“Lord Davenshire? He’s not at all haughty. He’s actually rather nice,” Miss A informed me.
Regardless of semantics, Lord Davenshire was very cute. And tall. And he was shooting me sexy little glances. Which I watched Hartley notice. And then Hartley grabbed a flask from his coat and knocked back something that made him grimace.
“And that’s Mr. Powell who has just joined them,” Miss B said with a sigh. “He promised to call on my family tomorrow. I do so hope he does.”
I nearly laughed out loud but managed not to. Some things didn’t change. Oh, the actual method and technology would, but in the twenty-first century women would still be hoping that men would call.
It was time for the dancing to begin, and Hartley, with his two companions in tow, joined our group and made the introductions, even though it seemed to pain him to do so.
Lord Davenshire was even better looking up close. He bent low over my hand. “I am especially pleased to make your acquaintance.” One of the Alphabet Girls behind me giggled, but I had to admit, he was pretty swoonworthy. “Because I had hoped to claim you for the first dance.”
I paused, waiting for Hartley to interject. Would he ask me? I wanted him to ask me.
But he didn’t.
“Yes, Lord Davenshire, I would be honored to dance with you.” He offered me his hand and led me out onto the dance floor. I caught a glimpse of Charles’s triumphant expression and watched Hartley guzzle from his silver flask like his liver was on fire. He should have asked one of the girls we’d left behind to dance, but he didn’t. Which was rude.
If Hartley was going to sulk in the corner and drink, he could have at it. The music began, and I curtsied to Lord Davenshire as he bowed to me, just before we stepped forward, circling around each other without touching.
Screw it. Even if magic had been involved, I was going to dance and have my Cinderella moment, and Hartley wasn’t going to ruin it for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
Alcoholics Anonymous
The ball seemed to consist mainly of old guys in powdered wigs (trying to score on pale young chicks), some warm lemonade, and lots of fun dancing. I had one partner after another, but Hartley never once asked me to dance. He didn’t dance with anyone. Which was rude. He stood against a wall, glowering and getting progressively drunker from his flask.
At one point I asked him how he still had alcohol in it, because it was like Mary Poppins’s carpetbag. “Lord Davenshire smuggled in a good deal of rum. And I’ve discovered that time flies when you’re having rum.” He lifted his flask in salute before taking another swig. “Besides, what is a ball without alcohol?”
“Still a ball, only with less vomiting later.”
The Duchess of Warfield came to claim me, and I spent the rest of the evening either dancing or sitting with her and being the center of attention of almost every partygoer. No matter what anyone said, the duchess would ask my opinion on it and then beam at me like some proud parent regardless of my response. I got the feeling I could have said, “Purple pandas pop pilfered prunes,” and she still would have acted like I was some sort of witty genius. She was very kind.
I danced with everyone who asked. Even when I didn’t want to. But not a single partner, not a single dance, could even begin to compare to the private waltz I’d had with Hartley in his ballroom. The music slowed to an end, and my dance with the bald, fat, sweaty man across from me was finally over, and I couldn’t have been more relieved. I curtsied, probably more deeply than I should have, and felt someone at my elbow. For a moment I hoped it was Hartley, but it was a servant. “He wishes to see you, miss. In the gaming room.”
Before I could ask what that meant, the servant was gone. My heart sped up. It had to be Hartley. I was escorted back to Charles and the duchess, but I quickly excused myself and headed toward one of the open doors. Charles had mentioned that there was usually a room set up for gaming, but tonight it wasn’t being used. It all felt so romantic and mysterious.
But it wasn’t Hartley who waited for me in the darkened room. It was George Godwin. That guy Hartley hated because of his dead fiancée.
“Ugh. Not even.” I turned around to leave, not interested in anything this jerk had to say, but he was quicker than I would have imagined as he grabbed my upper arm, yanking on me hard and whirling me back toward him.
I yelped, but he clamped a hand over my mouth. “Running off before you even hear what I have to say? That’s not very polite, is it?”
