A Christmas Dance Page 4

  He wanted to tell her he understood, that he didn’t care a jot what her circumstances had been, nor what they were at present. As a wealthy earl with modest tastes, expenses, and social ambitions he could well afford to take an undowered bride. Unfortunately, he rather doubted, “I wouldn’t mind marrying a poor woman,” would serve to make her smile again. And he very much he wanted to see her smile again.

  “I wager my nephew a worse case than your neighbor,” he offered.

  “Unlikely,” she replied. “It was said even the dogs outside the butcher’s door wouldn’t go near her.”

  “Did she ever draw blood?”

  “On occasion.”

  “But did she leave scars?”

  She frowned thoughtfully, which he decided was an improvement over frowning with discomfort. “Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “She was a very little girl.”

  “No excuse.” He stopped walking to pull off the glove of his right hand, and held it up to reveal four small white crescents, two on each side of his index finger. “Courtesy of William Grant Higgs, my cannibalistic little namesake.”

  To his great delight, her mouth fell open, then curved up as she reached out to take his hand and pull it toward her for a closer look. “Good heavens. They’re the perfect impressions of little teeth, aren’t they?”

  Her fingers felt small and warm as they slid down to hold his palm. He had an image of what it would be like to have those small, warm fingers working to untie his cravat, sliding across his chest, his back, down his . . . He cleared his throat and shoved the image aside. They were on a public street for pity’s sake. “Ah, yes, unfortunately. There’s no lying about how I got them.”

  She straightened again, her rediscovered smile firmly in place. It wavered a little when she glanced down to see their hands still joined. He felt a spark of awareness pass between them before she blushed and dropped his hand. “Why. . .Why should you want to lie about them?”

  If they hadn’t been on a public street, and if he’d been the sort of man who acted on a whim, he might have recaptured her hand and pulled her in for a kiss. She was nearly irresistible with the hint of rose at her cheeks.

  He smiled at her instead. “It’s a bit embarrassing, if you must know. Ten years as a soldier, several of them fighting a very bloody war, and I managed to emerge without a lasting physical mark on me.” He scowled at his finger. “Five minutes alone with a toddler and I’m scarred for life.”

  A small laugh escaped her. “Yes, they’re quite disfiguring.”

  “They’re a bit new yet,” he reminded her, and began to replace his glove. “I’m told scars mellow some with age.”

  “I believe that’s wine.”

  “Probably,” he conceded. “The information did come from the brat’s mother.” He squinted at a curricle coming towards them at a clipped pace. “Isn’t that Miss Meldrin and Mr. Seager? I thought they’d only just left.”

  “They’ve been out no more than a half hour,” Patience affirmed as the curricle came to stop before them. “Is everything all right, Caroline?”

  “Oh, yes.” Caroline, looking a trifle over heated with a thick wool blanket wrapped about her knees. “I’m simply not feeling quite the thing, I’m afraid.”

  “I see,” Patience replied slowly. “That was very sudden.”

  “Yes, well.” She pushed at the blanket a bit. “You know how these headaches come on without warning.”

  “They do, indeed,” Patience agreed. “How fortune for you they resolve themselves just as quickly.”

  Carolina nudged a little more of the blanket off. “Well, not always--”

  “And you know there’s very little that seems to help so much as a bit of fresh air,” Patience continued. I imagine by the time Mr. Seager turns about and reaches Hyde Park, you’ll be feeling remarkably better.”

  Caroline’s face took on a stubborn cast as Mr. Seager reached over to replace the blanket. “I rather doubt it.”

  “Well, if you’re certain.” Patience waved her hand in the direction of the Meldrin House. “I’m sure your mother will fix a powder for you, and--”

  Caroline’s gaze snapped to the direction of her town house. “Mother’s returned?”

  “She has.”

  Mr. Seager smiled pleasantly. “That’s fortunate, isn’t it? I’m sure your mother will know what to do for you.”

  “She certainly will,” Patience said and gave Caroline a knowing smile. “Are you quite sure you won’t give the fresh air a try?”

  “Well. . .I. . .” Caroline’s gaze shifted from the direction of her home, to Mr. Seager, then back again. “Yes. Yes, perhaps I should. Mr. Seager, would it be too much trouble to turn about for a ride in the park?”

  He looked momentarily confused. “No trouble at all, if that’s what you want.”

  By Caroline’s pained expression, William thought it fairly clear she wanted nothing of the sort.

  “I find it the most agreeable option, at present,” she fairly grumbled. But by Mr. Seager’s elated expression, William assumed the man heard nothing beyond the word “agreeable.”

  “Excellent. Excellent.” Mr. Seager picked up the reins again. “Perhaps we’ll see you at the park, then, Lord Casslebury. Miss Byerly.”

  William waited until Mr. Seager had driven out of earshot before saying, “She doesn’t have the headache, I take it?”

  Patience did a very poor job of hiding a smile as she watched the curricle roll away. “I’m sure I don’t take your meaning.”

  “I’m surprised Mr. Seager didn’t recognize your meaning, or Miss Meldrin’s.” He shook his head before resuming their leisurely stroll toward the park. “He’s not the cleverest of men, is he?”

