Vexed by a Viscount (7 page)

The woman Lord Ashby had noticed.

Clearing her throat, she looked to her mother. “Actually, I think I would prefer the Eton blue silk for evening.” Her confidence solidified, and she added, “And the daffodil jaconet for day. I’ve always felt that color complements my hair.”

She willed her face not to betray her at the mention of the yellow fabric. No one need ever know that the viscount thought she looked very well in the color, or that she very much liked that he thought she looked very well in anything.

Mama reared back an inch or two, her eyes widening with surprise. Prudence could understand her disbelief, as she had never rejected her mother’s suggestions before. But Prudence didn’t back down. She met her mother’s gaze squarely, holding her ground even as her stomach whirled with nerves.

The moment stretched in silence for several heartbeats. She could practically see Mama deciding how to respond. She wanted to disagree—that much was clear in the deepening lines at her forehead—but Prudence was on the cusp of becoming her own mistress. No one would be choosing things like the fabric of her gown for her anymore.

At least she hoped not. The squire did seem terribly keen on her trousseau, though . . .

Tilting her chin up, her mother turned to Mrs. Hedgepeth, who stood nearby with her drawings, pretending not to be eavesdropping on their every word. “I believe we shall go with both the willow-green and the Eton blue for evening, and . . .” Her eyes cut back to Prudence for a moment before giving a little nod, “. . . the daffodil-yellow for day, I think. It
does
rather complement your hair.”

Victory
!

Satisfaction swamped Prudence in a warm rush. She wanted to laugh with delight, but restrained herself to a demure smile and said, “Thank you, Mama. I think you are wise to suggest two new gowns for evening. One never knows when an invitation of importance will be issued, and I’d hate to be unprepared.”

The praise smoothed her mother’s forehead as she nodded in acceptance. “After decades of marriage, I’ve learned a thing or two about being a supportive wife. I do hope my example can help ease your transition.”

A small lump formed in Prudence’s throat, and she tried to swallow past it as she nodded. Her mother was so proud to see her marrying the squire. That was a good thing—a daughter fulfilling the ultimate duty to her parents. Yet no matter how much she told herself that she was doing the right thing, she couldn’t get over the feeling that she didn’t
want
to do it.

Dancing barefoot in the moonlight
. She focused on that, her next item on the list, and took a few slow breaths. She would have her little rebellion, safely and quietly, where only she would know about it. The grass between her toes, the darkness enveloping her, and the simple delight of indulging in what
she
wanted to do. Even if the rain spoiled her plans tonight, she would try again tomorrow, and the next day, until she accomplished her goal.

“Thank you for helping to guide me, Mama,” she said, ever the dutiful daughter. Her gaze shifted to the soft yellow fabric she had insisted on for her day gown. Dutiful, but no longer mindless. Starting now, she intended to have an opinion when it came to her own life.

Her parents and even Squire Jeffries may be none too pleased with it, but she knew without a moment’s doubt that Ash would be proud of her. Somehow, that made all the difference.

W
arm, surprisingly humid air caressed Prudence’s skin as she slipped out the little-used door in her father’s study and onto the terrace. The rain today had nearly ruined her plans, but it had finally stopped around dinnertime, and when the clouds parted by bedtime, she had breathed a sigh of relief.

She would dance tonight, by Jove, albeit with wet feet.

Even as her heart beat wildly with the small but still real possibility of being caught, she couldn’t contain her excitement for attempting something so daring. She’d never in her life snuck out of her own house. She’d never even had reason to leave her room past bedtime. This little outing was the very definition of breaking free of her parents’ rules.

She grinned, savoring the feeling. She rather liked the idea of being just a little bit wicked. Of course, it helped that no one was the wiser. If she thought that she was disappointing someone, it would have leached all the fun from the night.

Her bare fingers skimmed the wet iron railing as she hurried down the stairs and into the rose garden. The scent of the summer blooms enveloped her, and she couldn’t help but smile. The last time she had been in the garden, Ash had been at her side.

