There must be a certain freedom in no one noticing you. Her sister was always watched, her every move commented on. If she was less than flawlessly groomed, her manners less than perfectly polite, it would be talked about by all and sundry. Such was not the case for herself, however.
And so, lifting her skirts, she performed a small but perfectly executed twirl.
A low chuckle behind her made her stumble and gasp. And then a warm hand was on her arm, helping to steady her, and she was looking up into Lord Willbridge’s laughing gray eyes.
Chapter 4
Caleb had thought, after seeing Imogen rudely jostled and thrown off balance, that he would be playing the white knight in pushing through the throng and coming to her aid. He was proved wrong, however, as he came closer and caught sight of her performing a surreptitious little jig, followed by a smothered laugh. Relief and a spurt of humor ran through him. Behind her calm exterior there seemed to hide a bit of a minx.
Grinning, he came up to her just as she was completing a beautiful little twirl. The laugh that escaped him was completely involuntary, and he was sorry a moment later when she stumbled because of it.
He steadied her. “I don’t know who your partner was, but I’m quite envious of him.”
She blushed furiously and looked down at her toes. He hooked one finger under her chin and forced her gaze back up.
“No,” he gently chided, “I’ll not have you go back into hiding. I quite liked the lady I met so unexpectedly in Lord Tarryton’s drawing room, and I would very much like to see her again. Is she still in there, do you suppose?”
To his delight Imogen burst out in a small, surprised laugh. “I’m afraid most people are not privy to that particular lady.”
His smile grew. “Well, you may tell her I feel all the privilege of having glimpsed her then, even for so short a time.”
“You should feel so,” she quipped. Her eyes widened as if just realizing her own audacity.
He laughed quietly. “It was quite an unexpected thing, to finally be gifted with your identity. I searched far and wide for it, you may be assured.”
She cocked one eyebrow in disbelief. But there was also something else lurking in her turquoise eyes. Hope, perhaps?
“No, I truly did,” he insisted. “Well, as far and wide as one morning would allow.”
“You can be assured that if I had known running pell-mell through a dark garden was a way to secure a man’s attentions, I would have done it years ago.” Her expression was serious, but there was a teasing light in her eyes that lit up her entire face.
He liked her. He truly did. There was something wonderfully substantial about her, and she had a surprising sense of humor that completely caught him off guard. The dark cloud that seemed to constantly shadow him disappeared for a moment.
He held out his arm. “Walk with me?”
When she looked at him in doubt, he motioned with his eyes toward the matrons sitting close by. They were beginning to cast them covert glances, clearly curious as to his presence on this side of the ballroom, though to his relief her mother had yet to notice his arrival.
She flushed. “You know, I was perfectly invisible until you turned up, my lord,” she chided playfully. She took his arm and he began to thread her through the crowd.
“You can be assured, you have my heartfelt apologies. The matrons and chaperones have eagle eyes, I fear. I know you will not hold it against me when I tell you that there are times I feel like a bit of prey they have in their sights.”
She laughed lightly, keeping her gaze straight ahead, her eyes squinting as she scanned the crowd, a small smile on her surprisingly lush lips.
Lush? Surely that adjective had not just popped into his thoughts. He shook his head. “You are an enigma to me. I cannot make you out. Why do you hide behind such a façade?”
“An enigma,” she murmured. “That is a new one. I fear what you see with me is what you get.”
He frowned. “Oh, come now, Miss Duncan. You forget, I’ve glimpsed it. There is much more to you.”
She shook her head, her lips compressing. “That’s very kind of you, but not true in the least.”
He stopped near the wall and turned her to face him. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Disregarding my compliments.” He was unable to hold back the tinge of frustration in his voice. Truly, why could she not see he was being honest with her? What force had her believing she wasn’t worthy of a compliment? He thought back to his visit to her drawing room. Her mother was not a warm woman. From the look of her he doubted she had ever had a kind word for her eldest. Anyone would feel emotionally bruised after living with that.
He realized that she was staring up at him with a curious expression. He smiled, effectively banishing the strange mood that had momentarily overtaken them. “It isn’t well done of you, you know. When a woman receives a compliment, she should simper behind her fan and bat her lashes.”
“Oh dear,” she said in mock concern. “And here I’ve forgotten my fan.”
They had a wonderful moment of shared laughter. Truly, she had a lovely laugh. She didn’t giggle behind closed lips but let out a chuckle of true mirth. He had a sudden and complete moment of peace as he hadn’t had in years.
The music ended then. He cocked his head, listening, and then turned back to her. Holding out his hand, he gave her a crooked smile. She looked at him quizzically.
“I would be honored if you would gift me with the next dance, Miss Duncan.”
She was already shaking her head before he finished. “Oh, no,” she said. “No, you don’t want to dance with me.”
He kept his hand out. “I assure you I do.”
She contemplated him for a long moment before she set her chin and reached out with trembling fingers to grip his own. He grinned down at her before leading her out onto the floor.
