The Beautiful One (19 page)

“Lizzie,” Tommy said anxiously. “Thank God. Are you all right?”

Her chin seemed to poke higher in the air at Tommy's words. Interesting.

“Yes, I thank you, sir,” she said in a formal tone, and then turned her attention back to Will.

Tommy spoke again. “Is there anything needed? Any service I might provide?” Will could not mistake the spark of attraction mingling with concern in his brother's eyes.

“None,” she replied coolly. He remembered then that Tommy had said some rather unflattering things about her at the stable, and reflected that Tommy seemed to have miscalculated just how much more wit than hair Lizzie really had.

She turned her attention back to Will, drawing a brief look of surprise from Tommy, and Will hid a smile. Since the age of about fourteen, his brother had had a predictable effect on females. One thing to which he was not accustomed from them was a lack of interest.

“Oh, well then,” Tommy said, sounding unwontedly unsure, “I'm glad to hear it.” He bowed politely and took his leave.

Will and Lizzie spent a few more minutes talking, then he left her smiling and making a list of books she meant to read.

Anna was waiting for him at some distance down the corridor, leaning against a windowsill and looking out over the darkened grounds.

Hearing his approach, she turned, and he allowed his eyes to roam over her and take in all the feminine curves suggested by her sky-blue gown. It was remarkable how she dressed the color up even more with her beauty.

“How is she?” she said. “Did you tell her?”

“Yes, I told her she'll always have a home here. She seems quite happy now,” he said, stopping next to her, “aside from a sudden aversion to pretty clothes.” She smelled softly of honeysuckle, as if she'd brought spring inside with her, and it teased him mightily.

“Pardon?”

“I asked her if she'd save me the first dance at the ball, and she told me she wasn't certain she'd like to go to something so frivolous as a ball. And that she wasn't interested in superficial things like beauty.”

Her impudent black eyebrows drifted up. He loved her eyebrows. “Surprising.”

“I imagine it's something to do with the experience of running off and being found,” he said. “At any rate, I should think she'll perk up once she sees the gowns I ordered for the two of you to wear to the ball.”

“You did what?”

“I chose garnet for you,” he said, leaning closer so he could breathe in her honeysuckle scent more deeply. “You're going to look beautiful. It's quite a rich, reddish-brown color, tasteful but striking. I know you like to hide yourself, but it's time to put that behind you.”

She gave him a look and leaned away, glancing about them at the quiet hallway. No one was there, he knew.

“I don't want a new gown. And what are you doing?” she whispered tensely.

“Breathing you in.”

“Well, don't. That can't lead anywhere good.”

“I beg to differ.”

She crossed her arms. “I don't need another gown. I don't even need to be at the ball. I'm the
governess
.”

“You're the daughter of a family friend doing me a favor by helping my ward, and you are to be my hostess. Thus, you need a gown for the ball.”

“How can you ask me to participate in something that might hurt Judith?” Those sherry-brown eyes wanted him to feel just what a blackguard he was in regards to his stepmother, but he let their little daggers float past him. He was in far too good a mood to care.

“This has nothing to do with Judith. I simply wish you to be my hostess. Indeed, Anna, I hope you will be far more.”

She would make a fine viscountess, and he had no doubt they would make a successful union. Best of all, the thought of being paired with Anna seemed like such a good idea. He knew he wasn't ever again going to open himself to the kind of uncontrollable pain and grief that love could bring. With Anna, he'd have something better: companionship.

“The incident with Lizzie has made me see some things differently,” he said.

“I'm glad.”

He caught her gaze. “Anna, I need a viscountess. Lizzie needs a woman to guide her. And you and I understand each other. You refused to talk of marriage earlier, but now I'm asking you to reconsider. Marriage would have so many advantages for the two of us.” He chuckled. “And you can't tell me you'd rather go live some spinsterish existence with your aunt.”

He expected some smart retort, but he was willing to banter with her over this and press her—whatever it took to get her to be reasonable about her ridiculous idea of never marrying.

