by Stacy Reid
At the library, she knocked once, then opened the door and proceeded inside. James stood by the fireplace, dressed as a distinguished gentleman. Even the cravat seemed perfectly tied. He held a drink in his hand, and his face held an air of serious contemplation.
“A shilling for your thoughts, my lord,” she said, trying to ignore the flutter of heat low in her stomach.
He leveled his regard on her. “You are wearing a dress.”
She wore a sapphire blue evening gown, with matching gloves and delicate slippers. Her dress bared the creamy swell of her shoulders, her décolletage, and flattered her shape to its best advantage. Verity removed her hat and veil but kept them in her hand. “Ladies do tend to dance in these, you know, not trousers. I thought you would appreciate that bit of authenticity while we practice.”
Despite her attempt at levity, there was a tension in the air, the memory of their passionate kisses in his eyes. Verity fought the heat rising in her cheeks and moved further into the room.
“You are beautiful.” That was almost said with a reverent whisper.
Considerably shaken, she shifted away so he could not see her expression of similar want, for there could be no mistaking the provocative desire in his brilliant eyes. Verity made her way over to the sofa and lowered herself. Folding her arms demurely in her lap, she said, “Compliments should be elegantly expressed. Your utterance just now was filled with too much passion…and would likely perturb a young lady.”
James arched a brow. “I suspect you are not jesting.”
Verity grinned. “I am not.”
His penetrating gaze searched her face. “So a lady would prefer practiced flattery instead of genuine admiration.”
“Some.”
“What do you prefer?”
His question flustered Verity, and it was a full minute before she was able to answer him with some semblance of composure. “I’ve never given it much thought.”
His regard warmed with something teasing and tender. “Did you appreciate it when I told you just now, how exquisitely ravishing you are?”
She looked at him rather helplessly. “You said beautiful.”
“They hold the same meaning,” he said with a smile which crinkled the corner of his eyes.
“Yes,” she said with a touch of asperity. “My heart jerked with a thrill I have never experienced in my entire life.”
Verity bit back a smile as she realized, with satisfaction, that she had succeeded in discomfiting him. “Are you blushing, my lord?”
He scowled. “Of course not.”
Yet there was the slightest tinge of flush along his rugged cheekbones. The notion she could ruffle the feathers of a man so self-assured sent a dizzying surge of warmth through her veins. She flashed a mischievous smile at him, and murmured, “Another lesson: compliments must not be overly bold or familiar lest the line of propriety is breached. They must be tender, subtle, yet artful.”
“Lesson noted.”
He prowled over to her and held out his hand. “Shall we dance?”
She allowed him to pull her up and she walked beside him in silence as they made their way to his ballroom. The space echoed with emptiness, but the scent on lemon wax was redolent on the air. It was quite a large ballroom with two folding doors which could open up to the larger drawing room. Floor to ceiling windows dominated a large portion of the room, and the gold and blue striped wallpaper lent the room an air of elegance. The room was brightly lit with several lamps and candles. Verity could imagine a ball here, thousands of candles lit on the chandeliers, the scent of lavender and honeysuckle filling the lungs, the laughter and chatter, and the music.
Verity spun to face him, trying not to blush at the intent way he stared at her. He was unpardonable in his admiration, and it was as if he memorized everything about her. A pang tore through her heart. Was he too dreading the day their clandestine lessons would end?
“You are the most graceful man I know.”
“It is easy for me to deduce you socialize with few gentlemen.”
“The fluidity of your movements when you teach me to fight, your stylishness as you dart and shift, at times you mesmerize me how light you are on your feet, James. You should take that same skill and passion into dance.”
She sauntered over to him and placed the tip of her finger over his chest. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Feel the beat of the music here. You have the perfect elegance to dance the waltz.”
As if he could not help himself, he drew her close and spun her so she stood by his side. She turned her head to look at him wonderingly. “So you’ve had some lessons?” she asked archly.
“I admit it, I hired a tutor once.”
They took three steps forward, and then faced each other.
“Can you imagine the strains of the orchestra?” she hummed slightly. “Can you hear it?”
“I believe I can.”
“Then dance with me, James.”
His eyes darkened, and he took her into the perfect position, sliding his arms along hers to hold her by the elbows, then tugging her into the invisible strains of the waltz. Verity hummed, and they glided around the room, at first with some measure of awkwardness and then with such commanding poise and agility he stole her breath. How long they rotated and spun she could not say, but when they halted, they were both laughing like dolts.
Looking up at him she clapped. “I have been deceived, James, you are a wonderful dancer! This lesson has been wonderfully diverting. Are you to attend Lady William’s midnight ball in a few weeks? I daresay by then we should master the grand waltz, and the quadrille. It would be the perfect place to ask a young lady to dance, someone of your liking of course, and perhaps you should endeavor to pay her a compliment.”
His grunt of irritation implied he was not in accord with that plan.
She sent him a perplexed glance. “Or perhaps not to dance?”
“The way we move together, Verity, I would be most astonished if such perfection could be accomplished with just anyone.”
