The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (11 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
n the end, Hedley decided to wear the blue dress. She preferred not to be quite
so
visible for her very first dinner. The blue was a lovely satin accented with darker ribbons crisscrossed over the bodice, and a long skirt embroidered in silver thread. The best part was that it shimmered in the torchlight when she walked.

Instead of the tips of her red shoes peeking out from beneath her hem, white-beaded slippers caught her gaze, though they pinched ever so slightly. It served as a reminder that no matter how lovely her evening promised to be, she didn’t really belong. The thought only amplified her nervousness and sent a fresh wave of icy dampness to her palms.

While she was glad to be here, this would be her first formal dinner. Before the accident, she’d dined in the nursery. She remembered how her nurse had constantly remarked on the number of rules to follow for a proper young lady. Yet Hedley had never finished those lessons. She only hoped that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

“We should have a party here at Fallow Hall and invite all the neighbors. Since you never had a Season, we shall give you a party.” Calliope linked arms with her as they walked down the long staircase.

Before Hedley could answer, a familiar gray beast bounded up the stairs, tongue lolling off to the side and tail wagging so wildly that he lost his balance and missed a step.

Hedley laughed, automatically reaching out to pet him but then hesitated when she saw her pristine white gloves. “Boris, I would pet you, but I am wearing borrowed gloves.”

“Woof!”

“Not borrowed at all,” Calliope said and reached out with her own elegantly adorned hand to scratch Boris behind the ears. “They are your gloves. In fact, all the clothes are yours.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“You’d prefer to pack them away in order to feed the moths and mice. Ah, you have a generous spirit, Miss Sinclair.” Calliope laughed. “However, I would much rather give these clothes, and the others, a breath of life before they are moth-eaten and threadbare.”

Hedley felt the flesh of her cheeks tighten from smiling so broadly. “Are you insisting?”

“I am.”

“Very well, then.” She was quite certain that her expression revealed that doing so was no hardship at all. Then, reaching out, she gave Boris a solid pat. “He’s a good sort, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Calliope answered. “Even if he cannot decide which name suits him.”

Having his fill of affection, Boris turned around and bounded back down the stairs, tearing off through the hall. Hedley wondered why he seemed in such a hurry. “He has more than one?” Though, remembering back to her first encounter with Rafe at Greyson Park, she thought he had mentioned something similar.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Calliope nodded. “You have met the esteemed Boris Reginald James Brutus, also known as Duke. Danvers likes to call him Boris. Everhart and I call him Duke. Yet the truth is, our friend here has several names and does not come to any of them. Of course, you may choose whichever name suits you—although he seems to prefer that
you
call him Boris.” Calliope’s brows lifted in something of a secret smile but for reasons unknown to Hedley. “My aunt had called him a brute during her visit here and, I have recently learned, for good reason. Both her prized Pekingese are expecting a litter any day now. He was a very naughty matchmaker.”

Naughty, indeed. “Matchmaker?”

“It’s a bit of foolishness on my part,” Calliope said with an absent wave of her hand. “But every time I turned around, he was always leading me to Everhart. That dog is
Cupid
on four legs. So if you truly do not want to marry, then be on your guard around that loveable beast.”

Hedley laughed at the silliness. “I have been warned.”

In the foyer, Valentine offered an elegant bow. “Good evening, my lady. Miss Sinclair.”

“And to you, Valentine,” Hedley said with a smile. His mouth twitched in something of a grin as they passed.

Together, Calliope and Hedley walked down a series of halls, admiring paintings and tapestries. Fallow Hall was a mixture of masculine and feminine, with little touches of freshly cut flowers here and there to soften the battle scenes on display.

“In typical English houses, we would all gather in the parlor or drawing room before dinner. Since this is Fallow Hall, however, we’ve taken to starting our evenings in the map room,” Calliope offered, a rosy blush tinting her cheeks.

Hedley looked for the source of her friend’s apparent warmth. When they reached a pair of French doors that led into a vast open chamber with Everhart waiting at the door, she understood Calliope’s blush immediately. Heat and something akin to hunger fairly radiated from Everhart as he looked at his bride. Hedley looked away.

