Cecilia Grant - [Blackshear Family 03] (29 page)

“Not that I owe you any explanation at all, but my partner for the supper dance never came to claim me.” She pulled herself tall. Confessing this to anyone would be unpleasant. Confessing it to Mr. Blackshear was somehow even worse. “I thought he might have wandered into one of the other rooms, as your own presence here testifies a gentleman will occasionally do, and I preferred to spend my time in search of him, instead of sitting down where everyone could see I had no partner.”

“Why would he be in one of these rooms if he was engaged to dance with you? Surely you don’t imagine
he’s deliberately avoiding you.” His gaze skipped down and back up as he said this. He didn’t leave her with that feeling of being consumed, as he’d done on her arrival tonight, but his eyes sent an unmistakable message:
What man in his right mind would not want to dance with you?

“Not deliberately.” She moved a step into the room. “Only I got the impression, last week, that he’s scholarly and prone to distraction. He may have wandered into the library or some other room with books, and failed to notice the time.”

“Last week?” He sounded as if he were at trial, closing in on a crucial piece of testimony.

“You met him at Lady Astley’s rout. On the terrace. You were exceedingly rude. Lord John Prior is his name.”

A disturbance crossed his face, centering in his taut mouth. She couldn’t scry its meaning to save her life. He looked down at the sofa cushion and ran his hand along its front edge. “He’s not coming.” His glove against the sofa’s fabric made a sibilance that snaked through the darkness. “Neither will you find him in any of these rooms. You may as well go back downstairs.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know?” She took another step into the room, edging to the left so that he’d see her from the corner of his eye even if he wouldn’t face her.

He shot her a glance, considering, before tilting his head to study the sofa again. “He left the party. I saw him do so.” He was very still, as though waiting in some suspense for her answer.

“He didn’t say a thing to me.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.” He paused, his chest rising and falling with a deliberate breath. “He left with a woman.” He did look at her then. “I’m sorry to tell you
so. But it’s best, I think, that you should know what kind of man he is.”

She felt behind her for a grip on the doorjamb. Here was all the humiliation she’d feared from staying in the ballroom, only worse than she’d imagined in that it was witnessed by a cold stranger who until very recently she’d counted as a friend. “I can scarcely believe it.” Her cheeks burned and her voice came out a half whisper. “He didn’t seem the sort.” Let that teach her to think she was any judge of the characters of men.

“The lady, I assure you, is the sort. It wanted no predisposition from him.” He glanced up again. “The development marred my evening at least as severely as it has marred yours, if that is any consolation.”

Because it was Lady Attainable who had slipped out with Lord John. Of course. And it wasn’t a consolation, it wasn’t any consolation at all, to know that this was the reason for Mr. Blackshear’s brooding in this remote room. He had, indeed, wanted more of that lady’s company tonight. Maybe he would have brought her here if she had not preferred Lord John.

Or maybe … maybe it hadn’t been a matter of preference. Maybe simple availability, and unavailability, had driven the lady’s choice.

Good Lord. “You blame me,” she said, letting go the doorjamb and stepping farther into the room. Suddenly his mood, his pointed incivility, made perfect sense. “You might have been the one to go with her, but for your obligation to me. You resent me for causing you to lose that opportunity.”

“No,” he said after a moment. He turned to face the fireplace in front of him, resting his hands on his knees. “Not really. I’m put out by the inconvenience, by the restriction to my coming and going, but I recognize I volunteered for this obligation. I recognize you aren’t
knowingly interfering with my … social prospects.” He brought up a hand and dragged it over his face, from forehead to chin. “Forgive me. I oughtn’t to be speaking to you on this topic. Forgive me too for my rudeness, and my language when you first appeared. I’ve had a trying night, and I forgot myself.”

Here was an opportunity, maybe, for them to talk as friends again. It felt like a very long time since they had. “In what way has your night been trying? Besides seeing your lady friend leave with another gentleman, I mean.” She’d had a trying night, too. She could almost certainly sympathize with his.

“The lady friend’s departure is trial enough on its own, I assure you.” Abruptly he rose from the sofa and went to lean one elbow on the mantelpiece. He stood in shadow now, and she couldn’t read his face as well as she had. “She’s an acquaintance of several years’ standing, and I was enjoying her company after not having seen her for some months.” He adjusted some object on the mantelpiece. She couldn’t see it but it sounded like something made of china. “I met with a few other frustrations besides, but I shan’t trouble you with those. Let us regret together the absconding of Mrs. Simcox with Lord John, and let that suffice.”

Her feet carried her forward, almost without thought. “I wish you would trouble me.” Where floor gave way to the bricks of the hearth, she stopped. Now they were both in shadow. “What are friends for, if not to hear each other’s troubles, and share theirs in turn?”

“Do you have difficulties to share?” His head tipped forward in the dimness, as though to better read her across the four or five feet of space that divided them. “I presumed your evening to be a success. You looked to be having a fine time with Lord Barclay, when I saw you last.”

He’d opened the very subject on which she might confide, if she felt so inclined.
I’m almost sure Miss Smith is fond of Lord Barclay. And she’s been so kind to me. And I fear I may be capable of nevertheless pursuing him myself, with all my arts, if no better prospect comes along. I’m heartless, just as you’ve always said, and I’m altogether weary of being so. I’m weary of everything I am
.

But to say so would risk incurring his poor opinion, and it felt like a self-indulgence besides. She hadn’t come to spill her troubles; she’d asked to hear his. And he’d unwittingly provided her with an opening on that subject, too.

