Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society) (25 page)

Darius was satisfied with that for now. It was a beginning.

The group was quickly organized into two tables. Since none of the party from Midwitch knew the rules of the game chosen, they agreed to watch the first round and wait to join in. The first table, therefore, consisted of Justina and her sister, with Rebecca Sherringham and her brother. The second table held Diana Makepiece and her melancholy mother and Lucy Bridges and the rector.

Mr. Kenton was indeed fortunate to be one of an extinct breed in that village, thought Darius. He certainly took advantage of it, accepting every invite thrown his way and looking quite at home in his place as a stout, chirpy sparrow amid all the pretty doves.

Miles pulled up a chair between Lucy Bridges and the rector, who wanted his opinion on a new equipage he planned to purchase. Darius managed to move himself around the room slowly until he could take possession of a chair behind Justina, without anyone observing that it was not entirely by accident. At least, he hoped no one would notice.

Fortunately, she did not immediately find some excuse to leave his proximity, but sat composed and even answered his quiet inquiry into her health with steady politeness. Tonight she wore a simply cut, velvet gown in a rich, dark wine color that complimented her coloring. It had long, narrow sleeves with small puffs at the shoulders and a V-shaped décolleté with a high waist in the Empire style. He took it all in, paying more attention to a lady’s gown than he had ever done before.

“Mr. Forester told us you have a niece in London,” she said suddenly. “I wonder why you did not tell me of her. What is she like? How old is she? Perhaps she would have liked to perform with the Priory Players too.”

“Sarah is fifteen. I think she is much too shy to act in a play.” He hesitated. “She likes to paint.”

“Is that why you once asked me whether I liked to do the same?”

“I suppose so,” he muttered, running his palms up and down his thighs, his hands too restless to be still tonight.

She observed this, glancing downward. “It is a pity you did not bring your niece into the country. I would like to have met her.”

These kind words, apparently uttered without sarcasm, fell upon his aching heart like a replenishing summer rain shower. He almost found the courage to move his hand from his own thigh to hers.

The others at the table were laughing uproariously over some story the captain had begun to tell—complete with gestures and silly accents—so no one listened to the two of them.

“I hope your stepsister is enjoying her stay,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear.

He glanced across at the second table, which was where Mary and Miss Milford had moved their chairs at Miles Forester’s insistence. “She is no fonder of the country than I. Less so now.”

Justina’s head turned slightly, and he watched the edge of her dark eyelashes flicker. The mother-of-pearl earbobs she wore trembled as she chuckled. “I daresay she came to keep an eye on you. For her good friend.”

“Hmm.” He felt the near overwhelming urge to slide his finger between her earbob and her neck, to let his skin touch hers again. To stroke his fingertip down that gentle curve to her shoulder.

“She must have been surprised when you extended your stay in Hawcombe Prior.”

“Hmm.”

Suddenly she raised her hand and pressed her own fingers to the very spot he had in mind. It was as if she’d felt his thoughts caress her there.

“Darius!” his stepsister called out from the next table. “You must come here at once and help advise us on our cards. Now we are about to join in the game.”

“You do not trust me to advise you, madam?” cried Miles.

“Indeed not, Mr. Forester! You are too mischievous and will deliberately lead us astray.”

Darius caught the bend of Justina’s lips as she smiled and then whispered, “Does your stepsister refer to herself in the first person plural, or does she mean for you to serve both her and her friend?”

“I neither know nor care.”

“Goodness, that is rather cavalier of
you
, Mr. Wainwright.” Her shock seemed genuine. Good. Let her be shocked.

“Did you think me the sort of man to dash about at the bidding of any woman? Did you, at any time, read that in my character?”

“But you just declared, before the entire room, that women know best. You should go where you are called.”

A card slipped from her hand to her lap and while everyone else was preoccupied with the captain’s story, Darius reached for it. His fingers brushed her thigh beneath the table, lingering over that soft velvet much longer than they should. There was no excuse for it and no apology. The need to touch her was too great and would not be denied.

“What I said was for the benefit of your friend.”

She snatched the card from his fingers. “Oh, then you lied! And there,” she chuckled teasingly, “I thought you said you never commit a sin and never did anything wicked.”

“I did not say
all
ladies. I said
certain
ladies ought to get their own way.”

“Does that include me?” she demanded with a funny little pout.

He licked his lips. “Depends what it is you might want.”

At the next table his stepsister called out for him again, her voice more strident this time.

“Any moment now she will click her fingers at you,” Justina remarked, her voice husky with lack of breath.

He feared that was all too possible, but then the woman beside him glanced across to the other table and called out merrily, “I’m afraid Mr. Wainwright is engaged in helping my sister and me, Lady Waltham. We need him here. I, in particular”—she turned her head to look at Darius—“am in need of his guidance. Am I not, sir?”

