Henry shouldered his way through the throng, demanding to know what they were doing there. Sophie sorrowfully explained Aunt Finn’s sudden desire to dance and added, if Henry promised to watch over the lady, she’d gladly leave.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You will take her home with you directly!”
As her brother moved away, she saw she was, once again, the target of Kane’s dark, curious stare. Caught looking, he turned his head, but only partially this time, showing his profile as he talked to the rector.
He needed a shave and a hair trim, she mused idly. Someone ought to take better care of him. And then she chastised herself for those wistful fancies and reminded her inner hussy to behave. She’d already decided, hadn’t she? The stranger was not for her, and she’d caused enough trouble for her family already.
But even the way Lazarus Kane moved made her quite unaccountably feisty. It was a long time since she’d danced with a young man, but she remembered what it was like. And if she let her imagination wander, she could feel herself dancing with him, his strong hand lightly holding hers, his attention riveted on her. She began to get rather overheated.
***
Henry bellowed for his wife, but Lavinia wanted to stay longer and wouldn’t be removed unless he lifted her over his shoulder—an act at which stronger men than he would balk. Having found a small coven of like-minded complainers, she sat with them, holding court on the inadequacies of husbands, mixed in with some thoughts on fashion and the effectiveness of various lotions for wart removal. Sophie could hear her even from a good distance away and over the music.
Obviously frustrated, Henry now apprehended Aunt Finn and firmly seized her elbow. There was a brief scuffle, and Sophie watched her brother’s face darkening, his gestures growing stiff as he lost patience.
“You perspire, Henry,” Finn observed loudly. “You should worry less. Continue on this path, and you’ll be dead before you’re forty.” She laughed and shook her finger in his red face.
Sophie hid a smile and turned her attention to the other guests.
She watched as Kane danced with the equine Miss Osborne and then the Misses Dawkins—one after the other. There seemed no limit to his charm or energy. Just as she was thinking how hot he must be under his ivory silk cravat, he loosened it. Then he removed his fine jacket to continue in shirt and waistcoat, but not once did he sit out a dance until the band took a short rest. At one point, as he passed near her, the torchlight flickered across his crow-black hair, and she saw it was damp with sweat and sticking to his brow. As he blinked slowly, a small bead of water dripped from his jet lashes. He looked up abruptly, and their eyes met.
A sudden scream, followed by a loud splash, shattered the opportunity for any conversation.
All attention was drawn to the water trough by the cider barrel. There sprawled Henry, legs and arms dangling, his broad form half-submerged in the cold water. Aunt Finn stood calmly beside the trough, hands clasped behind her back, a large wet stain on the front of her gown. After a brief, stunned silence, the crowd broke into chuckles that soon swelled to a great drunken guffawing.
Sophie went to her brother’s aid, as did Lazarus, but Henry wanted no help and insisted on climbing out under his own power as he furiously cursed his host. Aunt Finn would, ever after, claim it was an accident he ended up in the water trough, but not a soul believed it—least of all Henry. Crimson-faced, he hissed at Sophie, “You’ll take her home at once.”
But Finn protested she’d not yet had her dance.
“For pity’s sake,” Henry snapped, “no one is going to dance with you. Your dancing days are long over. You will return to the house at once. Indeed, we all shall.”
He bellowed for Lavinia and turned on his heel, water squelching inside his shiny boots. The laughter now ended as most folk looked on in various shades of sympathy and disgust for Henry’s unkindness to Aunt Finn. Sophie, heart fallen to her knees, prepared to apologize on her brother’s behalf.
And then Lazarus said, “Miss Finn Valentine, would you do me the honor?”
He politely bowed his head and offered a hand to Aunt Finn. As if alerted by some subtle signal, the little band seated on a pile of hay bales nearby immediately struck up a tune. The crowd gathered around for another dance, forgetting the little scene around the water trough, and Finn, beaming anew, graciously accepted his hand.
Sophie could breathe again, but only somewhat unevenly.
With no further ado, Henry found Lavinia and steered her home, prodding at her with his cane whenever she snuffled in protest. He was so rattled he left Sophie behind. She took a few steps back into the shadows behind the cider barrel and waited for Aunt Finn to be done with her dance.
Chapter 12
No one watching Lazarus would guess the steps he showed off tonight were, like his manners, all very newly learned. But it was worth the sore feet, he thought, to have Miss Sophia Valentine’s sole attention.
The dance was coming to an end. He feared she would take her aunt and leave, so he desperately sought for some means to make them stay a while longer. He was saved the trouble when, suddenly, his partner claimed she had twisted her ankle. Helping her to a bench, he bade her sit and propped her injured foot up on a little milking stool.
She thanked him profusely. “You must tell my dear niece Sophie I cannot possibly be moved until my ankle stops throbbing. We must stay a while yet, I fear.” Then she licked her lips and blinked her feathery lashes, tilting in a half swoon.
He studied the lady, his eyes narrowed, as she removed her lace cap to fan herself. “Please do stay and rest,” he advised her. “I’ll find your niece and inform her.”
She reached for his sleeve, her fingers plucking it like the strings of a harp. “You know, young man, this house once belonged to my brother. We all lived here then, when my nieces and nephew were children.”
