Her smile faltered. “Yes, well...a wise man once told me that war heroes deserve our respect.”
His gaze sharpened as if he was seeing her anew. And then a flicker of amusement lit his eyes. “A wise man, hmm?”
She laughed. “Please don’t go and become conceited on me. I’m afraid London society has reached its quota of swollen egos.”
His laughter made her feel dizzy and she looked away, taking in those preening peacocks she’d just mentioned. Those were the men she’d come here to attract. That was her job, was it not? They preened, she strutted. It was the mating ritual of the titled and powerful.
The good major was just a means to an end. As she was for him.
She rather wished she hadn’t let her gaze stray from his. Looking around the ballroom, she was all too aware of the judgmental eyes on them.
Major Mayfield seemed to become aware of them as well. “Is it my imagination or have we caused a stir with our dancing?”
Her smile felt brittle when she turned her face back to his. “Perhaps you did not hear, Major. You really ought not dance with me. Not here, at least, where I am so unwelcome.”
“You are a duke’s daughter,” he said. “I highly doubt you’re unwelcome anywhere.”
She tilted her head to study him. Did he really not know of the rumors? Hope flickered and died a quick death. If he didn’t now, he would soon enough. Exhaustion swept over her and she was grateful for the strength of his arms. “Yes, well…” Even her voice sounded weary. “This is Marigold’s party, and she and her friends have their reasons for disliking me.” She shrugged. “This is not my crowd, that’s all.”
He studied her in silence, and she wished he’d say something. Anything. As it was, his gaze held hers and it seemed to see right through her nonchalant words. “You’re not dead yet, you know.”
Her chin jerked back at the tone. For a second he sounded like Sir Geoffrey. “Pardon?”
“I just meant, whatever bad blood exists between you and this set. I’m sure it’s nothing that could not be overcome. It seems to me there are very few matters in life that are irreversible or non-negotiable.” He gave her a small smile. “Except death. And as I pointed out a moment ago…”
“It’s true. I am not dead.” Her tone was bland, but she was struggling not to laugh.
“Just so.” He glanced down between them, eyeing her from head to toe and making her skin sizzle wherever his gaze fell. “You look very much alive to me.”
Her breath hitched again as her heart thumped loudly in her chest at the heat in his gaze.
She was very much alive. And she’d never felt so alive as she did right this moment.
7
Alex walked away from Abigail, regret making his steps less precise than usual. He wasn’t sorry he’d asked her to dance. In fact, he was exceedingly glad.
He abhorred the way the others at the party were treating her, which was deplorable to say the least. They whispered from behind their fans, not that the fluttering instruments hid their intent. The ladies giggled as they whispered, and the gentlemen, if one could call them that, sneered as they avoided her company. He well remembered those same dandies leering at her in an entirely different manner at the last house party they’d all attended, the hypocritical halfwits.
So yes, he was glad he’d stepped in and asked her to dance. Though that wasn’t the only reason he was glad he’d asked. The dance had been...wonderful. Surprisingly so.
Once again, they’d moved seamlessly across the floor, their steps effortlessly in sync. She made him feel aware, alive, light and...fun. A word he hadn’t used to describe himself in ages.
And then there was the conversation.
He’d caught hints in Abigail’s words of humbleness, kindness, genuine regret, and—
He stopped his thoughts. Had he imagined all of that? Was he painting her with the colors he wished to see rather than the ones that were already there?
But why would he do that? He didn’t want Abigail at all.
His body disagreed, his muscles tightening as he pictured her.
But perhaps he merely enjoyed stepping in and saving a beautiful woman in need. He did have a tendency toward playing the hero.
If they were at a different party, one where Abigail was the toast of London rather than the outcast, would he be as enamored?
The word rang in his head. Enamored? He glanced back at her, Abigail’s gaze still trained on him. Who wouldn’t be enamored? Tall and striking, she was a force of nature.
Then again, in moments like that dance, she seemed less a force and more a delicate flower with a slender stem. The beauty was there, fragile and promising to be even more stunning if only it was given the chance to bloom.
But that was the question with Abigail, wasn’t it? Would she bloom into the sort of woman who had real depth and character, or would she remain just another vapid darling of the ton?
The need to save her rose up again. He could help her.
Not with finding a husband. His gaze locked on those preening peacocks clustered together and a rumbling of dissent clogged his throat. He’d not help her attract one of those buffoons. But he could aid her in discovering the sort of woman she had the potential to be. A true rare beauty who had looks as well as heart.
His chest swelled at the very idea of the woman she could become. He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly passed by Miss Charlotte and her mother.
“Major,” the matron called, interrupting his musings and halting his feet. “There you are, Major Mayfield. We’ve been looking for you all evening.”
He quickly disguised his grimace and tried his best to give a genuine smile. “Apologies. I was delayed in my arrival.” Now he sounded more like Abigail. The truth was, he’d been sitting in his room, attempting to sift through his thoughts and convince himself he was on the right path.
