ToLoveaLady (19 page)

 
“Why don’t we try it with music?” he asked. “Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

She nodded. “All right.”

Tapping his foot, he began to hum. Fifi and Estelle joined in clapping to the beat. “Honor your partner,” he sang in a slightly off-key tenor.

They bowed to one another.

“Honor your corner.”

Cecily curtsied to the invisible man on her right.

“All promenade round!” Adkins grabbed her hands and began moving smartly around the room. Cecily laughed as she skipped to keep up. “That’s right,” he sang. “You want to keep it lively. Now do-si-do.

“Right-hand star. . . allemande left. . . grand right and left.” Cecily grew red-faced and breathless from trying to keep up with the calls. This kind of dancing did indeed seem more suited to the street than a formal ballroom. Still, it was great fun.
 

“Won’t Charles be surprised when he sees I’ve learned this American dancing?” she said.

“Promenade left!” Hands joined, they started around the room once more. “There’s one more step I forgot to show you. The most important one. Or at least the most fun.”

“What is that?”

“Swing your partner!” She squealed as he put one hand to her waist and pivoted her around. Off balance, she clung to him, laughing, her skirts belling out around her as they twirled across the room and collided with something large and solid in the doorway.

Cecily caught her breath as she looked up into Charles’ angry face. “Adkins, what is the meaning of this?” he thundered.

Chapter Eleven

Charles’ first instinct was to exit the room, turn around and come in again. Obviously, his eyes were deceiving him. That couldn’t be Cecily in the arms of another man, much less a rustic like Gerald Adkins. Why, the man was married. And Cecily was engaged!
 

“Charles!” Cecily stared at him, wide-eyed and white-faced. Her cry shook him from the inertia that had frozen him in place. He lunged forward and grabbed Adkins by the lapel. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded again.

“Charles, stop it!” Cecily pushed away from Adkins and straightened her clothing. “Mr. Adkins was teaching me to dance.”

Cecily’s face was flushed, her hair coming loose from the pins that held it atop her head. Her skirt was wrinkled, her shirtwaist puffing out from her waistband. She looked more disorderly and disheveled than he could ever recall seeing her. A surge of desire hit him with the force of a slap. He had never wanted her more.

Still holding on to Adkins, he struggled to compose himself. “Why would you need him to teach you? As I recall, you’re an excellent dancer.” How long had it been since he’d held her in his arms and swept her around a dance floor? How could he have taken her so for granted in those days?

“But I don’t know how to square dance.” She put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Adkins was teaching me to square dance, so that I could dance with you at the Texans’s Independence Day street dance.”

Her eyes shimmered with sincerity. As he gazed into those blue depths, he felt like a cad for ever having doubted her. Cecily didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body, or a traitorous thought in her head. He released Adkins. “Terribly sorry,” he muttered, bowing stiffly.

Adkins straightened his coat. “Can’t say as I blame you, I guess.” He grinned. “If I’d have walked in and seen what you saw. . .
 
In any case, I didn’t mean to get out of line.” He collected his notebook and nodded to the ladies. “Good day.”

Madame, Fifi and Estelle followed Adkins out of the room, leaving Charles and Cecily alone. “I suppose you think the Texans’s crude behavior has rubbed off on me,” he said. “I don’t know what to say except, again, I’m sorry.”

She smoothed the collar of her shirtwaist and tried to brush the wrinkles from her skirt. “I accept your apology.”

If only she’d look at him. Where before the open adoration in her eyes had made him uncomfortable, he found he suddenly craved the reassurance of that look. There was something intoxicating about knowing another person thought you invincible; he would miss her favorable regard more than he cared to admit.

She glanced up and once more her cheeks bloomed pink. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, banishing this damned awkwardness between them. Fists clenched, he turned away. He couldn’t afford to do that. He couldn’t raise her hopes for things that could never be between them. Instead, he needed to get her out of town quickly, before some other man — someone totally unsuitable, like Adkins – stole her away.

“Did you wish to speak to me about something else, Charles?”

