A Lady in Disguise (19 page)

As they crossed to the open space where dancers took their places for the cotillion, she could not but be aware that many heads turned their way. Did they point and stare to see the master of Mottisbury Castle dance with his daughter’s governess? If they did, they could not know him. How could Thorpe Everard, the noblest natured man alive, not dance with a servant, if once he invited her to take her place among the leaders of county society?

The musicians struck up a lively tune, as the ladies sank into their first curtsy. As Lillian came up, with rather the sensation of rising through deep water, she saw that Thorpe’s head was turned away. Glancing about, she saw that everyone stood staring at the entrance. Even the orchestra leader silenced the players by a stroke and moved to see around the large filled vases by the edge of the platform.

Someone among the gathered dancers murmured, “How heavenly!”

A figure out of legend stood at the top of the stairs. She glimmered in a silvery gown embroidered over with bunches of golden roses. Creamy shoulders arose from the narrow bodice, one adorned by a dropping ringlet a mere shade lighter than the roses. Real flowers nestled among the rest of her tresses. Having paused on the top step only long enough to be sure no one looked at anything else, Nora Ellis descended the stairs.

No one save Lillian glanced away from the stunning picture she made long enough to notice a headful of damp curls, too pale ever to be called golden, following Nora closely, the sharp eyes beneath never abandoning Thorpe’s face. Only Lillian saw the triumph glinting there.

A waft of Red Rose perfume, as false as the color that stained Nora’s cheeks, came before her, even as Mrs. Grenshaw came after. “Good evening, cousin Thorpe,” Nora said.

“Good evening, little one.” He took the hand she offered in its long white glove and bent over it. Something like a sigh breezed around the ballroom. Lillian could understand it. He was so dark and Nora so radiant that together they seemed almost mythical, like Pluto and Persephone.

Lillian wanted to speak, to cough, to remind Thorpe subtly or boldly that she still remained beside him. But she dared not. She wanted him to turn to her without prompting, or not at all. Better he should fall in love a second time with an empty, glittering thing than to take her hand out of a sense of benevolence. If he danced away with Nora Ellis, Lillian would accept it, though it meant she would be as lost to love as she’d always believed herself to be.

“You never bought that gown at Fenniman’s,” Thorpe said.

Mrs. Grenshaw answered with an insincere laugh. “I entirely forgot we brought it with us.”

“Indeed?” Thorpe asked. Not staying to hear her reply, he said, “Come, Miss Cole, we are not dancing.”

“There’s no music,” Lillian said. However, she heard music, great singing harmonies and angels’ choirs.

“So there isn’t.” Thorpe raised both eyebrows at the conductor, who instantly returned to his senses. As he gave the downbeat, all the musicians began to play, except for one violin. Staring a little too long at Nora, he was behind a note the entire cotillion.

Dancing down the line, Lillian found herself listening for that slightly dragging violinist. Nevertheless, she managed to keep time, hand over hand, step up, cross over, and return. Having made the circuit, she returned to grasp Thorpe’s warm fingers.

“You dance very well,” he said. “Where did you learn?”

“Where ... ?” Fortunately, there was no time to answer. At the end of the second change, she had come up with a believable story. “My former pupils took lessons. I watched.”

“You have a natural talent for it, then?”

“I suppose I do,” she said, as she turned beneath his hands. His eyes gave back the blazing lights of the chandeliers, and Lillian misstepped. “Except sometimes.” They laughed together.

Passing once more down the line, Lillian realized that her partner for this moment was regarding her with a slight frown drawing his sandy brows together. He said hesitatingly, “Surely ... that is ... perhaps we have met before?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I’m the governess here at the castle.”

“Oh! Then we couldn’t have met.”

“I don’t see how it could be possible.” Lillian continued on her way, returning at last to Thorpe. She was slightly winded now, and was just as well pleased that the main figure had arrived. She said as much to him.

“I have not been idle in your absence,” he said. “But at least you do not step on my feet.”

“Poor old man, are you rolled up already? Once this is over, I shall bring you a soothing glass of barley water.”

