Secrets of a Proper Lady

by Victoria Alexander

  He watched her pause to exchange words with a small group of guests. Norcroft and Creswell had both said he needed a plan. Pity he didn’t have one beyond Creswell’s suggestion to continue his deception and his own questionable idea of making her turn away from him as Warren and toward him as…him. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t the vaguest idea how he was going to accomplish that. He had to be his most charming of course, sweep her off her feet if possible. If he could just get her to like him a little, then when he confessed all maybe she wouldn’t completely detest him. Hopefully she’d find it in her heart to forgive him sooner rather than later. With luck she’d even find it amusing. After all, he had.

  Of course, he wasn’t the one who had given his virginity and his heart to someone who’d been lying to him.

  Daniel summoned his courage and started to make his way in her direction. He’d never considered himself the least bit cowardly but telling Cordelia the truth terrified him. He could very well lose her and now that he’d at last realized how much she meant to him, he didn’t think he could bear that. And then there was the question of the inheritance she was apparently unaware of. As much as he needed it, he’d sacrifice it in a heartbeat to avoid losing her. Still, with luck, she wouldn’t know anything about it until they were wed and on their way back to Baltimore. Warren was already making arrangements for them to sail within the week. Daniel brushed aside the thought that keeping silent might be the tiniest bit deceitful. But hopefully, by the time she learned of her inheritance, she would have transferred her affection from Warren to him. She was in love with him after all and the only thing that had changed was his name and his position in life. Besides, when all was considered rationally, he was a much better catch than Warren. Surely, she’d see that eventually.

  Or she’d strangle him with her bare hands.

  He stepped up behind her and resisted the impulse to lean forward and kiss the back of her neck. Daniel adopted his most charming smile. “Might I be so bold as to ask for this dance?” He braced himself. “Lady Cordelia.”

  She turned toward him. “Apparently, my mask has not provided an adequate disguise.” Cordelia gazed up at him and he thought his heart would stop. “Mr. Sinclair.”

  He chuckled with as much relief as amusement. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought. “How did you know?”

  “I might ask you the same.”

  I would know you with my eyes closed. From across a room or a city or a sea. “I made it my business to know.”

  She smiled politely. “How very efficient of you.”

  “I can be most efficient.” I can be most efficient? He cringed to himself. No, no, he needed to be charming not efficient. “But I see your glass is empty.” He signaled a passing waiter, exchanged her empty glass for a filled one, and took one for himself.

  “That was efficient,” she murmured.

  “And thoughtful,” he said without thinking.

  “Yes, of course. Most thoughtful.” She laughed, and why wouldn’t she? He was a bumbling idiot.

  Charming, he needed to be charming. He raised a glass to her. “I find there’s nothing more refreshing on a warm summer evening than champagne.”

  “Or any evening.” She touched her glass to his and took a sip.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he said and immediately regretted it. There was nothing charming about being overeager.

  “Which question was that, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “How did you know who I was?” He tried and failed to hide the note of hope in his voice. Was it even remotely possible that she already knew everything? It would certainly make his life less difficult.

  “Your accent, Mr. Sinclair,” she said coolly and his spirits sank. “Your mask merely covers your eyes, not your mouth, and an American accent is quite distinct. Besides, I suspect, aside from your father, there are no other Americans present.”

  He smiled weakly. “I’ve been told we all sound alike.”

  “Now that you mention it, I believe you do. How very remarkable.”

  Damnation. Of course Americans would sound alike if the only ones she knew were the same man. He really had to be more careful with his words. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Come now, Mr. Sinclair, falsehoods, even pleasant ones, are not the way to begin our acquaintance.”

  “I have been looking forward to meeting you,” he said staunchly.

  “And yet you’ve made no effort to do so. You haven’t called on me here in London, nor did you appear at my door in Brighton.”

  “I was…” He coughed. “Not well in Brighton.”

  “And how is your health now?”

  “Excellent.” He nodded. “I’ve never felt better.”

  “It’s probably the sea air in Brighton. It’s so—”

  “Bracing?”

  She nodded. “That’s exactly the word I was going to use.”

  This was going well. His tension eased and he leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “I suspect we have a great deal in common.”

  “Besides word usage and finding the air in Brighton to be bracing? I daresay, I haven’t noticed any similarities between us thus far.”

  “You haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “We’ve been writing to one another for weeks now.”

  Yet another ill-fated plan. He chose his words carefully. “Admittedly, in the beginning, my letters might have been somewhat—”

  “Annoying? Irritating? Infuriating?”

  “They could have been so much worse,” he said under his breath.

  “I don’t see how.”

  Perhaps it was best to drop this particular subject. “May I ask you something, Lady Cordelia?”

  “Of course, Mr. Sinclair.”

  He studied her for a moment. “When you first learned of this arrangement of marriage between us, how did you feel about it?”

