by Jane Goodger
“You must introduce me.”
Edward gave his sister a sick smile, which Amelia chose to ignore. “Must I? I fear all that glitter on him will blind me if I get too close.”
“If you don’t, he’ll end up dancing with someone else during the last waltz. Look,” Amelia said, holding up her dance card. “I’ve saved the last waltz for him.”
“Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”
“I am going to ask him to dance.”
“You are doing nothing of the sort,” Edward said firmly.
“Then introduce me, please,” she said, feeling a bit of panic grow in her chest. If she didn’t get a chance to dance with him she’d just die; she could feel herself beginning to expire at that very moment. “You are an earl, Edward. You never use your rank for anything. You might think you were still a mister the way you act. Please do this for me.”
“You want me to make him dance with you?” he asked.
Amelia let out a puff of air. Edward didn’t understand. How could he? He’d never been in love. Not that she loved Carson Kitteridge. Even she knew how ridiculous it would be to claim she loved a man she’d never met. But still…there was something about him that drew her, made her feel like she’d never felt before. He was the first man she’d ever seen that she could even consider kissing. “Please just introduce us.”
Her brother looked down at her as if seeing a foreign creature standing before him. Indeed, that was what she felt like, foreign, completely unlike herself. She’d never made a fool of herself for a man; she’d never wanted to. But Carson Kitteridge was standing in the very same room as she and he was even more handsome than she could have imagined. The artist had not done him justice at all. He was far grander and taller and impossibly more handsome than the poster of him.
“Very well,” Edward said, holding out his arm for her to take.
Amelia clapped her hands together, unable to contain her happiness, then put on a look of sedate interest that didn’t quite mesh with the excitement in her eyes. They stood for a few moments on the fringes of the crowd that surrounded Mr. Kitteridge, before Amelia lost all patience and elbowed her brother.
“Mr. Kitteridge,” Edward said during a brief break in the conversation. The cowboy turned her way and Amelia, who’d never even felt light-headed her entire life, felt like she might swoon. The physical impact of him looking at her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It felt as if her entire insides had just melted, just like that, and puddled to her slippers.
“Sir?” His voice was a deep baritone, smooth and rich.
“I would like to present to you my sister, Lady Amelia. She is an admirer of yours apparently.”
“Mr. Kitteridge,” Amelia said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Just like that, Mr. Kitteridge abandoned the throng surrounding him, took Amelia’s hand in his, and lifted it to his mouth, stopping just short of kissing her gloved hand. “Lady Amelia,” he said, looking into her eyes with his striking gray ones, “the pleasure, surely, is all mine.”
He had the most delicious accent Amelia had ever heard, drawing out his vowels so that it seemed as if each syllable deserved special attention.
“Have you seen the show?” He was still holding her hand and Amelia wondered if he was ever going to let go. She hoped not.
“No, I haven’t, but plan to before we leave London.” She looked to her brother, who was looking at their hands. “Isn’t that right, Edward? Oh, I’m so sorry, this is my brother, Lord Hollings. He’s an earl.”
“An earl. Well, that’s mighty fancy.”
“Oh, no. Not really. Edward is a regular sort, aren’t you, Edward? In fact, he’s just become an earl. Before that he was just—”
“Amelia,” Edward said, giving her a look that told her she’d gone quite insane, and indeed she felt a bit insane. It was as if Mr. Kitteridge’s hand burned through her glove and melted the parts of her that weren’t already liquid.
“I’m not certain we’ll have the time,” Edward said, surely just to make her crazy.
“Of course we have the time,” she said to Mr. Kitteridge. “I’ve only been looking forward to it forever. Some people say it’s even better than Bill Cody’s show.” No one had said that, and Amelia didn’t know why she’d just lied, but there it was. At the mention of Bill Cody, Mr. Kitteridge’s smile faltered slightly and Amelia wished she hadn’t said a thing.
“Our show is very different than Mr. Cody’s and I think far more entertainin’. We have two shows tomorrow. I would be honored, Lord Hollings, if you and your sister could come as my guest.”
