by Carrie Lomax
“Do it,” he demanded harshly. They were back to mumbling at one another out of the corners of their mouths while pretending they weren’t speaking.
“Are you saying I can’t remove that bracelet without her notice?” Antonia asked in a low hiss.
“Prove you can. I watched you do it once, purely by accident, at the opera. I have never seen you do so since. Maybe you aren’t up to the task.”
“Child’s play,” Antonia retorted. She angled her body sideways, then shifted nearer. A light grasp, a faked stumble, and a murmured apology. She edged back to the duke and dropped her left hand to her side, concealing the bracelet in her palm. His arm fell straight beside his body until the backs of their hands brushed. An electric frisson skated up her arm. He was warm and solid, and when his fingers traced the back of her knuckles, Havencrest’s touch was almost gentle. His gloved index finger twined with hers. Antonia’s knees went jelly soft. They threatened to drop her to the ground.
He traced the rim of the bracelet and quirked up one eyebrow. Havencrest cut her a sidelong glance. Antonia mimicked him. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. It was tempting to see if she could coax it into full bloom. Instead, she gathered her wits and sauntered off to the ladies’ retiring room where she casually deposited the stolen bracelet beneath a mirror. Someone would find it; perhaps it would make its way back to its owner. When she returned, the Evendaws had drawn Havencrest and Margaret into conversation. It wasn’t until they were collecting their cloaks from the footmen that he murmured, “Nicely done. It won’t work on my grandmother, though.”
Antonia shrugged as if the compliment hadn’t sent a spray of fireworks through her midsection. “Why not?”
“She never wears the Heart’s Cry.”
“Then what was that exercise all about?” Antonia demanded. The volume of her voice rose.
“To see you commit a crime.” Havencrest’s blue eyes flashed with humor. “Now, I can testify how I personally witnessed you relieve that young woman of her personal effects.”
Antonia gasped in outrage, her mouth flopping open like a landed fish, but there was no chance for her to respond before Margaret and the Evendaws interrupted to take them home.
Havencrest bade a stiff goodbye to the Evendaws. The damnable man touched the brim of his hat and grinned. Antonia narrowed her eyes at him in return. But seeing that grin had almost been worth risking her neck. It sent butterflies skittering through her stomach—an appallingly uncomfortable sensation, Antonia decided grumpily.
“Is your hand all right?” asked Margaret innocently.
“Yes, why?” Oh. She had been tracing the place where Havencrest had touched her gloved index finger while showing him the proof of her pilfering skills. “Cold, that’s all.”
“We shall be home soon.” The earl had fallen asleep in his quadrant of the carriage. Lady Evendaw nudged him away from her shoulder. Her husband snorted and blearily sat up.
As they trooped into the house, the under-butler brought a neat square of ivory paper posed atop a silver tray. “This arrived not a quarter hour ago.”
“What’s this?” asked Evendaw. The clock on the square chimed a single muffled bong. One in the morning. No good news ever arrived by darkness, Antonia’s mother always said.
“For Miss Lowry.”
Evendaw scrutinized the writing, and then her, so closely that Antonia feared he might open it and begin reading her post. Panic swept away any lingering cobwebs of yearning for Havencrest’s touch.
What she read erased any sense of yearning for him. The words scrawled in black-and-white curdled her lust into hatred with a few looping scribbles.
“What is it?”
“Dancing lessons,” Antonia breathed. “I am ordered by Princess Esterhazy to improve my deportment if I wish to continue to accompany Lady Margaret to Almacks. Apparently, my waltz with Lord Havencrest was inappropriate. Only debutantes who have received express permission from the patronesses are permitted. Apparently, it is an Almack’s rule. I didn’t know.”
“Oh,” Margaret exhaled. “That is embarrassing.”
“Yes, thank you for that keen observation,” Lady Evendaw snapped. “Miss Lowry is your friend, Margaret. Why did you not warn her?”
Margaret wilted under her sister-in-law’s sharp criticism.
