Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (14 page)

The difference, of course, was that now something deeper in her had been touched, while for him this was all just amusement.

She forced herself to look him in the eyes. Pushed away from his chest and pulled her dignity around her like a cloak.

“I wish to go back inside now.”

Even as she said these words she wanted him to say
No
, to say
Don’t go, you’ve got it all wrong
. To say that the kiss had been special, that
she
was special. That, like her, he’d never experienced anything similar to those moments when they were touching, caught up in a spell they’d woven together. But that couldn’t be true for him, could it? It wasn’t new for him. And, so light of spirit as he was, it would not be precious to him the way it had been to her.

It came down to this: she could not be casual about what they had just done, and he could.

He gazed down at her, the air that stood between them cool now when everything had been so hot moments ago. His lips compressed into a line. “So you won’t be beguiled.”

He wasn’t even going to deny he’d done what he had to entice her into giving him the information he wanted. She made herself remember that
she’d
asked
him
to kiss her. That she was the one who’d initiated all of this. It helped her stir up the pride that had gone soft while she was resting in his arms.

“I won’t. But…”

“Yes?”

She made herself smile a little. Forced a far lighter tone than she felt. “Thank you for the… kiss.”

And without waiting for him to reply or say or do another thing that might tempt her, she turned away and made for the light and sound of the ballroom.

Inside, the dancers were still swirling to the music, and no one seemed to have taken note that she and Hal had disappeared. She stood watching without really seeing as blurs of cream and black and rose fabric danced past her eyes, and faces damp with perspiration smiled and laughed. It all washed over her.

The world had shifted, and yet everyone else was still just chattering and moving about.

She knew that he’d not yet reentered the ballroom, so that their absences might not be connected by anyone who had noticed.

Delia was talking to Ian, and Lily joined them, though contributing to their conversation, which seemed to be about the merits of the fiddle over the cello, was beyond her, and she stood and smiled feebly and nodded in what she hoped were the right places.

She felt it the moment Hal came through the terrace doors. Slanting her eyes, she watched as, with nary a hesitation, he directed himself to a group of lovely ladies whose fashionable clothes announced they’d come from Town, and invited one of them onto the dance floor.

Just as easy as you please. She watched him glide into the motions of the dance as if nothing had happened to him outside. As if his breezy heart hadn’t been touched at all.

And that was how different they were. True, she had approached that kiss with a certain calculation. She’d wanted to make herself see that he was only human, to teach the part of herself that persisted in being fascinated by him that he was no god.

She must declare her plan a success. He now felt more human to her—more real, now that she’d touched his skin and hairs and muscles, and more funny, considerate, and generous than she would have thought. But in the process she’d also discovered that
she
was far more human. Far more vulnerable than she wanted to be. Passionate. Yearning. And all too ready to feel deeply. Even to do something out of control.

He wasn’t heartless. He was, she now freely admitted, not even shallow. His heart was simply impervious, as if it was made of some bouncy substance that repelled penetration.

And
though
he
doesn’t allow anyone into his heart
, she thought with a deep tug in her belly,
he
can’t resist trying to work his way into everyone else’s
.

Gregory Donwell stood in the foyer outside the ballroom and watched Eloise leave the ladies’ retiring room. He knew she’d left the ball, just as he’d known when she arrived, because he always knew when she was near. A room with her in it was changed.

But to Eloise, he hardly registered. Some of that was to do with her infatuation with Ivorwood, but not all. She was a beautiful, aristocratic young woman who’d just had her coming-out Season, and he was an impecunious man of obscure origins.

She was coming closer—he stood in her path to the ballroom, between a loud gaggle of matrons and a group of tittering young ladies—and now she perceived his presence. Her eyes flicked over his black coat, her brows lifting slightly, and he realized that he’d forgotten to brush off after playing with a white dog that had been in the garden earlier. And perhaps the coat was rather old, having been his father’s, but he’d used up a good portion of his ready funds on his voyage to the northern climes.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the column to the side of him, effectively blocking her.

“Miss Waverly.”

“Mr. Donwell.” She made as if to move past him, but he didn’t budge. “If I might pass,” she said coolly, “you will not be afflicted with my lack of substance.”

“You have plenty of substance,” he said. “It just doesn’t interest you as much as dresses and gossip.”

Her sapphire eyes snapped at him. “Truly, you are the most arrogant man I have ever met. For you to stand there in ancient, filthy clothes and talk to me in this way is the height of idiocy.”

He grinned. “It is, isn’t it?”

He was so very pleased by her look of surprise and her bark of laughter.

“Donwell, you are an utter knave, after teasing me so horribly. Whatever are you up to?”

She was willing to forgive him; it was one of the things he liked best about her, this ability to hold things lightly.

“I hardly know,” he said, which was far too true. She was entirely opposite everything he knew, great leaping strides different. But she fascinated him, and the whole passage north he’d thought of her, so that when he’d finally glimpsed the aurora borealis, his first thought had been that now he’d seen something as splendid as Eloise Waverly.

