by Linda Banche
And then crashed to the floor when she also smiled at that snake in gentleman’s clothing, Bray.
He leaned against a pillar and crossed his arms. He looked up. And cursed.
Above Penelope, crammed into the corner between wall and ceiling, was mistletoe. When he’d come in, the only mistletoe in the room was in the kissing bough. He was positive of that.
This cluster was even bigger than the plant he had seen—thought he had seen—in the apple tree. Indeed, every time mistletoe appeared over her, the benighted clump had grown larger. This sprig sagged under its load of ivory berries. Even with plucking a berry with each kiss, he could kiss Penelope and himself senseless before he used them all up. Just as he had long ago…
Damnation. He thought he had forgot that.
Mistletoe, magic or not, had disappeared from his mind when she came in. All he had seen was her.
But the blasted weed had returned.
He needed a drink. Several drinks. And then a few more.
The orchestra struck up the first strains of a waltz.
Charles tapped his foot, not in time to the music.
A lady passed by. She looked down and frowned.
He gave a weak smile and stopped his errant tapping.
Couples, laughing and talking, jostled him as they passed by to take their places for the dance.
Edward, his face as merry as ever, stopped before him. “Having a good time?”
Charles blinked. “Yes, a very pleasant house party. And you have used all the greenery we found to good advantage. Especially the mistletoe.”
Edward arched an eyebrow. “We found no mistletoe. The maids made that decoration—” he tilted his chin toward the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier, not the mass over Penelope “—from the mistletoe the gardeners bought in Yorkshire.” He assumed an expression too innocent for belief. “We could have used that huge clump you found in the orchard.”
“I was mistaken. When I got closer, I discovered the plant was some weed I cannot name.”
“Indeed.” The merriment once more filled Edward’s eyes. “Is there any more mistletoe in the room?”
Of course, there was. Penelope sat below a bunch whose size rivaled the kissing bough. But he couldn’t admit that. His friend already believed he had a tendre for her, if he didn’t think he was out-and-out mad. No reason to provide more fodder for jokes at his own expense. “No. I must have imagined the mistletoe before.”
“As you say.” Edward smirked. “But if you will excuse me, I must find my partner for this set.”
He walked away. A servant intercepted him and they spoke. Then Edward doubled back to Charles. “I must attend to a domestic matter. Will you partner the young lady who granted me this dance?
As if the night weren’t already the epitome of Hell, now Edward wanted to saddle him with some antidote. “Very well,” he said through stiff lips. “Who is she?”
“Miss Penelope Lawrence.”
If Charles could have, he would have strangled Edward on the spot. His former friend probably did this apurpose. Most likely, he or Jane also arranged the dinner table seating so that he sat beside Penelope every night. Edward had certainly maneuvered him into the orchard this afternoon.
Well, two could play this game. He smoothed his features into a copy of Edward’s guileless mask. “Can you not find someone else?”
Edward’s jaw almost hit his chest. Then his head whipped from side to side as he looked around the room. “I do not see anyone—”
As I thought. With an inward chuckle, Charles gave in. “Far be it from me to leave a lady in the lurch. Of course, I will take your dance.” He raised his eyebrows, still all innocence. “Are you sure you did not plan this?”
“You misjudge me, sir.” Edward’s injured expression was as artificial as his previous feigned truthfulness.
“Quite.” Charles grinned. “Be certain I will pay you back.”
Edward barked out a laugh. “Please do.” He gathered up the servant and then quit the room.
Calling down curses on Edward and his wretched sense of humor, Charles nodded and smiled as he made his way through the crush toward Penelope.
She wore a lovely white gown. The silk hugged her slender figure, outlining all the curves that had imprinted themselves on his body during their kisses. Her bodice was a trifle low, and that hint of a slot between her breasts made his mouth water.
Little heed as he paid to ladies’ fashions, even he could tell her dress was out of date.
His step faltered. He knew that gown. She had worn the exact same dress five years ago tonight when she accepted his marriage proposal.
