Rhonda Woodward (12 page)

Mariah thought about this for a moment, her curiosity regarding the earl even more piqued. “But you do not agree with your mother’s assessment?”

Tucking her hand deeper into her muff, Lady Davinia shook her head. “I have watched Stone for several Seasons now. He never looks at any of the misses in white muslin. He spends his time gaming, sporting, and making clandestine assignations with some of the most attractive married ladies in the
ton
.”

Taken aback, Mariah stumbled over a rock in the path. Regaining her balance, she sent a startled glance to Lady Davinia.

“Don’t tell me I put you to the blush!” Lady Davinia said with a laugh. “I had the impression that you are not the least bit missish. Was I wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Mariah hurriedly replied. “Few things astonish me anymore, and I quite prefer plain speaking.”

Lady Davinia sent her an impish grin. “I can be a bit of a gossip when it comes to some of the nonpareils. It’s fascinating to watch all the ladies fawning and batting their lashes when they walk into a room. But I could be wrong about Stone. After all, I never thought his closest friend, the Duke of Kelbourne, would wed as early as he did. By all accounts he is blissfully happy with your dear friend.”

Mariah nodded her agreement. “I can attest that I have never met two people who seem so wholly suited to each other. It is so lovely and romantic.”

“There! You see, there is hope for all the confirmed bachelors.”

Mariah laughed at Lady Davinia’s jaunty tone, quite liking her even more than she had thought she would.

Eventually, as the weak sun began its descent, they meandered back to the house. Upon entering the great hall, Lady Davinia turned to Mariah with a pleased expression. “What an unexpected treat, Miss Thorncroft. I do hope we can continue to get to know each other.”

“I, too, would like that,” Mariah said, returning Lady Davinia’s smile with a warm one of her own.

When they parted with the promise to see each other at dinner, Mariah sent up a quick prayer that she would not encounter the earl before reaching her bedchamber.

Chapter Eleven

Later that evening, Mariah stood in the middle of her floor, dressed in a stunning gown of gleaming rose-colored silk and feeling too emotionally distraught to leave the bedchamber. Once she had gained the privacy of her room after her walk with Lady Davinia, there had been nothing to distract her thoughts from the earl.

With mounting anxiety, she wondered how she could face him. This situation was beyond her experience, and she wondered how people behaved under such circumstances. The trembling in her limbs started anew as she again relived the moment when he put his hand on her waist and drew her unresistant body to his.

Her first kiss, she thought in wonderment, lifting her fingers to touch her lips. It had been nothing like she had imagined it would be. She had always dreamed that her first kiss would be with the man she loved—and that he would be her fiance´. She imagined him taking her gently into his arms, and in a sort of pastel haze their lips would softly meet in a romanticized expression of the joining of their hearts.

Nothing in her past had prepared her for the devastating intensity of being in the earl’s arms. No pastel haze softened the burning feeling that had risen from the pit of her stomach as his glinting, sensual gaze had held hers. Nothing had prepared her for the yearning to run her hands across his chest and down his back.

As hard as she tried, she had not been able to rid herself of the feelings his touch had evoked. Something told her that he would sense this the moment they met again. Rogues probably developed some sort of instinct about these things, she thought cynically. This was why her feet felt rooted to the plush Persian rug.

Her nerves, so tightly strung, caused her to jump at the sound of a knock on her door.

“C-come in,” she finally managed to say.

The door opened and a maid entered, carrying a salver with a note upon it. A footman followed and placed her leather case, as well as several books, on the bench at the foot of her bed.

“With his lordship’s compliments, miss,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy.

“Er—thank you.” Mariah hurriedly accepted the note and moved to the desk as the servants left the room.

As she broke the seal, her fingers shook so much she could hardly make out the words. Taking a deep breath, she noted the firm, upright penmanship before actually reading the brief missive. The note read:

Thank you for generously allowing me to enjoy your artistic talent.

With my apologies,

Haverstone

She reread the note three times. A frustrated noise escaped her at the brevity of the note.
With my apologies.
What did that mean? Did he regret the kiss? Could the most profound moment of her life not have affected him in the least? With a sick, sinking feeling, she dropped the note on the desk and stared into the crackling flames of the cheery little fire.

She could not even put a name to the emotions rushing through her at that moment. She should be touched that he would be so gentlemanly as to apologize, and yet . . .

Putting her hands to her cheeks, she closed her eyes.

The thought of spending an evening in the earl’s company was untenable. Maybe she could feign some sort of illness and avoid going down altogether.