Then he winked at Amelia, as if he knew he’d just trapped her brother into going and was sharing their little victory. Amelia’s brother could do nothing but nod and thank Mr. Kitteridge for his kind offer. If they hadn’t been standing in a ballroom, Amelia would have jumped up and down with joy. Imagine not only going to the show but being Mr. Kitteridge’s special guests.
“I wonder, Lady Amelia, if there is the smallest chance that you have an empty spot on that there dance card.”
Amelia didn’t even pretend to look. “Why, I do have one dance remaining, Mr. Kitteridge. A waltz.”
Mr. Kitteridge’s smile broadened. “If you would do me the honor,” he said, bowing grandly.
“I shall pencil you in now,” Amelia said brightly, carefully shielding from him that, other than her brother, his was the only name on her card.
“Oh, my, I do think our Lady Amelia is in love,” Maggie said to Sir William.
“With whom?”
“Carson Kitteridge, the American cowboy she’s been talking about so endlessly. I do hope she doesn’t let herself get too involved.”
“I don’t see how she can. We’re going back to Bellingham in a few days and that show isn’t going to be in town much longer. Can’t see what any female sees in him. Look at that hair,” he said, laughing.
“Some women like a man who’s different from everything they’ve ever known. Perhaps that’s why I like Englishmen,” she said, allowing herself to flirt a bit. Flirting with Sir William had lost a bit of its charm ever since he began taking it all so seriously. He would get this look in his eyes, much like a dog when its master mentions offhand that it’s time to go for a walk but then sits down in a comfortable chair. She almost wished he’d get angry with her again; it had been rather refreshing.
“All Englishmen or someone in particular?” he said, smiling down at her.
“Just one,” she said, squeezing his arm. It was the least she could do, after all. She was glad he’d forgotten about Lord Hollings and apparently believed her when she’d said he was merely comforting her. “But I do have to warn you that I have another dance with Lord Hollings and if you plan to turn into a jealous toad, I want you to leave the room,” she said, teasing him.
“Perhaps I’d better. You may not be interested in him, my girl, but I can tell you he is vastly interested in you.”
“Lord Hollings is interested in all women,” Maggie said, ignoring that her heart picked up a beat at his words. She looked across the ballroom to where Lord Hollings seemed to be happily holding court with three young ladies. Despite Lord Hollings’s protests that he did not like the attention women gave him, he certainly appeared to be having a wonderful time chatting with three of them at once. She tried not to stare across the bobbing heads of the dancers, but it seemed it was impossible for her.
“When is your next dance with Lord Hollings?” Sir William asked with forced nonchalance.
Maggie knew, but she pretended to scan her dance card anyway. “The last waltz,” she said. “Oh, I should have saved that for you. I’m sorry.”
Sir William smiled. “No worries, my dear. I got my waltz in, didn’t I, and there’s no need to get tongues wagging by dancing two waltzes with you, eh? Ah, here comes Lord Woodbury,” Sir William said, nodding to his friend whom he’d introduced to Maggie earlier in the evening. Her dance card was nearly filled with me
n in their fifties and older because it seemed as if Sir William wanted to introduce her to every man he’d ever been acquainted with. Other than Lord Hollings, no one was near to her age. Maggie told herself she didn’t mind, in fact wouldn’t mind when they were married. She didn’t realize how very little she had in common with the older generation until she spent an evening with them. They either treated her like a little girl or looked at her in a way that made her feel exceedingly uncomfortable. For some reason, Sir William didn’t get angry with his friends for leering at her, only at Sir Hollings for touching her face.
