Two Turtledoves (12 page)

They sipped their cider in comfortable silence and
watched the skaters for a few moments.

As if in answer to Anastasia's dearest wish, Banbury
and Lady Katherine did tangle up their skates somehow and crashed
hard onto the solid surface of the pond.

Anastasia gasped. Beside her, Baldwyn tensed and
stood from the bench. Was he regretting his jest?

Lady Katherine aided Banbury in returning to the
bench. He was whimpering like a wounded pup, though one could tell
from looking at him he was milking the perceived injury for all it
was worth.

Anastasia stood to make room on the bench. Banbury
sank onto the bench and proceeded to beg favors of Lady Katherine,
who simply tossed his requests back in his face, drawing a hearty
laugh from Baldwyn.

Banbury scowled at Baldwyn, then turned his attention
to Lady Katherine, taking her hand and pulling her closer, but her
skate found a chunk of broken ice, and the lady reeled forward, her
arms flailing. Her overcompensation threw her backward, and she
floundered toward the ground.

Much to Anastasia's chagrin, Katherine's fall was
interrupted… by Baldwyn, who caught the lady and stopped her from a
gloriously humiliating tumble. Anastasia rolled her eyes and
resumed her seat.

However, when Baldwyn offered to escort Lady
Katherine onto the ice, Anastasia's breath quickened. Short,
shallow gasps for air set her head to spinning. She crossed her
ankles and thrust both hands into her muff, intertwining her
fingers. Her grasp tightened until she could no longer feel her
fingers.

Across the ice, Baldwyn laughed at something
Katherine said. He faced her and lifted her chin in an intimate
gesture.

Anastasia's stomach churned. She was certain she
would expend its contents. Her vision grew hazy and she couldn't
catch her breath. It was as though Lady Katherine had punched her
right in the abdomen with all her might.

"Are you unwell, Lady Anastasia?" The Duke of
Banbury's voice floated through the haze to her.

"I'm lovely. Just lovely," she heard her own voice
reply.

His hand rested on her arm, and she glanced slowly at
it. A foreign warmth on her cold wrist.

"You are quite pale."

"Am I?" Her thoughts milled leisurely through her
mind. "Perhaps if your grace is recovered enough, might you
consider taking a turn with me around the pond? I believe the cold
is settling in my bones."

The thought to use him to bait Baldwyn occurred to
her only after she accepted his arm. In truth, the only thought in
her head was to move anywhere in order not to watch the two of them
lost in intimate conversation, as they floated across the ice in
perfect unison.

Her plan was an abject failure on both fronts.
Baldwyn didn't so much as cast a glance in her direction, while she
herself couldn't pry her gaze from him no matter how she tried.

Banbury led her around the outer edge of the pond,
and as they rounded the final turn back toward their bench, the
dowager duchess suddenly appeared there, with two bedraggled
servants bent over her feet, attaching her skates.

"Crazy old woman," Banbury muttered and shook his
head.

Coming from the other direction, Baldwyn guided
Katherine toward his grandmother. He glanced in Anastasia's
direction and then focused on the dowager.

"Baldwyn! Benedict! Come help me. I wish to skate,"
the old woman bellowed.

Benedict increased his speed and abruptly deposited
Anastasia on the bank without so much as a nod to acknowledge
her.

"Aunt Agatha, are you certain this is a good
idea?"

The dowager struck him with her cane on the top of
his hat. "Don't argue with me, Benedict. Take my arm," she
demanded. "Baldwyn! Look alive there, boy. I'm not growing any
younger. Take my arm and let's be off!" Baldwyn helped Katherine to
the bench, winked at her, and took his grandmother's arm.

With one duke on each arm, the dowager began an
unsteady tread across the ice. After an agonizingly long moment,
she suddenly yelled, "Stop! I'm cold! Take me back to the house at
once."

Baldwyn and Banbury exchanged a knowing look, lifted
her in the air and skated full speed back to the edge of the pond.
The dowager screamed at the top of her lungs all the way.