In his mind, he’d tried to return to that lake and remember why he’d so desperately needed serenity. Why he’d promised himself a life of sedate pleasure.
Because at some point over the last several months, he’d stopped craving that vision quite so much, he just hadn’t realized it. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Was he forgetting or healing?
He wasn’t the fickle sort, but it was becoming abundantly clear that he’d been clinging to the wrong dream.
“We’re glad you’re here now. I had hoped we’d dance before tonight, but we never had the opportunity.” Charlotte gave him a coquettish smile, the look in her eyes assessing. She flicked her dance card, a clear indication that she expected him to ask her to dance.
But what she’d said didn’t ring true. There had been plenty of chances for them to dance together. To become acquainted and to get to know one another. But she’d never shown the slightest interest. Not until Abigail had shown mock interest.
He didn’t respond immediately, and she repeated the gesture, her finger tapping the card.
How had he missed those subtle gestures before tonight? Her chin tipped down, hiding the calculating expression on her face.
Her quiet nature supplemented with manipulative moves.
His frown deepened as he looked at the card. He didn’t like this sort of behavior at all. Man or woman, he didn’t appreciate a person who was disingenuous. And if Charlotte had wished to dance with him before tonight, she’d had every opportunity. She had been the one who’d been difficult to catch.
Despite what everyone thought of Abigail, she’d been perfectly honest with him from the start. And while he may not have liked all of her motives, at least he knew them for what they were because she was forthright with her thoughts and feelings.
“Had you hoped we’d dance? I’m surprised, Miss Charlotte. We seemed to miss each other at every gathering.” Had that been intentional? Abigail had been right. Charlotte’s sudden interest coincided too perfectly with Abigail’s attentions. And it made him wonder if perhaps Abigail had been correct in her assessment of Miss Charlo
tte all along.
Her nose wrinkled. “Had we?” Then she gave him another sickly sweet smile. “Well, regardless, we’re here now.” And she flicked the card again.
He sighed, holding out his hand. He’d come here to do this very thing—dance with Miss Charlotte Ainsworth. He may as well complete his mission. “Miss Charlotte, would you do me the honor of allowing me to claim a dance?”
With a look of satisfaction, she held out the card to him. And though he had a silver case of pencils in his pocket should the need arise, he used the pencil hanging from the dance card by a ribbon to write in his name on the line provided for the next dance.
Which meant he’d only need to stand here for a few more minutes before he could claim his dance and then be done with Charlotte for the evening.
He supposed this party had been fruitful in one regard. He’d realized that he’d been pursuing the wrong woman. What he’d taken to be quiet kindness in Charlotte was actually far less attractive.
But he’d not snub her now. It was neither gentlemanly nor personable and he believed in good manners. “Tell me, how are you enjoying the party thus far?”
“It’s wonderful,” Charlotte gushed. “Most of my friends are here and, thanks to Lady Abigail, we’re delightfully entertained.”
His brows rose even as his lips pressed together. This time there was no mistaking that she was making fun at Abigail’s expense.
Irritation bristled along his skin. Abigail had not done a thing to Charlotte that he could see. In fact, in her own way, Abigail had attempted to help Charlotte, or at least help him gain Charlotte’s attention. A chastisement rose to his lips. “I don’t see—”
“Oh,” her mother interrupted, clearly attempting to deflect the situation. “I’ve just had the most marvelous idea. Charlotte and I wish to take a walk about the estate tomorrow. Perhaps you could escort us, Major.”
“The grounds?” Charlotte huffed.
Alex closed his eyes for the briefest second. Did he wish to spend a few hours in their company tomorrow? Certainly not. Was there a way he could politely refuse the invitation? Not likely. Besides, he’d made his intentions toward Charlotte known to Max and Marigold. It was likely better to spend enough time with Charlotte to make absolutely certain how he felt about her.
Perhaps his dance with Abigail had simply clouded his judgment and Charlotte was actually a lovely girl. He doubted it, but he may as well give her every chance to prove him wrong. “I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent,” her mother answered. Then she clapped. “The dance is ending. You two should start onto the floor so you get a good spot.”
He did as Lady Ainsworth asked and offered his elbow to Charlotte, who slipped her gloved fingers into his arm.
They did, in fact, find a lovely spot on the center of the floor but that was about the highlight of their dance together.
As they began to move, everything went wrong.
From the very first step, Charlotte stepped on his foot. Not that her slippers hurt him in any way but it was...embarrassing.
Twice, one of them missed a step.
It was clunky, awkward, and painfully long. Gone was all the grace he’d so effortlessly experienced with Abigail.
Which meant the joy he’d experienced with Abigail in his arms had disappeared as well. He neither felt light, nor fun. In fact, this dance made him feel weighted down, his limbs disjointed and awkward.
It seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended, he brought Charlotte back to her mother and quickly made his excuses.
He wanted nothing more than to leave this party. He glanced about the room, wishing to catch one more glimpse of Abigail before he left. She’d turned his night upside down, everything he thought he knew proving false and all the solid truths slipping away.
He didn’t see her anywhere.
