How to Be a Proper Lady

by Katharine Ashe

  Lady Fiona set her fingers to the keyboard again and Viola set to dancing with renewed application. Turning about, she came to face the drawing room door, and there he stood. Jin. Without warning. Perfectly handsome as always, and watching her.

  Quite abruptly she knew that she would never become accustomed to the emptiness inside her, not even were she to try to distract herself from it by sailing all seven seas in a leaking ship. Nothing on earth existed that could distract sufficiently. For there was no more dangerous venture than loving Jin Seton and not being loved by him in return.

  Chapter 22

  He could not look away from her. He knew he ought. But as she stumbled through the set, tangling her feet in her hem and her partners’ steps and generally making a hash out of the dance, the knot that had taken up residence in Jin’s chest during the past month loosened. She was beautiful-as beautiful groomed like a lady as she had been garbed like a sailor. She moved about the floor smiling and laughing, her pleasure and occasional uncertainty unrehearsed and unrestrained. As she captained her ship and bewitched her crewmen, she danced with all her heart, if not with all her limbs in concert.

  Finally her gaze came to him, her eyes widened, and the breath went out of him. She tripped again.

  “Jinan, you have returned!” Lady Savege clapped. Her husband swiveled about, a smile crossing his face. He came forward in long strides. Hand outstretched, he took Jin’s.

  “I shall not embrace you here before these others,” the earl said quietly, roughly, his grip hard. “I’ve no doubt you would knife me for the indignity. But know that could I, I would.”

  Jin allowed himself a slight grin, the mountain of purpose he had carried slipping finally from his heart. The debt of life that had bound him to this man, his friend, for twenty years was now paid.

  Alex shook his head and laughed. “So that is where you were all those months when we heard nothing from you? Looking for a girl everyone believed dead?”

  “It seemed as good a task to pursue as any.” He released his friend’s hand.

  “And how is my ship? Your ship, that is.”

  “At the bottom of the sea, Alex.”

  “You say? How? By whom?”

  “By a lady.” His gaze flickered over Alex’s shoulder to Viola once more. Alex followed, then came back to him, open eyed. “Yes.” Jin smiled. “She is… remarkable.”

  The others waited for their host’s cue, curious. But the lady whose dark eyes he saw in his dreams each night averted her face from him now.

  Serena came to them. “Welcome back, Jinan. Allow me to introduce you to the others. Lady Emily-”

  “We are already known to one another from a brief encounter at my parents’ house nearly two years ago,” Lady Emily said from her chair with a nod at him. “How do you do, Mr. Seton. I don’t suppose you will take Mr. Yale away with you when you go this time, will you?”

  “The lady is all charm, as always,” the Welshman drawled. “How was town, Seton?”

  “Well, thank you.” Empty of the one person he wished to see, who still did not look at him. “Lady Emily, it is a pleasure to meet you again. I am afraid, though, that I haven’t any plans to depart soon.”

  Then Viola glanced, a flicker of her violet eyes in his direction, her lips parted. He had not known his intentions until he spoke them, and he had spoken them entirely to draw her gaze.

  Panic slid through him again. He should not have come. But he had been drawn and now it was too late. Willing himself steady, he turned to Lady Emily’s companion and bowed.

  “Madame Roche, j’espère que vous allez bien.”

  “Je vais très bien, monsieur. Merçi.” She curtsied, then gestured to the girl standing by the piano. “But you know Mademoiselle Fione, the sister of your good friend, the Lord Blackwood, I think?”

  He bowed. She curtsied, a flutter of lashes over dark brown eyes.

  “Of course, I needn’t introduce you to my sister.” Serena beamed as she took Viola’s arm snugly. “Now, shall we have tea? All that dancing has given me a dreadful thirst.”

  “My dear,” Alex said, “if you will excuse us, I will take the gentleman to seek out stronger refreshment. Seton, Yale, Lucas, shall we?”

