Love Is Blind (2 page)

Adrian stared at his cousin and then burst into laughter.

Reginald looked startled, then smiled wryly. 'Yes, laugh. But if I never sire another child—legitimate or not—I shall blame it solely on Lady Clarissa
Crambray
."

Shaking his head, Adrian laughed even harder, and it felt so good. It had been many years since he'd found anything the least bit funny. But the image of the delicate little flower along the wall mistaking
Reg's
lap for a table and oversetting a cup of tea on him was priceless.

"What did you do?" he got out at last.

Reg
shook his head and raised his hands helplessly. "What could I do? I pretended it had not happened, stayed where I was, and tried not to cry with the pain. 'A gentleman never deigns to notice, or draw attention in any way to, a lady's public faux pas,'" he quoted dryly, then glanced back at the girl with a sigh. "Truth to tell, I do not think she even realized what

she'd done. Rumor has it she can see fine with spectacles, but she is too vain to wear them."

Still smiling, Adrian followed
Reg's
gaze to the girl. Carefully taking in her wretched expression, he shook his head.

"No. Not vain," he announced, watching as the older woman beside Lady Clarissa murmured something, stood, and moved away.

"Well,"
Reg
began, but paused when, ignoring him, Adrian moved toward the girl. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I warned you."

"Refrain from squinting, please."

Despite the inclusion of the word
please,
it was not a request but an order, and one Clarissa was heartily sick of hearing. If her stepmother would simply allow her to wear spectacles, she would have no need to squint. She would also not be constantly bumping into things and people. But no, of course she must not wear her spectacles. That would put off suitors.

As if my clumsiness does not,
Clarissa thought wearily, and she grimaced inwardly over some of the accidents she'd had since arriving in London. Aside from upending tea trays and missing tables with her plates, she'd taken a terrible tumble down the stairs at a ball. Fortunately, she hadn't hurt herself overmuch, suffering only bruises and stiffness but nothing broken. Then there'd been the little incident of falling out in front of a moving carriage, and of course, recently, setting Lord
Prudhomme's
wig on fire.

Another sigh slid from her lips as Clarissa recalled Lydia's lecture after the last accident. Her stepmother had decided that—as she was so blind and clumsy without her spectacles—there was only one way for

Clarissa to go on. In the future, she was allowed only to sit quietly when in the presence of others. She was not to touch candles, cups, plates, or, well, basically anything. She was no longer to eat in company, but was to claim she was not hungry—whether she was or not. Neither was she to drink. Even walking was out, unless she had her maid to lead her.

Clarissa had cut into this lecture several times with, "But if you would only allow me to wear my spectacles—" But each time, Lydia had responded with a grim, "Never!" And then she had continued on with all the other things Clarissa was to avoid.

By the time Lydia was finished, all Clarissa was supposed to do in the presence of others was sit looking serene . . . which supposedly meant no squinting.

Clarissa turned her gaze away from the shapes swinging past on the dance floor to stare wearily at the pale pink blur of her hands in the yellow haze of her lap. She wished—not for die first time—that her father had accompanied them on this trip. Were Lord
Crambray
here, she'd have her glasses and be able to properly enjoy the evening. Unfortunately, he'd had estate business to attend. At least that was what he'd claimed, though her father had never much cared for the city, and the claim of estate business might just have been an excuse. Clarissa didn't know. All she knew was that he wasn't here, and it was going to be another boring night.

"May I have this dance?"

Clarissa heard the request, but didn't bother to look up. Why should she? It wasn't as if she could see anything anyway. Instead, she waited unhappily for her stepmother to speak, wondering the whole while who

this stranger was that he had not heard of her. Anyone who had heard the tales of her clumsiness surely would not approach.

Realizing that Lydia hadn't yet politely declined the request on her behalf by saying she was too tired, or whatever excuse she would choose, Clarissa glanced to her side with a frown. She found that the pink blur that was Lydia was no longer there. And when a black shape suddenly moved into her stepmother's seat, Clarissa sat back with a start.

A frown forming on her face, she turned, blindly searching the haze of colors around her for her stepmother's bright pink shape.

"I believe the lady who was sitting here a moment ago went off in search of food." The deep voice was so close to her ear that Clarissa felt the man's breath on her delicate lobe. Suppressing a shiver, she turned her attention quickly back to the gentleman at her side. He had lovely, deep, gravelly tones that she found pleasing, and his blurred form appeared quite large. For the millionth time, Clarissa wished she had her spectacles and could see.

"Did she not tell you where she was going?" he asked. "I thought I saw her speak to you before leaving."

Clarissa blushed slightly, and quickly returned her gaze to the smear of movement that was the dance floor, admitting, "She may have. I fear I was distracted by my thoughts and not paying attention."

While she had a vague recollection of Lydia murmuring something to her, Clarissa had been sunk too deep in misery to pay much heed. It was humiliating to sit here catching bits of conversation as people gossiped unkindly about her. Her clumsiness was apparently quite the joke of the season. She'd earned the moniker Clumsy Clarissa, and everyone was wondering what she would do next to entertain them.

"They say you are as blind as a bat, and too vain to wear spectacles," the voice beside her announced.

Clarissa blinked in surprise. But if she was taken aback by his bluntness, she suspected she was no more so than the speaker himself. She heard a small gasp of breath as he finished, as if he'd just realized what he'd said. A quick glance to the side showed that he'd raised his hand as if to cover his mouth.

"I am sorry; I have obviously been too long out of society. I should never have—"

"Oh, bother." Clarissa waved his apology away and sank back in her seat with a dejected sigh. "
Tis
all right. I
do
know what people are saying. They seem to think that I am deaf as well as clumsy, for they do not worry about saying things in front of me—or at least behind their fans—loudly enough for me to hear." Making a face, she mimicked, " 'Oh look, there she is, poor thing—Clumsy Clarissa.' "

"I
am
sorry," her companion said quietly.

