Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (15 page)

She faced him, forcing mildness into her voice. “I think I’ve danced my last, my lord.”

He gave her a look that said he was perfectly aware she would dance not a single other dance that night if it had to be with him. “Surely not. The night is young.”

“It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I’m afraid, Miss Teagarden, that is early by Town hours,” Dr. Fforde said ruefully.

Hal’s jaw tightened, as though he was grinding his teeth. “Surely Lily doesn’t need Town customs explained.”

She laughed. “I know it’s early to some, but I am a country mouse, and I shall have to retire shortly.”

“My dear Miss Teagarden,” the doctor said warmly, “there is nothing in the least mouse-like about you. But I wish you a good evening, and look forward to the pleasure of your company—and a continuation of our discussion—when next we meet.” He bowed, taking his leave.

“Gads, what a windbag,” said Hal as he watched Fforde move away. “And his eyes twinkle too much.”

Lily sighed. “He is a very agreeable man in every way that I can perceive. Why should you think him a windbag?”

“Perhaps you find him appealing because he is handsome, and anything sounds good, at least initially, coming out of the mouths of pretty people.”

“Well, you ought to know about that, being excessively handsome.”

“And I have it in your own hand to prove it,” he said.

“No, you don’t—” she started to say, but the wicked glint in his eyes stopped her.

“Don’t I?” he said. His eyebrow quivered with mirth; of course it did. He was bored, and he wanted to tease her.

“How on earth did you have time?” she said.

“Is that a grudging note of amazement?”

She scowled. “It’s just general grudging, where you’re concerned.”

“I slipped out yesterday before dinner.”

“You simply rode over to Thistlethwaite and waltzed into my home and took it?”

“Exactly.”

She wanted, idiotically, to stamp her foot. “Really, Hal. How could you?”

“All’s fair in love and war, as they say. And there is the little matter of the Woods Fiend. You tell me what’s going on there, I’ll give you back the journal.”

She considered his words. Then she shrugged. “Keep it, then, if you like it so much.”

That
took the wind out of his sails.

He frowned. “You’re going to just surrender it?”

It was entirely worth whatever humiliation that book might still hold to watch his disappointment.

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “You haven’t somehow taken it back again?”

“I haven’t. You’ve won.”

He didn’t look happy about that at all. But then, she was refusing to play his game. He crossed his arms. “Why did you ask me to kiss you tonight?”

She wished she’d already left the ball instead of remaining, after what had happened on the terrace. But that would have felt like running away. Besides, talking with Dr. Fforde had left her a little soothed, and hopeful, too. She would be a fool, though, to continue to stand there talking to Hal.

She cocked her head at him and let that be her only response.

“Good night, my lord,” she said and turned to go.

He took hold of her forearm. Firmly. She looked down at his hand, counting on the presence of those in their general vicinity to make him release her, though no one was paying them any attention.

“Ever unruffled and in control,” he said softly, still restraining her.

“Let me go.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to
you
.”

He tugged her closer and said in a low voice, “You like me.”

She made a scoffing sound.

“You do, or what we did tonight wouldn’t have been so pleasurable for you. You
enjoyed
it.”

She would
not
blush. She had done those things on the terrace with him—she must be brave enough to acknowledge them. “Well, I already thanked you. And now you wish to suggest I owe you more than that?”

“No, I wish to suggest that we like each other.
I
like
you
.”

His words, uttered with what seemed very like sincerity, sent a shiver down her spine and touched something in her that had apparently been waiting her whole life to hear them. She was suddenly terrified of what that yearning part of her might make her say in response.

She discounted the almost vulnerable look in his eyes. Surely he’d employed that very look countless times with other women before her. It didn’t feel good, thinking of him that way, but she made herself face reality: he was a charmer born and bred, and not to be trusted.

“No you don’t. You merely like what we did. Which clearly you undertook as a way to win your wager by getting information about the Woods Fiend.”

