He visibly swallowed. “I could be that instructor.”
“Very well,” she said, holding back a laugh. Was this man of the ton actually nervous? “Then I can be the pupil.”
Chapter Four
Miss Ellen Humphreys was certainly of age to be out in Society, Quinn decided as he stepped into the meadow. Upon closer and fuller inspection, he saw that she was not as young and innocent as he’d first surmised. No, there was a bit of mischievousness in her pale-green eyes. And her curved lips turned up just so, making him think she might be an accomplished flirt, even if she hadn’t been to a dance before. He also realized she was not fairylike at all. She was beautiful, sturdy, and warm.
He’d danced plenty with women whose hands were cold even through their silk gloves. Quinn wondered if Miss Humphreys’s warmth was due to her being raised in the country. Or more likely because she’d just been dancing herself beneath the afternoon sun. As it was, he felt her warmth travel from her hand to his and form a sort of cocoon about them.
For when Quinn set his hand at her waist, then took her other hand in his, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Or ever. He felt completely content. As if he were in a place that he never wanted to leave and with a person he never wanted to stop talking to. He didn’t want to instruct this woman how to dance. He wanted to ask her about her childhood. What she did with her time in the country. How often she came to this meadow. Which composer was her favorite?
“At least I got the position right,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts.
He had been staring at her, and she seemed to be staring right back. Openly. As if she found him interesting. He found that he didn’t mind her inspection—it wasn’t like the women of the ton who inspected him for good teeth, the amount of his hair, and the size of his bank account.
What were they talking about? “You did get it right, the position right,” he said, fumbling over his words. “This is the right position after the gentleman leads you the dance floor.” He didn’t mind speaking to her, but he found that his words seemed to come out wrong. He exhaled. “There are three steps to a waltz. When I learned, the instructor counted out one, two, three.”
“Only three steps?” Miss Humphreys said, still looking into his eyes.
How did she do that? How did she make him feel like he wanted to touch the rose blush of her cheek or trace the softness of her gold-brown hair? “Yes, only three steps.”
Were they to talk of nothing else but how many steps in a waltz?
“Let’s begin,” he said, explaining how they would both step at the same time, yet he would step forward while she stepped back. After they survived a few jerky movements, they fell into a rhythm. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Should I hum, or should you?” she asked him.
Quinn laughed. “I think you should hum. You don’t want to hear my scratchy voice.”
“I think you have a nice voice, Lord Kenworth.”
He shook his head, smiling. She couldn’t know how he was a horrible singer, and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. It turned out he didn’t have to argue his point any further, because she started to hum.
Whatever she was humming, it wasn’t any composer he knew, but he wasn’t about to complain. Her voice was sweet and light, and if he allowed himself to close his eyes, he would fall into another world. He kept his eyes open because truthfully, the ground wasn’t all that even, and he didn’t want her to trip and then tumble into his arms.
They were close enough as it was, and Quinn was already having trouble keeping a proper distance. One part of his mind knew he was bewitched by the lazy, warm air, the scent of grass and flowers, the separation from all of his worries and concerns . . . The other part of his mind didn’t want to leave this meadow or this entrancing woman. He smiled to himself and then quickly learned that Miss Humphreys didn’t miss anything.
“Am I doing this wrong?” she asked. “Is that what you find so amusing?”
“Oh no,” he said. “You are becoming quite proficient. I was just thinking of the unexpectedness of our situation. Moments ago, I was walking my lame horse on a dirt road. Now, I’m dancing with a beautiful woman while she hums. You have a lovely voice.”
Miss Ellen Humphreys laughed. The sound went straight to Quinn’s heart, and he nearly stumbled.
“You are one of those accomplished flirts, aren’t you?” she said, her pale-green eyes sparkling like early-morning dew.
It was Quinn’s turn to laugh. “I do believe, Miss Humphreys, that the term ‘accomplished flirt’ is used to describe a woman.”
Her smile faltered. “Not a man? Oh dear, I’m showing my naivety about Society matters.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Quinn said, wanting the woman to smile again and hating that he’d caused her any distress. “I find you quite refreshing. Besides, I was telling the truth, not flirting.”
“Hmm,” she said, her cheeks growing even more rosy. “Thank you for the compliment, then. I apologize for doubting your sincerity, but I don’t think you can blame me.” She lifted her hand from where it had been resting on his shoulder. “As you can see, I don’t have many others to interact with and teach me good manners.”
Quinn looked about the meadow as if he were truly checking out their surroundings. Then he met her gaze again, hoping to coax a smile or another laugh out of her. “You are better for it,” he declared. “You might think the ballroom scene is somehow a magical thing, but I can tell you that it is tedious to the nines. Everyone is so formal, all conversations stiff, about the weather or horses. And if you say something wrong or wear something not up to the latest fashion, you are cruelly dismissed in the gossip columns.”
Miss Humphreys raised her perfectly arched brows, and Quinn wondered for a moment if she painted them. No, he decided, they looked quite natural.
“I should be a disaster in a ballroom, I fear,” she continued. “It’s one thing to imagine a grand ball in this meadow, and another to be surrounded by people such as yourself.”
