With a strangled laugh, I take his arm.
Once we are in line for the dance, my mood improves considerably. The music is a stirring Scottish air, one which always brings a smile to my face. And, amidst the other dancers, Sir Hawthorne is not nearly so conspicuous. Everyone’s talk and laughter has contributed to the din around us to the point where even his deafening voice is of little consequence.
As we twirl in and out of the other dancers, I can only be thankful this is a line dance and not a waltz. I shudder to think of how loud his voice would be spoken directly in my ear. Now, our conversation is sporadic and, therefore, of a rather dull nature.
“This music is very lively,” he says as we briefly join hands.
“Yes, very much so,” I say.
“The refreshments are very good as well,” he says the next time we pass each other.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
And on it goes until I begin to pity anyone else around who might inadvertently hear our exchange. When at last the dance is over, I curtsy to him in a hurried manner and scurry away like a hare fleeing from a starving fox.
“Quite the partner your brother-in-law chose for you,” Rob says with a grin when I reach his side. “It’s a wonder you’re not deaf.”
I rub my forehead. “You heard that, did you?”
He snorts. “Lucy, my dear sister, I’m sure the whole ballroom heard it.”
“Yes, yes, it was all very embarrassing,” I say, waving my hand at him in a vague cease-and-desist gesture, “but we shouldn’t mock him. I truly think he has difficulty controlling the volume of his voice.”
Rob bursts out laughing—the kind of laughter that draws stares and answering smiles, even though no one else knows the source of his amusement. “Your kindness does you credit,” he says after his laughter has died down to a mere sparkle in his eyes.
“Has anyone offered you a drink, Lucy?” James asks, coming up behind us. I watch in surprise as Rob’s jaw tightens, and for one terrible moment, I’m afraid he’ll say something. “I’m next up on your dance card, but I’m perfectly amenable to escorting you to the refreshment room instead.”
“Actually, I would much rather dance,” I say. Dancing is probably the best option; it will take away Rob’s opportunity to say anything to James, in any case—at least for now.
“I’ll be over here,” Rob says as I take James’s proffered arm, “… watching.”
James looks as though he isn’t sure whether to be concerned or laugh, and I have the sudden urge to cover my face with my hands. What have I done to deserve all the men in my life becoming completely insufferable?
As we take our places for the waltz, James gives my hand a little squeeze. “You look beautiful tonight—you always do.”
“Thank you. You look absolutely charming—as usual.”
He shrugs. “It seems to be what I’m best at. Colin scares people, and I charm them.” He indicates his older brother with a nod of his chin. Colin leans against a wall, swirling a glass of wine, his expression aloof. I search the crowd for my sister, for they are rarely apart for long, and find her dancing alongside us with Papa.
I smile at the two of them, happy she coaxed Papa onto the dance floor.
“But of course,” James continues, “I’m also a master of the waltz.” He punctuates his statement by twirling me vigorously around, and a burst of laughter escapes me.
He keeps the pace as fast as the tempo, and we are soon soaring across the floor. In truth, he is a splendid dancer, just as he said.
And whether it’s the movement of the dance or the beautiful music, I find much of the awkwardness I’ve experienced around him lessens.
“I hope you will forgive me, Lucy,” James says halfway into the waltz. “I wasn’t fair to you. In truth, I often lie awake at night thinking about how abominably I treated you.”
I shoot him a pointed look. “You lie awake at night agonizing over it, do you?”
“Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration,” he hedges, “but I do sincerely regret making you feel any less than a beautiful woman and one of my greatest friends.”
Something inside me sighs in relief. “Of course you’re forgiven.” I hold his gaze so he knows I mean it.
He grins, his eyes twinkling. “Friends?”
I nod. “Friends.”
The tension in my shoulders melted away, suddenly leaving me exhausted. I should have spent more time in the sun when I had the chance. We pass the doors to the terrace, and I cast a longing look at the calm, empty balcony beyond. I know from my dance card that the intermission won’t be for another couple of dances, but I long for a moment to myself. Of course, that will involve extricating myself from my dance card obligations.
“James,” I say with my sweetest smile, “would you mind doing me a favor?”
Free now that James agreed to tell both my brother and Colin that I became almost incurably parched and would be spending the next two dances taking refreshments, I hurry to the terrace doors.
Dim light from the ballroom windows illuminates the terrace as I leave the crowded room. I move to the railing and draw a deep breath. The night air is perfumed with scents from the garden below, a welcome change from the usual smells of London.
I glance over my shoulder at the ballroom, golden light spilling onto the terrace floor. The scene within would be simply divine on canvas. The gowns of the ladies’ are vibrantly colored—like jewels. The effect is like stained glass on the dance floor, the color broken up by the gentlemen’s dark coats. I can almost feel the paintbrush in my hand, smooth against my palm.
A tingling sensation flows into my fingertips. With a start, I realize I have unconsciously summoned my energy. I frown at my hands, concern prickling in my mind as I wonder if this is what happened earlier. Memories of myself trapped in a dream world of my own creation bombard me, and I try to shake free from the unpleasant thoughts. If I paint this scene later tonight, will I be transported yet again? Perhaps if I am more cognizant of my flow of energy while painting, I will be able to control it better. There is only one way to know.
