by Reid, Stacy
More like compelling. But Verity did not say so, instead deftly shifting the topic. “Will you be at Lady Springfield’s ball later on? My brother has demanded my presence, and I fear I cannot plead a headache again. Your presence will surely enliven my boredom greatly.” And perhaps aid Verity in keeping her sanity if she should encounter the marquess.
“I shall be there,” Pippa said.
And a tension Verity hadn’t been quite aware of lifted from her shoulders. She would attend this ball and have a jolly good time. She’ll not let memories of that vile snake steal any more enjoyment from her life. However, Verity would be cautious and ensured she stayed close to her friends for the night.
* * *
It was his veiled lady indeed.
Sebastian had indicated this young lady, saying Fanny had known of only one person to fit the circumstances he’d described—a Lady Verity, whose family held the Earldom of Sutcliffe. Staring at her now, James could recognize her with little effort. He was certain this young lady in the beautiful icy blue ballgown with pearls seeded in the hems, a charmingly lowered décolletage, and tiny puffed sleeves was truly her.
Though he could not see her face, how she moved, slow and graceful; the way she spoke with her hands, delicate, fluttery movements revealed her to him, for such mannerism reflected those of the lady who had visited him. The shape and size were also entirely accurate. She appeared a petite, fragile-looking young woman with a head of the richest darkest hair he’d ever beheld. She was apparently a lady of excellent breeding with a sensuality that was unstudied and quite appealing. James watched her discreetly from his position on the balcony of the upper floor drowning out the idle chatter and laughter around him.
A man approached her, and she stiffened. The smile of her lips appeared strained to James even at this distance. But then she laughed, and he frowned. The lady dipped into a curtsy, and a few moments later she was on the dance floor with the man. She was the embodiment of grace and elegance as the man twirled her into a waltz.
An unfathomable need to be the one dancing with her arrowed through his heart. He smiled slightly without humor. He was a bumbling oaf when he tried to dance. The few lessons he had dared to take several months ago would not have him moving with such grace as those dandies on the floor.
An undeniable curiosity rose within him as he watched her. She seemed so at ease in the crush, not how he imagined someone who had been away for four years would appear. Is it truly you, Lady Verity? The dance ended, and he moved through the crowd, drifting closer to her. His mysterious lady collected a glass of champagne from a passing footman and sipped. The lady shifted and their gazes collided. The last remnants of his uncertainty died. This was the woman who had visited last night. Her lips parted on a gasp, and her eyes widened with recognition, hope, and oddly panic. Clearly, she did not expect any form of social interactions between them, only clandestine meetings.
This close, he noted her finely molded cheekbones were slightly high, her skin creamy and glowing with health, her lips generous and soft. There was a stubborn pride in the set of her small chin, and her eyes were the brownest he'd ever seen. Her lovely eyes were under delicately arched brows, and her generous mouth seemed to be made for smiling and perhaps kissing. Faintly shocked at his errant thought, he glanced away briefly. His eyes traveling over the many people at Lady Springfield's townhouse, every public room, garden, and terrace seemed to be overflowing with guests.
When he looked back to her, the lady was pushing through the crowded ballroom with deft ease. At the edge of the hall, she paused, turned toward him, and stared at him for several unblinking moments. There was a clear invitation he should follow. James made his way in her direction, leisurely, ensuring no one paid too much attention to him, though it was quite unlikely with the number of people crammed into the ballroom.
James exited in time to see the tail of her gown disappearing around a corner. He made his way down the hallway, passed a few guests, and made a similar left turn. She was not in sight, but then he spied a door which had been left discreetly open. James made his way to it, pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
“Close it,” she commanded huskily.
Something unknown surged through him, and the sensations were so baffling he took a few seconds to comply. She was being impetuous, shortsighted to risk them being alone in such a place. The scandal, if they were seen closeted away, would be horrendous for her. James was used to the endless speculations into his life, and the various sobriquets of wicked and dissolute.
However, he closed the door with a soft snick. A merry light danced from the fireplace, and a lamp was lit in what appeared to be a small parlor. The heavy drapes were also drawn, revealing a garden by the windows.
“Why are you here?”
“I was invited.”
“Balls are not your haunting ground, Lord Maschelly. That is commonly known,” she retorted, clasping her hands before her middle. A nervous and telling gesture.
The lady was charming indeed. She was short, lushly curved and quite petite, and the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder. And it bemused him that he would like to kiss her. She inspired wicked fantasies of tangled limbs atop silken sheets, and he felt like a cad for having the provocative thoughts.
He wanted to move closer but knew he would be like a hulking beast beside her sweet, delicate femininity. With a scowl, he glanced down at his large hands. Possibly even scare her, for now, she looked at him with wary determination. James must never forget she had survived an attack which still haunted her. She had a deceptive air of fragility, but he saw the core strength staring back at him.
“Who are you?”
“Lady Verity Ayles, sister to Lord Sutcliffe,” she said with a lift of her chin. “Though I suspect you are aware of my identity. I ask, my lord, again, why are you here?"
