The warmth of their earlier shared moment was nothing to the blazing heat that rushed through her as she lay sprawled over his big body. Through layers of wool, she sensed his strength. He was all hard physicality in contrast to her own softness. She was intensely aware that he was a man and wouldn’t have been astonished if steam rose from her damp clothing.
“I told you before, Robina. You are most surely not a child.” The timbre of his voice made her shiver, but not with cold. She had a mad urge to kiss him on the lips and see what he would do. Though very likely they wouldn’t notice, the presence of three noisy boys deterred her.
And Sybilla Herbert. “Wyatt!” The woman had quite a strong voice when she wanted to make herself heard, as she did now, from the terrace next to the house. “I need you, Wyatt. What happened?”
Carbury swore mildly, and before he could push her off, Robina scrambled away and staggered to her feet.
“An accident, Sybilla,” he said, standing up and brushing the snow from his front. How could he remain calm while her heart threatened to burst? “Don’t come down. It’s slippery.”
“I have no intention of stepping out another foot,” she said. “I wanted to let you know that Nolly is waiting to speak to you in the library.”
“I’ll be in immediately.” He turned to Robina. “You should come in too and get out of those wet clothes.”
“Please do, Miss Weston,” Mrs. Herbert said. “I want to ask your opinion about my gown for the ball.”
That was a surprise. Robina was sure her hostess had seen her from the window and rushed out to break up anything developing between her and Carbury. Since she could have left Robina out with the boys, she must have something to say, and the odds were it had nothing to do with assembly finery.
Carbury looked pleased. “I’m sure Robina will give you excellent advice.” They went in together, and he made a little fuss about removing her cloak and bonnet. Sometimes it was nice to be fussed over.
“She’s quite dry underneath,” Mrs. Herbert said. “Come with me now.” She almost pushed Robina toward the stairs while gifting Carbury with an enticing smile. “I look forward to displaying the results of our consultations.”
It was a lovely gown, lavishly trimmed with embroidery, seed pearls, and lace, the muted colors of lavender and dove gray the sole concession to the lady’s widowhood. But then it was clear to Robina that Sybilla’s mourning was no more than conventional at this point. She was after fresh game, and the only question was whether she would bag it. Robina’s advice was not required, only her admiration.
“What shall you wear, Miss Weston? I fear you may not have anything suitable. I’d lend you one of mine, but they would all be too small for you. My figure hasn’t altered by an inch since I was a girl, so I am able to order all my clothes from London without any fittings. I expect you are used to Yorkshire dressmakers.”
“Thank you for your kind offer,” Robina said, “but though we are of similar height, I am larger in the bosom.” She rather envied Mrs. Herbert’s slender grace, but wild horses wouldn’t make her admit it.
“Wyatt called me a sylph when we drove out together yesterday.”
“How unlike Lord Carbury.”
Sybilla simpered. “He’s not a man who is free with compliments but when we are alone together, he is quite affectionate.”
Though tending to doubt the lady’s word, which she suspected was an invention inspired by hope, Robina couldn’t help feeling a little pique. He certainly never complimented her, even when proposing marriage.
“This is very awkward, dear Miss Weston, and I don’t quite know how to say it.” Alarms rang in Robina’s head at the utterly insincere endearment. “It would be perfectly acceptable for you to excuse yourself on the grounds that you do not possess a ball dress.”
“But I do,” Robina said, indignation fighting amusement at such tactics.
“That is not my meaning. The assembly has been moved to Mrs. Carrington’s house, and she is a very proper and elegant woman, and her house is very fine. Not only that, the Duke of Oxthorpe will be present, and it may be embarrassing to you, given your status, to mix in exalted company.”
“Thank you, but I think I would like to go.” She affected some of Sybilla’s sham drama. “I shall sit in a corner and observe my betters. For such a low creature as I, it will be a sufficient treat to be present.”
The sharp look this flight garnered told her she might have gone too far. “If you insist. I don’t suppose you will dance, unless Carbury asks you out of duty. He has engaged me for the first set, of course.”
“As is his duty to his hostess.”
But he hadn’t asked Robina to dance, even though he’d had a perfect opportunity when making remarks about moonlight. Not romantic walks by moonlight but safe travel. How could a man manage to make moonlight dull?
And yet they’d had a moment this morning. Two, if she counted lying on top of his supine body, and she was inclined to do so. She resolved to be the belle of the ball and dance every dance to spite Sybilla. And if it had the effect of making Wyatt take notice, so much the better.
Chapter Eight
‡
Robina had never been anything approaching a belle at the local balls in Yorkshire. Not that she was a wallflower, because she knew everyone and never lacked for partners. But the young men were those she’d known all her life—like Wyatt—and they tended to look on her as a dashed good sort of girl, almost as good as a fellow. She lacked the delicate beauty of the young ladies that received offers. And of course everyone knew that her profligate father’s estate was entailed and there’d be precious little left for her.
