by Liz Tyner
His eyes couldn’t have been gleaming red-hot—he was human—but in her memory he’d had red eyes, blocks of huge teeth and his wet hair had spiked down the sides of his face into points.
When the stories in the newspaper were published about her birth and she fully considered what that really meant, she’d shuddered. Fortune had plucked her into a princess world where even her maid hummed. Being illegitimate wasn’t nearly so bad as the thought of how different life would have been with the man whose walls hung dark with long pinchers.
She’d only had the one nightmare where he’d grabbed her with the pinchers and tossed her into the flames, laughing and telling her she didn’t belong in the rich man’s world. She belonged in the coals.
Now, Lily appraised her sister, thankful for the brightness Abigail brought into the world.
‘You look like a princess.’ Lily leaned around the doorway.
‘I feel like one, too.’
Lily smiled and left, moving down the stairs to the ballroom. Tonight, instead of frowning at any man who stood too close to Abigail, she would smile and step into the shadows.
She took a breath before she walked into the ballroom, the scent of the specially ordered candles wafting through the air. She fluffed out the capped sleeves of her gown. The dress was three Seasons old, but the embroidery on the bodice and hem had taken a seamstress months and months to complete.
She paused when she took in the broad shoulders and firm stance of Edgeworth. The man to the left was taller. The one to the right had a merry face and narrow frame. Edgeworth was not above average in height and features, except for his shoulders and eyes.
Everyone noticed him, even if the ladies were cautious about it. No one wanted to anger Edgeworth. Even her. Usually.
But she had once borrowed his book when he’d left it outside on the bench. She’d known he was returning for it. She’d known—and she’d darted upstairs, nearly biting her tongue in half when she’d stumbled on the steps, then she’d rushed into Abigail’s room to watch the events next door unfold. The hedge around the bench hadn’t been so big then and she’d stood at the window, waiting.
He’d returned and stared at the empty spot.
Then he’d looked up. She’d held the book against the glass.
Edgeworth had pointed to the bench and she’d seen the set of his shoulders.
He’d moved one step in her direction. He’d waggled a finger. He wasn’t smiling as she’d thought he might. One hand was at his side and clenched.
She’d put the book down because she couldn’t manage a book the size of a chair seat and the window at the same time.
She’d pulled open the window, lifted the book and then held the volume in both hands and released it flat. Then she’d jumped back inside, shut the window and stepped from sight.
The rest of the day she’d expected to be summoned for punishment, but no one had mentioned it. Her father would never have forgiven her. A common girl did not irritate a duke’s son.
And then he’d left that second book out and she’d taken it, knowing he left it for her. She’d laughed when she’d seen the title. She’d never read it, but still, she’d placed it in her father’s library and it had made her smile when she walked by and thought of him leaving it for her to find.
She’d intended to tell him later that she’d burned it, but she’d forgotten about mentioning it the next time she saw him. She’d been too excited, telling him that her mother had decided to leave London. She’d not be pulled back and forth between her two parents’ homes any longer. She and Abigail would stay behind.
She wondered why she noticed so much of Edgeworth. She always had. But she supposed it was just because she’d known him her whole life.
Now, he glanced around the room at the soirée and his eyes didn’t stop on her. They didn’t even pause. Her stomach jolted. She knew, without any doubt, that even though he’d not looked at her, he’d seen her. He’d seen her just as clearly as he had on the day he’d glared up and into the window, staring because she’d taken his book.
His eyes reminded her of the story of the man who captured the sun’s rays and reflected them on to boats to light them afire—only Edgeworth’s flares were blue. It was mesmerising, the way he used them, almost like a knight might flash a sword tip in a certain direction, ready to slice someone in two.
Pretending not to be aware of him, she moved to the lemonade table. She kept her back to the men so she would not be tempted to watch Edgeworth. Music from the quartet drifted over her, and she smiled. The night would be perfect for Abigail.
‘Miss Hightower.’ She could not help herself from turning towards the words right behind her shoulder and the voice she instantly recognised. The voice sounded in direct opposition to his eyes. Perhaps, she thought, that was what made him fascinate her. Cool eyes. Warm voice, at least some of the time.
He reached around her, keeping his balance and not touching her, and lifted a glass to her hand.
‘Thank you,’ she said, tone low and attention safely on the lemonade. She looked up for a brief second, taking care not to linger.
He reached out, touching her elbow. ‘Would you like to dance?’
‘No.’ She looked at her feet and admitted, ‘My slippers pinch.’ But something was different. Something about him, and she couldn’t figure out what. Dancing with him—it almost seemed too close. Not that it ever had before. And he’d not asked her sister to dance first, she was certain of that.
‘You shouldn’t wear something painful,’ he said, looking in the direction of her feet.
‘That’s part of why I detest these events.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘I don’t detest them, I didn’t mean that.’ She did. An interloper. One step above a governess—only she knew some of the governesses had a better lineage than she did. One had once told her that. A pang of guilt burned in Lily’s stomach. She’d not so innocently told her mother what the woman had said and the woman had been sent on her way.
