Chapter 84

His throat dried as if someone had cut the air supply to his windpipe. Babs gathered her skirts and walked away? Followed by Violetta? Babs? How convenient if Babs married Baxby, saving him from ever worrying about that tiresome institution again. Why the blazes hadn't he thought of that before tonight? Marriage was what Babs wanted. Now he saw her, it was what he wanted too. It didn't have to be to him.
And if her cart-horseship bolted down the stairs, bawling her eyes out, because he danced with Babs, his reputation would be thoroughly enhanced.
Bleeding, bloody hell though, there didn't seem to be any danger of that given the way she stood there smiling. How could he have been so foolish as to blackmail this woman? The evening couldn't be more ruined than if it were some ancient castle set on shifting sands and besieged by Viking raiders. He tried swallowing the bile in the back of his throat, but it stuck.
"Is it because I said you were looking at the potted palms that you've now caused a bloody, great, embarrassing row in front of people? Something I would never do."
"Me neither, Your Grace." She spread her fan. "But it really wasn't that bad a row. If that's what you think of as a row, well, your existence must have been very sheltered."
"What is this?" he demanded. "Revenge? Because I asked you here?"
"You asked my cousin to ask me here. It's quite a different thing. And I don't know that ask was the correct term for it."
"A pox on the correct term for it. You never said no."
"Well, it's an evening out. Better than sitting in dear Mrs. Hanney's looking at the washing drying."
"But now you want to prove to me that it was a mistake, is that it? Because believe me-"
"Now I want to help you as you've helped Nathan."
Well, of course, he might have known she'd turn the tables on him. Damn her. To hell.She flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"I mean if the object in asking me here is to make Lady Langley jealous, taking to the floor with her won't achieve anything."
"I don't see-"
"Uh. It will only make you angrier, and she will have the run of things. But there, what do I know? Who you choose to make a fool of yourself over is no concern of mine."
He flicked his gaze sideways, largely to mask his fury. "Excuse me?"
"Granted."
"Who says I am making a fool of myself? That is something I never do."
"It is something all of us think, Your Grace, but invariably we do, because we are fools. We just don't have a magic looking glass that says so. We are invariably never rude either."
He swallowed the knot in his throat. Of course he was rude. He just was uncertain how rude he should be to her as Lady Splendor. He had not felt for years. So what the hell did she think she was doing hammering mirrors up on the bleak canvas of his heart with her stupid words? Words that were as tiresomely empty as his soul. He hadn't made a fool of himself just now.
But what if he had? Was that the real reason she had taken his arm a moment ago, because she recognized in time the small things that comprised a soul and bound them to another? Him and Babs for example? And she'd just joined a dance set with Baxby. He tensed harder, the muscles knotting in his back. Was it so damned obvious he wanted her? It must be for this specimen to come to his aid.
"So you're saying what? That I'm doing this wrong? Well?"
"If you're trying to make her jealous you're not doing it right."
"And how would you know?"
"How would I not?"
"I should take to the floor with you, is that it? Well, I'd take your advice if I didn't think you have an axe to grind."
"So long as it's not into your head, Your Grace, I really don't see what your problem is. But there, come here for nothing tonight."
"Fine." He drew himself up to his full height. Even if it was suicide to stand on that floor when he'd two left feet, he had his reputation to consider. She had a point about making Babs jealous. It was an excellent plan even if he'd rather chew off his tongue than say so. After Marietta he had some trust issues. He set his face in a scowl.
"Then, by all means, may I have this dance?" He extended his hand.
"But of course, Your Grace." Her gloved fingers brushed his.
"Thank you."
"When you tell me where you were earlier?"
"Tell you?" he snarled. "What do you mean, tell you? What the bloody-"
"Uh." She held up a warning finger. "This is about manners, Your Grace. About learning that little thing called patience."
"I am patient. I am the most patient person I know. What the bloody hell has patience got to do with this?"
"Everything. You play chess, don't you?" She smiled slowly. "So you should know. And that Lady Langley is looking this way."
He tried not to return the compliment.
"I believe I asked you a question about dancing. I suggest you answer it-"
"And I suggest you go to hell. It's what I ask, I'm afraid, or-"
"But if you must know I was detained. My daughter. Are you satisfied now?"
"Your ... "
The look she turned on him was searching. She didn't think he could possibly have a child? Or that he cared for her? Why the hell did it matter that she thought he was the devil incarnate when for years it was precisely what he wanted people to think? Except that he wanted onto that dance floor, and he wasn't going to get it if he didn't demonstrate his affability, even if demonstrating his affability nearly killed him.
He cleared his throat. "Phoebe. She gave her governess the slip. It is something she does from time to time. And then ... "
"She runs away to you?"
Why did he feel her shock, her astonishment? As if running away from him would make more sense? Damn her when Babs was on that floor. He dragged his eyebrows together, creating a bridge above his eyes.
"Marietta is hard to live with."
"Marietta?"
"Yes, bloody Marietta. Now I've answered your question; can we dance?"
The pull he took on himself was not one he would normally take. Didn't she know how honored she was to receive his apology? He never wasted time on such things. She smiled.
"Well ... "
"What do you mean, well?"
"Yes . Yes is what I mean. "
"Then ... "
"There's just one thing I neglected to say."
"What the bloody hell is that?"
"I can't dance."
And she somehow thought he would show her, standing there with his two left feet? He'd bloody well have to if he wanted to make Babs see what she was missing.
Feeling his eyes sink to the back of their sockets, he clasped her hand, led her forward, and took a deep breath. "Stand."
Taking another deep breath, he held his hand across his face. "Clasp my hand. Just do as I say. I am no dancer, but it's quite simple, really. Are you listening? Put your arm ... like so." He indicated his own in front of his face. "Not that one. The other one. The one that mirrors mine. For God's sake, I don't bite."
"That's the thing with teeth, what they say and what they do."
"Do you think I honestly give a damn whether they bite or not?"
"Very well."
His fingertips brushed hers. What he hoped was that Babs was watching. What he knew was this woman's scent in his nostrils. Lavender water and violet but fresh, not cloying, like a forest on a spring day. A scent that was so strangely provocative in its own right he found himself following it, following her, as if she'd put a gun to his head and demanded his non-existent heart.
Did people really have this kind of perfection? As he had learned with Marietta did they, hell. So, for him to feel in this flimsy press of bodies, his coat lapels against the loose dress she wore, the merest brush, the tiniest touch, was ridiculous enough to make him laugh. Christ, on a three-legged rat riding around King's Mews. But laughter was suddenly as far as distant constellations from his lips, as far as exotic galaxies he had no hope of visiting, even as he turned and she did too, dancers on a slowly revolving carousel pole, their bodies drawing even closer.
It was only one night, wasn't it? And one night did not a lifetime make.
Certainly not with her.