A Lot Like a Lady (10 page)

****

Grey pushed open the door to the townhouse and stepped across the threshold. An evening at White’s had, until recently, been a pleasant way to spend time. He hadn’t necessarily been filled with desire to show up at Almack’s, particularly not escorting his houseguest. And yet, it would have been time in her company, time he could use to talk to her, maybe glean some information about her true identity and the actual whereabouts of his stepsister, since Jon had not been forthcoming with details.

But that wasn’t the only reason he’d been set on the particular outing. It was also an excuse to be near her. For as much as he knew nothing about her, the chit intrigued him and sparked his imagination.

Grey handed off his hat and gloves to the waiting Higgins. “That will be all for tonight, Higgins. You may retire.”

The butler bowed. “Thank you, your grace. But I might suggest you check your study before you find your bed.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward his quarters.

Grey furrowed his brow.
Why on earth should I want to do that?
But there in his study lay the object of his earlier contemplation, curled up asleep in one of his red velvet chairs. Grey froze in his tracks, afraid to so much as breathe. She didn’t stir to wakefulness but remained blissfully unaware of his presence. A large book lay open in her lap. Grey’s feet whispered across the carpet without his permission, drawing him, curious, toward her like an aphid to a rose. In the fading firelight, the gilt lettering on the cover swam for a moment. Then he recognized the thick book of Shakespeare’s sonnets that had belonged to his father.

Grey’s heart warmed, and his lips curled upward at the memory of his father sitting in front of the fire reading sonnets to his wife… Grey’s mother.

Lifting his eyes to the girl sleeping in his study chair, Grey reached out to brush her hair away from her face. He should awaken her, chase her to her rooms and a more appropriate resting place. But he paused, his hand hovering near her face. Though difficult to see in the dim lighting, the whitish tracks coating her cheeks could only be trails of dried tears. If he wiped them away, as his tingling fingers yearned to do, she would surely wake, and suddenly that no longer seemed the best course to take. She’d probably not thank him for discovering her in his study or seeing to it that she retired to her rooms.

He wondered at the tears, somehow doubting they were related to any vague malady as described by Lady Charity.

Has your life been so difficult, little Magpie?

Grey eased the book from her lap and set it on the table next to the chair. Then he lifted her gently, praying she’d not awaken, and carried her through the darkened house to her rooms. He tried not to think of her lightness or the softness of her curves against him. Nor of the way his body stirred with inappropriate thoughts.

Lady Charity answered his soft knock and made a chattering sound with her tongue, shaking her head.“I tried to tell her she’d not recovered sufficiently to get out of bed.” She held the door open for him and he eased across the threshold. “I only hope she’ll not pay for this in the morning.”

Grey laid the girl on her bed and stepped back. Not trusting himself to speak, he afforded Lady Charity a curt nod then crossed to the door and stepped through, pulling it closed behind him.

I wonder what excuse you will use to try and get out of going to Lord and Lady Evanthorne’s ball?

As the toe of Juliet’s shoe caught in the hem of her dress, the soft sound of fabric tearing made her cringe. She was ruining so many of Annabella’s fine dresses and gowns with her carelessness. At this rate, she’d be up long hours mending them, working late at night so no one noticed how many of her hems had been trodden on. Afraid she would trip as she ran to keep up with the silent maid in her tidy black dress, Juliet hitched up her skirt. Her presence had been “requested” in the drawing room by the duke, though from the apprehension on the maid’s face and her fearful tone of voice, it was more of a command than a request. When Juliet paused at the open doors, the maid waited until she crossed the threshold into the airy, if somewhat formal, room before melting into the background again and vanishing.

As if I haven’t been here long enough to find my own way. Perhaps he believes me to be in need of an escort through his townhouse because I’ll run away, a child whose hand needs to be held… or perhaps a prisoner ready to bolt to freedom.

Grey’s presence filled the room from where he sat in the green velvet chair to one side of the fireplace. His straight posture and regal bearing announced without words that this was another formal interview.