At another knock at the door, she jumped up, quickly shoving the note into the top drawer of the desk. Before she could direct the person to enter, the door opened and her mother stepped in.

“Are you ready?”

Speechless, Mariah gazed at Mama, who looked resplendent in a gown of pumpkin silk with an ecru-colored shawl. Her ecru turban was fashionable to the last stare.

A frown began to pucker her mother’s brow. “Is something amiss, Mariah, dear?”

Alarm flashed through Mariah. The surest way to make a difficult situation worse was to make her mother suspicious. Cautioning herself to be careful, she said in a nearly normal tone, “No. I am ready to go down with you.”

Mama did not move and kept her gaze on Mariah’s face. “Are you sure? You are not falling ill, are you? You look a bit strange.”

Turning from her mother’s perceptive blue gaze, Mariah went to the bed and picked up her shawl. “Lady Davinia and I took a long walk this afternoon. Perhaps I am a little tired.”

Thankfully, the mention of Lady Davinia distracted Mrs. Thorncroft from her daughter’s odd behavior.

“I vow, I have rarely met such a sweet and generous creature as Lady Davinia Harwich,” Mrs. Thorncroft said as they left Mariah’s room.

“I completely agree,” Mariah said, feeling her panic escalate as each step brought her closer to the earl.

As her mother’s ceaseless chatter flowed over her, Mariah told herself that everything would be fine if she could just maintain her composure. She must make sure to do nothing, by expression or action, to cause her mother to notice anything strange between herself and the earl.

“Have you heard what amusements are planned for the evening?” Mrs. Thorncroft’s question shook Mariah out of her reverie.

“No, I have not. Not more dancing, I hope.”

“Oh no. We are to be treated to a musical evening. Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram are evidently quite accomplished. They have offered to play and sing for us. I do wish you could sing and play the pianoforte so that you could exhibit your talents as well.”

Mariah shuddered. “I can think of few things worse than having to perform in front of these people.”

“Be that as it may, you must endeavor to sit near Lord Stothart or Mr. Elbridge.”

Mariah sighed. “If I must sit next to either of them, it shall be Mr. Elbridge. He is the lesser of the two evils.”

Mrs. Thorncroft waved her ivory fan at Mariah impatiently. “Why must you always speak so foolishly? They are both extremely fine gentlemen. However, I shall not complain if you choose Mr. Elbridge. He will do nicely. I just hope he inherits soon.”

“Oh, Mama.” Mariah shook her head, knowing that it was futile to start this old argument again.

They reached the salon, and the footmen on either side of the doors opened them at their approach. Mama immediately hurried toward Steven, leaving a relieved Mariah trailing behind to catch her breath.

At first she did not see the earl among the mingling guests and was grateful for it. A servant circulating with a tray of wineglasses approached, and Mariah accepted one with gratitude.

Unfortunately, her reprieve was short-lived, for she noticed the earl weaving his way through the guests toward her. With her heart racing at a gallop, she fought to keep her expression serene, though his tall, broad-shouldered frame and gleaming dark hair made this task difficult.

Lifting her chin, she forced herself to meet his gaze when he stopped before her. Inclining his head in the merest bow, his expression unperturbed, he said, “Good evening, Miss Thorncroft.”

At his faint smile, Mariah felt some of the heat in her cheeks cool.

With my apologies. Now, gazing into his unreadable eyes, Mariah thought the meaning of those words could not be clearer—their kiss had meant less than nothing to him. She felt some of the warmth leave her heart as well.

What did she expect? she asked herself with bitter scorn at her foolishness. Kissing his female house-guests was probably only a momentary diversion for him.

Whipping up her pride, she told herself she did not care and squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin, she forced her features to impassivity. “Thank you for returning my case and for sending along the art books.” She knew she sounded stiff and strange, but could not help it.

“My pleasure. Talent such as yours should be nurtured,” he said, his rich, deep voice sending a faint shiver through her body.

“You are very kind, my lord.”

She could not look away from his disturbing gaze, and several seconds passed in a strangely tense silence.

Vaguely, she was aware of the scent of fragrant wood burning in the enormous fireplace. The swirl of vibrantly colored silks worn by the other ladies melded around her into a riotous kaleidoscope, and the low hum of conversation seemed to recede.

She felt oddly removed from the happy, festive scene. The only thing that held her attention was the enigmatic expression in the earl’s eyes.

This urbane, composed man bore little resemblance to the man she had kissed in the library. That man had seemed so intently, passionately absorbed by her that her heart fluttered at the memory.

Finally she could not bear another moment of the silence stretching so tightly between them, and she blinked, her tilted hazel gaze unconsciously revealing her confusion. “I accept your apology, my lord,” she said softly.