She pressed her lips together, allowing herself to picture him in the way she wasn’t supposed to—as an attractive, virile, more-than-appealing young man. Just for a moment. It wouldn’t do to allow her mind to wander too far down that path. As much as she liked him, as much as it made her stomach dance to speak with him, and made her heart pound to see him, he was just a friend.

Since each of them was betrothed to another, it was all he could ever be.

She followed the winding gravel path toward the gate to the lawn, her slippers barely making a whisper as she moved. The barefoot part of the evening would begin after she emerged onto the lawn, where the possibility of stepping on rocks or sticks declined significantly. She wanted to be free, not bruised-footed.

The white light of the moon illuminated the grounds quite handily, bright enough to cast shadows even. She would have known her way through the garden blindfolded, but there was a certain security to being able to see. After the murky water debacle, she preferred to know what was around her. Nothing was going to jump out and scare her now—

“Good evening.”

Prudence gave a short shriek as her hands flew to her throat.
Mercy!
Almost at once she recognized that the soft, low voice belonged to the viscount, not that her still-racing heartbeat acknowledged it. “For heaven’s sake, Ash—you scared the daylights out of me,” she gasped, lightheaded from the sudden surge of fear that had careened through her.

Though she could barely see him, she knew exactly where he was: sitting on the bench beneath the old oak tree. He was just an inky spot against the shadows, little more than a figment of her imagination.

Her heart still clamored in her chest, making her feel as though she’d just run a footrace. She didn’t know if she wanted to strangle him for scaring her or embrace him for not being a highwayman. Or worse: her father.

“My apologies,” he said, coming to his feet. “I did try to speak softly so as not to startle you.” Beneath the shadowed branches of the tree, his features were too dark to be read, but the humor in his voice was readily apparent.

“It wasn’t
how
you spoke, so much as the fact that you are here at all. Thank goodness one can’t die from fright. If it were possible, I’m certain I would have expired on the spot.”

As he emerged from the shadows into the watery light of the moon, she could easily see the white flash of his teeth as he grinned at her. He was simply dressed in a plain dark coat and waistcoat, with pale breeches and his favorite boots. His shirt and cravat were bluish white in the moonlight, while his hair appeared almost black.

“I have faith that you are made of sterner stuff than that. After all, you did swim in a lake
I
never would have stepped foot in, sans the protection of clothing, even.”

“Something I am trying very hard to forget,” she said, only half teasing.

“Well then, perhaps we need to give you something new to remember.” He paused at the gate and crossed his arms. “A certain moonlight dance, perchance?”

His meaning hit her all at once. He wasn’t here simply to support her; he was here to
dance
with her. The familiar flutter in her middle whenever he was near multiplied, and she bit her lip against the sensation.

They’d never actually danced together before. At past events, they’d shared a few cordial words here, a polite comment there, but he hadn’t been present on the rare occasions she attended the country dances, and the events at his home that she’d attended had never included the activity.

And she would have remembered. If nothing else, she would have been all thumbs in the face of his inherent grace. She swallowed now, willing her heart to calm and her legs to work properly tonight.

“I didn’t mean a couples dance when I created my list,” she said by way of meager protest. She simply couldn’t deny that the idea of dancing with him was wholly appealing. So appealing, in fact, that she made no move to open the gate, wanting to keep the barrier between them intact.

“Then it’s a good thing the list is open to improvement. Now then, as you might expect, I am well versed in all forms of dance. But given the circumstances, it’s clear that only a waltz will do.”

A
waltz?
Longing slipped through her like a warm breeze. Swallowing, she shook her head. “You must be joking. My mother would never let me participate in such a thing!”

He rolled his eyes, his smile never leaving his face. “How very provincial. I assure you, even the most fastidious young ladies and the most overbearing mamas approve of waltzing in London. In fact, it is quite expected. Fortunately for you, I am an accomplished waltz dancer and an excellent teacher.”

