The music slowed, and the waltz came to an end. Lord Caxton removed his hand from Judith’s back, leaving her oddly bereft. He kissed her hand once more, bowed gracefully over it.
“Thank you for a delightful dance, Miss Leslie. I do hope we’ll meet again.”
“Um. Yes, thank you. I mean, you’re welcome.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to call them back, but he was gone, his shoulders vibrating as he laughed, she was sure, at her idiotic response. She would not have been disappointed if the floor opened up and swallowed her whole.
A fate made even more attractive when her mother’s talons dug into her shoulder.
“Come. With. Me.” Lady Grangemore’s voice was low, nearly inaudible, signaling anger so profound it didn’t require words.
Judith huffed out a breath, then obediently followed her mother to the front hall, where they bid goodnight to each remaining guest. As the last one left the house, Lady Grangemore turned to Judith.
“We will speak in the morning.” She paused, held up a long finger, and shook her head. “No, the evening. I will require an entire day to overcome my desire to ship you back to Derbyshire on the mail coach.”
She stalked up the stairs, leaving Judith in the hall, imprints of her mother’s nails on her skin and the gentleman’s hand tingling in the small of her back.
****
Peter entered the breakfast room the next morning feeling more energized than he had in months. A vision of Miss Leslie danced through his brain, the smell of her unique jasmine and rose scent still lingering in his senses. And the feel of her against him, taller than any woman with whom he’d ever danced—she’d fit within his arms as if they’d been designed for each other.
His father was hunched over the newspaper, a cup of tea at his elbow and congealing eggs on his plate.
“Morning, Father.”
The earl looked up in surprise, glanced at the mantel clock, then back at Peter. “It’s only nine o’clock. What’s wrong?”
Peter shrugged. “Nothing is wrong. I wasn’t in the mood to sleep in.”
“I know very well you didn’t get in until five o’clock. You tripped over the table in the upstairs hall and woke me up. Drunk, I suppose.” Lord Longley grunted and returned to his paper.
“Yes, it’s true, I got in quite late, but no, I wasn’t drunk. You might consider leaving a lamp or two burning until I get in. It’s positively tomblike upstairs after dark.”
“Hmph,” the earl grunted, although Peter was amused to see the hint of a smile at the corners of his father’s mouth.
Peter helped himself to eggs, toast, and kippers and sat across from the earl as the footman poured his coffee. “You’ll be pleased, Father, when you hear I have found a chit to court.”
The paper in his father’s hands twitched, but Peter was unable to see the face behind it.
“I think you’d like her, actually. She’s very proper, from a good family.” He took a bite of eggs. The paper twitched again, lowered ever so slightly. “Miss Judith Leslie,” Peter said. “Viscount Grangemore’s daughter.”
The paper crashed to the table under the earl’s fists. “Grangemore?” He shook his head so ferociously Peter feared it would fly off his neck. “Oh, no, lad, I could never countenance such a match. Your mother would never forgive me.”
Peter paused his fork en route to his mouth. “What? What’s wrong with her? And why should Mother care, especially as she’s been dead for twenty years?”
“Hmph. Never you mind. Search elsewhere, my boy. Plenty of other chits out there—the Season’s only just begun.” He folded his paper, placed it at the side of his plate and rose, pausing to pat Peter awkwardly on the back with a curled hand. “Plenty of other chits,” he muttered as he shuffled out of the room.
Feeling far less cheerful than he had when he entered the room, Peter set his fork on his plate, no longer hungry. He had thought he might actually please his father. But again, he failed.
Chapter 3
Judith tossed and turned for much of the night, too stirred up to sleep. Her mind kept picturing Lord Caxton in his ridiculous coat, his blond hair curling where it met his collar, her hand and back still tingling where he had touched her. She had known there would be consequences for disobeying her mother and seeking out that last dance, but unless her mother deigned to tell her why he was unsuitable, she saw no reason why she couldn’t satisfy her curiosity.
Finally dozing off around daybreak, she was awakened by a poke in the shoulder. “At last,” her maid said, when Judith opened her eyes. “I thought you’d sleep the entire day away.”
“Wha?” Judith nestled deeper into the blankets. “Go away, Grace. I didn’t sleep a wink.”
“There’s a gentleman come to call.”
“Who?”
“Lord Something-or-Other. I can’t remember what Wildon said. But I peeked into the morning room. He’s very handsome and exceedingly tall, with blond hair.”
She sat up so abruptly she made herself a bit dizzy. Lord Caxton? “What time is it?”
“Eleven o’clock, miss.”
Her stomach gave an unnerving lurch, but excitement gave way to propriety. “No gentleman would call this early, especially the day after a ball. I don’t care how handsome he is. Tell Wildon to send him away.”
“He tried, miss. The gentleman said he would wait.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. What is my mother going to say?”
