The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3)

by Jillian Eaton

  Calliope frowned. “That is not my–”

  “Off you go!” Helena said cheerfully as she gave her friend a not-so-gentle push that sent her straight into Leo’s arms. He caught her reflexively, his hands wrapping around those slender shoulders to steady her, and the sudden flare of arousal he felt was like a punch to the gut. Calliope peeked up at him through her lashes and he was struck by how delicate she was, almost like a songbird cupped in the palm of his hand. Then her jaw clenched, and he realized she wasn’t nearly as dainty as she appeared.

  “We should probably just get this over with,” she said. “Helena isn’t going to stop until we do.”

  “After you.” His hand slid down her spine until his fingers hovered a whisper away from the small of her back. She lifted her chin and, after only a second’s hesitation, walked towards the dance floor with Leo right behind her, his traitorous gaze drifting down to her derriere.

  Desire pulsed inside of him like a living, breathing thing. It caught him off guard and unprepared. Especially since he hadn’t felt this strong of a pull since…well, since Heather.

  He’d experienced lust, of course. Because contrary to what Helena believed, he hadn’t been a complete recluse these past seven years. There had been women. Even a mistress or two. But his relationship with them had always been purely physical.

  He was a man, not a monk. A man who had buried himself in the carnal pleasures of the flesh even as his mind put up a wall so high and so wide there hadn’t been a single lover in danger of breaching it. All he’d been doing was scratching a primal itch, and the courtesans he’d sought had long nails. But no matter how much he’d wanted them, he had never truly desired them.

  Desire was something you felt for someone you cared deeply about. It was as different from lust as night was from day, and it took a keen awareness to know the difference.

  Which Leo did.

  The music swelled, and all around them people paired off in sets of two and began to swirl around the ballroom. The German waltz was an intimate, intricate dance, one which required the man and woman to stand close together with their hands clasped. Taking Calliope’s palm, Leo stretched back until he was standing as far away as humanely possible. Eyeing his stiff, formal stance, Calliope sighed and shook her head.

  “So you’ve heard too, have you?” she said as they began to move.

  “Heard what?” He was doing his damned best to concentrate on the dance, but little distractions kept intruding. Like the fluttering pulse at the base of Calliope’s throat, or the way the light from the chandelier above their heads caught on the swell of her breasts, or the lip she’d tucked between her teeth. The very same lip he wanted to tuck between his teeth.

  “What a rotten dancer I am.” No sooner had the words escaped her mouth than she stepped forward when she should have stepped to the side and trounced on his instep. “I apologize.” A pretty blush turned her cheeks the same pink as her dress. “We can stop now, if you’d like. I can assure you it isn’t going to get any better.”

  “You’re too stiff.” Adjusting his grip, he closed the distance between them as his tone took on an instructional air. “And you need to be looking up, at me. Not down at your feet.”

  “Well someone needs to be keeping an eye on them,” she muttered, and Leo felt the strangest tingling in the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t until he happened to glance at his passing reflection in a window that he realized what was causing the foreign sensation.

  He was smiling.

  Not the tight grimace he’d gotten accustomed to passing off as a smile.

  But an actual, real, cheekbone to cheekbone grin.

  How odd.

  “Relax,” he murmured, noting the tenseness in her arms and neck. “Think of the waltz as a light summer breeze winding through the trees. It’s soft. Airy. You should feel as if you’re walking on a cloud.”

  “More like stomping through a bog,” she said under her breath, then cried out in dismay when she missed a turn and ended up stumbling into him instead of spinning gracefully away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “You can and you will,” Leo said determinedly. “It’s really not that difficult once you’ve established the order of the steps, and you’ve the body of a dancer. Just follow my lead, and you’ll have it in no time.”

  “Why do you care?” she asked, peering up at him in confusion beneath a thick sweep of honey blonde lashes. “I know you don’t want to do this. You’re only do it because you owe Helena a favor. But I won’t hold it against you, or your abused toes, if you walk away now.”

  Leo could have walked away. He’d fulfilled his duties. He’d come to the ball. He’d danced – if trying to save his feet from being clobbered could be described as dancing – with a woman of Helena’s choosing. If he walked out the door now he would do so with his courage intact. And there was some piece of him that wanted to do precisely that. But then there was another piece, a piece that wanted to hold Calliope in his arms as long as she’d let him, and after a brief internal struggle that was exactly what he decided to do.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Calliope started to laugh, then stopped short. “You’re serious?”

  “I’m rarely anything but.” Another turn, another stomp on his instep. He sucked in a breath. “Do you trust me, Miss Haversham?”

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “I saved you from plummeting to your death,” he pointed out. “Surely that should count for something.”

  She pursed her lips. “Perhaps if you did it out of the goodness of your heart. But I believe your exact words were, ‘If given the choice I would have walked beneath this tree five minutes earlier to save myself the time I’ve wasted with you.’”

  That sounded about right. Bloody hell, when had he turned into such a cynical bastard? It was hard to discern just how low one had sunk when they remained in their own company. This was the first time he’d thrown back the curtain on his own reflection…and he couldn’t say he liked what he saw.