When she had arrived in London and confided to her godmother that Carbury intended to offer for her, Mrs. Madsen had been thrilled at the match. She’d spent the best part of three months planning a grand betrothal ball, and that meant Robina must have a new gown for the occasion. Although the occasion never arose, the gown was made, and Robina knew she looked her best in the sage green silk. It was every bit as fashionable as Sybilla Herbert’s ensemble and, in her humble opinion, far more tasteful. Her hostess was showing a lot of bosom. Or as much as she was able, Robina thought unkindly.
Sybilla’s face when Robina joined the assembly party in the hall made up for a sea of aggravations. Carbury’s was even better. He was struck dumb, judging by the way his mouth fell open and a faint croaking noise emerged from his throat but not a single word.
“I say, Miss Weston, you look splendid.” Fairly stunned by Wyatt’s black coat and satin knee breeches molded to his figure, she hadn’t even noticed that Nolly was there too, boyishly attractive though less perfect in evening dress.
“Very nice,” Sybilla said, scanning her from silk slippers upward and obviously searching for flaws. “I’m so glad I sent my maid to help you dress.” Strictly speaking, that was true, in that the inexperienced housemaid who had laced her stays and buttoned her gown was a household employee. Sybilla’s trained dresser hadn’t set foot in Robina’s room, and it was fortunate that she was accustomed to arranging her own hair.
Carbury nodded approvingly. “Very good of you, Sybilla. Robina looks lovely.”
A compliment! But was it for her or Sybilla?
Sybilla held out her hand to him with a graceful flourish and smiled coyly. Even a man as little given to pretty gestures as Carbury couldn’t miss the message. “You are always elegant,” he said and kissed her hand. Robina wished it were proper for gentlemen to kiss the hands of unmarried ladies.
“Let me help you into your wrap.” He was looking at Robina, but Sybilla quickly thanked him, and he could do nothing but take the velvet and fur cloak from the waiting butler. Robina distinctly saw her lean back into Carbury’s chest as he placed it around her shoulders.
Robina put on her own cloak, the sturdy all-purpose garment she traveled and walked in. Sybilla talked without cease during the drive to Carrington Close, describing in exhaustive detail the activities of the
Christmas assembly committee. She moved on to a list of everyone who would be there, reminding Carbury of every local worthy of his acquaintance and cutting out Robina, who naturally knew nobody. Nolly leaned back in the corner, looking bored.
The dancing was about to start when they arrived, and Sybilla demanded Carbury’s hand, leaving Robina forlorn. She raised her chin and admired the decorations with their plentiful use of mistletoe. Nolly, showing a glimpse of social tact, aroused himself to ask Robina to stand up with him.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Herbert.” She could hardly keep from smiling at his lack of enthusiasm. “Are you very fond of dancing?”
“Mama made me come. And I wish you would call me Nolly. I’m not much one for females, but you’re quite decent for a girl.”
They took their places in line, and she noticed a number of the male dancers were on the young side. “There are a good many men of your age or thereabouts here.”
“Our mothers make us. They’re on the committee.”
“Oh?”
“There are always too many females at these affairs and not enough fellows to dance with them.”
“You’re in good company, then.”
“Many of my friends are here, and we’d have a splendid time if we didn’t have to dance.”
“That is the point of a ball, after all.”
“I know, and it’s a rotten shame. Now I’d better pay attention, or I’ll step on your toes.”
As they went through the movements of the country dance, Robina was treated to a sotto voce commentary on the general awfulness of the occasion. She supposed that she was flattered to be excluded from the wholesale condemnation of the Ladies’ Assembly Committee and all its works. Confirming that she had been appointed an honorary youth, he offered to lead her to the punch bowl at the end of the set and introduce her to some of the fellows. “They all want to hear about the New Sheriff of Nottingham.”
Carbury, with Sybilla on his arm, was at the other end of the ballroom. Perhaps he’d follow her to the refreshment table and request the next dance. Surrounded by youths who pelted her with questions about the highwayman, she kept an eye on the couple. Instead of separating and moving on to new partners, they occupied a settee partly shielded by a large orange tree, absorbed in conversation.
“No, I didn’t see his face,” she said as she watched them. They made a striking couple, their heads close, Sybilla’s gloved hand white against Carbury’s dark sleeve. “He was of average height, and I’m afraid there was nothing distinguished about him at all.”
“How splendid if we could catch him,” one of the young men said. She listened with only half an ear. The fact that Sybilla Herbert might catch Wyatt suddenly seemed a real and intolerable possibility. Why else was he sitting out the second set with her instead of dancing with someone else? Why wasn’t he dancing with her?
“What was that, Nolly?” she said. “Thank you, I will take another glass of punch.” She downed it in a single draught, and whatever was in it lifted her into a state of desperate gaiety. She had neither right nor reason to expect Wyatt would pay her special attention. She might feel they’d become closer in the last couple of days but on slender evidence. When she turned down Wyatt, she’d left him free to wed anyone else. If Sybilla Herbert was his choice, she wished him to be very happy with her.
Truly.
As for her, she’d catch the stagecoach tomorrow and celebrate Christmas by beginning her life as companion to Lady Halston, a kind and charming person beneath her somewhat gruff exterior.
Truly.
And now she would dance the night away with every man who asked her. She hoped some of them would be older than eighteen so she could demonstrate to Carbury that other men found her attractive.
