A Gentleman For All Seasons

by Shana Galen, Vanessa Kelly, Kate Noble, Theresa Romain

  She was surrounded by people. Francesca, Miss Gage, Bertram, and Mrs. Clotworthy of course, but there were also Mrs. Frosham and her two sons, a pair of redheaded cousins from Tunbridge Wells who always competed over horses and women, and even a naval officer in his blue coat. Really, far too many men for Adam’s comfort. All standing around Belinda like a wall.

  Oh hell. Pinning her down was going to be even harder here than it had been the last three days.

  But he had to try.

  He elbowed his way through the room, nearly getting smacked by an enthusiastic quadrille dancer, before squeezing past the vicar and putting himself right next to Belinda.

  She looked lovely – bright-eyed, flushed with the success of the party. Her golden hair was pinned back with one long curl running over her shoulder, and a midnight blue silk made her skin glow. She was writing something in her dance card with neat little letters. He was so struck by finally being near to her, after days, he forgot what he was going to say for just a moment.

  But a moment was all it took for him to hear Belinda say, “thank you, Mr. Frosham, I would be delighted, but it looks like I have given the last of my dances away!”

  The younger Mr. Frosham looked pitifully downcast (as did his mother), but Adam was more alarmed. “Your dance card is full?” he blurted out. “Already?”

  The wall of people around them turned to look at him. He felt his face flaming, while Belinda went pale.

  “My apologies, Mr. Sturridge – Mr. Gage, you have my first two, and the music is beginning. Shall we?”

  As Bertram gave her his arm and lead her away, the rest of the circle, sending him looks ranging from amused to concerned, began to dissolve. Leaving Adam on the outside – again.

  He spent the next hour watching Belinda, hoping for an opening. But she proved to be as wily as a cat. When she wasn’t dancing, she would travel to the ladies’ retiring room with three other women – a fearful blockade against any man’s intentions. When the dancing was suspended so supper could be served, she was seated at the very opposite end of the table… a fact he shouldn’t be surprised by, as Belinda was the one who made the seating arrangements.

  He was beginning to worry that their few minutes in the woods were the only minutes they would ever spend together when, after dinner, he chose a very lucky chair.

  “Mr. Sturridge – what are you doing on wallflower row?”

  Adam started, turning to find Miss Georgie Gage two seats to his right, Mrs. Clotworthy beside her.

  “Wallflower row?” he asked. Aside from himself ,Miss Gage, and her lightly snoring companion, there was no one seated. Everyone else was on the dance floor.

  “Yes – Bertram doesn’t want me dancing too much. He’s afraid I’ll exhaust myself. So here I sit. Lonely, but now no longer alone.”

  “I would be happy to dance with you,” Adam replied. “And we can tell your brother to go hang.”

  Georgie smiled. “Thank you, but no. I enjoy watching people enjoy themselves… Miss Leonard is dancing with my brother again.”

  “I know,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “But then again, you knew that I knew that, didn’t you?”

  Miss Gage had the grace to blush. “Francesca told me you were upset by our interference.”

  “I was.”

  “Then I apologize. I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. But Bertram is always annoyed by my meddling.” An elbow landed squarely in her side. “Oof. And Mrs. Clotworthy, too.”

  “I was annoyed. But I am more annoyed by your abandoning of it.”

  She turned to him, incredulous. Even Mrs. Clotworthy seemed to wake up.

  “If you are intent on meddling –”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  “She is,” Mrs. Clotworthy answered.

  “Then meddle in my favor for once, and help me now.”

  She leaned in close, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “How?”

  Adam marched across the room, the crowds parting for him as if diving out of the way of a stampede. He was at Belinda’s side just as the first notes of the waltz began.

  Her back was to him, else she might not have let him so close. “Belinda,” he said.

  Her shoulders froze. Then, she rolled them back, and turned.

  “Mr. Sturridge.” She kept her head high, a tight smile on her features.

  “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked.

  “I… I would,” Belinda said politely. “But I’m afraid this dance is promised to –”

  She looked in her dance card, and frowned.

  “This waltz isn’t in your dance card, Belinda. It was only just added to the programme. It isn’t promised away.” He held out his hand to her.

  Held her eyes.

  “Dance with me. This time, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  * * *

  They took their places on the floor. No one else seemed to be thrown by the insertion of a random waltz into their carefully planned dancing order, and around them everyone began swirling in time to the music.

  So Belinda and Adam had little choice but to do the same.

  “I’m not going to bite you,” Adam said. “You can relax.”

  “I know that,” she replied, sharply.

  “Then perhaps put your hand on my shoulder?”

  “Oh.” She brought her hand up and placed it as lightly as possible on the broadcloth of his coat. Then, his right hand came to that warm spot at the base of her spine, and his left took her free hand in his.

  And then they were dancing.

  Oh, this would be so much easier if she didn’t have to touch him! If she couldn’t feel the heat of him through his coat. If she wasn’t practically vibrating beneath his hands. She was wearing gloves, for goodness sake. It wasn’t as if they were naked.

