Into the Woods (18 page)

Johnny remained by the carriage while Vanessa walked toward Declan Harper, her gaze and her step unerring. Whatever claimed his attention so completely, he would forget the moment she smiled at him.

She was tempted to frown when she saw a head of blond hair just beyond Declan's shoulder, the back of a fair head and a scrap of plain yellow fabric. Good God, no one looked good in yellow! The other man who hovered over the woman laughed at something she said and lifted a glass of lemonade to his lips. Declan gave the man a cutting glare.

He should've seen her by now, should've sensed her presence and turned about to see her walking so elegantly toward him. But no, she had to stop and call his name.

"Declan?"

He spun about, obviously surprised to hear her voice. The other man turned his head as well. And the woman turned slowly around.

The witch! Matilda Candy was smiling when she turned, but that smile quickly faded. Ah, the woman was smart enough to know when she was outclassed. The witch was no competition for Vanessa, not where a man was involved.

"Good afternoon," Vanessa said. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Matilda was just telling us about her neighbor's children," Declan said. "They're... quite a handful."

Vanessa hoped with all her heart that she herself was barren. She hated children. Brats, every one of them. She forced herself to smile. "Why, I'm sure they're adorable."

The other man laughed, and the witch took that opportunity to introduce him. Ezra Cotter was quite attractive, in spite of his unfashionably long hair, but he was a merchant, for goodness' sake! Ah well, Miss Candy could have the merchant. Johnny and Declan would be enough for her.

As soon as the introductions were done, Ezra returned his attentions, his absolute adoration, to the witch. Unfortunately, so did Declan. He seemed, in fact, loath to leave Matilda's side.

Vanessa stepped into the circle. "Miss Candy, that is a very... interesting dress. Wherever did you find it?" Surely such a rag had been found, not purchased.

The witch smiled. "It belonged to my grandmother."

"A hand-me-down," Vanessa said with a weak smile. "I've heard of such things."

"I think it's a lovely dress," Ezra said enthusiastically. "As beautiful and unique as the woman who's wearing it."

Declan agreed, though without quite as much enthusiasm.

Vanessa lowered her head to take a deep breath and calm herself, and that's when she saw the shoes. Her shoes.

When she'd gotten a good look at the bronze shoes Mr. Fox had ordered for her, she'd decided they were not quite right, but she certainly hadn't expected that the witch would buy them. They were her shoes!

Vanessa lifted her eyes and looked squarely at the girl. She smiled sweetly and leaned just slightly toward Declan, laying a possessive hand on his arm. So the witch thought she could take her man and her shoes.

This meant war.

Chapter 12

She was so glad Stella had convinced her to come! Matilda wore what she knew had to be a silly smile on her face, as the judges looked over the entries in the pie contest. A long table was laden with pies of all kinds, her own cherry pastry among them.

Declan had left her side a while ago, at Vanessa's whimpering insistence. The Arrington girl had dragged him away to meet someone she deemed important, and he'd never made it back. He did, however, Matilda noticed, keep a close eye on her and Ezra. Every time she looked up, she caught Declan watching her.

After examining the pies to determine their aesthetic appeal, the three judges took their forks and began the real test; they set about tasting each and every one. Matilda found she was actually nervous about how her own entry would fare. She didn't expect she would win, but she did want her cherry pie to be well received. She wanted at least one of the judges to roll his eyes in ecstasy when he tasted it.

That wasn't too much to ask, was it? Especially when Mr. Fox claimed her baking was always so well received by his customers.

"You might've put that cherry pie aside for me," Ezra whispered, leaning just a little bit too close.

"How was I to know you would be here?" she answered in her own lowered voice. "Goodness, I never know when you're going to show up, so how can I possibly be prepared?"

Matilda held her breath as the first judge came to her pie, fork raised above the perfect crust. In a movement made without conscious thought, she nervously laid her hand on Ezra's arm. The judge was poised to dig out a small bite of the dessert when Vanessa Arrington whispered in a horribly loud voice, "I don't think I could make myself eat a pie made by a witch."

The crowd hushed, and the judge stopped with the pie not quite to his mouth. Oh, no wonder Vanessa had asked, as they looked over the table earlier, which pie was Matilda's. The girl had planned all along to humiliate her.

The judge lowered his fork and blushed, his eyes raising to search the crowd for Matilda. When he found her and held her gaze, she was horrified to see a touch of fear there.

No one moved for a long moment. All was silent, and all eyes were turned to her. Matilda wanted to disappear; she wanted to drop through the earth and never come up again. She let her hand fall from Ezra's arm as he muttered a low curse and scowled. Ezra never scowled, and he never cursed.

Matilda wondered, with a touch of panic in her heart, how she could escape, how she could make this horrid moment go away. She scanned the crowd quickly, her eyes finding familiar faces that were angry and afraid and ashamed. And then her eyes landed on an incensed Declan and a deceptively innocent wide-eyed Vanessa.

Most of all, she did not want Declan to see her humiliated this way.

Declan abruptly left Vanessa's side to stride to the long table of pies. He scooped up a clean fork from the end of the table, and then, without hesitation, dug out a forkful of her cherry pie and popped it into his mouth. "Fabulous," he said, glaring at the cowardly judge.

Ezra patted her comfortingly on the shoulder and then worked his way through the crowd to do the same, to take up a fork and taste her entry. Bless him, he rolled his eyes in delight.

Robert then joined them, his spine straight as he made this gesture for her. He grinned as he took a big bite, and then he winked at her. To her amazement, John Bowers, Vanessa's driver, joined them for a taste of his own, and so did Charles Fox.

