An Unexpected Gentleman (4 page)

“Yes.” There was a considerable difference, in fact. Her mind struggled out of its daze. It might have recovered faster if he’d not been sitting so close. The hard muscle of his thigh pressed against her leg, and the subtle scent of him surrounded her.

“There are a variety of excuses available to explain your tardiness,” he continued. “I’ll help you select one if you like, but I doubt you’ll need it. I wager there are a half dozen ladies who’ve yet to arrive because they decided on a change of gown, or took exception to the way their maids arranged their coiffure. Do you imagine their tardiness will be questioned?”

“No. I suppose it won’t.”

“Neither will yours be. And as for this . . .” He drew the mask from her hands and set it aside. “Mrs. Cress is an experienced hostess. She’ll have another you can borrow.”

She nodded again, and her shoulders slumped in relief. She hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Here.” He reached under his coat, produced a small flask, and handed it to her. “Have a sip. It will settle your nerves.”

Wary, she took it from him and sniffed at the contents.

“Whiskey,” her companion informed her.

Adelaide frowned, her first instinct to refuse. A lady did not partake of spirits. Then again, a lady also did not converse with a handsome gentleman in a dark garden while her suitor waited for her inside.

She took a long swallow. The liquid burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes. The last of her lethargy vanished.

“Oh, good heavens,” she gasped.

“You’ve not had whiskey before,” he guessed on a quiet laugh.

She shook her head and turned her face to blow out a short breath. She wondered a little that she didn’t see flames.

“No.” She resisted the urge to fan her mouth with her hand. “But my brother swears by the benefits of drink. Brandy, in particular. I thought there might be something to his claims.”

“It has its uses. For the right ailment, and in the correct dosage.”

She looked down at the flask. “What is the correct dosage?”

“Heart racing yet? Nerves still eating at you?”

“Rather.”

“Then have a bit more.”

She considered it. The burn had turned into a lovely warmth in her chest. She could have a glass of wine or two without feeling the effects. Surely she could have a few swallows of whiskey without losing her head.

She took another drink and sighed in pleasure when the warmth intensified. Curious to see if the sensation would continue, she drank again.

Oh, yes. That was very nice.

Mr. Brice took the flask from her hand. “I believe you’ve arrived at the optimal dosage.”

“Hmm.” He was probably right. She didn’t feel drastically different save for the pleasant glow in her belly. But she did sense a lightness begin to settle over her, as if the whiskey was wrapping the sharp edge of her fear in cotton batting. “I should have thought of having a drink before leaving my room. I’d not have been so inclined to stall in the hall.”

“And you’d have missed this fine adventure.”

She gave a delicate snort. “I’m not in need of an adventure. I’m in need of a way to get back into the house.”

“What if you didn’t have to go back?”

She frowned in confusion. “Beg your pardon?”

“Suppose you had your own five thousand pounds a year,” Mr. Brice explained. “Suppose you could be anywhere you liked, doing anything you wanted at this moment. Where would you be?”

She shook her head and found it wobbled a bit on her neck. “What is the point of such an exercise?”

“It’s merely a way to pass the time,” he said lightly. “For example, I would be at home, in my favorite chair in the library. I would have a book in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other. There would be a hound at my feet and a roaring fire in the hearth.”

“It’s too warm for a fire,” she pointed out.

“It would also be winter. Now you.”

Oh, well, if he was asking where she would rather be at the moment, that was simple enough to answer. “I should like to be at home as well, with my nephew and—”

“No,” he cut in. “You’re thinking too small, Adelaide. May I call you Adelaide?”

She knew she ought to refuse, but there seemed to be some sort of disconnect between her common sense and her mouth, because what she said was, “Certainly.”

“Excellent.” He nodded. “You’re imagining the common, Adelaide, the mundane.”

“It’s very nearly what you said.”

“Yes, but the small and mundane are new to me. I wish for them now because I’ve already experienced the significant and unusual. Wouldn’t you rather be in London, or Bath, or sailing across the channel on your way to Florence?”

