“Saints help me, but I fear you will outshine the bride-to-be tonight,” Kinan’s rich voice drifted up to her.
He stood just to the left of the bottom of the stairs in the open door to the kitchen. The gorgeous room paled beside him. In a fine black suit tailored perfectly to fit his body, he was the very portrait of an elegant gentleman. He had smoothed back his overly long black hair and tucked it into such a perfect knot that few could guess at its length. A red vest close to the same color of her gown peeked out from beneath his jacket. The bold choice sent a thrill through Deirdre that started at her navel and ended in her cheeks.
She had to clear her throat before she could respond. “You look quite fetching yourself.” Fetching didn’t begin to describe him, but it would do. She wanted to strip him naked, roll all over the sugar-sprinkled floor with him, then lick every inch of him clean. But she couldn’t exactly say that. Could she? The hungry look on his face as his gaze drank her in made her wonder. All that fretting over which dress to wear was suddenly worth every nail-biting moment. Taking up her crimson skirts in one hand, she started to descend again. Kinan dashed up the stairs before she could even get down two steps, and offered her his arm.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting with a gracious smile.
At the bottom of the landing she paused to survey the room again. Really, she paused because she didn’t want to let go of his arm just yet, but it was as good an excuse as any.
Kinan gently cleared his throat. “I do hope you don’t think it too forward of me to ask, but might I be the first to add my name to your dance card?”
She lifted the red velvety clutch dangling from her wrist, opened the booklet within, and handed Kinan the pencil tucked along the binding. “Not at all forward. I’d be pleased to have your name be the first added to my card.”
She watched closely as he ran his finger over each dance planned for the evening, her chest filling with anticipation. Heat spread throughout her as he wrote his name beneath the slow waltz. Of all the dances he might have chosen, she had suspected that would be the last among them. But she was pleased it wasn’t. Sadly, it was literally the last dance of the night.
He looked up in time to catch her smile. “My choice pleases you?”
She accepted the pencil from him and tucked it back into the booklet. “Very much so. I look forward to it. But only one dance?” she asked, brows rising with a suggestive look. With eleven other dances planned for the evening, she feared she might be stuck dancing with every eligible, stuffy high-society man in town before the night’s end. She could be in for a long, boring night.
Not only would Kinan’s touch be welcome, but she knew he’d provide entertaining conversation about astronomy, strange cultures, and foreign lands. She feared the other men might be the opposite. In her few encounters with men of Goldenvale, she had found them to be either dedicated to and focused on their crafts, or tediously traditional in their beliefs and treatment of women. Tonight might prove to be different, but she held little hope of that.
“I wouldn’t want to monopolize you and keep you from socializing,” Kinan said.
Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t argue with that. She needed to talk to the townsfolk to establish working relationships with those from whom the winery would need goods.
“However.” His hopeful tone drew her attention. “I would very much like to check your dance card again after you’ve greeted all our guests, and take advantage of anyone’s oversight.”
She smiled. “I would like that.”
From the open door of an adjoining room off the ballroom, Cat and Sadie walked in, their dancing boots clicking softly on the wood floors. In a red velvet dress trimmed with white lace, and her tight black curls bound up with pearl-adorned pins, Sadie looked the very sprit of the holiday season. The red set off her mahogany skin and black hair beautifully. Cat wore a forest-green gown of satin and lace, cleverly designed with a frilly sash that hid her slight belly bump perfectly. Most of her fiery red hair was tamed up into an elaborate bun with holly leaves and berries woven into it. Small ringlets dangled around her face and neck.
Deirdre rushed toward them and grabbed their hands. “You both look positively splendid! Oh, Sadie, you outdid yourself on each of these dresses,” she said.
Cat bathed Sadie in an adoring look. “She did indeed.”
They spent several moments fawning over one another’s dresses, making one or the other twirl, and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Deirdre encouraged it with compliments and questions, wanting to keep her friends lighthearted and happy as long as possible. This night should be a highlight of Cat’s life, but Deirdre knew it would take a stressful turn soon enough. Not only was this their first opportunity to truly mingle with the people of Goldenvale, but they would also have to deal with Ainsworth. Assuming he showed up. Deirdre had no idea how that was going to go, only that it likely wouldn’t be good. Her goal for the evening was to keep the man away from Rick and Cat as long as possible.
“Mr. O’Leary,” came Maria, the cook’s, voice.
The older woman carried a fine silver tray with her as she emerged from the kitchen. Three delicate wineglasses balanced on the tray with the effortless ease that only a long-time server could pull off. The feat always impressed Deirdre, even more so in Maria’s case, considering the woman had to be in her sixties.
Maria’s eyes widened and positively lit up as she looked Deirdre’s way. She strode straight for them, Kinan all but forgotten. Head inclining toward the tray, she said, “A little something to calm your nerves and smooth your social graces, ladies?”
Deirdre picked up a glass and lifted it to her nose. The scent stopped her. It smelled like grape juice, not the wine she’d been hoping for.
“Ah my pardon, Mrs. Quinn, but that one is for Miss Cat, her special drink for the night.” With that, the woman winked at Cat. Sharing in the ladies’ secret smile, Deirdre handed the glass over and chose another.
