by Candace Camp
He extended his hand to her. Megan hesitated, then put her gloved hand in his. “All right. But I must warn you—American teachers are not well versed in such social arts as dancing.”
“Then it is fortunate that British peers are,” he responded, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “Just follow my lead and it won’t be so dreadful.”
He led her to the ballroom, where a lively dance was already in progress. “A quadrille,” he told her. “One of Rafe’s favorites. He says it reminds him of the Virginia Reel.”
Megan spotted Rafe and Kyria dancing down the line of couples, flushed and smiling, and she felt a little pang clutch at her heart. Love and happiness were evident on the couple’s faces, and Megan could not help but feel a longing for the same emotion. Her mind had always been on her career, not the dream of husband and family shared by most of her schoolmates. She had never regretted the direction in which her life had gone, but sometimes there were moments, like now, when she wondered if she had given up too much to become a reporter.
But then, she reminded herself, she had never met a man who made her feel the way Kyria seemed to feel. Unconsciously, she glanced up at Theo, standing beside her. An increasingly familiar warmth stirred in her loins.
The dance ended, and a moment later the musicians struck up the beginning strains of a Strauss waltz. At least it was familiar, Megan thought. Deirdre had played the tune many times on the family piano. Still, her stomach quivered a little—though she was not sure whether it was from dread or anticipation—as she put her hand in Theo’s and let him lead her onto the floor.
They faced each other, his hand on her waist, the other hand curved gently around hers. With a slight pressure, he swung her into the flow of the dancers. The little jitter of fear vanished. It was easy to dance in his arms. Her feet remembered the steps well enough, and his grip was firm, yet relaxed, guiding her effortlessly through the movements. She looked up into his face, letting the exhilarating music pour over her as they circled the room.
It was easy to dance with him, to let herself go and move with the music. To feel his arms about her, holding her, guiding her. To gaze into his eyes until she saw nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing but him. It was dizzying, exciting, terrifying, all at once.
It ended all too soon. They walked from the dance floor, Megan’s heart pounding, her face flushed. There was a giddiness inside her that made her want to laugh and whirl about. She smothered a smile at the thought of the reaction of the staid guests if she were to break out spinning like a top.
Theo offered her a cup of punch, and she accepted, trying her best to tamp down her eagerness. Slipping her hand through his arm, she walked with him out into the hall and down to the refreshment room. He brought her a cup of punch, his fingers grazing hers and sending a sizzle straight down to her abdomen.
Megan drew a shaky little breath and sipped at her drink. It was beyond foolish, she knew, that she should react this way. They had done nothing but dance; he had handed her a drink. Both were such ordinary things, and yet they sent her insides skittering around crazily.
Theo looked down into her eyes, and Megan swallowed, her heart pounding. He reached up and drew a finger down her cheek, smiling at her in a way that closed out the rest of the world.
“Who are you?” he murmured.
Megan gave a little laugh, hoping it sounded more natural than it felt. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. I—I am the twins’ teacher.”
“I think you are far more than that.” He sighed, shaking his head. “When I am not with you, I have so many questions, and I tell myself that I will get the truth from you yet. And then the next time you’re near, the questions just fly from my head, and all I can think about is the way you look, the scent that clings to your hair, the way your eyes change color in the sunlight….
He moved closer to her as he spoke, leaning down a little, creating an intimate space around them. Megan’s fingers trembled, and she closed them in her skirts to control the shakiness. She thought for one mad, breathless instant that Theo was going to kiss her right here, in this public place.
A woman’s brittle voice sailed across the room, shattering the moment. “Lord Raine! There you are! Whatever are you doing, shutting yourself away down here?”
Megan stepped back guiltily, and Theo cursed under his breath as he turned. Lady Scarle was moving toward them, a smile fixed on her face, though it did not quite reach her stormy eyes.
