‘I lost count of the people who accused me of keeping you from your duty, particularly when the garlands collapsed again. They want your sound advice.’
‘You’re being kind.’
‘Far from it. Mrs Charlton accused me of holding you hostage. She desperately wants your advice on whether or not to encourage a junior officer’s suit for her middle daughter.’
‘And what did you say?’
He gave a conspiratorial smile and took a step closer. ‘That you’ll be back to your old self soon.’
The warm glow of the oil lamp combined with the fire turned his skin a ruddy gold and Henri was suddenly aware of her tumbled-down hair and the way her evening gown had slipped off one shoulder. She debated whether it would be better to pretend she had not noticed or to do the gown up. She opted for the pretence and raised her chin so that she stared directly into his fire-glowing eyes. ‘Where’s Sophie and Mrs Ravel? Did they leave the ball early as well? Did anything untoward happen?’
‘Sophie remained at the ball under her stepmother’s eagle eye. Miss Armstrong and Dorothy appear to have become the best of friends.’ Robert tilted his head to one side, trying to assess Henri’s mood. Her being downstairs was a gift from the gods. All the way back home, he had thought of how she might look with her black hair flowing free, and the firelight touching her porcelain skin. Reality was a thousand times better than his imagination.
Why had she stayed awake? To ask Sophie about her encounter with Cawburn? Or something more?
Robert pushed the question away unvoiced. This moment was not about questioning her motives as she’d only speak about other people. It was about being with Henri. He had witnessed the frosty reception Sophie had given Cawburn—not quite a cut, but certainly something bordering on it. He had been correct to trust Henri’s instincts and to deliver the letter. He had the added insurance of holding Cawburn’s paper. On the balance of probabilities, Sophie was safe from the bounder.
‘Last seen Sophie was the new belle of Corbridge. Doctor Lumley admirably fought his way through the crush of admirers to bring her an ice.’
‘Doctor Lumley? Who is suffering from a propensity to matchmake now?’ Her voice held a teasing note.
‘Any match is Sophie’s choice, not mine.’ Robert took another step near her.
‘Sophie would be wasted on London.’ Henri leant forwards and a sudden spark from the fire highlighted the vulnerable hollow of her throat. ‘I don’t think she wants a title.’
‘Practical advice from the matchmaker-in-chief.’
‘Practical? You do wonders for a woman’s confidence.’
‘Far better to be practical.’ Robert watched, mesmerised, as the firelight slid over her skin, caressing it. ‘Or are you fishing for compliments? Would you rather I say that you were far too vibrant and alive?’
‘No, no, practical will suffice.’ Her tongue flicked over her bow-shaped lips. ‘Was the ball not to your taste? Is that why you returned early? Did you dance?’
‘I danced the opening quadrille with Sophie and discovered I enjoyed it. She will be giving you a report in the morning.’
‘Did you stand on her feet?’
‘I know the figure, Henri.’ Robert took a step closer to where she sat. Every step he danced, he knew he was holding the wrong woman in his arms. The right woman was here in this room.
At his approach, Henri’s eyes lit with a sudden deep fire, transforming her face. If she had been at the ball, every man would have turned towards her. There was something about the curve of her mouth that promised sensual delights for the right man. Henri’s head and shoulders emerged from the froth of lace much as Venus must have emerged from the sea. The vision had played on his brain through supper and the ball, and he’d once absently answered a question from Mr Charlton with the one word—lace. His fingers itched to unwrap the complicated layers. And there were a hundred good reasons why he should turn around and say goodnight. But one good reason why he should entice her to dance with him: he wanted to.
‘However, as I did the figures, I realised that I also owed you a dance. You’ve refrained from meddling.’
‘And have seen others attempt to do it with far less finesse.’ Henri’s mouth twisted and he knew how hard and painful it must have been to see Miss Armstrong’s attempts earlier this evening. ‘And it’s only by lack of opportunity. I should never have insisted on that particular forfeit.’
