by Leah Sanders
Anastasia was both mortified at Banbury's insinuation and humiliated by the flirtatious glint in the eyes of her betrothed when he bestowed Lady Katherine's handkerchief. She cleared her throat in disgust.
"Would you be so kind, your grace, as to fetch a mug of hot cider?" she asked Baldwyn.
He nodded. The smile disappeared from his lips. "As you wish, my lady."
She watched him stride away but found herself, in spite of the marvelous view, struggling with the impulse to viciously attack the lady on her left. Glancing back at Lady Katherine, she found the lady's gaze following Baldwyn as well.
Fortunately for everyone, Banbury chose that moment to clear his throat and draw Lady Katherine's attention.
"Care to skate, Kate?" he asked. He stepped between the two ladies and offered his arm to Katherine.
As they glided away arm in arm, Baldwyn returned with Anastasia's cider.
"Is it terrible of me to hope the ice cracks and she falls in?"
Baldwyn chuckled, then thought better of it and took a long draught of the steaming liquid in his own mug. When he brought the cup down, his expression was stern once more. "Quite terrible indeed," he chided. She sighed.
"However," he held up a single finger and arched his eyebrows as though he was to make a vitally important observation, "Lady Katherine does have a frightful propensity towards mishap."
It was Anastasia's turn to stifle a laugh.
They sipped their cider in comfortable silence and watched the skaters for a few moments.
As if in answer to Anastasia's dearest wish, Banbury and Lady Katherine did tangle up their skates somehow and crashed hard onto the solid surface of the pond.
Anastasia gasped. Beside her, Baldwyn tensed and stood from the bench. Was he regretting his jest?
Lady Katherine aided Banbury in returning to the bench. He was whimpering like a wounded pup, though one could tell from looking at him he was milking the perceived injury for all it was worth.
Anastasia stood to make room on the bench. Banbury sank onto the bench and proceeded to beg favors of Lady Katherine, who simply tossed his requests back in his face, drawing a hearty laugh from Baldwyn.
Banbury scowled at Baldwyn, then turned his attention to Lady Katherine, taking her hand and pulling her closer, but her skate found a chunk of broken ice, and the lady reeled forward, her arms flailing. Her overcompensation threw her backward, and she floundered toward the ground.
Much to Anastasia's chagrin, Katherine's fall was interrupted… by Baldwyn, who caught the lady and stopped her from a gloriously humiliating tumble. Anastasia rolled her eyes and resumed her seat.
However, when Baldwyn offered to escort Lady Katherine onto the ice, Anastasia's breath quickened. Short, shallow gasps for air set her head to spinning. She crossed her ankles and thrust both hands into her muff, intertwining her fingers. Her grasp tightened until she could no longer feel her fingers.
Across the ice, Baldwyn laughed at something Katherine said. He faced her and lifted her chin in an intimate gesture.
Anastasia's stomach churned. She was certain she would expend its contents. Her vision grew hazy and she couldn't catch her breath. It was as though Lady Katherine had punched her right in the abdomen with all her might.
"Are you unwell, Lady Anastasia?" The Duke of Banbury's voice floated through the haze to her.
"I'm lovely. Just lovely," she heard her own voice reply.
His hand rested on her arm, and she glanced slowly at it. A foreign warmth on her cold wrist.
"You are quite pale."
"Am I?" Her thoughts milled leisurely through her mind. "Perhaps if your grace is recovered enough, might you consider taking a turn with me around the pond? I believe the cold is settling in my bones."
The thought to use him to bait Baldwyn occurred to her only after she accepted his arm. In truth, the only thought in her head was to move anywhere in order not to watch the two of them lost in intimate conversation, as they floated across the ice in perfect unison.
Her plan was an abject failure on both fronts. Baldwyn didn't so much as cast a glance in her direction, while she herself couldn't pry her gaze from him no matter how she tried.