Aunt Charity looked up at Juliet’s hesitant entrance. “Come in, my dear. We’ve been waiting for you.” Lady Charity sounded so formal, so unlike the kind auntie she’d been the evening before when Juliet had pleaded a devastating headache to keep from being put on show at Almack’s. Lady Harmony hovered nervously behind Charity.

“You asked to see me, your grace?” Juliet managed to choke out.

“I’ve accepted an invitation to a ball a week Friday.” He steepled his fingers in front of him while his gaze raked her from top to bottom. “Your aunts and I have decided that
you
… will accompany me.”

Her eyes popped wide open. “A b-ball? I-I’m afraid I c-can’t attend a-a ball.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can.” Charity made a dismissive movement with her hand. “Why, the dress has already been commissioned.”

Understanding dawned. So that’s why they’d gone to the modiste. Juliet had thought it merely a normal outing for the aunts while they were in London. They’d certainly been fitted for lots of different dresses. Still, attending a ball would never do.

“Aunt Char—”

“There wasn’t time to order a gown from Austria, I’m afraid,” Harmony added with a frown. “Such lovely things from Austria.” She sighed a little dreamily.

“I do not need a new gown,” protested Juliet as heat crept into her face.

Charity clicked her tongue as she shook her head. “Well, of course you do. Your gowns are all far too long. You nearly trip with every step. And the way some of your dresses…”

Harmony cleared her throat and Charity glanced at Juliet with a sigh.

The air rushed from Juliet’s lungs. When she gulped in a deep breath, the sharp scent of the fragrant lilies on the side table clogged her throat. She swayed as a woozy feeling threatened to overcome her. She simply hadn’t considered anyone would notice that Annabella’s dresses didn’t quite fit.But Harmony merely shrugged. “And every young lady should enjoy a new gown or two.”

“Aunties! I can’t go to this ball!” Juliet’s shout echoed in the room, finally silencing the aunts. The clip-clop of a fast-moving carriage filtered through the open window. Juliet stole a glance at the duke. Glittering blue eyes bored into her like a hunter waiting to pounce on his hapless prey.

“Why not?” asked Charity after a moment, a confused frown knitting her brow.

“Yes,
Annabella
. I’m interested in the answer to that question myself.” Grey stood, watching her with his glittering blue eyes as he interjected himself back into the conversation.

If she had thought she had a chance of putting the aunts off, she was certain she stood no such possibility with his grace.

“Well?” he snapped. “What excuse are you concocting to avoid
this
social engagement?”

Juliet shrank inside herself. The lilies’ cloying scent became bitter, and her stomach turned. She could hardly plead off with a headache this time since the day had yet to approach. She’d simply have to admit to the truth. At least as much as she dared.

“I can’t dance,” she mumbled, keeping her gaze locked on her feet.

The aunts gasped in unison and Juliet flinched.

“What?” barked Grey.

His voice jerked her head up. The duke stared, disbelief evident on his face. She began to tremble and her throat went dry.

“What nonsense are you pulling now?”

No wonder Annabella considers him an arrogant and pompous—
Staring at him through narrowed eyes, Juliet pulled her lips into a sweet smile and tried to still the trembling in her voice while she mustered the sort of haughtiness Annabella would certainly show him. “It’s not nonsense,
brother!
I only know one dance and I’m not very
good
at it.”

“What dance is that, dear?” Harmony closed the distance between them and laid an encouraging arm across Juliet’s shoulders. Juliet wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor, but Harmony squeezed gently and courage stirred, light as a feather on a summer’s breeze.

“It’s one m-my mother and father used to d-dance some nights after supper. They’d embrace and kind of slide around the room…”

Charity’s sharply indrawn breath warned Juliet of her misstep.
No!
Annabella’s parents probably hadn’t danced in their parlor and they certainly wouldn’t have danced with impropriety. Fine tremors began in Juliet’s hands and she clasped them together to still the motion. She was going to mull it up again if she wasn’t careful.