Making his way out into the hall, he jogged up the grand curved staircase to return to his room. But he stopped short when he arrived at the third-floor landing. Standing along the banister was none other than the woman who had truly filled his thoughts all evening. Abigail.
She smiled when she saw him. “You didn’t stay either?”
He stopped several feet away, just drinking in the sight of her. She looked even more lovely in the dim candlelight, alone in the hall.
For the briefest moment he wondered what she looked like as she prepared for bed, her hair down, her fingers combing through the locks.
He stopped, his hand pressing to his lower chest. “There was little reason.”
“You got your dance with Miss Charlotte, did you?” She gave him a warm glance filled with genuine happiness. “I’m glad for you. You deserve to get what you wish.”
Why was she so happy he’d spent time with another woman? Somehow, that thought rankled him more than any other.
He thought back to her disparaging comments about the other woman. He’d chastised her then for denigrating Charlotte but...he grimaced now. What if Abigail had just been warning him all along? What if she hadn’t been rude but just forthright in her knowledge?
He always considered his vision so clear, but he was beginning to wonder if he’d made several snap judgments that had been pulling him in the wrong direction. “Thank you.” He took one step closer. “What will you do with yourself tomorrow? Join the party playing croquet?”
Abigail gave him a sad smile. “We both know I won’t be much of a participant in this party. But the grounds here are excellent. I think I might take a long ride. Enjoy the air before we’re all back in London.”
He had a fleeting thought that he should like to see that. That she’d be glorious on horseback. He could almost picture riding next to her, wind blowing through his hair. It would be fun, and wild, and he’d feel… well, he’d feel free.
But he’d made plans already. And he needed to see his interest in Charlotte through before he could turn his attention to another woman. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take myself off to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Sleep well,” Abigail called.
In all likelihood, he would not. Because while his head told him to make absolutely certain he was no longer interested in Charlotte and make sure these last months of pursuit were indeed in vain, he was a bit afraid his heart was already turning in another direction.
He looked back at Abigail, framed by candlelight, and nearly turned back around. He’d like to ask her for that ride or just talk with her or maybe even hold her in his arms. What would it feel like to kiss her?
But he kept moving toward his room. Now was not the moment to begin courting Abigail Purewater.
His heart might have been urging him in that direction, but he had to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind first.
8
Lady Abigail did not run. Not from anyone nor anything.
But, she would be the first to admit that she was walking faster than usual the next morning with her mother’s latest round of haranguing ringing in her ears. It was that echoing cacophony of scolding and threats that had her so distracted that she turned a corner to reach the staircase landing and ran smack into a solid mass.
“Oof!” the man grunted.
She herself let out an unladylike squeak at the impact of her soft curves ramming into a hard pillar of stone. She bounced back but hands steadied her before she could fall. No, not stone. A man. A tall, solid, muscular man whose familiar scent wrapped around her and made her head spin.
“Are you all right?” Major Mayfield was frowning down at her with such concern, she quite forgot how to speak. “Lady Abigail?” His gaze roamed over her from head to toe as his hands gripped her upper arms. He was holding her close—far too close to be proper, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. “Are you hurt?”
She gave her head a little shake and that movement seemed to loosen her tongue. “Just my pride,” she said.
His concern faded into relieved amusement.
“I’m not normally so clumsy,” she added with a
breathless laugh as she forced herself to take a step back.
“Nor I,” he said. His eyes gleamed with laughter and the sight made her belly flutter like she was a naive young girl. He tipped his head down slightly as if relaying a secret. “Let’s declare the incident poor timing then, shall we, and keep it between us?”
She smiled at the way he made it sound as though they were in on a secret together. “I shan’t tell anyone about this moment of clumsiness if you don’t.”
He gave a short nod, feigning a seriousness that made her want to laugh aloud. “I’ll take it to my grave.”
He broke the seriousness with a wide grin as he offered her his arm and nodded toward the staircase. “Shall we?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her. Not a bad idea, really. That little run-in had left her more off balance than it ought, and she didn’t entirely trust herself on the stairs.
“Where were you off to in such a hurry?” he asked.
“The stables,” she said.
“Ah yes, you were going to ride this morning,” he said.
“You sound envious.”
“Do I?” He smiled down at her. “Perhaps I am. I enjoy Hyde Park as much as the next man, but it hardly compares to the exhilaration that comes with a ride out in the country.”
“Mmm,” she agreed with a murmur. “That’s the true beauty of the countryside, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, the scenery and gardens are all well and good, but it’s the freedom that I miss when I’m in London.”
She could feel his gaze on her as they reached the final landing, and she found herself blinking in surprise at the honest admission. “You are very easy to talk to, Major Mayfield. Has anyone ever told you that?”
He laughed softly. “Odd, I was just thinking the same about you.”
She smiled up at him as they paused on the ground floor, the sound of guests in the dining room reminding her solidly where they were and why. “And what about you, Major? Where are you off to in such a hurry that you had to run over a poor, helpless female?”
A Hero for Lady Abigail Page 6