  “I spoke out of turn,” he admitted. “I…tend to do that on occasion.”

  “Yet Helena seems convinced you’re a good person.” Calliope studied him intently. “I trust her judgement, if nothing else. I’d kindly ask you not to prove me wrong.”

  And then she closed her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Calliope couldn’t believe her unwilling knight-in-shining armor and the Earl of Winchester were one in the same. It hardly seemed plausible; the coincidence too large to fully comprehend. Who knew the gruff, blue-eyed stranger in the park would be the same man whose foot she’d soon stomp into the ground? Certainly not Calliope. And if the earl’s stunned reaction had been any indication, neither had he.

  She wondered if he regretted the sharp way he’d spoken to her after she fell out of the tree. This version of Leo – the one who had just asked her to close her eyes in a husky voice spun of pure sin – certainly seemed more agreeable than the Leo from before. Perhaps she’d simply caught him at a bad moment. Or maybe that’s how he was all of the time, and this version of himself was the fake.

  Calliope didn’t know the answer, but she was intrigued enough to find out.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” She closed her eyes then immediately opened them, doubt furrowing her brow. “If I can’t dance properly when I’m looking at what I’m doing, I can’t imagine the damage I will cause when I’m blind. I do not want to injure you.”

  His thumb ran across her knuckles. “Do not worry about me. Worry about the poor blokes after me.”

  Sound advice, except all of a sudden Calliope didn’t want to dance with anyone after him.

  “If you’re positive…” Still reluctant, but willing to give his tactics, however unusual, the benefit of the doubt, she slowly lowered her lashes. As soon as her vision turned black all of her other senses seemed to magnify.

  The music became louder before fading away, until the only thing she could hear was t
he ebb and flow of her own breath and Leo’s deep voice murmuring quiet instructions in her ear. Touch intensified, and when he gently nudged a curl off her temple and tucked it behind her ear she felt the gentle brush of his fingers like an electric shock through her entire body. She could smell his scent, a masculine mixture of leather from the gleaming Hessians he wore and the barest hint of sandalwood from the soap he’d used to cleanse his skin. And when her tongue darted out to nervously swipe across her lips she could have sworn she tasted the lusty sweetness of anticipation.

  “Lift your chin,” he instructed. “Yes, like that. Relax your left shoulder. More. More…here, like this.”

  Calliope instinctively flinched when he gently but firmly pressed his hand down on her arm. Then his thumb found a knot of a muscle she hadn’t even known she possessed and a groan of pure pleasure spilled from her lips before she could think to contain it. She melted beneath his touch like snow in the sun, and they were standing so close together she felt more than heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Good. Very good. Now all you need to do is follow me.”

  Easier said than done, Calliope thought silently. But then, to her amazement, she realized she was following him. Now that she’d expelled the tension she had been unknowingly holding in her muscles her limbs were free to move, and the same balance and agility she used to climb the tree outside her bedroom window effortlessly transferred itself into – while not perfect – a very passable German waltz.

  “I’m doing it!” she gasped. Her eyes opened to discover Leo staring intently down at her, one side of his mouth curved in a half-smile.

  “You’re an excellent dancer,” he said, and her face warmed from the praise. “You just needed a little direction and the self-confidence to know you could do it.”

  “Thank you,” Calliope said sincerely as the music waned. “I truly did not think myself capable of a waltz where I didn’t send my partner hobbling away afterwards.”

  The other side of his mouth lifted. “I’m not hobbling anywhere.”

  No, he wasn’t.

  While other couples bowed and curtsied and parted ways in search of their next partner, Calliope and Leo remained together, their fingers loosely entwined, her hand on his shoulder, his hand resting possessively on her hip. In the park he couldn’t run away from her fast enough, but now…now neither one of them seemed capable of moving.

  “Would you care for a walk out to the terrace, Miss Haversham?” The invitation was formal. The gleam in his eyes was not. Calliope tried to swallow, only to discover her tongue had stuck itself to the roof of her mouth.

  “I…” She turned her head to the side and gave a delicate cough. “That sounds lovely.”

  Arm in arm, they strolled past Helena, who watched them go by with a knowing grin. For an instant she met Calliope’s gaze, and her arched brow said more than any words ever could.

  The stone terrace wrapped around the entire back of the manor with steps that spilled out into the garden. The lights were dimmer here, and the other guests that had wandered outside spoke in low, measured tones. The air was noticeably cooler as well, and when Calliope shivered Leo offered his jacket, which she politely declined.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said as they moved to a vacant corner. She leaned against the railing, the rigid iron bar biting into the small of her back. “I like the cold. Out of all the seasons, I think autumn is my favorite.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed winter.” Leo set up side her, his long arms unwinding as he stretched them out on the railing. “A brandy by a roaring fire isn’t the same in summer.”

  “No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.” She slanted him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Did Helena tell you about my…circumstances?”

  Calliope was attracted to the earl. More than that, she actually liked him. He may have been every bit the ogre Helena had warned her about, but that wasn’t the whole of him. Nor even a large part of him. There was kindness there, behind the wall of icy brusqueness. She’d witnessed it firsthand when they’d danced. It would have been easy for him to cast her aside. To mock her. To make her feel little and small. That’s what others had done.

