Learning to Waltz (42 page)

“Yessir.” The girl curtsied and disappeared into the corridor.

Evan set Deborah on her feet. Another huge yawn escaped, followed by a sigh of contentment as she snuggled against him. He began pulling the various clips and combs and ribbons out of her hair, relishing the weight and thickness of it as it fell over his hands. Then he commenced the delightful task of removing her clothing. Fortunately he was more awake than she, or the tiny buttons and hooks might have frustrated him entirely.

Her nightdress lay across the bed, the covers turned down in readiness for their mistress. He let her shift drop to the floor and permitted his hands the luxury of a journey over her skin. She murmured something unintelligible. He slipped the nightdress over her head and regretfully allowed it to slide down between them. Then he helped her to sit on the bed while he pulled off her stockings. He kissed the top of each tired foot and slid her legs between the sheets. As her head nestled into the pillow, she reached for him and pulled his mouth down on hers, but a moment later she was lost to sleep, and he was kissing an effigy, soft and warm, yet inert. He smiled, aching for her, and gently pushed a curl from her cheek. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

Tomorrow she would be his, and he would be hers. She would learn about music, he would learn about birds. They would read to each other, they would read to their children. He would see her when he woke in the morning, when they rode and dined and danced. He would make her moan, he would make her laugh—there was nothing in the world he would rather hear than Deborah’s laughter. When darkness blinded him, he would know her by her scent, by the taste of her skin, and by the way she felt in his arms and in his heart. He would show her the beauties of the lakes and all his favorite places. And she would show him Paradise.

Raised in New England, Kerryn has also made many trips to the old country. At 17, she roamed the Rock of Cashel after-hours with her first love, a local Irish lad. Illegal, and so romantic! Years later she typed the first line of
Learning to Waltz
. And ten years after that she joined a writing group and learned she didn’t have a clue.

Kerryn now lives in Florida with her dogs and the love of her life, who prunes her words and puzzles with her over tag lines. He’s not Irish, but he’s wonderful!

www.kerrynreid.com

“My lady. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Just deep in thought. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You carry the weight of our duchy on your shoulders.” Madeleine sighed as she helped me dress. “Arthur was just a bit older than my own boy. I shall miss him dearly,” she said, ready to leave me alone to finish my travel preparations. Before she left, I had two requests.

“Please summon Simon. He always took Arthur under his wing, and Madeleine, please take extra good care of my little Duke.”

Madeleine curtseyed.

“Will do to both. Now don’t you worry.”

Simon arrived promptly after Madeleine left. I tried to control my feelings of grief, but my eyes streamed tears at just the thought of Arthur’s death.

“Simon, I have written a message of sympathy for you to deliver to Arthur’s family. I know you were his closest confidant among my guards and am sure you will miss him as much as I.”

I folded my note and placed it in an envelope before handing it to him. His sad eyes said it all.

“Thank you, ma’am. Arthur would have appreciated your thoughtful words. He always told me how proud he was to serve in your guard.”

With that, Simon left. I knew I had to get down to business, remembering what the gypsy instructed me to do before. She herself admitted it could take as long as three hours for the winds of time to reach me. I looked up at the sky and called out, “Starr future! Starr future! Starr future!”

While I waited, I finished my preparations. I slipped a velvet pouch into my bodice. I removed a special drawing from my dresser top, folded it, and placed it in my skirt pocket along with a lace fan, and then put another important item deep into my other pocket. My timing was impeccable. As soon as I finished, I began to hear those eerie sounds of the winds of time as they approached. With the speed of a lightning bolt, the winds entered my room until…
whoosh
! They picked me up and whirled me around like the inside of a cyclone.

My manor house looked like a palace miniature as I raced through the clouds. Then suddenly…crash! I landed much harder than I had hoped. I wished for a moment there was an easier way for a lady of my standing to travel. I looked around. Yes, perfect aim. I had landed directly on Starr’s front lawn. As a matter of fact, I faced that familiar sign near her entrance. A bit of a marvel, that. I was relieved to read the pink pastel tubes of light once more:

STARR E. KNIGHT

SEEKER OF LOST PETS

FINDER OF TRUE LOVE AND HAPPY DREAMS

Straightening, I could hear Starr’s nosey neighbor shout from across the street.

“Hey Susie, did you hear that?”

I glared at the man. He was leaning over the front railing of his porch staring at me through a pair of field glasses. Probably never saw a proper royal before my last visit. This annoying commoner kept going, much to my dismay.

“Susie, do you see that lady over there?”

He fanned himself with folded newspapers, trying to attract any breeze he could. It felt quite warm for a spring evening. The woman, who I assumed to be his wife, put down her book to take a solid look at me, as well.

