“Did I hurt you?” he asked, confused that she should ask his pardon, when he was obviously at fault for not watching where he was going.
“Hurt me?” she repeated, as if she did not understand what he meant. She felt something, but it was not pain. She had barely turned when he barreled into her, flattening her breasts against his chest. But strangely, it wasn’t only her breasts that felt the force, but a spot hidden beneath her skirts that he couldn’t have possibly impacted.
He held her less than six inches away, holding her in place, long after he knew she was steady on her feet—neither one seemed capable of stepping back.
Her laugh sounded forced. “If this is the way we start, shall I worry for my toes? I should warn you, my feet are uncommonly long.”
Unconsciously, he glanced down, but could not see her feet hidden away under her skirts. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he wondered if she was making a jest, because he had never met a young woman who would bring attention to her flaws.
He placed his gloved hand on the small of her back and extended the other hand to take hers.
“Shall we?”
Andrea’s empty dance card dangled from her wrist as she put her gloved hand in his. “If we stand here any longer, we shall begin to feel foolish.”
Chastised again?
Miles smiled as he tried to tell from her expression how she meant it, but her expression gave nothing away.
In his arms, she glided gracefully halfway across the room. Just as they passed in front of the small orchestra, the musician played the final chords, leaving them in a crowd of people exiting the floor.
“Have pity and play another waltz,” Miles said to the small orchestra. “This young lady has crossed an ocean to get here, and I haven’t even made a full turn around the floor with her.”
One of the men laughed, and began sawing his bow across his violin. By the time he completed the second bar, the rest of the musicians had joined in.
“I’m sorry my cousin cornered you like that,” he said as they began moving again. “I suppose he was talking about his father’s warehouses.”
“And cotton and tobacco.”
“I apologize for not getting here sooner,” he said with exaggerated horror. “The way he talks about them, you’d think he invented them.”
At the sound of his low, disarming chuckle, she laughed and looked up. Why had she not noticed before how he towered over her? He was even taller than her father. She liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up and the way his hazel-gray eyes gleamed happily.
Forcing her eyes down, she felt a blush creeping into her cheeks.
“I’m afraid all of the O’Sheas are a bit overzealous at times,” he said, still smiling at her.
O’Shea, her mind echoed. Yes, that was his name. What was his first name? Oh, bother, what did it matter?
“Are you a zealot, too, Mr. Huntington?” she queried, hoping the question sounded like flirtatious banter. “You said you are his cousin.”
“Ah, but we are only related by marriage.”
“Indeed?” She thought he would say more, but he did not. Again, she looked up at him. When she saw him intently gazing down at her, she quickly averted her eyes.
“I offer my sincerest thanks for asking me to dance. I feared my first ball would be a complete fiasco.”
Miles caught a moment of unguarded sadness in her expression and he suddenly realized Andrea James’s smile was a façade. Why would this pretty, young woman need to pretend to be happy? True, his cousin had monopolized her time, but most girls would get angry, or walk away.
“Your first ball? Surely not.” Miles looked at the rouge on her cheeks and tried to imagine her without it. “How old are you?”
Andrea’s face lit up with genuine pleasure. “I shan’t tell you. Guess.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Rarely had he seen anyone younger than twenty-one wear cosmetics, but she had said it was her first ball. “Nineteen?”
“Truly?” She laughed in a little burst. It sounded genuine and excited. “Not even close, Mr. Huntington.” Her pale eyes gleamed with mirth.
Miles frowned. If it was her first ball, he could not guess older. But what young woman would be excited to have someone think she was older and closer to being on the shelf? Someone not yet out of the schoolroom.
“Fifteen?” he said soberly, feeling suddenly reluctant to be dancing with anyone still in school.
“Oh, Mr. Huntington. You are quite exceedingly bad at this. I shall take pity on you and inform you that you missed by two full years.”
Seventeen. Yes, that made sense. She would have her debut in the next year most likely. No wonder she did not know how to deal with his cousin.
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” he answered distractedly, realizing she was too young to dance so close. Had she told him her feet were long as a subtle way of telling him to step back? Apparently, too subtle.
He quickly adjusted how he held her as he led her around the floor and he soon noticed a change in the tension in her arms. Even her shoulders and neck seemed more relaxed.
He felt a bit daft for not catching the hint. Could he claim to be stupefied by the beauty of one so young? Thankfully, he had not made a complete fool of himself.
“I imagine you’ll be the belle of the ball back home.”
She erected her carriage again, the placid smile returning to her lips, but not making it to her eyes. “Perhaps,” she said.
A sigh escaped his lips, knowing she in no way believed it. Did she not know the beauty she possessed? Perhaps that was something young women only became aware of, when men began giving them attention. If she had not had her debut yet, perhaps she genuinely did not know.
Another couple suddenly maneuvered behind Andrea, and Miles had to pull her abruptly to keep her from running into them. She lost her balance slightly and stepped on his foot as she tried to right herself.