“Yes. Tuck told me.”
“Sophie loved this house, never wanted to leave it. How she cried when we were obliged to move up the lane to that fortress. Jeremiah, my dear brother, was not a lucky man with money, you see, Mr. Kane.” She sighed. “I fear his son is just the same. The ladies in this family have always suffered from their bad choices.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I must see my Sophie content, back at Souls Dryft where she belongs.” She paused for a breath then added, “By the by, our hens are off laying, Mr. Kane. Perhaps you might spare some eggs, should you remember us tomorrow morning. Come early if you can.”
He bowed quickly and walked away to deliver her message. As he neared the cider barrel, he caught part of a conversation between Sophie and her sister, Mrs. Bentley.
“Why could you not, for once, keep your tongue, Maria? Have I not suffered enough?”
“If you’re so mortified by it, you shouldn’t have written that advertisement.”
“Believe me, I regret it now. It was wrong of me to post such an advertisement without thinking of the consequences. Now he came all this way and must be disappointed by what he found. I cannot possibly make amends for the wrong I’ve done to the poor man.”
His heartbeat strengthened, and his feelings toward her warmed even further. She had no idea, of course, he’d been looking for her long before he learned of that advertisement.
The two women noticed him approaching through the flickering light of the rush torches, and Sophie immediately fell silent. He bowed and greeted the rector’s wife, who commenced chattering to him as if they were already in the midst of a conversation. He waited for her to be done, but Mrs. Maria Bentley could talk for considerable length without pausing for breath. His nerves were in a frayed, delicate state. This stupid awkwardness he suffered in Sophie’s presence might have been comical if he stopped to consider it—which he didn’t. He was too anxious for her attention and yet too fraught with nerves to claim it. By her gentle admission, she had knocked his thoughts all asunder.
From the corner of his eye, he saw that long tail o
f honey-colored hair pulled over her shoulder while she fidgeted with the end of it, curling it around her finger. In the mellow, shimmering torchlight, that color was even more intriguing, a cornucopia of ever-changing tones and shades, too many to count.
Mrs. Bentley talked on with no end in sight, apparently forgetting the very presence of her sister. He scratched his neck and fitted a finger under his cravat, which, although loosened, still felt much too tight. The noise of the crowd was beginning to annoy him, and he was thirsty, his throat as dry as a bone.
Sophie was watching the dancers, her face turned away. A shorter frond of hair escaped her ribbon and fluttered against the side of her neck, just below that small ear. He wanted to brush that tendril aside with his uncouth fingers, as he’d done in the church when he ran into her. His fingers coiled into a fist, this time resisting the urge, but the idea of touching her again took rapid possession until every nerve within his body came alive, jolted out of a long, deep sleep.
When he let out a sudden, soft groan, Maria finally ceased her chatter. Her eyes widened in apparent alarm. “Mr. Kane?”
He was still staring at Sophie’s neck and that thin sliver of golden hair. His hand flexed, prepared to do as it pleased without a care for propriety.
“Mr. Kane?” Maria persisted.
Sophie turned her face to look at him, and the stray lock of hair slid from his view. He coughed, one hand raised to his mouth. Her eyes were layered in the rich shades of an autumnal forest, pulling him in so far he heard wind-fallen leaves rustling under his feet—and her laughter, soft and breathless. He felt her hand, warm in his while he led her along to where the leaves were piled into a bed under the rich, golden canopy. There he laid her down, put his mouth to her ear, and whispered all his desires. The fantasy blossomed. He saw his hands removing her gown and her petticoats. Would she cry out when his lips took possession of her nipple for the first time? He stared and imagined he could see a sharp little peak there, pushing through the thin material of her old blue gown. He bit down on his lip. Lust, greedy and quick, soared through his body. When he entered her for the first time, would she arch her back as she did when leaning from the bridge to reach for a hawthorn flower? He could already hear her sighs and moans, could feel her breath softly brush his cheek as her body welcomed him in at last…and he drove himself deeper…and deeper.
Lost in his vision, Lazarus was quite unaware of his hand moving. Until she blinked, and the spell was broken.
“You must excuse me,” he croaked, bowing very stiffly and almost double before hurrying away like a man with his boots on fire.
***
“How very odd,” Maria whined. “What can he mean by walking away like that?”
Sophie couldn’t reply. She could hardly even breathe.
Because, in the darkness, his little finger had brushed against her hand.
Perhaps it was by accident alone. If his finger hadn’t curled so slowly against her palm, she might have thought it was just that—a mistake. But she’d looked into his eyes and read thoughts that shocked her. Aroused her.
Now he walked out into the brighter light of the yard, where he stopped to talk with Jane Osborne. Sophie looked for her aunt and saw the lady sitting on a bench, clapping along to the music, one foot resting on a milking stool.
She moved quickly across the yard, but before she reached her destination, Farmer Osborne stepped in her path and playfully demanded a dance. She felt Lazarus watching her through the crowd, his regard still heated and lusty.
“Of course, Mr. Osborne.” She accepted the elderly gentleman’s hand and let him sweep her off for a jig.
