Lady Rogue (22 page)

She settled back into the chair and grinned. “I’m certain you can find an appropriate stanza,” she said, propping her elbow on the cushioned arm and leaning her chin on her hand.

Alex cleared his throat. “All right, here’s a stanza for you, my dear.” He lowered his eyes to the page, reluctant though he was to look away from her face. In a quiet voice he read,

For a long moment there was nothing but silence, and then the dulcet sound of her sigh. “Oh, my,” she whispered, clearly as loath to break the spell as he was. He raised his eyes to look at her. Her own eyes were closed, a slight smile on her sweet, sensuous lips. “What is it called?” she murmured.

“‘The Dream,’” he answered, and stood. “For you,” he said, placing the book in her hands. Unable to resist, he gently touched his lips to hers. Before she could do more than open her eyes again, he turned and left the room.

In the morning Alex dropped Kit off at the Downings’ and headed to Parliament. Upstairs in Ivy’s bedchamber, Kit found herself going through a measuring session nearly identical to the one she had suffered through at the hands of Everton’s tailor. Mrs. Adams, Ivy’s dressmaker, was much more genial and full of compliments about her hair and her figure than Mr. Lewis had been, but then Kit would have handed Mr. Lewis his teeth if he had dared to tell her that she was perfectly proportioned.

When, in complete bewilderment, Kit gave over to Ivy the responsibility for all decisions regarding color, fabric, and style, the two ladies spent another hour eyeing her, having her turn this way and that, and holding what seemed like hundreds of fabric samples up to her neck, shoulders, and face. Finally they decided on a burgundy silk with black beading, a lace netting over the skirt, and frothing at the sleeves, which were apparently going to be off her shoulders.

“Are you certain?” she asked. “I don’t wish to look like some sort of whore—um, light-skirt,” she amended, as Mrs. Adams glanced in her direction, startled.

“Trust me in this, my dear.” Ivy smiled, and launched into a list of petticoats, stockings, and shoes that Mrs. Adams was to bring with her on the morrow, when Kit would have her first fitting.

When the dressmaker finally bundled up her things and departed, Kit sighed and dropped into the nearest chair. “This is exhausting,” she declared, and reached for a handful of the finger sandwiches a servant had delivered upstairs.

“Christine,” Ivy murmured, gesturing with her chin at the sandwiches, “if you’re to be a lady…”

“Oh, drat,” Kit grumbled, and set all but one of the sandwiches back onto the platter. “Alex says I eat like a regiment, but he seems to like it.”

A slight smile touched her companion’s face. “Alexander is a rather unconventional man,” Ivy agreed. “But in polite company, you must always consume as little as possible without seeming to dislike the fare.”

“I don’t think I can possibly learn everything,” Kit returned, nibbling at the tiny morsel and grateful she had eaten that third biscuit at breakfast. “His lordship is anticipating complete disaster.”

For a moment Ivy was silent, her cup of tea poised halfway to her lips. “You told Alex?” she finally said, looking at Kit.

“I didn’t want to have to lie to him about it.” She shrugged, making it as small a thing as she could. Lies upon lies upon lies, and when Alex had sat smiling at
her yesterday, she had suddenly wished to tell him a truth. And so she had. The most innocent one she could think of.

“And he agreed to this?”

“Very reluctantly.” Kit grimaced and started to lick her finger, stopping self-consciously when Ivy gave a small frown. “Do you think he’s right, Ivy? Do you think it will be a disaster?”

Ivy actually gave her the compliment of thinking about her words before she answered. “No. I don’t think so.” She smiled. “I will do my best to see that it is not. And I welcome any opportunity to prove Alexander Cale wrong—he is right far too much of the time. Or he thinks he is.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now. With the short amount of time we have, I believe we should concentrate only on what you will need to learn for the Thornhill ball. Walking, dancing, polite conversation…”

Kit blanched, wishing she had thought things through. Alex was right, after all. “I can’t go,” she groaned, crestfallen.

“Whyever not?”

“I can’t dance.”

“What?” Ivy chuckled incredulously. “Of course you can. I’ve seen you. I’ve waltzed with you. You dance beautifully.”