“That was only a small part of why I did it. A very small part. The rest was genuine attraction.”

“Stop. Please stop. I don’t want to hear it. And will you
please
let go of my arm?”

He let her go.

“Lily, it was marvelous out there with you. But it was marvelous because I like you.”

“I don’t need—I don’t want—” But she couldn’t seem to speak what she needed, and perhaps that was because it went against her nature to be harsh to someone who’d just said something kind to her, even though this was Hal. He was trying for some reason to tangle her in all this attraction further, just when she needed to firmly do away with, lock up, and otherwise eliminate that lustful tendency in herself that had been making itself known ever since he came back to Mayfield.

“There can’t be any more between us, Hal. Surely you see that?”

“No, I don’t. Stay—talk, at least. Talking’s harmless, and I can tell you about how I’ve been looking for that ring you saw in the paintings, the one that belonged to the second sons.”

Was this supposed to be some way to keep her attention? “It’s not magic, you know. It’s just a ring.”

He frowned. He wanted to joke and jolly her along—that was his way. She let the silence stretch out a bit before saying, “The valor and the adventure you dreamed of as a boy—what doubtless drew you to the military—that could be part of your work as a viscount. There’s nothing stopping you from doing important work now.”

Something tightened around his mouth, a hardness she could imagine he’d used with his troops. “I’m not a wastrel, Lily. I run several large estates, and my employees are fond of me.”

“But you don’t
care
about that work, do you? You haven’t really invested yourself in it. You’re just existing, taking pleasure, doing the minimum that needs to be done. You haven’t made it your
passion
, to use your own word.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said tightly.

“This: you’ve been dealt a significant hand, and with it comes the opportunity to do valuable work. To peer deeply into the workings of your estates, to put your heart into its present and its future, to better the lives of your tenants and servants, to do something for the larger world. But you don’t want to be that invested because you’re too busy being the playful second son.”

“This is all because I haven’t been back to Mayfield in so long.”

“No, it’s because you have much to give, and you’re holding it back, spending your energies in diversion.”

“I’m not like you, Lily,” he said in a voice gone chilly. “I’m not driven to save the world.”

“Every person has the chance to do great things in his or her own sphere. You’ve simply been granted a larger sphere than most people. But you don’t, oddly, have enough respect for the work of a viscount to see it through.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You had little love for the viscount your father, who clearly valued your brother over you. Why would you want to give yourself over to a position you were never meant to fill?”

His eyes flashed at her, and she supposed she’d said too much, but she didn’t believe she’d said anything he didn’t need to hear.

“Remarkably condescending of you,” he said in a hard voice she barely recognized. “But then, what should I expect from a woman who so clearly wants to be a saint?”

“I don’t think of myself that way,” she said, the bluntness of his words shocking her. “I know I have many flaws.”

“And you can’t ever let yourself forget them, can you? All those mistakes, those times you give in to your animal urges—those missteps are the very things that keep you always striving and depriving yourself. You want to run that school you’re planning for, but in a few more years, alone with your hard opinions and your judgmental ways and your need to refuse what you don’t find useful, you risk becoming just that kind of sharp, cold woman children fear and dislike.”

His words made her feel ill, and she told herself that was only because of how the evening had started—with her brothers foisting partners on her—and that Hal wasn’t someone whose idea of the truth should matter to her. But she still felt wounded.

She lifted her chin. “A perfect ending to a ridiculous night. I think we’ve said quite enough to each other.”

And she turned away from him and left the ball.

“You seem to know your way around Mayfield’s nooks and crannies quite well for a visitor,” Eloise said as Donwell led the way up the narrow staircase to the west tower. She knew going to the roof with Donwell and only Freddy was a little wicked, but doing forbidden things gave her a thrill, and she hardly ever had the chance.

