by Julia London
“Lord Ardencaple!” she exclaimed with a smile. “You could not possibly be ill-mannered! Why, you’re always so marvelously cheerful that I credit you with bringing the sunshine whenever you call!”
Aye, and he could credit her sister with bringing black clouds and thunder and lightning—
“I am quite appreciative of your cheerfulness,” Miss Lucy added primly.
“That is a compliment I shall hold dear,” Grif said, his smile coming easier as he tapped his heart.
“I believe that if one enjoys another’s company, one should say so,” she said with a pert little nod of her head.
“And do ye likewise believe that if one demands another’s company, particularly the company of the opposite sex, that she—or he, certainly—should also express at least a wee bit of gratitude for receiving that company?”
Lucy blinked. “I beg your pardon? Have I demanded—”
“Diah, certainly no’, lass!” he exclaimed with a little laugh. “I inquire in general.”
“Oh,” she said, and cocked her head to one side, pondering it. “I can honestly say I have no opinion,” she happily concluded. “Speaking of company …my sister, Lady Featherstone, intends to host a weekend at Featherstone Manor in the very near future, and I know that she intends to extend you an invitation to join the festivities.”
“Does she?” Grif asked, his mind still racing around the many ways Anna mercilessly annoyed him.
“I am certain I shall attend. Do you think you shall, too?”
Not if he had the blasted beastie in hand, he wouldn’t. He’d leave this town and that ridiculous creature to become the spinster that was her self-imposed destiny. What man could abide her?
“My lord?”
“Aye!” he said, straightening in his seat like a guilty child. “Do ye think I’d miss the opportunity to spend an entire weekend in yer presence, Miss Lucy?”
Lucy smiled at that and coyly batted her eyes.
“If such a coveted invitation is extended to me, I’ll certainly move mountains to attend.”
Lucy’s smile went deeper, and she smoothed the lap of her gown, stole a glimpse of her chaperone. “That’s lovely. I do hope the weather holds.”
Grif fixed his gaze on her throat. Perhaps if he looked at her throat, he’d overcome the urge to strangle it every time he heard the word weather on her lips.
“In the past, at such weekend soirées as my sister plans, I know that more than one gentleman has determined the course of his future,” she said softly, and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Do they do the same in Scotland?”
Grif nodded. To what, he really didn’t know or care, as he was far more interested at the moment in the curve of Lucy’s neck, or rather… actually, he hadn’t noticed until just this moment that Lucy’s neck was shorter than Anna’s. And a wee bit thicker.
“I would hope that if anyone desired to proclaim the course of his future, he might do so at my sister’s house, when all his friends could join in good tidings. Wouldn’t you?”
“Aye,” Grif said, having no idea what one was to say to such vague rambling as this, and wondered absently if he might be able to steal more than a kiss from Lucy in the course of that bloody weekend, whenever it might be. Perhaps he would touch her bare breast. His gaze dipped to the décolletage of her gown, such as it was, as he pondered that extraordinarily appealing thought… and remarked to himself that her bosom did not seem as plump as Anna’s. A pity, that.
Apparently, however, his answer had not been sufficient, for Lucy suddenly leaned forward and whispered adamantly, “My lord Ardencaple! What I am attempting to say is that if you have any desires as to your future, you should express them, and that it would be a perfectly well-suited weekend for you to do so, and quite frankly, in some circles, it would be expected!”
It took a fraction of a moment for him to understand what she was implying, and Grif almost gasped like a girl with shock. And he was shocked, absolutely dumbstruck by the notion that she thought he would offer for her. He’d not once, not once hinted at such a ridiculous thing! He’d never given her cause to believe he wanted anything other than…well, the obvious. But marriage? To an Englishwoman?
And what of his cousin Lockhart? Everyone in this blasted town was talking about the match between Drake Lockhart and Miss Lucy Addison!
“What is it?” Lucy whispered hotly, a frown marring her lovely face. “Why are you looking so appalled?”