Maria perused their dresses with an approving eye. “You ladies are all visions of beauty, and those dresses! Miss Sadie, your skill is unmatched.”
Looking down, Sadie blinked rapidly several times. “You’re far too kind.”
Bootheels clicked behind them, sounding deliberately crisp so as not to approach unannounced. “Quite true, your skills are unequaled, Sadie. You ladies look positively lovely,” Kinan said before turning to Maria. “Maria, did you have word for me?”
The woman waved her free hand. “Oh, yes, yes.” She cleared her throat and straightened so abruptly that her starched white apron snapped. “Mr. Fergusson has arrived and says he spotted many guests coming down the road behind him.”
Cat’s eyes widened and her lips drew into a taut line. Deirdre laid her hand on Cat’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry yourself at all. Sadie and I will charm the guests, you just enjoy the company of that handsome man who will be your husband in less than a month’s time.”
Sadie nodded as she accepted the last glass from the tray. “That’s right. We’ll take care of everything.”
Cat’s lips slowly relaxed into a smile. “You two are the best friends a lady could ever hope for. I am so grateful that you’re here with me,” she said in a voice choked with emotion. She raised her glass, and Sadie and Deirdre followed suit. “To the best of friends, and the widows of the 69th.”
They each echoed the sentiment before taking a long drink from their glasses. The strong oak finish of the vintage left a lot to be desired, in Deirdre’s opinion, but it went down smooth enough. Four years from now they would hopefully be sipping wine of their own making. Until then, this would do well enough. As Kinan moved toward the door—no doubt to help Rick in the stables—Deirdre stole another glance at him. She hoped it wouldn’t be the last time she saw him this evening before their dance. As he reached the door he glanced over his shoulder and caught her looking. The croo
ked smile he gave her lit a fire she knew she’d have a hard time putting out.
* * * *
By the time the flow of guests stopped, Deirdre’s feet ached from standing in one place long enough to greet them all personally. But it was worth it. Gracious compliments fell from the lips of all in regards to everything from their dresses to the décor of the inn. Both Cat and Sadie had been pulled away by guests some time ago, leaving Deirdre to the greeting. She didn’t mind at all. It gave her a chance to analyze the actions and reactions of each person who came in. For the most part, the people of Goldenvale were kind and genuine. Whether that was merely the holiday spirit, the chance to enjoy a party, or their true natures, remained to be seen.
Still, the first impression she got from most was positive, particularly in comparison to how she and her friends had been treated by the Widows of the 69th organization back in New York. But then, those women had been jealous of Cat’s marriage to her late husband. Fools that they were.
Unfortunately, the eligible bachelors were plentiful and none too shy about asking to sign her dance card. Only one dance remained in her booklet when the flow of guests finally stopped. Across the room of chatting people, she caught Kinan’s gaze. Had he been thinking the same thing she had all this time? They started toward one another. Somehow, over the din of people talking, she heard Maria’s announcement.
“Mr. Bartholomew Ainsworth.”
Though she cringed inwardly, Deirdre forced a smile and turned back toward the door. A hush slowly worked its way over the room. The man wore a cleverly cut gray suit that managed to make him look broader and more imposing than she knew his spindly frame to be. Silver cufflinks shone at his wrists, silver conches on his boots, and a silver-and-gold buckle poked out beneath his vest. Set deep in his clean-shaven chin was a cleft that probably had looked dashing in his prime, but only make him look sunken and shrewd now. Then again, that could just be her opinion of him tempering her opinion of his appearance, considering he couldn’t be much past his prime. Not a single gray hair marred the chin-length brown locks he had tied back with a silver ribbon. Many ladies might actually find the man attractive.
The manner in which he surveyed the room, like a predator, unnerved Deirdre so much she had to suppress a shudder. Regardless, she set her shoulders back and fixed her mind on making the most of the situation.
“Mr. Ainsworth, I’m glad you made it,” she said. She didn’t have to feign sincerity, she truly was glad. Now she would have the opportunity to speak to the man.
His eyes widened as they took her in, sliding along her form in an appreciative manner that turned her stomach. The spark in those eyes when they finally met hers was anything but encouraging. “As am I. Thank you, Mrs. Quinn.”
She smiled and inclined her head like the good, demure lady she wasn’t. “Do come in away from the cold, and I shall get the help to fetch you a drink,” she invited.
His lips curled in distaste, but slowly relaxed as he looked around. People pretended to be engaged in conversation or busy sipping their drinks, but every one of them had an ear or eye on her and Ainsworth.
“You’ve managed to make this place look quite festive,” he said in a shocked voice.
He offered her his arm. Unable to see any way out of it without being rude, she accepted and led him into the room. People nodded and offered good holiday wishes to him as if he were the community pillar he pretended to be. When he looked away or passed, Deirdre noticed their guarded expressions, animosity, and even fear in their expressions and rigid postures. What surprised her, though, were the sympathetic looks many of them gave her. To many of them, she gave a wilted smile that conveyed how uncomfortable she felt on the arm of such a man. She needed them to know she was not joining forces with the man. Their sympathy and support were things she and her friends would undoubtedly need later. The day would come when she would need them to rally together, and if she laid the groundwork properly tonight, they just might do it.
