Abigail fell into step with the group around her. As everyone descended on the doorway, she lost track of Mr. Poole, until she heard him at her side. "There you are, Miss Marleigh."
Abigail bit the inside of her cheek to keep from voicing her opinion of his finding her.
"Miss Marleigh, I’ve come to collect you for the musical selections."
She turned her head to see Lord Grayson at her other side. She breathed deeply. Perhaps she could tolerate Mr. Poole if Lord Grayson was with them.
"I’m sorry, my lord, but I believe I asked her first." Mr. Poole moved to Abigail's other side, placing himself between her and Lord Grayson.
"To be clear, Lord Grayson did ask me first." She looked across him to Lord Grayson. "You, Mr. Poole, only indicated you had found me."
He guffawed. "It is obvious what my intentions were."
Lord Grayson moved back to her side, maneuvering Mr. Poole out of the way. "I asked Miss Marleigh earlier this afternoon.” He growled low in his throat. “It would seem I was the first to ask, regardless of intentions." Lord Grayson stared at Mr. Poole with what Abigail was sure was one of his Captain looks—one which made men follow his command.
Mr. Poole swallowed hard and fell back a step, placing Abigail between himself and Lord Grayson. The coward. "I believe the lady has two sides. I will not object if you are on her other." Mr. Poole reached over, picking something invisible off her arm. He flicked it to the floor and smiled at her with great condescension.
Lord Grayson lightly gripped her arm and pulled her in front of him.
Abigail’s steps faltered at the heat rushing up her arm and into her chest.
He slowed as he maneuvered her and his cane at his side. "Ah, but you see, I do care." He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "I suggest you find another lady to impose upon. Perhaps you will think about securing Miss Marleigh's company earlier next time."
Mr. Poole muttered something indiscernible under his breath, but his pace slowed and soon he disappeared into the crowd behind them.
Abigail felt both relieved and angry, but the anger forced it way to the forefront. She yanked her hand from his arm. "How dare you."
He looked down at her, his brow knit together. "How dare I do what, Miss Marleigh? I was under the assumption you did not desire his company."
She stopped walking and folded her arms across her chest. "I didn't. But it doesn't follow that I desire yours. Did you forget? I know who you really are.”
He opened his mouth but she pushed on. “You lied to Mr. Poole—something you seem to do with great ease. I don't appreciate being made party to your lies, Captain Stringham."
He glared down at her, but something else hovered in those deep amber pools. "My apologies, miss. I shall find Mr. Poole and deliver him to your side." His voice was low and curt.
"No." She whispered loudly. They had fallen behind, most of the house guests now in front of them. "I…I just do not appreciate you thinking you could decide with whom I shall sit."
He eyed her before bowing slightly, his arm sweeping toward the rows of chairs. "You are correct. Please forgive me. Choose your seat and I shall sit as far from you as possible."
Her heart dropped. What was she doing? Apart from the dreadful Mr. Poole, Lord Grayson was the only one seeking her company. Why was she being so difficult when in truth, she was not opposed to sitting next to him?
"Oh, very well. I will sit next to you. But I shall be playing for Clara when she sings and perhaps others if they need it. I shall not be seated long." Abigail felt jittery and anxious over the direction their conversation had gone.
"Perhaps I shall find someone else to entertain me while you are performing." He turned to move away from her and an unexplainable panic rose inside her.
She reached out, placing her hand back in the crook of his arm. He stopped.
“That will not be necessary.” Her voice was quiet and contrite. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
He squinted down at her as he moved with her to a row of seats about half-way up. He motioned her in ahead of him, but she shook her head.
"I must sit on the end or I shall be stepping over you every time I go to the pianoforte."
He grumbled but stepped into the row, waiting for her to sit in the aisle seat.
When he sat down next to her, his arm rested against hers. Abigail flicked open her fan, waving it furiously in front of her. But still heat warmed her arm.