“Appalled?” he echoed dumbly, his mind still racing. “No, no, lass, ye misunderstand me. I merely…I hadna thought… that is to say, I hadna considered…”
Her brows dipped into such a glower that he actually felt a small shiver run down his spine.
“That ye’d even… entertain… such a notion,” he managed to get out.
She blinked and straightened slowly. Her cold glower softened to a composed countenance, and she smiled prettily again. “Not me, my lord. Offer for Anna!” she said sweetly.
Whatever he was about to remark was lost for all time—his mouth dropped open and he found himself completely speechless. As mute as a tongueless beggar.
“You do esteem her, do you not?” Lucy demanded.
“But I…I thought…I mean to say that I—”
“Yes, well,” she said, prim and very cool. “I am quite certain you did. But the truth is, my lord, that I have promised my intentions to someone else.”
“Ah… aha,” he managed.
“Do we understand one another?” she asked sweetly.
“Quite,” he said, and sat a little straighter, wondering how quickly he might quit this room. His palms were damp and his collar felt impossibly tight. “All right, then!” he said abruptly and far too cheerfully. “I shall look forward to the invitation.”
She gave him a nod of her head, signaling her pleasure that he had come round to her way of thinking.
Grif put his hands on his knees and looked at the door. “It is with great reluctance that I must bring me call to an end. Alas, I’ve another engagement.”
“Of course,” she said, and after Grif made the customary departing proclamations, he strode out of the room as quickly as he dared.
He did not, however, manage to get out of the house, and, in fact, he did not manage to go very far at all, for he heard Anna’s familiar warm laugh. The sound of it unnerved him, and he paused mid-stride. It seemed to be coming from the foyer. He walked quietly to the edge of the corridor, and paused there, leaning to one side to peer into the foyer.
He should have known.
It was Lockhart. Anna was laughing at something he’d said, her face upturned to his the way Grif had taught her, her smile bright and sparkling, just as he’d instructed.
With one hand on her elbow, Lockhart was smiling down at her bosom; Grif could plainly see the man was enjoying Anna’s attention. He said something in a low voice, and Anna leaned into him, her bosom grazing his arm. If nothing else, she was an excellent student. She laughed again, then went up on her tiptoes, cupped her hand, and whispered something in Lockhart’s ear that caused him to throw back his head and laugh loudly.
That was the moment Grif made his entrance, striding into their midst.
Both of them started at the sound of his boot on the marble floor, and both turned round to see who it was. Anna’s smile did not fade at all—if anything, it grew brighter.
Lockhart, on the other hand, lost all good humor at the sight of Grif.
Grif smiled. Clasped his hands behind his back as he came to a halt before them. “Sharing a bit of jest, are ye?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” Anna said. “A private jest.”
“Ardencaple,” Lockhart said coolly. “Making the rounds of the debutantes’ parlors again, are you?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said pleasantly, then feigned concern. “Does it displease ye, Lockhart?”
“Not in the least, my lord. Your activities matter not to me. Or to anyone else, I should suspect. I wil
l admit, however, to giving over to wonder from time to time… how long will we be graced with your considerable presence in London?”
“Have ye wondered, indeed?” Grif asked, and left it at that. He had no intention of answering any question put to him by the rake.
He’d almost forgotten the helpful diabhal next to Lockhart. “Did you not say, my lord, that you’d be leaving by Season’s end?” she asked sweetly.
“Did I? I canna recall.”
“I’m certain you did,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and rising up on her toes, and down again, smiling so sweetly that she looked like a bloody angel. “I’m really rather certain that you did.”
“I beg yer pardon, Miss Addison, if I gave ye the wrong impression,” he said, inclining his head apologetically. “I couldna possibly depart ere I finished what I came to do.”
That retort seemed to delight her. She smiled so broadly that she had to bite her lower lip in an apparent attempt to keep from laughing.
Lockhart, on the other hand, was looking more and more perturbed. “And what is it, exactly, my lord, that you came to do?”
Grif shifted a cold gaze to Lockhart. “I wouldna bore ye with the details of it all,” he said. “’Tis a bit of old family business.”