Fascinated, she shifted in her seat to better face him. “Have you been all those places, Mr. Brice?”

“Connor,” he invited. “And, yes, I have.”

She could scarcely imagine it. As a young girl, she’d dreamt of traveling. Her parents had met in Prussia, the country of her mother’s birth. They’d married two months later in Italy and spent the next year traveling the continent. Adelaide had listened to their tales of travel and whiled away hours imagining herself on the peaks of the Alps and playing in the waters of the Mediterranean. Her parents often spoke of returning with the family, but war and her mother’s declining health had kept them from making the trip.

“I would not be averse to a voyage,” she admitted.

“To where?”

She thought of going to France. Her parents had always expressed regret that they’d been unable to enter the country because of the Terror. She could visit it for them. It was an appealing sentiment. It was also mawkish and highly improbable. There were impractical dreams, and then there were impossible ones. France was most assuredly of the latter variety.

“It doesn’t matter to where,” she said with a shrug. “So long as it’s new. Any place more than twenty miles from my home would suffice. I’ve never left Scotland.” It was less than a half day’s drive from her home to the border, and less than five miles from where she sat now, and yet she’d never made the trip.

“You’ll have your chance after the wedding.”

Her eyes flicked in the direction of the house. “I’ve not yet received a proposal.”

“But you expect it.”

There didn’t seem a reason to deny it or play coy. “I do. I thought perhaps tonight.”

“Where will you go?”

“For a bridal tour?” The pleasure of the game dimmed. “I won’t go anywhere. Sir Robert does not care for travel.”

“I see,” he said. It was astounding, really, how much understanding could be conveyed in those two little words.

That sort of understanding made her uneasy. It was too similar to pity for her liking. She didn’t want Connor to feel sorry for her, in part because it pricked her pride, but mostly because it was depressing to think that there might be good cause for sympathy—that a marriage to Sir Robert would, in fact, be a pitiable state of affairs.

“He has many other fine qualities,” she blurted out.

If Connor was taken aback by the emphatic statement, it didn’t show. His lips twitched. “I am agog to hear them.”

“He is a baron,” she reminded him.

“In possession of five thousand pounds a year. Yes, I know,” he replied with a nod. Then he just sat there, obviously waiting for her to elaborate on Sir Robert’s fine qualities. Which was unfortunate, because “he is a baron” was really all she had at the ready.

It took a full thirty seconds for her to think of something else. “He is considered handsome by the ladies.”

“And do you agree?”

“Well . . .” She frowned, picturing him in her mind. Sir Robert brushed his hair forward in a severe manner, so that nearly every strand ran parallel to the ground. And he had a penchant for brightly colored waistcoats and overlarge cravat pins. “I think Sir Robert is, possibly, on occasion . . . much dressed.”

“Much dressed,” Connor echoed and ran his tongue along his teeth as if tasting the description. “That is very diplomatic.”

“Diplomacy is a useful and admirable tool.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s a crutch and a barrier.” He bent his head to catch her gaze, and she saw the inviting light of humor in his eyes. “Sir Robert and I are not friends, Adelaide. He’ll not hear of your opinion from me, nor believe a word of it, if he did. I wager you can’t speak of it to your friends or your family. Why not speak of it to me?”

He made it sound so tempting, so simple. And perhaps it was. Why shouldn’t she speak her mind, here where only the two of them would hear? Why not say aloud what she had always thought?

“He’s rather like a parrot caught in a mighty tailwind.”

Connor’s deep laughter filled the courtyard.

Appalled, she slapped a hand to her mouth. Then made herself drop it when she realized she was mumbling behind her fingers.

“I didn’t mean to say that. I should not have said that.”

“I’m delighted you did.”

“It was most unkind.”

“Not at all. Unfortunate styles of hair and dress are easily remedied. Unkind would be to point out he has an oversized nose. Poor man can’t do a thing about that.”