Movement from the corner of my eye startles me. I hadn’t realized anyone else was here. I turn to go, afraid I’ve caught some overly affectionate couple unawares.
“You needn’t leave on my account,” a voice calls out softly, and I stop. And stare.
Frozen, I can do nothing but stare as the beautiful man from my vision of my Court presentation steps out of the shadows.
FOUR
YOU must forgive me if I frightened you,” he says, and I am struck by his clipped pronunciation.
“No, indeed,” I say, finally finding my voice again. “I was only surprised.” How are you here? Do you recognize me as well? I want to ask all of these things, but I cannot.
We stare at each other for a moment, etiquette forcing an uncomfortable silence upon us. Rarely does a lady encounter a gentleman without someone to make introductions, and thanks to Colin’s impatience, if this man was in my receiving line, I was never introduced to him.
With a short bow, he says, “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexander Radcliffe, Earl of Devonshire.”
My words freeze on my lips. An earl. For some reason, disappointment chases on the heels of my surprise. This was no mysterious man conjured by my vision—this was a nobleman I had overlooked during my debut. “A pleasure, my lord,” I say. “I am Lucy Sinclair.”
Surprise flits across his face. “Ah, then this”—he gestures to the ballroom behind us—“is in your honor?” I give a short nod. “Congratulations on your debut.” He takes a breath, watching me intently for a moment. “Forgive me, but have we met before?”
I think of the vision of the Court, of his beautiful tawny eyes. “No, my lord—at least, not formally. Were you at Court yesterday?”
“I was, which is what makes my question so terribly rude.” He shakes his head in a frustrated sort of way. “Of course I should remember you.”
His look
is one of such chagrin that I immediately regret my white lie. “Please do not trouble yourself over it. I have very common features.”
“That is a grossly inaccurate statement, Miss Sinclair. Indeed your decidedly unique appearance is why I feel such embarrassment over my blunder. For how could I forget a lady so beautiful?”
I have never been especially quick-witted when it comes to the flirtations of gentlemen. I suppose it is because I’ve never been able to determine if they are serious or merely empty platitudes. So instead of flirting boldly back or demurely accepting his praise, I suddenly become interested in the state of my feet and as silent as stone.
After a few moments of this awkwardness, he says, “I’ve made a perfect muddle of things now, haven’t I?” He sighs. “This is why I exiled myself to the balcony. I’m afraid my ability to blend in well with polite London society is sub-par, to say the least.”
“Oh, but that’s not true at all, my lord,” I say in a rush, afraid I’ve offended him.
“Please, you must call me Alexander. I’ve only just inherited this title, and I am by no means ready to be addressed so formally.” He pauses as though unwilling to elaborate, but something in my expression must change his mind because he continues in a hesitant tone. “I have spent most of my life in India, you see.”
“India! How fascinating. I have always longed to see it.”
He relaxes into a warm smile. “You actually sound as if you mean it.”
“I do! Of course I do. I’ve heard the jungles there are breathtakingly beautiful—like nothing we’ve ever seen before.”
A smile filled with nostalgia lights up his face. “They are; the gardens here cannot compare to the vibrant colors you’d find in India. But I spent most of my time in the mountains where it was cooler.” His expression turns sheepish. “Forgive me for doubting your sincerity—I so rarely encounter enthusiasm or even understanding when others learn I was neither born nor raised in England.”
I would like to say that I don’t take his meaning, but I do. The members of high society despise nothing more than someone different from themselves. And I would know—my family was nearly ruined by the revelation of how different we are.
“You needn’t apologize. I am sincere in my interest, but I must confess my geography must be woefully lacking—I had no idea there were mountains in India.”
“Indeed—the Himalayas. I made my home at the foothills, where the trees colored everything green and the cool mists blanketed the landscape.”
“Goodness, I can picture it just as you say. Such a scene would make a lovely painting.”
True interest alights in his eyes. “Do you paint then?”
Having his full attention is a heady thing, and my words stumble from my mouth. “I—yes. It’s a particular hobby of mine.”
“There is nothing so beautiful as life immortalized in art,” he says.
The reverence in his tone tells me he is an art connoisseur if not an artist himself. I’d love to discover more, and I only wish I could remain out here with him for the remainder of the evening. He is more fascinating and delightfully candid than anyone I’ve encountered thus far—especially since Colin has been maintaining control of my dance card.
Before I can say another word, my sister appears in the doorway.
“Lucy, forgive me, but I—” Wren says. Alexander turns, and my sister’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh,” she says.
“Katherine,” I say, a blush stealing over me. I feel as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t, though we’ve only been conversing these past few minutes. “May I introduce Alexander Radcliffe, Earl of Devonshire?”
“How do you do?” Wren says as she and Alexander shake hands.
“A pleasure, my lady,” he says, tightness at the corners of his mouth the only indication he is not entirely comfortable. I suppose he anticipates her censure.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” she says. “Lucy, I’m terribly sorry to be interrupting, but Colin sent me to make sure you were all right.” Her lips curve upward in a slight smile. Colin’s overprotectiveness has turned into a bit of a joke between us.
