“A lady of mystery. Lovely indeed. Finally, something of interest in Misty Brooke.” As the path widened, he lengthened their strides. “As I was saying, we all take lessons, but not all of us learn. To date, I remain my dancing master’s greatest disappointment.”
He was incorrigible!
“So, you follow innocent maidens into the gardens instead—purely to offer your protection, of course? You know, you could always excuse yourself to the gambling tables.”
He sighed dramatically. “But then I wouldn’t come upon mysterious young ladies, er… hiding amongst the foliage.”
Absurd! He was being absolutely absurd! “I suppose not.”
“And you, my mystery lady, have you been dancing the night away?”
She dropped her head. She had been taught to dance, along with Louella, but had never been asked. One must actually attend dances in order to be asked. Another activity her parents had curtailed when they’d realized her eye would never settle down.
“I can but….”
“Don’t tell me you are breaking all the gentlemen’s hearts with your refusals?”
Olivia shrugged. “I’d have to refuse them to break their hearts.”
“Now it is you who are joking.”
The gazebo appeared ahead though heavy clouds covered the moon. The fountain beckoned in front of it. Was the object of the statue doing what she thought he was doing?
Oh, but this was priceless. Perhaps she wasn’t the hoyden she’d imagined after all!
There was something oddly familiar about this young woman, but Gabriel could not quite put his finger on it. She wasn’t like most ladies of his acquaintance, but he rather liked that about her. Not that normal ladies of the ton weren’t lovely to look upon, but one quickly grew tired having the same conversation over and over again. And despite having been betrothed for years now, he’d consistently had to devise more and more creative maneuvers in order to evade the most persistent of marriage-minded mamas.
He grinned to himself. It was all a part of the games Society played.
“It isn’t, is it really? Oh, but it is!” At the sight of the fountain, just as he hoped, the lady beside him dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“It’s a replica of Mannequin Pis, a famous statue in Brussels.”
She approached it and dipped her hands into the water. “Why would anyone fashion a statue out of a boy…?”
“Taking a whiz?” he finished for her.
Gabriel would bet this petite young miss was blushing to the roots of her hair. Blond, now he could see more clearly out in the open.
“Yes.” She stared at the ironic statue, shaking her head.
“All kinds of folklore surrounding it.” Gabriel gestured for her to sit beside him on a conveniently placed bench. “Legends cover a gamut of possibilities. My personal favorite is that a young boy urinated on a burning fuse which resulted in saving the city from exploding to kingdom come.” He peered at it closer. “This statue is more detailed than the original.”
“You have seen it in person?”
He nodded. “My Belgian friends are quite proud of it.” Warming to his subject, he considered the statue as he spoke. “They say it captures the spirit of victory. Although the original has been stolen many times, it is always found and then either pieced back together and resurrected or rebuilt completely. They say it stands for the strength of their people.”
She seemed to be turning his words over in her mind before declaring, “I think I rather like that.”
Gabriel slid a sideways glance at her just in time to see a secret smile dancing on her lips.
For some reason, this mysterious minx affected him. Physically, of course, but also in a manner that transported him almost to another world. She emanated an unusual combination of whimsy and strength. Although petite, she most certainly was not delicate.
Not quite vulgar but close.
He’d have surmised the girl to be on her way to meet a secret lover when he’d first noticed her leave the terrace alone. Only he’d been standing in that very spot for nearly forty minutes and surely any worthy gentleman would have gone ahead of her? No one else had gone in that same direction—no single gentleman, that was.
She’d seemed somewhat distraught, almost as though she were being pursued. If it had been Prissy, he’d have appreciated some honorable gentleman such as himself watching out for her.
And so, he’d taken chase. Had he any idea of what he would stumble upon… He shook his head and stifled his amusement. Impudent wench!
She’d said the ladies retiring room had been occupied. Surely, Crawford’s guests would be accommodating so as to allow…
Again, he shook his head. He’d never pretended to understand the ways of the more delicate sex.
As a breeze swept up the hillside, Gabriel studied her profile. She brushed some wayward hair away as she watched the water stream into the statue’s surrounding basin. Long lashes and plump lips, her nose tilted up just enough to be considered rebellious.
Who was she? He’d no intentions of doing anything untoward, regardless… But the sense that he knew her bothered him in a most annoying manner.
Perhaps she was some distant cousin of Stafford’s.
He’d left the ball to escape all mention of the wedding tomorrow. Not that he didn’t celebrate the occasion fully with his old colleague and friend but because it exposed a failure on his own behalf. He ought to be wed by now, himself. For a number of years, in fact.
And yet he’d been given no choice in the matter.
“Perhaps you could teach me.” The words escaped before he could stop them.
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Teach you what?”
“To dance. Isn’t that what we were discussing earlier?” Pity motivated him. This woman seemed… separate—different—somehow, and a part of him wished to remedy the situation. The less altruistic side of him thought it an innocent enough excuse to touch her.
“Me? Teach you to dance? You have an unusual gift for the absurd.” He couldn’t quite make out her expression, and her eyes remained in shadow.