“Well, Herb, what do you know?” she answered. “It’s amazing that woman doesn’t suffocate with that long velvet outfit on. Gotta be in the eighties out here tonight. I bet she’s with that medieval festival at the river park. Starr sure does attract some strange ones. Oh, oh, turn around. That woman’s looking over here at us. Pretend you’re asleep. Don’t need any of Starr’s crazies bothering us.”

Crazies! Imagine the nerve of that woman calling me a crazy. Amelia Augusta Ethrington, the Duchess of Abbington, fourth in line to the throne, a crazy. Why, that woman would be locked up and sent to the stockade for less at home. Her husband yanked his cap down to cover his eyes while she closed hers and rested her head back against her rocking chair. I ignored them, brushing the travel dust off my garnet velvet skirt and bodice before marching up to Starr’s front door.

Pounding on it as hard as I could, I shouted, “Starr! Open this door now! I order you by royal decree. You swore to Alden when I lost Duke that you would help me with any problem I had in the future. I now have a big one only your skills can resolve.”

Still no answer. How dare that gypsy ignore me! Frustrated, I burst into tears. No one ignored me. I called out again.

“Starr, answer this door now! I shall continue to shout until you do. Your neighbors appear intrigued by me. Maybe I should tell them how I arrived here? Hurry. I’m melting in this dress. I haven’t ever felt this hot.”

I looked up at her stained glass window. I saw her lights come on one by one. Finally, I saw her approach and heard her heavy wooden door creak open. Starr looked a bit surprised.

“Why, Amelia, what on earth are you doing here now? Are you all right? You look anxious. Oh my, I must not have been paying attention to the right time. I was not expecting you for at least two more hours. I’m so sorry. I kept track of your journey on my kitchen clock. It must have stopped while I was creating a spell for another client. I must get that clock fixed. Please forgive my carelessness. Nevertheless, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

The gypsy looked deep into my reddened eyes.

“Starr, you more than anyone can understand the urgency of my visit. I’m on the brink of losing my duchy. Desperate, I seek your help.”

“Miss Manley.” Colin McBrodie takes my hand and tugs slightly forcing me to walk with him. He tucks my arm into the crook of his elbow, and we stride into the room, which appears to be a parlor.

We halt in front of Ian, who glares at Colin, captures my free hand, and brushes his lips across my knuckles. “Good evening, Miss Manley. I trust you’ve recovered from the harrowing ordeal of earlier?”

All my woman parts are zinging and chorusing halleluiah. I can’t drag my gaze from his luscious mouth. His lips curl at the corners, and I’m bedeviled by the two dimples on his right cheek when he smiles. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath and let out a long sigh when his teeth come into view. They’re perfect and even and sparkling clean. “Thank God. Crest White Strips would be totally wasted on you.”

Murphy’s Time-Travel Law: High society women eat like humming birds in every fricking century.

Ian frowns, cocks his head to one side, and squeezes my fingertips. “Crest White Strips? I am afraid I do not know to what you refer.”

Holy hopping hares. I want to curl in on myself. Had I actually said that aloud? This man wreaks havoc with my senses and he addles my mind. “Please ignore that. Fiona and Alice are sleeping.”

As if Fiona and Alice sleeping have anything to do with anything. This is so not like me. I am a linear thinker. I never jump all over the place. How in heck am I supposed to get through this evening when my brain and my mouth keep miss firing?

Ian and Colin exchange an is-she-still-pond-shocked look.

The urge to spout inane drivel in the hopes of fixing my faux pas is overwhelming. I bite my tongue hard, stifle a wince, and stare at the lapel of Ian’s jacket.

“I spoke with Gwen earlier. Cook gave Fiona and Alice extra puddings with their dinner and their spirits miraculously recovered. You have my undying gratitude, Miss Manley, for your heroic rescue of Fiona this afternoon. If my brother Kingsley were here, he would offer you the same sentiments.”

He brushes his lips across my knuckles again.

I catch a whiff of his sandalwood aftershave and another elusive scent, somewhere between musk and spice. Can a body get drunk on a man’s smell?

Unable to resist, I look up and our glances meet.

Can that searing heat he’s singeing me with be my imagination?

Fluttery ripples settle low in my belly. Clenching my thighs together, I am glad of the yards of fabric hiding my drenched thongs.

Tonight his chameleon eyes are ringed with sliver instead of slate. No man’s ever made me wet with one sizzling stare before.

My knees are woozy, and I can’t think worth a monopoly dollar bill. Say something. “I did what anyone would’ve, my lord.”