Could that blackguard Bray be right and she was after him? Was she somehow involved with the mistletoe legend? Was she in league with Edward and Jane?
More and more questions swirled through his mind, spawning a black cloud that grew blacker by the second.
Mayhap she had brought up those apple blossoms this afternoon as part of the plot. That gown could be the culmination of her design.
He tightened his jaw. If she thought he would fall at her feet because of any fond memories of the previous night she wore that dress, she had better think again
***
Penelope clasped her hands tight to still their trembling. Mr. Bray was serious in his pursuit. Despite her disinterest, he persisted. Life with Aunt Lydia was difficult, but she could leave if she chose. If she wed Mr. Bray, she would be tied for life to a man she feared.
Even worse, he might not marry her. And when he was done with her, even her aunt wouldn’t take her in.
She inhaled and then released the air slowly. Lord Preston had franked her letter to Aunt Elizabeth yesterday. If she received an answer soon, she could escape by New Year’s.
She forced her hands open and smoothed her skirt. She had last worn this gown when Charles proposed. In the aftermath of that dreadful night, she had packed away the dress and its painful memories. She should have thrown the garment out, but now, she had nothing else suitable for a companion at a ball.
A few bars of music drifted from the orchestra, announcing the start of the next set. Charles, head and shoulders taller than most of the other men, strode this way, parting the sea of people as if he were a ship under full sail.
The exiles of the ball—matrons, chaperones, companions and wallflowers—lined the wall beside Penelope. Maybe he intended to ask a wallflower to dance.
He stopped before her and bowed. “Miss Lawrence, our dance is starting.” He extended his white-gloved hand.
“Mr. Gordon.” Aunt Lydia’s tones were frosty. “I need my companion present at all times. I cannot allow her to dance.”
“Lady Bayle, Mr. Preston is unable to accompany Miss Lawrence and asked me to partner her in his stead.” His words were sharp. “Would you insult him by refusing to allow Miss Lawrence to dance?”
Aunt Lydia sputtered. “How dare you!”
Penelope held her breath. If she accepted his offer, Aunt Lydia would rake her over the coals. Still…
Charles’s eyes sparked grey fire. He believed her a coward. She would show him!
“Thank you for taking Edward’s place. I would love to dance.” She laid her hand in his and rose to accompany him to the dance floor.
Aunt Lydia’s eyes burned. “You shall pay for this, my girl.”
Penelope’s stomach twisted, but she ignored her aunt.
After a few more experimental squeaks, the musicians launched into a waltz. Charles’s strong hand around hers was gentle but firm. His other hand pressed against her spine with a light touch that seeped warmth through her entire body. So many times she had dreamed of nestling in Charles’s embrace.
Neither spoke as they spun through the dance.
The voices of the guests, the scuffing of shoes on the parquet floor and the hiss of candle flames faded away. Penelope closed her eyes and surrendered to the enchantment of movement and music in the arms of the only man she had ever loved.
When the melody’s tempo slowed, she opened her eyes.
The hardness in Charles’s eyes had softened, his face now as tender as when they courted.
She sighed. “Thank you for rescuing me from Aunt Lydia. I should not be ungrateful, but sometimes she is a sore trial.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Indeed.”
At peace with each other for now, they danced. He held her at the correct distance, but within the magic of the moment, he clasped her to his heart, never to let her go.
All too soon, the tune ended. Couples separated, but Charles kept her hand in his. A low murmur arose as the orchestra members shuffled sheets of music in preparation for the next dance in the set.
The noise provided the cover she needed to thank him for his gift. She stepped a little closer. “Thank you for the boots.” She kept her voice low.
He coughed and tilted his head away. “Boots? What boots?” His reply was equally low.
“Come now, sir. I found the cobbler’s note in the box, saying to deliver the boots to you. I sorely need them.”
He squeezed her hand. “My pleasure.”
“I regret the only thing I could give you was a handkerchief.”