He answered immediately with no equivocation. “Yes.”

Her eyes were smiling, but whether it was for him or simply because she had amused herself by winning a small victory over his stepsister, he couldn’t know for sure. It was several moments before he could tear his gaze away from her, and then he saw that Mary and her friend were staring furiously at them both. Justina’s playful manner—whether she was cognizant of what she did or not—had succeeded in solidifying their suspicions about his relationship with her.

He ought to move away and pay her less attention, before any wicked rumors were started. But then Captain Sherringham chided her crossly, “You don’t pay attention to the game, Jussy.”

And Darius decided to stay beside her.

Possibly the other man was angry because she had not listened to his foolish story. He was the sort to be discontented if he could not have the attention of every female in the room.
Jussy
, indeed, he thought resentfully.

“My mind wanders,” said Justina, looking at the cards in her hand again. “What shall I play next, Mr. Wainwright? You had better point so the others do not hear.”

With no experience of the game they were playing, he had no advice to offer, but he did not care to admit that.

At the other table a quiet, orderly game took place; at this one all was noise and chaos, punctuated with groans and bursts of laughter. The object seemed to be that one should lie as efficiently as possible. Must be a country game, he thought dourly. Certainly it would appeal far more to those who were foxed or on the way to it. No doubt it was the captain’s choosing.

“Perhaps you should whisper,” Justina added, “so the others don’t hear.” Raising her fanned cards before her lips, she waited for his compliance.

Was she aware of his stepsister’s eyes searing holes in them both from the other table? Or was it the captain she tried to irritate with this display?

Whatever her reasons, he would make the most of it. As she would say, “
When
one
is
bound
to
be
in
trouble
anyway, one may as well make the most of it.
”

So he leaned closer to her ear. Partially hidden behind her cards, he lost himself in her delicate perfume and closed his eyes.

He whispered.

At first she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. The warm brush of his breath against her cheek was enough to muddle her thoughts even before the words came out.

But the whispered syllables slipped inside her, wound their way through the labyrinth of her ideas and plans, and echoed until she could not mistake them for anything else.

“I know what happened to Nellie Pickles.”

Another card slipped from her hand to her lap. As he reached for it again, she did the same and their fingers met on her knee. Heart pounding, she let him hold her fingers briefly beneath the table.

Rebecca prodded her arm. “Your turn again, Jussy. Do wake up!”

She lifted the fallen card and set it down, not even knowing what it was. The firm pressure of Wainwright’s hand on her knee beneath the table suddenly moved slowly upward along her thigh.

She was hot, her pulse too rapid. Keening desire, more fierce than anything she’d ever known, held her in its thrall.

Only two more rounds of the table resulted in Rebecca claiming victory and disposing of all her cards.

“Mr. Wainwright does not appear to be
advising
you very skillfully,” Rebecca muttered with a sly glance, as she gathered up her winnings. “Perhaps he is not a very accomplished liar. Unlike the rest of us.”

“Hurry and deal the cards for another round,” exclaimed her brother crossly. “I have no intention of letting you win every last farthing, Becky!” The captain was very sharp this evening, his temper on edge. Tonight it made him far less agreeable company.

Justina got up quickly. “I do not think I’ll play again. I cannot seem to concentrate.”

“You are red, Jussy.”

“I am a little warm. Perhaps I need to move away from the fire.”

Everyone looked puzzled. They were quite far away from the hearth and the snoring major. The other table was much closer to the heat.

“My gown,” she explained haltingly. “The velvet…”

Wainwright got up with her. “Allow me to fetch you some apple cider, Miss Justina. That should help.”

“Oh, bring some for me, Darius,” his stepsister called out. “And for Augusta. You are quite overheated in this small, overcrowded room, are you not, Augusta?”

“I am indeed,” the lady agreed, wilting dramatically in her chair and fanning herself with the cards.

Mr. Kenton scrambled out of his chair and exclaimed that he would get the cider for Miss Milford. The little man expressed such great concern for her that the lady could not protest and was obliged to accept his offer. Clearly frustrated, however, she kept her gleaming, unblinking eyes pinned to Darius and Justina as they moved toward the sideboard for refreshments.

The rector joined them there and held out two cups while Justina ladled the cider into them. As soon as he had rejoined his table, she handed another cup to Wainwright and he held it by the handle while she filled it.

“Please keep the cup steady, Mr. Wainwright.” She finally laid her free hand over his to help hold the punch cup still, but it did not improve matters much. It seemed as if neither had a very steady hand.

Behind her the card players chattered and laughed. Miles Forester was very good at keeping Lady Waltham entertained, and the rector, despite being an awful jaw-me-dead, was managing to occupy Miss Milford. Cathy had not even looked up to see where Wainwright and her sister went and she was laughing again, deeply involved in the game. Justina was surprised that Mr. Forester had not sat beside Cathy tonight, but somehow the distance they kept was rather more obvious than if they had been inseparable.

