“Aylesbury, old man!” Connor waggled his brows at Fiona before turning to greet the marquis, extending his hand in greeting. “Didn’t know you were about tonight.”
“I’ve been here and there. Lady Fiona.” Both men turned to Fiona expectantly but she resolutely kept her hands to herself and only offered a stiff nod, praying for strength.
Connor didn’t even try to downplay the fact that Fiona had just openly cut a marquis of the realm. Again. “Forgive, Blossom, won’t you? She’s been a mite touchy this evening.”
“Has she? And yet she looked to be enjoying herself…before I came along, that is,” Aylesbury said, rocking back on his heels as he studied Fiona intently. His gaze traveled a slow path from head to toe leaving tingling awareness in its wake.
Self-consciously, she ran her palms down the side of her skirts, insanely wondering if he thought she looked nice in the amber silk faille and satin Jacques Doucet gown she had chosen to wear that night. Doucet was inclined to simple tailored design employing more tucks, draping, and understated adornment like cut velvet for embellishment, a style Fiona preferred. An occasional touch of Chantilly or tambour lace was as frilly as she ever got. But perhaps Aylesbury fancied some of the more opulent beaded, sequined, and feathered gowns most of the ladies wore.
Mentally berating herself, Fiona reminded herself that she did not care what Aylesbury thought of her gown. One afternoon of semi-pleasant conversation did not forgiveness grant! “Yes, I was perfectly happy. Before.”
“I say, Blossom!” It seemed even Connor had his limits of expectable rudeness.
The marquis, on the other hand, only grinned at her response, not at all put out.
“Let’s keep the spirit light then,” Aylesbury was saying, “I was just thinking that the only thing that could possibly make the night any better would be a dance with Lady Fiona.”
“She’d like that, I’d wager,” Connor responded for her, though Aylesbury had the decency to wait for her response. It just wasn’t a polite one.
“No, I would not.”
“Blossom! Dance with the man.”
“What say you, Lady Fiona? Might I have this dance?” Aylesbury asked with a dashing bow and an equally charming grin as he held out his hand. Fiona merely glared at him, though it was all she could do to summon the necessary heat after her sentimental exchange with Connor.
“My dance card is full.”
“Blossom!” Connor chided, giving her a wink. “There is a fresh new tune being played. You wouldn’t want to stay here for the same old chorus, now would you?”
Fiona pursed her lips at her brother’s none too subtle jab but said nothing, not daring to relax her guard. Instead, she simply glared stonily at the marquis, silently wishing him away. She was too maudlin tonight to bear this as well! But obstinate, unmovable man that he was, Aylesbury only waited patiently with an annoyingly tolerant smile.
“Blossom, dance with the fellow,” her brother hissed under his breath giving the tender flesh above Fiona’s elbow a painful little pinch but she only shook her head jerkily.
“Fiona!”
Saved from Connor’s relentless brutality, she turned with a welcome smile to find Ilona, approaching with a gentleman in tow at her side. Or rather, it appeared that he might instead be towing her along instead.
Fiona blushed as they arrived at her side, the gentleman grinning down at her with unabashed interest. Such confidence might have hung awkwardly on another man but this one carried it well and with good reason. He was as tall Aylesbury and just as broadly built with blondish-brown hair, blue eyes, and rugged features that bespoke a Nordic ancestry. Uncommonly handsome in an ancient warrior sort of way.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if women often threw themselves at his feet hoping that he might carry them off over his shoulder as the plunder of war.
“Fiona, I’d like you to meet our host, Nathan Ralston-Ryder, Earl of Harrowby.”
“Lady Fiona,” he rumbled in a gravelly voice that Fiona wagered had been practiced and polished to set a lady aquiver. He took her hand, smoothing it flat between his palms before lifting it to his lips. His blue eyes danced over their intermingled hands. “Det er en glede ä møte en vakker kvinne.”
A rare giggle nearly escaped her before Fiona bit it back though she couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to her lips. She nodded vaguely. “Mmm hmm.”