Now Lily held her chin level. ‘You look like your old self—frowning from ear to ear.’
A grin did flash, but he quickly hid it. ‘I don’t think one can frown from ear to ear.’
‘Oh, goodness,’ she said, blinking awe into her eyes. ‘You manage it regularly.’
‘Thank you, Miss Hightower. Your presence makes me capable of things I didn’t know possible. Such as my earlier recovery. I wanted to tell you that I remembered your visit to me when I was ill. I suspect I had so much laudanum in me I hardly knew what was real or imagined.’
‘I had little choice but to visit you,’ she said, a smile added. ‘Your mother was pacing outside, weeping, certain you weren’t going to make it. The temperature had turned back to winter and rain had started. I begged your mother to let me see you so I could get her out of the weather.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I may have been worried about you a hair. Just a hair.’ She smiled again.
‘As you had me planned for Abigail’s husband.’ His eyes iced over.
‘Not just that—and you know it. I’ve known you and your family all my life.’
‘Would you have been so concerned if it were my brother Andrew, or Steven, ill?’
‘Of course—’ she insisted. His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course,’ she added, speaking straight into the ice. But she softened her words with an upturn to her voice. ‘But they never caused me to be scarred for life. Growled at me. Or tried to convince me that unicorns did not exist.’
‘Fine. You win. The drawing you showed me did prove that unicorns are real and I hope you have finally saved enough to purchase one.’
‘I bought a doll instead.’
‘I did ask to see the unicorn when you purchased it.’ His shoulders turned to her.
She lowered her chin. ‘Even then, I was not fooled by your sinceri
ty.’
The silence in the air between them was filled with shared memories of childhood.
‘Well, I do thank you for visiting me while I was ill,’ he spoke softly. ‘It meant a lot.’
‘Someone needed to make you mind your manners,’ she said.
‘What?’ He raised his brows.
‘When you were ill and Fox said that dreadful thing and—you—really shouldn’t have done that, you know.’
He shook his head, not following her meaning.
She looked over his shoulder and stared into space. ‘That gesture. The bad one.’
‘Ah...’ He shrugged. ‘I apologise. I was out of my head from the pain and the medicine and I didn’t realise you were there. Fox and my brothers and I don’t always speak gently to each other.’
She shook her head and censured him with her stare. ‘Your mother had stopped in the doorway. I had to make sure she didn’t see it.’ She leaned closer. ‘And then you were whispering that very bad word.’
‘I didn’t whisper anything.’
‘You did.’ She locked on to his gaze. ‘I had to speak to cover your words and get you quiet.’
She examined his face when she spoke to him, because he certainly wouldn’t say what he thought, and if not for the little—well—spasms of emotion that she could imagine, she wouldn’t have any idea what he might be thinking. His words didn’t give much away.
But he had been quite the different person when he was ill. In those moments she’d sat at his bedside, he’d needed her. She’d known it. She’d known he wouldn’t have wanted her sister—or any other woman—to see him sweating and restless, but he didn’t mind her being there at all. ‘You squeezed my hand and called me an angel,’ she said. ‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’ She leaned in. ‘And you had to be out of your head to do it.’
He didn’t respond. Not even with his eyes.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.
‘That honesty is refreshing.’
‘Isn’t everyone honest to you? Mostly?’
‘If their opinion is what they think I wish to hear.’
‘Don’t let it concern you. Most people are like that.’
‘It does concern me. Most people won’t say what they’re thinking to me and it seems your words are a reflection of what you truly believe. Not just what is the more correct thing to say to a duke.’
‘Are you wishing you were born a second son?’ She asked the question aloud the moment she thought it.
He examined her face. ‘No. Not at all. I was born to be who I am. As we all are.’
Lily heard laughter break out at the other side of the room. She turned, forcing her attention from Edgeworth, but not truly noticing the others.
Lily wasn’t meant to be who she was. It was just her good fortune not to be living in a home with a fiery pit. ‘One would say your mother was born to be a duchess, too.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘One could say the same of you.’
She gulped in air and moved so that she held her glass with both hands for a second. ‘No. One couldn’t.’ Her heart warmed at his politeness. Edgeworth knew his manners.
‘Don’t disagree when I’m right,’ he said. ‘It’s true.’
Music filled the air and Edgeworth watched her as if she should say something profound, but all she could manage was a pinched-sounding mumble of thanks.
‘Greetings, all.’ Fox appeared behind Edgeworth, popping into the conversation like a marionette might drop on to the stage to scatter the other puppets.
‘Edgeworth dragged me from the country so that I might attend this evening, but when I realised that I would be seeing the two Hightower sisters, I thanked him most utterly and profusely—even though one of them...’ he tilted his chin to the ceiling, batted his eyes and looked as if he might whistle ‘...may once have compared me to a piece of very important pottery.’ He smiled. ‘I tried to steal a kiss and you told me you’d prefer to kiss a chamber pot.’
‘I meant it as a gentle reprimand,’ Lily said.