She crossed her arms. “We already discussed this. I don't need you taking responsibility for me.”

“That's not what this proposal is about. It's about you, and what a fine viscountess you would make.” He reminded himself that Anna made her own decisions, which was one of the things he liked best about her. “I've come to think I couldn't find a better partner than you.”

“You want us to be partners?”

“Yes! Exactly. Marriage should be a partnership, and ours would be an entirely congenial one. You and I have a strong attraction.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And we understand each other.”

He wished she looked more biddable. “You seem to have forgotten that I have no wish to marry at all.”

“Confound it, Anna, that's ridiculous. Why the devil not?”

“I don't believe, actually,” she said with the ghost of a smile, “that a woman is required to provide reasons when declining an offer of marriage.”

He gave her a look that told her he wasn't going to accept the primness she was trying to use as a wedge between them. “Anna, we already know each other intimately.”

She blushed. “Yes,” she said quietly, “but that's over. And now that you've truly welcomed Lizzie, it's time I left.”

She
would
be difficult. “Absolutely not.”

He was going to have to push her to get his way. Marriage was the right thing for both of them—he
knew
she liked him, and she was completely dismissing all the advantages that marrying him would bring her—but apparently she was going to need convincing. Considering Anna, this would take craftiness. Already he was getting ideas, or perhaps the more accurate word was fantasies. He'd seen the passionate side of her, and he could see he was going to have to use it to his advantage.

He crossed his arms and gave her his most lordly look. “We had an agreement regarding your time here with Lizzie, and if you're not going to consent to marriage—”

“I'm not.”

“Then I still need to find a companion for her. She doesn't deserve to be left with just me, a dull and busy old man. It can be echoingly empty around here.”

She frowned. “But there's Judith. She would be a wonderful companion to Lizzie.”

“You know that's not going to happen. As soon as the ball is over, Judith is leaving. She has already agreed to do so, and to stay permanently out of my life. So if you're getting ideas about her being a great friend to Lizzie, forget them. Lizzie needs a female companion, and for now, that person is you.”

Anna didn't look happy, but he knew he could count on her sense of duty and her compassion for Lizzie. “Besides, you have to host the ball, and be there for Lizzie. If it helps ease your mind in regards to Judith, you can consider your hostess duties to be a way for me to acknowledge all you've done for my niece.”

She gave him a glowering look that only made his blood heat up. When she got prim and governess-y, it entertained him no end. “Having me as your hostess is a ridiculous idea.
You
will look ridiculous.”

“I don't see why this is so burdensome for you. You need merely put on a pretty gown and mingle with the guests.”

“They'll think you are mocking them.”

“No,” he said softly. “They will be charmed by you.”

He saw a flash of something tender in her eyes, but she was struggling not to let it show. She pressed her lips together. “Why are you doing this? You know we agreed to go on as if nothing happened between us. That was for the best.”

“Actually, we agreed to be friends. I never said I would stop wanting you. And I haven't.”

A blush rose in her cheeks. “I liked it better when you were brooding,” she said, and walked away to his laughter.

* * *

Anna hastened up the stairs toward her bedchamber, deeply bestirred.

She wished he hadn't spoken of marriage again. He didn't love her. What he wanted was a companion and helpmate. He seemed to think it would be fun for them to marry.

Fun!

For a moment, she'd been far too tempted to agree before reason overcame desire. But even if she could ignore the enormous problem of that book of drawings—which was a sword of Damocles hanging over her that would taint any chance they might have for a normal life—even if she could ignore that huge obstacle, her heart could not let her marry Will in lighthearted fun when she cared so deeply for him.

He did something powerful to her, touched her deep in a place that had nothing to do with practicality and reasonableness, and if she had said yes, it would have been a partnership forever unbalanced. She would have lost herself in it.

But none of that mattered anyway, because the book did exist, and if she married Viscount Grandville, it would find her.