Yes, he was good.
Aylesbury frowned at Fiona who had all but melted into a puddle at Harrowby’s feet before glaring at his neighbor. That unfamiliar jealousy welled in him again. Not only did he begrudge others her laughter but he definitely begrudged this fellow that look from Fiona. “German?”
“Norwegian, actually,” Harrowby answered without sparing him so much as a glance. “My stepfather is of Norwegian ancestry,” he added for Fiona’s benefit, still holding her hand in his. “He taught me.”
“Naturally,” Aylesbury muttered under his breath.
He’d heard rumor that Harrowby was a womanizer. Despite the close proximity of their homes on Belgrave Square, their interactions had been bound to meeting on the square and at their clubs. They’d even played a few hands of cards but having never come across the earl in such a social setting, he’d assumed the label to be based on little truth. Most were. He, himself had once been considered to be something of a rake.
Rumors were rarely true. But there was always an exception.
At least Harrowby wasn’t set on charming Fiona alone. Ilona hung on his arm looking a trifle dazed herself as she introduced Connor as well. The two men shook hands before Harrowby greeted Aylesbury with the same though he added a flash of arrogance to his look before turning back to Fiona and catching her hand between his once more. “I was wondering if I could persuade you to dance, Lady Fiona?”
“That would be…”
“An invitation she regrets having to decline, Harrowby,” Aylesbury cut in neatly, removing Fiona’s hand from the fellow’s grasp and taking it in his own. The gaze that was turned on him didn’t hold a fraction of the adoration it had moments before. “She has already promised the dance to me.”
Fiona stiffened beside him. “I did no -”
“That’s right, she did!” Ilona cast a regretful smile at the earl. “Perhaps you could reserve one for later in the evening though?”
Fiona’s eyes remained narrowed on Aylesbury while Harrowby wrote his name on her dance card, claiming her for the last waltz of the evening. “I shall await it with bated breath,” he added silkily before turning to Ilona. “Are you spoken for as well, Mrs. MacKintosh? I would be honored.”
Ilona smiled, taking Harrowby’s proffered hand. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Not without a few practiced moves of his own, Aylesbury smoothly turned Fiona in his arms until he was able to slide his arm possessively around her tiny waist. “Shall we?”
When Fiona still hesitated, Connor began to hum under his breath.
“Oh, very well!” Fiona huffed.
“You honor me with your enthusiastic acceptance,” Aylesbury said with only a trace of sarcasm.
Chapter 17
That Harry Brudenall makes me so angry sometimes. Now I am not only a spoiled brat but now I haven’t even a feminine or delicate bone in my body! Of course, I cannot even try to deny this. With no one but the lads as playmates as a child and nary a female influence in my life before Richard wed Abby, what might he expect? Even then, they were so wrapped up in one another, so in love and with a babe of their own, I could not intrude upon their time.
I don’t resent their inattention. I was always quite happy for them. It was like watching a fairytale, to see true love unfold before one’s very eyes! It makes my heart ache still to see them so happy. Then to see such a miracle happen for Francis and then Vin as well has been a joy for me.
But I envy them as well. I want such a love for myself. I want it with Harry. I want to feel like Abby, Eve, and Moira look every day.
If
only he wanted it as well…
~From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—Mar 1893
Taking Fiona’s arm firmly as if he anticipated either fight or flight, the marquis led her to the perimeter of the dance floor where other partnered pairs were gathering. As the music began, Aylesbury allowed her only a moment to loop her train over her wrist before he took her in his arms, drawing her close.
Electricity sparked between them, leaving Fiona tingling from breast to thigh and he wasn’t even touching her! This was going to be unbearable!
“Not so tight,” Fiona hissed, imposing more space between them as he began to move her across the floor. Aylesbury just pulled her closer until her breasts brushed across his chest as they dipped and rotated in time to the music. Only then did Fiona realize that the dance was a Venetian waltz, quite possibly her most favored and romanticized dance. A dance that, years ago, had Aylesbury waltzing her through all her daydreams with a roguish grin.