The tower was in the oldest part of Mayfield. Somewhat hidden by the grander, more recent portions of the hall, it had an antiquated charm that Eloise had always liked. Walking at the rear of the party, she held the skirts of her gold satin gown well up and away from the dust and cobwebs festooning the stairs and walls.

“I’ve been to the roof a few times so far,” Donwell said. “It’s one of the best places at Mayfield.”

“What a peculiar guest you are, making free with people’s roofs.”

He just laughed. He had a nice laugh.

“I think it’s a terrific idea, going up to the roof, sir. You needn’t listen to Eloise,” her traitorous nephew said. “She’s only a girl.”

“I had noted that fact,” Donwell said in a serious voice that made the corner of Eloise’s mouth slide back. Who ever would have guessed that she might find Donwell’s company entertaining? Especially after all those things he’d said about her “substance.”

But Lily was right, she’d realized—she’d come to see that he was interested in her as a person, and she liked that. He didn’t pile compliments on her or strut about arrogantly pleased with himself, as so many gentlemen did. He was plain—not his face, which while not handsome was interesting, but his manner, which was unadorned by flourishes and flirting.

So much of her life was about beauty, and gestures meant to attract, and expectations—and being with Donwell was not like that at all. She supposed some of his unprepossessing appearance might have to do with the fact that he had very little money, and he didn’t seem even remotely interested in that usual competition among gentlemen over horses and clothes.

It was refreshing and different to have this new kind of a connection with a man (well, Hal and John liked her, but that didn’t count because they had to), and as she followed behind him, she smiled. For some reason, she sensed that they might become good friends. She’d never had a friend who was a man, and she liked the idea. He might even be able to help her understand men better.

He’d reached the top of the stairs, and he pushed against the small old door to the outside. It gave with a heavy whine, sending a rush of clear, cold autumn air into the mustiness of the stairway.

Freddy surged forward, making Eloise gasp, but Donwell caught him with one arm before he could get very far.

“Easy there. Roof visiting requires great maturity and deliberation.”

“What’s deliv-ation?”

Eloise smiled; Freddy collected big words.

“It means taking your time.”

“Oh. All right.” Freddy dropped his head back and gazed upward. The night was clear and dark and quite brisk, and the stars shone hard and true. “Tell me the word again, please.”

“Deliberation,” Donwell said a bit slowly, and Freddy repeated it.

Eloise was only partly listening to their conversation because the view of the heavens from the roof of the tower had taken her breath away. It felt as if they were
in
the sky, right inside the incredible, mystical darkness. Just over her head floated the cloudy white swath of the Milky Way, speckled with bright stars. Her heart felt suddenly full.

“I’d almost forgotten about the stars,” she said. “There they are every night, you need only come out and look up, and yet I never do.”

“I’m never allowed,” Freddy said.

Eloise turned toward Donwell, who was little more than a tall, dark shape. “I see what I missed a few months ago, when you invited me to stargaze and I didn’t come. I’m sorry that I forgot.”

“That’s all right. Perhaps tonight is a better night for stars.”

Freddy moved between them. “Which one is Orion, please, sir?”

Donwell crouched down behind him and stretched his arm out across the boy’s shoulders. “There, see the three stars together that make his belt? He’s a hunter—you’ll see his club if you go up from his belt, and over. And his shield, there.”

“I see it!”

Eloise wanted to see as well—she’d never been very good at making out constellations—and she gathered her skirts in her arms and crouched down behind Donwell and tried to follow the line of his arm.

“Can you see it, Eloise?” he asked without turning. A breeze sighed over the battlements at the edge of the tower and swirled around them, its coolness bringing out goose bumps along her bare arms and tugging at her coiffure. It really was too cold to be out in just her ball gown, but she didn’t care.

“The sky feels so much closer from here,” she said in a hushed voice.

“Doesn’t it?” he said.

She leaned closer to the back of his shoulder, which had a welcome aura of warmth, and searched beyond his outstretched arm.

“Oh! I see his belt—there he is.” It really was thrilling. Next to her cheek, Donwell’s hair ruffled in the breeze.