Grey arched an eyebrow. “Lord and Lady Price indulged in the waltz in front of you?”

“Surely not,” murmured Harmony next to her. “The child must be mistaken.”

“I—mmm… it was a Christmas Eve when I was small.” Unable to meet his searching glance, Juliet turned her back on his grace, losing the comfort of Harmony’s touch with the motion. “I… I was supposed to be tucked up in bed and I sneaked downstairs… and… saw. Them. Dancing.”

“So, your mother couldn’t see you educated in the proper manner of
dance
…” Grey’s voice came from directly behind her. Startled, Juliet whirled about. He stood where Harmony had been only a moment earlier, the aunt having joined her sister. Goodness, the man moved like a stealthy cat. She hadn’t heard him cross the floor. His gaze connected with hers and she was unable to turn away. “And yet, you managed to witness your parents in an intimate moment? And from that moment, you know…
one
dance?”

Juliet’s stomach tightened. The pictures of her father and mother gliding around the cottage in each other’s arms while her father hummed a lively tune faded. She couldn’t explain that her own father had shown her how to do the gliding dance by letting her stand on his feet while he’d steered her mother round and round. Everyone she knew had danced that way… everyone except the nobles, who considered it improper.

“I…” Her voice squeaked out like that of a mouse and she cleared her throat. “That is…”

A commotion erupted in the foyer. Footsteps clattered on the stone and Lord Lucien’s voice muttered loudly. “Come back here, you fool dog. You’ve gotten me tangled in your leash again.”

A peculiar scraping and grinding reached Juliet’s ears and she frowned, unable to imagine what the noise could be. Nevertheless, she was rather grateful for the interruption.

Something crashed and Grey cursed as he stalked toward the door. Before he reached it, Percy panted into the room. His leash trailed behind him, dragging the cast iron umbrella stand with it, leaving a deep gouge in the polished wood floor before it caught the edge of the Turkish carpet and hauled him scrambling to a stop.

Lucien huffed his way to the doorway, carrying a bent and torn black umbrella, and plowed into Grey. He retreated a step, straightened his back, and tugged at the hem of his waistcoat as he looked around the room. “Hrmph. Wretched animal.”

Percy grunted as he struggled to free himself from the umbrella stand. The dog was sure to drop over dead with the effort. Juliet hastened to him and dropped to her knees. “Oh, poor Percy. There’s an old dear. Let me help you now.” She gave the leash a yank, attempting to free it, but only succeeded in lifting the edge of the rug with the umbrella stand’s lip. The rug curled over one of Grey’s booted feet and everyone in the room seemed to stop drawing breath.

Juliet’s heart stopped; surely it did. Lucien blocked her only escape from the room.
Oh, Annabella, why haven’t you sent that blasted note?
Why was she still in London? Why had she come at all? The duke’s rising ire became tangible, fairly burning her skin. She didn't need to look at him to feel his gaze boring into her. But she couldn’t stop herself from lifting her eyes.

Grey stared at the long, deep gouge in the floor, then glared at the stand, then the dog, and finally settled his fiery blue gaze on Juliet. She sank her teeth into her lower lip, fumbled the knot on the leash, but finally freed the dog. Then she scrambled across the floor on her knees toward the umbrella stand.

“On your
feet
,” snapped Grey from nearly over top of her. “I’ll not have you groveling on the floor like a servant. Uncle Lucien—” He shot a scathing look at the old man. The duke’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “See to your dog,” he finally ground out.

Juliet stumbled as gracefully as she could treading on that blistering hemline, squared her shoulders, and waited, heart pounding and breathless, for whatever orders the duke would hand down.

“Ladies, please make arrangements for your
… niece
to be schooled in the
proper
form of dance.”

Shoring himself up, he left the room, taking his arrogance with him. Juliet let out a sigh and slumped, her spine weakened as the tension drained from the room.

