Larken (11 page)

“On my lower back, yes. Right where a man might rest his hands in a romantic moment. A real husband would have found my scars repulsive and feel rather cheated for not being able to bed a perfect wife. Fortunately, our marital arrangement allows me to avoid physical intimacy.”

“I-I can’t imagine any scars of yours that would put a man off for long.”

“I’ll never have to put it to the test now. I daresay the rejection would be mortifying.”

Larken finished her wine, hoping Brandon was fervently wishing he could judge for himself how off-putting her scars might be. If it kept him up all night, so much the better.

“Thank you for dinner.” She rose. “Our conversation has been most illuminating.”

He lurched to his feet, but she didn’t spare him a glance as she sailed from the room.

The next afternoon, Myles preferred to play outside while Larken worked with Lord Rowe and Lady Clarissa in the ballroom. Toward the end of the session, she became so comfortable with the footwork, Rowe was even able to teach her a few advanced turns and movements.

“Not every fellow will waltz as well as I do, of course,” Rowe said with mock seriousness. “But just in case you’re fortunate to have a good partner, we want you to be able to follow.”

“You socialize with a great many people,” she said. “Did you know Theo King?”

He frowned. “Yes. Terrible tragedy, that accident. The King brothers were a force of nature when they were together. They looked quite similar, but they were complete opposites. Theo was sensitive and artistic—like air, and Brandon was powerful—like fire. They needed one another, spiritually speaking. I think your husband is only just starting to recover from his brother’s loss.”

“Myles is helping a great deal.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mrs. King. I expect you have something to do with it.”

She merely smiled. “Did you ever meet Miss Mariah Pettigrew?”

“Many times. She had an exquisite face, I suppose, but I never warmed up to her overmuch. I can’t remember the details, but I believe she was engaged to one of the King brothers at one point. Then Theo had his accident and she simply dropped out of sight.”

“Life often takes some horrendous turns.”

“Yours more than most. How did you overcome your tragedy, if I may ask?”

“I haven’t completely. The sun continues to rise, however, the world continues to turn, and I’ve no choice but to go on.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Dear lady…I don’t know what to say.”

“Please don’t feel sorry for me. Each of us has a cross to bear, do we not? I really have nothing to complain about, all things considered.”

“Well, I can’t complain about your progress on the dance floor. Perhaps after we review the waltz next time, we can begin to learn the two-step?”

“Why not?”

After his dinner with Larken, Brandon had spent a restless night. If he didn’t know better, he might have suspected her disclosure was meant to provoke a physical response. In all their other interactions, however, she’d been nothing but demure and modest. The mention of her body had, unfortunately, quickened his pulse and set his thoughts on the exact path he’d been trying to avoid. The notion of peeling away her corset to view the flesh underneath was such an irresistible image, he’d been forced to take a history book to his room. He’d stayed up late reading
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
, but he wasn’t so sure he retained a jot.

Brandon also reflected on the events regarding Larken’s inheritance. Something about her foster parents’ behavior didn’t seem quite right, so he wrote a letter to his lawyer, asking him to look into the matter. The very notion the Howleys would take advantage of an orphaned child made him furious, but he would let Mr. Waite deal with them. The London-based lawyer had a zeal for such things and had served the King family well for decades.

After lunch, Brandon rode over to the chapel, where his family’s burial plot was located. He spent a few minutes mourning his father, Theodore Jacob King. The man had been handsome and vigorous throughout his life, but had been prematurely felled by a stupid hunting accident. Brandon also laid a bouquet of forget-me-nots on his mother’s headstone. Although he remembered her as charming, happy woman, the loss of her eldest son and her husband in a short period of time had been her undoing. She’d simply wasted away, and Brandon had been helpless to do anything to save her.

A fresh bouquet of yellow roses on his brother’s grave meant there had been a recent visitor. Could the mourner be one of the many girls who’d tried to capture Theo’s heart years ago? As he stared at the headstone, a fresh wave of pain made him sink to the grass.

“When you fell in love with Mariah, I should have stepped aside,” he said out loud. “I’ll always regret I didn’t.”

As if Theo was answering him, a gentle breeze stirred the branches of a willow tree nearby. Although he didn’t believe in the supernatural, Brandon felt as if his elder brother’s memory was haunting him at Graceling Hall. Certainly a ghostly Theo would have found it amusing to play tricks on him every so often. A smile tugged at Brandon’s lips as he remembered the imaginative games his elder brother had invented when they were children. In many ways, he’d been a great deal like Larken—whimsical and light-spirited. Perhaps that’s why Brandon’s mood seemed to lift whenever he was in her company these days. She reminded him of happier times.

As he rode back to the house, he remembered he was supposed to look in on Larken’s dance lesson. To his disappointment, the music had stopped when he arrived and it appeared as if the session was over. Brandon shook Rowe’s hand, bowed to Clarissa, and exchanged pleasantries.

“So how is Larken coming along with her dancing?” he asked finally.

“She’s a very quick study,” Rowe said.

“I believe she’s mastered the waltz already,” Lady Clarissa added.

Brandon gestured toward the dance floor. “I’d love a demonstration.”

Larken blanched. “I’m not ready to dance for anyone yet!”

“Mrs. King, in my opinion you’re more than ready,” Rowe said.

“A little performance anxiety is to be expected, and it’s better to get it over with sooner rather than later,” Clarissa said. “Here, at least, the audience is friendly.”

Rowe bowed, led Larken to the center of the dance floor, and murmured something that made her laugh. Brandon leaned against the piano as Clarissa played the opening bars of a waltz. The sound of Larken’s merriment blended with the music in a pleasing fashion that seemed to soothe his soul. The couple began to dance, and Larken’s initial steps—tentative at first—quickly synchronized with her partner’s in a mesmerizing symphony of movement.