When they finally set her down firmly on the bench
and reached to help her off with her skates, she grasped her cane
in exasperation and thumped each of them firmly on the top of the
head in turn.

Anastasia stifled a chuckle and watched with
interest. The dowager waggled her finger in Baldwyn's face and
gestured back to Anastasia. Baldwyn glanced in her direction and
nodded contritely. He stood and with a sheepish grin skated to
Anastasia.

"May I help you with your skates, my lady?"

"That would be lovely, thank you, your grace."

"Anastasia," Lord Marks said as they entered the
house. "Might I have a word, my dear?" He stepped back and gestured
behind him to his study.

"Of course, Papa." Anastasia glanced at Baldwyn and
slipped her hand from his arm. He took her hand and kissed it
before releasing her.

"My lady." His gaze held hers for only a moment, then
he nodded at her father and disappeared up the stairs.

Her disappointment weighed heavily on her shoulders
as she followed her father into his study. The arrangement wasn't
working out the way she had hoped. No doubt her father was thinking
the same thing. If only she would move past her ridiculous girlish
romantic notions and see things differently, perhaps…

"Won't you sit down, my sweet?" Lord Marks swept a
hand toward a wingback chair. Anastasia sat on the edge of the seat
and folded her hands in her lap. She stared down at her them,
waiting anxiously for her father to speak.

"You are unhappy?"

"No, Papa. The trip to the country has been
lovely."

Her father smiled at her sadly. "I am glad to hear
it. However, that is not what I meant, dear girl." He leaned
against the edge of his desk nearest her and took her hand in
his.

"Papa…" she began, glancing at her hands and
smoothing her skirts. "Everything is fine. Please don't worry."
Looking into his eyes, she offered the most reassuring smile she
could muster and stood. "I would like to change now. Rest for a bit
perhaps. If you will excuse me?"

"Of course. I shall see you at dinner." He rose and
escorted her to the door. Anastasia slowly made her way up the
stairs to her room. The shards of the broken vase had been cleaned
up, leaving no sign that the events of the previous night had ever
taken place. No trace except for what lay burned into her
memory.

****

The day was spent in an unending cycle of meaningless
activity — reading in the library, needlepoint in the salon, card
games in the parlor — but Baldwyn made himself scarce the majority
of the day. It felt as though he was avoiding her, and it took a
valiant effort on Anastasia's part to force the appearance of
carefree enjoyment of her short holiday before having to return to
the bustle of Town.

When the afternoon faded into evening, she excused
herself to dress for dinner. She chose her favorite pale gold
dinner gown, the one she knew drew out the flecks of gold in her
eyes and emphasized her feminine curves. Trudy swept her hair up in
grand fashion, with a few chestnut curls hanging loose, a soft,
rich contrasting frame against her creamy, ivory skin.

Baldwyn would be at dinner. She would gain his
attention once and for all.

With one last glance in the mirror, Anastasia nodded
her approval, smiled confidently at Trudy, and hurried to the
dining room.

Somehow, even for all her rush, Anastasia was too
late to claim the seat next to her intended. Her stomach curdled as
Lady Katherine smiled up at Baldwyn and accepted the chair he held
for her on the other side of the table.

Standing near her, Banbury waved her over, and held a
chair for her. Anastasia sighed in resignation, nodded her thanks
and took the seat he offered, directly across from Baldwyn. His
clear blue eyes met her gaze as she sat.

"Good evening, Paisley," she said, refusing to be the
first to look away.

"My lady," he muttered, still staring at her, but
seeming at a loss for words.

"Doesn't she look lovely, your grace?" Lady Katherine
interrupted, resting her hand on his forearm, stealing his
attention away. Anastasia's whole body tensed. Beside her, the Duke
of Banbury shifted and cleared his throat.

"Yes. Yes, of course," Baldwyn replied, tossing a
careless glance back to Anastasia. "My lady, you are quite fetching
tonight," he added, then allowed his gaze to dart away to the other
end of the table, losing interest in her altogether.

So much for capturing his attention. Her hope
deflated, and her heart fell.