Within the room, a staircase curved to a loft above. The walls were covered with maps, and a cheery fire crackled in the hearth. By the time Hedley’s gaze alighted on the other occupants of the room, she saw two of them seemingly arrested, glasses paused midway to their mouths. Boris stood between them, wagging his tail.

“Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the radiant Miss Hedley Sinclair.” Calliope ushered her into the room. “Hedley, you know Everhart and Danvers, of course, but the other dashing gentleman before you is Lord Lucan Montwood.”

The gentleman in question stepped forward and bowed. “Lucan Montwood, at your service, Miss Sinclair.”

Uncertain of whether or not to curtsy, Hedley slid one foot behind the other and bent her knees. “My lord, a pleasure. And please call me Hedley.”

As she rose, she looked to Rafe to see if he would mock her for doing the wrong thing. But he was still standing there with his glass suspended in his grasp.

“And you may call me whatever you like,” Montwood replied with a grin as he looked from her to Rafe. Montwood chucked Rafe on the shoulder. “Danvers, where are your manners?”

Rafe blinked. Then he cleared his throat and lowered his glass. “Yes, of course. Might I introduce my friend Lord Lucan Montwood.”

Calliope laughed and Everhart chuckled. Hedley saw a gleam brighten Montwood’s gaze as he inclined his head once more. “At your service . . .
again
, Hedley.”

Hedley recalled what her friend had told her earlier about gentlemen revealing more in their actions and in what they do
not
say. If that was true, then she’d managed to stun Rafe. His easy, devilish grin was absent. In fact, he was looking at her as if they were strangers.

Standing before him in all this finery, Hedley had stripped away the easy comfort between them. While the rest of the party might find it amusing, to her it was quite depressing.

Without saying a word to Rafe, she gave her attention to Montwood, who was now walking toward her.

He proffered his arm. “Might I be your escort this evening?”

“I would be delighted.” And she hoped her smile was convincing.

D
inner was a grand affair. Hedley had never sat at such a fine table. At Sinclair House, she was usually given a tray of broth and a hunk of bread to eat by herself in the attic. Here, it was all elegance, with silverware that reflected the flame of each candle like mirrors, and crystal goblets that glistened, turning the lamplight into slashes of rainbows on the white tablecloth. Though the food was not better than the broth, or even the porridge, at Sinclair House, the setting and company made all the difference.

Surreptitiously, she kept her eye on Calliope, who sat at the end of the table, and mimicked everything she did. Everhart sat opposite his wife. Montwood sat at the corner, between Hedley and Calliope, and across the table, Rafe.

For reasons beyond her understanding, he’d turned surly. Each point of the conversation directed at his side of the table ended as quickly as it began. But she learned much from Everhart and Montwood, who effortlessly wove together new threads to the old in order to keep their dinner pleasant. All but one in the party made her feel as if she belonged here.

As dinner progressed, she began to wonder if Rafe regretted their familiarity. He would hardly look at her. Although when he did, his gaze turned fierce in a way that she hadn’t witnessed before. He didn’t eat much. More than anything, he pushed the food around on his plate. Not even the pudding pleased his palate. And when he looked across the table, his expression was accusatory, as if it were her fault.

His heated indictment, however, had the opposite effect he’d likely hoped for, she was sure. Because instead of losing her appetite, hers increased. She was ravenous. But the food did not satiate her. Instead, it left her feeling decidedly frustrated.

Not soon enough, the end of dinner came.

“Would you mind forgoing the usual custom of leaving the gentlemen alone with their port and cheroots, and instead gather in the music room?” Calliope asked as they stood beside the table.

“I would love to.” Not only did Hedley want to put some distance between her and Rafe, but she was thrilled by the prospect of hearing music.

For years, Ursa had taken lessons from a piano master. Hedley, on the other hand, had become familiar with the perfect hiding places closest to the music room at Sinclair House. While Ursa’s discordant playing had not been pleasant, the master had made such wondrous sounds that every note had seemed alive to Hedley. She’d always found herself humming the same tune for days.