The pulse in the hollow of her throat beat more quickly and he knew she was following his lead.
‘I keep my promises, Henri.’ Robert waited, silently willing her to take the next step. He intended to have her properly in his arms and see if reality matched his dreams.
‘Circumstances intervened; besides, I gave advice about Sophie and my cousin. Some might call that meddling.’ Henri kept her voice light as her heart skipped a beat. Did he truly mean to dance with her here in this room? Now, with all the servants asleep or lightly dozing at their posts? The notion was preposterous, but tremendously exciting at the same time.
A tiny sane part of her told her to flee to her room, but she continued to sit in the winged chair and watch him. Conventionality is different from morality. The words she had read earlier thrummed in her brain. Conventionality demanded she leave, but she wasn’t doing anything wrong or immoral.
‘You did not try to engineer a match between your cousin and Sophie—quite the reverse.’ His voice deepened and flowed over her. Inside her, bubbles fizzled and sparkled, making her feel wonderfully alive. ‘We shall dance, Henri.’
‘At another ball.’ Henri struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. She longed to know when and where. Her entire body tingled with anticipation.
‘Tonight.’
‘There is no music here.’
A dimple played in his cheek, giving a devilish aspect to his countenance. ‘And your sole objection to dancing with me now in this room is the lack of music.’
‘It’s a major one. Without music, how can one keep the time?’ The tension in Henri’s shoulders eased. He was teasing her now. He knew as well as she did the impossibility of the enterprise. But the image of them waltzing around the room with his firm hand on her waist kept filling her brain. And she knew she had to leave or she’d succumb to the temptation. The trouble was that she did not want to leave. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to circle the room to the imaginary violins. For once, she wanted to experience the romance.
Henri made one last attempt to be sensible and rose from her chair. ‘Unless you happen to have brought a few spare musicians back with you, I shall bid you goodnight.’
‘I can do something better than that.’ He gestured towards a small rosewood box. ‘Behold your music.’
‘Music? From a box?’ Henri tilted her head. Had Robert partaken of far too much punch? ‘What sort of gullible fool do you take me for? You cannot get music from a box.’
He put his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels, like a young schoolboy. ‘Would you care to wager?’
Slowly Henri shook her head. ‘I’m prepared to be amazed. You are far too confident. Demonstrate this musical box of yours and we shall see if it produces music fit for dancing.’
‘Very wise.’
He gave a few deft turns of a key. ‘It is a musical box. I picked it up in Switzerland a few years ago when I visited the Continent. My father had a mechanical bird that used to sing when I was a young boy, but I broke it about the time my mother died. My father was very angry with me at the time. The box commemorates my first success. Unfortunately my father died before I could bring it home.’
His first success and he wanted to make amends for something he had inadvertently damaged. The father who had told him to trust logic rather than his feelings. Only his father never knew. Henri put a hand over her mouth. She wanted to gather him in her arms and wipe the vulnerable look from his eyes. ‘You never speak of your past.’
‘I find it better to live for tomorrow’s hope.
The future holds much more promises than the past’s disappointments.’
‘But the past…is important,’ she said, trying to keep the fizzing feeling from exploding.
He lifted the inlaid lid and a sweet lilting melody came out of the box, filling the room. Henri laughed, enchanted, and the bubbles seemed to enter her bloodstream. ‘The box is playing music. Actual proper music, Robert.’
‘You like it, then?’ he asked with a note of barely suppressed excitement.
‘I have never seen such a thing before, but it is wonderful.’ Henri regarded the spinning cylinders. Her body swayed in time to the music.
‘And your objection to dancing with me is?’
Henri ran her tongue over her parched lips. ‘Can there be any objection?’
Her bare hand fit snugly into his gloved one. It would only be a few steps or once around the room at most. It was not a proper dance lasting a half-hour. But even still, her pulse beat faster.
Robert’s hand went to her waist and held her as they slowly circled around the room. All the while Henri was conscience of only him—the way his hand felt against her waist, the sandalwood scent that teased her nostrils and how he moved, his leg brushing against her skirts.
