by Jen Turano
“Eliza told me he’s never trusted a woman with the reins.”
“Nor will he ever do so again, judging by his reaction to my driving.”
Agatha’s eyes turned cunning. “It was quite chivalrous of him to escort you yesterday over to Eliza’s—very telling, don’t you think?”
“There was nothing telling about it,” Felicia argued. “You and Eliza badgered him into it, and don’t even think about arguing that point.”
“There was only a small amount of badgering involved, and perhaps a bit of toe stomping.” She smiled but then sobered. “You need to reconsider your gown choice for the ball.”
“It’s a very fashionable piece, Agatha. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but before I turned delusional and thought my life was meant to be spent as a minister’s wife, I used to be highly particular about fashion. I need to make changes in my life, and one of those changes—not one of the largest changes, I know—is that I’m going to dress to please myself.
“That dress pleases me. It’s bold, but not in a forward way, and the color makes me feel feminine. If it causes a few tongues to wag, so be it.”
“Please tell me you’re not planning to continue on as Clara in order to get the tongues wagging.” A frisson of awareness swept over her, the masculine voice causing her to stiffen.
She did not have to turn to know who was standing behind her, because there was only one person she knew in New York who possessed such a distinctive, and slightly intriguing, British accent.
What in the world was Grayson doing at B. Altman’s?
He was supposed to be extremely put out with her, but for some unknown reason, his tone seemed more amused than annoyed.
She drew in a steadying breath and turned. The sight of Grayson lounging oh so casually against the doorframe, looking every inch the aristocrat, caused the unusual reaction of her breath catching in her throat.
Her reaction to the man was ridiculous. Granted, he was extremely attractive, especially when he grinned—the grin bringing into sharp attention the two dimples her mother made mention of rather often. Her gaze drifted to his jacket, and she found no fault with the impeccable cut of gray, or with the waistcoat underneath, or even with the subtle dark tie that was tied to perfection around his neck. Her gaze lowered, taking in the pinstriped trousers and stopping at his shoes, unable to help but notice their glossy shine.
He’d obviously secured the services of a well-trained valet since he’d come to America, which explained his immaculate appearance, but it didn’t explain why he was grinning. She lifted her head and, sure enough, he was still at it.
What was wrong with him?
They’d parted on less than amicable terms. She knew full well—even if no one else appeared to realize it—that he wasn’t the type of person to blithely set aside a grudge, especially considering he seemed to believe she’d almost caused him a horrible death due to her driving abilities.
She finally realized he was waiting for a response, given that he was staring back at her with a trace of expectation in his eyes. “I’ve decided Clara is only to be brought out in extenuating circumstances, and since there’s nothing extenuating about shopping, she’s not around today.”
“Well, we can thank the good Lord for that.”
Funny, but it almost seemed as if there was now a touch of surliness edging his tone. Oddly enough, that thought had her feeling slightly better. A surly Grayson she could handle. “What are you doing here?”
Grayson pushed away from the doorframe and stopped right in front of her. His nearness caused her pulse to once again go galloping off through her veins.
It was a peculiar feeling, and one she didn’t happen to care for in the least.
“A Mrs. Brown found me wandering aimlessly amongst the dresses and took pity on me, telling me I would find you in here.” Grayson took a step back and looked her up and down.
A sliver of disappointment slid over her when he didn’t bother to remark about her new gown or hat but simply nodded, just once, and continued on with what he’d been saying.
“She assured me it was acceptable for me to enter what can only be described as a feminine domain because, in addition to telling me both of you were respectably gowned, she felt there might be a need for a distraction, and apparently I fit that bill.” He grinned yet again. “So, why do the two of you need a distraction, and more importantly, why are tongues going to wag?”
Felicia blew out a breath. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that if you plan on saying something you don’t want overheard, you should make sure the door’s shut?”
Her pulse slowed immediately. He might be an attractive gentleman who dressed to perfection, but he was also irritating, arrogant, and far too sure of himself.
Knowing full well it would hardly be productive to continue bantering with him, she decided her best option was to keep him a little defensive. “You never said what you’re doing here, and I must confess I’m a little surprised you’d seek me out. I was under the impression you were annoyed with me because of what happened with your carriage yesterday.”
“Just to be clear, it is not a carriage; it is a phaeton, which you had no business even attempting to drive, limited as your abilities obviously are. As for what I’m doing here, Eliza sent me.”
It seemed to her that although his lips were still curved in somewhat of a grin, his voice was now sounding distinctively surly, proving once and for all that underneath his pleasant and affable appearance, there really did lie the soul of a grumpy gentleman.
His grumpiness begged the question of why he’d agreed to Eliza’s request in the first place.
“That was sweet of Eliza to be concerned about me, but I assure you, I’m fine.”
“How lovely, but she didn’t send me after you.” He turned to Agatha. “I’ve been all over the city trying to track you down. I finally stopped at Felicia’s house as a last resort, and that’s when I learned you were here.”
Agatha frowned. “Has something happened?”
Grayson returned the frown. “You’re supposed to be distressed.”
