The Earl's Intimate Error (3 page)

The thought of which caused those butterflies to erupt again. Vesuvius-like.

Finally Aunt Idyll ran out of words. Her voice grew raspy and her eyes appeared weary. As they jostled along through the countryside, the carriage lapsed into silence. Before long, Aunt Idyll’s eyes drifted shut, and she was soon softly snoring, her head resting comfortably on the wall of the carriage.

“An interesting woman,” Lord Woodleigh said, breaking the silence.

“Er, I suppose you could use that word.”

“My mother will adore her,” he said. “She’s actually quite pleased that you’re coming, you know.”

“Then I take it you’ve not told her the circumstances of my enforced visit?”

“Good God, no. As far as she knows, you are the daughter of a friend and she’s invited you out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Well, then. Let us hope I don’t make her regret it.”

He laughed. It was a warm, hearty sound. Those pesky butterflies laughed with him.

“If you can keep your hands off the footmen, I foresee no problems at all.”

“I keep my…? I hope you are teasing, my lord. As I recall, I’m not the one with the overly adventurous hands.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do recall. You seemed to be most pleased with them.”

“Ha. That shows how much you know. I was not the least bit affected by any of your fumbling or drool.”

He laughed again. “Is that so? It certainly seemed you were affected.”

“No, I was merely lulling you into a false sense of security.”

“Were you, now? For what purpose?”

“To defend myself, of course. Don’t think you’re any different from the other dim-witted louts who’ve come to visit Papa’s stable and thought to play fast with me. I can take care of myself, I assure you.”

“You were taking care of things, for a certain.”

“You don’t believe me? Well, I’ll have you know, just in the past month I’ve endured six conversations nearly identical to the one you and I had before we…before Papa came along. In two of those instances, the gentlemen left carrying their bollocks.”

“Truly? And do tell, what of the other four gentlemen and their bollocks?”

“I’m not convinced they had any to start with.”

Now the laughter simply rolled out of him. Aunt Idyll stirred, eyeing them curiously. Apparently she determined uproarious laughter was perfectly normal on a cross-country carriage journey, so she went back to her slumber.

“I declare, Miss Canton,” Lord Woodleigh said, stifling his laughter and keeping his voice low. “I might just be able to find you a husband in London, after all. I know plenty of gents there with no balls.”

Two weeks. The Canton chit had been in London two weeks, and already she’d taken it over. Woodleigh could do little but watch and shake his head in dismay. The boyish, feral creature he’d accidentally seduced in a stable at Beldington had transformed into an elegant, cultured diamond of the first water.

Everyone loved her. His mother loved her, the London matrons loved her, even his household servants loved her. More importantly, the bucks of the ton loved her. It seemed they could go nowhere without a veritable entourage of them accosting her. It was nauseating, really. If those bucks only knew what she was…well, lucky for all of them they did not. As far as London was concerned, Miss Canton was everything pure, gentle, and perfectly proper.

Woodleigh’s mother predicted a proposal by the end of the month. Personally he thought it could not come quickly enough. The sooner they would be rid of her, the better. Something about having her always at hand, constantly underfoot…rattled him. No doubt it had something to do with the whiff of scandal that hung over him as long as she was unattached and her father could make trouble.

Also, it could very likely have something to do with the fact that—quite plainly—she looked even more tumbleable in her female attire than she had in those boys’ clothes. He had only to catch sight of her, and he was put in mind of all those things he’d intended to do before he knew who she was. The way she smiled at him, chatted so casually, tossed back her hair, and pursed those damn rosebud lips without discretion, he had to admit it was maddening.

She was doing it on purpose. He thought she must be. It was demmed unfair of her, too. She knew he was living a life of deprivation just now, preparing to make his announcement regarding engagement with Miss Holycroft. Any decent gentleman knew that it was the height of insult to announce an engagement to one female while actively dallying with others, so he’d given up ballet dancers and actresses and been careful to avoid impropriety for the sake of his intended.

Damn, but Miss Canton made all of that so much more difficult. It was dashed unfair of her to arrive at the ball or the opera, ushered to him by his mother and presented time after time in yet a more lovely, more revealing gown than she’d had on the evening before. And then, as if her stunning good looks weren’t enough, she’d proceed to spend the evening being witty and clever.

Now what sort of compassionate lady did that? It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Thank God he’d taken bachelor’s quarters to avoid any breath of a scandal, leaving her safe with his mother during all the hours that counted, but daytime and social events were still torture for him. As host, he was expected to be near her, to shuttle her and his mother from event to event, making sure she was seen and admired by all—marriageable gentlemen, in particular.

He just wished
he
could admire without wanting to touch. Somehow Miss Canton looked especially touchable tonight, with her loose ringlets spilling around the ribbon woven through her hair. The ball gown his mother had procured for her was absolutely the perfect shade of blue to accentuate Miss Canton’s eyes. And it dipped low enough in the front to perfectly accentuate her bosom, as well. He knew before they even arrived at Mrs. Fitzmonger’s annual ball that Miss Canton would be quite the object of admiration.

“The spinster you brought back from the country has handsome enough features,” Miss Holycroft noted, sipping lemonade at his side as they waited for the next dance to begin.

“Yes, she does command attention, doesn’t she?” he replied, Miss Holycroft’s sour expression alerting him half a second too late that he should have said something to the contrary.

“Mr. Oxland seems particularly smitten with her,” she went on. “I think they suit quite nicely, don’t you?”

“Oxland? Well, he’s a bit old for her, don’t you think?”

“Is he? Oh. I suppose she might be slightly younger than she appears.”

