by Lisa Kleypas
“Like the one we took last night? Thank you, Ivy, but no. I’d prefer to arrive at the concert tonight, not in the wee hours of tomorrow morning.”
That wasn’t entirely fair. Last night she’d been far too preoccupied to remember the way to their chamber. She blamed the duke. It was his fault. Completely. His errant touch had addled her. Even thinking about it now, she caught herself rubbing her palm over that place on her arm.
Abruptly, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Very well. We’ll take your way.”
Lilah laughed as they began their trek down the corridor that would eventually lead them toward the stairs to the ballroom. “Likely it is the only way. I’m glad one of us paid attention to the housekeeper’s tour of the castle this afternoon.”
“While you were studying architecture and listening to the history of the Norman Conquest, I was searching for your future husband.” Unfortunately, Ivy had not caught a single glimpse of the duke all day. Part of her—the confused, tingly part—was relieved. Yet the rest of her was still determined for Lilah to marry the most eligible bachelor here. Vale was the obvious choice.
Ivy decided that she would just have to put her strange reaction to him aside, conquer her inexplicable dizziness, and resume the focus that had brought her here in the first place.
“As the maid informed our group earlier,” Lilah began, “the gentlemen had gone on a hunt early this morning. Therefore, searching for one would have been a futile endeavor.”
One thing that had always confused Ivy about house parties was the fact that gentlemen and debutantes were, more often than not, kept apart. Supposedly, these gatherings were designed for the purpose of matchmaking. Yet the only moments the sexes spent together were typically before and during dinner. Ivy wondered how anyone managed to find a suitable spouse at all. “Our host was still here.”
Lilah shook her head. “Ivy, I truly wish you would cease your pursuit. The duke is not going to marry someone like me.”
“Well, he won’t if that is your attitude,” Ivy scoffed.
“It has nothing to do with attitude and more with interest. The duke is more likely to marry you than me.”
Ivy tripped over her velvet hem and nearly stumbled into a suit of armor.
“Whyever would you say a thing like that? I’m not the least bit intrigued by the duke, and I certainly harbor no romantic notions about him. Not a single one.” This time, when she said the words in a rush, her throat constricted. She tried to swallow, but the sensation would not abate.
“I didn’t mean to suggest that you did . . .” Lilah hesitated, her eyes turning doelike and sorrowful. “Oh bother, Ivy. I know that asking you to attend this party was a selfish indulgence on my part. I should have realized how difficult it would be for you to be surrounded by marriage-minded debutantes, especially after what happened with my brother.”
Now Ivy felt guilty for the way that her denial had sounded more like an outburst. “Don’t be silly. You have no reason to apologize. I don’t mind it here at all. In fact, the castle is lovely. If the party were to last ten years, then perhaps I could even tour it in its entirety. However, if you insist on being at fault for a nonsensical offense, you can make it up to me by inviting me to live here with you and your duke.”
Lilah released an exhausted sigh as they reached a fork in the corridor. Automatically, Ivy turned left, certain that was the correct path. Everything inside of her told her to turn left. Behind her, however, Lilah cleared her throat. “The ballroom is this way, Ivy.”
Ivy caught a glimpse of a man striding down the hall, heading in the direction she wanted to go. Even before her eyes recognized his form and his sure, purposeful stride, a jolt dashed through her, setting her off balance. In an instant, she knew it was the duke. Part of her wanted to flee to the ballroom. Yet another part knew that this was the perfect opportunity for Lilah. “We must go this way, for I believe that is the duke.”
Beside her now, Lilah squinted. “At this hour, it is more likely a servant. Furthermore, the light is too dim. You cannot be certain.”
But Ivy was. Even that path on her arm tingled again. “Our host is alone. There is no better time to make an exceptional impression on him.”
“Thus far your methods have been far from impressive,” Lilah grumbled.