“Eliza told you I was distressed?”
“Yes, and she also gave me strict instructions that I was to”—he held up his hand and began to tick items off his fingers—“improve your spirits”—one finger went up—“charm you out of your bad mood”—another finger went up—“and put myself entirely at your disposal.”
“Eliza sent you to complete those arduous tasks?”
“Really, Agatha, you wound me. Do you not think I’m up for coaxing you out of your gloomy mood?”
“I’m not in a gloomy mood.”
“Since I’ve traveled all over the city in order to cheer you up, you’re going to have to humor me and get in a gloomy mood.”
“But I don’t feel gloomy.”
Grayson quirked a brow. “You’re not upset that Zayne is moving out west to join his Miss Collins?”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Really, everyone believing I’m distraught over Zayne Beckett is getting a bit ridiculous. We’re simply friends. He’s the brother of my dear friend Arabella. Did I at one time suffer a small infatuation for him? Yes, I did—as I’ve admitted time and time again. I’ve also insisted, on numerous occasions, that I have come to my senses. Zayne’s intentions toward Miss Collins were formed years ago, and since he’s determined to carry through with those intentions, I’ve firmly pushed aside any romantic affection I once felt for the gentleman. I’m happy for him and wish him nothing but the best for his future.”
Felicia sucked in a sharp breath as yet another one of her flaws came into glaring evidence. She’d been so consumed with her own problems in life that she’d not even realized Agatha might be in need of a bit of cheering up.
Though her friend had claimed time and time again she’d abandoned all hope in regard to Zayne and his affections, everyone knew she wasn’t exactly telling the
truth.
The very idea that she’d neglected to even consider the plight of her friend spoke volumes about her selfish character.
She was a sorry excuse for a friend.
“Is something the matter, Felicia?”
Felicia pulled herself out of her thoughts and found Grayson watching her closely. “No.”
“You’re looking a little pale.”
“To think Eliza truly does seem to be under the misimpression that you’re capable of charm.” Felicia shook her head. “Telling a lady she looks anything other than delightful is not charming in the least, and I suggest you remember that.”
“I thought you took exception to the term delightful?”
All the breath left her in a split second. He’d remembered their exchange. No one ever bothered to pay marked attention to anything she said.
Chills swept down her spine, followed quickly by alarm. What in the world was the matter with her? Grayson Sumner was not the sort of gentleman who should be causing her chills.
He was too worldly, too jaded, and—as she’d mentioned to her mother—too dangerous.
Why then did she suddenly find him rather fascinating, even though she knew perfectly well he was less than fond of her at the moment? Could it be possible she was instinctively drawn to gentlemen who were completely unacceptable for her?
Pushing that disturbing idea aside, she forced a smile. “I readily admit the word delightful does annoy me upon occasion, especially since I’ve come to believe it was used to humor me instead of compliment me.”
Grayson crossed his arms over his chest, and time seemed to stop moving as he looked her up and down again.
Heat flooded her face, but then he stepped closer to her and smiled a smile that actually appeared to be genuine. “Today you, my dear Felicia, look incredibly delightful, and I assure you, I’m not trying to humor you in the least.”
His words swirled around her mind, and much to her surprise, her vision suddenly went a little misty as unexpected tears stung her eyes.
It was a sincere compliment, something she hadn’t received in quite some time, if ever, from a gentleman. She blinked rapidly to hold the tears at bay, even as she spun on her heel and walked as quickly as she could to the small table where she’d left her reticule. She opened it, pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes, and when she felt sufficiently composed, turned to find Grayson and Agatha watching her closely.
“Good heavens, Felicia, are you all right?” Agatha asked.
Felicia waved the handkerchief in the air. “Don’t mind me. I seem to get overwrought at the strangest things these days—not that I get overwrought on a regular basis—but . . . I’m fine now.”
Grayson frowned. “You don’t appear fine.”
“There you go again, being charming,” she muttered. “I just want everyone to stop pitying me.”
Grayson’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Dissolving into tears when someone tells you that you look delightful is a wonderful way to go about seeing that happen.”
“He does make a good point,” Agatha added as she stepped up to Felicia’s side and took her arm. “I’ve just had a marvelous idea, one that will forever stop people from pitying you.”
Apprehension was swift, replaced with outright alarm when Agatha began towing her toward the door. “What’s your idea?”
“I’ll tell you when we get to the restaurant.”
“We’re going to a restaurant?” Grayson asked.
Agatha nodded. “Of course we are. I’m starving, and I won’t be able to explain my idea properly until I get something to eat.”
Felicia dug in her heels, causing Agatha to lurch to a halt. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain at least a little of this plan of yours.”
Agatha tightened her grip and tried to pull Felicia forward, but when Felicia wouldn’t budge, blew out a breath.
“Fine, but I’m telling both of you right now that I expect full cooperation from each of you.”
Grayson blinked. “I’m involved in this plan?”
“Indeed.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The last plan I agreed to that involved me being in Felicia’s vicinity almost got me killed.”
“That’s a little overly dramatic,” Felicia muttered.
