Margery laughed. “Oh dear. They are both destined for disappointment.”
Lord Harry gave his boyish grin. “Don’t tell her I said so, Lady Margery, for I wouldn’t want her head to swell, but I think Miss Norwood is full of fun. She is first oars with me.”
Margery sighed. “’Tis a pity Georgina is so down in the dumps. I am positive the sentiments you expressed would go a long way toward raising her spirits.”
Lord Harry slowed his pace. The dance ended, and he and Margery came to a halt near the edge of the dance floor. He said, “You know, I’ve a good mind to step along upstairs and try to cheer her up.”
“Be sure to summon Penny to sit with you for the sake of propriety,” Margery said, quite satisfied. She felt sure Georgina was missing Lord Harry. And the rash was not so bad as to cause the girl great embarrassment.
“Er, yes, the conventions. It would not do to raise Mrs. Norwood’s ire, would it? At least that bracket-faced old hag is spending the evening in her chamber. Mr. Norwood will be able to relax, for once. Good evening to you, Lady Margery.” Lord Harry lifted two glasses of champagne from a tray a footman carried and then strolled from the room.
It was then that Margery spotted Lord Reckford leading none other than Miss Charlotte Hudson from the floor. Lady Altham’s companion’s cheeks were flushed from the dance.
Margery crossed the room. She saw the viscount and the spinster heading toward Humbert Norwood, who sat upon a gilt chair placed against the wall. He held two cups of punch and handed one to Charlotte Hudson.
Lord Reckford bowed to them and then turned back to the room. Margery’s breath caught in her throat. The viscount was at his most elegant this evening. A superbly cut evening coat of darkest brown sat richly upon his shoulders, setting his dark hair off to advantage. A white waistcoat and breeches were topped by a white cravat with a sapphire in its folds. It did not seem possible, but his lordship’s eyes were a deeper, darker blue than the stone.
He closed the distance between them and bowed in front of her, his gaze assessing her. “Lady Margery, you are the princess of this forest. No other woman present is your equal. Here I have been wishing to speak with you, but in the face of such loveliness, I doubt I can form an intelligent sentence.”
“Do not be absurd, my lord,” Margery said with a smile. Inside, her delight in the evening increased threefold. “How thoughtful of you to dance with Miss Hudson. She is as awkward at these functions as I have often been.”
“Miss Hudson is a remarkable woman. She has a keen interest in America. I encouraged her to make a journey to see all the places she has read about so extensively. But come, let us find a quiet place where we can talk, Lady Margery. Unless, of course, you wish to dance?”
The musicians were striking up a reel. Margery had dreamed of dancing the waltz with Lord Reckford. Perhaps later. “I, too, am desirous of conversation,” she said, not altogether untruthfully.
He held out his arm, and they walked out of the far door of the ballroom. They found themselves in the Long Gallery, which was lined with windows on one side, and numerous pieces of statuary on the other. Margery blushed, noting that the marble figures were anatomically complete. Trust Lady Altham!
Margery trained her gaze to the mosaic floor. Made of stone and glass, it featured winged boys, each one depicting one of the four seasons. Spring held a basket of flowers, Summer a sheaf of wheat, Autumn a basket of fruit, and Winter wore a warm cloak.
Lord Reckford released her arm and moved away to stand by one of the windows. “I apologize for not seeking you out when I returned from the village. I gave in to a need for sleep. Later, Major Eversley asked for my help in going over the estate ledgers with Lady Altham. By the time we finished, you were dressing for the evening. I missed you at dinner, by the way.”
Margery felt the warm glow of pure happiness flow through her. “Miss Norwood is a trifle indisposed this evening. I took my dinner in her room to keep her company.”
The viscount’s brows came together. “It is nothing serious?”
“Indeed not, my lord. A slight rash from a cosmetic preparation. In fact, Lord Harry decided a few minutes ago to visit Miss Norwood, appropriately chaperoned, of course.”