He was on the verge of telling her something of this—just a hint, an introductory suggestion that he admired her—when the sound of a small sneeze came from behind one of the columns.

They looked at each other in surprise, then moved closer and peeked around the column.

“Freddy Waverly,” she said at the sight of her nephew, “what on earth are you doing down here, and at this hour?”

The boy was in his nightgown, and his rumpled hair told of time spent in bed, but his eyes were bright.

“Who could sleep with all this noise?” he said. “Besides, I wanted to see what a ball looked like.”

“And now that you have, what do you think?”

“It’s just a lot of dressed-up people talking and twirling around. Nobody’s even laughing.”

“Sometimes there’s a bit of laughter,” Donwell said.

Freddy looked skeptical.

Eloise held out her hand. “Come, Freddy, I’ll take you back to bed. It’s almost midnight, and if Nanny finds you gone, she’ll be frantic.”

Please
don’t leave yet
, Donwell thought.

“Nanny’s snoring in the chair, and I don’t want to go back,” Freddy said with a tight, mulish look.

“I thought it was too boring for you down here,” his aunt said.

Freddy crossed his arms, the very picture of a haughty miniature aristocrat, save for the faint quivering of his chin. “I’m not tired.”

Eloise crouched down and said gently, “Are there perhaps monsters under your bed?”

“’Course not!” He tipped his chin in the air bravely but snuck a sideways glance at his aunt. “But I suppose
you
believe in the Woods Fiend, even though it’s just a grotesque old legend.”

“Grotesque, is it?” A smile teased her lips. “Come, I’ll read you a book.”

“Not yet. Please,” Freddy said.

“Freddy,” Donwell said, “would you like to come up to the roof with me to look for Orion? He’ll be especially bright tonight. A small adventure, and then to bed.”

“Yes!” Freddy said, brightening immediately. “And Eloise can come, too.”

Donwell shot her a look, not daring to hope. “Eloise will doubtless prefer dancing.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I am very partial to the roofs of buildings, and I have a great yearning to see Orion. Besides, my dancing card is empty for the next set.”

“I can hardly credit it,” Donwell said.

She stuck her nose in the air, mirth tugging at the corners of her pretty pink mouth and making her glossy brown curls dance. “I always take a break every five dances.”

As much as he wanted her to come with him, he knew this wasn’t entirely proper. “Perhaps you ought not to come,” he said over Freddy’s head, “since there’s no suitable chaperone.”

She waved her hand. “No one will know, and it will only be a few minutes. Besides,” she said in a low voice, “a five-year-old is the perfect chaperone—they never leave you alone.”

Freddy took hold of each of their hands. “Let’s take the servants’ staircase,” he said, tugging them down the hallway. “It’s fantastical.”

***

Hal watched over his partner’s shoulder as Lily stood talking with her sister and some of the ladies and gentlemen who’d come from Town. His dancing partner, Lady Isobel Danfield, looked charming in her red gown with a saucy feather curling over her head. He liked Isobel, who could usually make him laugh. But at the moment he was wishing she would stop trying to have a conversation with him so he could think.

He’d been far more affected by what he and Lily had just done than he would have expected, and it was working upon him. She’d been sweetly, unconsciously erotic, and what had flared up between them outside had left him feeling as if he’d been drizzled in something hotly luxurious. Her violet scent clung to him; perhaps that was contributing to the feeling that she was still filling his senses even though she was across the room with her back to him. His heart was still beating fast, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d felt in his arms.

He took stock of his campaign: things had gone well in some respects, if he could describe seducing Lily in the garden in such cool terms. But obviously his plan to beguile her into giving up the secret of the woods trespasser had been a failure. She thought that had been his main interest in kissing her. Far from it.

He decided, as he watched her talk with her sister, that it was her white-blond hair that made her unique among a room full of other women. Or… maybe he needed to acknowledge that she might stick out more for him than she would for other men, that while they would simply see her as an ethereal beauty, he wanted to
know
her, to know what she was thinking. Any man would count her desirable, but for him it went beyond that.

He was more than a little enchanted.

What was he going to do about it?

He watched Rob approach her in company with the village doctor, Fforde. Eloise, who only needed to hear tell of a handsome gentleman for her to wish to make his acquaintance, had insisted Fforde be invited to the ball. According to Eloise—whom he supposed to be in the retiring room, as he didn’t see her—all the local ladies thought Fforde was a dream. If you like that sort of thing, Hal thought as the doctor bowed to Lily, all shiny black hair and neat eyebrows.

The quadrille that Hal and Isobel were dancing came to an end, and he led her over to her friends. The orchestra took up the opening strains of a waltz, and he decided that this would be his best chance for a private word with Lily. She wasn’t happy with him, but he could start with offering to return her book, which she still didn’t know he had.

But when he turned toward where she’d been standing, there was Fforde leading her out onto the floor for the dance.

Hal gnashed his teeth.

Fforde seemed to be a serious, scholarly man. Lily would probably think him a dream, too, though she’d never use that term; no, an educated man who helped the suffering would be irresistibly
worthy
.

“You’re not dancing, Hal?” Ian said, coming to stand next to him.

