Gail Eastwood (9 page)

“Never mind, dear. Just do not make the same mistake again. Some men are only too willing to take advantage.”

There were three dances left before the tea break and Gillian’s partner for the next one appeared promptly. He was a confident, handsome young man, quite the opposite of Gillian’s previous partners.

“You could not have been at the May Day fancy dress ball on Thursday,” he said, staring intently down into her eyes. “You surely would have been chosen the May Queen. You are so tiny, I suspect you of being a fairy princess.”

Gillian was fascinated by his method. His conversation was a steady stream of flattery. Meanwhile, he was dancing especially close to her, touching or brushing against her body whenever a figure of the dance gave an opportunity. His behavior was so outrageous that Gillian had to laugh.

“You are not going to dance with
him
again,” Mrs. Alford observed after the young man had returned Gillian to her. Her indignant tone softened as she caught Gillian’s eye. “I thought you might have to wipe the drool off his chin,” she whispered mischievously, and both women lapsed into conspiratorial giggles.

“May I ask what is so comical?” Gilbey came over to them after returning his own partner.

“Nothing, nothing,” Gillian assured him, “at least not to concern you. But I would dearly love to dance this next one with my own brother!”

Gillian relaxed and moved through the steps by rote, taking the chance to observe those around her. Mrs. Alford had been invited to dance, and flashes of her brilliant poppy color showed occasionally between the other couples. When Gillian did not see Brinton among the dancers, she began to scan the knots of people around the edges of the room. Had he changed his mind about taking tea with her? Had he left? Would he do so without saying good night?

Finally, she saw him, buried at the center of a group of simpering young women.
Of course
. She missed a move in the dance, and Gilbey glanced at her in surprise.

When the dance was done, Gilbey led her back to the chaperones’ seats. “Mrs. Alford isn’t here,” he observed, sounding a bit at a loss.

“She was dancing.” Gillian wondered how he could have missed seeing her. Following the line of his gaze, she saw his eyes were on a striking young woman who had been part of their last set. She smiled. “She will be back at any moment, Gilbey. I will just wait here for her, if you wish to secure a partner for the last dance.”

“You’re a brick, Gillie,” he said, flashing her a grin.

Taking a seat, Gillian scanned the room to see what had become of her chaperone. Absently, she tapped her closed fan against her lips. Where was Mrs. Alford? What should she do if someone approached her to dance? She checked her card to make sure she was not already promised.

Belatedly, she remembered Mrs. Alford’s advice about the fan. “You must not touch it to your face.” Guiltily, she jerked it down into her lap. Had she been looking in anyone’s direction? Had anyone been looking at her? She had no idea.

In vain she searched the crowd for Mrs. Alford. Neither could she see Gilbey anywhere. The only person she recognized was Brinton, and he was making his way toward her. He did not look pleased.

“Cousin, would you walk with me?” he growled through clenched teeth as he reached her. His dark eyebrows were drawn down to an impossible angle. He maneuvered her away from the main crush of people, backing her into a space beside a statue. “Where is your chaperone?” he demanded in an angry whisper. “And what in the devil’s name do you think you are doing?”

Without letting her answer, he continued. “First you are having conversations with all sorts of people you have not been presented to, and the next thing I know you are sitting by yourself, quite vulnerably, signaling every male in the room that you are available for kissing!”

Brinton had to have been watching her, Gillian realized in pleased surprise. She knew he expected her to be properly cowed by his great anger, but somehow, she could not quite control the corners of her mouth, which insisted on turning up. A little bubble of laughter welled up inside her, popping out as a giggle before she could stop it.

“Don’t you think that is ridiculous?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Of course I meant no such thing! I was just thinking.”

There was a dangerous glitter in Brinton’s eyes. “Then, apparently, you should not think!”

“Oh, then I should no doubt be agreeably vacuous and silly,” she assured him. “Either that, or else I would get in twice as much trouble as I do now!”

“Lord save us,” Brinton replied, rolling his eyes.

Gillian laughed merrily, watching the earl struggle to keep his features from softening into a smile. The musicians were starting up, and for a moment Gillian’s heart beat a little faster. Would Brinton ask her to dance?

“This is the last before tea,” he said soberly. “Were you promised for this one?”