“According to Lady Jersey, my deportment is acceptable, considering my nationality, however my skills need refinement if I am to grace the floor next Wednesday. It is signed jointly by five of the six Almack’s patronesses.” Antonia held out the letter. Lady Evendaw sniffed as if she had offered a handful of dung.
“I suppose you had best take her up on the offer, then, if you wish to avoid further humiliation,” Lord Evendaw peered over her shoulder at the insulting letter. “From ten to eleven every day excepting Sunday. This is right generous of the princess, to provide you with private instruction. Always liked her, though I cannot see what it matters if a lady dances a waltz at an assembly. I shall have my driver take you in the morning, Miss Lowry. Good night.”
Antonia retreated with her friend’s arm draped protectively through hers. “It isn’t so bad. Dancing is simple once you learn the steps,” Margaret prattled comfortingly.
But it wasn’t the footwork that concerned Antonia. It was that she had been caught out as a fraud. The temptation to take the remainder of Havencrest’s money and disappear overwhelmed Antonia in a wave of fear and despair.
He’ll never let you go, her heart whispered, lying. Havencrest planned to hand her over to the authorities as soon as she got him his stupid rock. She had best pack her bags and be gone before he had a chance to make that happen.
* * *
The next morning Antonia huffed her way up the stairs of the stated address precisely at nine fifty-six. Her breath puffed before her with each step.
“‘Improve my deportment,’ she says,” Antonia muttered as she arrived at the landing and depressed the latch holding closed the double-width doorway. “If I hadn’t spent my youth on hands and knees scrubbing after the likes of you, perhaps I would have had time to acquire the appropriate social…polish.”
Antonia halted abruptly. Before her was an empty room with scarred blond flooring bathed in stark winter light. Next to the window sat a table on which sat a wooden rectangle that made a rhythmic and annoying clicking sound. Over it bent a tall man with broad shoulders she would have recognized anywhere.
“I ought to have known you were behind this.”
“Yes,” Havencrest confirmed smugly. “I thought it a clever way to accomplish two goals.”
“Which are?” Antonia asked archly as she worked the frog closure on her warm mantle. She ought to be angry, but instead, she was oddly charmed. Annoyed, yes, but also humbled that he had gone to such lengths to spend time alone with her. Antonia’s footsteps echoed hollowly through the dancing room as she moved to drape it over the little wooden chair next to the table, on top of his overcoat. She placed her velvet bonnet beside his hat. Her gloves remained in place. Warily she circled the edge of the room, watching the duke as though he might pounce.
“Improving your waltzing skills, Miss Lowry, while plotting how to relieve my grandmother of her coveted gemstone.”
“I share only one of those goals,” Antonia informed him. Her gold velvet day dress with pink trim swished about her ankles.
Havencrest bowed. “That will be sufficient inducement for you to learn how to dance properly, then. In one week, we return to Almack’s. My grandmother will be there as well. I will make an attempt to ensure she wears the object of our shared desire.”
The Heart’s Cry, of course.
“After last night, I am convinced I hired the right woman for the job.” Havencrest kept his distance, orbiting away from the table, counting steps around the room.
“Hired? More like blackmailed.” She traced the top of the clicking device with one hand. “What is this?”
“A metronome. It will help us to keep time
in the absence of musical accompaniment. We may converse freely here.” He stepped into the middle of the room and gave her a courtly bow. “My grandmother was the one to complain to Princess Esterhazy about my inappropriate waltz with you. It seems I was overly familiar with my lady’s friend. I had forgotten the rules of Almack’s since my last visit. In my defense, it was a decade ago.”
Antonia didn’t know where to look, but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze. The way he regarded her, with a wary, yearning heat, made her palms damp inside her kid gloves. “I cannot believe you were ever a frequent visitor.”
“I wasn’t. A brief episode in my early twenties.”
“Why did you stop going?” Antonia asked with more prickly heat than she intended. This was hardly her first time alone with a man. If she were to give herself to him, it wouldn’t be her first experience either. It was the fact that he had gone to such lengths to get her alone that had Antonia’s hackles up. Despite this, she sensed no danger from him. Havencrest did not attempt to move closer to her. “The lady I had hoped to wed chose another man,” he said mildly. Pain ghosted over his handsome features.
