B006DTZ3FY EBOK (16 page)

“W
ell, I had thought of walking in the garden.
”

“E
xcellent.
”

“B
ut now it looks
like
rain.
”

“D
oes it?
”
He smiled down at her. He could not stop smiling.
“I
see nothing but sunshine.
”

She blushed!
A hit, by thunder, a hit.

“M
r. Whittaker.
”
There was a slight quiver in her voice.
“P
ray do not smile at me so.
”

“I
can
’
t help it.
”

“Y
ou put me out of countenance.
”

“I
mpossible. You are never at a loss.
”

Now she looked vexed.
“Y
ou are teasing me.
”

“T
easing you?
”
he exclaimed.
“N
onsense. I never knew anyone with so much poise. You
’
re famous for it. I daresay I could beam at you like the village idiot for hours on end, and you
’
d never turn a hair.
”

She covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a tiny gasp of laughter.
“I
beg you will not make the attempt! Pray remember, Der
—
Mr. Whittaker, that you promised to do nothing alarming if I allowed you to escort me.
”

“O
h, would that alarm you?
”

“E
xceedingly!
”

“T
hen I shall refrain,
”
he promised.
“F
or the moment.
”

She looked flustered. She looked very pretty flustered, of course. They walked on while she seemed to struggle with herself.
“I
hope you understand,
”
she said at last,
“
that I am wholly unused to this sort of thing.
”

“W
hat sort of thing?
”

“T
easing. And flummery. And
—
well, I don
’
t know what else to call it. Blarney!
”

“A
h, yes. You were reared in Ireland.
”
He chuckled.
“I’
ve never been to Blarney.
”

“W
ell, no one would guess it,
”
she said tartly.
“Y
ou
’
ve such a gift for nonsense, I imagine the Blarney stone would kiss
you
if it could, rather than the other way about.
”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“
Cynthia
, me darlin
’
, I hope that
’
s a compliment.
”

She choked.
“I
t isn
’
t. And that
’
s the worst attempt at a brogue I
’
ve ever heard.
”

He grinned.
“I
t made you laugh, at any rate. I like to make you laugh.
”

Her smile was ali
ght with laughter
, but she shook her head.
“I
don
’
t know why you make me laugh,
”
she remarked.
“I
t isn
’
t the things you say, precisely. It
’
s something in your manner.
”

“R
ight,
”
he agreed.
“W
hat I lack in actual wit, I make up in silliness.
”

“O
h, dear. Is that what I said?
”

“S
omething like it. Never mind! I don
’
t much care if you think me a simpleton, as long as you
smile for me
.
”

She looked scandalized.
“D
erek, really
—
! No one could possibly think you a simpleton.
”

They had wandered down to the ground floor by now. Voices could be heard down the passage; evidently a group of some kind had gathered in the library.
Cynthia
headed automatically toward the hum of conversation. Derek placed a hand on her arm to stop her. She halted, the amusement vanishing from her face.

“D
on
’
t go in,
”
he said seriously, lowering his voice so they could not be overheard.
“I
hunted everywhere for you this morning. After expending so much effort to find you, I intend to keep you.
”
He tried to return to flippancy, hoping it would relax her guard.
“I
think I deserve it. Don
’
t you?
”

With his hand on her arm, he could feel the tremor that ran through her.
“K
eep
me?
”
she repeated faintly.
“I
don
’
t know what you mean.
”

“K
eep you with me,
”
he amended.
“F
or the present.
”
It wasn
’
t what he had meant
—
not entirely
—
but it would do for now. He lowered his voice further.
“W
e have much to say to each other.
”

The mood immediately shifted. The very air seemed to thicken around them. When she did not reply, he added, very softly,
“I
must speak to you or go mad.
”

For a moment she did not move. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to his.
“D
on
’
t you understand?
”
Her
eyes were filled with misery. H
er voice was nearly inaudible.
“T
here is nothing I can say
to you. And nothing you can say
that I should hear. I should not have walked with you, even so far as this.
”
She pulled away from him, shivering.
“D
o not persecute me. Let me go.
”

But he couldn
’
t let her go.