Her appetite was gone. Still she had to suffer
through the torture of dinner — watching while Lady Katherine kept
Baldwyn's rapt attention, and pretending to be interested in
Banbury's vain and somewhat vulgar conversation, and even he grew
increasingly distracted by the display on the other side of the
table.

It did nothing for Anastasia's self-esteem having the
particular attention of neither of the dukes, though truth be told,
Banbury seemed to be in her very same predicament. So when he
approached her just outside the dining room to aid him in finding
his lost button, she felt somewhat sympathetic to his plight. And
since Baldwyn had already retired with the other gentlemen to
drink, smoke, and talk politics, Anastasia no longer felt compelled
to keep up appearances.

Banbury had a reputation black as the devil's own,
but his request seemed harmless, and his eyes had been for Lady
Katherine alone. If there was any unseemly motive behind his
request at all, it was that the Devil Duke was using her to make
his
fiancée
jealous. She could understand the sentiment.
Taking his offered arm, she allowed him to lead her down the hall
toward her father's study.

****

There was only one lit candle in the study, and the
fire was mere embers in the grate when Baldwyn had entered. No one
was there. He held the note up to the light to take another look.
Lady Katherine wished to speak to him about Benedict, and he was to
meet her here.

Why had he bothered to come? If Benedict was giving
the lady trouble, it should hardly fall to Baldwyn to fix things.
And he had trouble of his own. He squatted by the fire and picked
up the iron poker. He thrust it into the dying sparks and stirred
the smoldering coals, then reached for two good-sized logs to fuel
the fire.

Standing again, he rested one hand on the mantle and
stared into the growing blaze. The image of Lady Anastasia danced
there among the flames, in her pale gold dress and golden brown
eyes.

Baldwyn closed his eyes to block out the picture, but
she remained there in his mind's eye, tormenting him to his very
soul. Her beauty, his desire — it muddled the line where his duty
lay. And he was confused about how to proceed.

On one hand, his father had always insisted that
personal feelings should never interfere with a man's duty. But
never once did the late duke tell him what to do with the feelings
that didn't.

His grandmother insisted that marrying Lady Anastasia
was his duty. He had been understandably resistant at the initial
shock of it. Since then he had accepted what was expected of him,
but he never once expected that she would grow on him, that she
would pique his interest. It was easier — it was cleaner — when he
could see the line between duty and desire. She was blurring that
line.

Her milky white skin set against her rich brown
tresses, her wide almond eyes, framed with dark, dewy lashes. His
self-control grew weaker with every moment in her presence, as he
had proven the night before.

And that was the problem. His fear of losing control.
Losing control meant to fail in one's duty. And he refused to fail
his father's final charge.

Benedict was the one for losing control. Baldwyn
simply couldn't afford that kind of recklessness. Look where it had
landed Benedict and his lady. Trapped. She had no choice now. In
the eyes of Society, Lady Katherine was compromised. If she didn't
marry Benedict, she would be ruined.

Lady Anastasia was an innocent girl, with stars in
her eyes, believing in the fairy tale. How would she feel when
reality smashed her fantasy?

No. Baldwyn wouldn't take her choice from her. And
giving into desire would steal that from her.

Light footsteps entered the room through the doorway
behind him. He turned to make an excuse to Lady Katherine. He had
no wish to discuss relationship troubles with her.

But the lady standing before him wasn't Lady
Katherine at all, and her sharp intake of breath at recognizing him
said she hadn't expected him either. The door closed behind her and
she spun around to grasp the handle, but not before the sound of
the lock turning in the latch split the silence in the study.

The click sliced right through Baldwyn's taut
nerves.

The lady rattled the handle to no avail. Her head
fell forward with a light thud to the back of the locked door. And
she waited in silence for a moment before turning around, keeping
her hands on the handle behind her. She eyed him carefully.

"Lady Anastasia, I presume?" Baldwyn heard himself
say. The cold tone of his voice surprised even him.

"Paisley." A sigh followed close on the tail of the
words.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Some
thing
, actually." She squinted at the
floor around her skirts as though to prove her point. Then pointed
behind her toward the door. "Banbury… he lost a button."