The Indian Maiden (12 page)

Miss Hamilton was no prude, he’d swear it, her conversation was far too lively, and whatever error he’d made, the softened speculative look she’d worn before he moved toward her was unmistakable. Neither was she remotely what anyone might consider sheltered or gothic. But it was undeniable. He’d felt like some sort of great slobbering brute in that instant when he’d looked into her eyes just before he was about to embrace her. Because she’d stared at him with absolute horror. It had killed his desire immediately.

She was decidedly not a spy. The idea was ludicrous. He would post a letter to that effect to certain persons in London, he’d swear to it on any holy writ. Now he had no real reason to pursue the relationship. But, he thought as he swung up into the saddle and set his horse to a meaningful pace to ride far and wide to order his own reasonings, whatever else it had done, Miss Hamilton’s outsized reaction to him had definitely not killed his curiosity. And that, he thought on a bemused chuckle as he rode away, despite her obvious fears, was the largest part of him that she ought to beware of.

This evening Faith did not seek Lady Mary’s opinion of her gown. It wasn’t because she was so sure that it was the correct thing, it was because she was so totally convinced that she’d done the wrong thing. She was so thoroughly embarrassed that she not only had avoided her host all the day, she’d also neatly managed to stay far from Lady Mary, and by so doing, Will too, of course. All three of those persons were either too observant or knew her too well for her present comfort. Instead, she’d passed the day distractedly, making aimless conversation at luncheon with the earl, or foolish chatter with assorted young gentlemen and ladies of the house party wherever she’d encountered them as she’d tried to hide herself in the house or on the grounds.

Now she sat at her dressing table and took a dispirited look at her image in the glass. There was nothing wrong with the frock, except for the fact that its silk was as yellow as the dandelion she’d held as she’d spoken with her host this morning; there wasn’t a thing wrong with its cut, save for the fact that it was so form-fitting and low in front as to show the cleft between her breasts, and yet not low or transparent enough to show what a cheat was wearing it.

What else should he think she was? she wondered. Yet how could she explain to him what she’d never been able to reason out for herself? She’d kissed other gentlemen. There had been other attractive young men she’d known at home, and she’d been very curious as well as a bit frightened at the thought of intimacies with them, as she imagined all young girls were. But, she sighed, though she’d never asked, she was quite sure that other, more fortunate females lost their fear once they’d experienced their first kiss. She had not. It had grown, rather, to the point that she imagined her fifth embrace was even more terrifying than her first imagined one, no matter how comely, clever, or kind her suitors had been.

The moment a gentleman’s lips touched her own and she felt his arms go around her, she began to feel her pulses race, but not with healthy excitement. Instead, she always felt the same sudden, sickening threat of entrapment, and a need for fresh, free air. Always, in the heart-pounding, unreasoning terror, her partner, rapt, unreachable, totally lost in the embrace, lost all his identity as well to her, and became only a creature to flee.

She’d looked into Lord Deal’s eyes, and had been drawn to him and had wanted that fascinating, firm mouth upon her own. But then, this time, even before he touched her it was as though he had already done so, the panic had loomed so large. Above all else, above all her own fear, she had feared for him. She’d not wanted him to experience her shameful rebuff. So instead, she groaned to herself, she’d insulted him more by refusing the advance he hadn’t even made. After, she emphasized, since she didn’t want to spare herself a jot of deserved pain, she’d practically invited him by special letter to make love to her.

There was no one she could tell about it. There never had been. When she’d been younger, she’d tried to hint at it with close friends, but their lack of understanding, or sometimes their outright amusement, had caused her confession to die even as it was
born
on her lips, and she’d laughed it away pretending it was a jest. It wasn’t a matter to take up with a physician, although she felt it must be unhealthy, because after all, an unwed young woman wasn’t supposed to allow a gentleman to make love to her at all. Similarly, it had never seemed to be the right time or place to bring it up with her dear companion, Molly. Theirs was a warm but professional relationship, and such things were never mentioned except briefly, in gentle jest, Molly being careful of her young charge’s sensibilities, Faith being too embarrassed at her own sensitivities.