“Think of those instances as part of a process. We keep going until we find one that works.” Although Ivy hoped the process wouldn’t take too long. Once the duke started to show clear interest in Lilah, Ivy could return home, where she could forget about errant touches, tingles, and dizzy spells.
“His Grace is walking in the opposite direction of the ballroom. I am certain he has no desire to be accosted. Please come away,” Lilah begged. “We must attend the concert. I know we are very late.”
Ivy took a breath, preparing to use her most persuasive tone. “Your aunt will surely forgive you once you have secured a duke. Such a boon would reflect well on her, also.”
Lilah glanced down the hall once more, appearing to waver. Then she shook her head succinctly. “No, for he has already turned that corner.”
Oh, for mercy’s sake! “He cannot have gotten too far. We could still—”
“I am leaving, Ivy,” Lilah interrupted. “Are you joining me?”
NORTH WAS A man of science and purpose. He was not allowing an uncharacteristic reaction to Miss Sutherland to dictate his actions. The reason he was not seated in the ballroom, awaiting the concert to begin, was that he’d forgotten his gloves. It had nothing to do with the fact that Edith had arranged for him to sit next to Miss Sutherland and her friend all evening.
Nevertheless, he was thankful that he’d discovered the seating arrangement before he’d entered the ballroom. Moments ago, he’d stood in the hall at the back of the room, peering through a slivered opening of the French doors. The concert had already begun. Wall sconces and chandeliers had bathed the room in golden light. His guests had been seated in rows of cushioned fiddle-backed chairs, their lorgnettes poised—more for the purpose of gossip than for musical admiration, he’d been sure. That had been the reason he hadn’t stepped inside. That and because there’d been three empty seats in between Edith and Lady Cosgrove. Three— most likely one for him, one for the tardy Miss Sutherland, and one for the equally tardy Miss . . . whatever her name was.
He never should have told Edith the truth earlier when she’d asked if he’d spoken with Lady Cosgrove’s niece and Miss Sutherland yet. Damnation!
Even now, striding away from the concert, he felt his pulse thicken at the thought of sitting beside Miss Sutherland. Just imagine the damage that could befall his plan if one of those lorgnettes spied him taking an indiscreet glance at a certain Miss Sutherland. Or worse, saw him touch her again.
That was precisely the reason he’d had to return to his study to don a pair of gloves. The fabric would likely be barrier enough to remind him of his position. If it did not, dire consequences awaited him. Tongues would surely wag. Some might even assume he was attracted to her beyond his control.
However, he knew the truth.
The epiphany had come to him a short time ago. Of course, this was after he’d caught himself requesting that the cook add a persimmon jelly to the menu for this evening. After he’d spent hours tinkering with his slipper stretcher. And after he’d found himself searching a map of Surrey for Norwood Hill in his private study—which was likely where he’d left his gloves.
Upon realizing his preoccupation, he’d summarily dismissed the cause as being linked to Miss Sutherland. It was far more likely that his fixation stemmed from his desire to prove his formula. His Fellowship was at stake, after all.
In the past, when he’d been on the precipice of revealing one of his own inventions to the Society for review, he’d usually found a minor flaw that would prevent him. The reason then had been that he hadn’t been fully prepared. In his excitement, he’d rushed a few previous inventions. Yet with his formula, he’d taken his time. It was too imp
ortant to rush. And in the end, his equation was flawless. Therefore, the obvious conclusion regarding his preoccupation with Miss Sutherland was that it was a form of self-sabotage. Nothing more. This time, however, he had proof that his formula worked. And over the course of the party, he would reveal his greatest achievement.
Now, on the way down the hall, North decided to test the stabilizing bars he’d added to the ascending room track to make for a smooth ascent and descent. Removing the key from his pocket, he opened the door. It was safer to keep a locked door in front of it, otherwise—if the room was not on the same floor—a gaping hole would greet you. That could be disastrous for anyone to happen upon.
Then, just as he stepped inside, he heard a rush of footsteps coming from around the corner. Holding the door open with one hand, he peered over his shoulder in time to see Miss Sutherland emerge, but she wasn’t looking in his direction. Instead, she was looking over her shoulder.
