‘Nonsense. A young thing like you should be on the dance floor and giving us the pleasure of seeing you tripping about!’ She glanced up and ended with a note of satisfaction, ‘And we shall not have to wait much longer for that pleasure, I fancy!’
Mr Pridham was approaching, accompanied by a stranger whose appearance was drawing admiring glances from the ladies as he crossed the room. If the gentleman was aware of the stir he was creating, he showed no sign of it. His style was not flamboyant, but he had an understated elegance, from his light brown hair, cut fashionably short and gleaming in the candlelight, to the toes of his dancing shoes. Natalya could find no fault with his appearance. His dark coat fitted without a crease across his broad shoulders, the white waistcoat was buttoned smoothly over his flat stomach while tight breeches and silk stockings clung to long, powerful legs.
Closer inspection showed his lean countenance was undeniably handsome but he was not smiling and his dark brows were drawn together, as if he was here for duty rather than pleasure. Natalya noticed, too, that her uncle was behaving oddly. Never a genial man, he was decidedly ill at ease as he performed the introductions.
‘Natalya, my dear. Lord Dalmorren is wishful to dance with you.’
Dalmorren. She had heard the name before, but where? She looked again at his countenance. He looked familiar, but it was a fleeting impression and she dismissed it as a mere fancy.
The gentleman bowed. ‘I would be honoured if you would stand up with me, Miss Fairchild.’
Natalya thought his satin waistcoat and the intricately tied cravat hinted at a man of fashion. A man of ease and pleasure. Yet his voice was as serious as his demeanour and she could read nothing from his hard, slate-grey eyes. She was even more intrigued.
With a faint smile of acceptance, she rose and placed her fingers on his proffered arm. The fine wool sleeve was soft as silk to the touch, but beneath she was aware of iron hard muscle. Perhaps he was a sportsman, more at home in the saddle than the ballroom. That might account for his rather cold manner. However, when they began to dance, his lithe grace sent a frisson of pleasure running through her and Natalya’s heart gave a little skip. She spent most of her time dancing with awkward young men or elderly friends of the Pridhams. It was pleasant, for once, to have such an accomplished partner. Her curiosity in the man grew.
‘Are you newly come to Bath, my lord?’ she ventured.
‘I arrived in Bath two days ago.’
His reply was curt, but she excused him since the movement of the dance was about to separate them. When they came back together, she tried again.
‘You are perhaps an acquaintance of my uncle?’
‘I never met him before in my life.’ Natalya looked at him in surprise and he continued, ‘The Master of Ceremonies introduced us. I wanted to dance with you, you see.’
He smiled suddenly and she almost missed a step. Quickly she dragged her gaze away from him. She felt winded by the effect that smile had upon her. It transformed his face, warming his eyes, inviting her to smile back. It was a new experience for Natalya. She was at once frightened and excited. Exhilarated. Heavens, so this was the sensation that changed females from rational beings into simpering, giggling idiots. She had always scoffed when other girls had spoken of it and now here she was, blushing and tongue-tied merely because a man had smiled at her.
‘How, how flattering,’ was all she could manage to utter.
Thankfully, they separated again and she assumed what she hoped was a look of polite enjoyment. It was not only to cover her confusion. Aunt and Uncle Pridham did not like her to show interest in any gentleman and they would be closely watching her progress with Lord Dalmorren.
* * *
After two dances, Tristan led his partner off the floor, wondering what Freddie saw in Miss Natalya Fairchild. True, she danced gracefully and she had a dark beauty, no doubt about it. She was a little taller than average and her figure was good. Her complexion was flawless and the hair piled upon her head shone like a raven’s wing. Freddie was wrong about her eyes, though, he thought now. They were not black, but a deep, deep brown.
But for all that she lacked personality. She had made nothing but commonplace utterances during their time together. No different from the debutantes one came across in town. Tristan began to feel the familiar ennui creeping over him. In other circumstances he would bow, walk away and forget the chit, but Freddie had declared this was the woman he wanted to marry and, if he was to blurt this out to his doting mother, Katherine would immediately apply to Tristan as joint guardian for advice. Clearly, then, he must discover something he could pass on.
