by Jenna Jaxon
Only Haversham had offered to dance with her. Rather than be the obvious wallflower, she’d accepted him. Kate closed her eyes, reliving the moment, which had been a country dance. Haversham danced like a dream. While his partner, she need never worry about putting a foot wrong. Supper, however, had been more trying, the conversation focusing on equally mundane topics.
By the end of the evening, she’d thought she’d go mad with the inconsequential prattling. If Haversham could be counted on for anything, it was invigorating repartee. Last night, however, even he had been more subdued as they’d sat with Celinda and Lord Finley, and Lady Letitia and Lord Carstairs. Her right side conversation was nearly void as Celinda talked mainly to the viscount. Across the small table, silence reigned, save for a quiet “pass the salt, please,” from Lady Letitia. Haversham’s clever quips alone, uttered sotto voce, had kept her amused. She had to give it to the man. He had a wit sharp enough to slice cheese. She almost looked forward to trading barbs with him.
Which brought her full circle back to the foyer and the flowers she’d continued to sniff and stroke. They were heaven to touch. She stepped back and headed for the drawing room. It would be no trouble to allow Lord Haversham to call this afternoon. Perhaps she could engage him again about his sister’s restriction where the waltz was concerned. She’d have to come up with some clever arguments that made her point and set Haversham down a peg. His call might be the highlight of her afternoon.
* * * *
Marcus sat outside Locke Terrace in his curricle, screwing up his courage to enter the Manse, as Ainsley affectionately called his townhouse. He still couldn’t believe the note he’d received two hours ago. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the neat hand once more. You may call upon me this afternoon between 3:00 and 4:00. Brief and to the point, but he carefully folded it and tucked it away. It hadn’t contained any barbs, so that was a step in the correct direction. Of course, she might be luring him into an ambush, but he had to take the chance. He didn’t plan to stay long—if he could just convince himself to climb out of the vehicle.
No matter how ridiculous he felt, he had to knock on the blasted door. He climbed down, strode up to the looming jet-black door, and knocked rapidly.
Parker opened it immediately, his impassive face betraying their long acquaintance by a slight twitch of his lips. “Lord Haversham. I am afraid his lordship is from home at the moment. If you would like to leave your card, I will make sure he receives it the instant he returns.”
Marcus shifted on the stoop. Deucedly awkward, but there was nothing for it. “I, uh, am come to call on Miss Locke today, Parker. I believe she is expecting me.” He tried to ignore the look of profound shock in Parker’s sunken brown eyes.
“Yes, of course, my lord.” The butler regained his outward composure, ushered him in and closed the door. His hand slipped from the latch, and the door slammed with a loud boom. “My pardon, Lord Haversham.” Parker straightened his shoulders and headed toward the morning room, the tips of his ears growing cherry red.
Lord, if he’d rattled the unflappable Parker, this visit must be a nine days’ wonder.
The butler led him to the very familiar room, where the early afternoon light gave the pale blue-gray walls a glow. A comfortable room with pale blue jacquard-covered sofa and chairs, made uncomfortable now by the figure at the bay window overlooking the rear gardens.
Marcus shook himself and assumed a pleasing smile. If he was going to marry this woman, he’d have to stop dreading her company.
“Lord Haversham, miss.” Parker closed the door partially.
He would’ve laid odds the man had remained nearby. Ainsley’s servants were well-trained, well-paid, and loyal to a fault.
Miss Locke turned, and his heart skipped a beat. Lit from behind by the great window, she looked like an angel in white muslin, sprinkled with tiny blue flowers. Her hair, touched by the sunlight, shone like copper fire. She came toward him, and with each step, his heart pounded harder—from fear or desire, he’d best find out, and soon.
“Lord Haversham, how nice of you to call.” Her voice, though carefully neutral, still carried a tinge of her usual edge.
That was comforting, somehow, perhaps because of its familiarity, and he relaxed into his own accustomed role. “Miss Locke,” he said, bowing, “so good to see you once more.” His mouth dried, and he glanced around the room. Fool. One could not take spirits before a lady, but he would have given his soul for one mouthful of good brandy this instant.