“You sent that handkerchief?” He smiled. “Thank you.”
She gave him an answering smile. “I do so love dancing. Saying you were doing Edward a favor was a stroke of genius. He did not reserve this set.”
His grin stretched. “I suspected as much. He told me he did.”
“He tricked you. Another part of his and Jane’s plot, I suppose. You may return me to my aunt, if you wish. I shall say I feel ill.”
“Nonsense. I asked you to dance, and dance we shall.” The first strains of the next waltz in the set floated over the room.
Once more, Charles gathered her close.
Chapter 12
She was soft and warm. She smelled of apple blossoms, as she had when they kissed under the mistletoe after he proposed. He hated to see her kowtowing to her aunt, although he suspected at least part of her behavior was an act.
Perhaps they could make up their differences.
They swirled into a turn.
Bray, the man’s lip curling in his habitual sneer, lounged against a pillar, watching them.
As if a pierced by a sharp stick, Charles’s bright bubble ruptured.
No matter how many times he told himself to ignore Bray’s insinuations, they rankled. Especially since, to all appearances, Penelope had enjoyed her dance with the scoundrel.
A devil took up residence on his shoulder. Was she playing them against each other? She had never been devious, but people change. “I am surprised Lady Bayle disapproved of your dancing.”
Penelope’s smile was wry. “She usually does.”
“But you danced with Bray.”
Her smile faded. “Aunt Lydia urged me to.”
The devil on his shoulder got the best of him. “Did you enjoy the dance?” His words came out harsher than he intended.
She stiffened. “Yes, as much as I could. I have not danced above a half dozen times this past year. Since Aunt approved, I could not refuse.”
So, she had liked it…and Bray, too?
Everything about the past few days—the mistletoe apparently only he could see, everyone laughing at him, Bray sniffing at her skirts—surged up to grip him in an unreasoning vise. “May I speak plainly?”
Her eyes hooded, but she nodded.
“If you are angling for a suitor, I warn you against Bray.”
She inhaled sharply. “Good gracious, plain-speaking, indeed. But any connection I may have with Mr. Bray is not your concern.”
“Yes, it is. You are hardly the innocent when you continually stand beneath the mistletoe, begging for someone to kiss you.”
“Mistletoe?” She looked up. “I could not stand under mistletoe all the time. The only mistletoe is this kissing bough. The servants hung the garland this evening.”
“Come now. That first night, you stood beneath a clump in the drawing room after dinner. The second night, too. And, how about the sprig in the front foyer the following morning, and the small parlor? Also, in the rose garden and the orchard. Not to mention the sewing room, and here, as you sat by your aunt.”
Her lips thinned. “You are mistaken. This bough is the only mistletoe anywhere.”
“Did you truly not see any of it? Or are you in league with Edward and Jane and that idiotic legend in your efforts to entice me?”
Her eyes flashed. “You conceited gudgeon! As if I would entice a man who led me on so cruelly.”
The sensible part of his mind raged at him to leave the past buried, but, as if her betrayal had occurred yesterday, all the remembered agony welled up like a poisonous cloud and choked him. “As I recall, madam, I am the injured party. You left me.”
She went rigid. “You remember incorrectly. You left me that Christmas Eve, never to return.”
“Because your father sent me a letter the next day, saying you refused to marry a poor man.”
“What!” The word came out as a shriek. “I know of no such letter.”
“No?” He slitted his eyes. “You discarded me, and then ran away so quickly I could not find and challenge you.”
She trembled. “You wrong me, sir.”
“Have I? How tenderly you promised to wed me. But less than half a day later, you withdrew your pledge, without even the decency to reject me in person. These past few days, I believed you had changed. I was mistaken. You are a heartless woman, and I thank Providence I missed being shackled to you for life.”
She came to such a sudden halt the couple behind them bumped into them. “Who are you to call me heartless? My father showed me your letter, that hateful letter declaring you would not marry such a childish miss as I.” Her voice quavering, she shook off his hands and stepped back.