He glanced now at the young lady on his arm, trying to be charitable. Perhaps she was shy. When he had observed her from across the room she had looked animated enough, talking and laughing with her friend, but it was possible she was overawed by the occasion and needed to grow a little accustomed to his presence.
‘Perhaps, Miss Fairchild, you would do me the honour of standing up with me again before the end of the evening.’
‘Alas, my lord, that is not possible. My aunt and uncle do not allow me more than two dances with anyone.’
‘I see. Very commendable. Then I shall call upon you in the morning.’
She showed no sign of being flattered by his attentions. There were no maidenly blushes, merely a slight inclination of the head and a cool response.
‘Mrs Pridham will be delighted to see you, I am sure, but you will not find me at home. I shall be at my drawing lesson tomorrow morning.’
‘Later in the day, then.’
‘I shall be studying astronomy.’
‘Wednesday?’
‘I have dancing lessons in the morning and botany in the afternoon. And Thursday,’ she added, after an infinitesimal pause, ‘I study politics, currently Russia’s part in the recent wars.’
Tristan bit back an oath, but not quite quickly enough, and she gave a choke of laughter.
‘Oh, dear! Pray do not take it personally, my lord. I am telling you nothing but the truth. My days are indeed very busy.’
‘If you are trying to discourage me, Miss Fairchild, you are succeeding admirably!’
‘I am? Oh, dear. I am speaking no more than the truth. My aunt and uncle are eager that I should continue to improve my mind. I play chess regularly, too.’ She looked up at him, dispelling any notion that she was shy. ‘Does the idea of an educated female frighten you, my lord?’
Her face was alive with mischief and he felt a sudden drumbeat of alarm.
By heaven, that look is enchanting! It is no wonder Freddie is smitten.
He wanted to respond, to continue the conversation, but Mrs Pridham came bustling up.
‘Ah, Natalya. There you are, my dear!’
He saw the laughter fade from those dark eyes as her aunt took her arm.
‘Have you forgotten this next dance is promised to Lord Fossbridge?’ Mrs Pridham turned to Tristan, bestowing on him a smile that was somewhat forced. ‘I am sorry I must carry her away, my lord, but you understand how it is.’
In his mind he quickly sorted through the persons Mr King had presented to him that evening. If he remembered correctly, Fossbridge was an aged fellow, old enough to be Natalya’s grandfather. Certainly not his rival. Or rather, not Freddie’s rival, he corrected himself. His interest in Miss Fairchild was purely on behalf of his nephew.
He bowed. ‘I understand perfectly, ma’am. However...’ Mrs Pridham halted and gave him an enquiring look ‘...Miss Fairchild has been telling me of her interest in astronomy. May I be so bold as to invite you both—and Mr Pridham, naturally—to join me as my guests at Mr Walker’s lecture this Friday? It is to be held at the Exhibition Rooms in Bond Street. As you know, ma’am, I am newly arrived in Bath and to attend such an event alone...’
He let the words hang, his tone of voice and expression inviting he
r to sympathise with him. As he had hoped, Mrs Pridham was flustered, torn between a flat refusal and wanting to oblige him.
‘Why—why, that is very kind of you, my lord. We had not thought. That is—’
Tristan cut in ruthlessly. ‘I am delighted that you have accepted, ma’am, thank you. I shall call at Sydney Place in good time to convey you all to the lecture.’
With a smile and a bow, he walked away before she could say more. Now all he had to do was to recall where the devil he had seen the advertisement for the lecture and obtain tickets, which at this late stage might require him to pay out an extortionate amount to persuade someone to give up their seats. He would also need to hire a carriage grand enough and large enough to convey them all to the Exhibition Rooms. The Dalmorren travelling chaise would not do at all, since it could not accommodate more than two persons.
His eyes narrowed slightly and he muttered grimly, ‘I hope you appreciate what I am doing for you, Freddie. And I hope she is worth it!’
Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Mallory
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ISBN: 9781488065675
Falling for Her Viking Captive
Copyright © 2020 by Harper St. George
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Falling For Her Viking Captive (Sons 0f Sigurd Book 2) Page 24