But in light of Wren being attacked in the past on a night just like this one, guilt twists inside me. “I’m sorry to have worried you,” I say. “I shall return to the ballroom right away.” I turn back to Alexander. “It was so lovely to make your acquaintance.”
He gives a short bow, and just as I’m about to reach the threshold of the ballroom door, he calls out to me. “Miss Sinclair,” he says, with a cautious smile, “may I seek you out for a dance?”
The pulse in my neck pounds an unsteady rhythm. I surreptitiously glance at my dance card. My brother is my next dance partner, thank heavens. “I would like that very much.”
As I return to the ballroom with Wren, my silly smile of excitement dims when I think of Colin’s reaction. I’m sure he will not be pleased. Even more surprising, though, is the next thought I have:
It’s my ball, and I’ll dance with whomever I please.
FIVE
I never imagined I’d find my own sister engaged in a tryst on the balcony,” Wren whispers as we walk slowly toward Colin and Rob.
I suck in a breath in utter shock until I see the grin on her face. “Do not tease me so,” I say. “We were only conversing. He is a most fascinating gentleman.”
“Oh, he is indeed. I must confess, I’ve seen few gentlemen so fascinating.” She places so much emphasis on the last word that I know she must be assigning a deeper meaning to it.
“Fascinating in what way?” I ask cautiously. It would be difficult to hear my own sister is prejudiced.
“What I mean is that he is handsome. Almost too much so.”
“Though I cannot deny his fine appearance,” I say with a smile, “I was actually referring to our topics of conversation.”
“It seems you will be continuing your conversation sooner than you supposed,” Wren says with a little nod to my right.
Alexander makes his way through the crowd, a polite smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes. As he passes through, many turn to whisper, their eyes riveted on him.
He bows before us. A real smile replaces his earlier strained one as our eyes meet. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Sinclair, but I’ve come to claim that dance.”
I dare not look at my sister, for I know my blush will be all too obvious. “I don’t mind in the least.”
He offers me his arm, and after only the briefest of hesitations, I take it. When he smiles down at me, an answering warmth spreads within. He looks at me as though no one else is in the room—not an easy feat since it seems as though everyone is watching, both openly and surreptitiously. But as soon as we assume the position for a waltz, all awareness of the rest of the room melts away.
His hand is warm on mine, and the skin on my back tingles beneath his other hand. Bows touch strings of their violins, beginning the waltz with a lilting melody. He moves first, and I follow.
Our movements are lively and surprisingly in sync. Each time we make eye contact I experience the unfortunate side effect of my breaths coming a little faster than they should.
“I’m sorry we were interrupted earlier—you didn’t have the chance to tell me whether or not you paint,” I say—both as a means of distracting myself from my heightened physical awareness of him and in a genuine desire to know.
He smiles, a flash of white against the bronze of his skin. “Not with any skill. But I have a great love for art. I once spent an entire week at the Louvre, wandering down its halls each day, only breaking for meals and sleep.”
“How I envy you! Did you sleep there, too?” I ask with a teasing smile.
“I would have if they’d let me—I’d fall asleep staring at The Intervention of the Sabine Women or perhaps The Raft of the Medusa, though of course the latter might induce nightmares.”
“The Intervention is one of my favorites, too, though I’ve only seen it in a book. I can only imagin
e how powerful the painting is in person.” It had always reminded me of my sister—the woman in the center of the battle standing so defiantly, willing to sacrifice everything to protect her family.
“Powerful enough to spend hours in contemplation of it … and now you must think me terribly strange.” He shakes his head, a self-deprecating grin in place as he continues to twirl me through the waltz.
“Not at all. Quite the opposite,” I say, my coy words minimized by a flush I feel creeping up my neck.
“We have been talking entirely too much about me, and I’d rather learn about you,” he says, his gaze warm. “All I’ve managed to gather so far is that you have a love for art, you are uncommonly kind, and you are almost blindingly beautiful.”
By some miracle, my blush doesn’t deepen. “Though I thank you for the compliment, I can’t help but feel that would be a dangerous condition to be sure. Who would want to keep company with someone who blinds them?”
He laughs—a real laugh, the mirth reaching all the way to his eyes. “There are many who would. For doesn’t the sun blind those who gaze too long at it? Yet, we all enjoy its company.”
“Do you compare me to the sun? I have already been compared to a summer’s day this evening, and I can only wonder if there is some conspiracy to tease me.”
“Indeed there is no conspiracy, only two like-minded individuals.”
Now it is my turn to laugh. “Oh heavens, you wouldn’t speak thus if you knew him.”
“I will take your word for it. But now you have succeeded in diverting me from my original goal. I still know almost nothing about you.”
“You need only ask.”
He twirls me effortlessly into the next move, and a breathy laugh escapes me. “You introduced me to your sister,” he says. “Is she your sister by blood or by marriage?”
“By blood—my elder sister. She and my brother-in-law are kindly allowing me to stay with them for the Season.”
“So you will be in London for several more months, then? This may seem strange to you, but though I’ve been to England many times, this is my first stay of any length in London.”
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 4