“Nick.” One foot, then the other, stepped onto the hearth. She settled a hand on the mantelpiece, which was the nearest she could come to closing the remaining distance and laying that hand on his sleeve. “You ought to know Lord Barclay asked me about you. He asked whether I was acquainted with your family.”

“Ah.” He half pivoted, putting his back to the fireplace. He faced toward the center of the room now, where moonlight mingled with the candlelight from the hall, rendering his features readable once more. “Yes, it stands to reason that he would.” In the silence, he pressed his lips together. That was all he planned to say on the subject.

“Can’t we speak of it?” The words crept out, low and three times as plaintive as she’d intended. She swayed a step nearer, gloved fingers trailing to a new hold on the mantelpiece. She might almost reach him now, with an arm extended. “You know I don’t judge you. How could I? Knowing what you do of my own connections, you must—”

“No, Kate, we cannot speak of it.” He stayed still, not facing her, but she could feel the way he shaped all his
attention into a kind of shield, held up to stop her in her tracks. “I’ve nothing to say on the matter, and if I had, yours would not be the ear in which I’d choose to confide. Pardon me for saying so.”

She blinked, and nearly had to fight back tears. Why should his statement come as such a blow? Why did she care whether he confided in her? He was right: she’d never given him reason to think of her as someone to whom he could turn in trouble. She’d been a friend of gossamer substance, teasing him when he was present at the house and scarcely sparing him a thought when he wasn’t.

Scarcely sparing him a thought until recently.

This is the darkness acting upon you
. Some part of her consciousness, still with a hold on reason, issued that reproof.
Darkness, and your memories of being kissed
. Also, memories of standing under the stairs with his soap-scented coat on her shoulders. And of his brisk capability on the courtroom floor. And of
Believe me, I’ve never for a moment imagined I was your brother
. If he hadn’t put that knowledge in her brain, those other things might have passed unnoticed and the kiss might not have happened at all.

“Miss Westbrook?” She’d gone some time without speaking. She had perhaps been inching nearer to him in that time. No wonder he turned toward her, tilting his head to impose himself into whatever trance possessed her, and uttering her name in that wary tone.

“Yes,” she said, because she had better speak before he resorted to snapping his fingers or waving a hand in her face. “You needn’t tell me anything if you’d rather not. Only I thought perhaps I could be of some comfort to you.” One more step, and there was no going back now. The unwinding skein of music, faint vibrations reaching her slipper soles a partial second before the
notes reached her ear told her she yet had some time before she must appear for supper. She dropped her hand on his sleeve and tilted up her face, softening her eyes, her lips, her whole form into a statement of permission, while inside, her heart galloped like a racehorse under the whip.

B
LOODY, BLOODY
hell. Of all the things he didn’t need on this already ruinous night.

No dancing around it. He made his voice low, but forceful. “For the love of God, Miss Westbrook, what do you think you’re doing?”

Her flinch ran all the way out to her hand. He felt the quick convulsion on his forearm.

Maybe he ought to have been gentler. Rejection of any sort must come as a harsh novelty to her. But he couldn’t afford to let her proceed even an inch farther on this course. Dark as it was, the picture of her in that red gown hovered, ready to collaborate with her fumbling invitation and haul him into activities that would cost him his self-respect.

“I thought …” Her voice trailed off, and in the silence it was evident that she had
not
thought; that she’d assumed, without reflection, that she had only to signal her own inclination in order to rouse all his appetites to the proper pitch.

What could he do but laugh? It was terribly rude—guilt flicked its lash at him as she snatched her hand away—but what other earthly response could he make? Even his earlier rudeness, when she’d first entered this
room, had not, after all, been misplaced. He’d suspected her of reckless intentions with a gentleman, and he hadn’t been wrong. Besides, he needn’t coddle her feelings, capable as she was of answering slight with slight.

“Forgive my not realizing you found the prospect so laughable.” She could pass for an affronted queen dressing down her prime minister. “I do not recall your finding it so last week.”

Good God. It was all too ridiculous. He felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Lord. She was right about you.” Let that teach him never to doubt Anne Simcox again. “She was absolutely right.”

“Who was right? With whom have you been discussing me?”

He wouldn’t let her divert him. “You tucked me neatly away on your shelf of conquests, didn’t you, and never gave me a thought until you noticed that your spell over me had begun to wane.”

“That’s not true.” But he could hear the sting in her voice, the shame as she realized that it was, in fact, at least a little bit true.

“I would have courted you, you know. Honorably.” She did know. Even without reading his note that day three years ago, she’d known damned well what was in it. She’d known what the flowers meant. “I would have given you every proper attention. And after the wedding, every improper attention as well. I would have done my utmost to be a good husband to you, not just a—” He waved his hand about, to show her this dark room in which they’d withdrawn. “There’s a great deal more a man can offer a lady than a few illicit kisses in some secret room. I hope you’ll be lucky enough to find that out one day. But I haven’t the necessary feelings, anymore, for you to find it out from me.”

He hadn’t known how much he’d wanted to say these
words. They rolled forth like one of Henry the Fifth’s more stirring speeches, albeit on a pettier subject.

He stepped away from the hearth. “I suggest you follow my example now, and return to the ballroom. If you plan to attend more parties in future, you shall have to do so without my surreptitious chaperonage. I find I no longer have the necessary feelings for that office, either.”

He wouldn’t even wait to see whether she followed. That was her own concern. He swung out past her, and—Good Lord, the gall of the woman!—was arrested by the sudden grasp of both her hands on his arm.

“I don’t believe you.” She stared up at him, eyes intent, whole face written over with reckless wanting. “I felt the way you kissed me. I saw the way you looked at me when I came into the ballroom tonight. You cannot convince me you haven’t any interest at all.”