Not polite? I’d show him not polite. I bit down on his hand as hard as I could.
Now he was the one to yelp, jerking away and pushing me at the same time. I could taste blood in my mouth, so I was careful not to look at his hand. I couldn’t afford to faint now. After a string of curse words, he said, “Who do you think you are?”
“I think I’m the girl who’s going to put you in your place.” And I went into full-on self-offense mode. My self-defense instructor would have been proud as I stomped on the instep of Mr. Godwin’s foot and then brought my knee up, hard, in the spot where it counts.
He bent over, moaning. Then I punched him, connecting with his nose. He fell to the ground. My hand was throbbing, but it had been totally worth it. “No means no. I don’t know why what’s-her-face ever chose you over him. Hartley is a thousand times more of a man and a gentleman than you’ll ever be.”
Turning to leave, I ran into a masculine chest. For a frantic moment I worried that George Godwin had backup, and so I nearly fainted with relief when I saw it was Hartley. “Aunt Charles said it was time to go. Something about leaving them wanting more.” He said it while wobbling slightly from one foot to the other. “Do you need me to take care of this situation?”
I wasn’t sure Hartley could manage taking off his own boots, let alone trying to get into a fight with someone who was stupid, but still sober. “I’ve already handled Downton Grabby. Let’s get out of here.”
Hartley swayed to one side, and I reached out to help him, but he straightened up. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
We went back through the ballroom; I knew Charles would have already said our goodbyes, and it wasn’t long until we had retrieved our overcoats and were standing out front with Charles, waiting for the carriage to pull up. I again noticed that Hartley seemed to have a hard time standing still. “How much alcohol did you drink?”
“All of it,” he replied with a wink.
Maybe it wasn’t too bad if he could still make jokes. “You’re going to be in big trouble once your aunt realizes how drunk you are.”
“I’ve been in trouble since the moment I met you.”
I had only a moment to ponder what that was supposed to mean before the front doors flew open and George Godwin waddled out. “I am not finished with you!” He pointed at me and started hobbling toward me.
Hartley intervened and punched him in the face before he could reach me, then let out a sigh of relief, as if he’d been waiting all night to do just that. I was about to tell him I could take care of myself when Mr. Godwin reared back and hit Hartley in the face, knocking him to the ground. “Hartley!” I gasped.
I was torn—part of me wanted to make sure he was okay, and the other part of me wanted revenge. My adrenaline demanded the second option.
Before I could react, Charles was beating on Godwin with her walking cane. “How dare you attack a man so deep in his cups? Have you no honor?”
He grabbed the walking stick and then wielded it like a sword, like he was planning on attacking Charles! I wasn’t going to let that happen. I tapped him on the shoulder, and when he spun around, I kicked him in the same spot as earlier. He might never have children, but that was not my problem. He dropped the cane and with a loud moan fell to the ground near the front steps. George Godwin had a murderous look in his eyes, but the arrival of our carriage and all those male servants who ran over to the sidewalk to assist us seemed to deter him.
&
nbsp; I knelt down next to Hartley, who smiled up at me. “I thought I did rather well in that fight.”
“Yep. I saw the way your face hit his fist. Come on.” Along with a couple of footmen, we helped him get back up on his feet while Godwin snuck back inside. There was some discussion among Hartley’s servants about what had just happened to their lord, but I was focused on making sure that Hartley was all right.
Charles had gone over to our ride and returned with a concerned expression. “It appears that Princess has fallen ill and regurgitated her dinner all over the inside of the carriage. I will travel home with her, and there will be another carriage along shortly to take you back.”
She was going to ride home in the Vomit Comet? She was a better woman than I. Hartley only barely stayed upright. I wondered how hard he had hit his head. I must have said out loud the unkind things I was thinking about what Godwin deserved.
Charles laid one hand on my forearm. “You’ve no need to worry about Mr. Godwin receiving his due. One of the tigers located his carriage and made some adjustments to the straps. One good pull by his team and they will all break.”
