Rhonda Woodward (5 page)

Lady Walgrave stared at Mama for a moment, seemingly nonplussed by her rambling speech.

“Yes, lovely,” she finally said.

Mariah admired how her mother blithely ignored the attention some of the other ladies directed toward her. Glancing around the room, Mariah noticed with relief that Lady Davinia and the widows now seemed involved in their own conversation.

Lady Walgrave’s firm voice recalled Mariah’s attention.

“Miss Thorncroft, your mother says you spent the Season in Bath this year. I would have thought that an attractive young lady like you would have gone to London for the Season—or perhaps London does not agree with you?”

Mariah did not like the sly tone in Lady Walgrave’s voice. “No, my lady, I quite enjoy London and have spent some time there in previous Seasons.”

“Indeed?” the lady replied. “I wonder that we never met at any balls or at Almack’s.”

Mariah would rather have eaten glass than admit that she had never, in three Seasons, received her vouchers to Almack’s. Mama had never been able to wangle a strong enough acquaintance with any of the patronesses for there to have been hope of a coveted voucher to the near-sacred—to Mama—assembly rooms.

“It is a curiosity. May I ask what part of the country you reside in, my lady?” Mariah really did not give a fig where Lady Walgrave hailed from; she just hoped to divert the subject.

At that moment a plump little maid opened the door wide, allowing a footman carrying a huge tea tray to enter. The maid quickly darted in front of him and cleared a vase from the large low table in the middle of the room so that he could set the tray down.

Lady Charlotte and Mrs. Ingram reached for the teapot at the same instant.

Mariah noticed that the rest of the ladies ceased their conversations to watch the two women glare at each other over the teapot.

After a tense moment, Mrs. Ingram finally released the bottom part of the handle. “Do pardon me, Lady Charlotte,” she said sweetly.

“Not at all, Mrs. Ingram. May I pour you the first cup?”

As much as Mariah found this spectacle amusing, she had no intention of continuing to be the target of Lady Walgrave’s pointed questions.

Rising, Mariah said, “Please excuse me, Mama, ladies. I find I am rather fatigued and would seek my bed early this evening.”

Mama looked a little disappointed, no doubt because she hoped the gentlemen would leave their port soon and join the ladies, but she did not press Mariah to stay.

Amid murmurs entreating her to have a good evening, Mariah executed a swift curtsy and left the ladies to their tea and gossip.

Taking her time, she chose a meandering route to her room, admiring the restrained, exquisitely appointed public rooms before heading upstairs.

Upon entering her room, she found Harris already laying out her night things.

“You’re quite early, miss,” the maid said as she put a pair of pink slippers next to the bed.

“Yes, and I am not ready to go to sleep yet. I believe I shall read for a while, Harris, but there is no need for you to wait up for me.”

“As you wish,” Harris nodded. “Would you like me to bring your breakfast at your usual time, or would you prefer to go downstairs in the morning?”

“I would like breakfast here, please. And thank you, Harris.” Mariah smiled at the older woman as she finished fluffing the pillows.

With one final pat to the pillow, Harris bid her mistress good night and left the room.

Retrieving a book from her nightstand, Mariah moved to a comfortable chair by the glowing fireplace and lost herself in
Emma
, by the very insightful and entertaining author of
Pride and Prejudice,
a book she had thoroughly enjoyed a couple of years ago.

Some time passed before Mariah put the book aside. Not feeling the least bit sleepy, she left the cozy warmth of the fireplace and crossed the room to the large window.

The intricately carved wood on the diamond-shaped window frames held dozens of pieces of glass in place. Lightly, she touched a pane and felt icy coolness but no draft.

Glancing upward, she saw the large moon, bright and full, spilling wavering shadows across the garden below.

“How lovely,” she said aloud.

How beautiful would Heaton be, bathed in the silver-blue glow?

An instant later she pushed away from the window and went the wardrobe to grab her heavy green redingote. Suddenly she desired nothing more than to experience the beauty of this place in the moonlight.

Chapter Five

Upon gently closing the arched door behind her, Mariah breathed deeply of the chilled evening air and paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness.

After a moment or two she moved into the formal garden before her, noticing the low, sculpted evergreen hedges laid out in a Roman key design.

Walking farther, she saw dormant vines, stripped of their leaves and twined in ghostly shapes up stone arches. With a sigh of satisfaction at the sculptural beauty before her, she continued along the stone path between the hedges, past little sheltered places that she would like to explore during the day.

For now, she wanted to get away from everyone, to get far enough from the house to see the full moon. Just the thought of the moonlight bathing Heaton in its silvery glow caught at her heart.

She would try to remember the details and attempt to sketch them tomorrow. She had to admit that the overwhelming loveliness of Heaton had cast a soft spell over her senses.

Mariah desired to see the house in every light and to examine every angle to take in fully the splendor of this unexpectedly magical place.