With each step they took into the crowd, the conversation around them picked up. Halfway into the room, one of the help offered a tray of various drinks to Ainsworth. No surprise to Deirdre, the man chose a glass of whiskey. It seemed a strong spirit to start the night with. Nor did it surprise her when he ignored the server altogether. Over the talk, Deirdre just barely made out the tone of a violin bow being drawn against strings. Her gaze scanned the crowd. Off to their right stood a young man with his hands behind his back, gaze fixed upon them; her first dance partner if she recalled correctly.
She looked to Ainsworth. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Ainsworth, but it seems the musicians are about to begin, and I see the first name on my dance card waiting. But I do hope it’s all right if I seek you out later so we may talk,” she said.
The smile he gave her looked as though it exercised muscles he wasn’t used to employing. “I would like that,” he said, gaze on her cleavage.
Taking a pencil from his jacket, he lifted her wrist. “I trust there’s room left for me on your dance card.” He opened the booklet without waiting for her reply and wrote his name on the last dance available.
“But of course. Until then, I hope you enjoy yourself,” she said, giving him a slight curtsy so she could look down and hid the contempt in her eyes.
Those slippery eyes slid down to her chest again. “I’ll do my best. But I can promise I’ll enjoy the view.”
She hoped the tight-lipped smile she gave him helped make the anger that flushed her cheeks look like a blush instead. Angering the man was the last thing she wanted to do. For now, at least.
Another long, pure note from a violin sang through the air, the acoustics of the high ceiling carrying it through the room with dramatic effect. The crowd shifted about, finding their first dance partners with excited murmurs. Ainsworth melted into the crowd, tipping his head to her. The moment he was out of sight, the young man waiting stepped up. His fine clothes and stylish haircut marked him as a high-society man, likely one born to money, considering his young age. Despite how tedious such men could be, the smile Deirdre gave him was one of genuine relief.
“Mrs. Quinn, I do believe I am first on your card. Might I have this dance?” he asked with a bow as he extended his hand to her.
Since he had already written his name on her dance card, asking was a formal redundancy, but she decided not to fault him for it. She accepted his hand just as the violin pealed into a lively tune, soon joined by the piano. He swept her into the steps so abruptly that her boots left the floor entirely for the space of a heartbeat. Thankfully, he was skilled enough to right her with the next step. It turned out redundancy was something she should fault him for after all, for during their dance conversation he had a habit of repeating himself. Still, he was kind enough and generous with compliments. If only they weren’t the same ones over and over again.
Just when she thought she might burst if she had to hear how like sapphires her eyes were for at least the fifth time, the dance mercifully ended. She moved to her next partner with an eagerness the distinguished gentleman misunderstood. She had to spend the entire dance convincing the man she wasn’t ready to remarry just yet. Dance after dance, partner after partner, she worked her charm on the gentlemen of Goldenvale, not as potential suitors, but as merchants, ranchers, and the people she might be able to do business with. All were pliable beneath her talents, but openly cautious. It didn’t help that Ainsworth lurked in the corners, eyeing every man she danced with. Only rarely did he dance. The two ladies he did dance with were wide-eyed and rigid with fear the entire time.
Much to Deirdre’s relief, Cat seemed oblivious to the tension around Ainsworth. She danced and laughed with abandon. Nearly every other dance she enjoyed with Rick, which was all well and good, considering the couple only had eyes for each other. Seeing them together made Deirdre think of Kinan.
Every now and then, she caught sight of him across the dance floor in
the hands of another woman. Jealousy burned within Deirdre, despite the fact that he was looking her way nearly every time she was looking his.
Every dance that ended brought Deirdre closer to the one she had to share with Ainsworth. Dread began to make her feet heavy and her conversation skills lacking. It was a good thing her final partner before Ainsworth talked nonstop about his flour mill. The man barely noticed her nods or small words of affirmation. The opportunity to go over in her mind what she wanted to say to Ainsworth was well worth enduring all the talk about bleaching methods and grinding levels. By the time the dance ended, she felt confident she knew what to say and how to say it. She thanked the flour merchant for an informative dance—to which he grinned as if quite pleased with himself—and turned to find Ainsworth waiting.
She’d been half-worried and half-hopeful that she’d have to track him down. The musicians didn’t pause for more than a few beats of her anxious heart. Without a word, Ainsworth extended a hand to her as the first clear piano notes echoed through the room. Deirdre accepted it with a nod. Despite the warm room, his hand was cool almost to the point of being cold. The first turn of the dance Ainsworth drew her in closer than was socially acceptable. His left hand put enough pressure on her back that she couldn’t pull away without making a scene. Each step forward he took with his right foot pressed his bony thigh against her. She covered her disgust with a look of mild shock. It wasn’t how she wanted to start, but it was the best she could manage. They made several more turns to the beat of the music and still he didn’t give an inch. Clearly, he intended to take control of the situation and possibly embarrass her at the same time.
Deirdre's True Desire Page 19