‘It was.’ He chuckled and put a hand to his ear. ‘Is that music I hear?’ He held out his arm for her to clasp. ‘Dance with me, please, I beg you, so that I might apologise for being so ungallant in the past.’
‘You are not here to impress Miss Lily,’ Edgeworth said.
Foxworthy’s jaw dropped, but his eyes sparkled. ‘I thought for certain I was here to impress every woman in attendance. I’m crushed.’ He winked at Lily. ‘So even if I cannot sway you to swoon with admiration, will you please do me the honour of dancing with me?’
Edgeworth’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.
Quickly, she returned her glass to the table and accepted the request, feeling the men must be separated immediately.
She glared at Fox and hurried to the dance floor.
Even with her back to him, her mind’s eye could see Edgeworth watching her. Prickles of warmth flared. But he needn’t have worried. Foxworthy was all nonsense. He liked a certain type of woman and she wasn’t it. That she knew.
Fox turned to her, pulling her into his orbit with a half-hidden smile. He moved into the dance so quickly she had to pay attention.
‘Edgeworth is watching us.’ Fox leaned close and practically stumbled over her, but she was certain he was an excellent dancer. The cad. She hated to dance and it was hard enough for her to keep up with the steps without having a partner who purposefully stumbled.
His head turned and at that moment his eyes changed. ‘Your sister just walked into the room.’
‘She tends to do that.’
‘I had not realised how long it’s been since I’ve seen her,’ he said, eyes locked on Abigail.
‘She’s not for you.’
‘Really?’ She had his full attention. His brows moved so that a little crease formed in the middle between them.
‘She is only interested in men who have the most honourable intentions.’
‘My intentions are honourable. Always honourable intentions,’ he said.
She didn’t answer. Honourable intentions written in air.
‘Miss Hightower. You’re starting to look at me the same way Edge does. Are there any sharp objects about that I should hide?’
‘If we look irritated at you, it’s for good reason and you know it. You are a disaster waiting to happen.’
Nodding, Foxworthy said, ‘I’ve tried to keep my life amusing, unlike Edgeworth. He’s just like his father. I can still hear my uncle saying to Edge, “You are a duke first, you are a duke second and you are a duke third, and whatever of you that is left over after that is also a duke.”’
‘That’s Edgeworth.’
‘Yes. And I see him being just like the old Duke. He’ll settle into married life some day, because he does his duty. He will have his duchess. The perfect family. And then some years hence, he’ll discover he’s a man as well. Then you know what will happen. Just like his father.’ Fox shut his eyes for half a second and shook his head in the way of a sage.
His words jarred her insides. The recollection of the old Duke looking over his nose at her ignited memories she’d rather forget.
‘I want to experience life while I am young and get all the adventures I need out of my system.’ Fox swirled her around. ‘When I marry I will happily rot away, blissfully, in the arms of my beloved.’
He caught her eye, giving her another wink. ‘Just wanted to reassure you.’
‘Foxworthy.’ She snapped out his name. ‘You cannot possibly reassure me. You’re constantly in that half-rate newspaper that scandalmongers delight in.’
‘I’ve only been in it fourteen times and I count the Beany Beaumont incident even if I wasn’t mentioned by name.’
‘You are terrible.’
‘I am not.’ He glanced towards his feet. ‘I’ve missed only one step and it brought me closer to you. So how can I be upset with myself?’
‘Foxworthy. You wish people to talk of your missteps. You are a rake to the core.’
‘But beyond that, I’m pure gold.’ They turned around the room again. ‘Admit it, you find me quite charming.’
‘I would not exactly say that. I would say you have the very minimal charm necessary for a dance partner.’
‘Ouch,’ he said, and the dance ended without any more banter, but at least a dozen smiles from Foxworthy. He did have a rather elegant way of looking into a woman’s eyes, but it made Lily feel as if he expected her to swoon over him. She would be pleased when she could retire to her room, but she wasn’t leaving Abigail alone with only their father and aunt for chaperons.
She didn’t think it coincidence that Fox managed to stop them near Edgeworth.
‘Miss Hightower has commented quite directly on my charm as we danced,’ he said to Edge. ‘I fear it has quite gone to my head. Near smacked me across the temples, in fact. But—’ He spoke as he released her hand. ‘She was quite the most wonderful partner and a treat to listen to.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Thank you. I will never, ever forget these moments with you.’
Then his eyes turned to Abigail and he clasped his hands flat over his heart. ‘Another Miss Hightower. How fortunate we are to have two in our presence. Please do me the honour of a dance.’
Abigail rose on tiptoes and proved women could not fly or she would have fluttered off the floor at that moment. ‘I would be honoured, Lord Foxworthy.’
He swirled her away.
‘Stop staring after him,’ Edge said. ‘He’s full enough of himself as it is.’
‘I don’t like him dancing so close with Abigail.’
‘It’s not close.’
‘He’s looking at her much too lingeringly.’ She turned to Edge. ‘Are you going to let him get away with it?’