She passed the grand staircase and stopped to ask a maid to bring her a dinner tray, then continued to her chamber, determined to forget his proposal. At least he hadn't seemed unhappy that she'd turned him down, though that wasn't exactly a thought to cheer her.

The breakfast table was full the next morning, with everyone there at the same time for once. The viscount, however, did not offer any conversation from his end of the table, where he sat mostly obscured from view behind his newspaper.

Anna had been surreptitiously searching the back of his paper for news of
The
Beautiful
One
, without success, and already planned to look at the rest of it as soon as she could. Not that she wanted to read a single word about that horrible book or the excitement it was causing. Stillwell felt almost like home, even if her stay there was bittersweet, and she wished so much that she didn't have to think about her troubles.

The room's tall windows were open to the bright June morning, letting in the gentle early sun and an occasional soft breeze that tugged the gold-stamped, white silk draperies in and out. Tommy, seated at the other end of the table from his brother, cheerfully speared his second portion of beefsteak and deposited it on his plate.

“I'm going to take a boat out on the river today and do a little punting,” he said.

“A splendid day for it,” remarked Judith, who looked very fine in a cocoa-colored gown trimmed with darker brown braiding. With her pale yellow-and-cream hair, Anna thought affectionately, she looked like a petite, rich cup of chocolate with cream.

Lizzie was wearing an extremely plain dun-colored gown. It was not exactly unattractive, but it was not a flattering color on her, and she usually had such exquisite taste. Anna wondered if the gown might have something to do with what Lizzie had said to Will about not being interested in frivolous things.

“Tea, my lord?” Anna said as she pressed the teapot's spout against his newspaper, allowing a tiny stream to stain it. He flipped the paper down and gave her a lordly scowl, which made her want to smile.

“No, thank you, Anna,” he said. “I have had sufficient.” He folded the newspaper and laid it by his plate. She would take it as soon as she could do so without attracting attention.

He looked around the table. “With the ball only three days away, might I ask how the preparations are coming? Anna? Judith?”

Judith looked surprised at being personally addressed by her stepson, and in so pleasant a manner.

“Quite well,” Anna said. “Wouldn't you say, Judith?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “Just the few last details to take care of today, flowers and such.”

He nodded politely, though his eyes strayed to his folded newspaper.

Anna turned to Lizzie. “And what are your plans for the day? We ought at least to do some French, perhaps in the afternoon.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, but Tommy spoke up first.

“Actually,” he said, turning to Lizzie, “I was rather hoping you'd join me on the river. That is, of course, if you wish to, and if”—he chuckled—“your guardian will permit it.”

Anna reflected that it was quite outrageous, how handsome the Halifax brothers were. What had the Fates been thinking, to give so much to two mortals? They were all dark, lean male beauty.

“Of course Lizzie may go if she wishes,” Will said, reaching for the butter. “She hardly needs my permission for a boat ride.” He smiled ruefully at Lizzie. “And I'm afraid I can't spare any time today.”

“I don't wish to go, actually,” Lizzie said, spreading a blob of jam on her toast very carefully, as if it required all her attention.

Anna sucked in a breath at Lizzie's rudeness and administered a small, sharp kick under the table.

“Eh!” yelped Lizzie, her vexed eyes meeting Anna's. “What I meant to say”—she half-turned toward Tommy—“was that I'm afraid I can't spare the time this morning. But I thank you for the offer.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Perhaps you dislike boat rides? I had also thought of a walk up Little Rocktop.”

“Thank you, but I really don't have time.”

“Lizzie,” Anna said firmly, “I'm sure that you're not so very busy that you need to decline Tommy's generous offer.” She shot Lizzie a look intended to remind her that her uncle had promised her a home, and the least she could do was be gracious toward the whole family.

“You young people ought to take advantage of such a glorious day,” Judith said as she buttered a piece of bread.

Lizzie gazed rather woodenly at Tommy's plate. “Thank you, then. That would be pleasant.”

“Splendid!” he said. “We'll go after breakfast.”