  Patience shrugged. “They say love blinds.”

  “Is he in love with her, then?”

  “I don’t know. He’s certainly very taken with her.”

  “The admiration isn’t returned,” he guessed.

  She pushed her spectacles up with her finger. “She’s not yet given him a chance.”

  “It would seem she doesn’t care to,” he pointed out. “Will she be angry with you for coercing her into spending time with a gentleman who doesn’t interest her?”

  “It’s no more than what Mrs. Meldrin would’ve done, should Caroline have returned home. Less, really, as I’m not quite so inclined to lecture.”

  * * *

  Patience slid a sideways glance at Lord Casslebury and wondered if there was anything behind all his questions about Caroline. It was possible he was simply making idle conversation. It was also possible that her original instincts were correct and he was spending time with her in an effort to better know her friend.

  Though she preferred to think he wasn’t the sort to be so disingenuous as to bring her flowers when it was Caroline he sought, in truth, she didn’t know him well enough to say for certain.

  It shouldn’t matter. Hadn’t she told herself only last night that it didn’t matter?

  But that had been before he’d brought her flowers and asked her for a stroll in a park she’d yearned to visit, but only seen from a passing carriage. . That had been before he’d told her of his family, and she’d admitted to him she’d never played Bob-Apple, or had wassail, or celebrated Christmas with her father. That was before she knew he looked even more handsome in the sun than he did by candlelight and that the mere feel of his hand in hers could send her blood racing.

  It had been before the tiny flicker of hope had been lit. It was a rash, premature, and very likely futile light of hope, but she hadn’t the heart to put it out. Neither did she have the confidence to fan it higher—not without knowing for certain.

  “Are you pursuing me in an effort to gain my friend’s attention?”

  She wanted to snatch the question back almost before it left her tongue. She hadn’t meant to ask so bluntly—she wasn’t sure if she’d wanted to ask at all--but then, she never meant to be awkward or ill-mannered; it simply happened.

>   To her immense relief, Lord Casslebury didn’t appear to find fault with her inquiry. He simply smiled good naturedly and said, “I assure you, Patience, if I were interested in gaining Miss Meldrin’s attention, I could manage the feat on my own.”

  “Then why--?” This time, she literally bit the end of her tongue to silence herself.

  “Why am I taking a stroll with you?” he guessed. “For the pleasure of your company, of course.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, even as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described my company as an avenue for joy before.”

  “I doubt anyone else has witnessed your unique way of eating cake before.”

  She pulled a face. “I do wish you’d forget that.”

  “I might consider it. If you could see your way to telling me why you did it.”

  They turned the corner that signaled the final block before the park. “I did it for Caroline.”

  “I surmised as much.”

  “It’s always gratifying to have one’s suspicions confirmed,” she said smartly. “Now, if we could move on to topics of--”

  “Why did Caroline require you to eat the cake in one bite,” he clarified. “Answer that, and we’ll move on to whatever you like.”

  “Caroline doesn’t particularly care for the. . .” She waved her hand a bit as she searched for a way to describe her friend’s peculiarities in the best possible light. “. . .the attention of the ton. She would prefer to spend her evenings in a quiet room with a good book.”

  “Are you saying she’s shy?”

  “No. Not exactly. She’s simply. . .less interested in social activities than many young ladies her age.”

  “I see,” he replied in that way one does when hopelessly confused.

  “She made a bargain of a sort with me,” Patience explained. “If I could eat the cake in one bite, she would dance two dances. She’s always been fond of my ability to. . .well. . .”

  “Consume unorthodixacally?”

  “Precisely. I think. Is unorthodixacally a word?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied just quickly enough to make her suspect he wasn’t quite sure. “How did she become aware of that ability?”

  “Oh, I don’t recall exactly. It came up in a conversation one day, and she asked for a demonstration. I obliged her.”

  “I would very much have liked to heard that exchange. Have you any other talents?”

  After a moment’s consideration she said, “I’ve a passable singing voice.”

  “Commendable, but I was referring to the unusual.”

  She slid another covert glance toward him and thought, I could watch you for hours on end without blinking. Will that do? But what she said was, “I’m afraid not.”

  Chapter 4

  Crowds of people were, in William’s opinion, very much like his sister’s children. They were too loud, too disorganized, and too often turning up where they could cause the most inconvenience.

  William scanned the droves of people who had come out to Hyde Park to enjoy the fine weather, and congratulated himself on having a plan that would allow him and Patience to avoid the most congested areas.

  There was a small bench partially hidden by an old oak tree not far from where they stood. That was where he and Patience would sit and hold a sedate discussion on the genteel topics of art, literature, travel, and at some point, the mysterious elderly gentleman from the night before.

  Patience flatly refused to cooperate with his plan, beginning with her cheerful insistence they not sit at all. She’d prefer to walk a bit longer.

  He rocked on his heels, his jaw tensing just a little, as she looked about, excitement etched into every feature. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied before turning to him. “Why?”

  Why? She couldn’t be serious. “How else do you expect us to get there?”

  She shrugged. “By arriving, I suppose.”

