Beyond Innocence (10 page)

"Miss Fairleigh?" he said. So lightly she might have dreamt it, his finger brushed the curve of her cheek. Its tip was bare and slightly rough. He must have removed his gloves. Her stomach tightened at the unexpected intimacy.

"I am well," she said, just a shade too loudly. "Quite."

Edward stiffened at her tone and took half a step back. He buttoned his elegant coat and smoothed it down. "Perhaps we ought to rescue Aunt Hypatia from the tea room."

"Yes," she said, both relieved and disappointed.

He offered his arm this time, the elbow held well out from his side. When
Florence
put her hand through it, his yielding had disappeared. The limb might as well have been a block of wood. A sigh escaped her corseted lungs. She'd thought Freddie's brother was warming to her, and had been foolish enough to welcome the change. She should have known better. Clearly, it would take more than a moment's
amity to melt this man of stone.

* * *

Lewis tapped on
the door to the dressing room just as Edward slid an onyx stud through the front of
his stark white shirt. He was planning his strategy for tonight's ball, a strategy that did not include forgetting himself as he had at the Academy. He would be civil to Miss Fairleigh, no more. He would
not touch her. He would not smile at her. Most definitely he would not dance with her. Until he found
a means to control his disturbingly volatile reactions, he was not going to get close to her again.
            
He didn't care if her eyes were as green as Irish grass. He didn't care if she did agree that Whistler was
a genius, or that her blushes made him want to crush her to his chest and kiss her senseless. From now on, distance would be the lynchpin of their relationship.

"Sir?" said Lewis. Having failed to get a response from his master, the valet stepped just inside the door. "I'm afraid a small problem has arisen."

Edward's mind flew to Freddie, and footmen, but he pushed the thought aside as quickly as he could. Freddie had given his word. That was all Edward needed to know. He fastened the stud beneath his pointed collar. He reached for his white bow tie. "What small problem?"

"It's Miss Fairleigh."

Edward's heart skipped a beat. Damnation. Her name was enough to tighten the muscles of his groin.
"Is Miss Fairleigh unwell?"

"Not precisely, my lord." Lewis took the tie from Edward's hands before he mangled it. "Apparently, she's grown so anxious over the prospect of her first formal ball that she is ... prostrate."

" 'Prostrate'
?" Edward lifted his chin for Lewis to tie the bow. An image of Miss Fairleigh fainting
drifted disturbingly through his mind. He could almost feel himself catching her.

"A disturbance of the stomach," Lewis elucidated.

In spite of a rush of sympathy, Edward laughed. "You mean she's so frightened she cast up her accounts."

"Yes, sir," said the valet. "Her courage has failed her. She swears she'll return to Keswick tomorrow, rather than make a fool of herself tonight."

"Keswick?"
With a frown, Edward submitted to a subtle rearrangement of his hair.

"Her home village," Lewis explained and Edward experienced an illogical prick of annoyance that his servant knew this when he did not. "Duchess Carlisle is at her wit's end. She sent her footman over to
see if young Lord Burbrooke can talk some sense into her, but your brother has already left for his
dinner engagement at the Brawleighs'."

"Surely my aunt could"—"

"She says it's a job for a man: the voice of authority appealing to the rational in a woman." Lewis
looked as if he doubted this quality existed in female form. Then again, for the past year, Lewis had
been trying without success to coax the senior chambermaid into his bed.

"I'll speak to her," Edward said, though he knew it flew in the face of his resolutions. "Most likely she only needs to be reassured she won't be left standing through the waltzes."

"Yes, my lord." Lewis held up his waistcoat for him to slip his arms into the sleeves. The design was
very plain, black with a smooth shawl collar and a satin back. It fit like a second skin.

Edward ignored the tingle of excitement that warmed his spine. This mission of mercy posed no danger. After all, how appealing could a "prostrate" woman be?

* * *

"Brush your teeth,"
said Lizzie, holding out the tin of tooth powder.

Florence
buried her face in the pillow. She was never leaving this room. The Vances were expecting
five hundred people at their ball. Her stomach lurched at the
very
thought. She'd been brave up till
now; she truly had, but this was too much to expect. Five hundred people! And Aunt Hypatia wanted
her to dazzle them. She'd be lucky if she survived.

"Already brushed them twice," she mumbled.

"Once more before you go," Lizzie insisted.
"Duchess's orders."

"But I'm not going. I'm not, I'm not!" She knew how hysterical she sounded, but she could not stop herself. She couldn't go. She simply couldn't. She might be pretty but she was hopelessly inept. With
a groan, she piled the pillow over her head.

"Honestly," Lizzie huffed, and
Florence
knew she'd put her hands on her skinny hips. "You make me ashamed to know you, Miss Florence."

"And you should be ashamed," said a voice that had her bolting up with the pillow clutched to her chest, though her dressing gown was perfectly modest. Her hair was down. And this was her bedroom. And
he was a man. All of which was enough to throw her into a panic.

"Lord Greystowe!" she gasped.