“Is Orion always there?” Freddy asked.

“Well, the stars are always there, but Orion is best seen in the fall and winter.”

“He looks ready for battle.”

“He does,” Donwell agreed, and Eloise saw his purpose in bringing Freddy to the roof. “I like to think of him as watching over things here on Earth.”

Freddy was quiet a moment. “Tell me about all the other stars, please,” he said over a yawn.

She thought Donwell must be smiling. “That would take rather too much time for one night.”

He stood spryly up and held a hand toward her, which she accepted, and he tugged her upright, so that suddenly she was standing just before him. She didn’t think she’d ever stood so close to a man, but this was Donwell, her new friend, and it felt comfortable. What if it had been Ivorwood? How amazing that would have been. But she was glad to be here with Donwell. It was nice.

“Tomorrow, then, please?” Freddy said. “Can we come up again?”

“Perhaps,” Donwell said, but his head was turned toward her. “You would have to ask your parents.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” she said. “Perhaps I would come as well.” And they could invite the others, too, she thought. Like Ivorwood.

“Perfect,” he said, and though it was dark, she could feel him looking at her, and she smiled. A new friend was a wonderful thing.

Freddy slipped his hand into hers. “I want to go to bed now, please,” he said.

They made their way quietly down to the servants’ stairs, and Freddy dashed off to his room.

Donwell and Eloise were still in the stairwell, standing by a sconce, but they couldn’t linger there.

“Will you return to the ball?” he asked.

“Yes. Won’t you?”

“I think not. But… thank you for coming up to the roof.”

Donwell was smiling, and Eloise thought that it quite changed his face, which was usually serious. He had nice crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Actually, he might be a quite presentable man if he only took a little trouble.

She reached out and briskly brushed a few stray white hairs off the front of his coat, as easily as she would have done for her brothers, but Donwell seemed to stiffen when she touched him, and she pulled her hand back, aware that she’d been forward. Still, they were friends now, and she could offer him some advice.

“Your coat has a remarkably weird look,” she said with a smile. “The collar is wrong, and it’s fashionable to have buttons in the front, you know. Why, it must be a good twenty years old.”

Donwell swallowed hard, still recovering from the feel of her hand brushing his chest. It had been a very familiar thing to do, and he
was
familiar to her, being a frequent visitor with her brother. And now she was giving him advice about his clothes. He was excited by her noticing his personal appearance and making recommendations—it felt intimate. Yet he could not read her meaning. Was she giving him encouragement? Was this something she might say to a lover?

“Thirty,” he said. “It was my father’s.”

“You might consider buying something from this decade. It’s remarkable what a good coat can do for a man. Why, it would make you look like a man of substance.”

“Touché,” he said. “I shall consider it.”

“I rather think you will forget it while you are staring out telescopes or crawling around after animals,” she said. She put her hand on the door that led out to the corridor, and his heart skipped a beat. “Good night then,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” he murmured, far too late, because she’d already gone through the doorway.

***

Why
didn’t Lily mind now that he had her journal?

Hal was still racking his brain over why she’d given up on it as he followed the heartiest of his houseguests up the stairs late that night with a candelabrum in his hand. Ivorwood turned into his chamber first, with calls of good night to all. Eloise lingered to whisper a soft good night back as the earl’s door closed, then continued on with the other guests. The glitter and sound of the ball had given way to darkness and the drudgery of the familiar, and it would be light soon.

Lily, who’d retired hours ago, would doubtless arise early and accomplish something productive—write letters, organize a charity, create a poultry cooperative. And she would, apparently, be untroubled by thoughts of her journal’s whereabouts. But why? He passed her room, where she was likely sleeping the sleep of someone who’d not had too many glasses of punch.

He wished he hadn’t spoken so harshly to her. He’d said more than he meant to, had somehow been driven to it. Yet it would take something strong to get past that wall of virtue she’d erected around herself. And she hadn’t crumpled, but drawn herself up straighter.

