Relegated to a mere spectator, Anselm propped his elbow on the table and sipped at his wine, tapping his toes in time to the music. He wasn’t in the mood to dance, or so he told himself. Still, at least he could admire all those elegant couples and scrutinize their footwork. The king and queen danced quite beautifully together, as did Vadim and Martha; almost as if they were one being rather than two separate individuals.
Martha looked exceedingly well this evening clad in her sweeping gown of claret silk. She’d shed most of her post-pregnancy weight, but her bosom was rather fuller in the bodice than it had been before the twins’ arrival. Temptingly so. Anselm had already caught one or two lustful glances being cast in the countess’s direction. Vadim would certainly need to watch over his wife tonight. Then again, Martha wasn’t a shrinking flower. From bitter experience, Anselm knew she was quite capable of taking down anyone foolish enough to tangle with her.
“Why aren’t you dancing, boy?” Lulu appeared, sinking onto the chair so recently vacated by her niece.
“I’m not in the mood. Why?” Anselm regarded the older woman curiously. She looked rather elegant in lilac, confined to her gown and not her hair. “Are you fishing for an invitation?”
She chuckled. “Away with you, you silly beggar. Dancing at my age, indeed! No, I just came over to keep you company, that’s all.”
“In that case, you’re most welcome.” Anselm hoped kindness was Lulu’s only motivation for coming over. He’d already had enough interrogation from her niece. But, alas. It wasn’t to be.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re sitting over here with a face as long as a wet weekend in Whitby?”
“In where?”
“Oh, never mind,” Lulu said, impatiently swatting at his hand. “And I’d go easy on that wine if I were you. Nobody likes a drunk.”
Anselm grinned. “Speaking of which, you seemed to be getting along rather well with Seth during dinner. Tell me, when might I be able to wish you joy?” He couldn’t resist baiting her. Lulu was far too knowing at times.
“Don’t get smart with me, Hansel. Your father is a reformed man, as you’d see if you ever gave him a chance.”
“Yes, yes. Let’s hope it lasts, eh?” Perhaps if Seth remained sober for more than a few weeks, he’d be more inclined to believe his miraculous transformation was of a permanent nature.
Suddenly, in a heartbeat, all thoughts of Seth fled from his head. Anselm’s stomach gave a sickening lurch as he saw Miriam’s dinner companion—the handsome blond giant—escorting her out onto the dance floor.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Who the devil is he?” Anselm snarled.
“Who?”
“Him. Longshanks, there. The man dancing with Princess Miriam.”
Of course, Lulu could not know who he spoke of, not when there were so many couples dancing. Fumbling in a concealed pocket of her gown, she produced her eyeglasses which, for the sake of propriety, she’d had attached to a thin stick of ivory.
“Oh, him.” Lulu smiled broadly—she had a remarkably fine set of teeth for a woman her age. “That’s Lord Mortimer’s youngest lad. Roger—Rodney?” She shrugged. “I’m not so good with names. Either way, he’s a lovely-looking lad, isn’t he?”
Anselm scowled and ground his teeth. The Duke of Pemberton’s son, eh? What a fine match that would be. Slumping back in his seat, he studied his rival through narrowed eyes. His dancing with the princess was bad enough, but Miriam didn’t even have the decency to disguise her delight in the handsome brute’s company.
Well, for his own sake, Lord Pemberton’s son had better not let those big hands of his go wandering anywhere they shouldn’t. If he so much as—
“A wise man would go out there and find a pretty girl of his own to dance with.”
“Who? I don’t know any.” Besides, the last thing Anselm needed was to go encouraging the tender affections of some pretty young thing. His life was already complicated enough without having some silly girl mooning around after him.
“What about our Martha, then? Won’t she do?”
“Maybe.” She was certainly comely enough. Then again, everyone knew she was Vadim’s wife. But did Miriam, though? Anselm smiled. Perhaps a little light flirtation on his part might distract Miriam enough to stop her batting her eyelashes at her golden giant. It was worth a try.
