The question, when it came out, was a breathless rush, not nearly as biting as she’d have wished.
“I’m afraid not,” he answered, and though his voice was grave, there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
“I knew that’s what you’d say,” she muttered.
“The stakes are high, Edie, and I’m playing this game to win.” His smile vanished. “But if there’s anything I ever do, or try to do, that you don’t like, or don’t want, you don’t have to justify your objection. All you ever have to do is say no.”
That was too much to bear. “I did say no!” she cried, her hands balling into fists, her control threatening to splinter apart. “I said it to him. I said it over and over and over.”
Stuart’s mouth tightened, and for a moment, she could see her pain in his face. Pain, and anger—anger, she realized that was on her behalf. “I’m sure you did. But I am not him.” He reached out, fingers gliding along her cheek to push back a stray lock of her hair. “Always, Edie, always try to remember that. I am not him.”
With that, he looked away, glancing at the clock on her mantel. “I see that I have used a quarter hour more than my entitled time today,” he said, shoving back the stool and reaching for his walking stick. “You can dock me for it tomorrow, if you like,” he said, his voice light. “Although I rather hope you don’t, for I’m sure you have some very exciting plans for us tomorrow.”
She drew a deep, steadying breath and stood up, grateful for his offhand teasing, for it helped her regain her composure. “I do, actually. Very exciting plans.”
“A few rounds of whist with some of the county’s elderly spinsters?” he guessed as he rose to his feet. “Or Evensong perhaps?”
“Neither of those. Not tomorrow, at least. We are going into the village to do some shopping. Joanna and I need to visit Miss May’s.”
“The milliner?” He groaned. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“My outing, my choice. You set these rules, remember?”
“There are limits, Edie,” he grumbled. “The vicar, Mr. Robson, and now Miss May’s?”
“We might stop by the draper’s shop as well.”
“Worse and worse! Still, these blatant attempts to bore me to death shan’t succeed, for no matter what we do, I don’t find you the least bit boring. I enjoy your company, even if it’s only for a visit to the milliner’s and the draper’s. But,” he added as he turned away and started toward the door, “just so you know, I might have to snatch a kiss from you along the way to liven things up.”
Edie’s heart gave a hard thud of alarm in her chest at that possibility, but she realized in horror that right alongside it, she also felt a tiny but unmistakable dash of anticipation. The idea that she might be looking forward to the possibility of being kissed by him was so startling and so muddleheaded that he had already crossed her room and opened the door before she managed to think of a suitable reply. “Even if you did kiss me,” she said, mustering her dignity, “it wouldn’t count.”
“True.” He paused in the doorway and grinned at her over his shoulder. “Unless you kiss me back.”
“It still wouldn’t count!”
He merely laughed, slipped out the door, and closed it behind him.
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, they went to Miss May’s millinery establishment, but Edie only forced Stuart to endure twenty minutes of hat shopping before she purchased the packet of feathers she needed, and they departed the shop. Joanna begged to be allowed to peruse the painting and sketching supplies available at Fraser’s Emporium, and Edie agreed, sending Mrs. Simmons in to accompany her.
“So Joanna likes to muck about with paints, does she?” Stuart asked, as the girl and her governess disappeared into the shop.
“She adores it,” Edie told him. “She’s quite good, too, even with oils. Whenever we’re in London, she wants to visit the museums and the art galleries. The Royal Exhibition is near her birthday, so I always take her to it. She loves painting.”
“Does she, indeed?” He frowned, looking thoughtful as he glanced into the window of Fraser’s. “That knowledge might prove useful,” he murmured.
“Oh? How so?”
He returned his attention to her. “Oh, Christmas, you know. And her birthday.” He pointed toward the door. “Don’t you want to go inside?”
“No, no. I have another shop to visit. We’ll call for her on the way back.”
“Whitcomb’s?” he guessed, as they continued on up the High Street. “I suppose that’s where we’re headed?”
She laughed. “The draper’s? No, no, I won’t subject you to that, not after you’ve been such a sport about going to Miss May’s.”
“That’s a fortunate thing for both of us, then. Since you are not making me endure contemplation of buttons and pins, I won’t continue conjuring plans for revenge.”
“Have you been making such plans, then?”
“I have, but don’t expect me to tell you what they are. I intend to hold them in reserve in case you decide to drag me along to one of your charity committee meetings.”
“I would never do that.” She made a face at him, thinking of the calls she’d made the day before and all the delight his return from Africa had evoked among the ladies of the county. “With you at our meeting, we’d never accomplish anything. The women would be far too occupied fluttering around you to do any work.”
“If they did, would it make you jealous?”
“No,” she countered at once. “I’m the only woman on the committee under sixty.”
“Ah, but what if that weren’t the case?” He slanted her a wicked look. “If all the women were young and beautiful, what then?”
The jolt of jealousy was so unexpected and so violent, it caught her completely by surprise, and she almost tripped on the sidewalk. It was suddenly incumbent upon her to pretend great interest in Haversham’s Confectionery Shop, and she stopped, turning toward the window. She leaned close to the glass, cupping her hands on either side of her face as if to keep off the glare. But it was really to hide her expression, for she feared what she felt was written all over her face.