“No, my lord,”

“Good. Then we can just wait it out and make our way toward the tearoom.”

Gillian sighed. She had been spinning a daydream about what it would be like to dance with him, but now she told herself that she should have known better. With resignation she accepted his proffered elbow.

***

Brinton would not give in to the temptation to dance with Miss Kentwell. Just having her hand resting in the crook of his elbow was causing a tremor to pass between them. He could barely believe the exquisite little minx beside him was the same person as the ragamuffin lad whom he had assisted in Taunton. Even harder to believe were the raging emotions surging inside of him—jealousy of her various partners and a protective instinct that bordered on the ridiculous. He had not been able to keep his attention off her from the moment she had arrived, although he hoped his interest was well hidden. He was reacting like a father and a lover, when he was neither.

Slowly he and Gillian worked their way toward the octagon that connected the various rooms. Many other couples had the same notion, and the press of people was becoming almost a solid wall. Jostling bodies and sharp elbows were all around, and Brinton tried to steer a course that would protect Miss Kentwell from the brunt of the chaos. He could feel his breathing beginning to grow labored, and then came the familiar stabbing pain in the right side of his chest. He stopped and waited.

“Lord Brinton, you are looking terribly pale,” Gillian said, her concern evident in her voice.

To answer, he would have had to speak, something that he could not manage at that moment. He hoped the spasm would pass, and they could continue toward the tearoom. Instead, he clutched his chest and bent as the coughing seized him. He felt someone pushing him, and opening his eyes, he saw it was Miss Kentwell.

“We must find a clear space where you can sit down,” she was saying. Alarmed by his coughs, people were making way for them as she pushed him toward a small anteroom. Blessedly, it was empty when they reached it. Brinton collapsed gratefully onto a velvet sofa and Gillian sat down beside him. She had kept hold of his hand.

“How can I help you?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, drawing ragged breaths. The warm sympathy in her blue-green eyes would have made him weak if he had not already felt that way. He knew he should remove his hand from hers; he knew they should not be alone together. But he did nothing. When he had regained his breath, he answered her.

“There is nothing you, or anyone, can do. It is just a reminder I live with.”
You could help me by not looking at me that way. You could help me by not being here, so close and warm and desirable
. As he returned her gaze, he felt as though everything around them fell away, leaving just the two of them floating in an empty space together. As his body recovered from the spasm, his discomfort was replaced by other budding sensations he did not want to acknowledge.

“You said when this happened before that you are not ill. What is it, then? What causes it?”

He wished she would not talk. Talking called his attention to her lips, which looked full and soft and inviting. The urge to kiss them was growing stronger in him every moment. He knew he must not give in. With a supreme effort he replied, his voice low and rough.

“It is a souvenir of Waterloo. It helps me remember how fragile and fleeting our lives can be. The details are not pleasant or fit for a young lady to hear.”

“I know that war is ugly,” she insisted. “I will not be shocked. It does not distress me to talk about the human body.”

I don’t want to talk about the human body
, Rafferty thought.
I want to feel one, yours, pressed close against mine
. The girl’s scent was making him light-headed. For a moment he feared he would either throw himself upon her, or pass out. Surely it was a reaction to her, and not an aftereffect of the coughing spell. He tipped his head back, fighting for control. When he straightened and looked at her again, her head was down, her eyes on his hand she still held in her lap. She began to stroke his gloved fingers absently, apparently lost in thought.

“You are very brave, to bear with it so well,” she said. “Many people would feel sorry for themselves, instead of looking upon it as you do.”

She abruptly lifted her eyes to his again, and he groaned inwardly. Had she any idea of what she was doing to him? Was she deliberately trying to seduce him? If she was, did that even matter to him anymore?

“That dress brings out the green in your eyes,” he said softly, as if in a trance. It was not what he had meant to say.

“That is not all it brings out,” Gillian giggled. Then she blushed crimson and put one hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear, I should not have said that! I think I keep company with my brother altogether too much.”