“So you must tell me now,” Justina whispered, turning back to Wainwright. “Nellie Pickles. What happened to her? She was murdered, was she not? How did you find out? Have you discovered her bones in the orchard? Perhaps Sir Mortimer dug them up? He does have a very good nose and likes to dig.”

“Miss Penny, you have a most disconcerting habit of firing questions like musket shot.”

“But I am eager to know her fate.”

He looked at her hand on his. “I’m not certain I should tell you.”

“Oh! Is it so terribly gruesome? Worry not. I have a strong tolerance for lurid details.”

“You’ve overfilled the cup.”

Alas, he was right. She had splashed cider on his cuff. Anguished, she dropped the ladle back into the punch bowl. “Hold it steady and I’ll take a sip.”

He raised the cup to her lips, and she drank carefully. It was her first drink of the evening, and she immediately realized it was very strong. “Good Lord!” She wrinkled her nose. Trust Nate! Of course, he’d added something to the innocuous apple cider. No wonder he was drinking so much of it.

“What is the matter?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Once he had safely set the cup down, she gripped his sleeve. “Now tell me about Nellie Pickles, I insist!”

Darius squinted down at her, half-smiling. “You really want to know? Are you certain? I would not want to bore you,” he sighed, “as is my habit.”

She scowled as hard as she could. “You had better tell me, Wainwright, or else!”

But suddenly Captain Sherringham appeared beside them, empty cup ready to be refilled. “What are you two whispering about?” he exclaimed loudly. Swaying against Justina, he laughed. “You soon changed your tune, Jussy. I thought you said no one likes the fellow…that he is merely a stupid cockatrice…now here you are all dewy-eyed…whispering in his ear. Traitors. The lot of you. Betrayers, heartless wenches.” He leaned over and thrust his cup directly into the punch bowl, not waiting for a ladle.

Justina saw that Darius was about to speak, but she beat him to it, unable to bear her old friend making a fool of himself this way. “I think you’ve had enough of this concoction. It is hot in here, and the drink has gone to your head.”

“Oh, Lord save us! Not you too. I’ve had my fill of humorless, lecturing females.”

“This is nonsense, Sherry. Do not act in this foolish way. Trying to hurt Diana will hardly make her feel affection for you, will it?”

“What do you know of anything? You’re a girl who takes nothing seriously. Get out of my way. I need a drink.”

“I suggest you apologize to Miss Justina at once, Captain Sherringham.” Wainwright seemed ready to explode. He’d gone white, which made his eyes even darker, coal-black with fury.

Nate leaned on the sideboard and turned his head to slur at the other man. “You pompous fool, I suppose you’re pleased with yourself. I can see what you’ve been up to with Jussy. She’s an innocent maid, a girl. I will not stand by and see her corrupted by the likes of you.”

Justina was astonished to see and hear the captain becoming gallant on her behalf. Although completely unnecessary, it was rather touching.

On the other hand, an angry Darius, drawn to full height, was a terrifying prospect to behold. “I beg your pardon?”

Justina quickly grabbed her old friend’s arms to pull him back. But the captain shook her off and in so doing, accidentally pushed her so that she fell against the punch bowl, sending it—and her—crashing to the floor.

Before her knees had hit the carpet, she saw Darius swing a fist. It contacted hard with the captain’s jaw. A return punch was thrown, but Sherry was already off balance and the excess of cider didn’t help.

The room did not explode in chaos as might be expected. Perhaps the sight was so shocking that no one knew how to react immediately, or else they thought it was a scene rehearsed from one of Justina’s plays.

Only when the captain suddenly cast up his accounts, all over the rug, did the onlookers emerge from their apparent trance. Lady Waltham cried out so loudly in her morbid enjoyment of the horror that the major finally awoke.

***

The Midwitch folk prepared to climb into Mary’s barouche for the ride back to the manor.

“Well, that was certainly riveting entertainment,” she remarked snidely as she stepped up. “Better than the opera!”

Miss Milford had a handkerchief, of which she’d licked one corner, and she kept trying to press it to Wainwright’s bloody lip, while he, equally determined, kept his head high to avoid her reach. “Really, Miss Milford, I am quite all right. It was barely a knick.” The captain had been too drunk to properly aim his solitary punch and then he’d tripped over Justina’s foot and tumbled to his knees, which brought a quick resolution to the argument. Darius was more concerned about Justina, but she seemed to be recovered and, with Mr. Kenton’s help, was putting on her coat to walk home with her sister and the other two ladies.

Miss Rebecca Sherringham was profusely apologetic for her brother’s behavior, and Darius assured her it was nothing.