He lowered his arms to his sides and balled his fists. “I wrote you no letter. After I left you that night, I asked your father for your hand in marriage. He laughed and said you refused to wed me. I argued with him, but he had me physically removed from the house. His letter the next day confirmed your disfavor.”
“There was no letter. Before we met that night, I told my father that I wanted to marry you above all things. I awaited your call on Christmas Day, but Papa gave me your note.” She turned her head away and swiped her fingers across her cheek.
Was she crying? His heart wrenched, but they would have this out now.
The music had stopped. The other couples on the dance floor murmured and shook their heads.
They were making a terrible scene.
He didn’t care a whit.
“When I came back the next afternoon, the knocker was off your front door and the townhouse deserted. The neighbors said your family had repaired to your estate in Kent. I was so desperate, I begged a ride from strangers to your house, but no one was there, either. The skeleton staff told me you were in London. As I walked home, a snowstorm blew up. I might have frozen to death, but a kindly carter took me up and back into town.”
He stepped toward her, but she didn’t retreat. “Whenever I was not at work, I waited in front of your house for your return. I spent so much time there, the neighbors called the Watch. I even asked Lady Bayle for your address. She sent me on a wild goose chase to Scotland.”
She lifted her chin, any evidence of tears gone. “After I read your letter, I ran out of the house without my pelisse to come to you. My father caught me. Despite my pleas, he bundled me into the coach and sent me to Cornwall.” Her eyes narrowed. “However much you claim you searched for me, you never replied to any of my letters.”
“I received no letters.”
She drew herself up to her full height, her magnificent cinnamon eyes spitting fire. “Oh, so you can accuse me, but I cannot accuse you? I sent you dozens of letters. I would have run away to Gretna Green with you, if you had asked.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But you were toying with me. I burned your lette
r, but I regret that I still remember every brutal word it contained.”
A tiny ray of light splintered the venomous cloud surrounding him. Could she be telling the truth?
But then the cloud thickened, obliterating the pitiful shard of light. “What a convenient excuse. ‘You would have run away with me’.” He parroted her words in a sing-song voice. “If you wanted me, you would have found some way to contact me.”
He crossed his arms. “Your situation has vastly declined since our last meeting. Are you here to snabble a husband to rescue you from your besom of an aunt? Is Bray one of your candidates? Now that I have money, am I a target, too?”
Her jaw dropped. “You dreadful man! You think you made a happy escape? No, sir, I am the one who escaped. Aunt Lydia is difficult, but life with you would have been a descent into Hell.” She looked away. “I feel unwell and wish to return to my aunt.”
He bowed. “As you will.” He stared straight ahead as he escorted her through the muttering couples on the dance floor.
When they reached Lady Bayle, Penelope curtseyed and sat, still without looking at him.
He bowed. “Thank you for the dance, and good evening.” He strode away, the crowd parting before him.
“You wicked girl.” Lady Bayle hissed. “Your behavior was horrible. I shall never live this down.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Penelope’s voice, full of weariness, floated over the hushed room.
***
Every muscle taut, Charles stalked out of the ballroom. Fate was vicious to bring Penelope and him together again. Five years ago, she had shattered his heart into tiny pieces, and now she did the exact same thing.
As much as he didn’t want to, he cast one farewell glance back.
Penelope, her face as bleached as a sheet, sat ramrod straight.
Although he couldn’t hear the words, Lady Bayle harangued her niece, the termagant’s mouth flapping with enough speed to produce a gale.
Penelope stared ahead, as if her aunt’s every syllable washed over her unheard.
And a huge bunch of mistletoe dangled from the ceiling above her.
Ignoring the guests in the corridor, he stormed into the library and then slammed the door behind him. The hearth fire’s feeble glow lit his path to the console table. He grabbed one of the decanters on top, poured some spirits into a glass and then gulped the drink down. The brandy seared his throat, but when he finished, he splashed more liquor into the glass. Ignoring the burn, he bolted the second drink as quickly as the first.