Lord Reckford nodded, then tilted his head in a questioning manner. “They are but friends, are they not?”
Margery gave the matter some consideration before answering. “I believe so. Although, if the relationship is given a chance to continue during, say, the coming Season, it may grow into something more serious.”
Lord Reckford did not appear pleased at the thought. “They are both young. And you and I learned to our cost what can happen when we allow ourselves to become attached at an early age.”
Margery took a step toward him. “We have discussed how I did so, my lord. But you refused to tell me of your marriage.”
The viscount looked away from her, and she sensed he waged an inner battle before speaking. “The lady I married was not an easy person to fathom or to please. We had a hasty courtship, much as you did with Simon Fortescue, followed by a turbulent marriage. Delilah was unnaturally restless and eventually fell in with a rough crowd. They introduced her to opium.”
Margery touched his sleeve. “How helpless you must have felt.”
Lord Reckford stared at her as if surprised by her understanding. “You are right. I felt as if I was being tossed about on the sea of Delilah’s emotions and the actions they inspired.
“At any rate,” he continued, fixing his gaze out the window and into the night, “when she died, I felt responsible. If only... if only I had... I do not know what, but things might have been different.” He looked at her again.
Margery nodded. “I understand. I felt much the same way when Simon died. As if something I could have done would have made our lives different. You helped me put those feelings to rest.”
The viscount drew a deep breath. “It took me a long time to recover from the experience.”
“We humans are fragile creatures, do you not think so, my lord?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he replied. He raised his gloved hand and brushed a thumb across her cheek. Margery’s skin tingled where he touched her. The way he looked at her made her pulse skip. She could almost believe he had formed a special affection for her.
Then he held out his arm and indicated the ballroom. “I believe I hear the strains of a waltz. Will you dance with me, Lady Margery?”
“Yes,” she whispered, still feeling the effects of his nearness. She placed her gloved hand on his arm.
In moments they were back in the ballroom, and she was in his arms. His hand rested at her waist, his face scant inches from hers. His beloved face, Margery thought. She remembered their kiss at the inn, and her body felt heavy and warm, though her feet seemed to be flying along on a cloud. She wanted him to hold her even closer, to wrap her in his embrace and not let her go for a very, very long time.
She tried to read his expression but could not. She had the sudden idea he did not wish her to know what he was thinking. There was no way of knowing if he was as moved by their closeness as she. No way of deciding if he would ever return her love. Perhaps, after what had happened with Delilah, he had made up his mind never to love again. Funny, that she had come to the same decision after Simon’s death, but look at her now.
Margery chose to keep matters light. She gathered her thoughts and said, “I have decided to take two of the kittens, my lord. That is, if you still wish to give them away.”
It seemed his hand pressed more firmly into her back. “Yes, I do. Which ones do you want?”
“Thyme and the little fellow with the white triangle across his chest.”
“Ah, that would be Sage. I must say I am pleasantly surprised that you are willing to try again after the way your last experience hurt you.”
The music ended, and he released her. Mrs. Carruthers hovered nearby, waving her fan in front of her face, apparently waiting to pounce on the viscount.
Mrs. Carruthers stepped forward. “Jordan, darling, is this our dance?”
Margery turned and walked away into the crowd. She found Major Eversley and danced with him. He told her more details of Mr. Lemon’s apprehension, and Lady Altham’s subsequent reaction to the events. It was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, but Margery forced her thoughts away from the viscount to converse with the major.
Throughout the rest of the ball, Margery danced and did her best to enjoy herself. She sat for a while with Miss Hudson, listening to that lady’s excited discourse on how Lord Reckford had fostered her desire to go to America. Miss Hudson had some money saved, not much perhaps, but she felt it would be enough if she were careful.