• • •
A cotillion was just starting, the sets forming as they took their places. Imogen’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. What devil had compelled her to accept him? She wondered. The same devil, she suspected wryly, that had her bantering with him so boldly just minutes ago. She felt as if a stranger had invaded her tonight, one with a daring that Miss Imogen Duncan had never possessed.
Mariah was in the same square formation. When she spied Imogen her face lit up. Imogen grinned back, her every nerve ending alive. And then Mariah’s gaze drifted to Lord Willbridge at her side. Her eyes widened, and she looked back to Imogen, her brows raised. After that there was no time for more as the musicians struck up their instruments.
How many times had she danced about the drawing room back at Hillview Manor with her sisters, laughing and carrying on even as they pretended they were at a grand London ball on the arm of a handsome stranger?
But now she was. And every time her hands met those of Lord Willbridge she felt a jolt go straight through her to her very toes.
“You surprise me yet again, Miss Duncan,” he murmured in her ear as they passed. She looked at him quizzically. When they met again, he leaned in once more.
“You have not stepped on my toes once. Is there anything you cannot do?”
She gave a small sputter of laughter. “Please,” she scoffed as they parted.
When they came back around again his lips were once more at her ear. “For shame, Miss Duncan. Remember, take a compliment honestly given.”
“Even if said compliment is bordering on insult?”
He chuckled. “Not an insult,” he said as they came around again. “You’d be surprised how many times my toes have been trampled.”
She gave him a teasing glance. “Well, as you are leading, perhaps the fault is your own.”
She blushed as his quiet laugh reached her. The excitement of the exchange had her bursting with energy. She never felt this comfortable with someone, always overthinking what she was saying. But he brought out a confidence in her that she had never before possessed.
She could
certainly get used to this.
All too soon, the music ended. Lord Willbridge led her to the side of the room and bowed low over her hand. “Thank you, Miss Duncan. You dance beautifully.” He grinned and melted back into the crowd. Imogen found she could not erase the smile from her face even if she had wanted to.
• • •
Later that night, just as she was settling under the covers, there was a knock at Imogen’s bedroom door. Before she could answer it, Mariah flew in. She skipped over to the bed and jumped up, settling herself against Imogen’s side.
“I thought you would be dead on your feet, Mariah,” Imogen whispered, tucking the blanket about her sister. Mariah snuggled beneath the covers and laughed quietly.
“I vow I cannot rest. I have been replaying Lord Willbridge’s actions in my head. I have never seen anything more dashing.”
Imogen grinned. “He quite surprised me, I admit.”
“He is a lovely dancer, Imogen. It was wonderful of him to single you out. I have heard he does not ever dance with unmarried young ladies. Though he is a rake, I found it gallant of him. Were you very shocked?”
“Yes,” Imogen admitted, her mind full of those lovely gray eyes. “But for shame on you for calling him a rake. He has never acted anything but the perfect gentleman with me.”
Well, she amended, her cheeks warming, perhaps not always so perfectly gentlemanlike. The kiss he had given her upon their first meeting certainly did not fit into that category.
Mariah’s clear blue eyes were wide. “Were you very tongue-tied? I know how it is for you with people you have just met. I worried for you.”
“Strangely enough, I was fine. He has a way about him. He put me at ease immediately.”
“Do you think he means to court you?”
Imogen gave a shout of surprised laughter before clamping her hand over her mouth. Their gazes swung to the door for a long moment, but all was silent. They both exhaled in relief. If their mother had discovered Mariah out of her bed, she would have launched into one of her many recitations on needing sleep for beauty, and neither could bear that.
“Are you mad?” Imogen whispered.
“And why couldn’t he be interested in you?” her sister came back hotly. “You are beautiful, and wonderful, and any man would be proud to have you for a wife.”
Imogen looked at her askance before muttering, “I think you are the one who needs the spectacles.”
Mariah swatted her on the arm. “Stop it. I hate it when you do that. You cannot take a compliment.”
Imogen’s mouth fell open.
“What?”
“Lord Willbridge said that very thing to me this evening.”
Mariah sputtered on her laughter. “Did he now? My opinion of him has just grown tenfold.”
“Well, I do not care that the two of you are in harmony with your thoughts. He has no designs on me, and that is final.”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “Fine. You may be gloomy and fatalistic to your heart’s content. I, however, have the right to think whatever romantic notions I may.” Her expression turned dreamy. “He is so deliciously handsome.”
Imogen didn’t think such a statement required an answer. But she agreed wholeheartedly.
Mariah sighed happily and launched into a recounting of the evening, most especially Lord Willbridge’s attributes. Imogen listened with half an ear as an unexpected thought occurred to her. Why, she wondered, had he paid her the compliment of a dance? He was handsome, and popular, and could have had his pick of the ladies present, despite his unfortunate reputation. Why had he chosen her?
And then a realization hit her, with all the force of a runaway horse. Perhaps it was not her company he was after.
Imogen recalled Mariah’s rant in the carriage, when she vowed she would only choose a husband who paid her sister the courtesy of his attention. Lord Willbridge had been present in their drawing room yesterday afternoon, obviously there for her sister. Perhaps he had decided on Mariah for a bride and realized that the way to her heart was through Imogen. Why did she not see it before?
