The earl turned, then finished in a groaning voice, "The Hornsby hellion."
Joy would have not have thought it possible for the Earl of Downe—rake, cynic, and borderline drunkard—to panic at anything. But he did. His handsome and cool features became a grimace, and there was true dread in his usually shuttered eyes. He quickly stepped between the booths, trying to hide behind a swag of bunting and the shoulders of a puppeteer.
She followed the direction of Neil's amused eyes and saw the infamous Letitia Hornsby. The girl was one of the most harmless-looking women she had ever seen. Neither tall nor short, she had a bright and serious English face. She'd unfastened her rich blue pelisse and underneath was a pale blue cashmere dress with dark blue flounces and a bodice line of bright gold anchor buttons. To Joy she appeared to be completely harmless and totally incapable of creating the havoc of which these men accused her.
The girl turned suddenly, searching, her hand raised to shield her eyes as she swirled, the reticule on her wrist launching into the air like a Greek discus.
A nearby gentleman stopped it—with his open mouth. He yelped and wiggled a front tooth while he danced in ringing pain atop the ice, sprinkling ashes upward with each boot step.
Poor Letitia gathered her startled wits and tried to apologize, reaching out to the flailing man. Like precisely aimed arrows two of her fingers poked his stunned eyes. His holler could have been heard in
Glasgow
. She grasped her cloak and stepped back, obviously fearful of the man's rage. With a dull thwack, he fell flat on his back, losing his beaver hat in the crowd of onlookers. His shiny black-booted feet—which had been standing on the hem of her cloak— were now pedaling the air in time to his bellowed curses.
"Oh, my goodness," Joy whispered, trying not to giggle.
"Good God!" Neil grabbed his good luck charms and stared at the supine man who was Letitia's current victim.
"What?" Alec and Richard said in unison.
Neil pointed at the man who was still lying on his back. "That's Brummell!"
Chapter 21
The party of fairgoers arrived back at Belmore House two hours later. Laughing at the banter between the viscount and the earl, Joy blew into the foyer in a flurry of wet snowflakes, followed by the bickering lords and Alec, the only one of the group who was scowling.
"I say, Belmore," Neil said, while handing his outerwear to Henson. "You've been glowering since this morning. No fun at all."
" 'Twas bloody cold," Alec said, waving off Henson in favor of the drawing room fire where he stood for a few minutes of warming before he removed his gloves. "See that the fire in the saloon is stoked up, Henson, and close those doors. This place is freezing."
"I'm not cold." Neil looked at the earl. "Are you cold?"
"No."
"Been acting strange all day, Belmore."
Alec didn't answer, just glared at the viscount and backed a bit closer to the fire.
"We weren't ready to leave, you know," Neil went on. "The fun was just starting."
"Unless you were Brummell," the earl added, sinking into a wing chair and stretching out his long legs, his hands unusually empty of drink.
"I say, wasn't that the strangest thing you've ever seen? The Beau with no voice. One minute he was bellowing at that chit and the next nothing but a croak and then silence."
"Even I felt sorry for that hellion," the earl commented.
"Brummell can cut to the quick with that rapier tongue of his."
Joy moved toward the door. "Well, I think I'll leave you gentlemen to your—"
"Wait." Alec's voice, sharp and cold as the sting of frost, stopped her just before she made her escape.
She turned.
His back was still to the fire, and the light glowed a golden outline around him. She couldn't see his features, but the stiffness of his stance, the angle of his head, told her exactly how he felt. "I will speak to you. Alone."
Joy didn't dare move. He knew, he knew what she'd done. She swallowed and tried to look innocent. She opened her eyes wider and hoped it worked. "Me?"
"You."
"Whatever for?" She hoped that sounded innocent.
His silent look gave her the answer.
"Where?" How in the world had her traitorous voice cracked on a word of one syllable?
"I say, Joy," Neil cut in, unaware of the tense exchange going on between husband and wife. "Before you leave you must promise me a dance at Prinny's ball."
"A dance?" She turned to him with the eagerness of someone seeking shelter.
"A country dance or a minuet. Prinny still insists on opening and closing his balls with minuets. I turn a fine leg, if I do say so myself."
"Turn an ankle would be more the truth." The earl gave him a smirk.
"I'm afraid I don't know those dances," Joy said quietly, reminded how out of place she was.
"Bloody hell."
She turned toward her cursing husband.
"Egad! How can you go to the ball if you can't dance? What are you going to do, Belmore?"
Alec said nothing.
"She can learn now," Richard said. He flipped open his pocket watch and added, "We don't have to be at the club for a few hours."
"Winning idea, Downe. We shall be her dance instructors."
Surprised, she faced the earl. She would have expected such a favor from the viscount, but not the acidic Earl of Downe. Unwittingly, he had saved her from an angry husbandly lecture. Joy could have kissed the man, even though she still wasn't sure she particularly liked him. He was a strange cynical man, and she had thought he had a cruel streak of his own. Yet she had seen another side to him today.