He leaned close to her ear, tilting his head to duck beneath the brim of her hat. “Keeping mum on that score, are you?”
“No need,” she murmured, working to sound as prim and indifferent as possible. “I told you when we married . . .” She paused, swallowed, and said the rest. “You could bed any woman you wanted, and I wouldn’t care.”
“Edie,” he said, his voice softly chiding. “C’mon, toss a chap a crumb of encouragement, will you?” He nuzzled her ear, right there on the High Street. “Just a crumb. Tell me that the idea of another woman makes you a tiny bit jealous.”
Her face was hot, flushed, and she wanted to press her cheek against the glass. “Maybe,” she whispered, admitting the wretched truth. “Just a tiny bit.”
He laughed, a low, soft laugh against her ear, and seemingly satisfied, he pulled back. “Do you want something from Haversham’s?” he asked.
“Um . . . I’m not sure,” she lied, trying to concentrate on the rows of petit fours and tea cakes lined up in display cases and not on the fact that though he was standing a full foot away, she could still feel the brush of his lips against her ear. “I’m deciding.”
“Like sweets, do you?”
He made it sound so terribly naughty. “Some sweets, yes,” she said, and straightened away from the window. “I think I will go in. I see they have chocolates, and Joanna loves those.”
“Then I shall leave you for a few minutes. I need to go across to the telegraph office for a bit. I shan’t be long.”
“You wish to send a telegram?”
“Several, actually.” He didn’t explain. “If you’ll forgive me?”
She watched him point across the street, and she shook her head. He didn’t owe
her explanations of his correspondence. “Of course.”
She was glad for the separation. By the time he returned to fetch her, enough time had passed for her cheeks to cool and her poise to return.
“No chocolates?” he asked, noting her lack of a pastry box as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Not today.” She turned and resumed walking up the High Street. “I’m having them delivered.”
“So, where are we going next?” he asked, falling in step beside her. “Or do you intend to keep me in suspense?”
“We’re already there,” she said, and stopped again, two shops down from Haversham’s, pointing at the bright blue door beside her. “I want to visit Bell’s Antique Shop.”
“Antiques, my eye.” Stuart made a disparaging sound as he moved around her to open the door. “Nothing in Bell’s is older than the reign of George II.”
Edie couldn’t help a giggle at that, causing him to pause with his hand on the knob.
“What’s so amusing?” he asked.
“Stuart, any object from the reign of George II is older than my country.”
He grinned back at her. “True enough,” he said, and opened the door.
Inside the shop, Edie wandered over to the jewelry, thinking she might find a brooch or buckle to suit the hat she was making over, but she’d barely leaned over one of the glass cases before Stuart called to her from another part of the room.
“Edie, come look at this.”
She glanced in the direction of his voice, but whatever he was looking at was obscured from her view by a lacquer red Oriental cabinet. She circled around it, and as she moved to stand beside him, she saw that what had captivated his attention was a large music box made of walnut, with burled veneers, brass handles, and a mother-of-pearl inlay on the top. Displayed on a matching table, it was a beautiful piece.
Mr. Bell, always quick to discern an interested customer, came bustling over. “It’s a Paillard music box, Your Grace. Swiss mechanism, of course, with a twenty-key organ and three cylinders.”
“Given that level of sophistication, it must be of fairly recent manufacture.”
“Oh, yes, it’s quite new. It belonged to Mrs. Mullins, of Prior’s Lodge. She had it delivered from Zurich only last year, but she died shortly afterward. Her daughter lives abroad and didn’t want it, so her solicitors asked me to sell it for her.”
“Mrs. Mullins died?” Stuart looked up, momentarily diverted. “I say, that’s a shame.”
“Yes, yes, but she was ninety, you know.”
“Quite so.” He ran his hands over the lid. “May I?”
“Certainly.”
Stuart opened it, and as he did, Mr. Bell pointed to a small knob on the side. “One turns that to begin the music. Allow me to demonstrate.” He did so, and at once, the melody of a waltz began to play.
Edie was watching Stuart, and she saw a smile curve his mouth. “Strauss,” he murmured. “Too bad it’s Vienna Blood. I prefer Voices of Spring.”
He looked at her, and Edie’s mind flashed back to the ballroom doorway at Hanford House—his beautiful gray eyes looking at her, Strauss’s Voices of Spring waltz playing, and destiny drawing her to him like a magnet. “You remember,” she murmured.
Mr. Bell gave a tiny cough. “There is a cylinder for Voices of Spring,” he said, and opened the drawer of the table beneath the box. “Here.”
Stuart didn’t bother to look. Instead, he waved a hand in Mr. Bell’s direction, and his eyes remained locked with hers as the shopkeeper tactfully disappeared. “I remember everything about that night, Edie.”
“Me, too.” She colored up at once, but she couldn’t look away. Instead, she smiled a little. “Your tie was undone.”
