Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night (8 page)

“The sooner what?” she asked when he stopped midsentence.

It was as if he couldn't answer. As if the words were stuck in his throat.

“The sooner this will be over,” she said for him. “I know. You needn't fear worrying me. I know you'll be relieved.”

“I won't be relieved,” he said quietly, more to himself. “That's what worrying
me
.”

A shot of electricity ran from the top of her head down to where her fingers were placed on his arm. She kept her eyes straight ahead. She kept herself held in. She could not let herself react to the strangeness—and the familiarity—of him tonight.

They made a thorough circuit of the hall. Theo, being a full head taller than her, kept an eye out for dark-haired ladies, and then would steer Cecilia over toward them. And when they turned out to not be Eleanor—which they all did—they smiled awkwardly at the young lady and whomever her confused companion was, and they moved on.

By the time they got to the dining room—where the meal would be served later in the evening, apparently with speeches of a militaristic bent as well—Cecilia was beginning to lose some of her carefully cultivated optimism.

“Should we try the ballroom again?” she asked. “Or, I'll go to the ladies' retiring room, check there?”

“You could try the retiring room, certainly. But the ballroom—you couldn't see a soul. We'd need a telescope for you.”

“Or we could stand in the middle of the room and ask everyone very politely if they would please organize themselves by height,” she joked. But his eyebrow went up.

“As luck would have it,” he said, nodding toward the ballroom, where people were forming into rows, “people are lining up right now.” He glanced down at her. She met his eyes with open-mouthed surprise. “Shall we join them?”

He held out his hand and she slipped hers into it. And then they joined the line and were dancing.

It was that easy. She was dancing at a London ball. With Theo Hudson. And she felt
free.

She didn't have to wonder what it would be like anymore. She didn't have to play with the what-ifs that had spent the afternoon floating through her mind. Instead, she could let herself float. Let herself feel what it was like to have a room of color swirling around her, what it was like to have her slice of music and laughter and the headiness of smiling, and even possibly flirting.

She could do it, she thought. What would the harm be? She could live, just a little, in this moment.

“Tell me, Mr. Hudson,” she said as they came together in the steps. “We spoke of the fan signals before. What fan signals do you think I should know?”

“That you should know?” he asked, his brow coming down. “I haven't the foggiest notion. Why?”

“Perhaps Eleanor is attempting to signal for assistance, but I don't know because I don't know the signs,” she said, blinking in innocence.

“It's not that type of signaling,” Theo said, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “It's how a woman signals interest in a man. Every little movement means something different.”

“Ohhhh,” Cecilia said, her eyebrows going up even as a blush graced her cheek. “So if a woman holds a fan up in front of her face it means . . .”

“Again, I haven't the foggiest,” he replied. “I can't decipher the language of fans any better than I can decipher Greek.”

“That seems tragic,” Cecilia said. “For why on earth should a woman practice the intricate language of fans if a man cannot interpret it?”

“It does seem a rather unproductive way to let a man know you are interested in him.”

“What would men prefer, I wonder?” she asked as they went through another turn.

“What would I prefer?” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “I haven't really thought about it before. I haven't found anyone that . . . that I would be pleased to have wave a fan at me.” His eyebrow rose and the heat of his gaze met hers full on. It's a wonder she didn't melt from it. “Not in a long time.”

A thrill ran through her. His words seemed like a dare. So this was flirting, like a sophisticated woman.

“Well, if men do not learn fan signals, there's no need for me to.”

“You . . . you're planning on signaling interest in a man.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am.”

“How?” he asked, his voice going dark.

She looked up at him, utterly bold. If she was ever to take a chance, it must be now. “I thought I would leave my gloves at his uncle's house, and with any luck, he'd run them back to me.”

And then what?
The question hung in the air between them—unspoken, but begging to be answered.

“Then we would run away together and not look back,” she said, watching him. “And live happily ever after.”

He missed a step, completely in shock.

“I cannot do this,” he said to himself. And then he walked off the floor.