“From swan to swine,” she murmured under her breath. “Have I trampled you unbearably? I warned you my feet are monstrous big. Mama says it’s good I wasn’t born Dutch or I’d have to come to America to buy Indian canoes for my wooden shoes.”
“How unkind.”
“It only sounds unkind because you haven’t heard it in context. She believes when I have finally finished growing, I shall be as tall as she is. My mother is easy to find in a crowd, because she is always the tallest woman.”
Miles looked around involuntarily; his eye was immediately drawn to the tallest woman in the room. She was the same woman who had been with Mrs. Kincaid earlier. He had not noticed before, but she was indeed almost a head taller than all the women and inches taller than a few of the men. For some reason, he had not made the connection before, that she was Mrs. James. He had expected the wife of England’s wealthiest shipping mogul to be dowdy and plain.
“Is that her?” Out of the corner of his eye, he detected his dance partner’s nod. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Before she married Father, she was the toast of Drury Lane. Everyone thinks she married Papa for his money, but I think it’s because he is taller than she.”
She waited a moment for her partner to react to what she had said in such a serious tone, and when he finally pulled his eyes from Lillian back to her, she laughed. Her little quip made her realize how much more relaxed she felt now that he was holding her in such a brotherly fashion.
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Marry a man taller than me?”
He chuckled. “I meant act on the stage like your mother.”
“Heavens, no, my parents would not approve,” she said, the irony not lost on her. All she had ever wanted to do was fit in. She hated being a social outcast. Too wealthy to be middle class or even considered gentry, not blue-blooded enough for the aristocracy.
Miles leaned in, and spoke in her ear. As young as she was, he would probably scandalize her. “All this talk about your feet has m
e devilishly curious. I’ve never had an overwhelming desire to see a woman’s feet until just this moment.”
All expression disappeared from her face. A becoming blush peeked out from around the rouge on her cheeks. She drew back slightly, her back ramrod stiff. Her mind seemed to be working frantically to say something witty.
“You look flushed, Miss James. Would you like me to take you out for fresh air? The Kincaids’ garden is beautiful this time of year.”
Her heart beat wildly in her chest and it took all of the bravery she could muster, not to pull away from him and run to her father. Her mother had warned her about how men would try to get her alone. Visions of this man, uncontrollable with lust, forcing himself on her, flashed through her mind. She completely lost her timing, and had it not been for his firm lead, she would have tripped over her own feet, sending both of them sprawling to the parquet floor.
~*~
When Andrea misstepped all on her own, Miles realized she must have thought he had base motives. Perhaps she even thought he would ask her to remove her shoes. He almost laughed. Poor girl. Once he realized she was still a schoolgirl, he couldn’t help but tease her a bit—give her a taste of what she had to look forward to, when she had her coming-out. Again, he nearly laughed thinking about her returning to school, and telling her friends about the American who wanted to see her feet.
He really should stop teasing her in case she thought he was serious.
“I can’t. My parents would not approve.”
He chuckled. “Your parents? Andrea you’re allowed to say no for yourself.”
Her wide eyes looked at him, studying his face. “I’ve never had someone call me a liar to my face before. Are all Americans so…?”
“I didn’t call you a liar. Besides, what is a little white lie between friends? I bet they didn’t expressly forbid you from getting fresh air.”
“They didn’t need to. I know what’s acceptable.”
“Oh, Andrea, I find myself wanting to teach you how to defy your parents. I bet you’ve never done anything truly naughty in your whole life.”
“Of course not. Rules are in place so that we do not get into trouble. Why would anyone intentionally break them?”
His lips twitched in a desire to smile. “Why indeed? And what a shame. I had a devilish plan for corrupting you.”
Andrea would have stopped dead in her tracks if Miles’s lead had not been so strong. She stumbled slightly trying to get her feet back in step with his.
“Miss James, are you ill? You’ve gone quite pale.”
Poor Andrea, she was so much fun to tease, he really should stop. Surely, there could be no sport in baiting someone so innocent. But he just couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Please, Mr. Huntington, I’ve had enough dancing.”
“Oh my, Andrea, you didn’t think that I intended to take you to the garden to…? Miss James! You’re still in school—how could you think such a thing?”
She seemed to find her rhythm again and Miles pretended he didn’t notice the color had robustly returned to her cheeks.
“You intentionally made me believe that was your plan, and now that I have refused, you turn the thing around and play innocent to put me in a bad light.”
He laughed aloud.
In her frustration, he was sure he could see the real Andrea James. It delighted him to see she possessed enough intelligence to detect the truth, and enough fire to stand up for herself. He liked this Andrea James. A lot. He loved seeing her façade slip away, so he could see the real English miss who was not the epitome of refinement.
“You wound me, Andrea,” he said, sweeping his hand to his heart. He never let go of her hand, so her hand ended up trapped against his wide masculine chest. She tugged her hand twice, but he refused to let go. When he saw he was causing her actual distress, he returned their hands to the proper dancing position.