“Hello, Lucien,” said Harmony with a nervous titter. An odd little shiver shook her, and she pressed her fingers to her lips as though to stifle her usual giggles.

“My lady,” he wheezed, his ruddy face beaming. He graced her with a courtly bow. “How wonderful to see you again.”

****

They’d been at it for quite a while. The tinkling notes of the pianoforte had intruded into his consciousness for the past two hours while he struggled in vain with those blasted ledgers from Wyndham Green. The occasional bursts of silvery young laughter had proven distracting beyond measure and he couldn’t have said what figures filled the columns, let alone why they didn’t balance. In the end, he crept down the hall like a thief in his own house and hovered just outside the drawing room, watching the goings-on.

The heavy Grecian couch and matching chairs had been pushed to the side. Magpie — as he’d come to think of her — stood in the center of the cleared space with Lady Harmony. Lady Charity sat on the needlepoint stool before the pianoforte, but she was turned slightly, looking at her sister and niece.

“See, dear, how Harmony extends her right foot forward and then takes her weight on it?” At Charity’s words, Harmony pointed her toe and bobbed forward with surprising grace, though her bouncing bosom and out-of-date fashion from another century gave her an air of silliness. Charity gestured and continued. “Then she brings her left foot up close behind and takes her weight on that foot.”

The girl hesitated and then hopped awkwardly onto her right foot. But when she tried to snug her left behind it, she ended up kicking herself in the ankle. “I’m never going to be able to do this,” she groaned, bending to rub her foot and presenting Grey with an indecent, though very appealing, view of her backside.

Grey straightened and frowned. Appealing perhaps… but definitely troublesome. She was a houseguest at best, an interloper at worst. Such thoughts were wholly inappropriate in either case. He should retire to his office and complete the tedious work on the books.
Should…

“Come on now, you’re learning it,” encouraged Harmony, touching her student on her shoulder. “No one dances perfectly on the first try.”

From her seat at the pianoforte, Charity smirked. “Gracious, I’m certain people leave these balls with bruises on their toes. Even the best dancers take a misstep now and then.”

Magpie stood and heaved a resigned sigh. “Fine. I’ll keep trying.”

“Sometimes it helps me to say it out loud.” Harmony executed a
chasse
step. “Step, close, step, hop.”

“Step, close, step, hop.” The girl performed the steps without mishap this time, even showing a bit of confidence, and then gave a little squeal of pleasure that twined its way through Grey’s veins and heated his blood.

“Very good, my dear.” Charity clapped her hands together. “Now do it to the music, and remember the hop at the end. Step lively now.”

Charity put her fingers on the keys and the notes spilled into the air. This time Magpie danced several steps before the music stopped.

“Now what’s the matter?” she asked, barely breathing heavily though she’d just performed a lively bit of country dancing.

“Well, nothing, I imagine, only…” Charity sighed. “You’re supposed to be dancing, not walking to a funeral. You should be happy.”

“Aunt Charity, I am happy.” The young lady fussed at the pale pink ribbon on the front of her white dress. “But I’ve been dancing for hours and I’m exhausted.”

Grey narrowed his eyes. She didn’t look particularly tired.

“Perhaps if you hop a little higher and quicker when you’re stepping,” suggested Harmony, clearly winded herself.

“Oh!” burst out the little magpie, and Grey realized just how appropriate the name could truly be at times. “Step here, kick there, close the gap, hop-hop, leap through the air.” She huffed out a breath.

Grey snickered softly. She made it sound like the schooling he gave his saddle horses. His brow knit into a frown and he rubbed his chin as he considered the similarities. Maybe she just needed a firmer hand than the aunts were able to provide.

He spared a fleeting thought for the ledgers in his office and sighed. Whatever the error in his books, it would surely still be present after an hour’s break. He stepped out of the shadows in the foyer and over the threshold into the drawing room.

“Lady Charity, Lady Harmony.” He nodded a greeting to each of them before he turned his attention to Magpie. He inclined his head and smiled. “My lady, I trust you are doing well with your lessons.”