  “Superb suggestion,” Yale murmured and, casting Jin a grinning glance, moved toward the door. Jin bowed to the ladies and followed willingly. It was one thing to dream of a woman’s eyes and lips and touch from hundreds of miles away, and to regret the distance from her. It was another entirely to remain in the same room with her, his blood spinning with need and that hot thread of alarm, and to remain any saner than she.

  He had returned. Just like that. Viola had no warning of it, no announcement even of his name by the servants who seemed to otherwise declare it each time a member of the company of ladies and gentlemen at the Park yawned or blinked.

  Not this time. In the midst of the minuet he had appeared, standing at the threshold to the drawing room as though he had been watching the spirited group romping about the floor for ages and was perfectly content to remain there indefinitely. And now as the party gathered in the drawing room before dinner, he again enjoyed a comfortable position, this time by the piano. Lady Fiona flashed her pretty dark lashes at him, showing him her sheet music. Madame Roche stood nearby, but the thrice-widowed Frenchwoman of indeterminate age and a remarkable froth of black organza did not bother Viola, despite her sharp eyes and elegant looks. Only the lovely, highly maidenly Fiona mattered, the girl she had come to like very much and felt absolutely wretched envying now. Lady Fiona had his attention, and it made her sick to her stomach.

  He wore a dark coat, buff trousers, and white linen, as though he had not come from the road only that afternoon. But so he had always appeared aboard ship, in command of himself and of everyone else he encountered. Including his very foolish captain.

  She found it difficult to breathe properly and she felt like a ninny. Violet la Vile was most certainly not a ninny.

  She would best this. This time, she would not allow him to affect her. Now she had her family around her-the affection of her sister and the baron, and new friends, however grand they all seemed at times. Moreover, she had the strength to resist him. In Trinidad, her feelings had blindsided her. But now she knew the danger in which she stood. Even without her pistol and dirk, she would fight it. And if that didn’t work, she was not averse to digging her weapons out of her traveling trunk and threatening him to depart at dagger’s point.

  Beside her, Serena and Mr. Yale discussed potted plants or piquet or something equally mysterious, she hadn’t an idea. But the baron’s stepdaughter, Diantha Lucas, apparently did.

  “Lord Abernathy and Lord Drake played for prize orchids, but it ended in a draw.” Her wild chestnut curls bobbed, obscuring a pair of blue eyes shaded with curling lashes. “I read it in the gossip column in The Times.”

  “How eccentric of them.” Serena chuckled.

  Mr. Yale’s mouth slipped into a grin Viola had come to recognize. That grin said, I have consumed a bottle of brandy this afternoon and cannot be moved by anything, even foolish lords playing cards for hundreds of pounds over exotic plants. But he only said, “How admirable that you read the paper, Miss Lucas.”

  Beneath a liberal sprinkling of spots no young lady could like, Diantha’s cheeks and chin clung firmly to the roundness of childhood, and then some. But her regard remained bright. “Papa does not like the paper, but I learned to enjoy it at the Bailey Academy, of course.”

  “Of course.” His silvery eyes glistened.

  “Mr. Yale, you should drink less and read the paper more often.”

  “Diantha!”

  “I am only saying, Serena, that handsome young men ought not to ruin their lives in this manner. There are ever so many alternatives to depravity, you know.”

  “For a lady of-” He broke off, his brow creasing. “What is your age, if I may be so brash as to inquire, Miss Lucas?”

  “Sixteen and nearly three quarters.�
�

  “For a lady of sixteen and nearly three quarters, Miss Lucas, you have a remarkable quantity of opinion.”

  Her face opened in innocent surprise. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  His brows quirked up. “Why shouldn’t you, indeed? It is admirable.”

  “A moment ago you thought it impertinent.”

  “Never. Or if I did I must have forgotten myself for an instant. I beg your forgiveness.”

  Her lips screwed up into a skeptical frown. “You are not sincere.”