  “Shall I respond in the polite, flirtatious manner of party banter, Mr. Sinclair, or do you want the truth?”

  He chuckled. “I’d prefer polite, flirtatious banter but I think, at this point, honesty between us might be best.”

  “I quite agree, Mr. Sinclair.” She stared at him in a direct manner. “And I should say, in the interest of honesty, I was not at all pleased that my father had seen fit to take my life in his hands and arrange a marriage for me.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I find it no less annoying even given its inevitability.”

  “It’s inevitability,” he said slowly. “Dare I take that to mean that you do indeed intend to marry me?”

  “How businesslike of you, Mr. Sinclair, and very American I would think, to be so direct and efficient. To dispense with silliness like romance or flirtation. To make no effort whatsoever to be charming.”

  He drew his brows together. “Wasn’t I being charming?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I can be very charming.” An indignant note sounded in his voice.

  “Can you?”

  “Indeed, I have never had a woman complain about my lack of charm before.”

  She laid a hand on his arm, sympathy sounded in her voice. “Perhaps the tension inherent in our first meeting has taken a toll on your charm.”

  “I wasn’t aware of any tension,” he said with a huff.

  “Might I suggest, Mr. Sinclair, it might be best if you were to be yourself and didn’t try quite so hard to be someone you are not. Charming, as it were.”

  She was right. He was trying entirely too hard. Still, he was charming. Naturally charming. He sipped his champagne and studied her. “You should know, under other circumstances, I am considered to have a forthright, charming manner.”

  “I have no doubt of it and I am most relieved. All women want a man who can be charming. I am no exception.”

  “And do you want romance as well?”

  “Well, it seems to me if we are to spend the rest of our lives together, a certain element of romance would be
nice.”

  “I see.” He paused to choose his words. “Are we to spend the rest of our lives together then?”

  She laughed. “You are persistent, aren’t you?”

  “When there is something I want, yes.”

  “Something you want? If you’re speaking of me, I’m flattered. Possibly even charmed.” She considered him for a moment. “You want to know right this very minute?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “You are an impatient man, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Not at all. I consider myself extremely patient under most circumstances. These however are not most circumstances. You can scarcely blame me for being eager to know my fate.”

  “Your fate?” She sipped her wine. “It sounds so dire.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose it does.”

  “Is it? Dire that is? Marrying someone you scarcely know for reasons you had no say in.” She sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “It was in the beginning,” he said quickly. “But now.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Now I can see that things work out remarkably well just when one least expects them to.”

  “My, my, Mr. Sinclair, that was charming and most romantic.”

  “I told you,” he said with a smug smile. He lowered her hand but continued to hold it. It was most improper but she didn’t object. That was a good sign. “Now, then, Lady Cordelia, are you going to marry me?”

  “So much for charming and romantic.” She pulled her hand from his. “I’m afraid, Mr. Sinclair, that it simply isn’t done this way. One doesn’t announce a decision of this magnitude at the beginning of a party.”

  “One doesn’t?”

  “Of course not. It would be like knowing the end of a play shortly after the curtain rises on the first act. Or reading the end of a book before one is finished with the first chapter. Regardless of the circumstances, you and I have really just met. Why, whatever decision I might have made prior to meeting you face-to-face—”

  “Or mask to mask.”

  “—might not be at all what I want to do once I have shared an evening with you. Besides, it would take all the excitement out of the night, the anticipation as it were, the uncertainty.”

  He smiled in a wry manner. “I’ve never been fond of uncertainty.”

  “Then this will be good for your character.” She nodded firmly and sipped her champagne.

  “But you will tell me tonight?”

  “You assume I’ve already made my decision, but perhaps I haven’t. It might well be contingent on what happens tonight. One never knows how one might feel after an intriguing evening of flirtation and conversation that sounds most proper on the surface but is actually fraught with all sorts of innuendo and promises.”

  “And charm and romance?”

  “Most certainly.” She smiled. “Preferably under the stars—”

  He glanced up. “We are under the stars.”

  “With music playing somewhere off in the distance.”

  He nodded in the direction of the balcony. “There is music.”

  “And dancing.” She shook her head. “I could never agree to marry a man I haven’t danced with.”

  “Then we shall have to remedy that.” He drained his glass, plucked hers from her hand, set both glasses on the balustrade, and offered his arm. “They are playing a Viennese waltz, Lady Cordelia, and I confess the waltz is my favorite dance.”

  “There now, you were right. That is something else we have in common.” She took his arm. “Do you know the waltz was once considered quite scandalous?”

  They took their position on the floor. “I can certainly see why.”

  “Can you?” She placed her right hand on his shoulder and his muscles tensed with the memory of her fingers on his bare flesh.

  “I can indeed.” He took her left hand in his right, his left hand rested lightly on the small of her back.

  “It doesn’t seem at all scandalous to me.”