* * *

Tristan followed Tommy and Lizzie to the river, and the only remarks Lizzie offered during the walk were addressed, affectionately, to the dog.

Tommy thought she didn't seem at all like the same girl he'd met the first day. For one thing, she hadn't uttered a single word about London or fashion or gossip, to his vast relief. And though he was sure, after what Will had told him about her assault on the statues and getting herself sent down from school, that she was a much more interesting girl than he'd first thought, every attempt he made at conversation simply died.

They approached a part of the path that was overhung with old apple trees, and he reached out and lifted a low branch that was in her way. She passed under without comment, apparently lost in thought, until Tristan began barking at some animal rustling in the bushes.

She laughed. “Is that perhaps a ferocious rabbit in there, Tristan?”

The dog bounded over to her and pressed his head against her skirts, and she crouched down to pet him, tipping her head up and laughing as Tristan's face tickled her neck.

From where he stood above her, Tommy watched her and almost had to look away, so struck was he by her appeal. She was more plainly dressed than before, but she didn't need pretty things to set off her beauty. He was especially drawn to the little dimples that appeared when she smiled.

When they got to the river, they had to bring Tristan onto the skiff with them because he followed at Lizzie's heels and jumped into the boat right after her. He was a good-sized dog, and Tommy would not have laid money on his chances of extricating the animal from the boat if that was where he wanted to be. Tristan settled by her feet, Tommy pushed off, and they were away down the quiet river, riding somewhat lower in the water than he would have preferred.

The sun was not yet high in the sky, the air was fresh and calm, and the river flowed gently past tree-lined shores. It was just the sort of setting that young ladies adored, but none of it was having any discernible effect on Lizzie, who sat silently trailing her fingers in the water and watching the ripples she made.

Another man might have been discouraged, but Tommy, who generally found feminine attention no challenge at all to secure, was intrigued. Miss Elizabeth Tarryton was a very pretty apple dangling somewhat higher on its tree than he had at first thought. Of course, she was his brother's ward; it was not as if he had any wicked intentions toward her. He simply needed her to stop pretending that she didn't find him just as intriguing as he found her.

He pulled strongly on the oars, enjoying the skiff's increasing speed as his efforts combined with the river's current, and asked her about Rosewood School. Young ladies always liked to talk about their friends, and perhaps she might also feel moved to explain how she'd gotten expelled. Perhaps she'd snuck a sip of the headmistress's brandy, or been insolent. He shouldn't be curious, but she looked like an angel, and he was captivated by the idea of her being a bit naughty.

“I hated it,” she said, still staring at the water. Behind her, Tristan adjusted himself and rested his head on the seat next to her. She began petting the animal's head. Why did she reserve all her attention for the damned dog?

“Tristan seems quite taken with you.”

She continued petting and made no reply.

After a few moments of staring at the top of her straw hat, he made another attempt. “And what do you study with Anna?”

“French.”

“My French is fairly awful,” he said, “though I did pick up quite a bit of Italian when I was there. I stayed for a few months in Florence.”

She made no comment. Irked, he pressed his lips together.

“Look here, if you're going to accept an invitation for a boat ride, you might at least participate in the conversation.”

She turned to look at him then, her gold-red hair sleek and shining in the places where it peeked out from under her hat, her face so lovely it made his fingers itch to touch her smooth skin. Her bosom, which he should not even be noticing, rose only slightly with each calm breath. All cool, unruffled beauty and annoying as hell.

“As you might have noticed at breakfast”—her pink lips formed each word precisely—“I did not, in fact, wish to go for a boat ride. I was urged into it.”

She returned her gaze to the river, her hand again on the dog's head—Tommy felt sure Tristan was smirking at him—and he knew an intense desire to make her react, to break through that cool shell.

“So”—he pulled extra strongly on the oars—“what happened at Rosewood? Why did you leave so suddenly?”

She turned toward him, but her blue eyes were not flashing with anger; instead she looked oddly weary.

“I snuck out of my room at night to meet a gentleman.”

He could not have been more astonished had she said she'd robbed a bank.