Banbury led her around the outer edge of the pond, and as they rounded the final turn back toward their bench, the dowager duchess suddenly appeared there, with two bedraggled servants bent over her feet, attaching her skates.
"Crazy old woman," Banbury muttered and shook his head.
Coming from the other direction, Baldwyn guided Katherine toward his grandmother. He glanced in Anastasia's direction and then focused on the dowager.
"Baldwyn! Benedict! Come help me. I wish to skate," the old woman bellowed.
Benedict increased his speed and abruptly deposited Anastasia on the bank without so much as a nod to acknowledge her.
"Aunt Agatha, are you certain this is a good idea?"
The dowager struck him with her cane on the top of his hat. "Don't argue with me, Benedict. Take my arm," she demanded. "Baldwyn! Look alive there, boy. I'm not growing any younger. Take my arm and let's be off!" Baldwyn helped Katherine to the bench, winked at her, and took his grandmother's arm.
With one duke on each arm, the dowager began an unsteady tread across the ice. After an agonizingly long moment, she suddenly yelled, "Stop! I'm cold! Take me back to the house at once."
Baldwyn and Banbury exchanged a knowing look, lifted her in the air and skated full speed back to the edge of the pond. The dowager screamed at the top of her lungs all the way.
When they finally set her down firmly on the bench and reached to help her off with her skates, she grasped her cane in exasperation and thumped each of them firmly on the top of the head in turn.
Anastasia stifled a chuckle and watched with interest. The dowager waggled her finger in Baldwyn's face and gestured back to Anastasia. Baldwyn glanced in her direction and nodded contritely. He stood and with a sheepish grin skated to Anastasia.
"May I help you with your skates, my lady?"
"That would be lovely, thank you, your grace."
Chapter Fifteen
"Anastasia," Lord Marks said as they entered the house. "Might I have a word, my dear?" He stepped back and gestured behind him to his study.
"Of course, Papa." Anastasia glanced at Baldwyn and slipped her hand from his arm. He took her hand and kissed it before releasing her.
"My lady." His gaze held hers for only a moment, then he nodded at her father and disappeared up the stairs.
Her disappointment weighed heavily on her shoulders as she followed her father into his study. The arrangement wasn't working out the way she had hoped. No doubt her father was thinking the same thing. If only she would move past her ridiculous girlish romantic notions and see things differently, perhaps…
"Won't you sit down, my sweet?" Lord Marks swept a hand toward a wingback chair. Anastasia sat on the edge of the seat and folded her hands in her lap. She stared down at her them, waiting anxiously for her father to speak.
"You are unhappy?"
"No, Papa. The trip to the country has been lovely."
Her father smiled at her sadly. "I am glad to hear it. However, that is not what I meant, dear girl." He leaned against the edge of his desk nearest her and took her hand in his.
"Papa…" she began, glancing at her hands and smoothing her skirts. "Everything is fine. Please don't worry." Looking into his eyes, she offered the most reassuring smile she could muster and stood. "I would like to change now. Rest for a bit perhaps. If you will excuse me?"
"Of course. I shall see you at dinner." He rose and escorted her to the door. Anastasia slowly made her way up the stairs to her room. The shards of the broken vase had been cleaned up, leaving no sign that the events of the previous night had ever taken place. No trace except for what lay burned into her memory.
****
The day was spent in an unending cycle of meaningless activity — reading in the library, needlepoint in the salon, card
games in the parlor — but Baldwyn made himself scarce the majority of the day. It felt as though he was avoiding her, and it took a valiant effort on Anastasia's part to force the appearance of carefree enjoyment of her short holiday before having to return to the bustle of Town.
When the afternoon faded into evening, she excused herself to dress for dinner. She chose her favorite pale gold dinner gown, the one she knew drew out the flecks of gold in her eyes and emphasized her feminine curves. Trudy swept her hair up in grand fashion, with a few chestnut curls hanging loose, a soft, rich contrasting frame against her creamy, ivory skin.
Baldwyn would be at dinner. She would gain his attention once and for all.