“We have all made mistakes in the heat of passion,” he told her. “I have no doubt the captain will wake tomorrow with a heavy head and a great deal of remorse.”

“You are very understanding, Mr. Wainwright.”

“You sound surprised.”

The young lady merely arched an eyebrow and hurried off to join the others.

“Do get in, Darius. It’s bitter cold,” his stepsister called out from the interior of the carriage.

He looked at Miles. “Perhaps we should give up our seats for Mrs. Makepiece and her daughter. We could escort the other ladies safely home. There is not room for everyone in the carriage.”

Miles looked a little put out at first, but bore the idea bravely once it was pointed out that he could walk the eldest Miss Penny to her door and take advantage of the starry, chill evening.

“Don’t be a fool,” his stepsister argued, sticking her head out again. “I’m sure those women have not far to go.”

But Darius moved swiftly away and a few moments later he had persuaded the Makepiece ladies to take the warm ride home. Captain Sherringham had offered to take them, but he was in no fit state, of course, and the major’s gout would not allow him to try. Mr. Kenton had already started off with little Lucy in his gig, since the tavern and church were near neighbors, facing one another across the village green. That left the Penny sisters.

“We’re quite capable of walking home alone,” the eldest assured them demurely. “It really is not far, sir.”

Darius insisted quietly. Miles held out his arm for Miss Penny, and she accepted with a charming blush.

***

Justina could not quite ascertain Wainwright’s purpose in managing all this, and part of her wanted to think he had devious motives. Perhaps he merely intended to lecture her again. However, he had displayed chivalry that evening, saving her friend from torment and reacting swiftly in retaliation when
she
was pushed. These were all the actions of a hero, rather than the villain she’d once decided he ought to be. But this plot was continually changing and surprising her as no fiction ever had.

He offered his arm. “Miss Justina, I’m sure the very idea of my company for a quarter of an hour disgusts you, but will you permit me to walk you home?”

What else could she do? Her sister and Mr. Forester were already at the end of the street and would soon be out of sight.

“Thank you, Mr. Wainwright.” She looped her arm under his. “And I never said the word disgust.”

“Really? I thought you did. It
felt
as if you did.”

“Does your lip hurt?” she asked, changing the subject.

“It was merely a graze.” He raised a hand toward her and while she waited, holding her breath, he pulled up the collar of her coat. “You have no scarf.”

She exhaled a little cloud of mist. “It doesn’t matter.” After the card party drama she was quite glad of the cool air now.

“I hope your gown wasn’t spoiled tonight.”

“Surprisingly, it escaped the cider and Captain Sherringham’s…expulsions.”

“Good. I would demand the captain make recompense if there is any damage.”

“But there is none,” she assured him.

His eyes met hers and searched for something. “You’re sure? He has not…hurt you?”

Now she began to suspect he was thinking of what else the captain might have spoiled. “Mr. Wainwright, rest assured I am unharmed.”

With her collar adjusted to his satisfaction they moved on. “I am glad your gown survived the event.” He hesitated, slowing his pace. “You look…well in it.”

“I do?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I like the gown. Very much.”

Justina turned her head away to hide her smile, not wanting to discourage him now that he’d actually found something pleasant to say.

“I thought, perhaps, you wore it for Captain Sherringham.”

“Then you
and
my mama were wrong.” She turned her smile into a wry one and let him see it.

The end of his nose and the tips of his ears were starting to turn red with cold, but she supposed it wouldn’t be very ladylike to point it out. Rather endearing, though. Made her want to warm them for him.

“Will you tell me now about Nellie?”

“If you tell me, madam, why you were looking for Captain Sherringham’s bed last year.”

She swallowed. Oh, that. “It was a silly fancy I had.”

“
Silly
fancy?
”

“I know, I know! It was rash, reckless, childish, and thoughtless.”

“Better choices of adjective, certainly. There are others.”

“I don’t care to hear them. I made a mistake.”

“His idea, no doubt.”

“No!” She stopped and looked up at him, slipping her arm from his. “It was entirely my idea. He never knew a thing about it.” With a deep sigh, she added morosely, “If he did he probably would have laughed.”

His eyes were suspicious, but not angry with her as she’d expected.

“If I tell you,” she cried, “you had better tell me all about Nellie!”

He nodded gravely. “Of course. Proceed, madam.”

She gathered her courage, twisting her gloved hands together. “I wanted to find out what
it
was like.”

“It?”

“Between a man and a woman. Don’t look at me that way! You know very well what I mean.”

His breath formed frosty clouds around his mouth and his eyes were dark. She could not read his expression this time, so she rushed ahead. No going back now that she was this far in.

“I thought Nate was the best man to show me. And before you think me a complete and utter hussy, let me assure you—I imagined myself in love. Yes, I know you will laugh at that.”