Rafferty chuckled, and as he did, something inside him snapped. Hadn’t he said life was fleeting and fragile? Shouldn’t pleasure be seized when the opportunity came? Even as he struggled with his conscience, he felt his body subtly repositioning itself, and his head beginning to lower toward Miss Kentwell. Whether she knew it or not, he was going to kiss her, deeply and thoroughly. “You are an Original, Miss Kentwell—beautiful, intelligent humorous—”

The door opened. Brinton froze instantly. Miss Kentwell jumped up from the sofa, and then he heard her voice, coming as if from a great distance.

“Gilbey! I am so glad it is you.”

Cranford closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. “Brinton! Someone said you were ill.”

Chapter Nine

Dawn was just beginning to brush the sky pink as Gilbey sat alone in Mrs. Alford’s breakfast room. He washed down the sharp taste of pickled herring with a sip of tea and sighed, frowning into his cup. This morning he and Gillian were leaving Bath—with Brinton.

He really should have found a moment to tell Gillian of the plan he and the earl had made to go to Worcester, he knew. He had pushed off the task, certain that his sister would be angry because he had not consulted her. Now he was having his own doubts about the decision. He did not want to go. He hated not having any choice.

The young viscount felt trapped between his duty to obey his uncle and his desire to protect his sister. He did not blame Gillian for their predicament. It was Uncle William who had cornered them to the point where they felt forced to run away. But Gilbey felt uncomfortable flouting the law.

Now he was not at all certain he had done the right thing in approaching the earl for further assistance. Grateful for Brinton’s help in Taunton, he had taken the man’s intentions for granted; he had even defended those intentions to his sister. Had he been too naive? Last night when he had found Gillian and Brinton alone together, he would have sworn the earl was making advances toward her.

Did Brinton have the wrong idea about Gillian? She was running about the countryside without any female companion or chaperone and wearing men’s clothing. Then last night, that dress! What might anyone think?

Gillie was so heedless of consequences—that was always the trouble. She never gave a thought to her reputation. Such things had not mattered so much when they were younger, or at home, but now . . .?

Gilbey pushed another bite of herring around on his plate. He had grave misgivings about the day that lay ahead, but it was too late to change the plan. He would watch the earl closely.

Light, rapid footsteps sounded in the hall, and a moment later, Gillian appeared. “Gilbey! Everything is nearly ready, except that Mother’s songbooks are not with our things. What could they have done with them? I have looked all through both of our rooms.” In one brisk, efficient motion, Gillian scooped a plate from the table and moved to the sideboard, where she piled on liberal amounts of egg, herring, bacon, buns, and warm toast.

Gone was the elegant princess of the previous night. In her place stood the old Gillian, clad in Gilbey’s castoff clothing except for her own riding boots. She looked like a cross between an errant schoolboy and a stable lad who had mistakenly found himself in the house.

Gilbey opened and closed his mouth twice before he could get a response to come out. He did not know what behavior to address first. “Gillie, you are hopeless,” he finally said, rolling his eyes heavenward.

“Whatever is the matter?” his twin asked innocently. She quickly sat down at the table.

“You shouldn’t have searched through my room. What if someone had seen you?”

“No one did. You know I can’t leave without the books. You’ll have to help me look when we have finished eating.” She began a vigorous attack on the pile of food in front of her.

Gilbey stared in silent disapproval until his sister looked up again.

“Well?” she challenged. “It is faster to take everything at once than to get up again for second helpings. We don’t know when or where we will have another meal. I think we should make certain we are well-sustained, at least to start out!” With her mouth full of toast she added, “And the sooner we set off, the happier I’ll be!”

Gilbey speared his last bite of food. Narrowing his eyes, he pondered his sister. Was she still so eager to leave Brinton this morning? He thought she had enjoyed the earl’s attentions last night, but he might be mistaken. After years of close understanding, suddenly, lately, he was finding his twin difficult to read.

When she met his gaze, he looked down hastily, inspecting the pattern on his empty plate. “I don’t think ladies are supposed to eat such quantities,” he grumbled. “And I wish you could leave off wearing those clothes of mine.”

He earned a sharp look from his sister. “My, are we not a bit stuffy this morning? As it happens, I hardly have a choice about the clothes, have I, since we are traveling so light What does it matter, Gilbey, when we are by ourselves?”

He shifted uncomfortably. He had to tell her. “We will be going with Brinton as far as Worcester.”