“I knew you were a kind and gentle woman. Will you promise to support my tottering steps and keep well-intentioned visitors and those who want to change my will from me?”

“Gladly, Mr. Everard.” Their turn to step out into the middle of the square had come. She lifted his hand and danced forward. Between counting the measure and being distracted by that delayed violin, she could not be certain that she heard him say, “I rely upon it, Miss Cole.”

She glanced at him in puzzlement, but his face told her nothing save that he was enjoying himself. For a big man, he moved gracefully in the figure, not prompting discreet laughter as did some gentlemen that capered and bumbled. Lillian wished Addy could see him, but she’d been tucked into bed after wheedling the boon of staying up to see the horses arriving.

Safe again in the backwater, as other couples skipped in and out, Lillian said, “I must compliment you on your dancing, Mr. Everard. Where did
you
learn it?”

“Emily was a great one for dancing, and I did not like to see her with other men.”

With something of a shock, Lillian realized that though nearly everyone at the castle had spoken ceaselessly about Emily since this ball was proposed, Thorpe himself had hardly ever spoken her name. She wondered what he thought of his late wife. Had she been to him the sweet if rather spoilt innocent that Mrs. Grenshaw claimed her to be? Or the designing chit her own father proudly described? Perhaps his feelings for her were like Lady Genevieve’s who had despised her, struggle though she might to dissemble in an attempt to create a tale of mystical devotion. Even as Lillian framed a delicate question, he was looking down the line at the sandy-haired fellow who had asked her if they’d met before.

“It seems I’m not the only one to admire your dancing, Miss Cole. My friend Finch can’t take his eyes off you.”

“Finch? I don’t believe we’re acquainted.” Lillian took another peep at the man and still could not place him, unless he by some chance had once been among a crowd introduced to the dazzlingly rich Miss Canfield during some past evening’s entertainment. “No, I don’t know him.”

“Perhaps he’s simply never seen anyone as lovely as you.”

The music ended after three more changes, but Lillian could hardly recall the intervening moments for the instant the applause had ended, Thorpe tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I have done duty enough,” he announced. “Are you hungry, Miss Cole?”

“No, sir.”

Thirsty?”

“No, sir. I have scarcely had exercise enough for that.”

“Then let us go for a stroll about the grounds to acquire a thirst.” He began to lead her in the direction of the open doors at the far end of the ballroom.

Lillian had never lowered herself to sneaking away from a ball before this. Such activities were for hoydens and brassy-faced chits, not girls whose fathers were highly ambitious for their daughters’ advancements. Yet when Thorpe proposed they go out, Lillian’s steps did not hesitate, even though she knew all his guests observed their leaving.

They walked in silence, arm in arm, until the sounds of the music and revelry faded behind them. The path shone milky white in the starlit darkness. The crescent moon, hung with veils of cloud, seemed remote, as though occupied with her own thoughts. The face of the man beside Lillian was invisible. Then his arm went about her waist. He stopped beneath the outspread branches of a tree and drew her close. As he murmured her name, Thorpe touched her face, to tilt it toward his own.

Lillian knew she wanted his kiss. She had not concealed from herself the hope of encountering once more the taste of his mouth on hers. Yet now that the moment had arrived, she recalled all too clearly the doubts that filled her every time Thorpe had left her after such a kiss.

Perhaps he felt her draw away. “My dear?”

“This isn’t right. I...” Her hands slipped from his shoulders as she stepped back. Thorpe had not dropped his arm, so there was a limit to the distance she could put between them.

“Isn’t right? Why not? We have kissed before now. I had hoped...”

Lillian could not explain all her doubts. To give them voice was to give them greater reality. She settled for the most concrete among them. “I am in your employ.”

“And men should not take advantage of their help?”

Softly, she said, “No, they must not.”

“Very well, you are discharged. Now, come to me.” His arm tightened. Lillian, smiling at his answer, found her breasts pressed against his waistcoat and her arms, of their own, slipped beneath his coat. His firm body gave off a warmth that completed her. She could not now remember any of her objections to lifting her chin to offer him her lips. In all the world, only his opinion had any power over her.