Taking a turn between the hedges, she caught sight of the moon through the bare tree branches overhead. Pausing, she allowed her senses to absorb the mysterious, romantic beauty of the silvery orb. The moon and the stars had fascinated her since childhood. Could other worlds possibly be floating around in the heavens? She pondered this mystery often.

As she continued along the path before her, it opened to a wide area where a number of stone benches squatted beneath still more leafless trees. She paused to breathe deeply of the cool air, not caring if she caught cold again, as she had before Julia’s wedding. A moment later she thought better and paused to fasten the last few frogs on her heavy woolen coat before continuing her moonlit walk.

This was the first moment of real peace she had experienced in many days. She savored the feeling as she strolled along the shadowy, wind-rustled path.

The sudden sight of a man and woman embracing closely a short distance away halted her movement as if she had been thunderstruck.

For an instant she wondered if the figures could be a statue.

The doubt instantly dissolved when she saw the man run his hands up and down the woman’s back. A moment later, she recognized his height and profile to be that of the earl.

As his hand moved to caress the small of the woman’s back, Mariah stared, feeling mesmerized and unable to move.

With a sinuous movement, the earl pulled the woman even closer against the length of his body. The breath caught in Mariah’s throat as she watched the woman rise on tiptoe to snake her arms up around his neck.

Standing silently in the pale moonlight, her chest aching from holding her breath, Mariah continued to stare at the entwined couple.

A warm, fluttery feeling traveled up from the pit of her stomach and into her chest. She remained motionless for several moments.

Without conscious thought, her gaze shifted to the movement of powerful muscles flexing beneath the earl’s coat sleeve. Mariah had no doubt that he could pick up the delicate-looking blonde and carry her off.

So this is what passion looks like
. This startling thought—and the sudden awareness of the sheer impropriety of just standing there staring—finally shook her from her frozen stance.

Whirling, Mariah sent up a quick prayer that she would be able to leave before they saw or heard her.

In her haste, her foot caught on something hard, and she took several long—and loud—stumbling steps before regaining her balance.

A feminine gasp reached her in midstride. Mortified, Mariah refused to look back. Somewhat hindered by the swirling length of her coat, she moved as quickly as she could up the path, the night air cooling her hot cheeks.

Moments later, over the pounding of her heart, she became aware of footsteps behind her.

“Miss Thorncroft.”

It did not seem possible, but her heart pounded even faster at the sound of the earl’s deep voice speaking her name. Slowing, she turned, grateful for the shield of moonlight shadowing her flushed face.

The earl approached, and she could see that his partially revealed expression seemed unperturbed. With great effort Mariah tried to catch hold of her belabored breath.

The earl reached her side. “Please allow me to escort you back to the house.”

Straining to discern his half-hidden features, Mariah suspected a hint of amusement beneath the polite offer.

“I know the way.” Tilting her head, she looked past his shoulder to see if the lady had come with him.

“She took another way back to the house,” he supplied.

Mariah felt a flush of warmth rush again to her cheeks. “Oh. I am sorry, my lord. I never would have . . .”

“Don’t give it another thought. I am sorry if you were embarrassed.”

At the droll amusement in his voice, some of Mariah’s embarrassment abated, replaced by an inexplicable flash of annoyance.
All in an evening’s work,
she thought acerbically. Being caught in such a compromising situation obviously did not discomfit him in the least. Never had she encountered such unabashed arrogance.

“I would be careful, my lord. The lady might expect you to come up to scratch.” She could not resist the temptation to goad him a little.

His deep velvet laughter filled the silvery darkness.

“Not likely. That was Lady Walgrave. You really are an innocent.” His tone, though amused, did not make the words a compliment.

Her spine stiffened.
How utterly insufferable!
She spared a sympathetic thought for Lady Charlotte, whom she had assumed was the earl’s companion, and Mrs. Ingram. She wondered if the widows knew that they had more competition than each other for the earl’s favor.

“I am not so very innocent—I am just not completely jaded.” She strove for a tone of indifference as she hurried up the path.

Evidently her words missed their mark, for she heard his rumbling laughter again as he walked in step next to her.

“Well said, Miss Thorncroft. You are not what I expected after spending dinner in your company.”

As much as she did not want to ask, she could not help herself. “How so?”

“My first impression was that you were one of those typical, perfectly polished misses who would have had a fit of the vapors at the sight of a man kissing a woman. You surprise me.”

Mariah pulled the hem of her coat away from a low flower bed. “I am so pleased. Do I rise even higher in your esteem for not fainting over the fact that your companion is a married woman?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, catching her elbow as she stumbled slightly. “Nothing is more guaranteed to insult the sensibilities of a delicately brought-up miss than the evidence of adultery. You have shown remarkable restraint in not reaching for the hartshorn.”

A definite tease laced his words, causing her blood to boil. Furthermore, it annoyed her no end that he did not even have the grace to be pricked by her sarcasm.

“Forgive me for correcting you, my lord, but today is not when you formed your first impression of me. We did meet in Bath. We sat down to dinner together at Lady Farren’s party. My dearest friend, Julia Allard, has recently married your friend the Duke of Kelbourne.”