He stepped to block her path.
“F
ive minutes. That
’
s not too much to ask, is it?
”
He saw refusal in her eyes and hastily revised his request.
“V
ery well; three. Three minutes.
”

She was rigid with tension. Her gaze darted to the open doorway down the passage.
“I
cannot. Not even three minutes. Not here. Not now.
”

“W
here, then? And when?
”

“D
erek, for pity
’
s sake
—”

“I’
ll meet you wherever you say, whenever you say.
”

“N
owhere! And never.
”

She tried to sidestep him, but again he blocked her path. This time he backed her slowly toward the wall.
“Y
ou won
’
t escape me,
”
he told her, his voice low but forceful.
“Y
ou know you won
’
t escape me. I
’
ll haunt you,
Cynthia
, as you have haunted me. You don
’
t know what I have suffered, these three years.
”

She came up against the wall and, perforce, halted.
“I
do know,
”
she whispered. Her face was white and drawn.
“I
suffered
too.
”

Her nearness was maddening. He wanted to crush himself against her body. He wanted it so badly he felt himself shaking from the effort to not touch her.
“M
eet me tonight.
”
He loomed over her, his voice rasping from the tightness in his throat.
“I
don
’
t care where.
”

He saw her eyes dilate. He could see her pulse jump in the hollow of her throat. Her lips parted. She whispered, as if in a trance,
“A
t the top of the stairs. I
’
ll meet you at the top of the stairs.
”

“W
hen?
”

“M
idnight. No
—
a quarter to twelve. I
’
ll meet you at a quarter to twelve.
”

“I’
ll be there.
”
He took a breath and straightened, breaking the spell.
Cynthia
raised a trembling hand to her cheek, seeming horror-struck at what she had promised. Then she turned, ducked beneath his outstretched arm, and fled.

He smiled at her retreating form. Victory sang in his veins; he wanted to shout and leap and punch the air.
“W
hich stairs?
”
he murmured aloud, but the passage was empty. Derek grinned.
“N
ever mind,
”
he told the absent
Cynthia
.
“I’
ll find you.
”

Chapter
9
             
             
             
             

Cynthia
laid the seven of diamonds face-up on the table before her, neatly covering all save the top half-inch of the eight of clubs. Derek groaned aloud and Hannah cried,
“
Cynthia
, you wretch!
”

“N
ow, then, now then,
”
chided Mr. Ellsworth, chuckling.
“S
he
’
s only playing the game, you know.
”

“Y
es, but must she play the game so frightfully well?
”
Derek looked at his own cards with apparent disgust.
“I
shall never be rid of this lot.
”

Cynthia
permitted herself a tiny smile.
“I
t
’
s only a game, Mr. Whittaker.
”

“O
ne I am destined to lose, as usual. Have you done all the damage you intend to do, Lady
Cynthia
?
”

She surveyed the pattern of cards laid on the table, carefully comparing them to the hand she held. It was difficult to concentrate on the rules of the game with Derek so near. She decided it was better to hazard a guess than to think it all out; everyone
’
s eyes were upon her, and she could not bear close scrutiny tonight.
“I
believe so,
”
she said, feigning a tranquillity she did not feel.

The play passed to Derek. He pretended to curse under his breath, comically moving his cards this way and that, as if they might magically change into playable cards when viewed in a slightly different order. Time passed. Twice he selected a card from the unwieldy stack fanned out against his palm, and let his hand hover over the table as if about to drop it into place. Both times he returned the selected card to his hand, shaking his head and muttering furiously. Hannah eventually began to giggle, and Mr. Ellsworth ventured a good-natured protest:
“I
say, dear chap, play or draw. Play or draw.
”

Cynthia
could not laugh. She dared not drop her guard that far. She watched Derek from under her lashes, her mask of utter calm firmly in place. Beneath her outward poise, she could feel her heart galloping. She was able to spend the evening at Derek
’
s side, her knee a few inches from his beneath the card table, only because Hannah and Mr. Ellsworth were rounding out the foursome. She scarcely dared meet her mother
’
s eyes tonight; she was deliberately trying to give the impression that it was Mr. Ellsworth she was encouraging. But she knew, in her heart, that he
r newborn rebellion was alive and kicking
. In fact, the urge to defy her parents and follow her heart seemed to grow hourly stronger.