“Tell your aunt that I will be late because I decided to wear the sea-green gown after all. And do not worry. Everything will be fine,” she called out, and a voice replied in an indistinguishable murmur.
North opened his mouth to warn her, but he was suddenly preoccupied by the thought of her slipping out of this blue dress. He could offer his assistance . . .
By the time he cleared his head, Miss Sutherland was taking a few hurried backward steps. When she turned around, she ran headlong into him with a surprised oh! and then an oof!
North stumbled back into the ascending room. He did everything he could to remain upright. Planting his feet wide, he was forced to hold her against the sturdy column of his body. Forced to grasp her arms. Which, incidentally, were bare between her velvet-trimmed cap sleeves and elbow-length gloves. Bare beneath his hands. Bare, warm, and softer than goose down.
A shudder—that was more about untamed desire than preoccupation—quaked through him to his very core. Staring down into her almond-shaped eyes, he watched as they widened and swept over his features, from brow to chin. Her gaze lingered a fraction longer on his mouth, as if she was waiting for him to speak or, perhaps, waiting for him to kiss her.
He took a moment to speculate whether it was the former or the latter. In the seconds that passed, he catalogued how her hands were resting against his chest, not pressing as if she wanted to gain her freedom but curled slightly as if trying to capture the beat of his heart in the cup of her palms. Also, she made no movement to separate from him. Her breathing was rapid—though perhaps that was the result of running down the hall. When she wet her lips, however, she provided an irrefutable answer.
Another surge coursed through him. It was a shame he could not act upon it.
“Good evening, Miss Sutherland.” As if by rote, he set her apart from him and lowered his arms. Instantly, he wanted to haul her back. Yet he did not. He knew he should say something inanely polite and send her in the direction of the ballroom. Yet he could think of nothing. His mind had ceased to function once more.
Chapter Four
“GOOD EVENING, MISS SUTHERLAND.”
Even though Ivy knew that the duke was bound to speak at one point or another, hearing him now left her a bit dazed. His tone matched his countenance perfectly—rough-hewn and darkly mesmerizing. His enunciation lived up to ducal standards, she was sure, but there was something of an underlying growl to each word. The sound of it made her want to close her eyes and hear it whispered to her. “Your Grace. At last, we complete our introduction.”
Instead of him staring at her as if she were a madwoman, her impertinence earned an unexpected smile. That smile formed two distinct creases alongside his mouth, like a tutor’s brackets marking an important passage in a lesson. She was inclined to agree with this imaginary tutor, because the duke’s broad mouth was certainly worth further study.
He inclined his head. “Northcliff Melchior Bromley, the fifth Duke of Vale, Marquess of Edgemont and Viscount Barlow, at your service. Forgive me for not introducing myself properly yesterday. I was . . . unaccountably distracted.”
“With a name like yours to remember, I’d have been distracted as well,” she said, the words tumbling out heedlessly.
His smile remained, deepening to three creases on each side, and his magnetic eyes crinkled at the edges. Oh dear. The combination did far worse things to her equilibrium than mere dark intensity had. “Are you lost, Miss Sutherland?”
“Lost? No, I—” Still standing near him, she didn’t feel lost at all. Nor had she been lost when she’d chased him down in the hall. However, she could admit to neither. “Actually, yes. I believe I am. Though I imagine you employ a servant rescue brigade below stairs, whose sole purpose is to aid wayward guests.”
He shook his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “Alas, they are all on another mission at the moment, so you are left with me. Luckily, I hardly ever get lost.”
Surprised by his quick wit, she laughed. “Hardly ever is better than I have managed thus far.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Miss Sutherland,” he said, leaning in a fraction. He lifted his hand to her elbow and turned her to face the hall at her back. “Each hallway is comprised of a specific décor. The one leading to your chamber is, I believe, host to suits of armor. The one leading to the ballroom is adorned with statues in various dance poses. Others have urns, marble busts, paintings, topiaries . . .”