After her dance with the gentleman, she went in search of Amelia. She was supposed to help her mother chaperone the girl, and so far this evening she had not done a very good job of it. When she found her, Maggie’s heart plummeted, for she was looking up at Carson Kitteridge like a girl fully in the throes of her first crush. The man was standing far too close, with one hand braced against the wall as he hovered over her. Amelia wasn’t a small girl, but she looked tiny looking up at Carson Kitteridge, who seemed to loom over her like a hungry wolf. With determination in her step, she marched over to where they were standing, fairly fuming that her mother wasn’t doing a better job with her chaperoning duties. In fact, Maggie couldn’t recall seeing her mother all evening. Wonderful. Something else to worry about.
She deftly pulled a long strand of hair from her hair clip as she approached the pair, and said, “Lady Amelia, there you are. I need your help with my hair.”
Amelia, looking rather dazed, practically had to shake her head to clear her vision. Then she actually frowned at her friend. “They have maids in the retiring rooms for that,” she said, then turned back to Mr. Kitteridge. “Besides, my dance with Mr. Kitteridge is nearly here. I’d hate to miss it, you know.”
Carson Kitteridge looked from one girl to the other, apparently vastly amused.
“Could you introduce your friend, Lady Amelia?” he asked with his Texas drawl. Though Maggie had never traveled to Texas, she was quite certain she’d never heard a drawl so pronounced before, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Do I detect an American accent?” he asked.
Clearly, the man was a genius. “You do, Mr. Kitteridge. I’m Margaret Pierce from New York.” She was quite certain he wouldn’t have any knowledge of her father’s embezzlement. He did not seem to be the sort of man who read the New York Times regularly.
“Miss Pierce is here as a guest of the Duchess of Bellingham,” Amelia said, and Maggie had the suspicion that she was trying to impress the cowboy.
“That the one who up and married that duke?”
“The very one,” Maggie said, forcing a smile and quickly reassessing the cowboy. If he knew about Elizabeth, that meant he read newspapers; she prayed he didn’t know about her father.
“You here to fetch yourself a duke, Miss Pierce?” he asked, and his smile was so charming Maggie, who was already suspicious of the man, couldn’t help but smile. God help Amelia if she was falling for him.
“No. I’m afraid I’m not much of a catch for a title.”
Mr. Kitteridge let out a low chuckle and there was a bit of the devil in his eyes. “Now, I wouldn’t go sayin’ that, Miss Pierce.”
Maggie gave him a look as if he’d quite lost his mind. He was clearly flirting with her even though he’d spent most of the evening talking with Amelia. The younger girl didn’t miss the obvious bit of flirtation, either. In fact, Maggie was quite certain that if Amelia had claws, she would have sprung them at that very moment. Mr. Kitteridge gave her a self-effacing smile, a sort of facial shrug that told her he simply couldn’t help himself, he flirted with all women.
“Miss Pierce is practically engaged,” Amelia said.
“Is that right? Who’s the lucky fellow?” he asked, scanning the room as if he might pick him out. Then he stopped dead. “That there fellow,” he said, nodding across the dance floor.
“No,” Amelia said, giggling. “That’s my brother. It’s the gentleman in the corner. The one standing next to that bald elderly man.”
Mr. Kitteridge looked down at Maggie and she looked stubbornly up at him.
“You don’t say?” he drawled, his eyes flickering up again to Lord Hollings before resting on her. “Well, good for you, Miss Pierce.”
“Nothing is official,” she said through partially clenched teeth.
Then, in one deft move, Amelia grabbed the piece of hair she’d tugged free and quickly secured it into place. “There. Now you are free to dance the night away. I think I see your next partner coming this way.”
Maggie turned to see a man who must have been nearly seventy coming her way. Suppressing a groan, she smiled at the approaching man whom she remembered as being extremely knowledgeable about raising prized hunting dogs.
“Don’t you have a dance partner?” she asked Amelia, feeling testy.
“No one has asked,” she said, bringing out her laced dance card as proof.
“Aren’t I just the luckiest fellow in England?” Kitteridge said, and he smiled that smile that likely caused a hundred girls to faint dead away just at the glory of it.
Maggie narrowed her eyes, giving the man a silent warning before turning to her next dance partner.