She wore a royal-blue satin dress that deepened the blue of her eyes, though it was ornamented with far too many ruffles, bows and bits of lace for Megan’s taste. Her waist was cinched into nothingness, and her full bosom swelled above her dress, seeming ready to pop from its bounds at any moment. A diamond-and-sapphire necklace was wrapped around her throat, and matching earrings hung from her ears. Megan noticed that the same jewels winked out from her intricately upswept hair.
Lady Helena was, Megan thought, everything she was not: rich, titled, seductively beautiful, entrancing to men. She knew exactly how to walk and talk, how to address the myriad array of British titles or order a servant. She had grown up in the same world as Theo. There was no dusting of cinnamon-colored freckles across her cheeks, and her hair was not a common brown with an irritating tendency to curl wildly out of control. Watching her approach, Megan was aware of an unusually fierce stab of dislike.
Lady Scarle swept up to Theo, not even glancing toward Megan, and laid a hand on his arm, saying in a low, intimate voice, “I saved a waltz for you.”
Theo’s mouth twitched in something close to a grimace, Megan saw, and he replied coolly, “Did you? How kind of you.”
Now was the perfect time, Megan knew, for her to slip away and find her sister. Lady Scarle would keep Theo tangled up for some time. But Megan’s feet stayed rooted to the spot. She was not about to let Lady Scarle think that she had chased Megan away.
“Lady Scarle,” Theo went on now, “you remember Miss Henderson.” He turned slightly toward Megan, smiling.
“Lady Scarle,” Megan said in greeting, her tone polite, and nodded toward the other woman.
Lady Helena’s gaze flickered over to Megan, barely touching her, and she gave her a short nod, then turned back to Theo. “Raine, the orchestra has been playing the most divine waltzes.”
Her rude action stiffened Megan’s back, and she jumped in, saying, “Yes, they have. Lord Raine and I were just dancing to one of them.”
The look Lady Scarle turned on Megan this time was killing. “Indeed?” she said in a chilly voice. She looked back to Theo. “How gracious of you, Raine, to dance with your servants. Though usually one would expect you to confine such things to occasions like Boxing Day, say, or—”
“Oh, but Lord Raine is not my employer,” Megan said sweetly. “Perhaps you did not understand. I am employed by the Duchess of Broughton.”
“Miss Henderson is not a servant,” Theo said flatly, his green eyes as hard as marbles. “She is an educator.”
Lady Helena’s mouth lifted on one side, as if she were faintly amused. “Yes, of course. Your family has always had…unusual ideas. One of their charms, of course.”
“I am surprised you find it charming,” Theo replied. “I would have thought quite the opposite.”
She let out a lilting laugh. Megan wondered if it sounded as practiced to Theo as it did to her.
“You naughty man,” Lady Helena said playfully, reaching out to rap Theo’s arm lightly. Her eyes glowed as she gazed up at him. “You are such a tease. You must know how much I enjoy your mother’s company. And your sisters are quite delightful.”
“Mmm, Mrs. McIntyre speaks of you often, as well,” Megan put in, meeting Lady Scarle’s sharp glance with wide-eyed innocence.
Beside her, Theo pressed his lips together tightly and turned to look out across the room. Lady Scarle narrowed her eyes at Megan sharply.
“Miss…Henderson, was it?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you would be so
good as to allow Lord Raine and me to conduct a private conversation,” Lady Helena went on, her voice sharp as cut glass.
Megan’s brows sailed upward in astonishment at the other woman’s arrogance. She clenched her fists unconsciously, anger spurting up in her.
Something of what she felt must have shone in her face, for Theo reached over and wrapped a hand around Megan’s arm, holding her in place. Looking at Lady Scarle, he said, “Excuse me, my lady. I was unaware that you and I had anything we needed to discuss in private.”
Lady Helena’s eyes widened at his dismissive words. Bright spots of color stained her cheeks, and she shot Megan a glance of venomous dislike. “Indeed, Lord Raine. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Perhaps so. Now, if you will excuse us…”
Still gripping Megan’s arm, he steered her away from Lady Scarle and out the door. “Temper, temper,” he murmured as they walked.