He stopped beneath a stone arch, and she perforce stopped as well.

Looking down at her with an expression of mild surprise, he said, “You don’t say? Were you at their wedding?”

“Unfortunately I was too ill to attend.”

“Hmmm . . . I do recall Miss Allard being quite upset that her chief attendant was too ill to witness the nuptials. Were you the young lady she was referring to?”

“Yes.”

The earl bowed briefly. “My apologies for not recalling you, or at least your name, Miss Thorncroft. My only excuse is that I was so bored during my brief visit to Bath that I stayed half-foxed most of the time.”

“I had noticed,” she said, her tone dry. As if in accord, they resumed walking toward the house.

“I will have to restrain from indulging to excess from now on. I must have been impaired if I do not recall such a pretty face as yours,” the earl continued in a conversational tone.

Mariah burst out laughing and turned her head to peer up at him. “Spare me your compliments, my lord. I have the measure of you. Your flirting is quite wasted on me. In fact, I am sure you would prefer that my family and I leave. I shall arrange our departure tomorrow.”

The earl halted on the cobbled pathway. After a few steps, Mariah’s curiosity slowed her progress as well. She turned toward him.

“That is not what I want at all,” he stated firmly, moving to stand in front of her. “I would be quite disappointed if you did not accept my hospitality for the duration of my house party. I know that your mother and younger brother may feel out of place now, but in another week or so some other family members will be arriving. I have younger cousins George’s age and aunts your mother’s. There is no reason to leave, especially not over the little dalliance you just witnessed.”

Beneath the moon’s glow, Mariah studied the angled, handsome planes of his face and found his expression sincere. Knowing how difficult it would be to talk her family into leaving, she reluctantly gave in.

“Thank you for reassuring me of our welcome,” she said in a stilted tone. “Please know that I shall not discuss what I witnessed this evening.”

“You are too kind.”

Again, the amusement in his voice set her back up, but this time she did not feel true anger. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?” she said softly, feeling his arm brush against her shoulder. It was strange the way his warmth seemed to permeate the thick material of her coat.

“So I have been told. But it is too late for you to revert to the vaporish miss I thought you to be. Odd, but I find it quite refreshing that there is at least one person in my home with whom I do not have to pretend to be something I am not.”

They continued to walk side by side while Mariah contemplated what he had just said.

“Were you pretending to be something you are not with Lady Walgrave?” she could not help asking.

“Of course, and she would not have it otherwise.”

Mariah took her time digesting this startling comment. She could not believe for a moment that he had not thoroughly enjoyed kissing Lady Walgrave. “But what were you pretending?”

“That I find her utterly irresistible, for one thing.”

Mariah only half suppressed her disbelieving laugh. “It certainly looked as if you found her irresistible.”

Mariah felt, rather than saw, him shrug. “For the moment I find her amusing and accommodating.”

“How horrid. In what other ways do you pretend?” She knew her tone did not have its previous sting. Admittedly, she found this conversation quite fascinating—when would she ever again have the chance to speak candidly to an unmitigated rakehell?

“With most women I pretend to be brooding and dangerous. I have discovered that ladies respond quite delightfully to brooding and dangerous.”

A frisson of awareness traveled down her spine as the memory of his arms tightening around Lady Walgrave came to mind.

“But you
are
brooding and dangerous.” It surprised her that he would say otherwise.

“Do you think so?” he asked, his tone untroubled. “I would not hurt a flea. Although I am a dab hand with the foil, if I say so myself.”

Throwing her arms up impatiently, Mariah said, “Not
that
kind of danger—not physical danger. You are the kind of dangerous that mamas warn their daughters about. You are the kind of man who will attempt to steal a lady’s heart for sport. Once the thrill of the hunt is over, you will toss the lady aside, uncaring of her heart or her reputation.”

“Egad.” His deep, mild voice reached her as they came to a halt within the moonless shadow of the house. “I hope I am not that callow. Besides, I only dally with married ladies.”

“Well! Then that makes everything just fine.”

“You are quite attached to sarcasm, aren’t you?”

Mariah shrugged. “Yes, to my mother’s lament. I try not to indulge in front of strangers.”

“So with me you can set aside your demure fac¸ade and be yourself as well. Odd as it seems, I believe we have come to an understanding, Miss Thorncroft.”

She realized, to her surprise, that she felt the same. “I believe we have,” she replied softly.

They resumed walking until they had reached the double doors that she had used earlier. Hesitating, for she felt strangely disappointed that their conversation was about to end, she said, “I shall bid you good night, my lord, and thank you for a most interesting conversation.”

Reaching down, he lifted her hand to his lips. “The pleasure was mine. Pleasant dreams, Miss Thorncroft.”

Pulling away, she slipped past him through the open door and rushed to the staircase.

As she ascended the steps, she rubbed her hands vigorously over her arms, feeling the gooseflesh beneath the heavy sleeves. With a little shiver, she knew that the condition had nothing to do with the chilly autumn evening.