He sat very gently on the edge of the bed, as if she were an invalid. She thought he would take her
hand but he only stroked the coverlet beside her hip.

"Now,
Florence
," he said, "
tell
me what has frightened you."

He made her feel foolish by simple virtue of asking the question. But she wasn't foolish. No one understood how terrible this was for her, least of all this man, who'd probably never been frightened in
his life. She plumped the pillow in her lap and sniffed back a tear. "Aunt Hypatia says five hundred
people are coming to the Vances' ball."

"And?" he said, as if five hundred people were nothing. Her tears welled again, but now they were tears of resentment

"They'll stare," she said, her nails curling into her palms. "They'll stare and they'll titter and they'll talk behind their fans as if I were a cow at a county fair."

"Because you're pretty," he said in that same infuriatingly reasonable tone.

"Yes!" she said, almost shouting it.

Edward smiled and her temper abruptly snapped. How dare he mock her fears? Before she could stop herself, she pounded his chest with both hands. Edward caught them before she could land a second blow.

"Hush," he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the knuckles of each fist. This procedure so astonished her she didn't think to pull back. His eyes shone with humor and something that in any other man she would have said was fondness. "Allow me to explain the economies of size, Miss Fairleigh. With five hundred attendees, at least half of them women, you can count on, oh, fully twenty being prettier than yourself.
A good many will have jewels more dazzling than your own. A fair number will be dressed so inappropriately anyone who sees them will not be able to look away. Add to that those guests who are either the subject or repository of gossip, and you'll find no more than a tenth of those present will stare
at you even once."

"And a tenth is only fifty," Lizzie put in, who was proud of her skill at math.

Florence
was neither impressed nor reassured.

"All I know are country dances," she said, her voice still quavering. "I don't remember a step Aunt Hypatia's dancing master tried to teach me."

Edward squeezed her hands. "You'll remember. The moment the music starts it will all come back.
Come now,
Florence
. Where's the girl who charmed the duke of
Devonshire
with her wit? Where's her courage?"

"In the chamberpot,"
Florence
muttered.

"Nonsense," said Edward. "That was only lunch."

"And since it's gone," Lizzie added with country practicality, "you needn't worry about being sick."

Florence
's shoulders sagged. She didn't want to be strong. She wanted to be weak and helpless and stay where she was safe. But Lizzie was counting on her and so
was
Aunt Hypatia, and even Edward, in a way. If his "cousin" proved a coward, it would not reflect well on him.

"I suppose I have no choice."

"No choice at all," Edward agreed. He smiled at her.
Florence
saw a hint of pride in it and thought perhaps she wouldn't fail after all.

CHAPTER 4

A burning shiver
swept the bare expanse of
Florence
's shoulders. Edward was watching her descend
Aunt Hypatia's curving stairs. He wore an expression of utter stupefaction.

"Perhaps," he said, in an unusually faint tone, "I have misled you."

Florence
didn't know what to make of his reaction—or her own. Edward had never looked at her like this, as other men did, as if she were a meal they wished to devour. Usually this look discomfited her.
She couldn't imagine why she welcomed it from him. Certainly, she didn't
desire
his attention. He was the opposite of everything she valued in a man: not gentle, not affectionate, and certainly not safe!
No, indeed.
Most likely her response was merely nerves.

"Misled me?" she said, the question dangerously close to a squeak.

"Yes," he murmured and pressed his hand to his pristine shirtfront. His father's ruby signet gleamed
on his smallest finger. "I fear you
shall
be the prettiest woman there."

"Enough," said the duchess, thumping her ivory cane. "Move aside so I can see."

At her instruction,
Florence
turned slowly before her. She knew she looked her best. Her gown was daffodil satin, cut low off the shoulder and draped at capsleeve and train with dotted tulle. Beneath this ephemeral net, the skirt gathered yard upon yard of fabric, an extravagant expanse from whose folds peeped vines of pink silk roses. More roses decorated her elaborately braided chignon. Around her neck
a stunning choker was clasped, formed by thousands of seed pearls strung into the shape of flowers. The gown's waist required such stringent lacing
Florence
felt as if two large hands were wrapped around her ribs. The sensation was unexpectedly pleasant but, as a result, her breasts were forced so dramatically upward she feared she was overly decollete.

If she was, Aunt Hypatia did not disapprove. Instead, she touched the necklace with one age-stiffened finger. She nodded brusquely.

"Suits you," she said. "Never did believe in girls wearing ribbons around their necks. Not if they've got something better."

"I'm grateful for the loan,"
Florence
said, knowing the duchess had worn these pearls when she was
Florence
's age. "I shall take good care of them."

"Know you will," said Aunt Hypatia. The light from a wall sconce caught a sudden glitter in her eye.
Was she thinking of her dear departed duke or some other youthful conquest? Assuredly she had had them. The duchess was too self-assured for it to be otherwise. But
Florence
doubted she would share
the tale. Indeed, as soon as Hypatia blinked, the glitter disappeared. Once more in command of herself, the duchess rapped her cane against the footman's calf.