  He gave himself a moment to try to wrap his mind around that bit of logic. It didn’t help. “But one must first know where--”

  “Have you never gone out for a stroll without having a specific destination in mind?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. How peculiar.”

  “I’m peculiar?”

  “Well, no, you’re not, but the fact you’ve never gone walking about for the sake of walking about is. Surely you did so as a child.”

  “Not that I recall.”

  She blinked at him, obviously caught between amused and fascinated. “You never once headed out of doors to play without first knowing where you were headed?”

  He thought about it. “No.”

  Now she was gaping just a little. “You planned your leisure activities in advance as a child?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You are peculiar,” she teased on a laugh.

  He fought back a smile and sniffed in what he hoped was a very peer of the realm sort of way. “There is nothing at all peculiar about desiring a bit of structure in one’s life.”

  “No, of course not,” she agreed with considerable conviction. “Life can be quite difficult without some semblance of order, but when one wishes for a spot of play. . .” She trailed off and tilted her head at him. “Do you play?”

  “I’ve been known to indulge in cards and billiards on occasion.”

  “I see.” She pushed her spectacles up. “And do you plan those occasions in advance as well?”

  He did, in fact. “Choose a destination, if you would please, Miss Byerly.”

  She grinned at him. “Since you’re so keen on the idea, perhaps I should let you do the honors.”

  “Very well.”

  He led her toward the small bench. Halfway there, she pulled him off in another direction so she could sigh over Mr. Brinkly’s gray arabs, and then in another so she could coo over Mrs. Wenthurst’s fat and--in William’s opinion—excessively friendly bulldog, and then in yet another so she could seek out pebbles to toss in the water. Willing to compromise, he let her take the lead while he attempted to steer the conversation to the topics of his choice. She met each of those attempts with interest and enthusiasm, before promptly changing the subject to something entirely unrelated.

  She was, in short, utterly unpredictable.

  After a brief period of bafflement and frustration, William reminded himself that he wanted a woman who was not fettered by plans and schedules. And after another brief period of reminding himself why he wanted such a thing, he finally allowed himself the simple pleasure of watching Miss Patience Byerly enjoy the day.

  And it was a very great pleasure, indeed. She was full of energy and life, obvious in her attempt to take advantage of everything a day in the park had to offer. She laughed a great deal, and smiled a great deal more. And he found himself laughing and smiling alongside her. It was impossible not to find delight in the company of such a remarkable young woman.

  Still, he was relieved when she seemed to wear herself out and finally agreed to sit and rest a while.

  * * *

  Patience sighed as they settled on a bench. Her gloves were dirty from picking up rocks, her legs ached from all the walking, her hair was slipping out from her bonnet, and she had a sizable pebble stuck in her boot. She couldn’t have been happier. “This has been wonderful, Lord Casslebury. Thank you.”

  He smiled at her, and for the dozenth time just that day, her heart caught at the sight. He was devilishly handsome when he smiled. Of course, he was devilishly handsome all the time, but no more so, in her opinion, than when his lips were curved in a smile. It was the way his dark eyes crinkled a little at the corners, she decided. It gave him the appearance of being just on the verge of laughter, and made her desperate to know what would send him over the precipice. Almost as desperate as she was to know what it would be like to stretch up and feel that smile against her mouth.

  It was a lovely, if rather unladylike, daydream, and one she’d had several times in just the la
st few hours. Ever since she’d taken his hand to peer at his scars. There’d been a moment of. . .of something between them. She dearly wished she had a name for what that something was. It had made her breathless, deliciously anxious, and a bit weak around the knees. She wondered if she might experience it again.

  There was certainly some of it about at present—the tingle of nerves when his leg brushed against hers on the bench, the sense of anticipation when his eyes dipped down to her mouth. . .just as they were doing now. Those eyes lingered, then darkened, and she felt a pleasant warmth move across her skin.

  “Patience. . .”

  “Hmm?”

  His gaze snapped up to hers suddenly, and he said something under his breath she thought perhaps was a curse, followed by what sounded rather like, “this isn’t the place.”

  It took a moment for understanding to seep in, but when it did, the pleasant warmth she’d been experiencing was immediately replaced by the heat of embarrassment. She looked away, and desperate to cover the sudden tension between them, said the first thing that came to mind. “I. . .I don’t think it’s proper for you to use my given name.”

  “Did I?” She turned back to see a corner of his mouth curve up briefly. “I suppose I did. You’ll have to call me William, then. In the interest of being fair.”

  That statement was quite effective in distracting her from her from the tension. “I don’t think--”

  “I insist,” he added in an easy and confident tone that told her he was accustomed to having his orders followed.

  Patience opened her mouth, closed it again. It wasn’t at all proper to address each other by their given names after so short an acquaintance. But was it more, or less, improper to refuse an insistent earl? She had absolutely no idea. Perhaps they were equally grievous breeches of etiquette. That seemed her sort of luck. “I’m not at all sure--”

  “At least when we’re alone,” he relented.

  “We’re not alone now.”

  “When no one else can hear, then. And while we’re having a conversation no one else can hear,” he continue before she could argue, “why don’t you tell me who the elderly gentleman was at the ball last night?”