So, when Vadim and Martha returned, flushed and smiling from their dance, Anselm immediately jumped to his feet.
“Don’t sit down yet, sweeting,” he told Martha. Then, turning to Vadim, he said, “Might I borrow your wife, brother?”
“Why?” At heart, Vadim was still the same suspicious outlaw he’d always been.
“I just fancied a dance, that’s all, and seeing as Martha is my sister… ”
Vadim sighed. “Fine. That is, if you’re willing, my love?
“Sure. Why not?” Martha gave one of her saucy grins. “Let me just have a quick swig of my ale and I’ll be right with you.” His sister-in-law barely had time to set her tankard back on the table before Anselm had taken her by the hand and all but dragged her toward the dance floor.
“Bloody hell, Anselm. Steady on a bit, would you?”
“Sorry.” But his apology was a polite reflex, nothing remotely genuine. He needed Miriam to see him dancing with another woman.
Fortunately—or not, depending on how one viewed the situation—Miriam and Lord Mortimer’s son were still there, gliding effortlessly from one tune and on to the next without pausing. The princess smiled so cheerfully at her ox-headed suitor, she seemed content to remain at his side for the rest of the evening. Blast the man!
Taking Martha in his arms, Anselm forcibly placed her right hand on his shoulder. “Hold on tight, dearest.”
“Why? What are you up to?”
But Anselm didn’t reply. Instead, he held Martha securely about her waist and cantered them briskly along the dance floor until they reached the periphery of Miriam’s set, just in time to join in the lively chain dance known as The Branleigh.
“I don’t think I know this dance,” Martha said nervously, chewing on her lower lip. “Perhaps I’d better sit this one out.”
“Nonsense.” That wouldn’t do at all. “Trust me. It’s quite easy, dearest—a lively walk at best. Look, this circle needs more couples. Let’s join them. Oh, and don’t forget to change partners when I tell you to.”
“Anselm!” But the rest of her protest was lost in the deep booming rhythm of the two large drums.
Martha did well to keep up.
Despite what Anselm had told her, the steps to The Branleigh were rather complex. Occupied as he was with constantly murmuring dance instructions in Martha’s ear, he gradually became aware of someone watching them. When he glanced up, to his utter delight, he found Miriam staring coldly at his sister-in-law.
Splendid. This was working out perfectly. As far as Miriam knew, he was whispering sweet words of seduction in Martha’s ear, and not merely the next dance steps. But, as he knew to his cost, a jealous imagination was the most inventive kind.
“Excellent, dearest,” Anselm enthused as Martha executed the two small hops the dance dictated. “You’re a marvelous dancer.”
“Hmm?” Martha frowned up at him. “I don’t think I’m doing that well.”
“Oh, and so modest, too, Countess.”
“Countess?” Martha’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Why are you countess-ing me all of a sudden?”
Thankfully, the drumbeat faded, replaced by a light shower of cascading bells signaling it was time to change partners. Handing Martha over to Fergus who happened to the man behind him, Anselm took Effie’s hand, and the dance resumed, this time with a different partner.
“And how are you this evening, Effie?” Anselm asked as they stood hand in hand in a large circle. “I’ve not had a chance to speak to yo
u since our return from foreign shores.”
A flush of color stained Effie’s cheeks. “I’m very well, thank you, m’lord.” It must be true, for her appearance matched her words. She was looking remarkably pretty tonight, nothing like the fragile waif he remembered.
“You and Fergus both seem happy.” He glanced over Effie’s head to where Fergus was galloping Martha up the center of the set to loud whoops and cheers.
“Oh, but we are, m’lord, and it seems I have you to thank for it.”
“Me? Oh, I assure you, my dear, I did nothing—”
“You told Fergus to write to me and you encouraged him to seek me out when he came home, did you not?” The merriment in Effie’s eyes faded a little, temporary dulled in remembrance of an old injury. “When he we-went away, I wasn’t myself at all. Such a bleak, terrible time, it was, m’lord.”