She must nip this dangerous impulse in the bud. This, she told herself firmly, was the real reason why she had agreed to meet Mr. Whittaker tonight. Not for any illicit purpose. Merely to set matters straight, once for all. She would explain everything to him, and he would understand. And even if he didn
’
t understand, he would leave her alone in future
—
once she had made it perfectly plain to him that he must. For his own sake as well as hers, she reminded herself. She would be doing him a favor by rejecting him plainly. Irrevocably. Hope was a deceptive emotion that led only to greater p
ain. She would spare him pain. S
he would leave him no hope.

Of course, she thought she had done that once before. It was terrible to have to do it twice. The first time, at the embassy ball, had been hard enough. She had wept until dawn that night. This night, she promised herself, there would be no weeping. She had no time for regret.

The porcelain clock on the mantel chimed ten. Derek gave no sign that he heard it, for which she was deeply grateful. Every tick, every chime, every reminder that their rendezvous inexorably approached, seemed to send a flicker of sudden heat through
Cynthia
’
s veins. Was it fear or excitement that had her so on edge tonight? Both, she thought, and she could not decide which thrill dominated.

Not that it mattered. Both emotions were completely beside the point. More than irrelevant, they were inappropriate. She had nothing
—
nothing
—to feel either excited about
or fearful of. She was going to have a discussion with Mr. Whittaker tonight. A private discussion, but a discussion; no more. She would clarify a few points
—
gently, but firmly
—
and withdraw.

Why did she have to keep
reminding
herself of that resolve? It was almost as if ..
. as if her mind were
not irrevocably made up. Which it was. Of course it was. It had to be. It
was.

Cynthia
suddenly became aware that she was clutching her cards in a death-grip. She forced herself to take a calming breath and loosen her hold.
Nothing to be afraid of,
she told her hammering heart.
Nothing to get excited about.
And still her unruly emotions boiled and sang, rattled and hissed and hummed. Anticipation thrummed through her, making her feel as giddy and sick as if she were running a fever. Thank heaven it would soon be over. An hour
and forty-five minutes from now
... no; an hour and a half.

At that realization, she had to take another deep breath.

As far as she could tell, Derek was behaving in a perfectly normal, unconcerned fashion. She hoped she was matching his excellent example. She was never very chatty in a group, so perhaps no one noticed her preoccupation. Her mother would surely see something amiss, if given the opportunity to observe her, but the card game had removed
Cynthia
from Mama
’
s orbit. And she had deliberately chosen a seat that turned her back to the rest of the room.

Under the cover of Hannah
’
s playing her turn,
Cynthia
sneaked a covert glance at Derek. Every time she looked at him, another flicker of heat shot through her. To
Cynthia
, he was masculine perfection, beautifully displayed in a coat of blue superfine set off with spotless white linen. Nothing ostentatious; nothing extreme; just the simple, elegant cut of a London tailor that showed off his tall, well-formed person. Candlelight gleamed on the dark waves of his hair. His profile was perfect, his mouth well-cut and
firmly muscled. His cheek bones... the line of his jaw
... the shape
of his hands, strong and clean
... everything about him made her dizzy with desire.

But handsome didn
’
t begin to describe him, she thought, her heart aching. He was so much more than a collection of pretty features. There was strength and confidence in his bearing, an aura of command tempered with self-deprecating humor. Leadership came so naturally to him, he seemed unaware that his vitality was anything out of the common way. His modesty was as endearing as his strength. And, most important, most attractive to her, there was deep kindness in his warm, brown eyes.

Oh, this was torture. She dropped her eyes back to her cards, trying to ignore Derek
’
s overwhelming presence. But it wa
s like trying to ignore gravity. H
e pulled and tugged at her consc
iousness no matter what she did
or where she tried to turn her mind. The more she knew of him, the stronger her conviction grew that he was exactly what he had seemed to be, that long-ago night in London: the man of her dreams. And the h
arder it was to face her future
... a future that would not have Derek Whittaker in it.