The thought of him being stranded made me want to laugh, but Charles looked very serious. “And what, you disapprove?” I asked.
She peered down her nose at me. “Disapprove? Good heavens, no. Who do you think gave Jeremy the knife and the idea? I will see you at home.”
Then I did laugh. I couldn’t help it. Even if Hartley was leaning against me like I was a brick wall. Charles waved to me with Princess in her lap, who looked suspiciously fine. The supposedly sick dog barked once at me, her tail wagging.
As promised, another carriage showed up to take us home. I climbed in, having to help Hartley get in. I was totally out of breath by the time it was over. I had wanted to tell Hartley about what Charles had done, but I realized that he was passed out, leaning against the interior wall. He looked adorable. Sleep erased all the hardness and cynicism from his face, and he looked . . . sweet. Beautiful. Right up until he let out a loud snore, which shattered the whole effect and made me giggle.
It wasn’t too long before we were back home. The driver helped me get Hartley up to the door, and I had to open it myself. Which was surprising, especially given that I’d never done it before. Charles didn’t have that much of a head start on us. Where was everyone? Hartley was still propped against me like some kind of life-size Ken doll.
Usually I couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a footman, but the mansion felt deserted. What was going on? I called out for Stephens. Tommy or Jamie. There was no response. Only silence. Looked like it was all up to me. “Come on, Sir Drinks-A-Lot. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He was unbelievably heavy, and I wasn’t strong enough to support him. I nudged him with my elbow, hoping he would shift some of his weight. “You’re too old to be this drunk,” I told him. “I thought people outgrew this once they got out of college.”
“Every man at the ball was flirting with you,” he growled, as if that explained it. “And you were flirting and dancing with them.”
Was Hartley jealous? Was that why he’d gotten so hammered? My heart beat unsteadily at this new tidbit of information. He was being so honest it felt like I should return the favor. “That was only to make you a little crazy.”
“Behold your success.” He suddenly grabbed me and twirled me around. “Would you like to dance, Emma?”
Some part of my brain registered that he was calling me Emma instead of Miss Blythe. It had only taken him getting fall-down drunk for that to happen. “No, I wouldn’t like to dance. What I would like is to get you into bed.”
He pulled me close against him, holding me in place. “I have no objection to that, my darling girl.”
My pulse flailed wildly at his implication, and I had to put some distance between us. I shrugged off his arms and stepped back. “No, I meant . . . never mind. You’re too drunk to understand.”
The look in his eyes was predatory, intense. “A man is never too drunk to understand that.”
His words made me shiver and my stomach do flip-flops, but I decided to ignore it. With a loud sigh, I shrugged off my coat, leaving it on a table. I walked behind Hartley and helped tug his off, too. “Come on.”
He put an arm around my shoulder as we went upstairs, but it didn’t seem like it was entirely necessary. He probably could have gone up under his own steam but for some reason didn’t want to. I didn’t complain, as I liked being this close to him. “You called me Emma earlier. I thought you weren’t allowed to call me Emma.”
“I’m not.” He took in a deep breath, and for a moment I wondered if he’d been smelling me. “Emma.”
The sound of my name on his lips did weird things to me. I had wanted it for so long, and here he was, finally saying it. And it was sending little thrills of delight all through me.
“Are you trying to provoke me?” It was the only logical explanation I could come up with.
“I do like provoking you. I like discovering what unexpected thing you’ll say next.”
He had to show me which room was his, and I realized it wasn’t actually all that far away from mine. I opened the door, and we nearly fell inside, with him adjusting his weight at the last moment to prevent that from happening. I helped him over to his bed, where he sat down with a sigh.
“Don’t you have some guy who like lives in your closet and helps you get undressed?” I looked around, hoping he would appear.
“My valet? Yes. I have a valet.” I liked the way he said the word, pronouncing the T at the end.