His gut clenched. Perhaps she was a fairy of some sort, after all. Not of this world. He’d never met such a creature as she seemed.
And just as quickly, he dismissed such nonsensical speculation.
Gabriel gestured toward the rather large gazebo. “We have the perfect dance floor right here, with no one watching to witness my ineptness. Perhaps I’ve simply needed a mysterious lady to encourage my natural prowess.” Gabriel enjoyed flirtation and was not one to overlook the opportunity to hold a lovely lady in his arms.
“This sounds suspiciously like a line you’ve used on other ladies.”
Gabriel slammed a fist against his heart but grinned right back at her. “You wound me.” And then, more seriously, “I don’t dance, My Lady. With anyone. Ever.”
“Really? With no one?”
He shook his head, still astounded at himself for making the suggestion. It had been so long; he would likely leave her toes bloodied and bruised. Then again, it was possible that seeing him fumbling at something as simple as a dance would somehow provide her some encouragement.
He wished he could see her eyes. It was almost as though she appreciated him for the person he was, rather than the title he held. It was a refreshingly pleasant sensation.
She didn’t answer right away and as though to assist him in persuading her, the sounds of the orchestra drifting out the terrace doors echoed softly across the lawn.
“It is a waltz.” She practically whispered the words.
It was all the encouragement required.
She did not resist as he led her into the shelter, then turned her to face him, placing his left hand at her waist.
Feeling oddly tentative, he lifted her hand in his.
He could almost make out her features, but it was darker in here. Even so, he’d have to crouch down in order to do so. She was a tiny little thing, barely five fe
et tall, he’d guess.
Very much a woman though. Her rounded hip curved beneath his hand and when he accidentally stepped too far forward, the softness of her breasts proved her to be adequately endowed, indeed.
“Shorten your stride, My Lord,” she admonished and then counted down to try again. After two more aborted attempts, they eventually made a full circle around the floor.
Surprisingly enough, he did not hate it. And furthermore, he’d yet to step on her toes even once.
He needn’t worry about making inane conversation, nor did he concern himself that onlookers would witness his mistakes. In the darkness like this, he could almost close his eyes and focus only on the rhythm of their steps and the feel of a lovely young woman in his arms.
“You’re not terrible, you know,” she admitted with a laugh after he dared to twirl her successfully. “If fact, I rather think there’s hope for you.”
The idea that he knew her from somewhere arose again with her laughter. He couldn’t ask her though, or he’d stumble.
“Stop counting,” she ordered him, almost as though she’d read his mind.
“How do you know I’m counting? Two… Three… One…”
“Two… three,” she finished for him. “I know because you are mumbling it under your breath.” Now he could feel her smiling. Something in how her entire body relaxed beneath his hands. But even more than that. An energy of joy pulsed through her.
And as he was holding her, it pulsed through him as well.
“Olivia Redfield!” Without warning, an irate voice shattered the magic of their privacy. “My God! What are you thinking? If your mother caught you out here! If anyone else— I knew allowing you to attend was not a good idea.”
She was suddenly ripped out of his arms.
Olivia Redfield? Why did he know that name? And not a second passed before he remembered who she was: Lazy-eyed Lizzie?
“We were only dancing, Papa.”
Papa. That word never foretold any good.
Gabriel just barely made out a feeble-looking fellow with a few strands of hair standing on end. Gabriel had been introduced to the gentleman earlier that evening. Hallowell was the name. Viscount Hallowell. The bride’s father.
Gabriel stepped backward, wishing he could disappear into the darkness. Oh, hell. What had he done?
“Are you determined to ruin everything for your sister?” the viscount rasped in his daughter’s direction. “Get back inside and locate your mother. Louella has tired herself and needs to depart early.”
As of yet, the older gentleman had not yet turned his wrath upon Gabriel, the villain who’d led his daughter astray.
“Is Louella unwell? Where is she?” Miss Redfield’s voice was strained with concern.
Louella was the name of Stanton’s bride. Gabriel had been dancing in the dark, alone, with the bride’s spinster sister.
Only she hadn’t seemed like any of the spinsters he was acquainted with. Up until they’d been interrupted, she’d simply been a soft bundle of femininity who seemed a little lost.
“Just tired, from what your mother says. Now stop dawdling and meet me in the front.”
She turned and gestured toward Gabriel, who until that moment, had been keeping much to himself in a dark corner.
“One moment. Papa. Lord Kingsley, this is my father, Lord Hallowell. Papa, Lord Kingsley.”
Hallowell stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Kingsley, yes, we met earlier. You’re overseeing operations of the mine in Stanton’s absence.”
Why wasn’t the man calling him out for compromising his daughter? Gabriel had spent several minutes alone with her, in a dark and secluded area quite far away from proper company. Good God, he’d been holding her in a manner that wasn’t altogether appropriate.
And the man wished to discuss the mine?
Gabriel supposed that yes, the mine was located on Hallowell’s property. The rights were tied up in the betrothal between Miss Louella Redfield and Lord Stanton. Stanton’s father had wanted to open it up for years and the viscount had finally relented. Hell, the entire community was mad over the damn thing.