“Will you have a seat?” She indicated an elegant Queen Anne chair across from her.
He nodded, dropping onto it gratefully, worn out by mere introductions. He smoothed his coat, picked at the weave in his brown trousers, anything other than look at Miss Locke. How the deuce did someone go about courting a woman anyway? He’d danced and dined with scores of ladies, but nothing more. His amorous adventures had been restricted to forays into the more popular brothels. So how did one woo a respectable lady?
“How is your sister today?” Miss Locke began. “Did she enjoy the ball last evening?”
“I believe she did enjoy it, as did I.” He risked a glance at her.
Miss Locke stared directly at him, her mouth pinched into a bow. “I am sure she would have enjoyed it even more had she been allowed to stand up in a waltz.”
The woman was like a dog with a bone. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth when Marcus paused. Perhaps Miss Locke might enjoy trying to persuade him to allow his sister leave to dance the scandalous waltz. An odd manner of courtship, perhaps, but it would be lively, he suspected.
Affecting his best stern countenance, he put up a hand. “Really, Miss Locke, I believe I know what is best for my sister.”
“As you have never been a woman who had to refuse partners for a dance, I might beg to differ. I saw Lady Letitia turn down two gentlemen last night alone.” She bit her lip, as though restraining her tongue. “I beg of you, Lord Haversham, allow your sister to waltz. I am certain she will be the happier for it.”
“Would you have been happier had we danced a waltz last evening instead?” Marcus stared into the blue eyes across from him that suddenly appeared uncomfortable. Their gaze darted all around, avoiding him at any cost. “Did you prefer our waltz the night before last, Miss Locke?”
“Of…of course not, or, no, yes, I did. I did enjoy our waltz, Lord Haversham. You are an excellent dancer.” The woman might’ve been eating a lemon or something that left a bad taste in her mouth, like curdled milk. “As would your sister be, were she able to do so.”
He restrained a chuckle. “Perhaps you could convince me while we ride in the park? I have my curricle outside.” Would she consent to be seen with him alone in public? Would the bait of being able to change his mind about Letitia prove enticing enough?
She narrowed her eyes, and Marcus braced for the worst. He’d seen that gleam in her eyes before. It had never boded well for him. “Why yes, my lord. That would be quite a challenging outing, wouldn’t it?”
“And you enjoy a challenge, Miss Locke?”
“I do indeed, my lord.” She rose, never taking her gaze from his face.
Marcus shot up and out of his seat. Lord, what had he just unleashed on himself?
“I’ll be but a moment getting my spencer.” She glided out of the room, deliberately taking her time.
Marcus didn’t mind in the least. Her slow exit gave him time to appreciate the straight back and hint of curves revealed by the undulating white gown. Had the sun been in front of her, what sights might that gauzy gown have revealed? He gulped, amazed at the sudden response in his breeches. Heavens, was he desirous of Miss Katherine Locke?
That thought had certainly never crossed his mind before. It came rather quickly now, however. Of course, she was a beautiful woman. If only she could keep her tongue in check, she’d have been snatched up her first Season. Perhaps Fate had had a hand in this all along.
“Are you coming, Lord
Haversham?” she called from the foyer. “I assume you wish to take me for a ride in your curricle rather than have me drive it myself.” The underlying glee in that last statement sent him hurrying from the morning room. He wouldn’t put it past her to try to take the ribbons.
“Of course not, Miss Locke.” He was brought up short by the stunning sight of Kate Locke standing in a dark blue spencer with matching hat that made her eyes change to the color of the sky. Breathtaking, in so many ways.
He offered his arm, and they walked sedately if rather awkwardly out to his waiting curricle. After handing her in, he hopped up beside her and took the ribbons. A sly glance at her made her laugh.
“Do not worry, my lord. I promise I shall not seize the reins unless you give me good cause.” Her cheeks had pinked with her laughter. The color became her. She should laugh more often. Perhaps he could remedy that as well.
He turned the matched chestnuts toward Hyde Park. They were earlier than the most fashionable crowd, but he hadn’t wanted to be obvious about the courtship yet. “We have a grand afternoon for our drive, I see.” After a cloudy morning, the weather had turned brilliant.