  But not the Earl of Winchester.

  With a small act of compassion, he’d made her feel important. And she could think of no greater kindness than that. Which was why she wanted to ensure he was not acting out of sympathy or pity or some other misplaced emotion cultivated by the knowledge of the unique situation she found herself trapped by. In short, she wanted to make sure that if he liked her – which she very much hoped he did – it wasn’t because he felt sorry for her.

  “No. Should she have?” Leo’s head canted to the side, a frown tightening the edges of his mouth. Then his gaze fell to her stomach, and his eyes widened. “Are you…that is to say, in the family…er…in the family way?”

  “What? No!” Calliope’s hand splayed self-consciously across her belly. She knew she wasn’t as slender as Helena. Few women were. But she didn’t think those extra crumpets she’d eaten after breakfast had been enough to make her look pregnant. “Do I look as if I am in the family way?”

  Leo flushed. “Of course not. I just assumed…”

  “Do you know when it is the correct time to assume a woman is expecting, my lord?” she asked, her eyes flashing with indignation on behalf of pregnant women everywhere.

  “I feel as though this may be one of those trick questions,” he said cautiously. “I don’t think I want to answer.”

  “Never,” she said. “The answer is never.”

  “Sound advice, Miss Haversham.” He cleared his throat. “I shall take care to heed it.”

  She managed to keep her glare for another two seconds before her gaze softened and a tiny smile gave her away. “Please see that you do, Lord Winchester.”

  They were quiet for a moment. It wasn’t the stiff, uncomfortable silence of strangers, but rather a cozy respite of two friends taking the time to gather their thoughts. In the glow of the moonlight they were apart but together, two hurt, lonely souls taking refuge beneath the shelter of a starry sky. Then Leo looked at her, and she could see the question in his eyes before he spoke it out loud. A question that she’d have to answer, and once she did whatever peace and tranquility that existed between them would disappear with the snap of a finger.

  She just hoped that having found this place once, they could soon return to it again.

  “The circumstances you mentioned…” He trailed off, obviously unwilling to step in the muck a second time. Good for him. It showed he learned from his mistakes, and quickly too. A worthy trait in any person, but particularly valuable when coming from a member of the opposite sex.

  “Yes.” Her fingers curled around the railing as tension rippled down her arms. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. Unless tragic family histories bore you, in which case I’d think your best course of action would be to leave now.”

  Instead of leaving, he slid a step closer. “I’m not going anywhere, Miss Haversham.”

  “If you’re going to learn all my secrets, you might as well call me Calliope.” It was something Helena would have said, and she was pleased, if a bit shocked, but her own bravado.

  “Calliope, then.” His velvety baritone wrapped around her like a warm cloak on a cold winter’s day and a tiny thrill shot through her.

  Was this what the poets meant when they spun sonnets about courtship and falling in love? She’d always found the flowery lyrics a tad exaggerated, but now she wasn’t so sure. Especially when Leo’s hand slid over the top of hers and it felt as if a thousand butterflies had taken flight inside of her belly all at once.

  “When I was very young my parents passed unexpectedly and I became a ward of my uncle, the Marquess of Shillington. He already had a wife, and a daughter my age. Beatrice.” She paused to take a breath as old, familiar pain washed over her in an unexpected wave. Her cousin’s mocking laughter as she found amusement at Calliope’s expense. The humiliation of weari
ng cast-off gowns that Beatrice didn’t hesitate to tell anyone who would listen they’d once belonged to her. Wanting so desperately to be loved first, but always, always falling a distant second.

  “Here,” Leo murmured, offering her a white handkerchief.

  She stared at it in bemusement. “Thank you, but what do I need that for?”

  “Calliope…” He looked at her strangely. “You’re crying.”

  So she was. She could feel the wet tears on her cheeks now that he’d pointed them out, and snatching the earl’s handkerchief she brushed them swiftly away, then crumpled the silk cloth into a ball and held it clutched against her chest as if it contained all the love and affection she’d always craved but never received.

  “I am terribly sorry.” Her smile was paper thin, and faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I don’t…that is to say, I rarely allow my emotions to get the best of me. I cannot remember the last time I cried.”

  “Maybe you were just waiting for a shoulder.” He reached out with his hand and gently ran his thumb across her cheek, catching the last of her tears. “You can have mine, if you’d like.”

  Leo heard something crack inside his chest when Calliope gently laid her head upon his shoulder.

  It was the sound of ice breaking.

  After seven long years, the wall around his heart had finally started to melt courtesy of a tiny blonde with a penchant for climbing trees. He was feeling things again. Things he never thought he’d be able to feel. And it was exhilarating. And fascinating.

  And terrifying.

  Absolutely, positively terrifying.

  Everything inside of him was telling him to run. To push Calliope aside and bolt for the nearest steps. It was all happening too bloody fast. Surely if he got away from her he would come to his senses. But then that was the trick, wasn’t it? Right now, with Calliope cradled in his arms and her head tucked beneath his chin, he didn’t want to come to his senses. If this was what insanity felt like then he never wanted to be sane again.