“Sounds rather tedious,” Lockhart said with a smirk.
“Ye’ve no idea how tedious, sir. Now, if ye’ll excuse the intrusion, I’ll take me leave now,” he said, and with a bit of a pointed look for Anna, he proceeded to the front door, received his hat and gloves from the footman, and was walking out when he heard Anna call a cheerful good day after him.
Aye, have yer fun, he thought. He’d deal with her later. And frankly, he’d delight in imagining how exactly he would deal with her until that happy opportunity was upon him.
Nineteen
A nna’s step was much lighter the next afternoon as she hurried to her lessons. Her “impromptu” encounter with Drake Lockhart the day before had renewed her hope that all was not lost, that she might indeed one day find herself in the enviable position of being Mrs. Lockhart.
She snuck into the mews from Cavendish Street and ran to the side door where Mr. Dudley usually met her. She gave the door three quick raps, waited excitedly for him to answer, and when he pulled the door open a crack, she leaned in, smiling. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dudley! Glorious day!”
The old man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he pulled the door open a little more, stuck his head through.
“Oh, I’m quite alone!” she said gaily, and putting a hand on the door, pushed it open, hardly noticing that she had inadvertently pushed Mr. Dudley back, too, as she stepped inside the dark entrance. “You should really see about putting some sconces here,” she offered helpfully. “It’s dreadfully dark, don’t you think?”
The old man blinked up at her as she pulled her gloves from her hands, finger by finger. “I suppose he’s in the usual spot, pouty and cross because I’m calling? He shouldn’t fret in the least, for I think our lessons will come to a desirable end shortly.” She turned a beaming smile to Dudley and held out her gloves.
“Aye,” Dudley said, and stuck out his hand, grimacing slightly, fingers curled uncomfortably, to receive them.
Anna hesitantly deposited the gloves, then untied the ribbon of her bonnet as she eyed the butler. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Dudley?”
“Aye. Bit o’ gout, ’tis all.”
“Oh dear. My grandmother suffered terribly from it. She often made a remedy for her gout from the flowers of an autumn crocus plant. Shall I bring you a tincture?”
Dudley grimaced in pain again. “I’d no’ ask for such favor, I swear I wouldna, miss, but we’ve precious few medicinals, and I do seem to be suffering unusually so.”
With a sympathetic smile, Anna carefully patted his arm. “We can’t have that, sir. Consider it done,” she said with an adamant nod before removing her bonnet and placing it on a small console. “I’ll bring it round on the morrow.”
“Thank ye kindly, Miss Addison,” he said, still grimacing as he laid the gloves next to her bonnet.
“Shall I go on?” she asked, motioning to the rest of the house. “I know the way. No need for you to suffer the walk,” she said, and without waiting for an answer, carried on, humming a little tune.
“Something smells delicious!” she called over her shoulder to Dudley, and lifting her skirts, she ran lightly up the servants’ stairs to the first floor, where her lessons were held. As she strolled down the much brighter corridor, she passed an open door, and noticed Grif’s valet standing at the window that overlooked the street. “Good day, Mr. MacAlister!” she called.
The man whipped around, held up a finger to his lips, and motioned for her to come inside.
Anna was instantly at his side. He pointed to the street. Anna peeked out through the crack between the sheer drapery liners. She could see Grif on the sidewalk below, speaking with Lady Worthall, whose abominable little dog kept hopping up and nipping at his trousers.
“Aye, that’s trouble,” he said with a frown, and pulled the drapes shut. He turned to look at her; his gaze boldly wandered the length of her. “Aye, he’s turned ye out quite well, has he no’?”
His perusal made her feel self-conscious, and Anna nervously put her hand to the nape of her neck.
“I intended no offense, Miss Addison,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “It was meant as a compliment of the highest order, it was.”
Anna looked at him again, noticed for the first time that he was wearing only boots, trousers, and a shirt with a plain neckcloth. His waistcoat and coat were God knew where, but the effect was rather dashing.
He, however, was looking at her feet. “Has he told ye about the ankle, then?”