As Brandon watched, he felt a strange, disorienting sensation, almost as if he were seeing Larken for the first time. It struck him as astonishing that such a lovely creature should be his bride. Fate had somehow brought her into his life…and yet it was all wrong. He’d not courted her with adoring glances or flattering compliments, but with a cold contract meant to reduce their marriage to a mockery of the word. Stranger yet was the unfamiliar flicker of emotion in his gut, urging him to cast aside his vow of virtual seclusion and woo her for real.

I must be losing my resolve…
and my mind.

Without thinking about it overmuch, he walked toward the dancers.

Rowe paused. “Yes?”

“May I dance with my wife?” Brandon asked.

“Most certainly!” Rowe relied.

As Brandon met Larken’s gaze, he suddenly felt like a hopeful swain desperate to win the heart of a girl more beautiful and desirable than he deserved. When he took her hand in his, he felt her tremble. Was she afraid of him?

“We’re friends, are we not?” he murmured.

She nodded.

“Then you needn’t be fearful.”

Was his whispered encouragement for her benefit, or for his own? Clarissa played a few introductory bars of music, and as Brandon and Larken began to waltz together, he marveled at how easily she managed to follow his lead.

“Your lessons have served you well,” he said as they moved about the room. “You dance beautifully.”

She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Perhaps it’s the skill of my partner which allows me to shine.”

The little minx is flirting with me!
A rush of pleasure at the realization brought a smile.

“You shine on your own,” he replied. “I’m nearly blinded as it is.”

A laugh. “Such outrageous flattery will turn my head.”

“It’s not flattery, I assure you. I speak from my heart.”

A myriad of expressions crossed her face, and Brandon wished he could guess her thoughts. When the music ended, he bowed low over her hand and kissed it in a lingering fashion that would have earned him a rebuke had he and Larken been strangers.

Rowe applauded. “I’ve never been as proud of a pupil as I am of Mrs. King.”

“It was as if you’d been dancing together for years,” Clarissa said.

Brandon held Larken’s gaze. “I can’t remember a dance I’ve ever enjoyed more.”

Chapter Eight

Wishes

A
LTHOUGH
L
ARKEN
K
EPT
H
ER
C
OUNTENANCE
, she was more bewildered than she’d ever been in her life. Her flirtation with Brandon on the dance floor had been meant to tease him for his dispassionate stance the night before, but he’d handled it as deftly as he had the waltz. His compliments and the kiss on her hand had sent her reeling, and she wondered if he was toying with her emotions. Then realization dawned; his behavior was undoubtedly a pretense meant to portray the two of them as a loving couple for Lord Rowe’s and Lady Clarissa’s benefit. Nevertheless, the blazing heat radiating from Brandon’s eyes during their waltz had nearly buckled her knees. No, it would be the height of foolishness to take his behavior seriously. As soon as the brother and sister left Graceling Hall, her husband’s demeanor would grow aloof once more.

When Brandon finally escorted Lord Rowe and Lady Clarissa to their gig, Larken fled upstairs to splash cool water on her face. The memory of his lips pressed against her hand, however, brought another unwanted blush. Her overwhelming physical reaction to Brandon’s feigned attentions would be almost laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic. Was this seductive demeanor what she could expect from him at all social functions in the future? If so, she’d have to prepare herself better beforehand. She’d nearly been drawn in.

A glimpse through the window revealed Brandon walking toward the garden. She hid in the concealing shadows and watched him stride past. His movements were like a powerful tiger on the prowl, and she felt her body begin to hum with excitement. What a messy business this strange marriage had become! If her life had turned out differently and she’d met Brandon during her first Season, would she have fallen in love with him? Undoubtedly yes, and she would have certainly had her heart broken to pieces thereafter. Larken bit her lip in frustration, wishing she knew what mysterious qualities Mariah Pettigrew had possessed to attract both Brandon and his brother. Whatever it was, Larken apparently was in extraordinarily short supply.

After Brandon disappeared into the gardening shed, Larken left the window and went in search of Myles. She found him in the playroom, wrestling with a jigsaw puzzle of Europe. He gave her a bright smile when she entered the room.

“Did Mr. King come to your lesson?”

“Indeed he did, and we waltzed together. He’s as skillful a dancer as Lord Rowe.”

Myles’ lower lip protruded. “I should’ve come to the ballroom. I want to watch you and Mr. King dance.”

“Perhaps some other time.” Her gaze fell to the half-assembled jigsaw puzzle. “Hmm…you’ve mixed up Switzerland and the Netherlands…”

She sank down next to him on the carpet, and they spent a pleasant hour together. The distinct smell of roses broke her concentration.

“I smell flowers,” Myles said.

“I do too. It’s tea time. Perhaps one of the servants brought a bouquet with tea.”

Although tea had been laid out, however, no fresh flowers were in evidence. Puzzled, Larken left Myles at the table and followed the heady fragrance to the open door of her bedroom. Inside, a shock awaited her. Red blooms were mounded on her dresser, on the window seat, and on the coverlet of her bed. As she collected the flowers, she noticed they’d been carefully trimmed to remove the thorns. Next to the pile on her pillow, she found a note from Brandon inviting her to dine with him that evening, alone. Astonished, she sank into a chair and tried to make sense of the dramatic and undeniably romantic gesture. With anyone other than Brandon, she would have concluded he was expressing his affection for her. Surely he must know red roses conveyed the sentiments of love and passion. Yet the previous evening, he’d declared that to be impossible.