“You did
what
?” He bobbled the oars midstroke, so that he smacked the water at an angle and splashed them both. She turned and allowed her gaze to pass over him in mute reproach as she brushed droplets of water off her arms.

He dug in deeply with the oars and stroked, his jaw clenching tightly. “Who the devil were you meeting?” he ground out.

“That's of no concern to you.”

“As you are my brother's ward, it damned well is,” he said, knowing he was growing ridiculous but unable to stop himself.

She made no reply but turned her face away again and trailed her hand in that blastedly unruffled manner, and just watching her languid movements made his temperature go up. She'd just uttered something totally outrageous, and she knew it. And she wanted him to think she was just as cool as could be. He didn't credit it; he wanted to see her eyes.

He shipped the oars abruptly and leaned forward and took hold of her hand, which was resting on Tristan, and tugged, determined to have an explanation, to crack her coolness.

But she resisted him. She was no soft wisp of fantasy but a flesh-and-bone girl, and she pulled her arm firmly back as he tugged it, making the boat rock so hard they took on a large plash of water. The skiff, already riding low, dropped closer to the waterline.

“Let
go
!” she cried, tugging harder, but now he held on because he was afraid they would overbalance if he let go.

“If you will stop lurching,” he began through clenched teeth, but then Tristan jumped forward, knocking his arm away just as she gave an extra tug, and that was it. She fell against the side of the boat, pressing it toward the water, and it flipped over.

He was at the surface in a heartbeat and searching frantically for her.
Could
she
swim?
he thought in a panic, even as he knew it was preposterous. Young ladies did not swim, and she would have the huge weight of her wet gown pulling her down. He dove under the water, but it was too murky to see anything.

He came up, his heart racing with fear for her, and saw Tristan paddling toward the shore. But no sign of Lizzie. Had she surfaced while he was under, or was she even now drowning? He saw no sign of splashing anywhere and felt sick.

Dashing away the water streaming into his eyes, he began swimming methodically in circles, fighting the current that might have already pulled her away. Oh, please God that it hadn't!

And then, having paused only to drag in a breath, he saw her, a few feet from where Tristan was, near the shore. She had just broken the surface of the water; clearly she'd been swimming underwater the whole time he was panicking. And now, with a strong stroke and nary a backward glance for him, she was making for the shore.

* * *

Lizzie reached the low riverbank and hauled herself out, chest heaving and wearing only her chemise, and flopped on the ground. Tristan hopped out and shook himself off and lay down beside her.

As soon as she'd fallen in the water, the weight of her wet gown had almost dragged her to the bottom until she'd ripped at the bodice strings and let it fall away. And then she'd taken a quick breath and swum all the way underwater, and it had felt
good
. She hadn't swum since Malta, since her stepmother had arrived and declared that young ladies did not swim. She'd forgotten how wonderfully free and natural it felt.

Above her as she lay on the grass, pure white clouds traveled briskly across a clear, cerulean sky. The sun was warming her wet skin, though the air was a little cool. But she didn't mind. She felt wonderfully alive.

From the direction of the river, she could hear the sounds of Tommy swimming toward the bank; she'd checked to make sure he wasn't drowning. She'd surfaced and seen him diving under confidently and knew he was fine. She would get up momentarily, once she caught her breath.

She closed her eyes against the sun overhead, but a minute later a shadow darkened the brightness seeping through her eyelids. Tommy.

“I hope you are well,” she said without opening her eyes. She crossed her arms over her wet chemise for the sake of modesty. Thank goodness she had taken to wearing drawers. Although they were stuck to her as well as the chemise, at least they were covering that part of her.

“I hope you are well,” he mimicked nastily.

She opened her eyes and he stood dripping over her, his clothes plastered to him and water coursing all down him. He must have shaken his hair like Tristan had his fur because it flew wildly about his head, the slash of white in front sticking out and mixing in spikes with the black. In his dishevelment he looked dangerously handsome, and her heart gave a flutter.