Why had he sought her out? It took a moment for him to remember. He cleared his throat. “I came to remind you I’ve invited Hattie Simms and her father to join us for dinner on Friday.”

“What a delightful idea.”
 

Her pleased tone sent another blade of guilt slicing through him. Cecily was used to almost nightly dinner parties, dances and other entertainments. He’d been a poor host indeed since her arrival here. But would she be so delighted if she knew he planned to enlist Miss Simms’s help in convincing Cecily to return to England? “I’m sure it will be an enjoyable evening.”

He turned to go. “Thank you for defending me, Charles.”

“Defending you?” Puzzled, he faced her once more. “I thought you said Adkins wasn’t molesting you.”

“Of course he wasn’t.” She smiled. “Even though you were in the wrong, it was still very sweet of you to come to my rescue.”

Sweet. He turned away once more. That was the last thing he wanted her to think of him. And if she could read the lustful thoughts coursing through his mind at the moment, sweet was the least likely adjective she’d use to describe him.

* * *

As the time for the Simms’s arrival neared, Cecily found herself unable to sit still. She paced about her room while Alice mended a torn ruffle on her best dinner gown. “Don’t tell me dinner with these local rustics has got you nervous, m’lady.” Alice looked up from her sewing. “It’s not a bit like you.”

Cecily rubbed the bottom of one stockinged foot against her shin. The silk made a whispery sound as she moved. “I want to make a good impression on Charles’s friends, that’s all.”

Alice tied a knot in her thread and bit off the end. “As if you wouldn’t make a good impression on the Queen herself!
 
This Hattie Simms ought to be the one worrying about measuring up to you, m’lady.”

More likely, Miss Simms would be intent on impressing Charles. If Cecily wasn’t mistaken, Hattie had a bit of a
tendre
for Charles, though the affection appeared to be one-sided. Charles seemed determined not to attach himself to anyone these days, try as Cecily might to change his mind.

“There you go, m’lady. Good as new.” Alice stood and shook out the dress, a sea-green silk taffeta with a draped neckline that showed off her smooth shoulders. Fringed trim across the front was gathered into a high bodice from which fell a waterfall of more fabric in a demi-train. “You’ll dazzle them all in this,” Alice said. “His lordship won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

She wasn’t so certain of this, but then again, Charles
had
rushed to intervene when he thought she and Gerald Adkins were up to no good. She smiled as she removed her robe and stepped into the first of the two petticoats that went under the silk gown. Charles might pride himself on his proper British reserve, but she suspected a wealth of emotion just below his calm surface.
 

“Ready for the gown now, m’lady?” She raised her arms and allowed Alice to float the dress over her head, then sat at the dressing table while the maid brushed and curled her hair. She studied her reflection as Alice worked. Charles wasn’t the only one who adhered to the upper-class edict of ‘keeping up appearances’; the face that stared back at her was as calm as a Gainsborough portrait. The painting might have been titled “An English Gentlewoman.” Was that how Charles saw her — as cool and dispassionate as a two-dimensional picture?

“There now, m’lady. You look lovely.” Alice stepped back and nodded approvingly.

“Thank you, Alice.” Cecily stood. “I suppose I’d best go down now.”

“Have a nice evening, m’lady.”

Charles was already in the front parlor when she arrived, his back to her as he gazed out the window. She paused in the doorway a moment, drinking in the sight of him. His dark hair, longer than he’d worn it in England, just brushed the top of his stiff white collar, above a black formal coat tailored to show broad shoulders and narrow waist to best advantage. She’d never considered before how attractive a man’s back could be, how strong it could look, or the reassurance such strength could offer.

As if feeling her eyes on him, he turned from the window. Her heart beat faster as his gaze swept over her. Was that a flicker of approval in his eyes?
 

Too soon, he looked away. “Our guests should be arriving shortly,” he said.

She stared at the back of his head, unsure whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. “Good evening to you too, Charles.” She walked straight to him. This was one evening he would not get away with ignoring her.