“Lord Haversham,” she said, training a sour gaze on him, “do you think me a simpleton?”
Her words took him by surprise, but he answered back, rapid-fire. “I might think many things of you, Miss Locke, but being a simpleton is not one of them.” He turned the rig into the park. “Why do you ask?”
“My brother put you up to taking me out, didn’t he?” The fury in her face made him want to cringe.
The accusation caught him unawares. He managed to keep a stern countenance, barely, and replied, “No, he did not.” Technically, he spoke truth, as Ainsley hadn’t specifically asked him to take her out for a carriage ride, but Marcus knew he skated on the thinnest ice possible.
“Then why have you taken this sudden interest in me?” Her voice wavered between outrage and hopelessness. “Dancing with me, the supper dance, a carriage ride. It smacks of Ainsley interfering in my social life again, and I will not have it. He thinks he knows what’s best for me.”
“Brothers often do.” Marcus dangled that bait, praying she’d take it and run swiftly away from the dangerous waters he now treaded.
“Hah. You think my marrying you is what’s best for me?” Her voice rose alarmingly, and he peered around, terrified someone had heard her.
Fortunately, the park was lightly populated at the moment. Time to tease her back to safer shallows. “I would never presume to tell you, of all people, Miss Locke, what was best for you. I would, however, like your advice on how to help Lady Letitia as she navigates the sometimes treacherous waters of her first Season.” He cracked a slight smile. “The waltz notwithstanding.” He pinned her with a sharp stare as she leaned forward and opened her mouth.
Marcus steeled himself for the onslaught.
She pursed her lips. “Why would you want my opinion, my lord? We obviously disagree on most topics.”
He released a sigh of relief. “You have expressed an interest in my sister’s welfare, Miss Locke. I appreciate that deeply. My sister has few friends, and Aunt Alexandra is much older. I would like to hear what you would recommend as one closer to her own age, to help bring her out of her shell.”
“She is rather retiring.” Miss Locke nodded in agreement. “I did notice that last evening.” She cut her eyes at him then stared straight at the horses’ backs. “I believe she is particularly fearful of the punishment or penalty you have imposed if she dances that waltz. If I may speak frankly—”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you.”
Miss Locke faltered, blushing, then chuckled. “Well, you might attempt it, my lord, but I would doubt your success.” Miss Locke sent him a sly look and adjusted her spencer. “As I was about to say, your sister is frightened of dancing the waltz. You must lift this ban so she can take part in Society more fully.”
Marcus pretended to think on the scheme’s merits, furrowing his brows, pursing his lips, clenching his fist. “I cannot see my way clear to do so at this time, Miss Locke, although I do appreciate your point.”
She scowled at him and opened her lips, but he cut her off. “Other than dancing, however, is there some way you can think of to help bring her out of herself?” He truly would be grateful if she could hit upon a plan that would help Letitia.
“Well,” she said, fingering the material of her reticule. “Does Lady Letitia enjoy shopping?”
The simple question stymied Marcus. “I’m not quite certain.” He’d never heard his sister talk about such outings, but then he’d been seldom at home before his father’s death last autumn. During her mourning period, of course, she’d wanted to do nothing, save stay in her room and cry.
“If you will allow me, my lord, I will send a note to Lady Letitia this afternoon requesting her company on a shopping excursion tomorrow morning. Then I can better assess how much work it will take to bring her out of her shell.”
Marcus beamed at her, and she ducked her head. “My sincerest gratitude for your assistance, Miss Locke. If we can encourage my sister to interact more with other ladies and gentlemen, I will be forever in your debt.”
Miss Locke’s eyes sparkled, and Marcus’s stomach dropped. He had no idea what she might be planning, but he would’ve bet his fortune—if he’d had one—she would try to coax Letitia into standing up in a waltz in defiance of his edict. He suppressed a smile. Just let her try.