He thought about telling her that Miss Canton was but four-and-twenty and quite full in the prime of her youth, but since twenty-four for an unmarried lady was considered aged in society terms, he refrained. Miss Holycroft was not one to play nice when other females were getting attentions that she thought ought to be hers, even if that included attentions from gout-ridden politicians like Mr. Oxland. Instead he complimented her gown.

“But you appear quite fine tonight, too, Miss Holycroft. This gown that you’re wearing, Parisian in design, I should guess.”

“But of course. This is the one I was telling you about, the one the modiste had to do over several times because Mamma said it did not show off my milky complexion just right. We had her redo the trimming time and time again. Do you know she expected us to pay for that, saying we wasted a good bit of lace? Well, Mamma refused, and rightly so. The nerve of that incompetent seamstress!”

Oh, God. He’d brought up that topic again. Now she was off and running, prattling on about fabrics and patterns and what hues did the most to accentuate her classical features. By Jupiter, what he wouldn’t give to leave this conversation and be in another.

For instance, what was Miss Canton discussing so cheerfully with Lord Archer? He watched them from across the ballroom. Her cheeks were charmingly pink, her lips curled in a most fetching smile, her eyes shone with intelligence and interest, and her chest rose and fell against the near-sheer fabric of her elegant gown. He wondered if Archer was following the conversation, or if he—like Woodleigh—was merely entranced by the speaker.

She flicked open her fan and flashed it, then trilled with bubbling laughter that carried even to this distance. She was flirting with Archer! And he, of course, was eating it up. Why, the man laid his hand on Miss Canton’s fair arm, above the glove line. He was touching her skin! And she allowed it.

Well, Woodleigh could not stand for this. He’d brought the girl here to find her a husband, not provide her with playthings. Everyone knew Archer was a bounder. Hell, he was one of Woodleigh’s best friends. He knew only too well the games that one would play. Most usually, he’d be right there playing along with him, competing in the chase.

But not now. He had propriety to think of right now. Whatever was going on between those two, he’d best stop it posthaste. If Miss Holycroft would pause in her diatribe on the various schools of thought regarding flounces and lace, he’d make his excuse and go over there, separating those two before things got out of hand.

The next set started up, though, and Archer whisked Miss Canton out onto the dance floor. It appeared this was a waltz, no less. Woodleigh seethed as Archer put his hand against the young woman’s waist and pulled her entirely too close. He’d best move quickly if he hoped to stop them.

“Come, my dear. We should dance now.”

Miss Holycroft was startled, barely having time to hand her lemonade to a passing servant, when he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. He held her very properly as the music swelled into a rousing tune, and they were swept up into the swirling crowd. He scanned the room, glaring when his gaze landed on Miss Canton and her randy partner. She seemed to be enjoying herself entirely too much.

Woodleigh knew Archer was enjoying himself, and he was about to go put an end to it. Deftly he maneuvered Miss Holycroft toward them. She voiced some dismay at his unorthodox dancing style, but he had no trouble ignoring her. Apparently that would be a skill he’d have to develop if he were to endure a lifelong marriage to her.

“Why do you shudder?” she asked. “And do keep pace with the music, Woodleigh. I won’t have my train torn by your bumbling footwork.”

“Forgive me, my dear. I’ll pay more attention,” he said, craning his neck to see Archer’s hand slide three inches too low on Miss Canton’s succulent backside.

He’d pummel the scoundrel.

The waltz continued, and Woodleigh trailed them around the dance floor. He caught Archer’s eye at one point and shot the man a warning glare that would have demoralized a lesser man, but Archer merely grinned back. Damn him.

On the next go around he caught Miss Canton’s eye and gave her a similar glare. She merely smiled at him as if thanking him for introducing her to the man of her dreams. Woodleigh swore. And he may or may not have trod upon Miss Holycroft’s toe.

At last the infernal dance ended. He did not lose sight of his amorous quarry, though, as they filtered through the crowd, hunting, no doubt, for a quiet place to conduct questionable activity. He looked for the quickest way to cut them off from escaping the room.

“Isn’t the waltz wonderful?” Miss Holycroft was saying. “It gives me permission to allow you to lay your hand on my side. Just think what you’ll be allowed to do once we are officially engaged.”

“Yes, yes…won’t that be lovely. Come, I see my friend Archer.”

He grabbed her elbow and nearly dragged her along with him. There was no time to lose. If Archer had half a brain—and Woodleigh knew that he did—he’d be inviting the flushed, smiling Miss Canton out into the garden right now. There was no telling what shameful things they could get up to out there! And with the girl’s proclivity for unbridled passion…well, he knew he’d better move quickly.

Miss Holycroft complained as they pushed their way through the crush until finally they made it closer to his friend. Archer still had his hand on the girl, he noticed. And she was still smiling.

“Ho, there, Woodleigh,” Archer said as they approached. “It appears you are towing something behind you.”

Woodleigh realized that he was, in fact, dragging Miss Holycroft, so he paused to give her a moment to catch up. She was not smiling.

“Good evening, Archer,” he said. “You seem to be having a good time.”

“Indeed I am. Your friend Miss Canton is a most excellent partner.”

“So it would appear,” Woodleigh said with a scowl.

“She’s delightfully, er, innovative in her dancing,” Archer said.

She flushed an adorable pink. “We didn’t dance much out in Beldington. Lady Woodleigh has been most gracious to bring me a tutor, but I fear I’m just making things up as I go along.”

“Well, however you do it, I like what you do,” Archer said, bowing over her hand as if he had claim to it.

The man was a cad, fawning this way in front of everyone. Woodleigh cleared his throat.

“I’m sure after the waltz we could all do with a rest.”

Miss Holycroft piped up. “I’m not winded at all. But of course, we must think of Miss Canton. At her age, exertion can be difficult, so I’m told.”