She often thought that Grandfather would have understood, since he was wise enough to comprehend anything. But it certainly wasn’t the sort of topic she could discuss with him. She’d kissed Will the once, a long while ago, to see if she could please Grandfather by forming an alliance with him, and because he was a friend. But that kiss hadn’t lasted long enough to begin to discomfort her. No sooner had it begun than they’d pulled away from each other and laughed at their own folly. Still, just because Will was more a brother than a lover didn’t mean she could discuss her reaction to other men with him.

Seeking counsel from Mother, of course, was out of the question. Though she lived in a wing of the same house, it was as though they inhabited separate planets. On the infrequent occasions when she spoke with Mama, as that lady was on her way out to the theater or coming home from an assignation with some friend, or young man, they spoke of little but fashion, in the fashion of cool acquaintances. Mama didn’t like having such a grown-up daughter. But then, Faith shrugged, she herself did not care for having such a childlike mama. Then too, there was the evidence she’d gotten with her own eyes of Mama’s opinion in such matters. So, Faith thought, rising to her feet at once, it was obvious that as always, further thought was futile.

She’d have to steel herself to take action. Someday she’d have to force herself to remain in a man’s embrace longer, and so conquer irrational fear. Yes, certainly someday, she thought, as she went out of the room and downstairs to the dancing party.

There was no doubt that her host was a tactful gentleman. Just as he’d greeted her at luncheon without a blink or a hint or a word to show that they’d ever met and spoken at dawn, he welcomed her to his dance party and complimented her on her appearance in proper, unremarkable fashion. He only seemed taken aback when she returned the compliment, and though he recovered his countenance quickly, she realized that she’d trampled upon another English custom. But he’d looked so fine in his black jacket and pantaloons, with a showing of white lace at his neck, that she’d told him so, only to realize belatedly that not only was that not done, but from the quickly repressed glint in his eye, that with her apparent admiration as well as her words, she’d thrown out another invitation to him.

Lady Mary was all in white, and with her golden hair and rose complexion she was so lovely that Faith felt a pang for Will when the Earl of Methley had the first dance with her.

“But really,” Faith explained quietly and patiently to an impatient Will as he looked daggers at the pair dancing across the floor, “with the English, it is precedence, friend, that comes first. That’s why he’s come first. It’s an honor, don’t you see? He’s the highest-born single fellow around. Well, just look, dear idiot, Lord Deal’s opened the ball with the duchess, now aren’t they a sweet pair? And do you think he’s got designs on her, blockhead?”

Will only glowered, and stuck his hands into his pockets, no matter how fiercely Faith whispered that it wasn’t done, as he waited for the dance to be done. The earl, regal in his usual black, and Lady Mary, delicate in white, were both graceful and noble looking. Faith had to admit they were a striking pair, though she’d rather lose her tongue permanently than confide that to Will for fear he’d rush at the earl with the most convenient killing instrument to hand.

When Lady Mary returned to the sidelines and the earl took his bow over her hand, she was flushed, her blue eyes sparkled, and Faith had reason to be very glad after all that Will had his hands in his pockets when she saw that one of those pockets now contained the unfashionable shape of a definitely clenched fist. But she relaxed when he turned to speak with Lady Mary and she smiled back at him, and that offending hand left its confines and promptly led the lady back into the dance.

The earl gazed down at Faith, and just as she was about to agree to the dance he was obviously going to ask her to, their host appeared before them. Having just left the duchess to frown at the sight of her daughter back in foreign clutches, he caused that lady another pang as he immediately invited the other treacherous American into his own arms. Worse luck, thought the duchess as both pairs took the floor, for this was a waltz, and the two Americans that were separating the most eligible, logical, best-matched pair at the dance, were now twined about them as well.

The music of the waltz by itself was usually enough to sweep all of Faith’s cares away, but this evening she was held in the arms of a gentleman whose arms she had run from hours before. Yet now there was no place she’d rather be. So in confusion, she kept her eyes downcast as they danced. But she noted how well their steps matched, she experienced at last how very strong those arms actually were, and when he spoke, low enough not to be overheard, but close enough so that his breath tickled her ear, she realized that the susurration of his words alone couldn’t account for the way she felt her skin tingle as he spoke.

“Miss Hamilton,” he said, “or Faith if
I
may?” He paused, and at her nervous, abrupt, nod he offered, “You might call me Barnabas as well, or even
Barn
aby.”

