A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (58 page)

“
That is correct! Miss
Corkley wins a point for our team with Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Excellent, everyone. Now, who’ll go first for the other team? Any
volunteers?” Miss Wellesley looked across the room with eager
anticipation.

Maxwell piped up with, “I nominate
Lady Grace. I believe she’ll do jolly well.”

A cacophony of encouragement sounded
throughout the room as Lady Grace tried to demur with, “Oh no, I
could not…”

Maxwell took her arm in an
altogether-too-familiar manner and practically lifted her to her
feet. Alex seethed. If the man had any idea what was best for him,
he would unhand her within the instant.

“
Lady Grace, we insist,”
Maxwell said. “Please, do us the honor. I daresay no one will give
clues as skillfully as you this evening.” The louse led her to the
front of the drawing room with one hand on her arm and his other
odious appendage resting at the small of her back.

She cowed before the room. She might
actually be shaking as she moved to stand before the hearth. It
took every ounce of Alex’s self control to refrain from ripping the
bloody fool’s head off. Maxwell removed his hands from her person
at the exact moment Alex thought he would lose his hold over
himself and remove the blackguard’s hands from his arms.

Lady Grace cautiously pulled a strip
from the beaver hat held out before her and read its contents. She
spent several moments without moving whatsoever.

He ached for her. She must be in agony
in front of this gathering. Her demeanor was always so quiet and
reserved, she must despise having the attention being focused on
her.

But then she moved. Lady Grace held up
three fingers.

Maxwell called out louder than anyone
else in the room, “Three words.”

Alex fought the urge to wring the
man’s neck.

She walked about the front of the
room, marking off paces and indicating something on either side
falling from the ceiling to the floor with her hands.

“
What is that?”

“
I can’t tell, can you? I’m
uncertain what she is trying to show us.”

Lady Grace chopped with her arms
against the imaginary objects, and swooshed to the center of the
room again.

“
Why, they are curtains,”
said some unknown gentleman. “Is it a play, Lady Grace?”

She touched the tip of her nose and
nodded at him with a broad smile brightening her face. Pride beamed
from every pore of Alex’s being.

Then she sat on the floor before the
hearth, cupping her hands and raising them to her lips, pretending
to drink. After the counterfeit liquid passed through her lips, she
fell to the floor in a heap. A few moments later, she roused
herself and pushed an imaginary dagger through her chest, falling
again to the floor.

Her portrayal of the death
scene in
Romeo and Juliet
was exquisite. He waited for someone from her team
to call out the answer. No one could mistake her
intentions.

“
Death? Dying? What on
earth was that?”

“
I don’t know for certain,
but I believe she might have been acting out
She Stoops to Conquer
. Why else would
she be on the floor?”

“
That has four words, not
three.”

Lady Grace’s visage looked strained.
Alex stared, dumbfounded. How could no one have guessed correctly
yet?

“
Well, what about
Oedipus the King
? That
has three words. Surely someone was stabbed in it.”

Alex couldn’t stand it any
longer. “Oh good heavens, that was
Romeo
and Juliet
!” He immediately regretted his
outburst, especially upon the look of mortification on Lady Grace’s
face. But his patience had run clear to Rome and back in the last
few moments. He needed to do something. He needed to pace. He
needed to get Lady Grace away from all the stares or he would end
up in Bedlam.

“
Lord Alexander, you are
quite right. Bravo.” Maxwell passed a faux smile in his direction.
“However, you’re on the wrong team. I believe it only fair that is
a point for us.”

Lady Grace didn’t look at Alex but
returned to Maxwell’s side. She kept her eyes on the ground through
the rest of the game. He knew, because his eyes never left
her.

Again, Maxwell moved closer than he
should and his fingers dusted against her arm.

Almost of their own volition, Alex’s
fingers curled into fists at his side. Blast it all, was he
jealous? It couldn’t be jealousy. It had to be something more like
protectiveness, like he would feel if a man was manhandling Sophie
or Char like that.