“Actually—”

“She’s doing wonderfully,” cooed Charity.

“Is she…” He studied the slip of a girl before him. Several tendrils of golden hair had escaped from the loose arrangement on top of her head and clung to her slender neck. His fingers itched to stroke the runaway strands. Were they as silky as they looked? No! That was insane. Tamping the urge back without mercy, Grey cleared his throat and made an effort to sound stern. “So the clomping and stomping that drew me out of my office had nothing to do with her… lessons?”

Two spots of apple red colored the girl’s cheeks. “Oh—”

“That’s completely my fault, your grace.” Harmony stepped between them, blinking her dark brown eyes up at him rather like an owl, her long face and the fluttering feathers in her headdress only increasing the resemblance. “I haven’t danced in some time and I’m not as light on my feet as I used to be.”

Madam, the way you bob and bounce about on the dance floor, I find it hard to believe you were ever light on your feet.
Grey inclined his head politely and offered an understanding smile.

Charity beamed. “Our niece is quite ready to learn how to dance with a proper partner.”

The vision of his ledgers lying on the desk in his office nagged at him briefly. But it paled against Magpie’s shy smile, and Grey surprised himself by returning her smile with one of his own. He held out his hand and bowed.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she drew in a sharp breath, retreating a step. But then she seemed to gather her wits and shored her back up straight. With an almost regal air, she slipped her hand into his and offered him a curtsey. Even as Grey bowed again, his busy mind processed that something about the way this girl carried herself, her air when she curtsied, wasn’t quite right, though it was nothing he could readily explain.

Charity began playing a lively piece. Grey led Magpie through the movements. “Higher steps,” he insisted when she faltered.

“I’m trying,” she responded through gritted teeth, but kept her eyes on her feet. “Step, close, step, hop.”

“No, you aren’t trying. You’re talking. Step more quickly. Can you not hear the rhythm of the music?”

“Yes, I hear it,” she fairly growled.

“Then why are you not following it?” He stepped up the pace to match the music, urging her to follow suit with a tug on her hand.

Finally she relaxed into the rhythm. Grey’s heart tugged like an emotional bellpull with every finishing hop. They whirled around the room. Or had the room begun to spin around them? A splash of sunlight, a dash of deep rose wallpaper, the snowy white lace framing the window… Then there was nothing but Magpie’s face. The dance commanded his feet, but she commanded his fascination. When she tossed back her head and laughed, her hair came tumbling down. She twirled and glorious dark golden waves spun across her face. With a wild laugh, she shook her head and pushed them back. Grey’s breath caught.

Then the music reached a crescendo and Magpie step-hopped with a delighted laugh. When she landed she lost her balance and lurched forward. If Grey hadn’t been in front of her, she’d have fallen headlong to the floor. His arms flew up without conscious thought, and he caught her with ease. For a moment she clung to him, her softness pressed against him. He burned where she touched.

With a sharply indrawn breath, she scrambled to find her footing. Then she stepped back, fingers pressed to her mouth, eyes wide with an undefined emotion. “Y-your grace, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Her face blossomed with bright red tint that started in her neck but rapidly crept into her cheeks.

Her raw beauty captivated him.

Grey snapped himself out of his reverie. “Nonsense,” he said with a frown. “You had a misstep and fell. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Thank you.” Magpie reached up and scraped the hair from her face. Then she lifted her gaze and took him prisoner with those luminous eyes. “For catching me.”

A smile tugged his lips upward. “‘Twas my pleasure, Magpie.”
Very much so.

She crinkled her nose. “
Magpie?
”

His lips twitched up into another smile. “Yes, Magpie. A fitting name, if you ask me... and my still-tender ankle. I’m surprised I could stand to dance on it.”

Her gazed travelled down the length of his body to his foot and then back up. A deep pink flush spread across her cheeks. “Your grace, I-I’m so, so—”

“Oh, bravo!” Lady Charity stood and clapped her hands.