*
After his first duty dance with Sybilla, Wyatt intended to stand up with Robina, as often as was proper and even more. In truth, he had it in mind to be her partner for most of the evening. First, he had to find Sybilla a drink, but when he returned with two glasses of punch, snatched from the tray of a convenient footman, she patted the settee beside her.
“I need a word with you,” she said.
“Can’t it wait?” When she responded with an injured moue, he repressed a sigh and resolved to escape as soon as good manners permitted. For the first time in his life, duty and courtesy seemed an intolerable burden.
“You haven’t told me about your talk with Nolly.”
He didn’t see why this couldn’t wait till morning, but at least he could reassure her. “Nolly isn’t even remotely interested in Miss Wattles. He laughed when I suggested it. You may set your mind at rest.”
“But where does he go? He’s always disappearing.”
“He wouldn’t tell me, but I’m sure it’s some harmless boyish mischief with his friends.” He looked across the room where Nolly stood in the middle of chattering youths. Robina looked beautiful and animated. The boys were listening to what she had to say with every evidence of fascination. He envied them and felt old and staid again.
“Wyatt!”
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I told you before, the lad is bored.”
“The younger boys need him.”
“Nonsense. They’ll be back at school in a few weeks.”
“I need him. I cannot be all alone here without a man’s company.”
“That’s easily solved. You will go to London for the Season. Have you thought of marrying again? You’re an attractive woman.”
“Oh Wyatt!”
What? To his amazement, she laid her hand on his sleeve and stroked him.
“I knew I couldn’t be mistaken in your intentions, in all your kindnesses since dear Ernest died.”
The back of his neck prickled with acute discomfort. “I’m only doing my duty to my cousin’s family,” he said stiffly.
“It’s more than that. A woman can always tell.”
This woman was severely mistaken. He’d always thought Sybilla a fool, but he hadn’t realized she was weak in the head. “I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to give you the wrong idea, but I am nothing more than the boys’ guardian. After all, Nolly will eventually inherit the earldom if I don’t have a son.” His plans definitely included the possibility of progeny, and Nolly was likely to be out of luck.
The wide blue eyes spelled determination and trouble. “If Nolly had a father, naturally I would defer to him. To my husband, I mean. I was always an obedient wife.”
He didn’t want an obedient wife. He wanted a wife who argued with him without artifice, who challenged him and teased him and made him laugh. A wife he wanted so much he’d hurry home from a late session in the House rather than waste the night plotting and scheming with his fellow members. A wife with an independent spirit and the courage of a lion who would wed him because she loved him and for no other reason. He wanted a wife he loved back. And that woman was dancing with another man (all right, boy), while he was stuck in a corner listening to utter drivel from a female who would drive him to distraction within a week. Or an hour.
“We would be perfect together. Ernest always said you didn’t mean to marry, but your position requires a wife. A lady of birth and connections who can act as hostess and assist you in your career. There are many calls on your time, and I could help you.”
She had a point. He’d been blind all these years to believe he was better off alone. Now that he welcomed a particular marriage, he could see the advantages of the institution.
“Say something, Wyatt. I have opened my heart to you, and you are silent.”
Though he doubted her heart was at risk, he saw that she had exposed herself to embarrassment by virtually proposing marriage to him. He had to find a tactful way of refusing her. Her eyes shone ominously, and he felt all the dread of a man about to be involved in a public scene. The idea of explaining away an attack of the vapors made him shudder with horror. Robina would never have put him in
such an invidious position. Sybilla had no compunction about invoking the tyranny of the weak.
He patted her hand in what he hoped was a cousinly fashion. “This is neither the time nor place for this conversation. Let us talk about it in the morning. Since you are dancing this evening, I’m sure all your friends and admirers will want to stand up with you. I see Squire Hungerford looking at you. Let me take you to him.”
By the time he’d settled her with the red-faced local magistrate, Robina had found another partner and was passing down the line of a country dance with a good deal of esprit. Corralled into standing up with a wallflower, he was placed in a different group of eight and couldn’t even have the pleasure of touching her hand in passing. Before he could reach her for the next, she was partnered by another fellow, slightly older than most of Nolly’s friends. The callow young man flirted with her outrageously, and she encouraged him.
*
A stern matron, doubtless a member of the infamous committee, had broken up the youthful group, commanding them all to mind their manners and find partners at once. Several of them competed for Robina’s hand, a twenty-five-year-old almost old maid who had actually seen the New Sheriff of Nottingham being a far more desirable partner than a dewy maiden in white muslin whom they’d known all their lives. The next few dances passed in an energetic whirl of heys, poussettes, and promenades fortified by sips of punch.
Carbury’s tête-à-tête with Sybilla was over, for now, though he stood up with her once more, as well as with two or three young ladies who appeared gratified by his attention and a Miss Houston, a very forward young woman whom Robina wouldn’t trust alone with a lame grandfather. Of course he was a graceful dancer. Ballroom prowess was a skill possessed by every gentleman, and he did everything properly. She wondered what it would be like to waltz with him.
A country dance brought them together, and they joined hands for an all-too-brief moment. “Are you quite well, Robina? You are flushed.”
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