“Oh?” Antonia arched one eyebrow. “I cannot imagine a lady refusing a man of such charm and wit as yourself.”
Her sarcasm earned her the stretch of his sensuous lips into a half moon. “I wasn’t always such a charming rogue. For a long time, I endeavored to become London’s most practiced rake. I succeeded beyond my ken. The lady in question believed I could never change and chose to marry a man who promised greater happiness. A knight, to be precise.”
“Why are you telling me this? We are here for dancing, are we not?” Antonia snapped. She did not wish to know this man’s history. Her heart beat faster as the full weight of meeting alone with him for six full mornings pressed down upon her. She did not like the way excitement coursed through her body at the prospect. “Apart from failing to follow your lead, what did I do wrong last night?”
Havencrest’s face closed. There was little outward movement, only a smoothing of his brow and a tightening around his eyes. Antonia recognized the retreat behind a mask, for she had learned to school her emotions, too. She knew how to close herself off by arranging her features into a pleasant mask. She did so now, swallowing her sullen resentment.
“When dancing,” he began with the slightest hint of chill in his tone, “you must move with a relaxed upright carriage. Like this. Avoid looking at your feet. It’s less important to get the steps precisely correct than it is to keep the timing. Hence, the metronome.”
For a tall man, the duke possessed a certain grace of movement that spoke of hours of practice drilled into him. She straightened her shoulders in imitation of his posture.
“Good,” Havencrest said encouragingly. “Soften your chin. You may wish to stab me, but until I have the Heart’s Cry back in my possession, I must ask you to refrain.”
A smile tugged at Antonia’s lips. “You planned the entire thing, didn’t you? You knew it wasn’t allowed for young ladies to waltz at Almack’s without permission. A patently stupid rule, you know.”
“I agree. However, I am not one of the patronesses.” Havencrest smirked. “You are so…different from the debutantes who populate that establishment that I had honestly forgotten. Once Princess Esterhazy pointed out my error, however, I saw an opportunity and took it. Now, the steps are like this. One-two-three. Lift the heel, like so. Keep your ankles soft. Last night you were bouncing around like this.” He demonstrated a stiff up-down.
Antonia stifled a giggle by covering her mouth. “Was I really that bad?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Havencrest then glided forward a few steps to stand before her. “Now you try.”
Antonia mimicked his steps in a pattern that took her in the opposite direction from him.
“Well done, except you have to do it backwards,” he pointed out.
A kernel of spite sprouted in her breast. “But you didn’t demonstrate that. I’m afraid you’ll have to show me how it’s done.”
Havencrest crossed his arms over his broad chest. Antonia smirked. He quirked one eyebrow. “Are you serious, Miss Lowry?”
“Absolutely. You are the one who wished to play dancing master. Let’s see how well you like being hauled about the room without being able to see where you’re going, Lord Havencrest.”
“Malcolm. My given name is Malcolm.”
Antonia inhaled. His name echoed inside her head, a useless piece of information. “All right then, Malcolm. Let me see you dance backwards.” She flicked the metronome spindle into motion. Havencrest dropped his defensive stance and waltzed backward in a full circle. When he came to rest before her, Antonia clapped. “Bravo.”
“Your turn.” He stopped the metronome. “Go.”
Antonia held herself as she had a few moments before and minced across the floor backwards. Step-lift-lift.
“Passable. Keep going.”
Antonia bared her teeth in a forced smile. Step-lift-lift, step-lift-lift. One-two-boom. Antonia’s feet slipped out from beneath her and she went down so hard, her fall reverberated all the way up her spine into the base of her skull.
“Men have the easy part of dancing,” she declared. Havencrest was at her side, one knee bent, overwhelming her with his solicitous assistance.
“There’s nothing to bump into,” he chided gently as one large warm hand cupped her elbow. “Does it hurt?”