“What!” Gillian threw down her fork with a resounding clatter. “May I ask just when this was all arranged? No one bothered to consult me! I have no intentions of going with Lord Brinton, to Worcester or anywhere else!”

“Now, Gillie, is that right? Somehow that does not match the impression I got last night!”

“What impression?”

Gilbey evaded her question. “I know I should have asked you, but you were with Mrs. Alford when the subject came up. We decided on this plan yesterday afternoon.”

“What do you mean by ‘the impression you got last night’?” she insisted.

Gilbey sighed. “Last night coming home you had such stars in your eyes, I thought you would follow Brinton to the ends of the earth if he’d asked you.”

Gillian heard him and answered without missing a beat. “That is ridiculous!” She was not yet ready to admit otherwise to her brother. “I am as set against going with him now as I have been since the beginning.”

Last night she might have been blinded by stars in her eyes, but this morning she thought she was seeing quite clearly. Brinton was far more dangerous than anything she could have anticipated, for he seemed to rob her of all natural caution.

Even though his touch had triggered reactions unlike anything she had ever experienced before, her walk around Bath with him had not prepared her for the overwhelming assault on her mind and senses caused by his close presence at the assembly. She had completely lost all sense of herself with him last night. Gillian had disappeared—Scotland had disappeared. Escaping Uncle William and finding true love—all had been forgotten. Brinton had filled her being so completely that, even as she danced with other partners, she had thought only of him, imagining him in their places—his hands touching her, his eyes holding hers. When they had been alone in the anteroom, Gillian was quite sure that Brinton had been going to kiss her. If Gilbey had not interrupted, she would have allowed it to happen, and worse, she would have kissed Brinton back.

Obviously, the man knew what to do with women. The fierce, hot look in his hazel eyes and the way her body had responded to him both excited and terrified her. She could not control the sensations he set off in her body, and they frightened her almost as much as his power to cause them. It was not fair that he could make her melt with one glance from those fascinating eyes! No wonder the women at the assembly had flocked around him like moths to a flame! She felt shamed by her lack of resistance to him.

Certainly the irresistible force she was feeling had nothing at all to do with love. Love was what her parents had known—a gentle, romantic gift of one self to another. Love bound hearts together; her mother had left Scotland forever rather than be separated from the man she loved. Gillian did not feel that way about Brinton! She didn’t even like Brinton, did she?

He had not tried again to kiss her, although some part of her had hoped all evening that he might. Had he somehow been disappointed? She had shaken her head as she pondered it later, lying in her bed. No, he had not even wanted to go to the assembly in the first place. She had been a fool to think anything at all about the time they had spent together.

She had awakened this morning, determined to act immune to Brinton’s charm and appeal. She had thought it would not be difficult if she could avoid any more contact with him. All she and Gilbey had needed to do was get on their way early, without crossing Brinton’s path again. Now, she found her plan thwarted before she could even put it into effect.
Confound the man!
Brinton had defeated her without even being present. She glared at her brother, the only available substitute.

“Really, Gillie, it is a sensible plan,” Gilbey was saying. “Worcester is directly on our way north from here. Lord Brinton is going there anyway, so it saves us some expense.”

“I do not think we should be troubling him any further.”

“I had to trouble him, Gillie—I saw no choice. The meager sum we tried to leave with him to pay for our lodging in Taunton will not cover meals, fares, tips, tolls, and lodging all the way to Scotland.”

“You didn’t ask him to loan us more money?”

“If we were to send home for funds, to the servants or even to Mr. Worsley in Kingsbridge, then we should have to wait somewhere long enough to receive it. There would be a great risk that Uncle William would find out where we were, or that those ruffians he’s sent after us would catch up to us. Brinton suggested that if we went with him to Worcester, he might be able to make some arrangement.”

“Gilbey, we have already accepted a great deal of help from Lord Brinton,” Gillian said carefully, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice. “It is dangerous to be so indebted to him. We must break from him here; we really cannot go with him to Worcester.”

“What else can we do?”

“We could ask Mrs. Alford to help us instead. She might loan us the fare for a northbound coach right from Bath.”

“And you would still need tips, tolls, meals, and lodging all the way to Scotland,” came a deep voice from the doorway.