She missed her step and clung to him to keep herself from falling. His arm instantly tightened, pulling her more fully against his body.
‘Does your ankle pain you, Henri?’
‘No, it is stronger than I thought it would be.’ She leant back slightly, putting a little air between them. ‘Shall we continue?’
His lips brushed her temple. ‘The music has stopped.’
‘It has?’ she whispered, but did not move away from him. Her entire being trembled. Leave now and she’d regret it for the rest of her life. She wanted to be here, with him.
‘It has,’ he confirmed and his arm drew her more firmly into his embrace. Her curves hit the hard planes of his body, moulding to him, and he held her against him. ‘What shall we do?’
In response, she lifted her mouth and put her arm about his neck. His lips touched hers—warm and inviting. Time stopped. And all her being concentrated on this one point of contact. She parted her lips and tasted the sweetness of his mouth. An intense flame flickered though her. Their tongues touched and tangled. Slowly explored.
All the pent-up demand and hunger of her dreams coursed through her, blotting out everything else. The only thing that mattered was the sensation of his mouth moving against hers. And she knew she wanted to live for the now rather than looking over her shoulder, wondering what some unknown person might think about her behaviour. This wasn’t wicked. It was wonderful.
Somewhere in the depths of the house a door slammed, startling her, bringing her back to sensibility.
Using all of her will-power, Henri stepped away from his arms. The cold air rushed around her and she shivered slightly. Of all the mistakes she had made, this was potentially the largest and most life altering. Her stomach knotted in confusion. ‘I must…I must retire for the night.’
‘As you wish.’ He stood, unmoving, neither preventing her from leaving nor asking her to stay.
Henri crossed her arms over her aching breasts. ‘What else is there to do?’
A distinct gleam came into his eyes. ‘As you say, what else? What else could we possibly do? It’s late. Your choice.’
Henri knew her cheeks flamed. She had been wrong to turn her head and invite him to kiss her. She was the one who had behaved like a courtesan.
She ran her tongue over her aching lips, trying to remember what she was, trying to recapture that sense that she was destined to die a widow, but it was gone. And in its place brand-new feelings coursed through her, shocking her.
She’d spent her whole adult life being one person and tonight she learnt she’d lived a lie. Her feelings for Edmund had never included dark passion and that wasn’t her fault. Desire and temptation flooded through her. And looking under hooded eyes at him, she knew she couldn’t risk confiding any of this to him. It was all too new. She needed time to make sense of it, to make sure that she was not going to get hurt again.
He stood there, looking at her. His eyes were dilated and she knew the kiss had affected him as well. But he made no move to recapture her.
‘I’m overtired.’ Her voice echoed in the silence, far too high and shrill, and she knew she was taking the coward’s way out. ‘I will retire on my own. Please give my apologies to Sophie and Mrs Ravel. I had wanted to greet them when they returned. The news of Sophie’s triumph will have to wait.’
‘I’m not keeping you here.’
The firelight threw a shadow on his face. She wished he had protested. Or drawn her into his arms again. Her stomach knotted. She wanted to lay her head against his chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart. She made herself go and pick up her discarded book.
‘I know.’ Conventionality might not be morality but she knew it kept her safe. ‘I’ve trespassed on your hospitality. You returned for a reason.’
‘You are a guest. You have behaved impeccably. It is I who should beg your pardon.’
‘No pardon is needed…on either side.’ Her voice sounded breathy to her ears. ‘We remain in the utmost civility…as friends.’
‘It is good to have you as a friend.’ His rich voice filled the room. ‘I would hate to miss our discussions. We haven’t fully explored the implications of the scientific method.’
Relief flooded through her. He wanted to see her again. He did not think her wanton. And she could think about her response, instead of having the room spinning, pushing her towards him. ‘I look forward to it.’