“Did you, or did you not, lose control of the horses and drive them along the sidewalk instead of the road, causing too many people to count to throw themselves out of your way?”
“There were only three people who had to dive out of our way.”
Agatha held up her hand. “Children, behave.”
Felicia closed her mouth, as did Grayson.
“My plan is not a complicated one, and shouldn’t involve anything of a dangerous nature.” Agatha’s smile widened. “We’re simply going to have Grayson escort you to the Beckett ball, and since he’s currently considered one of the most eligible gentlemen in New York City, no one will think to pity you again.”
4
Disgruntlement, mixed with apprehension, was immediate.
Grayson couldn’t help but notice that there seemed to be a disturbing trend occurring—a trend that had thrust him directly into the position of knight in shining armor on an all too frequent basis.
Granted, he’d willingly gone along with Eliza’s demands, fetching Felicia the day before and agreeing to seek Agatha out today, but his participation with his sister’s demands was only due to guilt, not because he was inherently chivalrous.
Couldn’t anyone see that his armor, what little he actually possessed, was remarkably tarnished—and because of his past was hardly likely to ever shine again?
The last thing he wanted to do was escort Felicia to a ball. It would require he spend hours in her company alone, hours that he was fairly certain would be vastly uncomfortable, given that he was rapidly becoming fascinated with the lady.
He’d distanced himself from her at Eliza’s house not because he was annoyed about her driving abilities—or lack thereof, as the case seemed to be—but because he’d been helplessly drawn to her as she’d driven his horses haphazardly down the street—and an occasional sidewalk—her shrieks of laughter doing odd things to his heart.
His heart had once again begun acting rather peculiarly when she’d gone all misty-eyed simply because he’d proclaimed her appearance delightful.
He hadn’t actually been truthful in that moment, because . . . she was more than delightful today, wearing a new gown that molded to her charming curves and sent his temperature rising.
He was becoming obsessed with the lady.
He should have remembered a pressing engagement when he visited the Murdock home seeking Agatha’s whereabouts and Mrs. Murdock had informed him she was at B. Altman’s with Felicia—especially since it had been abundantly clear that Mrs. Murdock was still cherishing hopes of him becoming better acquainted with her daughter. She’d not been bothered in the least when he’d reiterated time and time again that he needed to find Agatha, not Felicia, but had simply patted him on the cheek, told him to say hello to her daughter for her, and practically pushed him out the door.
What could he have been thinking, traipsing off to B. Altman’s, knowing full well it was madness to spend additional time in Felicia’s company? Eliza would have understood if he’d been unable to track Agatha down, but here he was, standing only a few feet away from the lady who’d begun to occupy his almost every thought.
An elbow placed none too gently in his side brought him rapidly back to the situation at hand. He glanced at Agatha, who looked as if she longed to do more to him than stick her bony elbow in his ribs, and then at Felicia, who was a delicate shade of pink but who was glaring back at him, her amazing eyes blazing with heat.
He’d apparently been lost in thought longer than he’d realized, but what to do now?
Should he give in to Agatha’s request and agree to escort Felicia to the ball, even though doing so was against his better judgment? What would happen if she formed an attachment t
o him, which would cause him to disappoint her, and then . . .
“I’ll pick you up at eight.” He heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them.
To his immediate annoyance, instead of smiling and accepting his less-than-gracious offer, Felicia stuck her nose in the air. “I think not,” she announced before she spun on her heel, stalked to the fitting-room door, and disappeared from view.
“Well, hmm . . .” was all he seemed capable of responding, which caused Agatha to let out a snort right before she stomped out of the room as well, leaving him standing there by himself.
At this rate, it wouldn’t be long at all until everyone realized he was no knight in shining armor. Then he’d be left in peace, not expected to run at the drop of a hat after ladies who seemed to have the propensity for running amok.
That idea, surprisingly enough, hardly sent relief flowing through him.
He made for the door and increased his stride, edging around shoppers and racks of clothing until he finally caught up with Felicia and Agatha, who were standing in front of the steam elevator.
Neither of the ladies bothered to speak a single word to him as they waited for the elevator to arrive, but to his further annoyance, they became downright chatty with the elevator operator once the door opened and that gentleman ushered them inside.
Before their descent began, Felicia asked if she could operate the lever that controlled the elevator, and the operator was only too happy to agree. Grayson couldn’t say he blamed the man. When Felicia was smiling, much like she was doing at that moment, her smile seemed to bring out the best in people. The operator, appearing absolutely thrilled that a beautiful lady was giving him her undivided attention, briefly explained how the lever worked and with a besotted smile handed it over to Felicia—and she handled that lever in much the same way she’d driven his horses.
By the time they finished their jerky ride to ground level, he was afraid he was about to lose his breakfast. The moment the operator opened the gilded doors, Grayson stumbled out of the dreaded contraption, so determined to get out of what he’d come to think of as a death device that he completely forgot to allow the ladies to go first. Felicia didn’t even appear to notice his blunder, though, as she bid the elevator operator a good day and brushed past Grayson with nothing but a very loud sniff.