With one last glance in the mirror, Anastasia nodded her approval, smiled confidently at Trudy, and hurried to the dining room.
Somehow, even for all her rush, Anastasia was too late to claim the seat next to her intended. Her stomach curdled as Lady Katherine smiled up at Baldwyn and accepted the chair he held for her on the other side of the table.
Standing near her, Banbury waved her over, and held a chair for her. Anastasia sighed in resignation, nodded her thanks and took the seat he offered, directly across from Baldwyn. His clear blue eyes met her gaze as she sat.
"Good evening, Paisley," she said, refusing to be the first to look away.
"My lady," he muttered, still staring at her, but seeming at a loss for words.
"Doesn't she look lovely, your grace?" Lady Katherine interrupted, resting her hand on his forearm, stealing his attention away. Anastasia's whole body tensed. Beside her, the Duke of Banbury shifted and cleared his throat.
"Yes. Yes, of course," Baldwyn replied, tossing a careless glance back to Anastasia. "My lady, you are quite fetching tonight," he added, then allowed his gaze to dart away to the other end of the table, losing interest in her altogether.
So much for capturing his attention. Her hope deflated, and her heart fell.
Her appetite was gone. Still she had to suffer through the torture of dinner — watching while Lady Katherine kept Baldwyn's rapt attention, and pretending to be interested in Banbury's vain and somewhat vulgar conversation, and even he grew increasingly distracted by the display on the other side of the table.
It did nothing for Anastasia's self-esteem having the particular attention of neither of the dukes, though truth be told, Banbury seemed to be in her very same predicament. So when he approached her just outside the dining room to aid him in finding his lost button, she felt somewhat sympathetic to his plight. And since Baldwyn had already retired with the other gentlemen to drink, smoke, and talk politics, Anastasia no longer felt compelled to keep up appearances.
Banbury had a reputation black as the devil's own, but his request seemed harmless, and his eyes had been for Lady Katherine alone. If there was any unseemly motive behind his request at all, it was that the Devil Duke was using her to make his fiancée jealous. She could understand the sentiment. Taking his offered arm, she allowed him to lead her down the hall toward her father's study.
****
There was only one lit candle in the study, and the fire was mere embers in the grate when Baldwyn had entered. No one was there. He held the note up to the light to take another look. Lady Katherine wished to speak to him about Benedict, and he was to meet her here.
Why had he bothered to come? If Benedict was giving the lady trouble, it should hardly fall to Baldwyn to fix things. And he had trouble of his own. He squatted by the fire and picked up the iron poker. He thrust it into the dying sparks and stirred the smoldering coals, then reached for two good-sized logs to fuel the fire.
Standing again, he rested one hand on the mantle and stared into the growing blaze. The image of Lady Anastasia danced there among the flames, in her pale gold dress and golden brown eyes.
Baldwyn closed his eyes to block out the picture, but she remained there in his mind's eye, tormenting him to his very soul. Her beauty, his desire — it muddled the line where his duty lay. And he was confused about how to proceed.
On one hand, his father had always insisted that personal feelings should never interfere with a man's duty. But never once did the late duke tell him what to do with the feelings that didn't.
His grandmother insisted that marrying Lady Anastasia was his duty. He had been understandably resistant at the initial shock of it. Since then he had accepted what was expected of him, but he never once expected that she would grow on him, that she would pique his interest. It was easier — it was cleaner — when he could see the line between duty and desire. She was blurring that line.
Her milky white skin set against her rich brown tresses, her wide almond eyes, framed with dark, dewy lashes. His self-control grew weaker with every moment in her presence, as he had proven the night before.
And that was the problem. His fear of losing control. Losing control meant to fail in one's duty. And he refused to fail his father's final charge.
Benedict was the one for losing control. Baldwyn simply couldn't afford that kind of recklessness. Look where it had landed Benedict and his lady. Trapped. She had no choice now. In the eyes of Society, Lady Katherine was compromised. If she didn't marry Benedict, she would be ruined.