  And that thought caused her stumble ever so slightly.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, catching her and righting their steps before anyone could notice.

  “I’m fine. Fine.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you would know how to waltz by now.”

  “I do!” she replied. “I’ve been dancing all evening.”

  “I know you’ve been dancing. And going to the retiring room with thirty other women by your side. And running errands to Tunbridge Wells for three days. All to hide from me.”

  “I… I was not hiding,” Belinda replied. “I had a great deal to do for this party –”

  “Belinda. You know we must talk.”

  “Must we?” she replied. “I don’t think there’s anything to say, really.”

  He swung her into a turn, setting her heart racing. When her eyes came up to his, she didn’t see anger, or alarm. She only saw Adam.

  Oh, heavens. This was going to be harder than she thought.

  “We spoke, Mr. Sturridge.” She said, clearing her throat. “We spoke, and we… we perhaps said things that we’d both been thinking –”

  “Not just thinking. Feeling.”

  “—but now that those thoughts and emotions have been expressed, it’s over. It’s something that happened, but we need not dwell on it.” She put her chin up, looked down her nose at him. “You can go back to Scotland, and my life will be normal as ever.”

  He came to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone still swirling around them, judiciously stepping out of the way… and trapping Belinda in with Adam.

  He didn’t let go of her. He didn’t step back. He just let his hand slide out of hers, and lightly caressed it down the length of her glove, finding her skin just above the elbow.

  “No,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  His fingers burned indelible marks into her skin. She couldn’t look away from that hand. But she had to – it was too much. She let her eyes slide to the other dancers, and saw that they we are all spinning, and whispering… and looking at her.

  “Adam,” she said, her face burning. “We can’t… I can’t…”

  His voice
was a low rumble in her ear. “Why not?”

  “I…” There was no answer to give. She was in the middle of the dance floor in the Friar’s House while the entire town of Hemshawe watched. “I can’t be here anymore.”

  She pulled back, and nimbly ducked beneath dancing partners, fleeing the room. And she knew without turning back that Adam was right on her heels.

  “Belinda,” he said, as they passed from the main room into one of the corridors.

  “Why can’t you just be mean to me?” she shot back, her eyes threatening tears – which would just be horrid.

  “Mean to you?” he asked, half a step behind her.

  “Yes. Can’t you just make a trite remark about my dress or the party, and I can make a snide reply and everything will be normal?”

  “No,” he said. “I can’t. I won’t let you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend. I won’t let you pretend there was nothing between us. That there is nothing between us.”

  Why couldn’t he understand? She had been prepared to meet him here tonight. She knew she could not avoid him entirely. So she would act cold and standoffish, and in turn he would be sarcastic and brittle, and that she could handle. She knew all the steps of that dance. But this Adam – being gentle with her, and open, yet still standing firm… this Adam was an unknown. And she had no strategy for how to fight against him.

  “I just… oh hang it! I cannot think with you here,” she cried, turning down another corridor.

  If only she could get away. Away from him, away from here, away from people. But every time she turned a corner there were party guests, or servants, or couples hiding in corners. There was no space to even breathe!

  As if sensing her discomfort Adam took her arm, whispering “come with me,” before guiding her into a new hallway, one that was vaguely familiar.

  Belinda barely caught a glimpse of overheated monks on their knees before Adam swung the painting back, and pulled her into the dark beyond it.

  The very dark.

  “I can’t see a thing,” she said, feeling the walls and praying Georgie had thought to have the secret passages cleaned before the party.

  Although, from what she could tell, it wasn’t really a passage, as Adam had previous described. It was more of a niche… an honest-to-goodness priest hole.

  And as her hands crossed from cold stone to Adam’s warm frame, she discovered it was a decidedly small one.

  “I’m not here,” he said.

  “I beg to differ,” she replied.

  “No, I mean… you can’t think when you’re around me? I have the same problem. So, pretend I’m not here. You cannot see me. You are alone.” He took a deep breath. “So tell me what is wrong.”

  “Nothing is wrong.”

  “You would lie even to yourself?” he asked, the smirk evident in his voice.

  “All right then,” she said, letting all artifice fall away. There was no use for it in the dark. “We kissed, Adam. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “You think it was wrong? It felt very right to me.”

  “Of course it’s wrong! Does it make any sense to you? Any sense at all that you and I would be kissing in the woods?”

  “It didn’t make much sense before it happened,” he admitted. “But afterward it made all the sense in the world.” She could feel him stepping closer. “Like a puzzle piece that was turned the wrong way. Turn it around and everything clicks into place.”

  She felt herself turning like that puzzle piece, shifting ever so slightly to match him.

  No. She shook her head ruthlessly. Not allowed.

  “It’s too strange,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, and disconcertingly grazing his coat.

  “Too strange…” he mused. “You mean, too different?”