Kit covered her eyes with her hands, the enormity of what she was contemplating finally crashing down on her. “Only when I lead,” she mumbled.

It seemed she was able to stun her hostess rather easily, for again silence dragged on for several moments. Finally she raised her head, only to find that Ivy was doubled over, her shoulders trembling. It took another few miserable breaths before Kit realized that she was shaking with laughter.

“Well, I don’t think it’s at all funny,” she said indignantly, folding her arms over her chest and sitting back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kit,” Ivy chortled. “But you’re right. You can’t very well step out onto the floor and expect
to lead when you’re dressed as a female.”

“But that’s the way I learned.”

Still chuckling, Ivy rose and stepped over to tug her to her feet. “Come downstairs. We shall see what we can do.”

Gerald wasn’t home from his meetings, so Fender, the butler, found himself recruited to play the pianoforte. Kit scowled, for they were letting more people in on her secret than she was comfortable with. But there were only three days left, and in this instance there seemed to be little choice.

“Remember,” Ivy instructed as the music began, “it’s what you were doing before, only backwards.” She chuckled. “And put your hand on my shoulder, for goodness’ sake. I am the man now.”

Kit was unable to stifle a laugh of her own. “This is very confusing.” Fender mumbled something unintelligible, and Kit grinned at him.

Doing everything backwards was more difficult than she had realized, and she stepped on her poor partner’s toes at least as many times as her own were kicked. Ivy, apparently, was having her own difficulties. “Don’t give up, Kit,” she encouraged with a brave smile. “Once more. I believe we’re both catching on.”

At the sound of male laughter, they both stopped short. Gerald Downing, and to Kit’s surprised embarrassment, the Earl of Everton, stood in the doorway watching their efforts. Alex’s eyes were full of amusement as he pushed away from the frame.

“I’m gratified to see that there is at least one thing you have difficulty with,” he chuckled, walking up to stand before her. “Perhaps you need a more practiced partner.” He held out his hand to her. “Allow me, chit.”

Dancing with Ivy was more comfortable, for they were both equally out of their element. As she accepted Everton’s hand and he slid his other easily around her waist, she was again aware of feeling strangely vulnerable. Again he was the master, and she the awkward student. She took a quick breath and glanced away from
his handsome face. “Well, I don’t want everyone gawking at me,” she grumbled.

“Of course,” Ivy agreed, and motioned Gerald to join her in the middle of the floor. “Fender? If you please.”

With a sigh, the butler struck up the waltz again. Alex started to move, but Kit shook her head, her eyes on the other couple. “Let me study them for a moment,” she protested.

He freed his hand from her waist long enough to touch her chin and lift her head so she had to look up at him. “You don’t need to study anything,” he murmured. “All you need to do is relax and follow my lead. If you trust me.”

With that, he swept her into the dance. She’d seen him waltz before, and had wondered what it would be like to be in his arms. Kit tried to remember the steps, in reverse, and succeeded in keeping even with him for two complete circles. And then he smiled at her, and she lost count, kicked him in the shin, and stumbled against his chest. “Oh, drat,” she muttered, stopping.

Alex shook his head and pulled her up against him again. “Relax,” he whispered. “Don’t try to unremember anything. Just look at me. Just dance with me.”

They began again, and she promptly stepped on his toe. “I’m sorry,” Kit said miserably, slowing again.

He wouldn’t let her stop. “You’re a damned stubborn chit,” he informed her, practically dragging her until she got her feet under herself again, “and you’re so worried about not making a misstep that that is all you can do.”

“That is not tr—” She tripped again, and again he pulled her closer against his chest until she untangled her legs and regained her balance. “Alex, let go,” she demanded. “You were right. This is hope—”

He lowered his head and interrupted her protest with a kiss. “Do shut up,” he suggested. “I want to dance with you.”

She licked her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and glanced quickly over at Gerald and Ivy. The Downings were circling over by the window, eyes on one another and not paying any attention to their guests at
all. She looked back up at Alex. His eyes were twinkling, and he touched his lips to hers again.

