Lessons In Loving (11 page)

‘Ignore all that,' Tom said as he took his seat beside Kate. ‘Local no-account rubbish. A little drunk. Can I fetch you something? Chocolate? Cheese?'

‘Thank you for your kind offer, Tom,' she said. ‘Perhaps later. Might I be excused for a moment? I need a new handkerchief. I left some in a bag in the landau.'

‘Let me fetch them for you, Kate. It's dark out there.'

‘Thank you, Tom. But you're rather in demand. I'll dash out now. Be back in a moment.'

‘Very well. If you're sure?'

She excused herself from the table and headed for the park where Tom had left the landau. She found it, and her handkerchief. Then, as she walked carefully back towards the hall, teetering on her heels, a voice made her turn.

‘Good evening, Princess Kate.'

She took in the dinner suit-clad shape in the half-dark, walking a few steps behind her. The nasal, sarcastic voice told her it was Silas Smith.

‘So you're Mr Wonkywords' governess.'

She looked away, headed towards the hall.

He closed the distance between them, and seized her arm. ‘Just a moment, please, sweetie pie. A chap wants to chat for a bit.' He spoke slowly, then paused. ‘Know what? The blokes reckon you're the belle of the ball. You're wasted on Wonkywords.'

‘Kindly let go of my arm. Please.' Kate tried to keep her voice calm as her heart pounded. She tugged, but he held her tight. In the gloom of the night, lit only by the coloured lanterns above the hall doorway, the man's eyes burned with threat. As she stared into his face, he suddenly transformed into a raw predatory male.

‘So what does Miss Sweetie Pie teach Mr Wonkywords all day?' His voice turned sweet, pseudo-seductive. ‘Oh, and what does she teach him at night? Far away in the depths of Kenilworthless?'

‘Please. Let me go!' Kate fought tears. She mustn't sound weak. She tugged her arm hard, broke free, turned to walk back to the hall. ‘Keep away, Silas. Please.'

He grabbed her wrist again. His grip tightened till it hurt. Panic flashed through her, surged into heart-stopping fear. She couldn't outrun the man while she wore those ridiculous heels. What could she do? The street was deserted. If she screamed, would anyone hear? Would the man drag her away into the dark?

‘We'll take a little stroll. Down to yonder creek.' He pointed. ‘Cool off a bit, eh?' He took a step along the footpath into the dark, dragging her easily despite her struggles. She drew a long breath, ready to scream for help.

‘Kate!' Tom's voice cracked through the dark like a rifle shot.

‘Tom!' she gasped. ‘Heeelp me!'

Then the sound of running feet, the jerk to Kate's still tightly gripped arm as Silas broke into a run. Tom reached Silas, seized him, yanked him to a stop.

‘Let go the lady's hand!' Tom spoke through clenched teeth, his voice an animal snarl. ‘Before I flatten you.'

‘Flatten me?' Silas giggled. ‘You and what army, Wonky boy?'

‘I've asked you once. Now let her go!'

‘Me and the lady—we're taking a little walk.' Silas tugged his arm free of Tom's grip, swung a punch. It thudded into Tom's chest, halting him for a moment. ‘Poor girl needs a little fresh air.' Silas giggled. ‘Away from—'

Smack! Tom's fist smashed into Silas's jaw. Silas reeled, regained his balance as he gripped Kate's arm.

Smack! Tom landed a second punch. Silas's grip on Kate's arm faltered. He fell to the pavement. Kate heard a thud as his head hit the ground. Then he groaned. So he was conscious.

‘Mmm.' Tom looked down at the man sprawled on the pavement, then took Kate's shaky hand. ‘We must go. Leave that garbage to rot.'

‘But shouldn't we—?'

‘Don't worry. His cronies will be out and about looking for him soon enough. Let's return to our table. Our friends will be concerned about us.'

Tom's words needed no explaining. Kate walked with him, heart thudding, as he strode back towards the hall. As she held his hand tight and kept close beside him, she heard his angry breaths subside. Her grip on his hand tightened of its own accord. That hand's warmth, its strength, was a lifebelt thrown to her as she was flung about in a stormy sea. She'd resist the urge to wrap her arms round his waist, press against the warmth of that lean muscular body. She must thank the man who'd just saved her from something—awful. Thank him from the depths of her heart. But how?

‘You're not hurt, Kate?' he asked, solving that problem for the moment.

‘No. Just a little shaken.' She rubbed her wrist where Silas had gripped it, took long, slow breaths. ‘That horrible man. What was he …?'

‘I told you. A local no-account. Fighting drunk. He acts like that after a few too many beers. What would you call it?'

‘Dutch courage? It doesn't matter. You saved me. I'll never, ever, be able to thank you enough, Tom.' He squeezed her hand, lightly, supportively. ‘I was so frightened. Thank goodness you appeared in the nick of time.'

‘Well then. Perhaps a healing glass of champagne?' Tom eased a gentle arm round her waist.

‘Thank you. Let's head back. Join in the fun.' Kate squeezed his hand tight once more, hoping he'd read it as her way of thanking him without words.

As the night waltzed by, they danced again. Whenever they took to the floor, Kate's nervousness dissolved. Perhaps Tom had chosen easy dances for her, having deduced that the slow two-step was her favourite. A few minutes later, as they flowed round the floor, the music died.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.' The orchestra's conductor turned to face the crowd. ‘A special request from a young lady.' He pointed to an elderly white-haired woman sitting close to the stage. She wore a blazing purple ball gown with a fox fur draped round her shoulders., She must have been at least eighty.

‘Miss Emily has asked for a tango. Not to dance herself. She told us she loves watching the tango. So …'

A few couples left the floor, laughing to their friends that they weren't equal to the athletics of the tango. Then the conductor turned to the players. They stopped juggling their music sheets, set their instruments at the ready. The leader flicked his baton and the jaunty music surged through the hall. As the exciting rhythm seduced the audience, the more confident dancers stepped onto the floor.

‘I'll lead, you follow,' Tom ordered the confused Kate. ‘Now spin!' Miraculously, she survived the first spin. With practice, she might even enjoy the next. She did, glowing with the heady excitement of her unexpected success. Then, as he twirled the arm she held above her, ready for another flirt with paradise, she tripped. Ouch! Pain shot up her leg. She'd twisted her ankle. She slid to the floor in a heap. The dancers ignored her.

‘Help!' Kate squeaked. She struggled back onto her feet. Pain exploded through her ankle like an electric charge. She held out an arm to Tom. He took her hand, eased her towards their table.

‘Aaaah! My ankle.' Kate gasped with pain.

‘Here.' Tom draped one of her arms round his neck, swept her off the floor, and carried her to their table in his arms.

‘Perhaps you might take a look at Kate's ankle, Harry?' Through her agony, she heard the caring in Tom's quiet request as he spoke to his doctor friend.

‘The tango was perhaps a bit much for you, Kate?' Croydon Creek's doctor looked hard at her, sympathy glowing in his eyes.

‘My ankle,' Kate gasped. ‘The pain's killing me.'

‘Forgive me. This might not be the best time or place, but I should like to take a quick look.' He stood. ‘Sit here. Put your foot on my chair. Take off your shoe.' She obeyed, wincing.

‘I'll try not to hurt. Just take a quick look.' He took her bare foot and twisted it gently. She squealed with pain. ‘Can you feel my fingers on your toes?'

‘Yes, but—' She couldn't tell him the twisting had hurt badly.

‘Now, a little tweak this way.' He turned her ankle gently. This time the pain was bearable. She merely moaned.

‘Yes.' Harry transformed back into a caring doctor. ‘As I suspected. Not a fracture, just a rather bad sprain.'

‘But it really hurts!'

‘A quick injection? To relieve the pain? I keep my little black bag in my carriage.'

‘Please.' Kate abandoned her brave face. ‘The sooner, the better, Doctor.'

In seconds, Harry returned. While the dancers gyrated to the intoxicating music, oblivious to Kate's pain, he took syringe and ampoule from his bag and slid the needle into her ankle. She let out a breath of relief as the warm, numb feeling swam up her leg.

‘You should sit quietly for a bit,' Harry said. ‘Perhaps a little drink?'

‘Thank you, Doctor. If you approve?'

‘It's entirely appropriate. We'll describe it as a medical emergency.'

Tom had stood beside her while Harry worked at his doctorly caring. He topped up her glass.

‘You poor, poor little lamb,' he whispered. She'd never heard that sweet, compassionate emotion in his voice before. It was comforting to sense that he hurt with her.

‘I should take you home,' he said, his face full of concern.

‘No. I mustn't spoil the party. Go and dance your heart out, Tom. I'll just sit quietly. Doctor's orders.'

‘I couldn't do that,' Tom said, looking down at her with the care she'd read in his voice. ‘Not when my dancing partner's in pain.' He turned to the doctor.

‘What do you think, Harry?'

‘Mmm. If it still hurts after the shot I gave her, she must be in a bad way. I can tell she's not a lady given to crocodile tears. She'd be better off lying prone with the ankle elevated. When she gets home, she should take something to help her sleep.'

‘It's a three hour ride home, Harry.'

‘You should leave now. The sooner the better.'

‘We have a good supply of painkiller pills at the house,' Tom said. ‘You need to keep a quantity of such things on a property that's a long way from town.'

‘We don't need to go.' Kate winced at the thought. ‘I could lie on the landau seat. I'll probably nod off in a few minutes. But I absolutely must not be a wet blanket. Not tonight, of all nights.'

‘Goodnight, folks.' Tom lifted Kate off her chair, and stood with her cradled in his arms. In spite of her pain, and the dizziness brought on by the injection, she knew that he cared for her. She sagged into the hard warmth of his chest, heard the slow thud-thud of his heart as her ear pressed close to him. The table guests murmured their goodbyes, their so-sorries, their invitations to meet again soon.

Kate let herself go limp in Tom's arms, enjoying the closeness. A few dancers glanced at them as they headed for the door, but most concentrated on the tango. Outside in the friendly dark, Tom eased her into her seat. His gentleness surprised her. Again, she fought the urge to pull him down beside her. Seconds later, the clip-clop of the horses' shoes told her he was driving down Croydon Creek's main street.

It seemed only minutes later that she woke. The injection had worked as a strong anaesthetic. Tom had stopped the landau. All was quiet, dark.

‘Where am I?' Kate mumbled, still three-quarters asleep.

‘Good. You're awake.' Tom spoke in a friendly whisper. ‘We're home, Kate. I'll just carry you to your bed.'

As she opened her mouth to protest, she weighed her options. She must not attempt to walk, to flex her sleeping ankle. Not now that the pain had subsided to a gentle ache. It would be easier if she pretended to be fast asleep. She let her eyes flicker shut. He eased her out of the landau into his arms. She'd come to enjoy wilting against his chest. Now she nestled there again, basking in the warm closeness of his body.

‘Kate.' Tom spoke in a friendly whisper. She buttoned her lips. ‘Are you awake?' She replied with a long, slow intake of breath. Most likely, he'd think she was sound asleep.

It was a long walk to her cottage. When he reached the door, he opened it with one hand while he held her close with the other. He carried her upstairs to her bedroom, then laid her on her bed in the half-dark. She murmured, stretched, keeping her eyes closed, still feigning sleep.

‘Goodnight, little one.' His whisper told her he cared. Cared for the fragile body stretched on the bed, eyes closed, apparently asleep. She felt him slip the shoe off her good foot, then ease a pillow under her ankles. Doctor Harry had said that elevation was good for sprains.

Then Tom's fingers slipped into her hair. Bless his tender heart. In the friendly dark, she felt him grope for the big jewelled hair clips and slide them out so she might lie more comfortably. He eased a pillow under her head. Then the brush of something soft, warm, on her mouth. His lips! He was kissing her! A slow, soft, unhurried, real, kiss.

The kiss ended. Electric shocks surged through her body. A rustling sound came from somewhere close. She felt a rug being draped over her. Seconds later, she heard tiptoeing footsteps, the gentle click of the cottage's closing front door. She lay in the dark, awash in the waves of emotion, sizzling, spine-jangling, that now broke over her body. She smiled so hard, her just-kissed lips hurt. A knight in shining armour had rescued her from the ball, driven her home, carried her to her bed, and kissed her goodnight. How could she sleep after that?

CHAPTER 8

Dawn broke over the hills as Tom walked from Kate's cottage to the Big House. He was cross with himself. Why had he kissed Kate when his heart was absolutely set on wooing Laetitia? It couldn't have been the lust common to all male animals—the energy that drives a bull to smash down a fence to reach a cow smiling at him from the next paddock. Sure, Kate had looked mouth-wateringly beautiful when he stole glances at her while they sat round the table with his friends. And dancing with her slender body against his, warm and close, flexing against him, had been—pleasant. Too pleasant for his wayward male instincts. His body had responded in a way which was inappropriate.