He smiled back. “Was it? I’m not surprised though I daresay I shocked everyone in the ballroom by appearing in such a state of undress.” His smile faded. “You know, when I first saw you that night, I thought of asking you to dance with me, but I didn’t know you, or anyone standing near you, and I didn’t see much point in obtaining an introduction anyway since I was intending to leave in a few days. But now, I wish I’d done it, Edie. By God, I wish I’d hauled you into my arms right then and there and pulled you out onto the ballroom floor, proprieties be damned.” He looked down at his walking stick. “I wish I had known I’d never dance again. I’d have liked my last dance to be with you.”
Edie’s heart twisted in her breast. She felt his pain, and it hurt her, too. She studied his bent head for a moment, then she said, “I appreciate the romantic sentiment, but you’d have regretted it straightaway. I can’t dance.”
“What?” He looked up and made a sound of disbelief. “Stuff. Every girl can dance.”
“I can’t. I’m awful. Because I’m so tall, it makes it awkward for my partners. And,” she added with an apologetic grimace, “I always want to lead.”
He laughed, and, to her relief, that seemed to shatter his sudden melancholy. “Now that,” he said, “I can believe.”
“Whenever I danced, the results were always painfully embarrassing for the poor man in question—smashed toes, twisted ankles, wounded pride.”
“If so, it serves him right. No man who dances well ever allows his partner to lead.” He paused, and his lashes lowered. “Not on the ballroom floor anyway.”
He glanced over her, and her body warmed with each place his heated gaze touched her. By the time he met her eyes again, she felt as if she must be melting into a puddle right there in front of him.
If he perceived how she felt, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned and put the lid down gently on the music box.
That surprised her. “Don’t you want to buy it?” she asked.
“No.” He didn’t look at her, but his voice floated back to her as he walked away. “Some chances don’t come twice.”
Chapter 14
THEY HAD TEA on the terrace when they returned, and afterward, Stuart expressed the desire to tour some of the cottages, so they took Snuffles and headed in that direction for their evening walk.
They passed the rose garden on their way back to the house, and Stuart’s steps slowed beside a pillar rose of deep lavender with a few late blossoms on it. “That’s a pretty rose,” he commented and stopped.
Caught by surprise, Edie stopped beside him, giving him a dubious look as he cupped one of the blooms and inhaled the scent.
He glanced at her, caught her expression, and laughed. “You look as if I just declared the sky a lovely shade of green,” he said, and let go of the flower.
“I’ve never thought of you as the sort of man who would care much about roses.”
“No? But then, you don’t really know me well enough yet to judge, do you? What’s this rose called, by the way?”
“I haven’t decided what to call it yet.”
“You grafted this?” The question was uttered in a tone of such innocence, Edie was instantly suspicious.
“I did.” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Why do I have the distinct impression you already knew that?”
He grinned. “You’re too clever for me. Very well, I shall admit the truth. I had a long conversation with Blake after we met with Robson yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. I told you I’d soon have the servants on my side,” he added, his grin widening. “Blake, you’ll be sorry to hear, told me all about your love of rose gardening and was eager to show me your latest creation. Perhaps another day you’ll show me the other roses you’ve grafted?”
She gave a sniff and looked away. “As if you care two straws about my roses.”
“But I do care. I’m interested because it’s something you love, and I want to know more about the things you love.”
“Most of the things I love would bore you, I suspect.”
“Would they? What makes you sa
y so?”
“Grafting roses?” she countered. “Would you ever find that interesting?”
“I don’t know. I might.”
She shook her head, not able to credit it. “You’ve traveled all over Africa, you’ve seen elephants, rhinos, lions—” She broke off, mindful of his injury. “The point is, rose gardening would be very small beer after that to a man like you.”
“A man like me.” He fell silent, looking down at Snuffles, who was burrowing between two boxwoods of the hedge that lined the path. “You mean the man I was, I think,” he added after a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Edie said, stricken, remembering their conversation in Mr. Bell’s shop earlier. “I don’t mean to remind you of painful things.”
“Why shouldn’t we talk of it?” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I’m not the same man I was, and no denying it. And I don’t just mean because of this,” he added, gesturing to his leg. “I was a restless sort of chap, that’s true, and I took to safari work like a duck to water. I loved wondering what was over the next hill, and I loved finding out. But what I never understood until this happened to me was that if one’s always going to new places, one never stops long enough to see the beauty in the old places.” He glanced around. “Highclyffe, for instance. I took it for granted all my life, but never realized how much I loved it here. Now, I’m much more appreciative of it than when I went away.”
Edie considered that. “I suppose,” she said after a moment, “that if one has faced the possibility of death, one’s perspective about everything is bound to be altered as a result.”
“Yes, that, too. But there’s an even simpler aspect to it than that. My injury slowed me down. I couldn’t go dashing off anywhere I wanted at the drop of a hat. I was forced to bring my life down to a much slower pace.”
“You must have hated that.”
“I did at first. It was like hell. But, after a bit, I began to see things I’d never bothered noticing before. I used to be the sort who had to be hit over the head with something to truly notice it.” He paused. “That’s why I noticed you.”
How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days Page 19
