In a high, loud, fluting voice, the duchess answered, “Humph! Took you long enough to get here!”
And the people gathered that night found an unexpected satisfaction in this display of devotion by grandson to grandmother, and her two pronged remark seemed to say to all of them that St. James, at last, had gotten there. And if he was a little marked upon his arrival, they suddenly did not care, for he was a Duke, after all.
The musicians which had delayed playing at all this fuss, read the mood of the crowd and struck up playing. As fast as Miss Murdock and St. James had been at the mercy of the scrutiny of the crowd, they were now ignored, and only then did St. James return his gaze to her and say, “Miss Murdock, you are looking very well tonight.”
“Was it worth it, milord?” she asked in a strained undertone. “To come and provoke me once again?”
He cocked his head slightly to the side. “We shall see,” he answered and held out his arm to her. “Shall we dance?”
She shook her head, feeling as though she were paralyzed on the arm of the settee, and that if she rose the sudden oblivion everyone seemed to be holding them to would stop and they would again be devoured by the crowd's eyes.
“Come, Miss Murdock,” St. James coaxed. “There is no point in my coming here at all and suffering through that if you refuse to dance with me.”
“It was your choice, milord, to subject yourself to that. I, on the other hand, had no choice at all.”
She moved her hand as she spoke, handing her glass to Andrew, who stood exuding malevolence at her side, for fear that she would spill it in her agitation. Before she could replace her hand into her lap, St. James took it in his own and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “If we are to argue, let us go onto the dance floor to do it, for we will in fact have more privacy there than standing here elbow to elbow with this crowd.”
She saw the sense in that, for they were playing a country dance, one she was familiar with and where each had a partner, and they would not be split up as they may be in a different dance. “Very well, milord,” she agreed, and rose from the arm of the settee.
As soon as she stood up, she was aware it was a mistake. There was no longer the obvious staring they had been subject to, but the furtive, speculating glances were in their own way as bad. She clung to St. James' arm, shaking a little, and to her alarm, he did not lead her to the edge of the dancers but in amongst them until they were at the very middle of the floor. Then he took her hand in one of his, and her elbow in his other, and they began moving.
He was silent, which Miss Murdock was grateful for, since she was concentrating on the steps, and then when she seemed to have it smoothly and looked up into his face from her diminutive height, she saw that he was smiling. “We have it now, yes, Miss Murdock?”
“I—I think so,” she answered, a little embarrassed. “It has been a long time since I have danced, and never,” she chanced looking around, “in a setting such as this.”
“It has been a very long while since I have danced also, Miss Murdock,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes, of course!” she exclaimed. “For I am given to understand that you have never come to Almacks before.”
“So you see, we are both suffering equally.”
“I fear you are suffering much more, milord, for I do not have such a topic for conversation upon my cheek,” she pointed out.
“Oh, do not start, Miss Murdock,” he grimaced. “For I have heard quite enough about it already today.”
“Have you, indeed?”
“Indeed.”
She became serious. “I am sorry. In retrospect, I fear I overreacted.” Which she felt was true, for if she hadn't felt compelled to slap Andrew after his kiss this evening, she could not guess what had come over her to induce her to slap St. James for what was in reality a far less serious offense.
He lifted an amused brow. “Are you, Miss Murdock? If I were to repeat my performance, I would be safe from any further blows? Perhaps I should try my luck now before you change your mind.”
“I do not find that funny, milord,” she warned, and changed the subject. “How is it you were able to come tonight, at any rate? I had it on good account that you could not obtain vouchers.”
“Really? And from whom did you hear that bit of scandalous gossip?”
“My lady's maid, milord.”
His lips quirked but he did not question what discussion she had been having about himself with her lady's maid. “Well, she was correct. You may thank my grandmother for helping to subject you to my presence this evening.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. It all became clear to her now. The Duchess's cackling over her missive from St. James this morning and the unexpected caller, Lady Frobisher. “Oh dear,” she said, a little shocked. “Now that I think upon it, I dare say when one of the Ladies of the board visited today, that your grandmother bought her off!”
St. James gave a startled, loud laugh, drawing a good deal of attention. “I should not have put it past her,” he said, still chuckling. Then seeing her haunted look, he asked, “What is it?”
“It is just that—all these people!” She shook her head in exasperation. “You did not have to do this to me, milord!” she accused him.
“Look at me, Miss Murdock. No, not my neck or my chest or whatever it is you are studying upon. Look at my eyes.”
She did with reluctance, found that they steadied her, like a horse shying away from a jump and hearing its rider calling with calm authority that it was to take it, and then finding that it could. “I shall get you through this, Miss Murdock, if you only focus on me and do not begin to look at all the others. We are alone and there is no one else here. See, I hold your hand, and we hold each other's elbows, and we make a little circle with just you and I. They are outside of it, and they can not breach it if you do not look at them.”
She held onto his eyes with her own. As if to remind herself as well as him, she said, “I trusted you. And I fear very much that what you have done to me this evening was catch me in some well-laid trap, which I can find no purpose for, but a trap all the same. Those are not the actions of a trustworthy man, milord. Does that not concern you?”
