Suzanne Robinson (6 page)

She was disgusted that she felt an urge to impress Valin North—not just in order to gain access to his house and its hidden treasure, but to gain his admiration. She wanted to fascinate him as he was fascinating her. Why was she so obsessed?

Was it because, when he wished, he had exquisite manners that matched the elegance of his appearance? It couldn’t be. She wasn’t a dithering light-minded miss whose heart fluttered just because Valin North was at once inviting and dangerous.

She was Mrs. Apple, the leader of as disreputable a gang of villains as ever roamed the streets of St. Giles or Whitechapel. It was she who was dangerous.

Then why did her hands grow cold just looking at him?

“Gracious mercy, behave yourself,” she muttered
as the dance ended. It was all she could do not to look around in search of him.

“This is torture.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss de Winter?” said her partner.

“Oh, I said this is a pleasure. Such lovely music.”

She spent the next three hours proving to herself that she could be in the same room with Valin North and not look at him. During that time she sensed his brooding regard more than once. Her plan was working, then.

Once she had discovered a way to get herself to this ball, Emmie had thought long about how to attract the interest of so sought-after a man. Her deliberations led her to the conclusion that indifference would set her apart from the bleating herd of debutantes that surrounded him. Men always seemed to want what was beyond their reach.

The supper hour passed with Emmie snaring the attentions of the heirs of a baron and an earl and the rich younger son of a duke. The dances after supper passed in a blur except when she spied the marquess headed her way. This happened after the second waltz.

Valin North had escorted his partner back to her chaperone, turned smoothly, and walked straight toward her. Emmie had nodded at the earl’s son like a queen to a courtier and slipped into the
crowd. Before the marquess could catch her, she went upstairs to the ladies’ retiring room and spent a good quarter hour pretending to adjust her costume. By the time she returned to the ballroom North’s famous scowl was back.

At last there were only a polka and two waltzes left in the evening. It was time. She danced the polka with the duke’s son and at the end fluttered her fan and protested her fatigue. She sent her partner off in search of lemonade, then whirled in a cloud of bronze skirts and darted into the crowds around the dance floor.

Her path took her near enough to the marquess so that he couldn’t help seeing her flee. With the air of one escaping unwanted attentions, Emmie sought the refuge of a screen and potted plants beside the soaring French doors that led to one of the balconies. A leaf tickled her shoulder and she swatted at it with her fan.

The etiquette Mother taught had been a useless accomplishment in the rookeries, but had become a boon now. One of its most important precepts was that young ladies at social functions did not seek out private places such as libraries or conservatories. A balcony was as intimate a setting as she was going to manage. Not that she wished to be alone with Valin North for long. Of course she didn’t.

Emmie risked a glimpse between the leaves of
the ferns. Her heart bounced polkalike in her chest; he was only a couple of yards away! Despite the fact that she’d planned this encounter Emmie panicked, bolted, and nearly tripped over her skirts as she rushed around the screen and onto the balcony. Where once cool reason dwelt, confusion ruled, and Emmie struggled with a rush of feelings she didn’t understand. All she knew was that Valin North made her insides quiver, and that she desperately wanted him to come to her while at the same time she dreaded it. As she tried to take herself in hand his voice cut through her thoughts and made her jump.

“Miss de Winter, are you well? Has the dancing wearied you?”

Emmie glanced over her shoulder at him, met those cloud-with-a-silver-lining eyes, and blurted out, “Oh, I rub on as well as I can.”

“What?”

She could have bitten her lip. What a time for her to slip into thieves’ cant. If she didn’t take care, she’d be nattering about coiners, mouchers, and flash pubs.

“I’m quite well, thank you, my lord. I’m afraid I’ve danced with as many condescending young fops as I can manage this evening.”

He was beside her, and she could feel the warmth of his body even across the two feet that separated them.

“Indeed,” Valin said softly.

He looked down at her with a half smile of gentle amusement she’d never seen before. She looked away, out at the dark garden. Feeling heat rise from her neck to her face, she took refuge in one of her prepared speeches.

“I love such nights in early spring, the chill with a promise of warmth to come, but I’m afraid the mists are rising, and that always reminds me of
Macbeth
.”

“
Macbeth
,” came the startled response.

“Oh, yes. You know, ‘Double, double toil and trouble;/ Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.’ ”

“Good God, she’s read a book.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive me. I should have said, good God, she’s read something other than a novel.”

Emmie curled her lip at the note of arrogant surprise in his voice. To think she’d wanted this man’s company just moments ago. How she detested the pride and ignorance of men, especially aristocrats. Those old feelings of resentment provoked instant, explosive anger and overcame her good sense. Valin North was most irritating.

“What an ignorant assumption, my lord, that all women are unread. Allow me to provide you with further proof of your mistake.”

She planted her fists on her hips and kicked her train aside. “ ‘Fillet of a fenny snake,/ In the caldron
boil and bake.’ ” She advanced on North, making him back away from her as she chanted, “ ‘Eye of newt, and toe of frog,/ Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.’ ”

His eyes widened when her gaze held his without faltering. “ ‘Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,/ Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing.’ ” She took another step; he kept backing up. Emmie raised her voice and stuck out her chin. “ ‘For a charm of pow’rful trouble,/ Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.’ ” Valin North bumped ignominiously against the stone balustrade.

Noting the astonished look in his eyes, she turned her back on her host and sauntered inside. “Good evening to you, my lord.”

As she left she heard him whisper, “Damn.”

She was almost through the balcony doors when a gloved hand fastened around her arm and swung her around. North pulled her into the shadows of the balcony with a chuckle.

“How easily you take offense.”