Gillian spilled the tea she had just lifted to her lips. She glared first at the food on her plate, awash in brown liquid, and then at Brinton, who was leaning quite casually against the door frame.

“Don’t you ever behave like a normal person?” she cried in exasperation. “Some people knock and allow themselves to be announced.”

Brinton grinned and advanced into the room. “Is that how they do it? The footman who answered the door was still half asleep. He looked immensely pleased when I said I would show myself in.”

He leaned across the table and removed her ruined plate. “Allow me to get you another. It’s the least I can do after startling you so.” He turned toward the sideboard and added offhandedly, “You would have difficulty asking Alice anything this morning, I believe. She won’t be awake for hours.”

Gillian made a face at his back as he got her more food. Of all the rude and obnoxious things to do! She wondered how much of the conversation between her and Gilbey he had heard.

Even as she seethed with frustration, she found she was admiring the way his perfectly tailored clothes displayed the form of his body.
Treacherous thoughts!
As he turned around, she quickly averted her eyes, focusing on the flowers in the urn on the pier table. She looked at her plate when he set it in front of her, coloring a little when she saw the modest portions he had given her. Gilbey no doubt approved.

“You may have gathered that I have just now been telling Gillian about our agreement,” her brother was saying.

“I hope it was not purely on our account that you are yourself arisen so early?” Gillian asked with cloying sweetness.

“I can see that she is quite taken with the idea,” Brinton said to Gilbey. “And no, Miss Kentwell, fear not. I have business in Worcester that demands an early start this morning. My curricle with a fresh pair and an extra mount are waiting outside. May I ask if you will be ready soon?”

“Yes,” answered Gilbey.

“No,” muttered Gillian, reaching for a bun.

Gilbey rolled his eyes in answer to Brinton’s raised eyebrows. “My sister is nearly ready, my lord. It is just that some important personal items have been misplaced in the house, and we will need a few minutes to look for them.”

“Do you mind if I ask what is missing?”

“It is some small, leather-bound books,” Gillian volunteered rather sullenly. “They are Scottish songbooks that belonged to my mother.”

“Ah, the infamous books,” replied Brinton. “They were not returned with your other belongings?”

“No. And I have searched our rooms quite thoroughly.”

“It is an oversight, I am sure.” He paused. “What of the library or the music room? Have you tried there?”

“There is a music room?”

“When you are finished, I would be happy to show you.”

Gillian sighed with regret. If only they were not leaving! A music room could keep her content for days at a time. But was it wise to go anywhere with Brinton? His very presence was already affecting her as she had feared. What if he touched her, or spoke of last night? Still, she needed to find the books. She nodded.

Gillian needn’t have worried about Brinton, for his conduct was quite unexceptional. He led her to the music room without so much as taking her hand. It was a small but pleasant room, with a window facing the garden as in Mrs. Alford’s study. A quite new pianoforte occupied the center of the room, where it attracted Gillian’s attention at once. As she tried its keys, Brinton looked about the room and noticed several small leather volumes stacked on the fireplace mantel.

“What about these?” Brinton asked, reaching the mantel in quick, long strides. “
Ancient and Modern Scots Songs? The Ever Green
, by Allan Ramsay? These look quite old.”

Gillian left off playing to come to his side. He examined the books one by one and handed them to her. His fingers did not brush hers even accidentally, yet she noticed that her pulse quickened.

“Alice must have had the servants put them in here, thinking you might sing for us. Then we went to the assembly instead.”

Gillian did not say a word, but stroked the smooth covers as if they were living things. When she had received the entire collection into her arms, she looked up at Brinton. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He returned her gaze for a long moment, his handsome features composed as nearly as possible into an expression of apology. “Last night was something of a surprise,” he began.

Oh, Lord!
So he
was
going to talk about it.

“I think it may have been so for both of us. If anything I did offended you, I must beg your forgiveness this morning.”

What could she say? That she wished he had done more? Admit that she had been overwhelmed with passion herself? She took the coward’s way out. “Why, Lord Brinton,” she said with an attempt at coquettishness, “I don’t know what you could mean. Of course there is nothing to apologize for. The assembly was lovely, and you were very kind to escort us there.”