Luckily, she hadn’t forgotten the steps after so long with no opportunity to dance. When younger, she’d often enjoyed trips to the assembly rooms in Morecroft for the monthly balls. She and her sister would dress up in their best gowns and curl their hair. But that was a long time ago. These days Maria was busy with her own family, and Sophie stayed away from Morecroft as much as possible, rather than suffer being stared at. Tonight she felt a little stab of wistfulness for the old days. As she looked across the yard, she caught Maria’s eye and smiled. Her sister was tapping her feet to the music, head bobbing, and suddenly it seemed like yesterday when they would giggle together in their bed and talk over the happenings at some ball or party, or gossip about other girls and handsome young men. Speculating on whom they would one day marry.
Certainly, she thought with a wry smile, Maria had never shown any fancy for clergymen, and she’d never imagined herself advertising for a husband in a farmer’s gazette. Funny how life turned out.
Suddenly the dance was over. Breathless, still smiling, she stumbled directly into the arms of Lazarus Kane.
“There she is,” exclaimed Aunt Finn, who had hold of his sleeve in her fingers as if she’d just dragged him across the yard like a naughty boy. “Mr. Kane wishes to dance with you, Sophie. He’s been waiting all this time.”
He looked slightly bemused, but then he smiled, and it lit up his entire face.
She couldn’t very well refuse, could she? And since Henry wasn’t there…
“I suppose I have time for one dance,” she muttered. “And then we really must leave.”
As Lazarus took her hand and led her into the line of couples, whispers fluttered in the air around them on all sides, curiosity swooping like a flock of seagulls over broken crab shells on the sands.
“Don’t mind them,” he muttered from the side of his lips.
“I don’t.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t,” she repeated firmly. It would be good for them all to see her dance with him, she decided. Then they would know there was no awkwardness between them and no reason for any further speculation.
The dance began. She tried to avoid his direct gaze but soon found it impossible. She could see her face reflected in his dark, satiny pupils as he looked down at her, rarely blinking.
“Ouch,” she said when he stepped on her toe.
He mumbled an apology and promptly stepped on her foot again, his gaze still trained upon her face.
“You didn’t seem to have this much trouble with your other partners,” she observed curtly.
He gave a sheepish grin and turned her just a little too fast. “You have an extraordinary effect on me, Miss Valentine. As your aunt has already observed. A very clever lady.”
“Will you please pay attention to the steps? And you’re holding my hand too tightly.” His palm was very hot and clammy.
“I don’t want you to get away again.”
She glowered at him.
He laughed softly. “You can stop pretending you didn’t want to dance with me.”
“I didn’t,” she objected. “I was forced into it by my aunt.”
“Your aunt is a sweet lady.”
“Sweet? Don’t be fooled, Mr. Kane. None of the women in our family are sweet or delicate, despite appearances.”
“Oh, I know you are not what you appear to be,” he said with a wink. “Hold tight!” He spun her again, far faster than necessary. She tripped over her hem and fell against his torso, giving him the excuse to put his hands on her waist while she found her balance. “I bet you’re a damn good card player,” he added.
She was, as a matter of fact. It was a skill inherited from her aunt. “Mr. Kane, you are bold and presumptuous.”
“How else can a man get what he wants out of life?”
She rolled her eyes to the starlit sky. “Thank goodness not all men think like you. Where would we be if everyone cast aside rules and propriety and forgot their manners?”
He leaned down to whisper against her brow. “I’d be with you, madam, and I know exactly what we’d be doing.”
As much as she might like to misunderstand, his meaning was shockingly clear.
“Not dancing,” he clarified with a grin.
She merely shook her head. She was unable to speak just then, still recovering from the stroke of his breath
against her temple.
“You think me too forward,” he added.
A slight understatement, she mused.
“But I like to get all my cards out on the table. I don’t waste time.”
She swallowed a groan of despair as he tossed her about again like a rag doll. All the other couples danced demurely and elegantly, while she felt as if she’d been dragged through a hedge by her feet.
“Your brother doesn’t like me much, does he?”
Again she shook her head.
“Is that why you keep running away from me?”
“Certainly not. I do not run away from you, Mr. Kane.”
“Yes, you do.” He stuck out his jaw. “Five times now we’ve encountered each other in private. Twice you ran away. Once you simply backed away and hid behind your sister-in-law. The other times, you railed at me for helping you over a puddle and slammed a door in my face.”
“I was…embarrassed. Mortified by your behavior.”
“Nonsense. You’re not embarrassed, Miss Valentine.” He tightened his hold on her hand, almost squeezing the blood out of it. “You’re afraid.”
“Of what?” she scoffed, annoyed by his smug assumption.
“Of what you want from me.”
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words to protest.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid of how badly you hunger for it and of what you might do to get it. I understand you’ve been known to take drastic measures in the past.”
The music ended. She finally unwedged her hand from his great paw. “Thank you, Mr. Kane. That was most amusing. Good evening.”
“Thank you, Miss Valentine. Now this entire party was worthwhile.”
“Worthwhile?” She scowled, hands raised to tidy her hair.
Most Improper Miss Sophie Valentine Page 9