Cecilia felt all the blood drain from her body, down to her feet. If she had known a single soul here at the ball, she would no doubt be embarrassed. And she was—but it passed in a heartbeat. She went from mortification, to sadness, to outright anger in the space of the time it took Theo to leave the floor.

No longer having a dancing partner, she was quickly stepped around by the other people. Which made her decision for her. She moved across the room in double time, practically running to catch up with his long-legged stride.

“Stop! Mr. Hudson!” she called after him as he moved into a hall, heading God knows where. “Dammit, Theo, what did I ever do to you?”

That made him stop. It also made everyone else in the crowded hallway stop. All eyes turned to Cecilia, but she didn't care. She had her eyes focused straight ahead on the hunched and knotted shoulders of Theo Hudson.

“What did I do to offend you?” she asked, parting the sea of officers and young ladies as she stalked down the hall. “How could you leave me like that?”

“I apologize for breaking away from the dance,” he said dully, still not turning to look at her.

“I'm not talking about the dance, you fool.” Her voice came out harsh, hiding the tears.

That did it. That had him moving. He turned swiftly and came to her, taking her by the arm. By now, most of the people in the hall had deftly averted their eyes, but still watched with their ears. They all scurried away when the size and force of Theo Hudson made them do so.

He took Cecilia by the elbow and pulled her down the hall. He moved to a door—she thought wildly that at first he was going to make them leave. Duck out into the night and deposit her on the Ashbys' doorstep with as much conversation as they'd had on their way here. But no, the door turned out to lead to a small dark room, and Theo apparently decided they would avail themselves of it.

It was a closet. A broom closet, to be precise. But there was a little high window, which provided enough light for Cecilia to see Theo's stricken face.

“I cannot do this,” he said again, in a harsh whisper. “I thought I could. I thought I could swallow my feelings for one more night to help you. But then you—”

“I what?” she challenged.

“You
happened
! You are wearing that dress, and your fingers press into my arm and I remember everything. And then when we dance . . . and what on earth were you doing out there anyway? Talking about fans and all that.”

“Well, if you couldn't tell, either one or both of us are deeply unpracticed at flirting.”

“Excellent,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Another light remark. Can you not be serious?”

“I am being serious. Why can't I flirt?” she asked.

“Possibly because we are supposed to be finding your cousin? Or did you forget?”

Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. Her voice became dangerously calm. “Of course I remember my cousin. And the way her running away will affect my entire family. I, out of everyone, remember that.” Then her nose began to sting threateningly. “But I also remember that this is likely the only chance I will ever have to dance at a London ball. This is likely the only time I will ever come here. I will go back to Lincolnshire and live in my sister's house and help take care of her child, even though I could easily afford to live on my own because that is all that is allowed for someone like me. So I decided to enjoy my one night.”

He stood stock-still, watching her. Absorbing.

“And how is that so wrong?” she said, her voice quavering. “How is it wrong to want to experience something just once? Don't worry, once I find my cousin, I will fade away again in your memory, and this entire day will have been nothing more than a strange dream. But before I do, you are going to answer my question.”

He held himself tall and sucked in his breath. “What was your question?”

“Why did you leave me?”

Silence fell between them. The muted chatter and music from the party beyond barely existed in their little closet. In their little world.

“Why did I leave you?”

“My father told me it was because my dowry was insufficient for your needs, and I believed that until today.” The words held in for an entire day—for an entire decade—spilled out of her. “I spent so long hating you for it, and making myself miserable wondering just how much money it would have taken for you to love me again. When I eventually decided to forgive you, I was able to see my life moving forward.”

“Forgive me?” he repeated. He had become her incredulous echo.

“I decided I understood. You liked me, certainly. You may have even loved me a little. But you had to look out for your own interests. And I couldn't fault you for that. Indeed, I was lucky. To have held my hand to the flame and been singed, but not burned. You let me go. And I could let you go.” She met his eyes—and was thankful hers remained dry. “Until today.