Abigail sighed slowly and quietly. When had the room become so stifling?
Chapter 9
Miss Marleigh sat next to him, the scent he now identified as uniquely her, wafting past his nose. What was it? Orange and…possibly vanilla?
He leaned over, wanting to be heard over the chatter of the crowd, but not by those around them. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Marleigh. Your dress—it compliments your…hair." He ran his hand up and down his thighs. Lud, he was an idiot. He had always been awkward where ladies were concerned. Being aboard a ship full of men for six years had done nothing to improve his showing.
Miss Marleigh looked at him from the side, a smile turning the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”
She did not turn to face him, but instead left him staring at her profile. Alex watched her pulse hammering in the side of her neck—the result of her earlier ire, no doubt.
Alex swallowed hard, feeling his own pulse pounding equally fast. Although, he guessed his heart raced for entirely different reasons than did hers.
The crowd began to quiet down, and Alex looked to the front of the room. Mr. Garvey stood, smiling widely at the group. "We are pleased you all could join us for our little party. We will start off our evening with Miss Stowe's lovely voice." He looked over the room and his eyes landed on Abigail. “Miss Marleigh, I was told you will be accompanying her?"
Abigail smiled and nodded as she stood. Alex marveled at her grace as she moved to the pianoforte. He had seen handsome women, but never had his heart thundered at the sight of them, as it did with Miss Marleigh.
She sat down and straightened her gown around her, before placing the music on the piano. Then she began to play.
Alex watched her every movement. Her fingers seemed to barely skim the keys.
Miss Stowe started out tentative, her voice quiet. Alex was impressed when Miss Marleigh quieted the piano so the timid voice could still be heard. By the second verse, Miss Stowe’s confidence increased, and her voice swelled. She didn't have the most beautiful voice Alex had heard, but it was pleasant enough.
Throughout the song, Miss Marleigh played, always allowing the performer to be the highlight, not the pianoforte.
When Miss Stowe finished, the crowd clapped politely while Miss Marleigh slipped quietly back to her seat.
Alex watched her from the corner of his eye. He had not been in society for years, but Miss Marleigh did not fit the picture he remembered. She stayed in the background and added to the performance rather than trying to make it her own—such behavior was different than what he would expect from a typical debutante.
He felt like he had to speak to her again. Almost as if it were essential for him to live. It was an absurd notion, but still, he leaned in. "You complimented Miss Stowe very well."
She glanced over at him. "Thank you."
He did not know what kind of response he expected in the middle of a musicale, but he was disappointed when she returned her gaze to the lady performing.
Alex grudgingly pulled his eyes from her.
Several young ladies took their turns at the pianoforte, but none were anything Alex would have considered exceptional. They were not terrible—just wholly forgettable.
"What did you think of the previous performances? As a musician, yourself," he whispered into Abigail’s ear. Why did he feel compelled to keep talking to her?
"I thought they were quite proficient. They are both lovely girls. Perhaps a bit young and timid, but they shall grow out of their shyness."
He squinted at her. "You found nothi
ng to criticize? Nothing which they could improve upon?"
Miss Marleigh bit her lower lip and Alex found his eyes drawn there. How had he not noticed her perfectly pink lips before?
"I find there are plenty in society who are waiting to give such advice. I prefer to be one that encourages them to continue and improve."
As if on cue, an older woman several rows ahead spoke loudly to her neighbor. "Miss Larkin should not be allowed to perform so poorly in public. Did her mother not teach her better?"
Alex glanced to the girl as she retook her seat, the color in her neck and cheeks clearly evident.
Mr. Garvey announced that Miss Martindale would perform followed by Miss Marleigh.
Alex was not surprised when Miss Marleigh stood and moved toward the pianoforte to accompany her cousin. But he was surprised when she stopped in front of Miss Larkin. Patting the girl on the hand, Miss Marleigh leaned forward and whispered something in Miss Larkin’s ear. From the smile on her face, Alex assumed Miss Marleigh had given the young lady the same kind words she had spoken to Alex.