The unexpectedness of this admission took her breath away. “James…”
He bowed. “Accept my thanks for a most agreeable evening, Verity. I believe tonight’s lesson has been imparted. I shall call the carriage for you.”
Before she could question his sudden coolness, he’d already turned away, making his way for the entrance. She stared at his retreating back, an unknown hunger crawling through her. And at its heart there was also a sadness.
What do you want from me, James? And why do I want to give it to you, more than I’ve wanted anything in my whole life?
Chapter 10
Six weeks and two days had passed since Verity had appeared on the earl’s doorstep. She had been instructed several times thus far in the art of fighting, and she had been horrified this morning to note the slight development of muscles in her upper arms. She felt fitter, more confident, and less afraid. It was as if with each lesson, she vanquished the lingering dread.
Their unorthodox friendship flourished with each titillating secretive encounter, and Verity’s admiration for James grew to an astonishing degree. A gentleman is thought to be of top quality through education, refinement, polished manners, a considerable degree of charm, and the productive management of his inheritance. With each passing reflection, which Verity admitted was terribly often, she’d deduced James was more than a gentleman.
He truly existed in a class of his own, and the appellation could not stand alone to describe James. He was charming, kind, thoughtful in his manners and civility, yet at times mercurial and abrupt, with layers to his character Verity presumed would take her years to understand. He challenged her, encouraged her, and always lent a listening ear whenever she vented her frustration of the tiresome nature of the season’s frivolities, the gossip sheets, and the hurtful distance with her family.
Verity waited for the earl in his brightly lit library. A decanter of sherry had been rested on the mantle along with whisky. She removed her hat and veil a
nd lowered herself into the plush sofa. She had arrived at James's townhouse at her usual time, but he had not been present. That had been a first. Tonight's lesson was to be a continuation of the art of intelligent conversations with a lady of society. This had proven the most challenging aspect to James, for he wished to discuss politics, past wars, the economy, horse racing, and even fishing.
When she had suggested he could soften the tension by commenting on the weather, his muttered, “Good God!” had been filled with such horror she had laughed and admitted such conversation could be intolerable but seemed to be the expected norm. That evening they had engaged in such lively discourse, the night had ended without their lesson.
That was becoming too common, and she was determined to honor her part of the bargain. Even though the awareness of what he might do with the knowledge hurt somewhere deep inside. The ending of their arrangement hovered. Only last week they had decided to reduce how often she sneaked away from her home to be with him. Mamma and Albert were becoming irritated with her various excuses to be absent from social events.
There had been a rout-party last week, Albert had been most adamant she should attend. Verity went and had been alarmed that her brother was seeking a political connection with the hostess’s father. The man had to be thrice Verity’s age! The pressure from her brother to depart his household had increased dramatically, and the sense that she ought to find a gentleman to her liking and be pleasantly receptive to his advances lurked in her convictions.
Yet Verity only saw James. Her nights were no longer beset by terrible nightmares. All dreams led to James’s kisses and sometimes eccentric charm. Charms he would use to woo a lady of quality. With a scowl, Verity dismissed thoughts of James courting another lady and opened a copy of a gothic which she had plucked earlier from his extensive library. The clock on the mantle struck, and she glanced up. It was almost nine. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she lowered the book as the door opened.
“Forgive my tardiness,” he said brusquely. “I had another matter to attend.”
“James, is all well?” she enquired, noting the slight stiffness in his frame.
He raked his fingers through his hair, and there was an air of anger surrounding him. “Well enough. I believe we should allow for this lesson another time. It is already too late.”
She stood, frowning at his dismissive manner, and moved closer to him. Verity stared at his hands. “Upon my word, James, you are bleeding!”
She hurried over to him and grabbed his hand, lifting it for her inspection. With rough irritation, he pulled it from her. “It is nothing!”
“I can’t for the life of me conceive why you are acting so boorish,” she snapped sharply. “Please tell me what happened?”
“I was in a fight,” he replied with curt incivility.
“And?”
A scowl darkened his face. “There is no more.”
Verity dropped his hand with an irritated huff, ambled to the mantle and poured whisky into a glass. Once back at his side, she reached into his top pocket for his handkerchief. “You have worn my patience very thin already, please be more forthcoming.”
“There is a man, Lord Newsome…”
“Viscount Newsome?”
“The very one,” James said dryly. “Last week he met in a carriage accident. He was reckless and drunk, driving at an alarming speed. A woman was killed. He was at the club today, laughing over the matter.”
Verity gasped. “I cannot credit such abominable behavior!”
“He was next in the fighting pits, and I went in and challenged him. After calling him a stain on humanity. I thrashed him soundly.” He glanced down at his bruised and bleeding fists. “I did not even take the time to wrap my hands. Sometimes I wonder if I seek any excuse to fight. I’ve not needed the money made from such fights in more than three years. But I find myself returning over and over.”
She lifted his knuckle closer to the lamp, dipped the handkerchief into the whisky, and dabbed it on the torn flesh. A hiss of pain slipped from him, but she did not slow her ministrations, cleaning away the blood. “Do you wish to stop? Fighting that is?”