Gritting her teeth with the determination to remain unyielding in his embrace now, Fiona stiffly followed the marquis’s lead into the twirling dance, endeavoring almost impossibly not to enjoy herself as Aylesbury was a wonderful dance partner, not only because he was practiced in the steps but because he seemed to truly enjoy it as well.
She remembered that much clearly though they had only danced together once before, a lively polonaise during the welcome home ball that had been held for her brother Vin when he returned from Egypt. After that night, Aylesbury had never again asked her…though she also recalled spending a humiliating amount of effort hinting for him to do so.
Never beyond her wistful imaginings had Harry Brudenall held her so snuggly in his arms or turned her so dizzyingly that she longed to cling to him, to close her eyes and relish the warmth of his body pressed so close to hers. That he chose to do so now when it was the last thing she wanted only made her want to draw her flagging anger desperately around herself.
“I would beware of Harrowby. He has something of a reputation as a Lothario.”
Fiona snorted rudely in disbelief but said nothing else, keeping her face turned resolutely away from him.
“Of course, it would not require a libertine's disposition to be taken by you,” he added. “You look lovely tonight, my dear. Scrumptious, in fact.”
“What are you doing, Harry?”
“Ah, finally we’re on a first name basis once again,” he responded with one of those irresistible grins that had a tendency to melt her resolve, but Fiona clung to her antagonism firmly, determined to resist him.
“We are not on a first name basis, Lord Aylesbury,” she snapped. “Nor shall we ever be. Now I want to know what you think you’re about, appearing out of nowhere everywhere I go, being so nice and courteous and…and…”
“Flirtaceous?” he supplied. “Complimentary? Attentive?”
“Yes, all of that. What are you about?”
“Isn’t it obvious, my dear?” he said silkily, bending his head to whisper in her ear. “I’m courting you.”
Fiona drew back as far as his arms would allow. “You are not!”
“But I am,” he said with a devil-may-care smile. “Though I must be doing a poor job if you could not ascertain my purpose. I shall endeavor to improve my performance.”
“Lord Aylesbury, you’ve done so much courting in your life that I’m quite certain you could manage a bang-up job of it from a solitary cell in Bedlam with nothing more than a handful of weeds and an imaginary hat to aid you, but what I meant was no, as in no you are not courting me. I do not wish it, nor will I permit it,” she finished bluntly.
“I believe there may have been a compliment in there somewhere,” Aylesbury said with another smile as he whirled her around the perimeter of the room once more.
Fiona shook her head with a scowl, refusing to be swayed by that alluring smile. “We talked about this. I thought I made myself quite clear on the matter. I cannot forgive. Not now. Perhaps not ever.”
“You made your feelings very clear, but I have decided that I will not be dissuaded. You see, meeting you again has brought joy to my heart, Fiona. A joy I had forgotten life could give. A joy I had nearly forgotten you could give.”
“Balderdash,” Fiona snapped. “That isn’t how I remember it at all.”
“How do you remember it?”
“I remember you calling me a spoiled brat,” she said, unable to completely suppress the hurt in her voice. “I remember you telling me to run off like a good little lass and play with my dolls.”
“I apologize. I did say all that,” he admitted. “But only for my own self-preservation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You really don’t know, do you? You don’t know how hard it was?” Aylesbury smiled ruefully down at her with a shake of his head. “I suppose it was better that way. If you had known, I cannot imagine what lengths you would have gone through to try my sanity.”
“Humph!”
“Did you never wonder why I never asked you to dance again after Vin’s welcome home ball? Ah, Fiona,” he whispered throatily in her ear, sending a shiver of awareness through her. His hand slid downward to settle like a hot brand at the base of her spine, pulling her closer. “I always wondered what it would be like to waltz with you, but I could do nothing more than that. It would have been terrible to hold you like this, touch you, and not have you.”