Miss Marleigh was a puzzle. The more he saw, the more pieces Alex wanted to connect.
Miss Marleigh sat on the bench and nodded her head to her cousin. No music sat in front of her as she began to play. As before, Miss Martindale was the focus of the music.
The room erupted in applause when she finished. Miss Martindale smiled prettily and patted Miss Marleigh on the arm before returning to her seat.
It was now Miss Marleigh's turn to perform. As she placed her fingers on the keys, Alex leaned forward in his seat, holding his breath until the first vibrations hummed through the pianoforte.
Her fingers gracefully caressed each key as she played; Alex wondered what it would feel like to be those keys. The thought brought him up straight in his seat, his face warm.
Miss Marleigh did not play an overly complex piece, yet she played it well enough. What it lacked in difficulty, she made up for in emotion.
But he was surprised. He had expected her to play something more complex. He had sensed a fire within her which he had felt sure would erupt when she was at the pianoforte.
He squinted at her as she pulled her fingers from the keys and stood, curtsying slightly before walking back to her seat.
Again, polite applause sounded and Alex scowled at the crowd from behind. Her performance deserved a more enthusiastic reception than she was receiving.
He huffed and crossed his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat. The cretins didn't even know a quality performance when they heard one.
She sat down next to him, but her gazed stayed on the next performer.
"I enjoyed your performance. It was surprising, but enjoyable."
She raised a brow at him. "Surprising? You became well versed in music aboard your ship, Captain? Perhaps you attended the opera frequently when in port?"
That same corner of her mouth curved. Was she was teasing him?
Normally Alex would not stand for such mockery, but from Miss Marleigh? Alex scooted a little closer to her. Closing his eyes, he listened to the music and breathed in the scent of her.
The performance ended, and Alex stood up, suddenly needing to move—do something besides sit there smelling Miss Marleigh. What’s more, his leg was stiff and achy. He needed to stretch and clear his mind.
“Excuse me. I need to exercise my leg.” He stepped over Miss Marleigh and escaped to the refreshment table. Picking up a lemonade and a small cake, he threw back the lemonade in one gulp and wiped his mouth across his arm before remembering his manners. He looked around hoping no one had paid him any mind. The only eyes he caught watching him were Miss Marleigh’s. Her lips twitched at the corners as she turned her head back toward the front.
Alex cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand.
He turned back to the table and placed the whole cake into his mouth. It was hardly proper etiquette, but the cake was the size of an apricot and didn’t warrant several bites to get it down.
He had forgotten how ridiculous society was sometimes.
In the back of his mind, he heard the music stop, but he was not pulled from his thoughts until he felt someone at his elbow.
"How is the lemonade, Lord Grayson?" Her voice held a note of laughter and her eyes danced with merriment.
Alex shrugged a shoulder. "Strong, unlike some of the broth we have been served. May I get you a glass? Perhaps a cake as well?"
She grinned at him. "Those tiny little things? I would guess one could eat one in a single bite, if his mouth were large enough."
She had been watching him then. Alex felt a tingle in his chest before he squashed it down. She had only been watching so she could tease him. Not because of any interest in him personally.
"It is very warm in here,” Abigail said. “I think I will step outside for a moment." She fanned her hand in front of her face.
"In this weather? I can hear the wind blowing from here."
She tilted her head to the side, studying his face. "I shall stay close to the house, if you are so concerned for my safety." She took the lemonade he offered her. "I am surprised at your sudden concern for my well-being. Or is it only when something else threatens me that you worry?"
"Touché, Miss Marleigh. But as you saved my life, I feel duty bound to return the favor. Please let me escort you to the terrace, if you insist upon going out."
She dipped her head.
Alex reached up to run his hand through his beard, still surprised when he found nothing there.
