s benefit than for the six men she knew were looking their way. In fact, her skin itched with the sensation of them watching her every move.
Had Louis told them of her request for an introduction to her dancing partner? Did they know what sort of man he was? For surely they suspected him of something sinister to focus their ire upon him.
But what truly stirred her curiosity was how their opinion of Norleigh related to the Scotsman—a man who was clearly a stranger to English High Society, and couldn’t possibly know who Norleigh was?
The tune came to an end and Mercy found herself dreading another moment of the monster looking where he should not. So she opened the small fan dangling from her wrist, fanned her face a few times, then rested it over her bosom.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” she said, already turning away from Norleigh. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
The man snatched her hand out of the air and pulled her back so he could kiss the back of her glove. “I’ll make certain of it, Miss Kellaway. Or may I call you Mercy?”
She couldn’t afford to dismiss the chance to sink the hook, so she lowered her voice seductively. “Why, Lord Norleigh, it is far too soon to be crying mercy. But I suspect it will happen…soon.”
He chuckled deep in his throat and bent over her hand again. But she slipped out of his grasp before his lips could touch, leaving him all but panting in her wake.
When she looked up, it was directly into the brooding face of the handsome Scot. They were practically nose to nose before she could stop. And he seemed to have as much trouble finding his tongue as she had.
CHAPTER FIVE
Moments before…
Since Connor couldn’t very well follow Miss Berry Lips around the dance floor, he did the second best thing which was following the man who seemed to be her escort. A brother? A cousin, perhaps? Not a suitor, surely, for he handed her off to another man.
While keeping a wary eye on the lass, the fellow wandered around the perimeter, bowing now and then, chatting a wee bit, then returning his attention to the dance floor. Though his attention showed concern, it seemed to lack the anger one would expect of a jealous man.
Once he found a place to settle and watch his charge, a strange thing happened. A rather intimidating group of men moved toward the fellow like a dark cloud. All four men managed to look both intent and pleasant, though the latter was hardly sincere.
Connor couldn’t help chuckling when the fellow realized what was happening. He obviously recognized the four, and though he was brave enough to stand his ground, their sudden appearance clearly distressed him. His face reddened. He stuck his hands in his pockets. And his shoulders hunched forward like a guilty lad caught out of school.
Intrigued, Connor wandered toward them, closing a 20-foot distance as quickly and casually as possible. He worried the conversation might have something to do with the lass, for one of the four was closely following her progress around the dance floor.
By the time Connor came within earshot, the escort was already defending himself.
“Of course I know better than to introduce her to Norleigh, but I tell you she asked specifically for the introduction. So what was I to do? Give her the sordid details of how the man manipulated Denny? What good would it do to prove her brother was a fool? His reputation has suffered enough in her eyes.”
The tall brunette standing to the left frowned at the dance floor for a moment then turned back. “I had heard the two were very close. “
The lass’ escort nodded vigorously. “Yes, Northwick, they were. At least in her eyes. Once Denny came into his own, she got pushed to the wayside. But that is to be expected.”
Northwick nodded. “I remember her from last year. Harcourt’s sister, Anna, forces us to attend two balls every season, and I remember Miss Kellaway as a shy, nervous girl. But she is hardly that tonight, Condiff.”
“I remember,” the escort, Condiff, said. “She is definitely not the same young woman she was last year. Though Denny’s death is explanation enough.”
The white-haired man, standing to the man’s right, shook his head sharply. “I would have thought the opposite, considering. A quiet, shy woman would have retreated further from society, I would think.” He shook his head again. “No. Something is not right.”
Condiff frowned. “Now that she is without a father or brother to see her settled, Your Grace, she has decided to find her own husband. I daresay she has chosen to put her reserve aside to that end. All she asked of me was an introduction to Norleigh.”
“I think she knows.” The somber man, and the largest among them, stood just behind the blond and narrowed his eyes while he watched the dancers. Then, quite suddenly, he turned and looked directly at Connor, as if he’d known he’d been listening all along. His expression was unreadable, and after a heartbeat or two, the large man returned his attention to Condiff. “Which begs the question, if she knows how horribly Norleigh treated her brother, why is she now dancing with the man?”
The fourth and final man blinked in surprise. “Do you really think so? Surely such a beauty wouldn’t have nefarious plans for Norleigh, in spite of the fact that he is Norleigh, of course.”
The four gentlemen studied the dance floor while Connor studied them. The poor cousin studied nothing at all while his mouth hung open and his eyes fixated on the floor. Obviously, he hadn’t suspected the little beauty of hunting for more than just a husband. But then, if they truly were standing in the early 1800’s, women weren’t given credit for much at all.
The one called Northwick cleared his throat pointedly. “If you’re right, Ash, what do we do to stop her?”
The fourth man snorted. “Why stop her? She would be doing Society a favor, and we know it.”
The blond rolled his eyes at his friend. “Think about it, Harcourt. We wouldn’t wish the jewelry on such a pretty neck to be traded for a noose, now would we?”
The fourth man, the one called Harcourt, conceded with a nod. “Quite right. But still, a pity.”
Northwick looked to Ashmoore. “First things first. We need to distract her.”
The somber man’s attention again turned to Connor. His other friends didn’t seem to notice as they began to fidget uncomfortably.