“She’s gone to bed with a megrim. We won’t see her for hours.”
Secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to worry about her mother, Judith climbed out of bed, her long legs nearly catching in the bedclothes. She stared at her wardrobe and shook her head. “Oh, Grace. What should I wear?”
Grace nearly clapped her hands with glee. Not much older than Judith herself, she was a hopeless romantic who lived for the love stories she read in the serials. A man who came to call so early in the day was a romantic story in the making.
“The green muslin, I think. It brings out the color of your eyes, miss.”
Judith grinned. “Excellent choice.”
Far quicker than she had ever done before, Judith was dressed and entering the morning room, Grace close behind. In a creamy white cravat and dark gray coat more subdued than the one he had worn last night, Lord Caxton stood at the window overlooking the garden. The late morning sun filtered through the glass, making his hair glow golden. He was as beautiful from behind as he was face to face.
Judith’s breath hitched, and her throat went dry. “Lord Caxton,” she croaked. “What an unexpected surprise.”
He turned to face her, bowed. “Miss Leslie. Please forgive my unfashionably early intrusion.”
So he was aware of the social niceties, despite what her mother had said last night. Even if he chose to ignore them, that had to count for something.
She sat on a settee opposite the window, arranging her skirts around her. “Please, sit down, my lord.” She gestured at an adjacent chair, then instructed her maid to ring for the butler.
Lord Caxton folded his enormous frame into the delicate Georgian chair. He smiled, his eyes as blue as she remembered. They made small talk until after the butler came and went, sniffing in disapproval but too well trained not to fetch them the tea and scones she requested.
“So, my lord. What brings you here at this time of the morning?”
“Will your mother not be joining us?” He surveyed the room, as if he expected Lady Grangemore to leap out from behind the drapes.
“No, she is feeling unwell this morning.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that.” He didn’t appear sorry—quite the opposite. His expression had brightened as soon as Judith said her mother was ill.
“She’ll be fine, I’m sure. Only a headache.”
“Ah.” He seemed about to say something else when Wildon returned with a tray piled high with pastries. He inserted himself between Judith and Lord Caxton, spending far longer pouring tea and arranging
scones on china plates than was strictly necessary. Judith drummed her fingertips on her lap. Finally, as he turned the cups so their handles faced at a certain angle on the saucers, she could take no more.
“Thank you. That will be all, Wildon.” She glared at him, and he stared passively back. She cleared her throat, attempted to adopt her mother’s occasionally fierce demeanor, but he simply stood there. “You may go.”
The butler raised his beetle-black brows but said nothing. He bowed slightly and retreated. Judith suspected he went no farther than the other side of the door so he could listen to every word.
Judith was so nervous she could do no more than nibble on one of the scones. Silence stretched awkwardly between them, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Lord Caxton sat back, one long leg crossed over the other, enjoying a pastry and studying her over the lip of his teacup.
Finally, he set down the cup. “I wanted to see you again.”
Judith coughed on scone crumbs, her throat dry once more. “Why?” She picked up her tea cup and drank, her hand shaking so much she spilled some on her gown.
“Because you’re delightful. You say exactly what you think. That is a rare quality in young ladies of the ton, I have found.”
“Oh.” Lord, but he made her feel stupid.
“I wondered if you might be interested in a drive in the park this afternoon.”
She blinked. “In Hyde Park? With you?”
His laughter signaled her continued delightfulness. “Yes, with me, and of course in Hyde Park. Is that not where everyone will be?”
“I seldom feel the need to be where everyone is, my lord. It gets so crowded.”
“True. However, I don’t think your mother would approve of us going anywhere else alone.”
“Good lord, no.” Judith clapped a hand to her mouth. “I mean, certainly not.” But it was too late—he was laughing again, those sky-blue eyes twinkling. “To be honest, my lord, I don’t think she’ll approve of me going anywhere with you at all, especially when she learns you called on me this morning. She was not best pleased we shared a dance last night.”
“If the daggers she was throwing at me with her eyes were any indication, I am inclined to agree with you. Perhaps it had more to do with your failing to behave like a good girl should?”
Her mouth dropped open. “I assure you, my lord, I am a good girl.”
He cocked a brow.
She frowned. “Perhaps not last night.”
He smiled a know-it-all smile.
“You’re terribly annoying, did you know that?” she said, slightly exasperated.
He shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”
“My mother does not approve of you. Why, do you think?”
“I couldn’t say. Nor can I explain why my father doesn’t approve of you.”
“What?” Judith’s eyes widened. Her maid, all but forgotten in the corner, let out a gasp, which Judith found somewhat gratifying. “But why should he disapprove of me? My father was a well-respected member of the peerage, God rest his soul, and my mother the very picture of propriety. And I, well, I’d never even been to London at all until three weeks ago. What could I have possibly done to make myself unsuitable?”