  “Yes!” she cried. “This isn’t fair, you know. Everything was normal and fine and then suddenly little birdies named Georgie and Francesca dropped hints in our ears that we are in love with each other, and suddenly I’m supposed to be in love with you. And I don’t know how to do that and I don’t even know if I want to!” She felt like everything was spilling out of the center of her chest, but she dare not stop it. “Is that too much to ask that I have some small say in my life? My parents died when I was nine and everything changed. Since then I have worked very hard to arrange things very much how I like them. And now you want to change it and I…”

  Her voice died, and silence echoed in its place. The dim noise from partygoers walking up and down the hall was drowned out by the beating of her own heart. By the painful weight of her confession.

  “Things have already changed between us,” he finally whispered. “It happened a long time ago. And it wasn’t one big shift. It wasn’t Georgie and Francesca. It happened an inch at a time, over years. It just took us this long to see the road we had traveled clearly.

  “I knew you were scared,” he said. “But I couldn’t figure out why you would be scared of me. God knows, if I had upset you in some way, you would have taken my head off with a single set down. But I didn’t realize until now that you have been scared for the last fourteen years.”

  His hand found that loose tendril of her hair, and he lightly wound it around his finger. Her eyes lifted, searching the dark for his face.

  “You were scared when we first met, because you were new to the neighborhood and your parents had died, and you wanted to be liked and needed friends, and I mistook it for being a bossy know-it-all. You were scared of not being taken seriously at your first ball. You were scared when I left for war, and even more scared when I came back. And you were scared when we kissed.”

  She his hand lifted from her hair to the line of her jaw. Her arms, crossed over her chest, fell to her sides.

  “You’re afraid of what will happen if we let things change. But Belinda, I’m afraid of what will happen if we don’t.”

  And then… he couldn’t say anything more. Because somehow, his lips had found hers in the dark.

  Or was it the other way around? Belinda didn’t know. All she knew was that comfortable uncomfortableness, that delightful drugging settled over her skin and she didn’t want to think anymore. Her mind surrendered to the dark, and her body took over. And her body only wanted to feel.

  It acted against every good objection her mind might have offered. Her arms came up, wrapped themselves around his neck. Her fingers found their way into his hair. Her breasts, entirely of their own volition, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest.

  His hands pulled her to him, traveled up and down the length of her back, smoothing the silk. Gathering it in his hand. The cool air danced against her calf, then her thigh. Then his touch warmed her there.

  And her body wanted nothing more than to let him explore. And to explore in turn.

  There was a desperation to him, banked by what must have been an iron will. But as they teased each other with little bites and exploring fingers, some of that will must have crumbled because there was one thing he could not hold back.

  “I love you.”

  He whispered the words into her ear, and they floated into her brain. They echoed there, waking up her mind like a kernel of light, growing and expanding, showing the little priest hole – and what they were doing in it – in all its garishness.

  She froze. Her mind panicked. That wasn’t what she wanted. That was too much at once – too uncontrollable.

  His mouth lifted from her neck as he felt her still. “Belinda?” His voice was hoarse with want.

  “I… I’m sorry.” She said, quickly disentangling herself from him.

  Then she threw open the painting, shining harsh light into the little room, and ran.

  Again.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  “There you are, Bel! We’ve been waiting ages!”

  Belinda blinked as she entered Croftburr’s front parlor. Her uncle sat across from Francesca and Georgie, who were all enjoying morning tea, complete with sc
ones and sandwiches enough to stuff a regiment.

  Although, was it even morning anymore? Belinda glanced at the mantle clock… good heavens, was that the time?

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked out, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. “I overslept.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” Georgie cajoled. “What with last night’s excitement.”

  “Excitement?” her voice cracked again.

  “The party, of course!” her uncle laughed. “You really are fog-brained today, aren’t you, Bel?”

  Yes, she was fog-brained. But not because of the party. She’d actually left the party somewhat early, claiming a headache once she returned to the ballroom and making her way to the carriages. Her uncle had left an hour earlier, so she had deftly avoided him when she arrived home, and tiptoed up to her room.

  Where she laid awake.

  For hours.

  Her mind and body remained at war – the former wanting to understand why the latter had betrayed every good intention she had regarding Adam Sturridge, and the latter needing sleep.

  She spent far too much time cringing into her pillow and rehashing every single word, and touch, and moment that occurred in the dark of that priest hole. Dawn was lighting the sky before her exhaustion finally won and she drifted to a fitful sleep.

  And now, having woken late and decidedly irked that the new day did not bring her wondrous clarity, she had to face her uncle hosting her friends for tea.

  “I suppose I am fog-brained,” she replied, seating herself in the chair opposite her uncle as Francesca played host and poured her a cup of tea. “And you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t recall us having planned to meet today.”

  “Only you would think we came because we had a committee meeting!” Francesca laughed.

  “We are here because I am distributing last night’s leftovers to the neighborhood,” Georgie said. “Cook made about twice as much food as even my staff could eat, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  “I thought it delightful!” Francesca added. “She stopped at Sturridge Manor first, and I decided to join her on her mission. I was more than happy to get out of the house too – what with Adam turning the place upside down in his haste.”