“That’s actually quite brilliant,” she said, turning to face him.
She might have said more to that effect, too, but she ended up breathless instead when he flashed those creases at her again. Reaching out, she placed a hand against the door frame. That was when she looked around at their close quarters. It appeared that they stood inside a closet. With the only light source coming from the hall behind her and a single lamp suspended from the ceiling, all she could see was unfinished walls with vertical tracks of metal and dangling ropes exposed, along with a small bench secured to the floor. A floor which—alarmingly enough—shifted beneath her feet. “Either the floor is moving, or your spell-casting abilities are even greater than I first imagined.”
Wait a moment, did I say that aloud?
His gruff laugh was answer enough. “The floor is indeed shifting. A degree of movement allows for subtle changes in the frame and structure, providing a smoother elevation or descent—much like a carriage ride is smoother because the supports bounce and give instead of remaining rigid.”
Ivy felt her cheeks heat, doubtless with that unfortunate scarlet color. It was less about embarrassment over what she’d said aloud and more about the alteration in him. His enthusiasm for his subject matter was obvious. The amount of passion in his voice enthralled her, stirred her, heated her. So much so, in fact, that it took her a moment to grasp what he was saying. “A carriage?”
“The term being used for the one being built in Regent’s Park is ascending room. Essentially, this room is an elevator like those used in coal mines . . .” During his explanation, he never once looked away from her. He seemed as eager to tell her as she was to learn of it. Then he held out his hand. “Would you care to join me?”
She slipped her fingers into his palm without the barest thought of refusing. Had she still been a debutante, such an act could have ruined her. She had no chaperone, and to be alone in a gentleman’s company was strictly forbidden. Even on the shelf, the same fate could befall her. With all the guests distracted by the concert, however, she doubted anyone would know. Unless . . . “Will it take long?”
He lifted his brows as he drew her farther inside toward a small cushioned bench. “Are you always in a rush, Miss Sutherland?”
“Always,” she answered immediately, which earned her another chuckle.
“Then I will have you at the concert before you are missed.” His grasp lingered for a moment before he released her.
Ivy’s stomach trembled when the floor shifted once more. Her legs shook, too, forcing her to sit down on the bench. Even though she had an impulsive nature and enjoyed tryi
ng new experiences, it did not mean she never felt warned against them. Usually when she ignored this feeling, it tended to transform into one of exhilaration. She rather liked that part.
He moved to the door and turned the key in the lock, closing them inside. Anticipation swelled. Still, she felt compelled to ask, “Should there not be an inner door as well?”
“I’d thought of that, but it might give some the feeling of being caged in.” He shifted to the right and opened a wall-mounted box that contained a lever.
While his statement made sense, when she looked around the small, dimly lit room, she could see how easy it would be to get a hand or foot trapped in the space between the floor and the wall. Stop it, Ivy. You’re beginning to worry like Lilah.
Nevertheless . . . “Some might say that the purpose of a cage is to offer a semblance of security, while giving the illusion that one’s freedom is within reach.”
“You are quite safe, Miss Sutherland. The steam engine is not directly below us. Besides, this time of year, the water used for cooling the condenser is quite cold, thereby limiting the possibility of explosion. Plus, I have installed a series of bumpers to slow down the carriage should the supports give way.”
“Explosion? Give way?” she gasped, having second thoughts.
Too late. The room jolted into motion. A harsh metallic clacking sound accompanied it. Her gaze lifted toward the sound to find a flat, black ceiling overhead. The room suddenly resembled a coffin. The candle flame cast undulating shadows on the unfinished walls, but the ceiling seemed to devour the light, reflecting nothing.
“Fear not,” he said gently, drawing her gaze. “I have operated this room dozens of times, including twice today, without a mishap. I’ve run through every conceivable catastrophe and put forth methods of prevention.”