They walked to the French doors leading out to the terrace, the trees outside whipping around wildly. He looked over to her and she squared her shoulders, as if challenging him to deny her the chance to go outside.
Grasping the knob, Alex twisted it slightly. The door ripped out of his hand and slammed back on its hinges, a gust of wind blowing leaves into the room. Several people gasped.
Miss Marleigh took a stop back, her eyes large. "Perhaps tonight is not the best night for the terrace."
"Are you certain? You didn't seem worried about the wind before." Alex challenged her, wanting to know just how much rebellion she had in her.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he realized he was receiving his answer. She would go outside, just to prove to him she could.
He held up a hand. "I am only teasing. You need not prove to me you can do it. I am quite certain you are able."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Alex reached forward and grasped the door firmly, pulling it against the wind until he secured it in its frame.
The crowd began to move back toward the music room and their seats. The second half of the musicale must be about to start.
Alex motioned her toward the rows of chairs, but she shook her head. “I find I am tired of the crowds. A headache seems to be coming on. I believe I shall find a quiet corner for a time and enjoy the music from there."
Alex clasped his hands behind his back. "I don't guess you are in wont of any company." He turned away, already knowing her answer.
"I am not opposed to the idea."
Alex stopped in his tracks. Did he hear her correctly? He looked at her over his shoulder.
She looked down at the floor. Was she suddenly shy? This woman who had growled and challenged him for days, was shy?
She bit her bottom lip again. "Please? I shall endeavor to be nice."
Alex's stomach flopped.
They found a set of chairs angled in the corner with a small round table between them.
Miss Marleigh sipped at the lemonade she still held in her hand. She said nothing, and only glanced at him occasionally.
Alex licked his lips, disliking the silence. "You would have gone out in the storm had I not backed down, would you not? If only to prove you could?"
She narrowed her gaze, her lips pursed together. "Yes."
"Why? What makes you so…" He wasn't sure what word he reached for. Disturbed? Stubborn? "
Vexing?"
She laughed. "From the look on your face, I don't believe I want to know the other words you considered."
He raised his good shoulder. "Well?" His voice held a hint of demand.
She sunk back into the chair; her head tilted as she stared at him, as if she were deciding how much to confide in him. "I wasn't always so defiant."
He pressed further. "Oh?"
"My parents died several years ago and my uncle Rupert became my guardian."
A light came on in Alex's mind. It did not take much explanation to understand. "Ah. He is that kind of guardian."
She nodded and her eyes met his.
He knew that desire, that need to do exactly what you were told not to, just so you could feel like you had some control over your destiny.
His mother had protested his plan to join Dennison crew. She had insisted it was not worth the risk. In the end, Alex’s need for control was one of the reasons that had propelled him to the docks and onto one of Dennison’s ships.
Chapter 10
"You don't need to babysit me, Lady Cartwright." Abigail pushed open the door to a parlor tucked away at the far end of the house. It was the room Mrs. Garvey had given Abigail permission to use. It had a pianoforte, although it was not of the same quality as the one in the music room.
But Abigail did not care. It was cold and rainy out of doors, leaving little to do inside.
Groups of people had set up tables for various card games. A few ladies had taken to poetry reading, Clara being among that group. She had given Abigail a look when she declined the invitation to join them. If she were going to read, Abigail would prefer it to be something historical or maybe a gothic novel—if she were alone in her chambers. No one need know of that secret pleasure.
But even Historicals didn't interest her today.
After last night, she felt restless. Unsure what was causing her jumpy nerves and her unsettled stomach, she had inquired after the music room, which brought her to this dingy little parlor.
Lady Cartwright turned her nose up slightly. "This was the best Mrs. Garvey could offer you?" She shook her head as she pulled a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and dusted it over the winged back chair to the right of the pianoforte. "I have never seen a woman that is such a pinch pocket. And her husband the complete opposite. They are a strange couple."
Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1) Page 7