She stumbled at his words but righted herself quickly with his assistance, her eyes now locked with his though she was frowning fiercely.
“I had to fight against you once, but no more.”
Fiona had no idea what he meant but she refused to allow one iota of confusion pave the way for another broken heart. “You are making no sense at all.” She turned her gaze away from his once more, determined to watch the other dancers rather than him. “You did more than fight against me, you rejected me.”
“You have no idea the impossible situation you put me in, do you?”
“What I do know is that you cannot rewrite history,” she countered to hide the confusion his words had born. “Let’s just get through this dance and be done with one another for good.”
“I have no intention of being done with you. In fact, I intend to make up for the shabby way I once treated you,” he assured her firmly. “And I will begin with waltzes, flowers, and walks in the park, my dear. Because I do intend to court you properly now when I could not before.”
“Could not?” Fiona scoffed, though she felt her heart was quivering in her chest at the promise of his words. “What is that supposed to mean? You weren’t unable to do so, you simply didn’t want to. It was as simple as that!”
“No, it was not that simple,” he countered tightly, his impatience flaring at her intractability. “What would you have had me do back then? Hmm? You were practically a child.”
“You didn’t kiss me like one!” Her loud retort the curious glances of the couples around them, but Aylesbury only tossed them a careless grin before returning his gaze to her more seriously.
“No, I kissed you like the torment you were,” he bit out, his fingertips pressing into her spine. “I kissed you with all the frustration that had been building in me since the day I met you.”
“Oh, is that what that was? Frustration? How flattering.”
“Rather.” His tone softened then. “I shouldn’t have done it at any rate. My heart, mind, and body were all in contradiction at that time but never doubt, Fiona, that I wanted you then as I want you now.”
“No!” She shook her head, denying his words even while her chest tightened painfully. “Don’t do that, Harry. You haven’t the right to come back into my life now when I’m finally happy again and ruin it for me.”
“Are you truly so happy?”
“I am. I don’t need you anymore.”
“What if I were to say that I need you?”
It was a gently phrased question yet utterly heartrending in its impact. Fiona knew that the shock that stole h
er breath and froze her heart also widened her eyes incredulously. Then straight away, her pulse tore off at a gallop, trampling a wide swath of wild exhilaration but Fiona reined it in mercilessly. “No.”
“Fiona, I…”
“No!”
Not waiting to hear anything more, Fiona stepped out of Aylesbury’s arms mid-turn and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor. Whispers and giggles followed her as she worked her way through the crowd and out of the ballroom until she was nearly running down the stairs to the foyer below.
Within seconds she was out the front doors of the Belgrave Square townhouse with the dismayed cries of the footman trailing behind her and across the street into the park before she stopped to catch her breath. The voices and music from the ball faded away until all she could hear was the blood pounding in her veins. Blissful darkness surrounded her, hiding the tears that splashed onto her cheeks…reminding her of another night when Harry Brudenall had sent her running into the darkness with her tears warring with her anger.
* * *
“What on earth are you doing?” Aylesbury asked harshly as he caught up with her and caught Fiona’s arm to pull her to a halt. “You cannot simply abandon your dance partner in the middle of a waltz like a…”
“Spoiled brat?” she finished for him, refusing to look at him as she dashed away any evidence of tears with the back of her hand. “It is what you always thought of me, is it not? Why should tonight be any different?”
“I only called you such when you acted like one,” he returned more evenly. “Now come back inside.”
“Why? So you can court me some more?” She had to wring every drop resolve she possessed in her heart to summon such scorn to her voice. “I don’t want you to court me. I don’t want any of this. I just want to go back home to Glen Cairn and…”
His lips covered hers in a swift hard kiss.
“What are you doing?”
Aylesbury caught her tightly in his arms, forcing her to either tilt her head back or bury her face in his cravat. His face was just inches away when she looked up, his lips hovering over hers. “Seems the best way to shut you up.”
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