“Actually, my dear,” he said softly into her ear. He executed a quick turn to disguise the way he pulled her slightly closer. “The mischief I had in mind, involves the son of the house. It has come to my attention that Timothy is in the garden, as we speak, intending to propose marriage to a very kind and genteel young lady. I thought it might be fun to make nuisances of ourselves to thwart his plans. Or if we are too late, we might keep them from getting carried away with their celebrations.”
“You would ruin your friend’s proposal for your own selfish entertainment? Surely, you are not so cruel as that?”
Miles suspected she could see no humor in it, and he had come down a step in her eyes because she thought he intended to tarnish their moment. “I would never do anything that would hurt Timothy and Lisette. I only thought to interject a few minutes of levity into it, so someday when they reflect back, it would not be sweaty palms and stuttered words they recalled, but how she waited with abated breath, and he valiantly ridded the garden of interlopers to make his proposal. They would laugh at how their friend and Miss James could not be compelled to leave them alone. They would think of us quite fondly—though perhaps not at that moment. They would remember you long after normal memories would fade. ‘And who was that beautiful girl from England that Miles had with him?’ they shall ask decades from now, as they celebrate their anniversary and their oldest granddaughter inquires how Grandfather had proposed. They will laugh as they tell the story, Andrea, and we would have lived in the narrative forever. But alas, Andrea James must mind her parents in all things. Don’t you have a mind of your own, my dear? Your life will be so dull if you don’t occasionally get into trouble.”
He had only meant it as a good-natured needling, but there was no mistaking the sudden stiffness in her body. She had taken offense to his less than careful choice of words.
“I am told, sir, men choose complacency and obedience over willfulness when they choose a wife,” she said lightly, her tone not fitting her words at all. “I see no point in getting used to making decisions, when I shall always be subjected to bend to one man’s will or another—be he my father, or my husband.”
Miles didn’t like the idea of this pretty, young woman having to blindly follow anyone’s wishes. Going away to college and meeting many freethinking young men had shown him the value of independent thought. There had been so many times the professors had dared them to challenge the status quo. It amazed him how many ways there were to solve a conundrum. He hated conformists who blindly followed conventional thinking. Just because something had always been done one way, did not mean it always had to be. That was why he had made the trip to meet her father. The man had grown his fleet from one ship to forty by challenging conventional thinking. Miles wanted to do the same.
“Are you already worried about capturing a husband?”
“I don’t know how children are raised in America, Mr. Huntington, but in England, childhood is considered a preparatory time to adulthood. Everything I have been taught, everything I have been exposed to, is with one goal in mind—the day I walk down the aisle.”
As the music ended, he found himself propelling her towards the punch bowl rather than to her mother and Mrs. Kincaid.
“If everything you are exposed to has a purpose, what is the purpose of being at this ball? Are you looking for an American husband?” he asked pointedly, peeling the gloves from his hands.
Andrea was not sure how much more of his insolent, probing questions she could stand. From past experience, she knew that to show weakness—be it a display of anger or timidity—would only result in losing face.
Keep calm, she told herself, choose your words carefully.
“I have been trying to think of this as a trial run for the come-out I will have back home. As you suggested, I am too young to be actively searching for a husband and I certainly am not interested in an American.”
Instinctively, she knew that she had unwittingly stepped over the boundaries of good taste when she threw in the last part, as if it were an insult.
Much to her surprise, a grin appeared on
Miles’s face. “I knew if I provoked you long enough, I could make you mad.”
Andrea opened her mouth to say something biting, but nothing came to mind. She clamped her mouth shut. When he continued to smile, she realized he had not done it with malice.
“I am glad I have met your low expectations.”
To be polite, she flashed a smile at him, but felt confused at why he would intentionally try to make her act untoward. Was he merely a scoundrel looking for trouble, or was he trying to put her in her place for some unknown reason?
He handed her a glass of punch then slowly guided her around the dance floor to her mother.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss James. Perhaps later, we can have another.”
Considering the turn their conversation had taken, Andrea felt he was merely being polite and nodded in response. “Mr. Huntington, you were saying earlier that you wanted an introduction to my father. If you wish, I’d be happy to do the honors.”
“Thank you, Miss James. But as my cousin suggested, I can get an introduction from his father.”
“As you wish,” Andrea managed to reply, despite her hurt feelings over what she had taken as a polite rebuff.
She could not understand what she had done wrong to completely foul their conversation, and why it upset her so. He was only an American, and surely, he did not matter in the grand scheme of her life. Yet, if she could not manage a casual conversation with this American, how did she expect to converse intelligently with a young nobleman? At least Miles Huntington lacked the arrogance of the British nobility and was gracious enough not to point out her bad manners.
~*~
Lillian James was astute enough to recognize when Andrea acted, but for the moment, she was not sure for whose benefit. She had seen how close the pair had been dancing before they had suddenly separated. Moments later, she had seen the man scan the room and stop on her.
“Andrea, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction.”
“I’m sorry, Mama. Mr. Huntington, I would like to introduce my mother, Mrs. Lillian James. Mama, I would like you to meet Mr. Miles Huntington. He’s taking a break from his studies, just to meet Papa.”
Miles Before I Sleep Page 2