“
You’ve
an oversized nose.” Good heavens, what had come over her?

“You see? Very unkind.” He tilted his head just a fraction to the side. “You’re a little bit foxed, aren’t you?”

“Certainly not.” She gave the idea further consideration. “How does one know?”

“In this case, one is informed by an objective bystander. You’re a little bit foxed.”

That would certainly explain what had come over her, and why her thoughts seemed to flit about her head like hummingbirds arguing over a flower. Just as she thought one was settled, another buzzed it aside. She tried to work up a proper fret over this new dilemma but couldn’t concentrate long enough to see it done.

She blew out a short breath and slumped back in her seat. “I can’t see him like this.”

“Sir Robert? Why not? You’re tipsy, not inebriated.”

“He doesn’t approve of spirits.”

There was a short pause before he spoke. “You must be joking.”

She bobbed her head, realized that didn’t make any sense, and shook it instead. “No. I am in earnest. He doesn’t believe a lady should partake and is most adamant on the subject.”

“The man’s a hypocrite. He’ll be three sheets to the wind before two. I wager he’s already a sheet and a half there.”

“A sheet and a half?” She laughed at the saying but didn’t believe it to be true of Sir Robert. Oh, he enjoyed his wine, and she’d smelled spirits on him a time or two, but she’d never seen him lose his head. Not the way her brother did when he overindulged. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. She didn’t want to think of her brother now. Or Sir Robert for that matter. She felt a little silly, a little reckless. She wanted to enjoy the sensations.

She leaned toward Connor and smiled at him. “And what am I?”

“Slightly foxed,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but in keeping with the theme of sheets . . .” she prompted.

“Ah.” He smiled back, that lovely, lovely smile she was certain she could stare at all evening. “You’re embroidery.”

She straightened. “That’s not linen.”

“But it’s to be found on linen. It decorates. It adds value. It gives life to the tired and bland.” He reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “It makes the everyday extraordinary.”

The warmth of his fingers sent a pleasant shiver along her skin.

“I think perhaps we’ve gone off topic,” she whispered.

“Just on to one that makes you uncomfortable.” His lips curved with amusement as he let his hand fall from her cheek. “Doesn’t Sir Robert pay you compliments?”

“Yes.” She wondered if it would be unforgivably forward if she asked him to return his hand.

“Tell me what he’s said.”

Connor’s steady gaze and smile made it difficult to think. It took her several moments to come up with an example. “He has told me I have lovely eyes.”

“They’re passable. What else?”

Humor danced in his eyes. “What else?”

Defensive now, she scowled at him. “He compared the color of my cheeks to rose petals.”

“Fairly unoriginal of him. What else?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m clever.”

So help her God, if he contradicted
that . . .

His lips twitched. “I believe you just made that up.”

“I did not.” She had made up the bit about her cheeks and the roses, though. “I bested Lady Penwright yesterday at a game of chess. Sir Robert was suitably impressed.”

It was very nearly impossible to lose to Lady Penwright in a game of anything, but as Lady Penwright had never made mention of a Mr. Brice—and the lady did so like to make mention of handsome gentlemen—Adelaide felt it safe to assume Connor was familiar with neither the lady nor her lack of gaming skills.

Apparently, Connor wasn’t concerned with either.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

She blinked at the non sequitur. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sir Robert doesn’t deserve you.” He spoke quietly but clearly. The humor was gone from his features, replaced by an intensity she found alarming.

She stood and walked a few feet away, though whether she was trying to distance herself from him or from what he said, she couldn’t tell. “A half hour’s acquaintance is not a sufficient amount of time to make a judgment—”

“Uninspired flattery,” he cut in. “A gentleman much dressed. A man afraid to travel. Disapproves—”

“I never said he was afraid.”

“You don’t want him,” he said softly and rose from the bench.

“Of course I do.”

“No. You want the security his income will provide.” His eyes caught and held her gaze as he walked toward her. “You don’t even like him.”