Anselm squeezed her hand. “There now. None of that. The past is no more, and Sir Fergus is back where he belongs. Why, even Lord Reynard looks glad about it.”
“It hasn’t been easy, not for any of us, but I do believe my new father is finally seeing me for who I really am.”
“Then I’m very happy for you… oh, wait. Here we go.” The duty of the dance momentarily reclaimed their attention. “Hold on tight, Effie.” Now it was their turn to gallop up the center of the dance set. They took off so quickly that Effie emitted a loud shriek of laughter. After such terrible hardships, it was good to see the girl enjoying life again.
A sudden tingling sensation in the most perceptive part of Anselm’s brain had glad tidings to deliver. According to his gift of foresight, Effie and Fergus were to be blessed with many healthy offspring, the first of which was already taking root within his mother’s womb.
His delight must have shown, for as they reached their position at the bottom of the set, Effie looked up at him and said, “Why are you smiling like that?” She touched her face. “Do I have a smudge of soot or something?”
“No, not at all. I was merely contemplating how well happiness suits you, that’s all.”
Not for anything would Anselm spoil this particular surprise. This was their news, Fergus and Effie’s; theirs to announce to the world as and when it suited them to do so.
But there was no more time for talking for it was time to reclaim his former partner. He handed Effie back to Fergus just as Martha took his free hand.
“Okay. What’s going on with you?” Martha demanded once Effie had returned to her smiling husband.
“Generally, do you mean, or perhaps you have something more specific in mind, dearest?”
With a sweet smile, Martha stepped on his toes. Hard. Anselm gave a pained yelp.
“Don’t dearest me, Sir Anselm. I know you too well, remember?”
“That hurt, you bloody little fiend,” Anselm complained, pulling his boot from beneath Martha’s slipper.
“That’s better,” she said giving him a smile of approval. “I much prefer your insults to all your weird politeness. Now, are you ready to confess?”
“Ask me whatever you will,” he answered with a scowl. Spinning Martha beneath his hand, they moved further up the line.
“Are you deliberately trying to make Princess Miriam jealous? She keeps staring daggers at me? Anyone would think I was plotting to steal the crown jewels or something.”
“Is she?” How marvelous.
“Yes, and she’s doing it again, right now.”
“Is that so?” It took all of Anselm’s self-control not to turn around and see those daggers for himself. “Excellent.” This was all most encouraging. Most encouraging indeed.
Drawing Martha into his arms for the next section of the dance, Anselm leaned closer to speak in her ear. “How about now? Is she still looking this way?”
“Ugh, yes,” Martha said with a shiver. “Stop whispering in my ear, already. You’re giving me goosebumps, and not the good kind.”
“Laugh,” Anselm commanded.
“Say, what now?”
“Laugh, as if I’d just said something amusing. Go on. Oh, and while you’re about it, perhaps you might put your arms about my neck, too.”
Martha arched her eyebrows. “I’d much rather put my hands about your throat, you crazy freak. No way on earth am I ever going to flirt with you.”
“Then laugh, at least. Please? Surely there’s no harm in that.”
Martha sighed. “Fine. Whatever it takes to shut you up.” With that, she threw back her head and burst into gales of laughter. “Oh, Anselm,” she cried, loud enough for all to hear. “You’re such a dolls’ head, you really are. But, no. I’m afraid I must decline. You’ll have to find some other lady to admire your etchings, for I’m quite content with Lord Edgeway’s.”
Etchings? Anselm frowned. Whatever did she mean?
But he had no opportunity to give his sister’s strangeness further consideration for at that moment Princess Miriam broke ranks and stormed over to where Anselm and Martha stood.
“Countess,” Miriam said with a fiery look that might have scorched a lesser woman. “I wonder if I might borrow Sir Anselm for a moment?”
In reply, Martha held up her hands and backed off, saying, “Take all the moments you need, Princess Miriam. Believe me, I’m done here.”