He knew the earl. Sutcliffe visited the club often enough to gamble and tumble with the sought-after Cyprians which visited each night, searching for their next wealthy protector.
He recalled the earl was young, eager to please those more powerful than himself, and ill-equipped to be the head of his family. A few nights ago he had been at the club with the Marquess of Durham. The earl had laughed loudly at everything the marquess said, and from what James had overheard, the man had little in the way of humorous anecdotes. He bragged of seducing debutantes and married women, hardly something to be proud of.
“I attended the ball to find you, Lady Verity.”
She inhaled sharply and stepped toward him. Her expressive eyes danced over his face, and the light of hope inside them made his throat close for a few seconds.
“Because?”
“I will teach you to fight.”
* * *
“You can open your eyes,” the earl said, his voice rich with amusement.
With a gasp, her lids flew open, and a hand fluttered to her chest. Verity hadn’t realized she had closed them in profound relief. “My lord, I—”
“I’ll help you.”
“You are absolutely certain of this?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I…no, please, you do not have to answer that, my lord. At least not now. Please know I am deeply grateful.”
He looked away as if uncomfortable with her gratitude. “I will also accept your guidance in learning to be…more refined. Perhaps you will permit me to ask you for a dance after a few lessons.”
She stared at him, flustered. One of the curious rumors about the earl was that he never danced. There had been much speculation to why, and now he would ask her? “The whispers from such an unprecedented action will be very loud, my lord. Nor do I think Lady Susanna would be too thrilled when you’ve never danced with her before.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “I am no longer interested in courting Lady Susanna.”
Verity stared at him in dismay. “But I believed you loved her, my lord!”
He arched a surprised brow. “Loved? Those were not the sentim
ents which had moved me to make an offer. The lady has made her position known and I have moved on. But I will appreciate your lessons since I still have the desire to marry eventually. And it is clear any lady of quality will appreciate a man more once he has more charming and refined sensibilities.”
Mocking humor danced in his eyes at this. Yet she sensed the rejection had cut deeply. It jolted her that she wanted to know more about him and the life he had experienced which had placed that wicked cut above his brow, and the faint cynicism in his expression.
“A tutor may be the best person to guide you in the proper steps for the various dances,” she said.
He moved slowly, deliberately, almost leisurely toward her, and her heart kicked a furious rhythm. Verity did not think it was fear, but a very unwelcomed and perplexing attraction to the man before her. The eyes that stared at her so unflinchingly were as deep and unfathomable as the night sky, and she felt uncomfortable in her admiration.
“A tutor could also guide you in the art of pugilism, my lady, but here we are forming a bargain to which I have one condition.”
She stiffened. “Which is?”
“Sometime in the future, you will inform me of the name of your attacker.”
She was suddenly aware of an aura of ruthlessness surrounding him that frightened her. Did he want to defend her honor? Verity felt bewildered, awkward and filled with a strange sense of wonder. Her own family had not cared about her honor, why would this stranger? The words hovered on her lips, but she could not voice the questions. It felt too intimate to ask.
“I will never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Nor will I ever hurt you. I would ask for honesty between us at all times so we do not make missteps with each other. Our…relationship is very unorthodox and quite new for me, but I do not wish to muck it up, either for you or myself.”
Inexplicably, she believed him.
“Are we in agreement, Lady Verity?” he asked, unruffled by her silence.
“Yes,” she murmured shakily. Verity stuck out her hand and was surprised when he shook it. “And I thank you, my lord. I shall never forget your kindness.”
He smiled. It seemed terribly intimate to Verity and she was struck by the incredible sensual beauty of it. Dear God, it was dangerous to be in this man’s presence, and she had struck a bargain that would allow many clandestine meetings. She blushed, and his gaze caressed over her evidently flushed cheeks.
“I should return inside. I do not wish to be missed.”
“Then go. I shall send instructions to you in a letter, very discreetly.”
Oddly, her feet remained rooted when she was caught in a storm of sorts. The air became heavy with a promise she did not understand, and it was then she realized he still held her hands. Slowly she pulled away, and he released her. “I…I shall look forward to it.”
Something far too elusive for her to understand shifted in his beautiful eyes.
Verity turned and opened the door, slipping into the hallway, conscious of the way his eyes touched every part of her. A dangerous thrill burst in her heart, and it took every lesson in discipline she’d ever had to not turn around. Verity knew he would be hovering in the dark shadow of the doorway, watching her…and somehow, she knew his expression would not be one of serene contemplation. But one of want and need. Her heart tripped and butterflies wreaked havoc with her stomach.
She could feel way down inside of her, every nuance of his stare. An aching, terrifying awareness that he was possibly attracted to her, filled Verity’s heart. And that she too….could possibly be attracted to his compelling masculinity. She closed her eyes against the very idea: he was not the ideal man for her, in any fashion. His edges were too rough, and even if she came at him with an etiquette mallet and all her knowledge of gentlemanly behavior, he would always have that dangerous aura that would scare her witless.
Dear God, have I gone too far?