“I thought you were anticipating complete disaster,” she commented, not minding that he seemed to be holding her closer than was strictly allowed.

“I am,” he agreed, shifting his hand so that her fingers were twined with his, rather than being clasped by them.

“So why are you assisting?”
Kiss me again
, she entreated him silently, her senses soaring with Fender’s well-played waltz. It was becoming fairly obvious that Alex was attempting to seduce her, and with all her heart she wished she knew whether it was out of curiosity and convenience, or because he felt remotely what she was beginning to feel toward him.

“I should have elaborated,” he murmured as they circled the room. “I meant a complete disaster for
me
.” With a glance of his own at his cousins, he kissed her again, more roughly and more deeply than before.

“Alex!” Ivy chastised.

With a completely unrepentant grin, not even bothering to look over at his relations, Alex sighed and put the correct amount of distance between them. It was only then Kit realized that she had been waltzing with him for several minutes, swaying easily in his skillful, confident grip. “You distracted me,” she accused without heat.

“Turnabout is fair play, my dear,” he answered. “I declare you completely proficient at the waltz.”

“As long as I waltz only with someone who kisses me when I crush his toes,” she pointed out, and wondered fleetingly and wickedly what kicking him in the knee would gain her.

Surprisingly, a good portion of the humor left his eyes. “You’d best waltz only with me, then.”

He was jealous. In her decision to dress as a female, she hadn’t anticipated that. It felt quite wonderful, though, and she couldn’t help smiling at him. The Earl of Everton was jealous, over her, a boy-thing in breeches, and without any suitors, real or imagined, to
challenge him. “Then perhaps you’d best purchase stout boots.”

Alex eyed her for a moment, and she was uncertain whether she’d said the wrong thing. Finally he chuckled. “I’m beginning to think I should simply wear a full suit of armor,” he returned. “’Twould be safer, around you.”

She lifted her chin. “Do you fear me then, Everton?” she queried, trying very hard to guess where this conversation was leading her this time, even as he led her in a wide, grand circle about the room.

He smiled a little, in a way that made her wish Fender and the Downings were not present. “You have no idea,” he whispered.

They practiced the waltz, the quadrille, and two country dances before Alex put an end to the day. “My apologies, but if we continue, I will be maimed for life,” he joked.

A reluctant laugh burst from Kit’s lips. “I’ve only three more days until the ball, you know,” she retorted, folding her arms and trying to disguise the sudden nervousness running through her.

It made Alex realize that he had done the right thing in agreeing to this masquerade within a masquerade. Dressing for one evening as a female was very important to Kit. And ill advised as it was, he would do whatever he could to see that the night, her last night, went as perfectly as possible for her.

“You’re a quick study,” he pointed out. “When is your gown to be ready?”

“In three days,” she answered.

“Ah. Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?”

“It’s the height of the Season. That’s as quickly as my dressmaker can manage it,” Ivy put in a bit defensively.

“You should have offered to pay her more,” he said unsympathetically.

“Now, now,” Gerald interrupted. “I’m certain we’ve
timed everything splendidly, as usual. No fighting
before
everything goes wrong.”

“Because it won’t,” Ivy added.

“As you say,” Alex offered as graciously as he could, for it was fairly obvious that there were myriad things that could easily go awry. The Downings hardly knew the half of it. Nor could he tell them. “Come, chit.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cousin Ivy.” With a kiss on Ivy’s cheek, Kit led the way out the door. “Take me to White’s tonight, won’t you?”

Alex frowned, little relishing the conversation that would follow. That was why he hadn’t said anything until after he’d danced with her. She’d allowed him to hold her in his arms, and awkward as she’d been, it had been quite enjoyable. Too enjoyable, in all likelihood. “I’ve a previous engagement.”

“With whom?”

Her lilting voice was cool enough, but he could hear the curiosity there. If he told her it was none of her business, she would turn it around on him later, as she had done before, and if he lied…“Barbara Sinclair.”

She didn’t even do him the favor of turning around to look at him. “I’d best go back inside and continue my female lessons, anyway. I’ve a great deal to learn.”