A Question for Harry (16 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

From the correspondence of the Marquis of Aylesbury – Mar 1893

…needed in Aylesbury, yet I linger here in Edinburgh and have to wonder for what purpose? Moira is safely wed and my business here is long done. There is nothing to be gained by remaining when my attention would be best placed elsewhere.

In any case, I rather suppose it would be best to leave before I either make an utter fool of myself or end up staring down the barrel of a gun
. And so it shall be. Expect me soon. I am resolved to return to my duties posthaste.

But I do wonder, my dear, have you ever known someone with a smile so terribly engaging that you felt you had no choice but to smile in return?

“Lady Onslow!” Aylesbury called, scooping the lady’s fan from the floor where it fell
. “Your fan, my lady!”

The lady turned with a frown, searching her reticule before offering a smile for Aylesbury as he held out the feathered fan to her
. “Thank you, dear boy! I would have hated to lose it. It is quite my favorite.”

“I am at your service, Lady Onslow,” Aylesbury paused briefly before adding, “And might I again offer my apologies for my inexcusable behavior at your ball last week?”

The matronly woman patted his arm. “No need for another apology, my lord. The flowers and note you sent around the next morning were more than enough. However, in your – how shall I put it? – rush to depart our little gathering, you did forget to dance with my daughter,” Lady Onslow added without even attempting to disguise the reprimand in a hint. “It was her come out, you know.”

Turning to the young miss Lady Onslow was tugging forward, Aylesbury offered a short bow
. “My apologies Lady Sybill. I hope you will do me the honor tonight?”

“I would be glad to, Lord Aylesbury,” the fresh-faced debutante rushed to assure him
. “I have the supper dance available.”

Lady Onslow gave her daughter a nod of approval then turned to him expectantly
. It was a move well played by Lady Sybill, neatly trapping Aylesbury into not only a dance but dinner as well. But while Lady Sybill was a lovely girl with soft blue eyes and dark hair, she did not tempt him as much as another brunette he knew.

“I would be happy to attend you,” he murmured with Lady Onslow looking on as if she were a cat who had guzzled an entire bowl of rich cream
.

Achingly familiar
laughter drew
his attention
and Aylesbury turned from the ladies, wondering
who provoked that rich outburst.

Connor
. At least there was that to be thankful for, that it was her brother rather than another beau, like Lord Temple, who roused her spirits. But even if it had been, the mere sight of Fiona amidst that burst of humor was enough to lift his as well. Despite the fact that he seemed to be taking two steps backward for every step he gained forward where she was concerned.

“They do rather make one want to grimace, do they not, my lord?” Lady Onslow commented under her breath, mistaking his sigh for one of impatience
.

“Not at all,” Aylesbury disagreed
. “I find their unfettered enthusiasm rather refreshing.”

Fiona had never been
given to polite social tittering. She did not giggle or simper. When she laughed, she did so with her entire being, from deep within. That boisterousness was uncommonly becoming. Now, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she tossed her head with a wide, toothy grin as she laughed. Her eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners. The apples of her prominent cheeks bloomed with becoming color and those long dimples cut deeply.

A tender ache tightened in Aylesbury’s
heart at the beauty of the sight. Not just the beauty of her person but the beauty of the inner glow that lit her from within.
For what seemed to be the hundredth time, he cursed himself for not having made the realization sooner and snatched Fiona up while she would still have him.

She was glorious tonight in a bottle
green silk gown that he imagined was just the same shade as her eyes. It hung off her shoulders, leaving them deliciously bare. The only embellishment on the elegantly simple gown was a band of ruched tulle that shadowed the rise of her breasts above the loosely draped silk of her bodice. It made for a décolletage that tempted a man’s gaze to linger but Aylesbury’s eyes dipped for only a brief appreciative glance before rising once more.

Aylesbury drank in the sheer beauty of Fiona’s features, the eyes that danced, the dark hair lit with the fire that burned deep within her
. The radiant glow of health and vitality. The deep dimples and smile that had been constant in years past but painfully absent again when they had met that morning.

One didn’t meet a woman like Fiona very often
. At least not in London where high class women seemed to feel it their duty to be cool and sophisticated. Aloof like Lady Onslow and her daughter.

No
, what appealed to him most about Fiona was that she was so open with her emotions. He had never met a female capable of such sustainable and emotive demonstrations of her moods as she. When she was happy, she was overjoyed to the point of bursting. When she was angry, her fury could shake the walls. And clearly, when she embraced hatred, she did it with every fiber of her being and never let it go.

Yes, she did a quite fine job of expressing it.

Still it was an oft-repeated axiom that hate was but the flip side of the coin from love. Aylesbury wasn’t much for such platitudes but he rather hoped that particular one had been founded in some truth, because though he had
never been a jealous man – Moira had once said he did not have a possessive heart – Aylesbury wasn’t surprised to feel it burning within him now. He wanted to be the one to provoke her laughter, to bask in its joy.
He was like a greedy moth circling the flame, wanting that light for his own.