“Not this one. But your sister is, I see, enjoying herself.” And she did look quite enthused; doubtless she’d told herself that a little dancing, like a little kissing, was necessary in life. She was so driven to seriousness, with her plans for what she meant to contribute to life, the world, and doubtless the universe as well. She ought to be a perfect bore, but instead she was a heady mystery.

“It’s good to see, actually,” Ian said. “She’s not much for fun.”

“Do you really think so?”

Ian looked surprised. “Why, yes. She’s happiest when she’s reading with the children of the tenants or visiting the sick. I suppose thinking about our sheep is what she does for fun.”

“Sheep,” Hal said. “I imagine it’s suited all of you to believe that. And now you and Rob mean to make up for lost time by pairing her off with any man in possession of two legs and adequate funds.”

A flush swept over Ian’s cheeks. “What the devil are you getting at?”

Hal shrugged. “Merely the observations of a friend of the family.”

“Rather sharp observations. You’re suggesting we’ve pushed her into a role as spinster. But you’re wrong—she’s always liked being responsible, probably because it lets her tell everybody else what to do. You might even say the family has indulged her, letting her do as she liked.”

Ian meant her secret involvement in the yarn business, an undertaking Lily obviously cherished. Hal knew she wouldn’t welcome his interference, yet he was angered by the thought of her throwing herself away on a dull marriage to one of the local worthies.

Ian cast a shrewd glance over him. “Why all the interest in Lily’s affairs, Hal? It’s not as if she’s your sort. You’d be bored with her endless charity work, and I don’t think she cares a fig what she looks like.”

Hal gave him a careless look. “I haven’t got plans where your sister is concerned.” Which was the truth in that he didn’t know what to do about his violent attraction to her. “But should anybody really be concerned only with virtue?”

Ian shrugged. “I suppose there’s no changing who we are.”

They both watched her twirl past on the arm of the manly doctor, whose intent expression indicated he was making some point. Her gossamer moonlight skirts floated gracefully about her, and Hal thought her hair still held some of the starlight that had been caught in it earlier.

His jaw tensed as they twirled by again, her blue eyes sparkling and her mouth curled up in a congenial smile the likes of which she’d never once shared with him. He knew Ian was probably right, but he was not accustomed to accepting what he didn’t like.

***

Lily and Dr. Fforde completed the last steps of the waltz, and he bowed to her and led her over to the table where lemonade and sandwiches were set out. The doctor was handsome and well mannered and reasonable, and she couldn’t help thinking that if she’d danced with him earlier in the evening, she might not have spent that mad time outside with Hal.

But she couldn’t say that she wished she hadn’t gone into the garden with him, because it wouldn’t be true. It was just the price to be paid that she minded, that tugging inside when she caught sight of him among the dancers. There he was, listening and chatting and flirting and smiling his breezy Lord Perfect smile, the one that made whomever he was talking with think he found them unique and fascinating.

Well, she liked Dr. Fforde. And he was the village doctor, a man who valued virtue and charity and, from what she knew from the occasions when Rob had invited him for dinner at Thistlethwaite, moderation and sobriety as well. An estimable man.

“Miss Teagarden, allow me to say how grateful I am for all you did to help the Thomas family through the fever. Your care and the baskets of food made a great difference.”

“You are too kind, really. It was only a little help.”

He shook his head. “No, you are too modest. It’s evident you are a fine nurse, and teacher too, from what I hear. A steadfast help to those in need.” He hesitated. “I wonder, Miss Teagarden, if you have ever considered turning your charitable impulses toward another avenue, something that would benefit a wider section of humanity?”

“That sounds intriguing, sir. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m speaking of something large—in fact, of the fever hospital I’ve committed to helping establish in the north of the country. Of the work that will be done there among those who have very little.”

A flush of excitement came over her at his words, and an image filled her mind of hundreds of sick people in need of care—the kind of care she would so dearly love to provide.

“I can think of nothing more valuable,” she said. “When do you begin this work?”

“Construction has already begun; we are still raising the funds to help complete it. My partners and I hope that the hospital may be open for patients by late spring.”

What a fine, beautiful idea.

“You spoke of my helping you,” she said. “How do you envision that might happen?” She pressed her lips together, thinking of how little, really, were the funds she might be able to offer in support of such a grand scheme. And she must not compromise her plans for the village girls’ school.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, seeming to weigh his thoughts. “If you’ll forgive my speaking so frankly, I believe the good work you’ve done in Highcross is but the beginning of what you might do.”

She’d felt that, too! Longed for something grand of worth to do—it was why she’d begun saving for the school. But what exactly did he mean? How was she to help this work? To help—him? Was it possible… could it be that Dr. Fforde was suggesting something along the lines of a romantic alliance to her?

An unwelcome voice from behind her interrupted her thoughts.

“Talking of work, are you?” Hal said. “When there is dancing to be done?”

Dr. Fforde chuckled.

She didn’t want to turn around and acknowledge Hal. She didn’t want to see him, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him. But to ignore him would cause a scene. And her pride would not let him see how their encounter had shaken her.