And told him he lacked passion for the viscountcy.

She was right.

She was right, dammit, that he connected the viscountcy to his uncaring father, and that he’d come, however poor this was of him, to resent it because it had never been meant for him. Because he
had
been defined by the viscountcy: it was the yardstick against which he’d been found wanting from the moment he was born. It was the most important role in the family, and it belonged to the brother he loved. There was nothing to be done about this, but some urge in him—competition, contrariness—hated to be put in second place. And it had meant that who he was had never been of value, except that he was the spare.

So how was he supposed to develop a passion for being a viscount?

Ridiculous
, she’d called the night. A feint, surely? She hadn’t felt ridiculous when she was surrendering to desire in his arms.

Alone now, he passed beyond the guest quarters and into the family wing. As soon as he was inside his bedchamber, he pulled his cravat loose and sat down at his desk with Lily’s journal. After that incredibly erotic scene behind the cherry tree, he hadn’t been able to think of anything but her all night, and this was the closest he could get to her just now.

He hesitated with his hands on the girlish fabric cover of the book, admitting fully to himself that in reading this he was invading her privacy. He’d given himself permission to read it before, discounting what that might mean to her, but now he could think only of her, of what she would want.

But she had told him to keep it, as good as giving him permission to read it. He opened the book.

I dreamed last night that we all walked out to the daffodil glade in the woods. I say dream, but it was a fantasy, really, a waking dream I urged into being. There was Hal, Eloise, Ian, Rob, and myself, and some shadowy ladies and gentlemen, in that way of people in dreams and fantasies who are there but you can’t really see them.

The day was sun-kissed and beautiful, and we entered the woods. Everyone was suddenly dappled with the golden sunlight that slipped through the canopy of leaves, a lazy scene of warmth and soft light and beauty.

The others continued on to see the daffodils, but Hal drew me away so that we were separated from them. I could feel how he wanted me.

Well, Hal thought. Very good. Despite the excessive nature talk, the plot thickens. He read on eagerly.

He took my hand and we wandered deeper, until we came to a place he seemed to know, a shady clearing carpeted in thick, soft moss and clusters of violets and lilies of the valley. He leaned in to kiss my neck, then my lips. I touched his face, moved my hands to his shoulders, and felt their muscled strength.

He turned the page quickly, as if the words might give him the release for which his real embrace with Lily had left him yearning. The next page held fewer words and he read on avidly.

He kissed my cheek and told me he found me beautiful, that there was no one like me in the world. That he’d noticed me with a gradual dawning in recent months, and that now he couldn’t think about anything but me.

Hal found himself getting impatient with the young Lily. Enough talk, girl—get to the action.

And then he held me against him, and the moonlight shone down on us so heartbreakingly beautiful, and he kissed me again, and we lay down together and he held me. And we knew as surely as we knew the sun would rise every day that we’d always be together, and that our hearts would always be one. It was perfect.

Yes? Yes? And? There was plenty of blank space left on the page for more of the fantasy, but nothing else was written, as if that were the end of the scene, which, how could it be? The best parts were missing. He turned the page but there were no more words, just the unfinished sketch of him from the terrace. Obviously he’d taken the book at that point.

This fantasy of being in the woods alone with him—it was a good fantasy, she’d had the right idea. But where were the details, the sensual descriptions she’d lavished on his appearance and their imagined kisses earlier on? The woods fantasy should have been the satisfaction of all the lust she’d built up for him. But it was chaste. Unfinished.
Unsatisfying
.

He felt cheated. Deeply vexed right down to his cock, which had had about as much teasing as it could take in the matter of Lily Teagarden. What was wrong with that girl? At sixteen, if he’d embarked on such a fantasy, he would never have stopped at kissing. Not when everything within him was urging him toward the stiff and hot meeting the wet and snug.