Tears clouded Matilda's eyes, not because she had been embarrassed, but because she apparently had friends who would stand up for her in front of all these people.

Declan glared at the judges. "Have we made our point?" he asked softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

The judge looked sheepish as at last he took a bite, and then smiled as he took another.

The second judge shoved him aside. "Leave some for us. How are we to determine which pie is best if there's none of this one left?"

People in the crowd laughed; some of them, anyway. Vanessa's expression was unnaturally calm, but her cheeks had turned beet-red. There were a few in the crowd who remained solemn, who turned censuring eyes on Matilda. Henry Langford and his two friends, redheaded Reggie and portly Wendell, watched her suspiciously and whispered to one another.

Then Declan caught her eye, and Matilda no longer cared about Vanessa or the others who condemned her.

She wanted to laugh out loud, to run to him and throw her arms around his neck. She wanted, more than anything, to shout "I love you!" at the top of her lungs.

But for now a smile would have to do.

* * *

Why had he been so afraid Matilda would be lonely without him today? Dusk had cast the town in a soft half-light, and the dancing had begun. Hell fire, everyone wanted to dance with Matilda. That idiot Ezra Cotter, Mr. Fox, Robert, even Vanessa's driver. She'd not been neglected for a moment.

And she loved it, didn't she? She smiled widely and danced with an artless grace, laughing as her partners instructed her on the steps. Even her mistakes were charming!

He looked down at Vanessa, an accomplished dancer, who was prattling on about something or another. He had chastised her earlier for her comment about Matilda's pie, and she'd met the admonishment with a charming naiveté, swearing that she didn't mean anything by it, and after all Matilda was a witch. And what did it matter now, since she'd won the contest, and why anyone would want a blue ribbon for something so mundane as making a pie she would never know.

It had taken all Declan's powers of restraint to keep from shouting the woman down for her frivolous thoughtlessness.

When the music ended, and Henry Langford arrived to ask for the next dance, Declan gratefully handed Vanessa over and turned to make his way back to Matilda. He barely beat out Ezra Cotter, who had already danced with her twice.

"This one's mine," Declan said, never taking his eyes from Matilda's beaming face.

He was glad the next dance was a waltz, so he could hold Matilda and not have to pass her around.

"I am so very glad you asked me to come here today."

"I can see that," he grumbled.

"I can't remember when I've ever had so much fun." She stepped on his toes, then laughed lightly as she resumed her step. "Sorry."

It was the first time all day he'd had her to himself. He held her in his arms and twirled her around while she smiled up at him, and the cross words that flew out of his mouth were, "That's Ezra Cotter?"

Her grin widened. "Yes."

"I thought he was an old man."

"Did I say he was an old man?"

"No." He spun her toward the edge of the crowd. "You said there was an age difference."

"He's two years younger than I am," she said innocently.

"I just assumed," Declan began awkwardly. "I mean I guessed..." He sighed, unable and unwilling to explain. "You've seriously considered marrying him?"

Matilda's smile faded. "Ezra is a good friend. I like him very much." Her voice remained low. "I imagine there are worse fates than marrying a friend."

He looked down at her and sighed. She was much too spirited to marry a man she only liked. She needed passion, heat, love. In that moment, Declan wished with all his heart and soul that he could be the man to give Matilda everything she wanted. Everything she needed and deserved.

"I never did get a chance to thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For walking up there and tasting my pie. For letting the town know that you're not afraid of me."

"I wasn't the only one," he said modestly.

"You were the first," she whispered. "And I thank you with all my heart."

The waltz ended, but he didn't let her go. They'd moved beyond the knot of dancers, and it took just a few steps to move her into the alley between the general store and the dressmaker's shop. In the fading light, they were well hidden here.

"Thank me properly," he whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers.

It was dangerous, to steal a kiss here and now, but he felt the need to claim her, to put his mark on her, to taste her lips and feel her body lean against his. The kiss was brief, soft, and undemanding, achingly sweet. She closed her eyes and melted against him; the tender touch was so familiarly intimate he wanted to stay there all night.

She pulled away and opened her eyes, reaching out to straighten his collar. "I don't think that last mixture is entirely out of my blood," she whispered.

"I know what you mean," he whispered. Something of the aphrodisiacs he'd taken must be lingering, too. What he felt for her could not be real. It was too powerful—potent enough to make him question his plans to marry Vanessa and become the respectable gentleman. He tried to forcibly remind himself of why he was here in Tanglewood, what had taken him to Matilda Candy's cottage.

He had plans, big plans. One day he'd be the one giving Founders' Day speeches.

Right now none of that mattered. "Have you ever kissed Ezra Cotter?" He hated to ask, but he had to know.

Matilda shook her head and laid a gentle hand on his face. "No," she whispered. "You're the only man I've ever kissed."

A flood of relief washed through him. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?" And then he stole another kiss.

* * *

She was exhausted, but it was a good, warm, wonderful exhaustion. When had she ever had so much fun?

"Wanna dance?" Wendell Trent, one of Henry Langford's cohorts, cornered her, rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning widely. He was not yet thirty, but he was losing his hair at the temples and had the rounded stomach of a much older man. As he awaited her answer, he belched.

"No, thank you," she said, smiling and doing her best to be polite. "I'm afraid my feet are killing me. I'm not used to all this dancing."

He did not take her refusal well. "You've danced with damn near every other man in town," he growled. "There something wrong with me, witch?"

Her smile faded; she saw no more reason to try to be polite to this man. Vanessa had cornered Declan, and Ezra was dancing with the preacher's daughter. Neither of them were watching her at the moment, so she would have to handle Wendell on her own.