“Only temporarily,” Gabriel answered cautiously, flicking his gaze toward Miss Redfield. “And only in so far as the operations manager needs assistance.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Good to know it’s all in good hands. Wash myself of the whole business if I could.”
“Indeed.”
Just then the clouds drifted enough that the moonlight illuminated the spot where Miss Redfield stood anxiously looking on. Delightful curves, pale blond hair and the sweetest countenance he’d ever seen.
And then she tipped her head up to stare at him boldly.
He’d not forgotten those violet eyes of hers. His gaze lazily roved down the length of her and then back up to her face. Ah, yes, and she had the other eye that seemed to drift on its own. She’d been a lovely girl back then but was even lovelier now.
Lazy-eyed Livvy was all grown up now.
Chapter 2
Second Impressions
“If you would cease tugging at the damn thing, it will stop tightening around your neck.” Gabriel adjusted the cravat of his longtime friend, and today’s bridegroom, the Marquess of Stanton. The priest had ordered them to wait in the church vestibule and said he would signal to them when it was time to enter and then stand waiting at the altar.
Stanton made a choking sound, lifted his hand to the cloth, and jerked it to the right with a wince.
“You’re a fine one to talk, betrothed for how many years now? And yet you remain unmarried.” Stanton shot him a derisive sideways glance. “I look forward to the day you face the parson’s noose.”
Ah, yes, his own never-ending betrothal. Truth be told, the delay troubled him. He’d like nothing more than to fulfill the promise he’d made. Each year the ceremony was put off slighted his father. “If Miss Shipley’s relatives keep themselves alive long enough, I’ll fulfill my obligation. I cannot be blamed for my fiancée’s perpetual state of mourning.” Poor Victoria. And yet she’d not seemed overset by the delay.
First, her older sister had succumbed to a long illness. A year later, her grandmother, and then her father and her mother after that. Tentative plans were in place for a July ceremony, but he’d heard no news from her for months now.
Stanton and his new bride would return to Ashton Acres by then and Gabriel could join his fiancée in London. And perhaps they’d actually marry this time.
Assuming her relatives kept themselves alive.
Stanton crossed the carpet and peered out the door where the congregation waited. “What time is it? Is she late?” Without awaiting an answer, he paced back across the room and ran one hand through his hair. “What if she doesn’t show?”
He’d not seen his friend this way before. “Do you want her to?”
Stanton pulled out a flask and tipped it back for a long swallow. “I do. I mean, of course, I do. I think.” And then more pacing.
“You needn’t follow through with it.” Society would deem Stanton to be the worst of rakes for crying off, but if his friend truly opposed the union…
“I want to. It’s just…” A wry grimace. “What if I let her down? She’s so utterly perfect and I’m… not.”
“There are two horses outside saddled and ready to travel. Simply say the word and you and I can be at Sky Manor before lunch.”
But Stanton was shaking his head. And then he smiled. “Thank you, but no. I need to marry. I promised my father, but more than that, I want to marry Louella.”
Good God, his friend was lovesick. Gabriel laughed and punched Stanton on the arm.
“I never would have imagined you’d marry that scrawny little urchin all those years ago. I had the delightful experience of becoming reacquainted with the older sister last night. Both have certainly grown into beauties.” He’d dreamed about her, surprisingly enough. He rarely dreamed of any one particular woman. Not even his fiancée.
“Sh
e is.” Stanton seemed lost in thought. But then he turned and stared at Gabriel curiously. “You met the elder Miss Redfield? Did you apologize to her? You and I were none too kind to the girl before we left all those years ago. Louella, in fact, insisted I apologize before she’d accept me.”
Gabriel scratched his chin. He had very little clear recollection of that summer. The year before Stanton took up his commission on a naval ship and Gabriel embarked upon his tear through all of England. The two of them had filled their days with recklessness and their nights with debauchery and drink. Many times, the days had been filled with drink as well.
“She didn’t mention anything about it.”
“Of course, she wouldn’t mention it.” Stanton groaned. “I’m disappointed in you, Kings. I thought you had a better grasp on the understanding of women than I did. It appears I may have been wrong.”
Gabriel frowned. “Her eye still meanders?”
“I thought you said you became reacquainted.”
“It was dark—“
“So help me, Kings, if you’ve done anything to compromise the gel—“
“Nothing like that,” Gabriel interrupted, cutting the irate groom off. “I stumbled upon her in the garden. She was… alone and, I, as a gentleman, of course, offered to escort her back to the ball.”
Stanton stared at him suspiciously. “Miss Redfield isn’t like other ladies. In addition to the fact that my fiancée dotes on her sister, keep in mind that the young woman has been isolated from Society. She’s the daughter of a viscount but has no prospects. If you dallied with her, she might build… expectations that you are unable to fill.”
“Are you warning me off, Stanton?” Gabriel grinned.
“Damn straight I am.” Stanton apparently found nothing humorous in this subject. “But I would suggest some sort of heartfelt apology. You pestered her more than I, if I remember correctly. You’ll likely have an opportunity sometime during the wedding breakfast.”
The Perfect Spinster: A Regency Romance (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 2) Page 2