“My arse will recover. It’s only a bruise.” Antonia shifted and winced. Embarrassed warmth rolled through her abdomen. Why must he make her feel so…so…fragile? She wasn’t delicate in the least. Antonia scrambled up, aided by the too-close, very nice-smelling and warm Lord Havencrest. “Thank you. Malcolm.”
His name hovered between them in a fragile puff of intimate connection. Antonia found his lapel gripped tightly in her left hand with a flash of shock. She raised her gaze to meet his and found wary hope in the depths of his blue eyes. Around his pupils and at the edges of the iris were rims of deep navy. They stared for a long moment. Or perhaps it only felt that way. Her gaze skated down the sharp angle of his nose, then dropped to his mouth, which for once was not frozen in a stiff line of disapproval. No, his lips were soft at the corners and generously proportioned, like the rest of him. A slippery sensation made Antonia feel as if she might fall on her rump again. Perhaps the tumble had knocked her brains loose for she found herself leaning forward as if to…
Kiss him.
Antonia let go. She scrambled back, pulse hammering in her throat. Havencrest’s intense stare blazed, then banked. She swallowed. “Let’s try that again,” Antonia said. Her voice sounded shaky to her own ears, but she raised her chin and adopted her best relaxed and upright stance before lifting one heel to shuffle backwards.
“This is why you let your partner lead the dance,” Havencrest said. Antonia watched, anchored in place, as he strode forward to loom over her. He hesitated.
“Well? What are you waiting for, your lordship?” Antonia closed the gap and placed her hand on his shoulder. The contact resonated up her arm and into her belly. She did it because learning how to dance with him was the only way she was getting out of this predicament alive, and also, because she wanted to touch him so very badly. Her knees went wobbly when his other arm slipped around her waist.
“Look at me,” he commanded. Antonia’s breath shortened into tiny inadequate sips of air. It wasn’t the first time she had felt lust, but it was the first time she had experienced it with such force. Their gazes locked. Bullheaded as she was, Antonia lifted her chin in challenge. Havencrest’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “Ready?”
Before she could reply, they were moving. Antonia flubbed the first steps, but he held her firmly upright and a scant six inches from his front. One-two-three. Step-lift-lift. Trust him not to crash her into a wall. Antonia glanced down.
“Look at me,” Havencrest demanded. Malcolm. Did he have a nickname, the way Antonia’s mother had shortened her deteste
d true moniker? Antonia forced herself to breath and locked her gaze back onto his. “Good,” he offered encouragingly. “One more time.”
Their bodies moved as a unit, mostly, except for moments when she tried to look at her feet instead of feeling her way through the shifts in weight.
“Nicely done,” Malcolm said.
They halted. Antonia let go and whirled away. Malcolm pulled back at the same time as though they had turned into opposing magnets pushing away from one another with invisible force.
“You are an excellent instructor, my lord,” Antonia declared as she fanned her burning face. “Yet I must ask, what does this have to do with stealing your grandmother’s necklace?”
Chapter 10
Havencrest’s blood thudded in his ears so loudly he could hardly hear the sound of the bell tower marking the half hour. He willed his unruly body to quiet. Defiant, his cock twitched with interest at Antonia Lowry’s proximity.
This had been a terrible idea.
It had all seemed so simple last night. When Lady Jersey had pulled him aside to admonish him for leading Miss Lowry into trouble, Malcolm had spotted an opportunity and decided to capitalize upon it. He had prevailed upon connections to locate a dancing master, who had begun offering lessons to all comers, to let him this space in the mornings. It had cost him a small fortune. Now that he had her, though, Malcolm was no closer to figuring out what to do with Miss Lowry than he had been before.
“You have discovered my grandmother’s favorite pastime,” he croaked, wishing there was a servant to bring tea.
“Playing cards,” Antonia replied as if nothing had passed between them. A moment ago, he would have sworn she had been about to kiss him, but now he’d never guess it.
“Yes.” He fiddled with the metronome until his unsteady hands lost their shake. “Each Friday she hosts an afternoon card session in her parlor after tea. Friends and their invitees only. High stakes, by old women’s standards.”