Emmie jerked her arm free. “How easily you give it, my lord.” She moved toward the doors again, but he put his arm out to stop her.

“Don’t go. You can’t blame me for being surprised.”

He had moved closer, but it was so dark she could see only the line of his cheek and the brilliant white of his shirt. She had already allowed
him to stand there too long. Ladies kept a distance from gentlemen.

Emmie edged a step away from him. “I do blame you. All women are not the same.”

“No, they’re not, and you’ve proved it tonight. Will you honor me with this next waltz?”

“I believe Adelaide and her mother are leaving.”

North offered his arm. “They can’t leave without you, and you will be dancing the last waltz with me. Come, Miss de Winter. It will be your triumph.”

“It will? Why?”

At this, North stared at her in a puzzled manner. “Surely you know the marriage market game. You said you were here to be shown off and married off.”

“Those are my family’s plans, my lord. It does not follow that they’re also mine.”

There. She had regained mastery of herself. A short silence ensued during which Emmie calmly adjusted her gloves.

“Dear God, you mean it.”

“I mean it, or I wouldn’t have said it, and since we’re being familiar, my lord, I’ll tell you this. I’m not marrying a fool or a wastrel or anyone distasteful to me simply to be married. I’d rather be alone than spend my life in respectable misery.”

North slapped the balustrade and uttered a sharp laugh that made Emmie jump.

“Upon my word, you’re the first young lady I’ve ever met with conversation of substance and an honest and forthright manner. Is this the result of French boarding school?”

His grin softened the severity of his face, and Emmie smiled. “I think it’s the result of my own obstinate character.” She turned to go. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve been forthright enough for one evening.”

“Then you won’t waltz with me.”

“Haven’t you danced enough with simpering young ladies and ambitious mamas?”

“But you just said you’re not ambitious.”

“I’m not, and I shan’t remain on this balcony with you any longer, my lord.”

“Ha!” North swiftly stepped in her way. “So you do fear Society’s censure.”

“I know what honor requires of me, my lord.”

“Honor. What a tiresome word,” North said softly.

It was the rough quality of his voice that alarmed her. He caught her gloved hand and kissed it before she could protest. Then, without her understanding how it happened, she had backed against the balustrade, and he was much too close. A dark shadow against the lights of the ballroom, he seemed to grow taller than his already substantial
height. Confusion descended upon her once more, and she began to feel most odd.

He was moving again! If she wasn’t careful, he would touch her, and then something dreadful would happen. Her wobbly knees might give way. To stop him she began to chatter.

“A lady’s honor is never tiresome—”

Words stuck in her throat when North ignored her and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek.

“Forget about tiresome propriety,” he whispered. “Your honesty and frankness are more fascinating than the greatest beauty.”

His breath in her ear caused exotic feelings to erupt in her body. Emmie dropped her fan. He wasn’t supposed to try to seduce her! Where were her audacity and courage? She was known in the rookeries for her audacity and courage.

Feeling herself begin to tremble under his touch, Emmie blurted out, “One’s good name is beyond price.” He only smiled and bent down, his lips parted. Emmie gasped, dashed sideways, and rounded on him.

“Drat if I’ll allow you to ruin my good name for a whim, my lord marquess.”

Leaning against the balustrade, North gave her a mocking smile and said quietly, “I felt you trembling, Emily Charlotte de Winter.”

“That’s quite enough liberty of conversation,”
Emmie said. She whirled around and marched to the doors, but stopped to glare at him over her shoulder. “I may not want to get married, but I’m not a fool. ‘… He that filches from me my good name/ Robs me of that which not enriches him,/ And makes me poor indeed.’ And it’s I who will suffer from its lack, not you.”

“You can’t hide behind quotations forever.”

“Good evening to you, my lord.” The heels of her slippers tapped loudly on the marble floor as she stamped away.

“Good evening, my lady coward.”

Emmie kept walking and didn’t look back. She was sitting beside Adelaide in the carriage as it drove away before she realized she’d forgotten to pick up her fan.

It was three o’clock in the morning, the last of his guests had gone, and Valin couldn’t sleep. At first he’d blamed his worries: the struggle to promote properly trained nurses, the Crimean widows and orphans, and most of all, Acton. If unchecked, Acton could get himself so deeply in debt that Valin’s cherished projects would suffer. And by God, no spoiled young wastrel was going to deprive the suffering of help.

But such cares weren’t what kept him awake. A throaty voice, green eyes, and auburn hair kept him awake. Emily de Winter’s mouth with its short upper lip and full lower one kept him awake. Valin stretched out his hand to touch the rosewood box on the table beside his bed. He’d put her fan in it. He was making himself ridiculous, keeping a lady’s fan.
It was something spotty-faced youths did.

Valin turned on his side and breathed a sigh. Wakeful nights had been his curse for years after the fire that had killed his father and Carolina. He thought he’d made peace with himself about their deaths, but lately the old nightmare had returned. Now Miss de Winter threatened his slumber, too.

Miss de Winter was different. For one thing, she was more sure of herself than a girl sheltered in a boarding school should have been. She behaved toward him with the confidence of a woman twice her age. Such poise in an eligible young lady was unheard-of—and it was fascinating because she couldn’t be more than twenty.

She had malachite green eyes.…

Valin sat up in bed. Uttering a wordless sound of disgust, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. The room was dark, made more so by the burgundy damask curtains drawn over the windows. Valin thrust the heavy material aside and looked outside. The garden was still quite dark, but dawn wasn’t far away, because there was enough light to see the gravel paths between the apple trees his grandfather had planted. He laid his forehead against the pane and took a deep breath.