Margery listened with only half an ear. She could not prevent herself from keeping track of Lord Reckford’s whereabouts, even though it pained her to see him dancing and flirting with every female, most especially with Lily Carruthers. The blonde was at her most beguiling tonight in a clinging ivory satin gown. Margery noted Oliver Westerville seemed particularly smitten with Mrs. Carruthers, and in that moment, decided that if Mr. Westerville’s affections were so easily swayed, Lady Altham was better off without him.
With a measure of relief, Margery discerned that Lady Altham no longer seemed to care for Mr. Westerville’s regard, and had fixed her attentions on Major Eversley, a man more likely, in Margery’s view, to bring her happiness.
When at last the ball began winding down, Margery hoped Lord Reckford might seek her out for a final dance. Instead she heard Lily Carruthers suddenly cry out that her ankle was paining her again. How could the woman have danced all evening if she was still suffering from her fall on the ice, Margery wondered skeptically.
To her frustration, Lord Reckford once again swept the widow into his arms and carried her out of the room and, Margery assumed, to the woman’s bedchamber.
Margery accepted a glass of champagne from a footman and drank the entire contents of the glass. Placing the empty vessel down on a nearby table, she left the ballroom. There was no need to stay now that Lord Reckford was gone. Upstairs. With Lily.
Margery rushed up to her room, the champagne making her a bit woozy. Entering her chamber, she removed the diamond set Lady Altham had given her. Dispensing with the services of a maid, Margery pulled on her gray flannel nightgown.
Seated at the toilet table intending to unpin her hair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the garment and frowned. She bit her lip, remembering a nightgown and robe Simon had once purchased for her, but which she had never worn.
Impulsively, Margery opened the clothespress, all the while thinking Penny probably had not unpacked it. But, no, there it was. She lifted the fine lawn material and marveled at its softness. The matching nightclothes were white, trimmed heavily in lace at the bosom and cuffs.
With her mind fuzzy from the champagne, Margery removed the flannel nightgown and slipped on the wickedly sensual gown. One could see right through the sheer material. Margery giggled, and then put on the robe.
Feeling decadent, she wandered to her dressing table and unpinned her hair, brushing out the silky black mass. A scratching on her door made her jump in her chair.
A sleepy Penny entered the room. “Oh, my lady, you look pretty. But I should ’ave ’elped you change. I’m that sorry.”
“Nonsense, Penny. Go on to bed.”
“Yes, my lady. Oh, and Miss Norwood was askin’ after you this ’our past. I thought I should let you know.”
“Thank you, Penny. I shall go to her now.”
The little maid turned to go, then stopped. “Lady Margery, I wants to thank you. I knows you ’elped the gentlemen get rid of Mr. Lemon.”
Margery smiled. “So did you, Penny. Were it not for you and Ned, matters would have been more difficult.”
Penny smiled and bobbed a curtsy. Margery waited until the maid left before picking up her bed candle and exiting her chamber.
The long corridor was quiet and dimly lit. Margery reached Georgina’s door and knocked softly. Receiving no answer, she opened the door and walked in. Holding the candle high, Margery could see Georgina asleep in her bed.
Not wishing to wake the girl, Margery crept silently from the room and eased the door shut. She turned around, intent on returning to her room, and felt her heart slam upward and into her throat.
“Lord Reckford! What are you doing here?” She fought to catch her breath. Drat the man! He would give her a heart seizure yet. The viscount was clad in a handsome brocade dressing gown and breeches. The champagne, or something else, brought a rush of heat to the pit of Margery’s stomach.
He stood there, tall and masculine, as his gaze traveled over her at a lazy pace. “Now this,” he drawled, reaching out to finger the lace on the cuff of her night robe, “is much more the thing. I hope the gray flannel is in the dustbin.”
“Why are you here outside Georgina’s door?” Margery asked, struggling to retain her poise. His dressing gown was not quite closed at the neck, leaving a glimpse of muscular chest open to her view. He wore no shirt! Margery’s lips felt dry, and she ran her tongue across them.
The viscount watched the action. “My room is on the other side of the corridor. Before retiring, I was looking for Harry. He is not in his chamber, and I thought he and Georgina might still be awake, brangling with one another.”