It was nearing midnight when the small orchestra began playing the Emperor’s Waltz, one of Maggie’s least favorite Strauss compositions. It wasn’t because the piece wasn’t lovely, but because it began strong and lively, then turned so soulful she rarely was dried-eyed by the end. And she was dancing with Lord Hollings.
Her emotions were already frayed from Sir William and her inability to find her mother. It was possible she was playing cards with some of the other older ladies. Perhaps going to a ball without her husband was too painful for her. Maggie wished she had been smart enough to disappear somewhere, for she didn’t think she’d be able to get through the Emperor’s Waltz in Lord Hollings’s arms without completely breaking down.
“Miss Pierce,” he said, coming up behind her.
She nodded, praying he couldn’t hear her heart, which was pounding so painfully, and she held up her arms, carefully placing one in his firm hand, the other on his shoulder.
He held her lightly as they began to move among the other dancers. “As I recall, this is not your favorite Strauss,” he said, completely surprising her.
“I cannot believe you remember that.”
He smiled. “It seems I am cursed to remember every detail about you.” He tightened his hold just then, and she let him. Something was different about him. He kept his eyes on hers, his gaze holding a strange, dark intensity that made a flood of heat nearly consume her. Oh, dear God.
They danced without speaking, without smiling, and a casual observer might think they were a couple who was bored, with life, with each other. But someone who was watching intensely might have seen Maggie’s parted lips, the way her breath was catching oddly in her chest, the way his arms pulled her subtly closer and closer until they were nearly fully embracing.
When the music stopped, Lord Hollings pulled her out of the ballroom and to the empty veranda. He didn’t say a word. Neither did she.
Even when he pressed her against the cold stone of the mansion, even when he brought his mouth against hers, even when he pressed his aroused body to hers, even then, they were silent. She pulled him against her, reveling in the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his hands that seemed to touch her everywhere, her breasts, her neck, between her legs. And she, oh God, she touched him on his face, his neck, his chest, and fleetingly, because she simply could not help herself, his arousal.
He pulled away, breathing harshly, staring at her as if she’d bewitched him. Swallowing heavily, he finally spoke.
“He can’t have you.”
And then he pressed a finger against her lips, to stop her from speaking, and then put that same finger against his mouth. He left her there, just as another couple walked onto the veranda, giving her a silent warning to remain still and silent.
Maggie re
mained on the veranda until the other couple, driven back inside by the cold, left. She hadn’t realized just how frigid the air was until they were gone; then she began shaking violently, tears streaming down her face.
Chapter 14
Maggie wiped her tears and took a bracing, shaking, breath. She’d been outside perhaps two minutes; the kiss had lasted no more than thirty seconds. Yet she felt completely ravished.
Her lips were slightly swollen, her breasts felt strangely heavy, her entire body almost painfully aroused. Never in her life had she felt this way, out of control, ready to jump out of her skin.
And she had to go back into the ballroom and face Sir William and pretend nothing had happened. She had to sit and eat supper, chat with her neighbors, smile, all the while she would still feel Lord Hollings’s hands on her. Would be wishing she was still with him, touching him, tasting him.
Oh, goodness, what was happening to her? She felt as if she were about to come apart, fly into a million pieces and blow away into oblivion.
“There you are. They’ve just called everyone for dinner. You look flushed, my dear.” Sir William seemed genuinely happy to see her, which made her feel even more guilty. She almost wished he suspected something; it would only serve her right.
“I went outside for some fresh air. It’s frigid out there. I don’t know why, but I never picture London as being as cold as New York. My cheeks are like ice.”
He put the back of his hand against her cheek and it took every bit of self-control not to back away. Somehow it seemed duplicitous to allow two men to touch her tenderly in a single evening.
“You are like ice,” he said. “Some sherry will warm you up.”
Maggie rarely had spirits, but right at that moment, she thought she just might down an entire decanter of sherry.
“Sir William, have you seen my mother? She seems to have disappeared.”
“Can’t say that I have. She’s likely off somewhere playing whist.”