Alex wanted her to be safe, that was
all—and this Maxwell was surely trouble.

The game came to a close with Alex
having virtually not even participated, other than his outburst
earning a point for the other team. Maxwell called out to the
group, “Dancing! Let us all dance. Miss Wellesley, is there a young
lady present who might play the pianoforte for us?”

Miss Ellen SomeSuchThing, a girl far
too green to be out yet, spoke up. “Oh, do allow me. Mama and Papa
allowed me to come this evening, and I should very much like to
participate in some way.” She blushed and lowered her voice. “I
play the pianoforte tolerably well, my governess tells
me.”

“
Then dancing there shall
be.” Miss Wellesley led the party into the main ballroom and seated
Miss Ellen behind the pianoforte.

Couples paired off and situated
themselves into lines for country dances. Maxwell asked Lady Grace
for her hand and led her to the floor.

Fuming, but with no real idea why he
should be, Alex forced his features to remain placid and turned to
Miss Wellesley. “Might I have the honor?” Only a moment passed
before she nodded in agreement. Alex made certain they were only
one position down the line from Maxwell and Lady Grace. He wanted
to keep an eye on them—in particular, on him.

When Lady Grace looked at him, tension
crackled in the air between them. She turned away from him with
some measure of force as the music began. She and Maxwell commenced
the steps, and Alex was a few beats behind already.

During one figure of the dance, he
passed next to Lady Grace, only a breath apart from her. The scent
of roses and woman wafted over him. He was intoxicated.

Alex tried to concentrate on Miss
Wellesley, but it was useless. She was perfectly lovely, a good
dancer. She made proper and polite conversation. But Alex only had
eyes for Lady Grace.

Maxwell brushed against her
and ruffled the silk and netting of her gown. Alex fumed, then
forced his eyes away. Then, in completing another figure of the
dance, Maxwell held onto Lady Grace’s hand longer than was
necessary (
far
longer, if one were to ask for Alex’s opinion on the matter).
Alex clenched his jaw and returned his gaze to his own
partner.

“
Why, have I done something
to anger you, sir?” Miss Wellesley asked, staring up at him in
confusion.

“
What? No. You haven’t.”
Christ, he needed to soften his glare or risk sending his partner a
thoroughly unintended message. Nothing to be done about it, though,
until Maxwell’s body was writing under his hands for daring to move
into the presence of perfection.

Good Lord, he was becoming a
madman.

Alex tried to take a cleansing breath
with no luck. He refocused his efforts on calming his thoughts. He
was being ridiculous about all of this. He was grown man, for
Christ’s sake.

And then Maxwell moved in too close to
Lady Grace, brushing his chest against her bosom. Alex’s hands
turned to fists at his sides.

Finally, the music came to an end and
the set was over. Lady Grace would find another partner with whom
to dance. Alex could breathe again. Half an hour of holding his
breath had proved far too long.

Another gentleman, someone Alex
recognized but couldn’t be bothered with remembering his name,
walked over and asked for her hand. He wasn’t nearly as
objectionable as Maxwell. Whoever her current partner was, he
refrained from leering, so he stood a rung higher on the ladder in
Alex’s estimation of his character.

Several ladies stood about the edges
of the floor, watching and waiting for partners, so propriety
dictated that he must dance again—but Alex couldn’t suffer
propriety at the moment. He had danced the first deuced set. That
would have to be enough for now.

He watched Lady Grace’s every move
through the entire dance.

Before the next set started, Maxwell
returned to her side.

Alex couldn’t stand for this. He
marched across the ballroom, intent to ask for her hand before she
could accept Maxwell, but he arrived just a hair too late. Maxwell
led her to the dance floor, glancing over his shoulder at Alex with
a look of triumph.

The set was a waltz. Bloody
hell.

The air in the Wellesley ballroom
suddenly turned stifling.