Today he'd been sober. And most uncharacteristically gallant.
Complain as he did about Letitia Hornsby, he was the one who had finally spirited her safely away from the ranting man who rang such a cruel and embarrassing peal over the poor girl. Joy had noted how Letitia's eyes had moistened and her face had flushed with the threat of tears, yet bravely the girl had refused to let herself cry.
'Twas then that Joy had twiddled her fingers, robbing the cruel man of his voice. She'd hoped Alec had missed it. Now that hope was dead.
"I assumed you knew how to dance," Alec said to her, his voice still too controlled for her peace of mind.
"What say you, Belmore? To the music room?"
Alec crossed the room and stood next to her. The look on his face killed any hope she'd had that he'd forgotten about the incident at the Frost Fair. She wanted to step away, and he must have read her thoughts, because he placed his hand on her arm in a gesture that had nothing to do with husbandly affection and everything to do with keeping her within reach. "We shall follow you."
The two men left the room and went up the staircase. Joy started to follow, quickly, but Alec held her arm firmly so she could do little but walk by his side.
"Tell me, wife. What do you suppose happened to Brummell's voice?"
"Perhaps the cold weather. I heard once about—"
His grip tightened on her arm. "I told you: no hocus-pocus," he whispered through a clenched jaw.
"He was humiliating that poor wee girl," she whispered back.
"That is none of your affair."
"I couldn't stand by and watch that kind of cruelty, Alec."
"
London
thrives on cruelty."
"The girl did not deserve such unkind treatment. That man should count himself lucky," she added fiercely. "It could have been much worse."
"I don't see how."
"I could have made him spit toads."
He ground to a halt and turned, his face livid. He grabbed her shoulders, his face a mixture of anger and panic. "If you ever make anyone spit toads, I'll . . . I'll—"
"He was too cruel, Alec."
He just glared down at her as if he couldn't believe she was arguing with him, as if no one ever argued with him.
"Sometimes words can cause greater pain than physical blows," she said with quiet seriousness.
His mouth tightened into a thin line. Both of them remembered his own cruel words to her. She expected his face to tighten with displeasure. She was wrong. His eyes had narrowed, but not in anger. There was a distant look in his eyes, and he seemed to be thinking back far beyond a few nights ago. There was vulnerability in his expression— something she'd never thought to see in the Duke of Belmore.
When he focused again, he searched her face, as if seeking something so elusive that he despaired of ever finding it. His eyes reflected defeat—now, that was something Joy understood. This was what she had first seen in him, this need, this vulnerable side to the cool aristocrat seen by the rest of the world. So she and Alec were both cursed by a sense of failure, only each dealt with it differently. She accepted it; he didn't. She tried to compensate; he fought it with a will so strong it formed his being.
She wished she could conquer his demons with her magic. But she couldn't even conquer her own. He had her heart and a part of her soul; she had his name and his protection. But she'd have given those away along with her powers, weak as they might be, for a loving smile from this man.
"Belmore! I can't remember which blasted room is the music room."
Alec watched her a moment longer, then blinked once and answered, "Fourth door to the right." He loosened his grip on her arms and silently led her up the second flight of stairs.
Two hours later, while Alec played the piano, Joy moved through a lively Scottish reel, partnered first by the viscount and next by the earl. She finished the last step with a dainty spin and a merry laugh. She dropped onto a brocade settee and said, "You've worn me out, my lord."
"The pleasure was mine, Your Grace." The earl bowed over her hand and held it just a bit longer than seemed necessary.
"I say. We've taught her all the country dances—the ecossaise, minuet, contredanse. I believe that is everything."
"Except the waltz," the earl said.
"Do you suppose there'll be any?" Neil asked. "You know Prinny prohibited the waltz at his last ball."
"Our regent changes with the whip of the wind. Talk was that Cathcart's ball was a blinding success because Lady Jane dared to play waltzes all night. I suspect Prinny will have a waltz or two, and I'll be happy to offer my services to teach Joy to waltz."
"Stuff it, Downe. You had the last dance. 'Tis my turn."
"Stop!" The pianoforte keys banged in loud discord.
Joy turned toward Alec, who had risen like an angry specter. "I will teach her."
No one said a word, but she thought she saw a look of pleasure cross the earl's face.
"You can play," Alec said to the earl, who sauntered over to the piano and sat down, clearly amused by his friend's outburst.
Joy looked up at her husband, who stood in front of her so tall and rigid, and placed her hand in his outstretched one. His skin was hot, and she cast a quick surprised glance at their joined hands. He had been strangely quiet since they'd entered the music room. She had assumed he was still angry and didn't want to dance with her, partly because she was so unschooled in social graces.