It was so very tempting. She’d seen it done only once, but she’d read much about it in the society pages of the
Times
, to which her father maintained a faithful, if sadly delayed, subscription.
Lord B and Miss H shared not one, but two waltzes at Lord and Lady Granville’s magnificent ball. Might there be an announcement in the near future? One imagines the books at White’s are already filling with wagers relating to the possible match . . .

“Pru?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She bit her lip. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t accept his scandalous offer. “You really ought not to have come. If we were to be caught, then—”

“Then someone else would have to have a reason for being out of doors at this time of night, and chances are it would be just as scandalous.” He swung around, indicating the empty landscape around them, before turning back to face her with a grin. “Stop worrying, my friend. ’Tis merely you, me, and the nightingales.”

“But—”

“And if someone did miraculously stumble upon us, at least we would be fully clothed, which is much more than I could have said two days ago.”

“
Ashby
,” she said sternly, scowling at him in the darkness. “You really
must
forget that you ever witnessed that particular incident. I can’t have you continue to be part of my list if you insist on speaking of the items on it.”

He stepped closer, reached around to the fence latch, and pulled it open. “You are absolutely right. Now, let us get on with the dancing while the moonlight is cooperating.”

He was irrepressible. And irresistible. With him standing so near, she couldn’t seem to remember the reasons why she shouldn’t waltz with him. “But there’s no music. How are we to keep time?” It was a feeble protest, and she knew it.

He slipped one hand behind her back and gently led her beyond the path and onto the manicured grass of the lawn. “I know all the best waltz music by heart. I’ll hum for us.”

Turning to face her fully, he offered a very formal bow. “Miss Landon, would you do me the honor?” He held his hand, palm up, and waited for her to accept, one eyebrow lifted in challenge all the while.

Gracious.
Between his beckoning hand and his winning little half-smile, he was hard to resist. And the way he was looking at her, as though he knew she had it in her to break even the most ingrained rules and do as she pleased, if only in the moment . . .

It made her want to prove him right.

Taking a breath, she reached out and slipped her fingers into his. His hands were bare like hers, and the feel of his skin against hers was momentarily shocking. She was immediately rewarded with a quick squeeze of her hand and the flash of his white-toothed smile. He wrapped his other hand around her back and pulled her in close. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice ripe with promise and daring.

The heat of his fingers at her back was nothing short of intoxicating. She leaned toward him like a willow branch in the breeze as she nodded. This was to be her first waltz, and she couldn’t think of a more perfect partner to share it with.

He drew a breath, lifted his arms, then abruptly paused. “Your shoes,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“My shoes?” she murmured dumbly, still reveling in the feel of his bare fingers clasping hers.

His lips quirked up with amusement. “If you wish to dance barefoot, you’d best remove them.”

“Oh. Oh yes, of course,” she said, quickly kicking them off. The barefoot part had temporarily been eclipsed by the waltzing part, but she still wanted to fulfill her original challenge.

The cool, damp grass tickled the bottoms of her feet. It was the oddest sensation—soft and prickly all at once. She smiled up at him, feeling both slightly ridiculous and utterly happy. “Shall we?”

Without another word, he swung them into motion, humming low and deep with a baritone she hadn’t expected. She didn’t recognize the tune, but she loved the way the melody swung lazily back and forth, like a boat rocking on gentle waves. Ash guided her step by step, his movements firm and capable. She’d never danced quite so intimately before, but it was something she could certainly get used to. She felt as though she could have been floating across the finest dance floor in London, a grand orchestra punctuating their every step.

It was beyond thrilling. Here she was, barefoot in the moonlight at midnight, waltzing with the most handsome, charming man in the county, with no one to tell her she couldn’t. No one to override her desires, or make her feel guilty about such an indulgence.

And it
was
an indulgence. It was more delicious than lemon cake, more freeing than swimming naked, more exciting than being called by her given name.