He’d be damned if a vile fellow like Ramsay would be the one to have her.

Knowing that Fiona would balk even more obdurately under duress if he cornered her, Aylesbury had given her the white glove treatment, handling her as if she were something fragile. It had gotten him nowhere. Well, the gloves were off now and he was prepared to don an entirely different kind of glove now.

It was time for round two
.

“You
seem to be enjoying yourselves tonight.”

Fiona closed her eyes with a groan, easily recognizing the deep voice behind her
. He did have a penchant for coming about when she was feeling the most vulnerable and ill-prepared for him.

“
Aylesbury, old man!” Connor waggled his brows at Fiona before turning to greet the marquis, extending his hand in greeting. “Didn’t know you were about tonight.”

“I’ve been here and there
. Lady Fiona.” Both men turned to Fiona expectantly but she resolutely kept her hands to herself and only offered a stiff nod, praying for strength.

Connor didn’t even try to
downplay the fact that Fiona had just openly cut a marquis of the realm. Again. “Forgive, Blossom, won’t you? She’s been a mite touchy this evening.”

“Has she
? And yet she looked to be enjoying herself … before I came along, that is,” Aylesbury said, rocking back on his heels as he studied Fiona intently. His gaze traveled a slow path from head to toe leaving tingling awareness in its wake.

Self-consciously, she ran her palms down the side of her skirts, insanely wondering if he thought she looked nice in the
amber silk faille and satin Jacques Doucet gown she had chosen to wear that night. Doucet was inclined to simple tailored design employing more tucks, draping, and understated adornment like cut velvet for embellishment, a style Fiona preferred. An occasional touch of Chantilly or tambour lace was as frilly as she ever got. But perhaps Aylesbury fancied some of the more opulent beaded, sequined, and feathered gowns most of the ladies wore.

Mentally berating herself, Fiona reminded herself that she did not care what Aylesbury thought of her gown
. One afternoon of semi-pleasant conversation did not forgiveness grant! “Yes, I was perfectly happy. Before.”

“I say, Blossom!” It seemed even Connor had his limits of expectable rudeness.

The marquis, on the other hand, only grinned at her response, not at all put out.

“
Let’s keep the spirit light then,” Aylesbury was saying, “I was just thinking that the only thing that could possibly make the night any better would be a dance with Lady Fiona.”

“
She’d like that, I’d wager,” Connor responded for her, though Aylesbury had the decency to wait for her response. It just wasn’t a polite one.

“No, I would not.”

“Blossom! Dance with the man.”

“What say you, Lady Fiona
? Might I have this dance?” Aylesbury asked with a dashing bow and an equally charming grin as he held out his hand. Fiona merely glared at him, though it was all she could do to summon the necessary heat after her sentimental exchange with Connor.

“My dance card is full
.”

“Blossom
!” Connor chided, giving her a wink. “There is a fresh new tune being played. You wouldn’t want to stay here for the same old chorus now would you?”

Fiona
pursed her lips at her brother’s none too subtle jab but said nothing, not daring to relax her guard. Instead, she simply glared stonily at the marquis, silently wishing him away. She was too maudlin tonight to bear this as well! But obstinate, unmovable man that he was, Aylesbury only waited patiently with an annoyingly tolerant smile.

“
Blossom, dance with the fellow,” Connor hissed under his breath giving the tender flesh above Fiona’s elbow a painful little pinch but Fiona only shook her head jerkily.

“Fiona!”

Saved from Connor’s relentless brutality, Fiona turned with a welcome smile to find Ilona, approaching with a gentleman in tow at her side. Or rather, it appeared that he might instead be towing her along instead.

Fiona blushed as they arrived at her side, the gentleman grinning down at her with unabashed interest
. Such confidence might have hung awkwardly on another man but this one carried it well and with good reason. He was as tall Aylesbury and just as broadly built with blondish-brown hair, blue eyes, and rugged features that bespoke a Nordic ancestry. Uncommonly handsome in an ancient warrior sort of way.

She wouldn’t have been surprised if women often threw themselves at his feet
hoping that he might carry them off over his shoulder as the plunder of war.

“Fiona, I’d like you to meet
our host, Nathan Ralston-Ryder, Earl of Harrowby.”

“Lady Fiona,” he rumbled in a gravelly voice that Fiona wagered had been practiced and
polished to set a lady aquiver. He took her hand, smoothing it flat between his palms before lifting it to his lips. His blue eyes danced over their intermingled hands. “
Det er en glede
ä
m
ø
te en vakker kvinne
.”

A rare giggle nearly escaped her before Fiona bit it back though she couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to her lips
. She nodded vaguely. “Mmm hmm.”