She felt mortified to her very soul. For a very short, very sweet moment, she had believed that perhaps he had searched her out for herself. Not in a romantic nature. No, he could never desire her for that. She ignored the way her chest squeezed at that thought. But maybe he had liked her, had seen something in her that no one else had, had perhaps wanted to be her friend. Was that so very bad to imagine?
She became aware of a deep quiet in her room. Mariah had finally nodded off, her head pillowed on her arm, her nearly white hair a thick plait draped over her shoulder. Imogen gently smoothed a stray wisp from her sister’s cheek before snuffing the candle and snuggling down beside her.
Imogen vividly recalled the promise that Frances had extracted from her. If Lord Willbridge truly was trying to get to Mariah in this way, she couldn’t fault him for going to extremes to try to capture her attention, for her sister was being courted aggressively on all fronts. But she would not allow any man who did not love Mariah to win her. A true innocent, the younger girl would not be able to guard her heart if a man such as he besieged it.
It was up to Imogen, then. Her lips twisted. Could fate be any more cruel, that she should have to protect her sister from the attentions of a man who was becoming all too dear to herself?
But she must be certain that Mariah was protected. And she would not allow herself to be used, no matter how he smiled at her and made her knees turn to jelly.
She resolutely closed her eyes.
Chapter 5
Caleb entered Lord Avery’s musicale the next evening, scanning the crowd for a particular, unlikely face. It no longer had the power to surprise him, this desire to see Imogen. She was such a refreshing change from the dissolute crowd he typically hung around. There was an artlessness to her he was drawn to. And her quick wit, along with the unexpected joy she had displayed when he had danced with her, had been charming and completely without artifice.
His chest felt lighter than it had in longer than he cared to remember. He desired her companionship, looked forward to being not the consummate rake but a gentleman who could take pleasure in a woman’s company simply for the sake of being with her.
As he moved through the brightly lit house, he still found no hint of her or her family. He fought down a wave of disappointment, pasting a smile on his face as he joined several of his friends in a light discussion, headed off the advances of a certain married woman, and worked his way toward the music room. Eventually he passed the threshold, taking in the quiet cream and sage opulence, the doors into the adjoining drawing room thrown wide to enlarge the space. Seats had been placed in rows down the length, and there she sat toward the front, two seats in from the aisle, quite alone and scanning her program. There was no sign of her mother or sister, though he had no doubt they were about somewhere and that Imogen was meant to hold their seats. He moved toward her.
When he was still a distance from her, she suddenly looked his way, her eyes tightening at the corners as she squinted. A peculiar kind of joy filled him, a feeling he had come to associate with her presence. He smiled. As he came closer to her, she returned it, but only just.
“Miss Duncan, you are looking well this evening.” He motioned to the chair next to her. “May I?”
She nodded quickly and he sat, taking the aisle seat. Her hands clenched on the program, and he could easily imagine her knuckles turning white under the material of her gloves.
“I was hoping you would be here tonight,” he said.
Her eyes flew to his. “You have been looking for me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
The question took him aback. “Why?” he repeated.
“Yes. Why were you looking for me? I know I’m not the normal type of company you keep.” She stuck her chin out. “Do you care for my sister, my lord?”
It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to force the words past her unwil
ling lips. Once they were out, she wanted to recall them. She lifted her chin a fraction more and waited, ignoring the faint trembling in her hands and the even more furious trembling in her stomach.
He sat back, the breath leaving him in a disbelieving huff. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Did she truly have to repeat herself? “Do you care for my sister?”
His mouth hung open for a moment before he shut it with an audible snap. “What does your sister have to do with anything?”
She looked down at her lap. “Many men have pursued my sister. And yet she has shown none of them favoritism.”
There was a charged pause before he blurted, “And? What has this to do with me?”
Was that annoyance in his voice? She swung her gaze up to his incredulous one. “It has everything to do with you.”
“Explain,” he demanded.
She began to feel incensed at his attitude. “It is no secret my sister and I are exceedingly close. It really was only a matter of time, I suppose, before someone realized her affection for me and decided to use it to gain access to her.”
His face fell slack. “Is that what you think of me?” Disbelief and hurt colored his voice. “Do you actually believe me such a cad?”
Uncertainty snaked under her skin. “I don’t know you well enough to disbelieve it.”
He studied her a long moment. “You are right, of course,” he finally said.
Imogen’s stomach dropped. “I am?”
“Yes. You have no reason to believe my seeking you out is honest. We have known each other but a matter of days and have not had more than the slightest of conversations.” His voice dropped then to a whisper, pain coating his words. “And if you knew the half of what I have done, you would run screaming from me this instant.”
Imogen was shocked speechless. Before she had time to recover he continued in a firmer tone, “But know this: I am not after your sister for a relationship, be it honorable or not. I do not wish to disparage her, Miss Duncan,” he said slowly, carefully, “but she is not at all my type.”
With Love in Sight Page 4