Lady Anastasia was an innocent girl, with stars in her eyes, believing in the fairy tale. How would she feel when reality smashed her fantasy?
No. Baldwyn wouldn't take her choice from her. And giving into desire would steal that from her.
Light footsteps entered the room through the doorway behind him. He turned to make an excuse to Lady Katherine. He had no wish to discuss relationship troubles with her.
But the lady standing before him wasn't Lady Katherine at all, and her sharp intake of breath at recognizing him said she hadn't expected him either. The door closed behind her and she spun around to grasp the handle, but not before the sound of the lock turning in the latch split the silence in the study.
The click sliced right through Baldwyn's taut nerves.
The lady rattled the handle to no avail. Her head fell forward with a light thud to the back of the locked door. And she waited in silence for a moment before turning around, keeping her hands on the handle behind her. She eyed him carefully.
"Lady Anastasia, I presume?" Baldwyn heard himself say. The cold tone of his voice surprised even him.
"Paisley." A sigh followed close on the tail of the words.
"Are you looking for someone?"
"Something, actually." She squinted at the floor around her skirts as though to prove her point. Then pointed behind her toward the door. "Banbury… he lost a button."
"A—a button?" The mention of Banbury's name, the note from Lady Katherine, the locked door… Of course. Baldwyn shook his head in disbelief.
"Yes, he said it was a family heirloom, or something of the sort. Have you seen it?"
"He sent you in here to look for his button?"
"Yes."
"And I suppose he described it to you? The button?"
"Well, no. In fact, he didn't. I have no idea what I'm looking for."
"I see." Baldwyn had to applaud their efforts, if not their execution.
"And what are you doing in here?" Anastasia tilted her head and took a step away from the door.
Baldwyn held the note up between his fingers. "The Lady Katherine, desperate to discuss her particular troubles with my cousin, the devil."
"I see." She moved to a chair and sat down. "And locking the door?"
"Their idea of forcing the issue."
"What issue?"
She stared at him with wide-eyed innocence. Certainly she knew what they were trying to do. He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat.
"Perhaps we should light more candles. It is rather dark in here." He slipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his forehead with it. The fire he'd laid in the grate was making the room very hot indeed. He moved to the other side of the desk and lit the candles there.
Baldwyn felt rather than saw Anastasia stand
and join him behind her father's desk. When he turned around, she was standing dangerously close to him, tracing his movements with her gaze.
The scent of lilac bombarded his senses as she sidled closer to him. And he noticed once again how well the pale gold gown accented all her features, and he ached to reach out and pull her into his arms one more time.
His pulse pounded in his ears. Surely she would hear the slamming of his heart in his chest. Her gaze held his locked in a tight embrace, refusing him the liberty to look away. She leaned closer, only inches away from him now. Baldwyn swallowed hard at the knot lodged in his throat, but his mouth had gone dry, and there was not a drop to be had in the study to aid him in his plight. Then again, he had proven himself untrustworthy in her company when altered by liquor.
When she reached for him, he tensed and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the effect her warm touch had on his resolve to protect her virtue.
But her touch never came, and when he opened his eyes, she was reaching beyond him to the shelf just behind his left shoulder. She brought her hand back and took a step away, leaving him to suffer a cold, empty dissatisfaction.
From her delicate fingers dangled a tarnished brass key on a blue satin ribbon.
"I suppose your cousin was not counting on the spare key," she whispered. A mischievous glint danced in her eyes.
"I… I daresay he hadn't." To his surprise, his heart sank in what felt rather like disappointment. "Well played, my lady."
"I am not entirely without my uses," she muttered with a hint of sarcasm and dropped the key into his outstretched palm.
There was nothing left to do but unlock the door and go their separate ways, though he couldn't help but wish, even if for just a moment, that the key wouldn't fit the lock, and she would reach for him one more time.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day was long and brutal.
Baldwyn was cordial.