  “Nearly always. But I do indeed find an informed mind admirable, Miss Lucas, even when paired with impertinence.” With a slight grin, he unfolded from his chair and stood, bowed to each of them, and moved off.

  Serena patted her stepsister on the arm. “Don’t pay him any attention, Diantha.”

  “Miss Yarley at the Bailey Academy says gentlemen always drink to excess. I told her Papa does not, but my real father did, so perhaps Miss Yarley is correct in the case of some gentlemen.” She stared after Mr. Yale, her eyes bright with curiosity and something warmer. Lady Fiona played a trill of notes and Viola’s gaze crept back toward the pianoforte.

  Jin was looking at her.

  She snapped her eyes away, the hollow ache inside her never greater. Beyond the propped terrace doors, thunderclouds gathered to the ocean, bands of fiery gold striped across their bottom swells from the setting sun. She stood and went through the glass doors onto the terrace. The air glowed pink all about, and she forced herself to appreciate the beauty as she always had from her helm.

  “Missing your quarterdeck?” His voice came at her shoulder, quiet and deep.

  She sucked in breath and turned to him. “Thanks to you.”

  He bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again too, Viola.”

  “I suppose you expect me to curtsy now.”

  “That is the usual custom, I believe.” His eyes glimmered. Her belly felt quivery.

  “I have learned how, you know. And countless other ladylike accomplishments.”

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “Why did you come out here? To bother me?”

  “Merely to say hello. But I will certainly congratulate myself if I achieve more with so little effort.”

  “Oh. I am laughing uncontrollably. Can you see?”

  “I can see.” It seemed from the appreciation in his regard as it flickered along her hair and shoulders that he meant something other than his words. She could not bear it, not wanting it as she did.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what? Like a beautiful woman is standing before me and…” He paused. “I seem to recall once already having a conversation quite like this.”

  At the inn when they arrived at Port of Spain, before her whole world changed.

  “You are only looking at me like that because I have been plucked and powdered and am now essentially unrecognizable.”

  “Rather, recognizable and irrational.”

  “Je vous en prie.” She curtsied, flicked open her fan, and smacked herself in the nose. She rubbed her palm over it.

  His perfect mouth crept up at one corner. “You have learned French in a month?”

  “Où peut-on danser?”

  His grin broadened. “You do know what that means?”

  “Yes, but the only other phrases I have memorized are ‘The prawns are delicious’ and ‘Will there be cards tonight?’ And were we to dance, I would almost certainly tread upon your toes, which would be satisfying. Why did you call me irrational? This time.”

  “You know that I thought you beautiful before this. I told you.”

  And there she stood, on the terrace of an earl’s house, warm and aching in places she knew no proper lady should be warm and aching under such circumstances, and wishing to throw herself upon his chest quite urgently.

  She must say something to press away the desperation inside her, to push him away before she cast polite society and every ounce of her pride to the wind and adhered herself to him like a mollusk to a rock.

  “Mr. Yale flirts a great deal more subtly than you.”

  “I am not flirting with you, Viola.”

  Oh, God. Why had he returned? It hurt and she didn’t know how to make it stop hurting.

  “He calls me Miss Carlyle.”

  Something glimmered in his eyes now. Something not perfectly settled. “Do you wish me to call you Miss Carlyle again, then?”

  “No,” she answered too quickly.

  “Viola.”

  Something in his tone-a question, perhaps-made her heart trip, which made her snap, “What?” because the tumult of these emotions was not welcome.

  His brow lifted and he made a sharp sound as though to retort. But he halted, his mouth becoming a line. “No.”

  She did not wish to know what he meant by no-why he had stopped himself from responding. It could not be good, and every mote of blood in her was shivering now.

  “No… what?”

  “No, I will not match your foolishness with foolishness of my own. I came out here only to say hello and that I have missed you.”

  Her stomach dropped to her toes. “H-have you?”

  “Yes.”