Just for an instant she saw something flare in the depths of his unreadable gaze.

A second later the look was gone, and a sardonic smile twisted his lips. “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t,” he drawled.

With a half-bow, he turned away from her and began to circulate among the other guests. Staring after him in utter surprise, Mariah tried to discern his meaning.

Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones joined her at that moment. Smiling at the couple, Mariah wondered desperately how she would manage to get through the rest of the evening.

***

If I have to sit here and endure one more dueling aria, I shall grow cross-eyed
, Mariah thought, doing her utmost to keep a pleasant expression on her face.

They had all entered the formal music room an hour ago. Since then they had been listening to Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram—with an unexpectedly proficient Mr. Woburn on the pianoforte—trying to outsing each other, one exceedingly difficult piece following another. If she had been in a better mood, she would have found the whole thing rather comical.

At least she did not have to try to converse with anyone, she thought with a measure of relief.

Mrs. Ingram, who had a pleasing soprano voice, took her turn next and attempted a popular libretto.

As the pretty redhead’s voice filled the room, Mariah, with an effort to appear offhand, allowed her gaze to sweep the guests. They all sat on ornately gilded chairs, arranged in several rows facing the performers. Mariah had taken a chair at the end of the second row. The earl sat in front of her, several chairs down.

Unable to stop herself, she found her attention lingering on his strong, angled profile for a few seconds. What had he meant when he said that he’d rather hoped she would not accept his apology? The question had tortured her all through dinner. She finally concluded, with an odd pang in her heart, that it meant nothing. The earl was an expert flirt, and she was a silly green girl for paying any attention to him.

The way he leaned his head toward Lady Walgrave, who sat next to him, caught her attention. Her heart clenched sharply at the sight of his dark head so near her fair hair. What a lovely couple they made, she thought bitterly. Whatever he was saying raised a smile to the elegant blonde’s classic features.

Forcing herself to look away, Mariah wondered if the earl, despite his rakish behavior, could be in love with the married baroness.

She stared at the front of the room while Lady Charlotte joined Mrs. Ingram in warbling something in Italian, with mixed results.

Mariah’s thoughts continued in this vein, and she wondered if Lady Walgrave was in love with the earl. After considering the possibility for a moment, Mariah had to concede that she probably was. Mariah wondered how it would feel to love a man she could never have. It would be quite dreadful, she concluded, almost feeling some sympathy for Lady Walgrave. Almost.

Mariah pitied whomever the earl did finally marry. The poor woman would have his name and position in Society, but she would never have his heart. Inexplicably, the ache near her own heart seemed to deepen.

She allowed her gaze to wander back to the earl before moving to some of the other guests. Lord Stothart, who was several seats down from the earl, met her glance with an almost leering expression on his pudgy features.

Affronted, she lifted her chin and looked away. His manner made her even more determined to avoid his company in the future.

Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram continued to try to show each other up with their musical talents until the guests became noticeably restive.

Without her realizing it, Mariah’s gaze traveled back to the earl’s chiseled profile. Why did her heart thump whenever she looked at him? Why did that tingly feeling travel up her arms and down her spine when they spoke? Why had she responded in such an uncharacteristic manner when he took her into his arms?

A rather horrible thought came to her mind. What if she were falling in love with the earl?

The music seemed to stop. No! Only someone who did not have a care for her own heart could be so foolish as to fall in love with a man like the Earl of Haverstone.

I must stop this nonsense!
she told herself firmly.
This foolishness can only lead to pain. I am not falling in love with him,
she repeated to herself several times. The thought was much too horrid to entertain. She tried to tell herself that she was only confused because his charm put an attractive fac¸ade on his true nature.

Clenching her hands in her lap, she thought of how desperately she wanted to go home. Maybe she could write to Papa and tell him Mama was losing money at piquet. That should spur him into demanding their immediate return.

However, that would take days, and she had a desperate desire to leave as soon as Harris could pack her bags.

Until she could convince Mama to leave—and she had not the vaguest notion of how to accomplish that—she would have to steel herself to behave normally.

“We were certainly given a rare performance tonight, do not you agree, Miss Thorncroft?”

Mariah turned startled eyes up to Lady Walgrave before allowing her confused gaze to sweep the rest of the room. Evidently, while she had been lost in her thoughts Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram had ended their concert. The other guests had risen, and Mariah heard someone mention retiring to the salon to play cards.

She quickly stood up, retrieving the trailing end of her shawl. “Yes, my lady. A most enjoyable concert.”