Maxwell pulled her too close to his
body, leaned too near to her face, touched her in ways that caused
Alex’s eyes to pulse in his head.

And she recoiled from his advances,
placing a respectable amount of distance between them.

Good girl.

It took every ounce of his will to
stay put and not pluck the slimy lout from the dance floor, haul
him outside, and engage him in a bout of fisticuffs or
ten.

When the waltz finished, Alex pulled
Lady Grace from Maxwell’s arms and led her away. “My lord,” she
said in some alarm. “Unhand me this instant.” She struggled against
him, until he passed her a glass of lemonade upon their arrival in
the refreshment room. She took it and sipped, eyeing him over the
top of her glass.

Another waltz was forming. He had
vowed to stay away from her, but he could no longer keep such a
promise to himself. It was, in a word, impossible. “Lady Grace,
might I have the honor of your hand for this set?” he
asked.

She had better not refuse him. He
might become murderous if he had to watch another set with
Maxwell’s hands on her and was uncertain how much longer, if any,
he could control himself.

Her eyes widened. She looked around,
seeming to search for an escape, but then she demurely nodded her
head in acceptance. Alex led her to the dance floor and took her in
his arms. Her scent drew him closer. He took one of her hands in
his own and placed her other on his shoulder, their bodies touching
lightly through superfine, silk, and netting as they swayed to the
music.

Nothing was said between them for a
long while. He was too furious over the manner in which Maxwell had
manhandled her to trust his own voice. On the other hand, her
silence—at least in his presence—came as no surprise. She rarely
had a word to say to him.

But then she bowled him
over.

“
My lord, I didn’t know if
I should expect to see you tonight.” She took her time, seeming to
choose her words with care. “Lord Rotheby’s health did not seem
quite—well—at the river last week. Has he shown any
improvement?”

“
None, ma’am. I fear…” he
said and then broke off. How much should he divulge? It was not his
own health he was discussing, after all. But still, she almost
never said anything to him, let alone asked him anything. “I fear
for him. I do not believe he’ll live much longer, though he hasn’t
said as much.”

“
Oh, dear. I am sorry to
hear that. It’s good he has you with him.” She added no more, and
they continued to waltz.

Each time he spun her about, the scent
of roses caught on the wind and wafted to his nose.

What in bloody hell could they discuss
now? He knew little of her interests, because she so often ignored
his attempts at conversation.

They passed Maxwell on the floor, as
he twirled Miss Wellesley in their direction. Anger blinded Alex
again at the sight of the man. “My lady, you shouldn’t associate
with Mr. Maxwell anymore,” he blurted out without thinking. Why on
God’s green earth did he choose that particular line of
conversation? He was making an utter cake of himself.

“
Pardon me?” she asked,
calm veiling the anger flashing blue lightning in her eyes. “And
why should you be concerned with who I choose to associate with, or
not to associate with, as the case may be? My lord, I assure you, I
don’t need your involvement in any of my affairs.”

He cringed. How tactless could he be?
“I don’t mean to offend. Please forgive me.” Yet again, was forced
to apologize to the minx. Though, he must admit, that might be
quite the longest speech he had ever heard her utter. Interesting.
“I simply—ma’am, he has behaved like a lecher toward you this
evening.” Once the words began, they flowed at a speed over which
he had no control. “He continually brushes against you in most
inappropriate ways, he holds you far too closely while you dance,
and he leers at you when you are not looking. For your
honor—”

She stiffened in his arms.
“My honor, sir?” she interrupted. “What could you possibly have to
teach me about honor? And how dare you call another gentleman a
lecher in my presence? You, who had the audacity to—to—to
kiss
me!” Her words
scarcely rose above a whisper and her eyes, those haunting eyes,
told him she would rather be anywhere but in his arms at the
moment. “I hardly think you of all people have any right to
disparage another gentleman to
me
, my lord.”