Clarissa waved his words away again, only this time noting the way he dodged as if to avoid a blow to die head. Frowning, she clasped her hands and settled them in her lap, repeating, "There is no need to apologize. At least you said it to my face."

'Yes, well..." The man seemed to relax in his seat now that her hands weren't waving wildly. "Actually, it was more a question. I was wondering if you truly are?"

Clarissa smiled wryly. "Ah, well, I am not quite as blind as a bat. I
can
see with spectacles. But my stepmother has taken them away." She threw a dry smile in the general direction of his blurry shape and then

shrugged. "Lydia seems to think that I will have more luck setting a fire in some suitable man's heart without them. The only thing as yet that I have set fire to is Lord
Prudhomme's
wig."

"Excuse me?" the stranger asked with amazement. "
Prudhomme
's wig? "

"Hmm." Clarissa leaned back in her chair and actually managed to chuckle at die memory. "Yes. Though if you ask me, 'twas not wholly my fault. The man knew that I could not see without my spectacles. Why the deuce he asked me to move the candle closer is beyond me." Clarissa paused to squint in her companion's general direction. "He is bald as a cue ball without his wig, is he not?"

She thought the man nodded, though it was hard to say. He was emitting small choked sounds it took her a moment to identify. He was fighting desperately not to laugh!

"Go ahead," Clarissa said with a small smile. "Laugh. I did. Though not right away."

The man relaxed somewhat. She could actually feel the muscles in the arm and leg pressed against her own expanding. But he only expelled a small chuckle.

Clarissa squinted again, trying to bring his face into focus. She wanted very much to see his face. She liked the sound of his laugh, and his voice when he spoke was husky yet soft. It was really quite . . . attractive, she decided. And while Clarissa should have moved over rather than allow the intimacy of his hip rubbing against hers with every move, she quite liked that too; so she pretended not to notice.

"How did Lord
Prudhomme
take this little accident?"

Clarissa gave up trying to see his face and smiled good-naturedly. "Not at all well. He thought it was my

fault. He called me quite a few nasty names. I think he would have hit me, too, but the servants wrestled him from the house," she admitted with a small frown. Sighing, she added, "Of course, my stepmother— Lydia—lectured me ad nauseam afterward about everything I must and must not do from now on."

"Such as?"

"Pretty much everything is off-limits," Clarissa said cheerfully. "Let's see, no eating in public, no drinking in public ... In fact, I am not to touch anything in public: candles, flower vases, anything. I am not even supposed to walk without someone to guide me."

"But did she say no dancing?"

"No. Not as such. But then, she did not have to." Clarissa's smile faded. She hesitated and then tried to explain. "Everything is a blur, you see; so when I whirl about, all I see are streaks of color and light flashing around. I lose my balance and..." She paused and shrugged, but felt a blush creeping over her face as she remembered the last brave soul who had asked her to dance. Clarissa had ended up tripping him, and they had both ended up on die floor. Very embarrassing.

"Just keep your eyes shut."

"What?" Clarissa glanced blankly at the dark blur beside her.

"Keep your eyes closed, and you will not lose your balance," the man suggested, and she saw his hand move closer to her. He was offering it so that she would rise.

Clarissa opened her mouth to refuse, then paused as his hand suddenly enclosed hers, sending a shock of sensation racing up her arm. It was such an odd feeling—excitement, wild excitement—coursing across her flesh.

"I do not...." she began faintly with bewilderment, pausing when his hand lifted her chin and the man bent to stare into her eyes. Close enough to kiss, she thought vaguely. Good God, Clarissa realized, close enough to
see! For
one brief second she stared into the most beautiful set of clear brown eyes she'd ever seen; then he pulled back slightly, out of focus.

"Trust me." It was not so much a request as an order. But Clarissa remembered those eyes, so dark, so kind—and she nodded. Then he was tugging her out of her seat, directing her through the crowd of dancers to the middle of the floor.

"Now. .." His voice was calm and soothing as he turned her to face him. "Close your eyes," he instructed, lifting her free hand to his shoulder. "Relax."

His voice was almost hypnotic, Clarissa thought vaguely.

"Follow me. I will not allow you to stumble."

Despite having just met him, Clarissa believed him. He would not let her fall as he led her through die dance. And with her eyes closed, she had only her ears and his touch to guide her.

The music was loud and strong, drowning out all conversation. Her companion's touch directed her; a squeeze of the hand, an urgent pressure at her waist. And the only other sensation was the air rushing past as he whirled her around and around, without once tripping or stumbling. For die first time in weeks— since her very arrival in London, in fact—Clarissa didn't feel like a clumsy oaf. It was divine.

When the dance ended, he gave her hand a squeeze and then drew it through his arm to promenade her through the room.

"You dance divinely, my lady," he said quietly near

her ear, gently leading her with his arm and pressure on her hand past die gay colors of the other dancers. Clarissa flushed and smiled a bit proudly, then sighed and shook her head.

"No, my lord," she said demurely. 'You give me too much credit. I fear you are the one who dances divinely. I know it is not I, for I have been able to do nothing but stumble and fall when dancing with others."

"Then the fault lies with those others. You are as light and graceful as a feather on die dance floor with me."

Clarissa considered briefly; then, with a sense of justice, nodded her head. "I believe you may be right, my lord. After all, if it were me alone, even your obvious skill could not have made it so easy. Perhaps my previous partners were a bit nervous and awkward."

"How refreshing."

She could hear the smile in his voice, and so Clarissa raised her eyebrows in question. "My lord?"