“Such as myself?” he asked.
“You know,” she said. “A member of Society who fits in.” Her smile returned, but it was sad. “I will probably spend the rest of my life in this place. Caring for my mother. Seeing my brother and father only at holidays. Their business in London keeps them there most of the time.”
“Family is important,” Quinn said, wondering if he should confess more himself. Miss Humphreys had been so open and honest. He wasn’t used to it.
“Of course, I should not wish for the impossible,” she said.
“I suppose we all wish that from time to time.”
She smiled, and with her smile, another part of Quinn’s heart was touched. One deeper than before.
“Thank you for teaching me to waltz, Lord Kenworth. I will never forget it.” With that, she stepped out of his arms.
Quinn felt like a small child who’d just had his favorite blanket ripped out of his hands. “Is the dance over?” he asked, finding it hard to hide his disappointment, while wondering if he should be displaying his feelings so much.
“I must return home, and you must take care of your horse.”
She stood only a couple of feet from him, but he could still feel her warmth. “You are a practical woman, I see,” Quinn said. He was rewarded with another smile, this one a bit wistful. He didn’t know a woman could have so many different types of smiles.
“My mother and brother are waiting for me in London. My mother has been ailing of late, although I suspect she will make a swift recovery once I arrive. Perhaps . . .” He hesitated, unsure of what he was about to suggest. “Perhaps I’ll see you in a ballroom someday.”
She gave a small laugh, her eyes sparkling again. “I don’t think so. More likely you will come upon me in this very meadow again. Although, that would be quite a coincidence.”
“Indeed.” He didn’t move, didn’t turn to go. No, he was quite rooted to the ground.
He wasn’t s
ure who moved first. It might have been him. Or it might have been that she stepped forward first. But when she closed the short distance between them and rested her hands upon his shoulders, he should have known what was about to happen.
Chapter Five
Ellen had lost her mind. At least that was what went through her thoughts as she pressed her mouth against Quinn’s in a moment of insanity. She had taken it upon herself to kiss a man—a stranger—when she had never kissed a man before.
Lord Kenworth must have been surprised, although he did kiss her back, more ardently than she would have ever predicted. His hands went to her waist, and he pulled her so close that their bodies were flush, and Ellen could swear she felt his heart beating as rapidly as hers. He then proceeded to kiss her quite thoroughly—beyond any description she’d ever read in a book.
Eventually, they both had to catch their breath, and when his hold relaxed, Ellen stepped out of his arms. She couldn’t look at him after he released her. His rapid breathing met her own in pace, and this embarrassed her even more. She’d stirred up things between them and made a complete fool of herself. What he must think of her boldness. Surely not even an actress or dancer would be so audacious toward a stranger.
Face hot and legs quivering, she turned from Lord Kenworth and hurried across the meadow, away from him and away from the road. Then she started to run. She should have run a long time ago, but instead she’d flirted and waltzed with a stranger. Then she’d kissed him.
Heavens.
Kissing him had been like partaking of the most delicious dessert.
She thought she heard him call after her, but she couldn’t be sure over the pounding of her feet, the snapping of twigs, her labored breathing and frantic thoughts. If she stopped and faced him, that would only make things worse. She’d apologize; he’d apologize. And then what? They’d never see each other again, which was to be expected. They’d go their separate ways, both feeling guilty.
He was a member of the ton. She was a young woman who lived on a secluded country estate and had never even been to a Society event. She didn’t even know about his background, where he lived, who he was connected to. All she knew was that his mother was ailing, that he had a younger brother, and . . . Good heavens. He could be married.
Ellen nearly stumbled as she groaned. To all that was good and holy, she hoped she hadn’t just thrown herself at a married man. She reached the last line of trees before the sloping hill that led to her home and used the trunk of a tree to brace herself up. She scanned the area as if she expected a great change to have happened to the house and grounds. Everything looked the exact same. How could that be when Ellen felt like everything about her had completely changed?
Perhaps, she thought, perhaps Lord Kenworth had been accosted by country misses all the time. Perhaps he’d thought little of the kiss—maybe found it humorous, and that was all. Yet, even though Ellen tried to convince herself of that, she knew Lord Kenworth had definitely kissed her back. The way that his mouth had captured hers and the way that his arms had pulled her against him. She blushed again at the memory. Stronger than her boldness had been the way he’d responded.
It was clear that Lord Kenworth was an experienced man in the kissing department. Well, that made him a rake after all. Ellen lifted her head and straightened from the tree. No one but she and Lord Kenworth knew about the kiss anyway. She was certain that by the time he arrived at his destination in London, he wouldn’t give her a second thought. So she determined to do the same. From the moment she stepped foot in her house, she would completely forget there had ever been a Lord Kenworth in her meadow.
Ellen began to walk with determination toward her home. She made her way down the hillside and then around to the front of the house. This new Ellen wouldn’t skulk through the back door; no, she would enter the front door as any lady would do. If her mother found out that she’d been gone, or her governess noticed the late hour, then Ellen would face whatever the consequences might be. It wasn’t as if she had any pressing matters to attend to.