“You don't need money, do you?” she asked. “If you did, you would have married by now, or at least, you would be in pursuit of that lifestyle. Instead you're a quiet lawyer who, from what I can tell, works all the time because he has naught else to do. And all of that leaves me with a problem. Because if you didn't leave me at that inn for money, why the hell did you do it?”

He held her eyes. Opened his mouth to speak. And then something in him shifted. From thought to action. From want to need. From holding himself away from her to having no space between them at all.

His lips met hers in a rush of exhilaration. She didn't know why he was kissing her—didn't know where this mad heat came from, but she didn't really care. The entire time she had been talking, spilling forth all her pain, this spilled out too. This desire to hold him. To press her mouth to his, her body against his, and just
take
. Anything he would let go of, she would take.

He opened his mouth, she opened hers. He threaded his hands through her hair, she slipped her hand beneath his shirtwaist. His leg pressed against her skirts, kneeing her legs open and letting him press his thigh against her. It was only when her back touched a wall and a few broomsticks clattered over that they let a bare inch of air in between them.

“Cee, you little fool. I did not leave you,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers, his fingers dancing lightly on the back of her neck. He gulped for breath. “You left me.”

8

W
hat?” she said, jerking her head up. He let her go. She took a step back and looked up into his face. His eyes. His soul. “I saw you leave the inn. You . . . you got into a carriage with your uncle. I called out to you, but . . . you just left.”

“And I saw you leave,” he said. “That night. When we were interrupted. You were taken away, and my uncle Lockwood sat me down. And he just stared at me.”

She fell silent, watching him with a look of confusion and patience . . . and dread.

“When I asked my uncle what he was doing, he said he was waiting. Because right then, your father was talking to you, and telling you that I was not my uncle's heir, like your father had been led to believe. That I was without means, and would not be able to buy you gowns, or carriages, or all the other things young ladies want. And then he said he expected that as soon as you learned that, you would show your true colors and leave me there—cold, uncomfortable, and with a bill to pay to the inn.

“I scoffed at him. And then . . . I heard it.”

“Heard what?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“A carriage being brought around in the courtyard,” he said. “My uncle stood and moved to the window. I followed him, dumbly. And there, I saw you.”

“Me?”

“I thought it was you. I wondered . . . over the years I wondered if it really was, but now I know my uncle must have hired out one of the maids to wear your cloak. I saw you—I mean, her—handed up into a carriage. She looked eager. Like she was running away from something unfortunate. And at that moment, every fear I'd ever had was realized.”

He felt an odd jumble in his chest, like his body was being taken over by a strange foreign thing. Like his heart was being forced to break again, to set it properly this time.

“And I packed up my things and I left with my uncle. I went back home to London, and then back to school. And I resolved to never think about you again.” He gave a pained sort of grin. “Most days, I succeeded. But some days, you were there. Right behind my eyes, walking up into that carriage.”

“I didn't walk into that carriage,” she said quietly. “At least not then. Not until I saw you leave. I even called out to you. You stopped, but you didn't turn.”

“I heard something. But I thought it was the wind. Or my own wishful thinking.”

“It was wishful thinking,” she said dully. Numb. “Everything was.”

“No, Cee—it wasn't.” He came forward, his hands cupping her face. “Don't you see? They tried to separate us, but we never forgot each other.”

“My father, your uncle—why would they have lied to us like that?” she asked. “They found us, they could have forced us to marry instead.”

“Because you were young. Sixteen. And I was no good. Wild and foolish. A comfortable life in exile was preferable to an unhappy one married to a fortune hunter. More.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes wild.

“Your father. He wanted more for you than me—he was trying to protect you.”

She wanted to believe it. She wanted to let his lips come to hers again. She wanted to feel the way she did when his arms were around her—like she was new and known at the same time. She wanted to forget, and let herself have this night.

She wanted to, so desperately. But she couldn't.

“No. They did it because they knew.”

He drew back the barest inch. “Knew what?”