The clock ticked. The cards were laid and drawn and shuffled and dealt. Laughter and chatter surrounded her.
Cynthia
felt as if she were wrapped in cotton wool, suffocating beneath the duty of smiling and talking and following the game. Just as the last hand of their game was ending, eleven o
’
clock chimed.
Three quarters of an hour from now.
Cynthia
’
s pulse rate kicked up another notch.

She sneaked another peek at Derek. It was a silly thing to do; had he been looking at her, their eyes would have met and her carefully constructed wall of composure might have crumbled. However, he was not looking at her. He was looking across the room, an absent frown clouding his brow.

She followed the direction of his gaze and saw that he was watching his sister. She was still registering this fact when she heard the scrape of Derek
’
s chair as he stood, tossing his cards down. He excused himself pleasantly from the table, promised he
’
d back in time for the reckoning
—“
you will all have a chance to abuse me, and tell me what an abysmal player I am
”
—
and walked away, strolling casually up to the group surrounding Lady Malcolm. She saw him bend and whisper to Lady Malcolm for a moment. Lady Malcolm nodded, looking a little embarrassed. Derek straightened and caught his brother-in-law
’
s eye, giving him an almost imperceptible signal; a tiny jerk of the chin to direct Lord Malcolm
’
s attention. Lord Malcolm
’
s gaze immediately swivelled round and fixed on his wife, a frown of concern gathering on his face. He lost no time in making their excuses and removing his wife. In less than a minute, Lady Malcolm was gone, ushered lovingly out of the room and off to bed.

Cynthia
felt her throat grow tight with unexpected emotion. She must be more overwrought than she knew. Why would witnessing that simple little scene touch her so?

Derek returned to the card table.
Cynthia
dared not look directly at him for long, but she did glance up as he seated himself.
“I
hope your sister is not unwell,
”
she ventured.

“S
he looked tired,
”
said Derek. His swift smile forced
Cynthia
to look away. It was painful to refuse to smile back at him
—
but Mama
’
s eyes were on her now. She had felt them on her when she turned to watch Derek cross the room.

“Y
ou are a good brother.
”
The words felt pulled from her. She hadn
’
t meant to say them. She hadn
’
t intended to say anything more than she already had.
Cynthia
bit her lip, staring wretchedly down at her hands. She could not lift her face.

“N
atalie is a good sister.
”

Well. That wasn
’
t so alarming. He had sounded perfectly off-hand. She must try to match his nonchalance. Since she still could not look directly at Derek, she aimed her smile at Hannah and Mr. Ellsworth.
“L
ady Malcolm is fortunate, I think, to have two men guarding her with such care.
”

“S
he doesn
’
t think so.
”
Derek sounded amused.
“N
atalie calls it an embarrassment of riches. She often begs us to stop fussing over her.
”

Hannah giggled.
“I
think it would be lovely. You may both transfer your fussing to me, if you like. I shan
’
t complain.
”

Cynthia
thought it would be lovely, too. She could not imagine her own brothers noticing if she looked tired, let alone taking action on her behalf. Not even if she were in the family way. Would she, someday, have a husband who tenderly cared for her? The prospect seemed dim.

The thought made her glance automatically at John Ellsworth. She was struck, again, with how poorly he compared to the par
agon across the table from him.

But she mustn
’
t think about that.

She watched him for a moment, trying, for the dozenth time this evening, to ascertain the state of Mr. Ellsworth
’
s affections. Irritation rose in her. He did not seem particularly interested in her, she thought. If anything, he seemed rather afraid of her. She had tried to moderate her natural coolness in his presence
—
especially when Mama was around to observe it
—
but Mr. Ellsworth was one of those souls who hid an innate shyness behind a genial, overly hearty manner. Such people were very difficult to read. She could not perceive any sure
signs of attraction to herself—
but, on the other hand, he did not seem especially drawn to Hannah. He was, in fact, bafflingly unresponsive to any and all lures cast in his direction. And
Cynthia
hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry.