Sweet Bargain (12 page)

"No matter," said Darlington, "there are partners enough for all the pretty girls." His glance avoided Bel.

"Is the earl here yet, Mr. Darlington?" asked Ellen.

"He's talking with your uncle."

Ellen spun to look through the open doors of the hall where they were to dance, and Darlington laughed. "Do you fancy him for a partner, Ellen? Am I to be cast in the shade at my own party?"

"I didn't mean ..." Ellen began, turning back to the group.

"Do tell us about his lordship, Mr. Darlington," said Fanny. "It seems an odd freak for a man with any substantial property to buy old Courtland. The place has been a ruin for ten years or more."

"But, Fanny," said Phillip, "Courtland has the best stretch of river in the county."

"Rivers," said Louisa, "that's all you think about here. I am sure the earl thinks more about the society of the neighborhood than the fishing."

"Perhaps Bel can tell us," said Darlington. "She's quite a close acquaintance of Haverly's already."

At Darlington's pointed pairing of herself and Haverly, Bel stiffened. The others were staring, and the little space that separated her from them now seemed a distinct gap. Pride had enabled her to endure her cousins' slights, the smirks with which they had greeted her appearance in the old white gown, their unkindness to Phillip, but her pride was stirring dangerously now, bringing blistering words to mind. Her hands clenched into fists around the ends of her shawl.

"We have all met Lord Haverly, Mr. Darlington," said Ellen, glaring at Bel. "Bel can't claim to know him better than any of the other Shaws."

"Oh, but she can," insisted Darlington, looking not at Ellen but at Bel.

Bel raised her chin. She smiled sweetly at her host, and in a voice that perfectly mimicked her cousins' London tones, she said, "Why, yes, didn't I tell you, Louisa? Just the other day the earl was saying how much he prefers the solitude of the river to the society of—"

"It's true," came a quiet voice from behind Bel.

She did not turn. She knew the voice, knew from Phillip's startled face and Fanny's sudden alert interest who it was who stood at her elbow.

"Miss Shaw and her brothers have been among my first acquaintances here," said Haverly.

Bel turned then, and her little movement allowed him to enter their circle. She looked up defiantly, but he merely nodded and did not return her glance. If he meant to join in the attack on her character, he gave no sign.

"Miss Fletcher." He nodded to Ellen. "Shaw," he greeted Phillip. "Darlington, will you present your other guests to me?" he asked.

As the introductions were made, Bel glanced at him. He was at his haughtiest, his expression cool and unrevealing. She was sure not even Fanny, who seemed to study him most closely, could find fault with the elegance of his person. He wore a deep green coat over fawn inexpressibles and a cream waistcoat that emphasized the whiteness of the linen at his throat. Nothing in his maimer as he spoke to the others betrayed the least awareness of her at his side, though his nearness started a faint quiver deep inside her where she had not imagined there to be any sensation possible.

"I wonder, Lord Haverly, that we did not meet you in London this spring," said Louisa.

"I can only regret it, Miss Shaw," came the reply.

At the sound of the orchestra tuning, Fanny reminded them all that a set was forming. "Our numbers are sadly uneven-unless, perhaps, you would join us, Lord Haverly?"

He did not answer, and Bel glanced at him again, wondering at his hesitation.

"Haverly, you've been offered the pick of the evening with three such ladies unpromised before you," said Darlington, with a careless sweep of his arm that indicated Ellen, Louisa, and Fanny, posed like the goddesses for Paris' judgment. What Paris, Bel wondered, could resist such loveliness?

"Perhaps the numbers might be evened another way," said the earl, turning to Bel for the first time. She met his gaze. He paused. "I promised the squire I would see his bit of river while it is still light. Miss Shaw, would you accompany me?"

Someone gasped, but Bel did not turn to see who it was. Haverly looked as distant as a god, but he was offering escape.

"Of course," she said. He offered his arm, and she took it. The silence behind them as they strolled across the terrace assured her that they would soon be the subject of her cousins' gossip.

Nick listened to the gravel crunch under their feet, let his heartbeat steady, and tried to think of something to say other than the words uppermost in his mind—
kiss me
. She was wearing white again, a gown of some soft cloth that made him think of moonlight on still water. The fringe of her shawl was the blue of her eyes, and her honey-gold hair was done up in a way that let him admire the curve of her neck and the hollow of her throat. He had been wise not to look at her earlier.

The path they had chosen followed the uneven edge of a wood of elm and silver birch and lay in gentle loops like the undulations his settling line would trace as he finished a perfect cast. Strains of music from the opening set drifted out to them on the still air.

Rallying, he asked, "Are you fond of dancing, Miss Shaw?"

"Yes," she answered. "And you, Lord Haverly?"

Nick considered and rejected the truth. "You needn't call me that, Miss Shaw," he said stiffly. "And you must remind me to return you to the ball in good time."

"Must I?" asked Bel. She raised an eyebrow. "And what am I to call you?"

He laughed. "I suppose it's asking too much that you would call me Nick?"

She appeared to weigh the idea. "It is," she replied, suddenly serious.

They walked on in silence until Nick began to develop a distinct aversion for the dry, brittle sound of gravel. Then a new thought occurred.

"Miss Shaw, you did agree to accompany me just now."

Bel nodded.

"And you were aware that one likely consequence of our leaving the group was that we would become the next topic of conversation among those who remained behind."

"Nothing is more certain," she replied.

"Then it is no new resentment that keeps you silent in my company? Merely the old?"

"What
am
I to call you?" she demanded, glancing up at him.

It was a mistake to look into his eyes, Bel discovered, for he had a way of looking at her as if he had quite forgotten the existence of any other person. The quivery knot inside her expanded and sent tremors along her limbs.

"If not Nick, you mean?" He appeared to ponder her question. "I have other names. I have certainly been called other things, few of which I can repeat to you. Farre calls me 'lad' as often as not. There is 'sir,' or, if you prefer, the more contemptuous 'sirrah.' But which of these allows you to express the exact shade of distance and implacable resentment you feel toward me—I cannot advise you on that."

"You are being kind, you know," she said.

He laughed a brief harsh laugh. "Now that's something you have not yet accused me of being. I cannot recall doing a kind act in my life."

"No 'little nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love that are the best part of a good man's life'?" she teased.

"Don't let the poet mislead you, Miss Shaw. You know what I hope for, even here among your friends and family. You refused to speak to me in the village the other day on account of it."

Yes, she knew. Their bargain. At the thought of it, certain sensations she had been but dimly aware of seemed to demand her full attention. The brush of her arm against the lean framework of his ribs, the quiver of her fingertips against the tense strength of his arm. She would do well to remember his contempt for her and her family. "Have you had any further attacks on your property?" she asked.

"None."

"But you still hold my brothers responsible for the earlier attacks?"

"I do." He paused. "And
you
still find my insults to your family unforgivable?"

"I do."

The river was just below them now, and across it the haymakers were tossing the last forks of new cut hay on ricks, a pair of sturdy round women in white caps and aprons were setting tankards on a plank table, and a fiddler was tuning his instrument. The squire had provided a celebration for his people as well as his grander neighbors.

"Nature seems to favor the prosaic over the poetic tonight," Nick said lightly, regretting his reference to their bargain.

His companion looked up at him, and he momentarily lost his easy stride.

"This golden light will hardly do for faeries or ... lovers," he explained, "and it is their night, isn't it?"

"But it is early yet, and faeries will keep to the woods, you know. They are far more likely to visit your stretch of the Ashe than the squire's."

"Are there no faeries in these woods?" he asked, looking up at the dark edge of the wood above them.

"Not likely." She laughed. "The squire wouldn't dream of entertaining such company as Oberon and Puck."

"And Titania?" he asked. "The faerie queen?"

But she looked away. "We had best return to the ball," she said. "If I keep you from the dancing, I shall be judged very harshly by all the other ladies of the neighborhood."

He made no reply.

They turned from the river and began to make their way up the hill. The sky had taken on a rich violet hue, and the lights and music from the squire's hall seemed impossibly distant. Bel thought their gaiety did not beckon so much as suggest a perfect indifference to all those unfortunate enough to be in the dark. At the center of the gay whirl that was the squire's party, more indifferent than all the rest, would be the Shaws. And the earl would see it. He would see at once Ellen's tireless self-promotion, the airs of Fanny and Louisa, the self-satisfaction of her aunts and uncles, and the inattention and indulgence of her own parents. He must not see it. She must raze such an image from her own mind.

She was grateful for the fading light. By the time they reached the turn in the path that led to Mrs. Darlington's garden, she was blinking away hot tears. She kept her mouth firmly shut on a sob that threatened to escape. With the fingers of her free hand she tried vainly to loosen the strings of the reticule dangling at her wrist so that she might retrieve a bit of linen. It was these efforts that drew her companion's attention to her tears.

"Miss Shaw, what is it?" he asked.

She shook her head and slipped her arm from his to reach into her bag for a handkerchief to press to her nose. She would not cry.

He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her through a rustic, rose-covered arch of crossed poles that marked the entrance to the garden. The path beneath their feet changed to grass and led in just a few steps to a tall hedge where they must turn left or right.

"Which way?" he asked. 'Is there a bench somewhere?"

She pointed to the right, and he urged her onward. But when they rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly, and she looked up.

Emily Pence and John Lyde sat wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying a very thorough embrace. Bel stepped back, but the pair on the bench started and looked up. For a moment no one spoke. Then Emily drew herself up a little, tugged at a slipping piece of lace, and said haughtily, "We
are
betrothed, you know."

"Please, excuse us," said the earl. He turned Bel around, and they retraced their steps to the hedge. But when she would have left the shelter of the little garden, he shook his head and pulled her along the path, around the other corner, and on until a turning brought them to a high wall. There he stopped and, leaning against the wall, gathered her to him and held her while the tears came.

Her tears were foolish beyond permission, Bel knew. She did not think ill of her family. Whatever the pretensions of Fanny and Louisa, they were superior and well-bred girls. However silly and unkind Ellen had been, she was a young woman of sense. Whatever her brothers had done to the earl's stream, they were honest and loyal. However preoccupied her parents had been, they were just and cared about their neighbors. It was only in the company of this man that her family appeared in a bad light, and she herself appeared impatient and over-proud. The Shaws had every claim to pride. Still the tears came, and in her struggle to overcome them she pressed her face against the earl's taut chest.

When she had regained some measure of control, she straightened and tried to pull out of her companion's arms, but the gentle hold was firm and unyielding.

"Is it our bargain that brings these tears?" he asked.

"No," she said, looking at the fashionable knot of his cravat. Conscious of the warm points where their bodies touched, of her arms caught against his chest, of his hands at the small of her back, of her limbs pressed to his, she sought to right herself, to dispell the intimacy of the moment.

She shifted slightly so that her body did not lean into his, though his arms still encircled her. "Thank you for rescuing me tonight," she said.

"I am glad you see it as a rescue and not an abduction."

"You must not have heard the conversation if you can consider it an abduction." She felt his heart beat against her wrists, meeting her own pulse.

"I heard."

"Then you know. They were being odious, and I ... I used you to depress their pretensions."

"Use me so any time, Miss Shaw."

She shook her head. "No, you must not be kind when I can't ..."

With a sudden rough gesture he cupped her chin in one hand and tipped her face up, compelling her to meet his gaze. "Don't think me kind. Not now. Not when I have you in my arms ... and want your kiss against all reason."

His eyes told her it was true.

"One?" she asked.

"One." With that word, the night seemed to enclose them in a sweet violet stillness, as deep, as magical as a faerie wood. He released her chin and drew her to him again. As he bent his head, she closed her eyes. His lips met hers gently at first, and then as if he meant to offer himself to her wholly and without reserve; in response her lips parted to drink in all that frankness and generosity. At once he paused. She felt a tremor shake him, and he drew back. There was no breath in her to speak. Above her he leaned his head against the wall, and she saw the pulse in his throat pound with the same frantic rhythm that beat in her. He steadied his breathing and looked down at her.