“You needn’t hold on to me,” Megan told him sharply. “I am not going to hit her…however much I would like to.”
“I wasn’t sure. You looked as if your Irish was up.”
“My what?” Megan whipped her head around to look at him. Her heart began to pound in her chest. Why had he used that term? Did he know somehow that her name was false—that her real one was Irish?
He returned her gaze blandly. “Isn’t that the right term? Does it not mean one is angry?”
“I—yes, I guess it does. But I wasn’t that angry—only irritated.”
“Lady Scarle is an irritating woman,” Theo agreed. “However, you seem to have inspired her to new heights.”
“I wasn’t properly servile,” Megan said. “I think she believed I should curtsy and fade away to let her pursue you.”
“Thank God you did not,” Theo replied feelingly.
Megan had to laugh. “Needed protection, did you?”
He gave an elaborate shudder and looked at her with laughing eyes. “Desperately. Now that Lord Scarle is dead, she has her eye on a higher title.”
Megan suspected that the title was not all Lady Scarle found appealing in Theo. Looking at him, she thought that almost any woman would be attracted to him, titled or not.
“She is a beautiful woman,” Megan pointed out.
“She has a number of admirers,” Theo agreed. “I, however, am not one of them.” He looked down at her. “I prefer a woman of a different sort.”
“Indeed?” Megan knew that the smile she turned up to him was flirtatious, and that it was wrong of her smile at him that way, but somehow she could not seem to stop herself.
“Yes.” His face sobered as he stopped and turned to face her. “If we were not in this place, I would show you what sort of woman appeals to me.”
Megan’s breath came faster in her throat. “Then it is just as well that we are here, is it not?”
“I find it quite the opposite,” he responded, his gaze drifting down her face to her mouth. “Megan…”
Heat flickered deep within her. Megan clasped her hands behind her as though to make certain that they did not move of their own volition to touch him.
“My lord, as you said, this is a public place.” She turned her head away; it was too difficult to think when she was looking at him.
“Yes, dammit, I know,” he ground out. His face knotted in frustration. “I need to talk to you. I need to know—”
“Theo, darling, there you are,” a woman’s voice sounded, and they turned to see the Duchess of Broughton walking toward them. “Hello, Miss Henderson. Are you enjoying the party?”
“Yes, ma’am, very much.”
“Good, good.” The duchess smiled, then turned to her son. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Lady Rochester is here and asking about you.”
Theo let out a groan. “Mother, no…”
“She insists upon seeing you. Says you haven’t paid her a visit since you came to town this summer.”
“Indeed I haven’t,” Theo retorted with heartfelt emotion. “All she ever talks to me about is settling down and doing my duty.”
“Yes, dear, I know, it’s terribly tiresome,” the duchess sympathized, patting his arm. “But she was threatening to come stay with us for a few days just so she can see you.”
“So I am to be the sacrificial lamb?” Theo asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yes, I am afraid so,” the duchess agreed serenely. “Your father nearly swallowed his tongue when Lady Rochester suggested visiting us. He cannot abide his aunt, and one can scarcely blame him.” She turned to Megan with a smile. “Now, my dear, I have been absolutely deluged with requests to be introduced to you. I fobbed most of them off, of course, but there are a few young men who aren’t entirely silly, so I thought I would introduce you to them. Unless, of course, you would prefer not to dance—I am sure they will all ask you.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you.” Megan ignored the ill-natured grunt Theo let out behind her and smiled at the duchess, letting her lead her back toward the ballroom.
The duchess introduced her here and there, and before many minutes had passed, Megan found her dance card filling up. She danced with several young men, all the while keeping her eye out for Mr. Barchester and for Mr. Coffey.
She managed to catch sight of Julian Coffey two or three times, but he was always talking to someone, and she had little time to spare before another man came to lead her out onto the dance floor. It was going to be harder to get a chance to talk with the director of the museum than she had thought. She decided to tell anyone else who asked her that her dance card had been filled, so that she would have some time alone to interview Coffey.