Magpie smiled, but then her face fell. “But I still cannot dance.”

“I hate to contradict a lady, but you
were
dancing.” Grey chuckled as a look of disbelief stole over the girl’s face. “I’m afraid you will have no excuse for not accompanying me to the ball. Unless of course, you are taken to your bed with another foul malady.” He made certain to inject just the right amount of warning into his tone without darkening the cheerful air in the room.

Magpie responded with ever-widening eyes and parted lips. So she had thought she’d gotten away with her ruse. Well, now she knew differently. Why was the thought not as satisfying as it should have been?

“I think a more sedate dance is in order.” Charity took her seat once again. She began plucking out a song, and Grey soon recognized the three-quarter time.

Had the woman gone mad? Was she seriously suggesting they indulge in… a waltz? The gliding rhythm tugged at him, and his body swayed unbidden, picking out the rhythm as he struggled to recall the steps he’d learned in Austria. Of their own accord, his arms reached for Magpie before he realized his own intent.

His intended partner gasped and stepped backward. But a quest drove him now. She’d intrigued him with her disclosure that she’d watched her parents perform the decadent waltz, and thoughts of her knowing such moves had secretly tormented him. If he were truthful, those visions had threatened to drive him to madness and forced him to leave his office earlier, when he’d heard her laughter accompanying the music.

He took her hand and, after the barest hint of hesitation, she closed her fingers around his. Grey started slowly, not quite in time with the music, and he held her at a proper arm’s length as they began gliding about the room. Stirrings of passion hummed through his veins, whispers and snatches of thought urging him to pull her more fully into his embrace.

The rhythm of Charity’s music wound around them and drew them into synchronous movement after only one circle of the room. She followed Grey’s lead with lithe steps. The whirling room fell away, lost in the swirling emotions pulsing in Magpie’s eyes. The dance worked her more intimately into his embrace, and he loosened the touch and twirled her in a circle before pulling her close again.

His body reacted with maddening predictability, but Grey found he no longer cared about propriety. All that mattered was the woman in his arms and the dance they shared. The music washed over them, her warmth when she was close set his blood on fire. Her hair spilled over her shoulders then flared outward when they twirled, mirroring the hem of her gown. And where it brushed the backs of his hands it was as soft as a kitten’s fur.

The music swelled but it was his body that led the dance now, as their steps quickened until the room behind her came into focus only to blur into whorls of color with no form. The dance was exhilarating, the woman in his arms enthralling with her warmth, her softness, the scent of her rose perfume as it filled his nostrils.

The music stopped far too soon, but perhaps just in time. Without its impulsion, Grey’s consciousness reined in his errant body. What was he doing? Slowly, yet all too quickly for his taste, he stepped backward and graced his dance partner with a somewhat shaky bow, his every breath pulling in the scent of roses.

She stood as though frozen, her chest rising and falling with her gasps for air. But it was her eyes that reminded Grey of a fawn in the wood, huge and frightened, with that golden brown color that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun streaming into the drawing room.

The beautiful young woman bent her knees in a faltering curtsey, then she straightened. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand from his loose grasp, whirled in a flurry of motion that mimicked the dance they’d just shared, and fled for the doorway. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood in the foyer and then on the staircase.

“Oh, dear!” Harmony took several steps to follow.

Grey found his voice. “Don’t!”

Harmony stopped in a swirl of her skirts. “Your grace?”

“Let her go,” he said, softening his voice.
Let her go,
he repeated in admonishment to himself. He stepped to the window and gazed out onto the street. A coach stood outside his neighbor’s home. One of the horses stomped, its ears twitching. Grey traced the lines of Rossington’s family crest with his eyes until he felt control returning. Only when he determined himself fit for polite company again did he turn from the window.

Harmony stood beside her sister at the pianoforte, and together they poured over sheets of music as though he’d evaporated from their thoughts.

Without a word, Grey strode across the Turkish carpet and sought the sanctuary of his office.