I pulled on the bell, hoping said valet, whose existence had been verified, would show up soon. We waited a few minutes in silence. Even if all the servants had mysteriously disappeared, at least someone had made sure to set a roaring fire in Hartley’s room. I tapped my foot impatiently. Rosemary never took this long to respond.
“Then where is he?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. I suppose you will have to assist me.”
My own clothes were so binding, I had to imagine his weren’t much better. But I was helping only with safe outer-layer stuff. Like his coat. And his boots. They looked especially tight. I grabbed at one of his feet and pulled, and the boot slowly came loose until it popped off, causing me to fall on my butt. Hartley laughed, and I was both annoyed by and delighted at the sound.
I got off the other boot since I was already on the ground and stood up to help him with his coat. All the time I’d been complaining about my corset, and I literally had to peel the coat off him. He let out a deep breath when I got it off. I could relate.
Considering my job finished, I was about to tell him good night, because I was not supposed to be in his room, and if his valet ever did show up, this might qualify as me being compromised. No big deal in my time, reason to get married in his.
He started fumbling with his cravat, and I took pity on him. I sat down on his bed, facing him, and tried to undo the complicated knots. If I’d been aware of the intimacy of this situation before, it was nothing like what I was experiencing now. Sitting on his bed, my fingers at his throat. The firelight lovingly bathed his profile, and it was all I could do not to stare.
And touch.
My fingers were shaking. I wondered if he noticed.
Then he spoke, and I almost jumped. “Do you know how un-bloody-hinged I am around you?”
I knew how un-bloody-hinged he made me. But I could only squeak out, “What?”
His eyes were blue flames, intense, ablaze like a wildfire. “Do you not know how much I admire you? Your quick mind, your wit, your nonsensical words that make me wonder what you will say next . . .” His words trailed off as he reached up to touch the side of my face. Which made my whole body sigh. “The way you delight in everything and everyone, as if it is all new to you.”
He was so, so drunk. If they had Alcoholics Anonymous in this century, I would have made him go to a meeting. Because he was obviously out of his mind and saying things he
didn’t mean. Things he couldn’t mean.
“You surprise me, and I’m not often surprised.” His palm was warm and wonderful against my cheek.
“Don’t,” I said, finding it suddenly hard to swallow. “Don’t talk like that.”
He took his hand away, his face questioning. “Like what?”
I couldn’t keep touching him. I let my own hands fall back into my lap. “Like . . . that. Saying stuff like that. It’s my personal kryptonite.”
Hartley knit his eyebrows together, adorably confused.
“It makes me too weak to fight. Too weak to resist,” I explained.
Somehow, he managed to move even closer to me. “Then don’t fight. Don’t resist.”
My mouth went dry. Did he have any idea what he was saying?
And who he was saying it to?
“Boy, you can be charming when you want to be,” I said with a shaky laugh. I’d have to be a total sucker to fall for it.
Guess what? Huge sucker, right here.
He reached up to undo his cravat, and I watched as his long fingers undid the white cloth in a few quick movements. He pulled the long white linen free and set it on the bed between us. It was then that I noticed the damage to his knuckles.
Somehow they’d been scraped up. “Your poor hands!” I said. They should be cleaned so that they wouldn’t get infected. I grabbed his cravat and carried it over to the water bowl, getting part of it wet.
“Are you going to faint?” he asked when I sat back down, much farther away from him. I tried not to think about the way he emanated warmth as I held one of his big hands in my lap, cleaning it.
“That’s only fresh blood. I’m okay with dried blood.” It wasn’t lost on me that he’d been hurt because he was trying to protect me. “I’ve never had anybody defend my honor before. That was very cool.”
“Cool?” he repeated.
“Nice. Heroic.” I dabbed carefully at his hand. “Very romantic.”
I hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud, but his self-satisfied grin let me know he’d heard me. His hands were fine. I let the dirty linen fall to the floor. “I should probably go. You know, before we have to get married or something.”
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