Unthinkingly, Anna glanced down at her feet, encased in dark burgundy high-heeled shoes that matched the burgundy of her day gown. “The ankle?”
“Aye. A gentleman enjoys the turn of a lass’s ankle. See what I mean,” he said, and walked to the mantel, struck a peculiar, feminine pose, and thrust out one leg to the side, so if he had been wearing a gown, she might have seen his ankle.
Anna gaped at him standing there with his leg so artfully turned out. She could not help herself—she burst into laughter.
Mr. MacAlister’s grin broadened charmingly, and he straightened up. “If he’s no’ told ye of the ankle, then I suppose he’s no’ gotten round to the walk, aye?”
“No sir, he has not.”
“Then allow me.”
Before Anna knew it, she was learning to walk provocatively, using the natural swing of her hips to propel her.
And while she practiced walking, Hugh, as he insisted she call him, regaled her with tales of his own unrequited love for one Miss Keara Brody. He had an infectious, engaging way of telling his tale that had her laughing so much that he felt compelled to put his arm around her waist and guide her through their walking lesson.
They moved slowly and with a bit of flounce. “There ye are, lass. Just a wee bit more in the hip,” he said. They went again and gave it a bit more in the hip.
Hugh clucked his tongue. “No, no, no’ like that— ’tis too obvious. Watch me,” he said confidently, and proceeded to strut across the carpet, turn at the corner just as Anna had done, and come to a halt at the mantel, where he thrust one hip to the side and turned out his ankle perfectly. Were he not wearing a boot, that is. “Come on, then, we’ll try it again, aye?” he asked, gesturing to Anna.
She slipped beneath his arm, put her arm around his waist.
“Dé tha thú dèanamh?”
The boom of Grif’s deep voice startled them both badly enough that they instantly jumped apart. Hugh whipped around, thrust his arms akimbo, and frowned at Grif, who was striding in from the entrance at the other end of the room. “What are we doing? We’re no’ doing anything!” Hugh scoffed. “I was merely showing Miss Addison how to walk. Hurrying things along for ye, then.”
“Thank ye ki
ndly, MacAlister, but I’ll conduct the lessons, if ye donna mind,” Grif said.
Hugh sighed, flashed a warm smile at Anna, and then strode to where Grif stood, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Aye, then I’ve warmed her up for ye.” And with that, he walked out the door, whistling.
Grif shut the door at his back and turned around, leaned against the door, arms folded, as he considered Anna, much like, she thought, a hungry lion might consider a rabbit. It felt exactly as if she’d been caught misbehaving in the nursery, and she smiled tremulously. “He was helping me,” she said, but Grif’s catlike expression did not change. “You neglected to mention the ankle, after all.”
“Aye, that,” Grif said, nodding thoughtfully.
“And you did say I was to use my, ah… body…to its best advantage, did you not?”
He pushed away from the door, casually strolling toward her, his head down. “I did indeed. But when I said to use yer body to advantage, I intended that ye should use it to yer advantage, not his. ’Tis a fine line a woman must walk, between using her body to have what she wants and letting a man use her body to have what he wants. Ye’d best learn the difference now ere ye make trouble for yerself.”
For Grif, an imposter, to threaten her with scandal was really too rich. Anna lifted her chin and reminded him, “It is you who should be afraid of scandal.”
“Me?” he asked, coming to a halt, looking incredibly surprised. “Why?”
“Why? Is it not obvious? You’ve come to London posing as someone you are not, you have told more than one falsehood in seeking some hideous little gargoyle, you travel with a man you would call your valet, but who is obviously not your valet—”
“He would that it were so!” Grif interrupted irritably.
“Do you call him a liar?” Anna demanded.
“Aye. And on most occasions, to his face.”
That silenced her. That confused her. What, exactly, was the situation between these two men?
“Mo chreach,” Grif said impatiently at her bewildered look. “All right, then, here it is. MacAlister is in fact me dearest friend, and has been since we were but wee bairns bouncing on our fathers’ knees. He’s come to London to help me. But he is no’, nor shall he ever hope to be, a valet.”