A tiny smile crossed his features. ‘Then it’s settled. Our acquaintance will continue.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Until the next time, Henri.’ His rich voice floated after her. ‘Sleep well. There is no need to fear—anything.’
Henri stumbled up the stairs, not daring to turn around and see him. If he held out his arms, she’d be in them. Robert Montemorcy was far too tempting. Once she was back in the safety of Aunt Frances’s, then she could remember all the reasons why Edmund was irreplaceable. Suddenly Edmund’s kisses seemed like watered milk compared to the smooth intoxication of Robert’s mouth moving against hers. Henri raised her eyes to the gilt ceiling, trying to get her racing heart under control. This time, she’d grown up. This time, she had learnt her lesson. This time she kept her heart safe.
Chapter Ten
Henri stood in the New Lodge’s entranceway, her bonnet set firmly on her head. The carriage wheels crunched on the driveway, coming to a stop just outside the door. Aunt Frances’s note this morning was a gift from the gods. It made her decision easy. She wasn’t running from her feelings. She had responsibilities and people needed her.
‘You’re determined to go,’ Sophie said with a pretty frown. ‘Robert will be disappointed. He mentioned nothing about it at the ball. Did you see him after the ball?’
Henri tied the ribbons of her poke bonnet tighter. ‘Why?’
‘I’d wondered. I swore I could hear the musical box as I came into the front hall, but it must have been my imagination. Stepmama thought my hearing needed attention. And if you go, Doctor Lumley will have no need to call.’
‘An excuse will be found.’ Henri forced a smile on to her lips. They’d had a lucky escape. She hated to think what Sophie would have said if she had seen them locked in an embrace, with her pressing her body against Robert’s.
Robert had departed because he did not wish to face her. His business was smoke and mirrors to hide what had passed between them. She knew that. It made it easier to carry out her decision. If he was here, she’d have been tempted to stay, but after last night that would not be a good idea. She had to put distance between them and see if the attraction was real or some imagined thing. Far too often the close confines of a visit led to imagined affection. What Sebastian called Country House Fever—a malady of closeness rather than something real and lasting.<
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‘My aunt needs me,’ Henri said and hoped Sophie would drop the topic of conversation. ‘She sent a note. It is time for me to take up the reins of my old life. My ankle is nearly healed and the supper party and ball but memories.’
Henri allowed her voice to trail away, certain that Sophie would understand the unspoken message. She wanted to return to see Sebastian and discover how he fared.
‘Robert will wish to say goodbye.’ Sophie made a temple with her fingers, but her eyes narrowed. Henri knew Sophie had not missed the attempt to change the subject. ‘His valet is here and he always takes Fredericks if he will be gone for any time. He will be back before nightfall. You could delay your journey another day. And take your leave properly. You’ll need to quiz him about his dancing.’
Henri’s cheeks burnt as the innocent words conjured up the image of last night’s illicit waltz. ‘I’m happy to take your word.’
Sophie made a moue. ‘Besides, I shall miss you. Do you really have to depart today? It promises to be dull without you. Stepmama is in bed with a headache and I want to discuss every moment of the ball. Did you know Lady Winship’s three pugs escaped and ran riot around the ballroom floor before the footman captured them? Apparently they wanted to see Lady Winship dance. And one of the garlands tumbled down in the chase. I laughed so hard that tears came into my eyes.’
Henri looked about the drawing room. The curtains were drawn and sunlight streamed in, but the musical box stood silent in the corner. Passion was a poor basis for anything. Calm considered reflection was best. Her mother’s words had kept drumming through her brain all night.
‘You have to be a regular caller.’ Henri forced her voice to sound light and unconcerned. ‘Our At Home day is a Wednesday, but you mustn’t stand on convention as we’re friends.’
Sophie put her hand to her throat and played with the string of red beads. ‘Will your cousin be there?’
‘Did Sebastian speak to you at the ball?’ Henri asked quietly, pretending an interest in her lace mittens. ‘Has he given you an answer to your letter?’
To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) Page 13