His gaze flickered to her again. “Would you like a drink? A sherry?” He started to move away, toward the sideboard that held the decanters, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Her own boldness startled her; from the way Charles’s eyebrow twitched, she thought it startled him, too. To hide the awkwardness she felt, she brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his spotless lapel. The fabric was soft against her fingers. She moved closer, gaze intent on the material, as if eyeing a stain. His chest expanded and contracted with each breath. She lay her palm flat against his chest and imagined she felt his heart beating, fast and furious as her own.

“Cecily.” His hand came up to capture her wrist.

Her vision blurred and she forced herself to blink, and tried to breathe normally. But she could only manage quick pants, her lips slightly parted as she raised her eyes to his and leaned even closer.
Kiss me,
she thought, but she could not find the boldness to say it.
Kiss me again the way you did that first day, as if I am the one thing you want most in the world.

A dog barked, ripping the silent shroud around them. Charles thrust her away and strode toward the door. “The Simmses are here.”

She put her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool the heat that suffused her. Her heart still pounded in her chest and she struggled to slow her breathing. When she felt she had mustered the appearance of calm, she followed Charles into the front hall to greet their guests.

Hattie emerged from the Simms’s buggy wearing a dress so laden with frills and lace that it resembled an ornate wedding cake more than an item of clothing. Cecily thought it looked like a costume – the sort of dress a girl playing dress-up would wear. Hattie herself was almost lost in all the ruffles and bows.

Charles greeted his guests warmly, shook hands with Mr. Simms, then took Hattie’s hand and kissed it. The young woman blushed poppy-red and Cecily had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from protesting. Since when did Charles go around kissing women’s hands?

Mr. Simms, in a plain suit and derby, beamed at the pair. Apparently, the banker would like nothing better than for his daughter’s affections for Charles to be returned.

Charles led the way into the parlor and poured whiskey for the men and sherry for the ladies, then took the seat beside Hattie on the sofa. She looked at him adoringly. “It was so nice of you to invite us to dinner,” she said. “I do believe your ranch is the prettiest I’ve seen.”

“All the prettier when graced by your presence,” Charles said.

Cecily sat in an armchair across from him and observed the whole performance. Oh, he was the silver-tongued devil tonight, wasn’t he? And to what purpose? Did he really mean to lead the poor girl on, or was there more to his sudden interest than mere teasing? The thought rankled and she had to concentrate to keep a bland expression on her face.

She turned to Mr. Simms, who sat in a matching chair nearby. “Tell me, Mr. Simms. How long have you lived in Fairweather?”

“Let’s see now — it must be close to eight years.” He drained his whiskey and set it aside. “I opened the first bank in Shackleford County, back in seventy-six.”

“Is Hattie your only child?” She glanced at the young woman, who was leaning close to Charles, eyes locked to his like a lost spaniel.

“Yes. My wife passed on when Hattie was five. It’s been just the two of us ever since.”

She offered the banker a sympathetic look. “That must have been difficult for you.”

He sighed. “At times, yes. But Hattie has been nothing but a joy to me, and I’ve done my best by her. She spent three years at the finest finishing school in Louisiana.” He chuckled. “I tell you, I was never so glad as when she finally came back home.”

Cecily looked at Hattie again. She was really a pretty young woman, if only she would dress like a woman and not a little girl. Charles laughed at something she said, then glanced toward Cecily. When he saw she was watching, he leaned even closer to Miss Simms.

Cecily waited for the next wave of green jealousy to tighten her stomach and braced herself against its assault. Instead, she felt a sudden lightness inside her, like a shutter being thrown open to illuminate a dark room. She saw Charles’s behavior for exactly what it was: an act, meant to fool someone, perhaps even her. Every exaggerated gesture or look told her that Charles was merely playing the part of the besotted suitor, the way he could play jolly old Englishman or debonair charmer or even dutiful son at the drop of the hat. For that matter, hadn’t she been raised to play her own roles – everything from flirtatious debutante to mistress of the household?