In the foyer, Ellen paused when she saw a tray with the day’s letters on the sideboard. Their housekeeper must not have delivered the letters to her mother yet. Ellen reached for the stack, noticing a familiar envelope that came every so often from her father’s widowed sister, Aunt Prudence. The woman was a busybody to say the least, and her opinions could never be countered. As the wife of the younger brother of a baron, she also believed that she’d been accepted into the top ranks of the ton.
But Ellen’s mother had clarified that although Aunt Prudence moved in some of the upper circles, it was only when they needed to even out their numbers. It was the one thing that Ellen agreed with her mother on. Ellen turned the letter over in her hand and scanned the elegant script addressed to her father.
What was she writing about, and why did she address it to the country home? Surely Aunt Prudence knew her brother was mostly in the London townhouse or even abroad.
The foyer was quiet, and although Ellen thought she heard a door shut on the second level of the house, she was quite alone. Who knew when her father would receive this letter, and what if it was urgent? Without thinking of what the consequences might be, Ellen broke the seal and pulled out the letter.
It took only moments of reading for Ellen to realize that the letter was about her. Yes, it was addressed to her father, but it concerned Ellen.
Dear Patrick,
It is with utmost urgency that I write to you about your daughter, Ellen. The other day, I realized that she had just had her eighteenth birthday and is not out yet. This will not do, Patrick. I know that wife of yours would turn her into a spinster given half the chance, but I cannot in good Christian conscience allow that to happen. I would like you to send her to me for the Season. I will make the appropriate introductions and secure her a good match. I know you have funds to provide a wardrobe, and it’s the least that you owe Ellen. I have told you this before, and I’ll tell you again, that this girl should not be tucked away in the country for the rest of her life. Who would she marry? The vicar’s pimple-faced son? I expect an immediate reply.
Your sister,
Prudence
Ellen read the letter a second time, making sure she didn’t miss any words. If this letter had arrived the day before, Ellen would have been ecstatic. She would have believed that she was the most fortunate girl alive. But, today, it was the worst thing she could imagine. For, if she went to London as she always dreamed of and entered the Society circles with her aunt as chaperone, Ellen would eventually run into him.
Lord Kenworth.
She could never see the man again. She couldn’t even take the chance of possibly running into him. She had ruined herself, and she couldn’t let another soul know about it.
Ellen slipped the letter back in its envelope and carried it to her bedroom. Thankfully, she didn’t encounter any of the servants, or her governess, on the way. So no one saw her slip the envelope beneath her pillow to be later burned when the evening fire was lit in her bedroom hearth.
It was a letter that needed to go astray, a letter that could never be read by either parent. Ellen, at the age of eighteen, had just forced her fate.
That evening, supper was a quiet affair. Ellen’s mother kept to her rooms, as always, and Ellen sat across the table from her governess, Miss Nebeker. The woman looked tired and wrung out, as if she’d had no sleep at all that afternoon. Her normally neat bun was falling out of its pins.
When Ellen noticed Miss Nebeker picking at her food, she said, “Are you feeling well?”
Miss Nebeker looked up, and Ellen was surprised to see the woman’s eyes fill with tears. “I feel poorly,” she said in a quiet voice. “I tried to sleep earlier, but I only tossed and turned.”
“Well, then you should go and rest,” Ellen said. “Should I send for the physician?” He was at their house often enough with her mother proclaiming she had one ailment after the other.
“I don’t think I�
�m as bad as that,” Miss Nebeker said. “I’ll just go lie down, thank you.”
Ellen shook her head after her governess left. The woman was at least fifteen years older than Ellen but sometimes acted like a much younger person. If one thing was certain, Ellen shouldn’t have been the one ordering the governess to go and rest. Shouldn’t her mother be doing that?
Now Ellen was picking at her own food. Eating alone was never favorable, and besides, her mood was becoming blue as she thought of all the things her mother should be doing. If her mother weren’t always in such hysterical spirits, could they have a congenial mother-daughter relationship? If only Ellen hadn’t kissed Lord Kenworth, then she wouldn’t be so against having a London Season.
She released a sigh. She’d made the right choice to hide her aunt’s letter, but it still hurt. Ellen had been mere hours away from redirecting her entire life, and she’d thwarted everything. Why did she have to kiss that man?
Chapter Six
“What’s going on with you?” Robert asked Quinn over supper.
Quinn looked up at his brother. “What do you mean?” They were dining together while their mother took her meal in her bedroom. She was feeling much better now and acting more cheery, but apparently dressing to eat in the austere dining room was still too much for her.
“Well . . .” Robert’s brown eyes filled with their usual amusement. “You keep smiling to yourself. As if you’re replaying a pleasant memory over and over in your mind.”
Quinn tried not to act surprised at how accurate his brother truly was. For he had been replaying a memory, an event, in his mind. An event that took place only three short days ago, though it seemed more like weeks. The memory of dancing in a country meadow with an enchanting woman.
Robert set down his fork on the china plate so that the plate rattled quite loudly. “Confess what you’re thinking of. It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 18