Was it her imagination, or had he moved closer? “Lord Harry is not with Georgina. She is asleep.”
Lord Reckford made no attempt to hide the fact that his interest was now centered on her, rather than his young friend. “Mayhaps he went back downstairs, then. A few people are still in the ballroom chatting with Lady Altham and Major Eversley.”
A picture of Lord Reckford carrying Lily Carruthers from the ballroom flashed in Margery’s brain. “I thought you would be with Mrs. Carruthers.”
Something flared behind his eyes. “I am finished with Mrs. Carruthers.”
Margery raised a mocking brow at him. “Finished? Already?”
“Minx,” he murmured harshly. “I shall show you why I am not with Lily.” With one swift motion, he grasped her arm and pulled her flush against his chest. The candle dropped from her fingers and fell to the floor, extinguishing itself to leave them in virtual darkness. He lowered his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss, which softened to a firm, delicious pressure against her mouth.
Margery moaned in pleasure, returning the embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand reaching up to caress his hair. He held her to him, pressing her closer until there was no space between them. She could feel his desire, and her passion soared while his mouth burned on hers relentlessly.
She moved a trembling hand from his hair into the opening of his dressing gown, wanting to feel the warmth of his strong chest. At her touch, he released her lips to trail kisses down the slim column of her neck. Margery felt suspended in a euphoric haze.
The sound of a door opening and closing around the corner from where they stood brought them to their senses. Lord Reckford pulled away from her.
Margery released a shaky breath and waited for him to utter the words she most wanted to hear. That he loved her. That he would be asking her a particular question tomorrow, on Christmas Eve.
These thoughts raced through her mind while the viscount remained inexplicably silent, though she could faintly hear his rapid breathing.
At last, she could bear the tension no more. She whisked past him and half ran to her bedchamber.
There, she sat down on the bed, feeling dizzy. Had the champagne weakened her judgment? Was she wrong to have expected a declaration from him?
Of course she was! The man’s nickname was Reckless!
No, Margery decided. She would not be so harsh. It was late, and they had both been caught up in their feelings. He may have consumed a
great deal of wine at the ball. His head was probably in just as much a muddle as hers. It would not have been the appropriate time to broach such an important matter as marriage. Would it?
Margery reached for one of her pillows and clasped it to her.
She did not know what to think. There were no answers, only questions.
Tomorrow, would he come to her? Tomorrow, would he tell her he loved her? Tomorrow, would he offer her marriage?
And this time, would it be right for both of them?
* * *
Chapter 13
Margery slept late Christmas Eve morning. When she awoke, she did so with a start, feeling an immediate need to see Lord Reckford after the passionate kiss they had shared. She needed to see warmth in his eyes and know that he cared for her. Then her questions would begin to be answered.
Quickly, she washed and donned her pale blue morning gown and went downstairs. No one was in the small dining room where breakfast was usually served. Well, it was understandable. Everyone had probably finished eating long ago. Outside the window, Margery could see Blythe and Keith walking in the snow, holding hands. Margery smiled at the couple’s obvious love and felt a strong yearning to experience the kind of life they had. And she could not deny she wished Lord Reckford for her partner.
A footman entered the room with some freshly polished silver, which he returned to the sideboard. “May I get you anything, Lady Margery?” he inquired politely.
For a split second Margery considered asking him if he knew where Lord Reckford was, but she instantly discarded such a bold notion. She shook her head and thanked him, then walked down to the drawing room. The doors were closed, and she opened them without thinking.
She stopped on the threshold, taking in the scene before her. Major Eversley released Lady Altham from his arms. The lady looked flushed as she patted her curls in place. Fluffy was spread out on the sofa between them, a satisfied expression on her feline face.
Margery began backing out of the room. “I do beg your pardon.”
“No, no, come in, Lady Margery,” Major Eversley said with an immense smile.
How the Rogue Stole Christmas Page 18