As luck would have it, she was just walking off the floor after a lively waltz with a young man who danced expertly but had trouble saying anything but boring pleasantries when she came face-to-face with Mr. Barchester and her sister. Megan drew in her breath sharply, and her companion glanced at her with vague curiosity.
“Miss Henderson,” Deirdre exclaimed. “How very nice to see you again. You know Mr. Barchester, I believe.”
“Yes, of course.”
The two men seemed to be acquaintances and they shook hands politely. Megan wrapped her hand around her sister’s arm, saying, “Will you walk with me? It has been an age since I have talked to you.”
Megan bade her dancing partner a polite goodbye, and whisked her sister through the crowd and into the hallway.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I didn’t know,” Deirdre replied. “Mr. Barchester did not ask me until after you came to visit us. Isn’t it grand?” Her blue eyes sparkled. “Do you think my dress looks good enough? I didn’t have anything fancy, but I so wanted to come. So I threw some lace and bows on my best dress and ripped out the lace fichu. Da was scandalized.” She let out a little giggle.
“You look lovely,” Megan replied, which was the truth, despite the fact that Deirdre’s gown was not as elegant as most of the others in the room. Deirdre’s fragile beauty was what drew the eye. “It’s just—I don’t know—it seems dangerous. Is he introducing you as Deirdre Mulcahey? What if Theo hears your name and remembers?”
“He won’t. Why would he? Andrew—Mr. Barchester, I mean—will not introduce me to him. He said that he and Lord Raine rarely speak to each other. Well, he would not want to, would he? Where is he? Lord Raine, I mean. Mr. Barchester hasn’t been able to point him out to me yet.”
“I’m not sure.” Megan cast a glance up and down the hallway. “But I cannot let him see me chatting so chummily with you—I’m not supposed to know anybody here.”
“That’s all right.” Her sister gave Megan’s hand a squeeze. “I just wanted to see you—and I couldn’t resist the idea of going to a grand ball like this. I have never seen anything like it.”
“Deirdre…has Mr. Barchester…I mean, he seems to be paying particular attention to you. Is he—are you…?”
Deirdre smiled, her eyes twinkling. �
�He is a nice man. Very polite and quite handsome. I—I think he is probably just being kind, coming to call so often. But I cannot help but think sometimes that he does have a certain partiality for me. Do you think it’s possible?”
“Of course it’s possible. Haven’t you looked in a mirror recently?”
“I know. But there is a definite difference in our fortunes, our stations—not to mention the fact that he is English.”
“There.” Megan spotted Theo seated on a couch beside an old woman with an elaborate coiffeur that sat in a strangely crooked manner on her head. She pulled Deirdre into the nearest doorway, whispering, “That is Theo Moreland out there, sitting with the woman in the red wig.”
Deirdre’s mouth opened in an O, and she stuck her head out the door, then ducked back inside. She stared at Megan.
“That is Theo Moreland? But he—he’s so handsome,” Deirdre whispered.
“I know. It surprised me, as well.”
“I thought—I don’t know, I thought he would look evil and twisted, like Iago in the Othello we went to see.”
“Well, he doesn’t…and neither does he act it.” Megan sighed.
Deirdre studied her sister’s face. “You wish he were not who he is, don’t you?”
“I wish he were anyone else!” Megan admitted, the words rushing out of her. She looked at Deirdre, her eyes filled with unhappiness. “If you could only talk to him, be around him—he is nothing like I thought he would be.”
“I’m sorry.” Deirdre laid her hand on her sister’s arm, gazing into her face with sympathy. “Perhaps there is some other way.”
“What?” Megan asked resignedly and shrugged her shoulders.
She cast a quick glance at the other occupants of the large room, who were standing chatting in the far corner beneath an array of Inca masks, then moved closer to her sister.
“What else can we do?” Megan whispered. “You are the one who has nightmares of Dennis. Can you countenance not doing anything to avenge his death?”
Deirdre frowned. “No. I—we are duty bound.”