Behind her, his fingers flirted with the edge of her bodice, dipping in to draw a delicate line between her shoulder blades, as he kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck. She felt his teeth against her throat, awaking sensations there.

Lillian had not realized what powerful responses such a simple act could generate within her. Her breath seemed to fail, and she had no control over her eyelids as they dropped to shut out every sense but those created by him. Yet more interesting even than this discovery was the knowledge that some new strength seemed grow in his body and reach out to her.

She now understood the kind of curiosity that had driven the great explorers on to their feats of wonder, but she desired only a greater exploration of Thorpe Everard’s person. Daringly, her hands drifted lower, finding die division between his shirt and the waistband of his breeches. No sooner had her fingers determined the difference than a voice called from somewhere nearby, “Mr. Everard?”

Thorpe stilled, his hands pausing on her waist. The voice called his name again, from closer yet. Slowly, he raised his head and stepped away from her. Lillian let go of him even more reluctantly. Yet, she rejoiced to see that his white waistcoat rose and fell to an undisciplined rhythm. Had her touches ignited the same longings in him that his had created in her?

Turning from her, Thorpe shouted, “Here I am, Jack.” To her, he said, “Please remain here a few moments after I return to the house. I don’t want you to be embarrassed or compromised.”

“Would I be?”

“Oh, Lillian, I’m sorry to say that you would be. I should not have brought you out here, but I...” He reached for her hand. “You should not be so breathtaking. I can’t remember proper conduct when I see you looking like this.”

“It’s much too dark to see me. I can’t see you,” she said teasingly, hoping to hear more, for his words excited her. Before, she’d felt every compliment had behind it more admiration for her father’s fortune than her own appearance. There was no need for such cynicism with Thorpe.

“I can see you,” he said huskily but on a laugh. “You’re flushed and your lips are ripe from my kissing them. Your eyes sparkle with the golden light I only see there when I touch you.”

“Thorpe!” she said, snatching her hand away to hold it to her burning cheeks.

“Isn’t that what you wanted to ... Ah, Jack.”

Lillian did not know how he’d heard the gamekeeper approaching, for Jack Price had the silent steps of his profession. Yet Thorpe had turned to address the other man at once, before she’d even known he was there. “What is it?” Thorpe asked.

“It be another o’ them poachers, sir. I told you if you let ‘cm off, they’d steal you blind.”

“Who’s this one?”

“I don’t know him, sir, but he looks like he’s gone to the bad, right enow.”

“Come down in the world, eh? I’ll speak to him.”

“Don’t you go givin’ him work now. I ain’t troubled the constable in the twelve month.”

Thorpe laughed indulgently. “Where have you put him? Tied to a post, like the last time?”

“Seein’ that’s a gentleman, I left him in the hall with Charlie.”

“All right, go back there. I’ll join you shortly.”

“Right, then. Good evenin’, miss.” The big gamekeeper touched his forelock and strode away, the rangy dog at his heels as silent as his master.

Thorpe said, “Lillian, remember what I said. Give yourself some time before you return to the ballroom. I won’t be away very long and we’ll finish our set.” He might have been speaking to any woman after fetching her a glass of punch or lobster panics. The passion that had flared between them might never have happened.

“Very well,” she replied, chilled. “I look forward to it.”

On a goaded note, he said, “There’s no time—” even as he reached for her shoulders. This kiss was swift, scorching her lips with intensity and melting her knees in a fast, flaring instant. Though it was over almost before begun, and Lillian found herself alone, she was not bereft. Before he walked away, Thorpe said, “There’ll be time later. I intend to make sure of it.”

She stayed out for nearly fifteen minutes, knowing Thorpe would make certain everyone knew he’d returned alone. Once more entering the ballroom, she was struck by the heat and the noise, reminiscent of an afternoon parade she and her father had attended at an encampment in India. Even the tune the orchestra played reminded her of the Scottish regimental band. Standing by the wall, tapping her toes, Lillian enjoyed this rare chance to observe county society at play.

However, she soon found this opportunity cut short. Several young men, their collar points absurdly high in emulation of London bucks, advanced on her, abandoning their admiration of Nora. They came to stand near Lillian, their eyes traveling where they should not.