Chapter 5
Almost a week later, on a very particular Tuesday, Verity was admitted to Lord Maschelly’s townhouse, under the banner of secrecy and a pale moonlight. The butler promptly and with no fuss or frown directed her to an excessively large room with hardwood floors, bare of all furniture except a long sofa flushed against the wall below a set of French windows. A sense of unreality suffused Verity to know this was happening. The last several days had been spent in an agony of half dread and half hope. Somehow, she had expected that the earl would rescind their bargain. But he had been true to his promise and had sent very explicit arrangements the day after she’d seen him at Lady Springfield’s ball.
She was to visit his townhouse three nights per week in disguise. For two nights, he would teach her about fighting, and one session would be her teaching whatever insight she held on refinement and gentility. He would send an unmarked carriage for her every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings by eight pm. It was less likely there would be any notable ball or events to happen on those days, and if there were any, she would need to be inventive and escape their confines. He would be the one to send the carriage with a coachman he trusted, and that should mitigate the chance of discovery. Verity had felt embarrassed for having not thought so far ahead.
It would have been impossible to summon her brother’s carriage to take her to clandestine meetings three days a week without him discovering it. The servants were loyal to him and would have felt obliged to inform her brother of her shenanigans.
She would meet this coachman at the mews behind her townhouse. She should dress simply, in servant garb if she could, and slip through the kitchen’s back entrance to lessen any chance of discovery. Of course, all this would be accomplished once her mother and brother had ventured out for the evening.
Luckily her brother had gone to his club tonight, and from experience he would not be home until well into the morning of the next day. Her mother had retired to bed early, and there was no occasion she would visit Verity’s room. They were not close, at least not since the “distasteful incident.” But Verity had still pushed several cushions under the blankets on her bed, and at a cursory inspection it might pass for her sleeping form.
“You are to change into that clothing,” the butler said mildly, indicating the neatly folded pile on the sofa. “A young maid, Grace will assist you whenever you are here, my lady. She will escort you to your chamber and attend you there. When you are finished, please see yourself back to this room. My lord will be with you shortly.”
An odd warmth suffused her. Lord Maschelly had thought to provide her a lady’s maid, and a chamber. It seemed the man had thought of everything.
“Thank you,” she said warmly to the butler.
His eyes lingered briefly on the veil, he bowed, then melted away as if such encounters were ordinary.
A young girl of about sixteen years entered shortly, bobbed, and said, “I’m Grace, milady. Milord said I’m to assist you in any way you wish.”
“Thank you, Grace. Could you take me to my room so we may prepare?”
Verity took up the folded clothes and followed the girl from the room, down the long hallway, and then up the winding staircase to a chamber. It was a very elegant room done in brocaded blue and silver flowered wallpaper, a large four poster bed dominated the room, and a chaise longue rested close to the dancing fireplace. The room felt warm and inviting and smelled like roses.
Soon her gown, chemise, corset and laces, and pantaloons were removed, and Verity was dressed in men’s clothing. The shock of it had almost stolen her breath. Grace had assisted her in binding her breasts, until to Verity’s mind, she could pass as a young lad. Then she had donned a fitted white shirt, a dark brown waistcoat, and black jacket and trousers. The trousers clung to her frame a bit too snugly, but the jacket fit perfectly. Next a white muslin cravat was tied around her throat. Atop her head, a short dark wig was fitted with pins.
Verity belatedly realized that she was dressed as a fashionable young gentleman, and as she stared at her reflection in the cheval mirror in the
room, she laughed. All sense of her identity had been suppressed, and a pretty but dignified dandy stared back at her. Grace seemed pleased with her work.
“My lord is waiting for you, milady.”
Verity nodded and made her way down the stairs, and to the large exercise room. There the earl waited, similarly dressed in dark evening clothes-black jacket and trousers, white undershirt, a silver waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. The man even had on a top hat and a cane.
“My lord,” she murmured, then attempted to clear the huskiness away.
Admiration flashed in his eyes. “You make a credible young man.”
The pit of her stomach felt strange and fluttery. “I gather we are not starting our lessons tonight?”
He came toward her. “What do you expect?”
She searched for the hidden meaning in the cool expression staring at her. “To learn to fight.”
“And what does that mean, Lady Verity? To learn how to form a fist? Punch someone? Know when to retreat and run if necessary?”
Perhaps. “Yes.” A blush warmed her skin at her naivety.
“As like most young ladies of the ton, I gather you have been cossetted most of your life. Have you ever seen someone fight?”
“No, of course not,” she said in a horrified tone.
“Tonight I am taking you to a club.”
“A gentlemen’s club!” she gasped. “My lord…that…that is simply too—” she objected, considerably surprised.
“Improper, outrageous?” he demanded with a mocking smile. “I assure you I am still a bit perturbed by our arrangement.”
Casting him a glance of acute suspicion, Verity asked, “What is at this club?”
“Fighting. Many gentlemen have never been in a fight. They may have learned fencing, and perhaps even boxing. But never real fisticuffs—the kind that draws blood, and hurt, the kind that is necessary to protect dignity and life. When footpads accost them, or anyone else they freeze, and they are taken advantage of badly. You, my lady, are even more ignorant and naive when it comes to what is expected when accosted.”