“Miss Murdock?”
“Yes?”
“Must you always ask questions that I can not immediately answer?”
“Oh,” she said and felt deflated, for she had been expecting, just a little bit, that he would have some ready explanation that would reassure her that she could trust him.
The music ended, and they dropped their arms from each other and stood for a moment on the floor. St. James brought his finger to rub across his lip. Miss Murdock said in a subdued voice, “You had better escort me back to your grandmother now, milord.”
The chords of a waltz struck up. “No, Miss Murdock. I think we have your question to answer,” he replied, and for the second time that evening, her hand was taken, held out to the correct position, and a man's arm settled around her waist. She remembered Andrew's instruction, placed her hand upon St. James' shoulder, and it seemed as though her hand was heated by a low burning flame. His arm around her waist was searing fire, and when they moved out into the dance, she glanced up into his eyes and saw to her utter consternation that he had hooded them against her, leaving only part of their expression to be seen and covering the other half.
Something has changed.
“Did I tell you, Miss Murdock, that your hair is very becoming in that mode?”
“No, I—I don't think you did,” she answered. His body, fluid and taut, controlled their steps, their rhythm.
“I suppose I was remiss and did not tell you that your skin warms my eyes when I look upon your neck, your shoulders. . . and elsewhere?”
She faltered in her dancing, the low swoop of her neckline embarrassing her when before she had been satisfied that it was in fact, quite modest.
“Ah, it warms my eyes all the more when you flush rosily as you are doing now.” He brought his half-hooded eyes
again to her face, her own rounded eyes. “And as I told you once before, you have very fine eyes and they appear all the finer when you blush, for you look so suddenly exposed. You enjoy hiding, do you not, Miss Murdock—” He leaned his head toward hers, drawing back his lids and the full impact of his golden stare impaled her brown ones. “Lizzie. . .” He drew out her name into a teasing taste on his tongue. His nostrils flared and she realized that he had drawn her inexorably closer to him in the moves of the waltz, until they were not quite touching, but she could feel his heat radiating from his body like so many small, damning flames.
With an effort, she put more distance between them, and even that was bittersweet, for his arm slid around her waist with maddening friction so that she wanted to embrace him and flee from him all at once. “Do not make me slap your face again here in Almacks, milord,” she warned him in a frightened, hushed voice.
“But that would answer so much speculation,” he returned. “For I am sure everyone is dying to know whose palm print it is upon my cheek and if it could, in fact, be from the young lady now dancing in my arms. Shall we satisfy their curiosity? I think we shall.”
The blood came roaring into her ears, and her feet deserted her, leaving her standing still, facing him. That they were utterly conspicuous, she had no doubt. The music went on and the other dancers moved in circles around them. And she was certain he was going to kiss her, for reasons known only to himself, and she was equally certain she would slap him, for her hand was jerking in his own for release and she was unable to control her response any more than she had been able to control her heart's quick thumping and the weak, warm flush of her body that evidenced just how very damnedably enmeshed she was in the spell he had laid so thickly, adroitly and bloody quickly upon her.
But St. James surprised her by taking not a step forward, but a step backward. He was laughing softly at her dumbfounded (and she feared, disappointed) look, and he swept her hand, fingers spread, to the side of his face, laying it in the prior branding of her palm in a mock slap that showed everyone the perfect match her hand was to his mark. The dancers about them stuttered to a stop and the musician's playing died in mid chord.
Miss Murdock, with high color, stood in the center of this attention. St. James caressed her palm across his cheek and even in all her chagrin, she was aware of the pale, burning skin of it, how her fingers with a mind of their own twitched into a caress, causing his eyebrow to raise a degree higher in his forehead. Then he slid her palm down to his mouth, and she understood where the other had been for show, this was for her alone, and he kissed the palm of her hand with an intensity that made her for the first time in her life, feel as if she would faint.
And all she was aware of as everything swam in her eyes was St. James' low, delighted laughter.
Then Andrew was there, and she was not sure how it came about, still being nearly insensible upon her feet. St. James was gone and she was in Andrew's arms as they had been in the salon just a few hours ago, and he was whispering with desperation in her ear, “Hand on my shoulder. One, two, three! One, two, three!” Her feet moved and her eyes cleared and little by little she realized that Andrew had saved her. The musicians struck up again and the other dancers began to dance and everything went from chaos to a veneer of normalcy. “Where is he?” she asked in a numb voice.
“He is gone, Lizzie. He has gone.”
“You have tutored me well, Andrew,” she choked. “When a man makes improper advances you told me I was to swoon from the thrill and danger of it.”
“Just dance, Lizzie. Just dance.”
She did, and although she did not immediately understand the importance of it, she came to realize that if she had left the floor after St. James' display and not danced with Andrew, there was no one in society that would not have snubbed her and branded her a fallen woman.
As it was, she was dangerously close.
Chapter Seventeen
“What now?” she asked Andrew, for she was well aware that the dance could not go on forever. Nor did she wish it to, for she wanted nothing better than to go curl in a ball somewhere and cry her eyes out.