“Knew how you really felt.”

“How I really—Cee, I'm in love with you.”

But she just shook her head. “You weren't, though. If you knew me, if you were in love with me, you would have realized that I would never care about gowns or carriages or whatever else your uncle said I wanted from you. You would have trusted me.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” He thought wildly, grasping her shoulders, her hands—whatever he could get hold of. “You said you'd forgiven me when you thought I wanted your money. Why can't you now?”

“Because that was when I thought you were acting out of self-interest. Not that you didn't have a clue about who I was or what I felt for you.” She shrugged free of his hands. “But you said it yourself. When you saw what you thought was me get into that carriage, every fear was realized.”

“Yes, but because you were too good to be real!” he said. “How could I possibly have faith in this beautiful, perfect girl who came out of nowhere, looked at me with such adoring eyes, and wanted nothing more than my company? Who could ever believe it?”

“
I
believed it,” she said. “I believed it of you. But you thought the entire time I was a trap waiting to be sprung. That's why you spent all of today making snide remarks about my subterfuge with Colonel Birmingham, and playing sweet to the soldiers, and flirting—like it's second nature to me. Because that's who you thought I was.”

“Not anymore, Cee. That's the past.”

“Don't you see?” she said. “The past is all we have, and now . . . it's changed forever.”

“Cee . . . wait, Cee!”

But she elbowed her way past him and wrenched open the door to the broom closet. She was a step out into the hall when he caught her arm, but not before she bumped squarely into the bemedaled chest of someone they knew.

“Oof! Oh, Miss . . . er, I don't believe I recall your name, you must forgive me,” Colonel Birmingham said, pulling away from Cee. “Are you enjoying your evening? Oh, and you too, Mr. Hudson!” he said, acknowledging Theo with a nod. “Whatever are you two doing in the broom closet?”

“We got a bit turned around,” Theo said when Cecilia didn't open her mouth. “Thought it was the dining room.”

“Ah!” Birmingham said, accepting that explanation. “No, dining room's through there—and the meal's just about to start. I've come this way to fetch my nephew and his wife, they are about to miss the meal altogether.”

“Well, we will leave you to it,” Theo said, with a short bow. “Excuse us—”

“Just a moment,” Birmingham said. “I wanted to ask, has your search borne fruit yet? For your brother?”

“Oh. My brother. Ah, no,” Cecilia said to her toes. “He's not here. We were just about to leave.”

Birmingham sighed. “I'm so sorry, my dear, but it was a bit of a long shot. Come by the Horse Guards tomorrow morning and we'll see what we can— Ah! There you are!”

Birmingham turned and beckoned over a young couple. “You almost missed dinner. My dear, Mr. Hudson, may I introduce to you my nephew Victor and his new bride—”

“Eleanor?” Cecilia's voice was sharp, incredulous.

The girl hanging off Victor Birmingham's arm was small, with dark hair and a smooth, pale complexion, just like Cecilia's. That, however, was where the resemblance stopped. Because while Cee looked worried, harried, and absolutely miserable, Eleanor radiated happiness.

“Cousin Cecilia!” Eleanor cried, coming off her husband's arm to take Cee's hand, embracing her with a smile. “Oh my goodness, whatever are you doing here?”

“I . . . I . . . I'm looking for you,” Cee blurted out, much to the astonishment of her cousin.

“For me?” she glanced up at the noble and concerned countenance of her new husband. “But why?”

“Eleanor, you ran away from home!” she said. For the first time that day, Theo noticed that Cee did not attempt discretion about her cousin's circumstances. Indeed, she had flat-out abandoned decorum. If there had been a crowd in that hallway, no doubt it would be rapt.

Thank goodness for the promptness of military mealtimes.

“Your father wrote us, telling us you were lost forever!” Cecilia continued. “I could not allow that. I . . . I came to find you, and . . . save you.” Her voice petered off at the end, lost.