  The horizon overtook the sun and the pink fell away from the sky, draping the sloping lawn and austere walls of Savege Park in pearly gray. But, tinted pink or blue or any color, his eyes were still beautiful, his jaw still resolute, and Viola did not like the sensation of sinking onto the slate terrace like a puddle of melting jelly.

  She attempted a smirk. “You had your chance, Seton.”

  The single brow rose again. “I did not miss this, though.”

  “Oh, well.” She struggled to maintain a light tone. “I am certain you can find more conciliating company inside.”

  “I have no doubt of that.” His mouth crept up at the edge again, scattering stars across her vision.

  “My sister, for instance.” She spoke to smother her distress. “She seems to like you very much, God knows why. And of course, there is Lady Fiona.”

  “I am being dismissed, it seems, as though I am still a lieutenant aboard your ship.”

  “You are being dismissed as though you are a man that a lady does not wish to speak with.”

  “Hm.” Finally he smiled. It hit her midsection full force.

  “Why are you grinning?”

  “You told the truth that day when you said you were only one woman. One…” He paused. “One woman.” He turned and went toward the terrace doors. Her fingers itched to grab his arm and stay him, to keep him with her in the waning light. Simply, to touch him. She wanted to touch him more than she’d wanted anything for weeks. Or perhaps forever.

  “What did you do in London?” she blurted out.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Nothing of note.”

  “I thought you had business to attend to there. Why did you return here?”

  His eyes sobered once more. “To settle a debt.”

  “With Lord Savege, concerning me, of course. But he was in London. Didn’t you see him there?”

  “No.” He came back to her until he stood very close. She tilted her chin to look up at him and the evening breeze stirred the dark lock dipping over his eyes. She saw him draw a slow, deep breath, her own breaths short and quick. “Are you happy here, Viola?”

  “This is a surprise. I cannot imagine that you actually care.”

  “I do.”

  “If you did, you would not have forced me to come here.”

  “The wager,” he said, his voice low, “was your idea, of course.”

  Her cheeks were hot. Every part of her was hot. He was standing too close, but she could not move away. She wanted to be even closer. His body radiated a waiting tension, his gaze scanning her features, and it was as though he was touching her with his fingertips, on her cheeks and brow and lips. She could not stop staring at his mouth. She wanted to kiss him quite a lot. She wanted to make love with him again. She had never wanted to make love
like this with a man before. And she wanted him to hold her, to not wish to let her go.

  “Are you happy?” he repeated quietly.

  The intimacy of it tangled her insides unbearably. She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  A muscle flickered in his jaw, his gaze hardening. “Yes, or I would not ask. But apparently the child has returned and I shan’t have my answer.” He moved away.

  She wanted to shout that she was not a child but a woman, and the woman hurt. But she only swallowed back the thickness in her throat and wondered if real ladies allowed gentlemen to make them feel like they were dying. If she were on her ship-

  If she were on her ship she would not allow him to chastise her, then walk away.

  She went after him. Perhaps he knew she pursued him. At the threshold with beveled glass doors the like she’d never seen before, which were simply another part of this house that had nothing familiar about it-except him now-he waited for her.

  “I am…” She sought any words. “Too stationary.” It was true, after all. And she could not tell him what was really in her heart. Let him think she resented him for her changed life, but nothing else. Nothing for which he could imagine he had bested her. “I am unaccustomed to being stationary.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  “You aren’t going to say that I will soon become comfortable with it? That I will forget all about my life before?”

  “Why should I say that? I never wished you to be unhappy, only reunited with your family. If you wish to resume your life in America, I will not hold you from it, nor will Lady Savege or anyone else, I suspect. They care for you and want only your happiness.” He said this not to her eyes, but to her cheeks and brow and mouth. Quite a lot to her mouth, where his gaze lingered on the spot beneath her lower lip. She could feel the memory of his tongue there. It made her knees watery. It made her lashes dip.

  “Jin, I am sorry to be so contrary,” she said on a little rush.

  “Viola, I misspoke earlier.” His voice seemed hoarse. “I cannot remain here long. My ship… You see…”