“Excellent. Then perhaps you would be kind enough to finish the dance with Lord Rodney for me?” She gestured to her blond giant, standing all alone and adrift on the dance floor. “Thank you so much.” Without waiting for an answer, Miriam grabbed Anselm by the hand and dragged him from the dance floor heading for the small doorway that led to the minstrels’ gallery.
Despite the joy of touching her again, Anselm was well aware of the danger they courted. This wasn’t the desert, and the palace courtiers weren’t as discreet as Percy.
“What do you think you’re doing, Princess?” Anselm asked as Miriam pushed him inside the entranceway. Releasing her death grip on his hand, Miriam prepared to close the door behind her. “No, sweeting,” Anselm said. “Leave the door as it is. At least this way we’re still in full view of everyone.” By being so alone together, they were taking a huge risk. Anselm’s flesh already prickled, pierced by the weight of all the watchful eyes that had followed their sudden departure from the dance floor.
“As you will.” Tossing her dark mane like a fine thoroughbred, Miriam’s amber eyes flashed dangerously.
If Anselm had intended to make Miriam jealous, he had certainly achieved his goal. So why did he feel like a low born worm? His victory, such as it was, now felt decidedly hollow.
“Well?” he prompted gently, his hand still mourning the loss of hers. “What was it you wanted to say to me, Princess?”
Oh, there were many, many things Miriam wanted to say to him. However, as she looked upon Anselm’s handsome countenance, close enough that she could breathe in his warm male scent, her mind suddenly emptied.
The bitter taste of jealousy, however, was not so easily forgotten.
“Doesn’t Lord Edgeway mind you dallying with his wife?” When Anselm dared to smile, Miriam thumped his arm. Hard. “It’s not funny.”
“Ouch. What was that for?” he asked, massaging his afflicted limb.
“I believe I asked you a question, Northman.”
Suddenly, Anselm’s eyes softened, glittering like a warm silver sea beneath a summer sky. “Don’t be jealous, Mirry dear. You have nothing to worry about, you know,” he said gently. “Not only are we brother and sister, the countess and I are also friends of long-standing.”
“Precisely how long-standing?” Miriam snarled, her eyes narrowing to amber slits.
“Not that long-standing,” he assured her quickly. Reaching for her hand, he caressed Miriam’s cold fingers with his thumb. Instantly, shivers of pleasure raced up and down her spine, and she felt her heart softening. She couldn’t have resisted him had her l
ife had depended upon it.
What was it, this vital spark that flew between them? Like flint and steel, whenever they were together they created the same magic.
“There was a time, not so very long ago,” Anselm said softly, still stroking her hand, “when Martha was about the only living person who didn’t actively wish me dead. Somehow, despite all the terrible things I’d done, somewhere along the way, I managed to earn her friendship.”
“You love her.” ’Twas a statement, not a question. Any fool with eyes could see how highly Anselm valued his sister by marriage.
“Yes,” he said, “I do.” Miriam’s heart plummeted, but then Anselm leaned in closer until a strand of his golden hair brushed against her cheek, close enough that she could smell the warmth of his woody cologne. “But I am not ‘in love’ with her. You understand the difference between the two, I hope?”
Miriam nodded slowly, her throat suddenly as dry as the desert sand.
“There is something I have to confess to you, though.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I am guilty of flirting with my brother’s wife, but only because it was completely safe to do so.” He leaned a little closer. “But Martha knows full well my admiration for her isn’t real. Besides, she’s much too in love with her husband to tolerate the attentions of any other man.” He snorted with amusement. “Indeed, when roused to temper, my sister can throw quite a punch—almost as impressive as your own, Mirry dear. Doubtless she is already plotting her revenge to repay me for my display of jealous folly.”
A flame of hope flickered within Miriam’s heart. “You were flirting with her… to make me je-jealous because you were jealous? ”
“Yes,” he said, the truth shining from his silvery eyes. “I was. Insanely so.”
Unbelievable. “But why?”
“Because I did not care for the company you were keeping,” he answered, his eyes now as cold as the North Sea. “I did not like the way in which you were regarding your blond giant, so my inner demons demanded that I launch a counter-attack.”
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