Chapter 9
Kate paced from the cold fireplace to the bay window that overlooked the street in the front reception room. Carriages flashed to and fro in the bright sunlight on the busy street. She leaned forward, peering up and down, but Lord Haversham’s polished curricle was not in sight. A shiver coursed through her, and she backed away from the window. It wouldn’t do for him to see her looking for him. Instead, she padded over to the gilt and white chaise and slowly lowered herself onto it. She picked up her white kid gloves for the thousandth time, put them on then pulled them off. Waiting always made her fly to pieces, although she should have been used to waiting for him by now.
Lord Haversham had called for her every day for the past two weeks, a whirlwind of activity that had left her breathless both from the sheer number of outings as well as the startling closeness she had come to feel for the man she’d disliked for so long. He’d taken her to the park where they’d picnicked on chicken and fruit salad and he’d thrown the grapes at her. Another day, he’d accompanied her to Gunther’s for ices and discovered they both particularly enjoyed the lemon ones. Most recently, they’d gone to Hatchard’s bookshop for her to purchase Ivanhoe, the latest novel by Sir Walter Scott. When she discovered he hadn’t read the Waverly novels, she’d offered to loan him hers.
In the evenings, they’d danced the scandalous waltz at Lady Camden’s and Mrs. Jamieson’s balls, sat together at Lady Atherton’s musical evening where he’d made sotto voce comments then admonished her for laughing. They’d enjoyed cards and supper at Mrs. Doyle’s, and joined a party for an outing to the delightful Vauxhall Pleasure gardens. If the ton did not suspect their interest, it was blind.
Of course, Haversham still irritated her with his antiquated views concerning his sister—she’d not made any inroads on that front, despite her constant arguments—but she had to admit that Lady Letitia must be the most reticent lady in London. They had indeed gone on a shopping excursion almost a week ago, Kate insisting to the younger woman that she required help deciding on several purchases. Lady Letitia had tried to be helpful, but she was so hesitant in her opinions on such mundane items as a hat, parasol, or stockings that Kate could only shake her head. The girl must have grown up very sheltered, scarcely able to speak up for herself. Kate must convince her brother to allow her as much freedom as possible. If Letitia spread her wings a little farther, perhaps she’d eventually fly on her own. She could help Lord Haversham’s sister more once she and the earl…
Kate squeezed her gloves s
o tightly her knuckles turned white. Her thoughts had turned more and more often toward marriage, of late. Of marriage to Lord Haversham. If his piercing looks and gallant actions were any indication, his lordship was on the brink of a declaration to her. She had dreaded this possibility at first. They had gotten along so poorly in the past she’d been determined to refuse him if he were to propose.
As the days wore on, however, their conversations remained surprisingly spirited without dissolving into hateful arguments. She was also able to observe his manner with his sister, whom he chaperoned each night, and was encouraged to see his true fondness for her. Save his continued prohibition on the waltz, he was an exemplary brother. By the second week, she’d actually begun to look forward to the daily excursions and nightly dances with him, where his touch, even if his hand only fleetingly clasped hers, had the power to set her pulse racing. Now his visits had become so much a part of her life she couldn’t imagine a day without seeing him and didn’t want to.
Surely he would propose today. Everything he had said and done last night had led her to expect an offer.
Her hands shook, and she rubbed them up and down her arms. The trembling continued throughout her body, until she vibrated like a stringed instrument when plucked. She changed from hot to cold whenever she allowed herself to think of it. Certainly it would be today. And she would accept him, and they would be happy together.
How she could believe such a thing baffled her, yet in her heart she knew it to be true. Marcus—she’d begun to think of him as a name rather than his title quite suddenly two days ago. Last night, she’d almost called him that. She prayed he hadn’t noticed.
Marcus. He filled her waking hours until she couldn’t bear to wait to see him. As now.
A rap on the door sent her heartbeat pounding. She must remain calm. He mustn’t know how much he affected her every time they met nor how she longed to see him each day. She straightened the skirts of her blue muslin gown, the color of the one she’d worn to Lady Carrolton’s ball. The same color she’d been wearing the night she’d noticed him with anything but annoyance, really, for the first time. The cornflower blue gown became her. She hoped he thought so as well.