Rafe cleared his throat and withdrew a slender silver case from his breast pocket. “I will join the party shortly. Montwood, I trust that you will see to our guest’s enjoyment.” His words came out short, clipped, as if under duress, leaving her to wonder why he didn’t ask Calliope instead. After all, she seemed the more natural choice.

Montwood bowed. “It would be my pleasure.”

Devoid of answer or explanation to Rafe’s peculiar change in temperament, Hedley adjourned with the others.

Moments later, she found herself sitting next to Montwood at the piano, pleasantly distracted. The keys were so white and shiny below their black counterparts. She fought a terrible urge to remove her gloves and run her fingers over them. Instead, she contented herself with watching the effortless motions of Montwood’s fingers.

It didn’t even appear that he was touching the keys but, more so, gliding over them. Whenever he added a little trill that didn’t seem like it belonged, she would look up at his face, and he would grin at her, flashing a dimple in his cheek.

She felt comfortable here, beside him. As comfortable as she was with Calliope. Hedley knew right away that Montwood was a kindred spirit. He didn’t make her nervous or cause her heart to turn slushy. Instead, he possessed a pleasant, easy charm that she admired. Yet sometimes she noticed that a dark, haunted look would cross his gaze in an all-too-familiar way.

She’d seen a similar look in her own reflection.

“Have you played for many years?” she asked. He was just as good as the piano master had been, if not better.

“A few.” For an instant, Montwood appeared as if that was all he would say on the matter. Then, he surprised Hedley by looking at her as if he too felt a connection. “One learns to do what one can in order to find acceptance. I play for my supper and for my friends.”

“Then you are without a family as well?”

“Much in the same manner that you are.” The music altered for a few beats, his focus on the lower notes even as he held her gaze. “Noble family lines tend to keep their secrets locked away.”

A shiver of dread and commiseration slid down her spine and limbs. She had the urge to apologize for whatever trials he’d born but thought better of it. Such a conversation was better suited for another time. “Do you ever play for yourself?”

“Occasionally,” he said, his amber eyes drifting down to the keys as the music brightened once again. “Though I have learned that most people prefer jovial tunes.”

She understood. If she were able to play music, she wondered if the notes would be light and gay or dark and somber. Yet, as she thought about it, she would prefer to leave the dark and somber parts of her life locked away. Even though Rafe likely didn’t realize or . . . care, he’d helped her a great deal yesterday by simply listening to her and then holding her as she cried.

Perhaps she shouldn’t think about that either. “You are very good with your hands.”

“That’s what all the ladies say.” That dimple flashed once more.

Hedley blushed even before she understood his response.

W
atching Hedley cozy up with Montwood on the piano bench, Rafe was suddenly reminded that nearly every man of Montwood’s acquaintance wanted to kill him.

Although
why
the compulsion to wrap his hands around his friend’s throat tore through him, he didn’t know. Because he wasn’t jealous. After all, his entire plan to secure Greyson Park and win the wager depended on Montwood’s marrying Hedley. He
should be
cheering instead of clenching his fists.

Crossing the room, Rafe passed Everhart and Calliope as they danced the steps of a waltz in the snug space between the sofa and the back of the room. The lively music was for a cotillion, but they were so engrossed in each other, he doubted they realized.

Hedley glanced down at Montwood’s hands and said something that Rafe could not hear. Then, shortly after Montwood’s reply, carnation pink color flushed her cheeks.

Rafe’s fists tightened until his fingertips ached from the pressure.

As if absently realizing there were other people in the room, both Montwood and Hedley looked in his direction.

“By your expression, that cheroot must have had a bitter taste, Danvers,” Montwood said, striking an ominous chord on the piano that made Hedley smile as if she were privy to a joke.

Rafe fought the urge to glare at his amber-eyed friend. However, if the challenging grin he received in response was any indication, then he may not have succeeded. “You are mistaken. The cheroot was quite sweet.”
Though not as sweet as a certain young woman’s lips
. . .