“I do not know,” he told her, worried. “I can not possibly dance two dances in a row with you after his little show. I can only think that I lead you off the floor with as little fuss as possible and we leave immediately. Damn him! Why would he do such a thing to you? He has effectively ruined all your chances with any other suitor, for it will be thought that you are used—Nevermind!”
“Goods,” she ended tonelessly. “I expect that was his intention all along.”
Andrew gave her a sharp glance and she saw that he had a deal more maturity in his eyes than she had witnessed before. “For whatever bloody purpose?” he demanded.
“Oh, nevermind, Andrew, for I can no longer even guess myself,” she answered with weariness.
The music ended and he took her arm and as judiciously as possible led her from the floor, but they were not even to the edge when Ryan Tempton stepped to in front of them. “Miss Murdock,” he asked with a sober smile. “May I have this dance?”
Miss Murdock did not even have a chance to answer for Andrew exclaimed in a relieved whisper, “Good man, Tempton! Take her,” and she was passed from the one to the other in short order and headed out onto the floor again.
“Oh, Ryan,” she began, dispensing with formalities as soon as the music started. “You should not have put your reputation at risk by dancing with me. Bad enough that Andrew—”
“Not at all, Miss Murdock,” he returned with a warm grin on his raw-boned face. “I intend that we have such a good time out here that everyone will be rushing to dance with you to see what all the fuss is about.”
She laughed in surprise, admiring his unorthodox approach. “I fear that I shall not be much help, for I am not enjoying myself in the least!”
“That is only because you have not had the proper partner, but I am here now and so that problem is remedied,” he told her with mock loftiness.
“Is it as bad as I fear?” she asked.
“It is merely all in how you look upon it,” he told her with attempted lightness. “If you act as though you were deeply affected, then it shall be every bit as bad as you fear and worse, but if you can endeavor to act as though St. James were only being his usual naughty self, and that you put no weight on his actions, then they will have nothing to believe but that he were merely misbehaving again. Which will hardly shock anyone. So, please, Miss Murdock, try to laugh and look carefree, and I am sure between Earl Larrimer and myself, and one or two others, we can get you out of this nearly intact.”
Miss Murdock did laugh, because he managed to make it all seem somehow ridiculous. “I should not even care, because I plan on leaving at the end of the week. It is just more shock than anything, that he could truly be so bad!”
“I'm afraid I suffered the same shock on the night of your unfortunate meeting with him. But I am beginning to think there is usually a method to his madness. Although, I confess, I do think very badly of this night's piece of work. But I also happen to know that what he was about earlier today directly benefits you, so I have that to measure with also.”
“Really? What?”
“No, no. I am sure he means it as a surprise so I will not tell. Only let me assure you that I think, knowing what little I do of you, that you shall enjoy it very much.”
“Well,” Miss Murdock said with returning spirit, “I was certainly surprised this evening and I can assure you that it was not at all to my liking! So forgive me if I look forward to this further surprise with some trepidation.”
He laughed and she was moved to join him and this time it was not quite so forced, and she realized that it all was as easy as he had said, for although a great many people were still watching her, they were now shaking their heads as if to say to themselves, that St. James! Up to his old tricks. No wonder she had obviously already slapped him once before. Good for her.
She pondered
this then frowned with worry. “Oh, dear, Mister Tempton, but I believe for every notch I go up in their eyes, he goes down three.”
“Not at all, for if he is showing interest in you and you are clearly not allowing him leeway, then they have nothing to believe but that good shall prevail and he will in the end do the proper and propose. I am proud to say, Miss Murdock, that I believe you are fast being hailed as a 'rake-reformer'!”
“Good God!” she exclaimed, almost losing her step, but he guided her on without incident. “And he planned it all, I am sure. That bloody fool!”
He twinkled down at her. “I suspect the same, Miss Murdock, for he seemed to me today rather taken with his notion of marrying you.”
“Well, I am not at all taken with the notion of marrying him,” she returned. “And as you are aware that he wishes to marry me for no other reason than—than to obtain my horse, then I think you can well understand why,” she said.
“I can not believe he would be going to all this trouble for a horse, Miss Murdock.”
“Well,” she said, dropping her eyes from his in sudden guilt, “he is!” And now I am lying for him, she thought. He treats me shabbily in front of several hundred people, and I am lying for him. Lord help her, whatever next?
“No, no. I don't believe that. St. James seems to hold you in a
respect that he reserves for few people.”
“And he has a fine way of showing it!”
“Nevertheless,” Ryan coaxed, “I am sure he saw in you something from the first that the rest of us are just beginning to discover.”
“Yes,” Miss Murdock returned, angry at St. James, herself, and the whole mess, “he says I have a way of asking questions that he can not answer, and then he goes on to answer them in a way which then makes me wish I had not asked!” And she blushed hotly, and shoved ruthlessly the image out of her mind of—Oh, damn it! She had to think of something else!
“Really?” Ryan asked, a great deal diverted. “That is a very odd basis for a marriage: to be forever playing games with each other.”
In the Brief Eternal Silence Page 31