Eleanor gave a sparkling peal of laughter. “But, Cecilia, I'm in no need of saving! May I introduce my husband, Mr. Birmingham?” she said, putting particular relish on the word “husband.”

The young man gave a deep bow. “I take it you are my cousin, Miss Goodhue, ma'am. My Ellie has told me all about you.”

“You have?” Cecilia said, turning a stark white as Eleanor turned an embarrassed pink.

“Well, I . . . I wanted him to know why I was so nervous about running away to him,” she said with chagrin.

“Yes,” Cee said dully. “Of course.”

“I think,” Theo said, clearing his throat, “there is a great deal of concern as to
why
you ran away, Miss . . . er, Mrs. Birmingham.”

“That, I'm afraid, is my doing,” Victor said, stepping in for his wife.

“I'm afraid it's a bit mine as well,” Colonel Birmingham added.

“My father is Lord Birmingham. My parents are very aware of the consequence due to them,” Victor said.

“Sticks up their—” Colonel Birmingham grumbled. Then he remembered he was in the presence of ladies (and a civilian gentleman) and quickly curbed his tongue. “My apologies.”

“When Eleanor and I met, we fell in love immediately,” Victor said. “We met while riding, and she was just a vision in the saddle.”

“While riding,” Cee echoed, shaking her head. “Of course.”

“But my parents would never agree to a marriage with someone of no property. No offense, my love.”

“None taken,” Eleanor said, looping her arm around his again, presenting a united front. “And while my parents knew I liked Victor, they had no idea of the depth of my feelings. That he was the one. More than once I overheard my mother say that I was far too young to have a true connection to any of the officers.”

“So we decided to run away. With my uncle's help, we procured a special license, and we were married in London the day she arrived.” Victor raised Eleanor's hand to his lips. “It's been a week of wedded bliss. And even my parents love you. Although not quite as much as I do.”

As Eleanor visibly melted at this overt display, Theo could feel Cecilia's small body beside his stiffen into stone.

“Well . . . that's good,” she said, forcing a tight smile onto her face. “I can write your father and let him know the happy news.”

“Oh, there's no need,” Eleanor said, tearing her eyes away from her husband. “I wrote them the morning after the wedding. And I've already received their reply—they are coming to visit next week!”

The smile fell from Cecilia's face. “I see. I can only imagine that there is a letter waiting for me from your father at home.”

“Yes, you could have saved yourself quite a bit of trouble!” Eleanor laughed. “But then you always were a little headstrong. Or so says Father.”

“If only you'd told me this morning that it was our Eleanor you were looking for,” Colonel Birmingham said. Then he grimaced. “You even mentioned Manchester! And I didn't even think of my Victor here, having just transferred. If I had known . . . Although I do understand your circumspection, you could have saved your poor Mr. Hudson a long day!”

“Mr. Hudson?” Eleanor's eyes whipped up to his. “Oh but, that was the name of—”

Eleanor's gaze widened as her jaw slowly dropped. Her expression shifted from Theo to Cecilia. Then, to the closet they had occupied not three minutes before. Its door hanging open like a secret waiting to be told. “Oh, cousin, what have you been up to?” Hands came to her cheeks as her mouth formed a perfect O. “What will everyone say?”

Cecilia was already as pale as he'd ever seen her, but for the first time, Theo was afraid she might faint. And that was the only thing keeping him from launching into a rage at a precocious and advantageously married seventeen-year-old girl. Instead of giving voice to his dark thoughts, he gently took Cee by the arm and let his body give her strength.

“Well, we should have you over!” Colonel Birmingham was saying, aware of the awkwardness of the situation. “Instead of coming to Horse Guards tomorrow morning, come to the house for breakfast! It will be lovely!”

“I'm sorry, but I think I must be getting Miss Goodhue back. Lord and Lady Ashby will be expecting us,” Theo said, making sure to drop the Ashby name in the hopes of impressing the respectability of the situation upon them.

Hell, in hopes of impressing them, full stop.

“Come on, Cee,” he whispered in her ear. “Let's go.”