He considered this, his eyes shuttering. “Whenever I step in the ring, there is always a wave of anger in me…it feels dark, a living entity, and being in the ring, somehow suppresses it. I crave the pleasure of tangling with an opponent who is worthy.”
“You have too much honor and kindness in you, James, for me to believe you only fight for the thrill of it.”
He peered down at her with a surprised mien.
She cleaned away all the blood from his hands and rested the cloth and empty whisky glass on the table, before facing him once more. “Do you think I have not seen your character? You have enfolded me under your protective wings, for little in return, because in your heart you are already a gentleman. And I suspect you know it, James. You helped me simply because you want to see me bloom," she whispered achingly. "What manner of man acts like this? One who has honor and courage and all the fine qualities my papa would say were tip-top."
“How are you so sweet?” he demanded gruffly.
“I eat a lot of delicacies and cakes.”
A snort sounded. “You are also silly. But I like it.”
“Somehow I am gathering you believe this to be flattery?”
“Yes,” he retorted, without an instant’s hesitation.
“It's the most absurd and inelegant compliment,” she agreed mischievously. “My lessons are failing.”
He thought for a few moments. "Your eyes are as brown as mud but prettier. Your lips are as thick...”
Verity choked on her laughter. “Thick? We have spent so many hours reading Lord Byron, John Blunt, and…and…” she broke off giggling.
“Oh? What is this delightful, girlish laugh I hear?” Then he acted as if he caught the sound and placed it over his heart.
She sobered and stared at him, desperately wishing for his kiss. “We are good friends aren’t we, James?” Do not be a silly goose and ruin it, she reminded herself fiercely. Friends did not go around kissing each other.
He looked at her in surprise, and then, after a moment, smiled. “As unlikely as it seems, Verity, we are.”
He unexpectedly curved his arm around her shoulders and dragged her against the solid wall of his chest…into a hug. Verity waited for him to lift her chin and place his lips to hers. Instead of the kiss she had anticipated, his fingers lightly traced her cheek. Her pulse pounded, and she felt confused by the breathless sensations tumbling through her heart. She pressed her face even more against his chest, wishing she could stay there forever. The thought so startled her she pulled away, putting a respectable distance between them.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a too heavy sigh slipping from him. “I am weary.”
She paused at the admission. “I shall take my leave. Perhaps we may have our lesson tomorrow then.” And she wondered then for how long they would prolong this charade.
As if he had peeked into her mind he said, “It is time we pick a date to end our lessons, Verity. We have been taking an enormous gamble with your reputation for over a month, and I would be a reprobate to keep us on this path.”
“Am I getting to be a good fighter then?” she demanded archly.
“You are incredible.”
And that left her speechless for his tone echoed with such genuine admiration. All the possible replies running through her mind felt useless, so she made no reply. Verity collected her reticule and hat with veil.
“Stay.”
“Only for a few minutes.”
And she stayed for an hour, curled into the softness of the sofa, while the earl sat in the high-backed chair before the fire, his legs sprawled in front of him, gazing into the flames. During which time Verity had her book open, reading into the stillness of the night, ignoring the lump forming in her throat and the unusual ache stirring in her soul for James.
Lady William’s ball was a crushing success. Laug
hter and facile conversation floated on the air, and the vividly colored ball gowns, dancing slippers, diamonds, pearls, and rubies shone iridescently under the candlelight of the crystal chandeliers in the glittering ballroom. Verity had been at the ball for more than two hours, and the heat of the packed ballroom was stifling. James was in attendance, but they had carefully maintained a distance. She had not been introduced to him, and he had not sought it.
James mingled with the crowd, and from the many smiles and approving nods, Verity suspected he charmed them. The dowager duchess of Middleton introduced him to her daughter, whom if Verity recalled correctly, was nineteen, and an heiress. Soon James was leading the Lady Anna to the dance floor, his poise one of supreme confidence. He was beautiful, in a way that was uniquely male, and she was not the only lady noticing. Many not on the dance floor discreetly watched the earl and Lady Anna as they twirled to the sensually freeing waltz. For such a large man he appeared light and graceful on his feet, and Lady Anna’s face glowed as she peered up at him. Many in society noted it was the earl’s very first dance, the whispers buzzed and speculation grew.
“It’s his first dance of the season!”
“They do look splendid together.”
"The rumor says he is looking to settle down."
"Perhaps there is some sort of tendre, and they've been very circumspect about it!”
Many fans were opened, and the whispers abounded. The speculation would also spill onto the scandal sheets and newspapers. Verity knew what they all wondered. Why was Lord Maschelly paying attention to Lady Anna Covington? Did they sense a match in the air?
"There is a rumor he offered for the silly girl, and she refused him? An earl believed to have an income of fifty thousand a year, and one so very large and handsome."
This was murmured with an undertone of envy and frustration.
Verity glanced at Lady Susanna, to whom that particular piece of fluff referred. Susanna stared at James and Lady Anna with an expression akin to envy. And Verity felt a pang of regret for her. The more she watched James dance, a hollow sensation burrowed its way into her heart, and she admitted she wished with every fiber of her being he was dancing with her… soaring across the expanse of the dance floor.