  “Doesn’t it, Lady Cordelia?” Was there anything more scandalous than the desire that had swept through him the moment he had taken her in his arms? “Holding a lovely woman in your arms, in what amounts to public with the implied consent of said public.” He pulled her closer and stared down at her. “It’s quite intoxicating.”

  Cordelia’s tone was cool. “You’re holding me entirely tighter than is proper, Mr. Sinclair.”

  He leaned close to her ear. “I am well aware of that, Lady Cordelia.”

  “You should really loosen your grip, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should, Lady Cordelia.” He grinned a slow wicked grin. “But I have no intention of doing so.” Not now, not ever.

  With that he swept her into the dance. The music swelled around them and without warning the perfection of the moment struck him. The three-quarter time of the music, the swirl of the dance, the night sky, and the woman in his arms. The woman he loved who loved him back, even if she didn’t yet realize he was the one she loved.

  She would. He was confident of that. He hadn’t been confident of much of anything since he had learned of his pressing need for funds coupled with the revelation of Cordelia’s identity. Cordelia laughed, whether with the exhilaration of the dance or some secret thought of her own, he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he laughed with her. Yes, at this moment there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that everything between them would ultimately be…perfect.

  The dance drew to a close and he held her a moment longer than was proper. And she didn’t pull away.

  Maybe he would even tell her the truth tonight. He hadn’t intended to, but then his intentions were rather vague and ill formed. Still, the sooner they put all this behind them, the sooner they could get on with their lives. The sooner she would be permanently in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

  At last he reluctantly released her and stared down at her. “That was delightful, Lady Cordelia.”

  “I must agree, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “I will remember our first dance together always. Under the stars. On a warm summer night.”

  For a moment, she stared at him. “Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair, that was most charming.”

  He raised his brow under his mask. “And romantic?”

  “Definitely romantic,” she said in a satisfyingly breathless way. This was going better than he had hoped.

  He drew a deep breath. “We have a great deal to talk about, you and I.”

  “I suspect we do.” Her gaze strayed to a point behind him. “However, I believe guests are being ushered toward the ballroom. It appears the entertainment is about to begin. We should join—”

  “No,” he said quickly, grabbed her hand, and led her down the terrace steps toward the gardens.

  “But I understand the lady who is to sing is quite wonderful and—”

  “And I will arrange for you to hear her at another time,” he said over his shoulder.

  They passed any number of people heading for the ballroom who might have looked at them with curiosity as to why they were headed in the opposite direction and just what the tall, dark-haired man pulling the lady in the fashionable, but scandalous, green gown had on his mind. He might not have had a lot of good ideas when it came to what to do about Cordelia, but wearing masks tonight was definitely brilliant.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We need to speak privately.”

  “I thought we were speaking privately.”

  “Not privately enough,” he muttered. “We have a matter of great importance to discuss.”

  In spite of his lack of a definitive plan, Daniel had taken the opportunity before her arrival to explore the various garden paths and knew this one, although lit as they all were with lanterns, ended in a secluded spot complete with bench and appropriately romantic garden statue of a scantily clad Greek couple entwined in each other’s arm. “This will do.”

  “This will do for what?” She yanked her hand from his. “You should know I do not appreciate being hauled
through a garden like a child. And furthermore, Mr. Sinclair—”

  “Daniel.”

  “What?”

  “You should call me Daniel. Given the circumstances, you and I should call one another by our given names. From this moment on, I want you to call me Daniel and I fully intend to call you Cordelia.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have not given you permission to call me Cordelia.”

  “And yet, I will call you Cordelia,” he snapped, trying and failing to keep his mind on the matter at hand. It was remarkably difficult to think about anything other than what her crossed arms were doing to her bosom in that dress. “And you will call me Daniel.”

  “Very well then.” She fairly spit the word. “Daniel.”

  “I like the way you say it, the way it rolls lightly off your tongue,” he said sharply. “Perhaps you could say it again?”

  She stared at him for a moment and he wasn’t sure but he thought the corners of her lips might have tipped upward just a bit. “Daniel.” She unfolded her arms—thank God—and flicked open the fan that dangled from a loop at her wrist. “Did you know your name means wrath of God in Hebrew.”

  “It means God is my judge.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly.

  She snorted in disdain. “And not your only judge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there are probably many people passing judgment on your behavior. Your father perhaps, your investors, me—”

  “You?”

  “Your letters.” She pointed the fan at him.

  “Yes, of course, you’re right. I do owe you an apology, Cordelia. Initially, it seemed to me we would both be better served if you didn’t like me and therefore rejected this marriage.”

  “I see.” She thought for a long moment. “That was really rather clever of you. I have to admit, the same idea occurred to me in the beginning although I did not actively carry it out.”

  “You called me an ill-mannered, uncivilized twit.” He snorted. “That sounds remarkably active to me.”