“Thank you,” she replied at once, though from the way her lips snapped shut after the words, he realized it might be some time before she made free with his given name.

But, “Barnabas!” she thought with pleasure, just as he went on to muse, “Although ‘Faith’ makes me sound as though
I
were speaking with an exclamation point each time I say your name—we’ll have to think of a better one. I know you weren’t feeling quite the thing this morning and hope you’ve recovered. Your faith in me, if nothing else. Now there’s a tantalizing concept I’ve just misspoken. You see why your name’s so troublesome?” He laughed, but then said very low and very seriously, “I mean you no harm, please believe me, and so shall we still be friends?”

But he had spoken so many sibilants—even his given name had its fair share, she despaired—each of which from such close quarters sent thrills along her wretchedly sensitive ear, she could scarcely speak, but only nodded her agreement as they danced. This seemed enough for him for now, and they whirled on in silence. Then she chanced to glance up at him, and observed his bronzed face from closer than she had this morning. Even in the candlelight she saw the small green glints in his golden eyes, and hastily dropping her gaze, encountered that gently smiling mouth again, and again, though he hadn’t so much as rested those sun-blushed lips upon hers, not once, she knew unreasonable fear.

She didn’t show it this time. She’d swear he could not have known it, even in her hurried thank you when the dance was done. But it was too much, she was angry and hurt and confused with herself, so that might have been why, when he turned to take another partner, she allowed herself to be immediately led into the dance by a foppish young fribble she’d taken pains to avoid all week.

It might well have also accounted for the reason she then danced with everyone who asked her. And when she became alarmingly overheated, why she drank anything they brought her. Which in turn might have explained why she obliged Lord Greyville with the uproarious tale about the frozen Indian, or why Gilbert North never forgot her story of the Independence Day picnic, and why the earl laughed so heartily when she regaled him with the slightly naughty saga of the inebriated French trapper. And perhaps accounted for the reason why she laughed so merrily at every jest every jolly gentleman whispered to her, no matter how warm.

Will, of course, chided her when he danced with her, but she was really feeling very nicely at that point, and so there wasn’t any difficulty in nodding and agreeing with him absolutely, whatever it was he said, although she wasn’t too sure she even heard it. And yes, she assured Lady Mary, she was feeling very well indeed. To prove it, she went dancing into the earl’s arms with a dreamy smile, and only lost it when she saw her host glance at her from over his own partner’s shoulder with a deep concern clearly written, clear enough for her to see even in her present state, even in the distortion of candlelight, in his observant, damnably watchful, brilliant eyes.

It was late in the night, and as was usual at such an hour, the floor was very crowded. Picky ladies who’d declined dances through choice all evening danced out of boredom now. Gentlemen who’d had to load up on drink to stoke up their courage to ask that certain unattainable one for the pleasure of a spin about the floor, now bravely stumbled through dances with two such prizes in a row.

Elder couples and older singles all mingled and danced as if they never would have such a chance again, and as it was almost the last of the night, who knew for which of them this might not, sadly, be true?

So in all the crush and rush of madly capering couples, it was no great feat for the earl, unremarked, to lead a dangerously flushed and giddy Miss Hamilton to the cooler regions of the portico. There, beneath an arbor heavily hung with wisteria, she ceased dancing and murmuring something on a laugh, something to do with her enchanted red slippers that had not given her feet rest, and then looking down, giggling and saying, no, yellow ones actually, she came at last to a sort of standstill.

“You drank a very great deal,” the earl said with a certain amount of amusement, from somewhere very high above her.

“Did I?” she marveled.

“You did,” he verified. “I was watching.”

“I wasn’t,” she giggled.

“Don’t worry,” he said coolly, “we’ll stay here a while, and then we’ll see you climb the stair, with assistance, when most of the others have already gone up.”

“
I
won’t worry,” she said gravely, and then asked him very nicely, she thought, if she might not have something to drink as she was very thirsty.

“No, no,” he said consideringly, “not even water, not now. You’ve had enough.”

“I’m not tipsy!” she cried, stung, and thought that it was very true, for she still knew everything that was going on about her, not at all like when she’d drained all the guests glasses after one of Grandfather’s parties when she’d been fifteen. It was only that she was, just as he’d said, not worried any longer, not worried at all now.

“Really?” he asked with some interest.