Lord Caxton shrugged. “It is a mystery to me as well. But I have been displeasing my father since the day I was born, so I see no reason to stop now.” He rose, bowed. “Until this afternoon, Miss Leslie. I shall call for you at three o’clock.”
He swept out of the room before she could refuse.
****
Peter smiled to himself as he strode out of Grangemore House, leaving the adorable Miss Leslie sputtering in confusion. He had a feeling it didn’t happen often. For all her innocence, she seemed used to getting her own way. He wanted to find out why his father was so opposed to the match, and there was no better way to do that than to act in direct defiance of his wishes. Besides, he truly did find her delightful. She was the first woman he had ever met who might sway him from his inclination not to marry, and as such, he would court her no matter what her parent, or his own, might wish.
He spent the afternoon cleaning and polishing his curricle, which he had neglected for months. Leaving his father’s coachman to see to the horses, he bathed and changed his clothes.
He returned to Grangemore House as the hall clock struck four. The stern butler was not pleased to see him. He opened his mouth to speak, presumably to tell him Miss Leslie was not at home, but was interrupted by the lady herself, who ducked around the servant and out the front door. Dressed in an emerald-colored riding ensemble, her glorious auburn hair piled atop her head, she was a woodland goddess.
“A curricle? Oh, how exciting! I’ve never been in one. Is it yours?” She ran a gloved finger over the gold trim and turned to him, her full lips slightly parted, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes, it is. I haven’t used it in a while, but thought it was just the thing for a turn about the park.”
“Cassandra will be green,” she muttered under her breath, a happy smile playing about her lips.
“Cassandra?”
She waved a hand airily. “No one of importance. A girl I know.”
“Hmm. Shall we?”
“Oh, yes.” He handed her into the carriage. She arranged her skirts around her, and he caught a glimpse of a shapely ankle above a neat brown leather boot. When he sat beside her, they were nearly the same height—she had a surprisingly long torso for a woman, and she was quite tall to begin with.
He snapped the reins and the horses, a matched pair of bays, made their way the short distance to Hyde Park.
The spring day was unusually fine, and the park was crowded. The cherry trees lining the path were in full bud, their pale pink blooms filling the air with a heady fragrance. Peter wanted to engage in witty repartee with Miss Leslie, but was so out of practice with driving, he found himself occupied with trying not to hit anything.
“Do you think we might ride down Rotten Row?” Miss Leslie asked. Despite her earlier statements that she preferred to be away from the crowds, she vibrated with excitement. Her head flitted from side to side, taking in all the sights of the ton in full promenade. “I never have.”
“I thought you didn’t like crowds,” Peter said.
“I don’t, as a rule. But somehow it doesn’t seem so bad today.” She grinned at him.
“If you wish.” He’d do anything she liked when she smiled in such a way. He steered the curricle toward the most popular area, hoping he could keep his bays under control.
“Oh, look! There’s Cassandra,” she said.
She pointed toward a sour-faced girl in a pale gold gown, her hand clutching the arm of a gentleman whose pinched expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. A bird of prey with a rat in her talons.
“Ah, so that’s Cassandra.”
“How petite and delicate she is,” Miss Leslie said with a touch of bitterness. “Next to her I am such a clod. As she’s never been reluctant to tell me. Her pretty face and creamy complexion hides quite a beastly personality.”
Peter turned to his companion, studied her for a moment. “London is full of petite English birds, beastly and otherwise. You, my dear Miss Leslie, possess a feline grace, long and lean and utterly sensual.”
She blinked her green cat eyes and stared at him. “A cat?” Peter dearly hoped he hadn’t offended her. Such a remark was improper in the extreme. He opened his mouth to apologize when a sleek, satisfied smile spread across her face. “A cat. Cats eat birds for breakfast.”
“That they do.” They passed the beady-eyed Cassandra without saying a word. Peter glanced back to see the woman stop and stare at Miss Leslie, her face suffused with color, her brows arched, and lips pursed with fury. She tugged fiercely on her gentleman’s arm and stomped off in the opposite direction.
“Do you see anyone else you’d like to chew on, my puss?”
She smiled shyly. “I am not a mean person, my lord, and I will pay dearly for cutting her j
ust now, but she brings out the worst in me.”
“She seems to have found her beau for the season.”
“What?”
“The man she was with. She was clutching his arm rather possessively.”
“Him?” She laughed. Not the musical titter so many debs emitted, but a full-throated sound of amusement that reverberated in his belly. “Oh no, that was her brother, Bernard. Poor man.”
Poor man, indeed, although certainly not as unfortunate as the man who would eventually marry his sister.
The rest of the ride proved uneventful. He hit no one with his carriage, nor did he manage to dump Miss Leslie out of it and into the Serpentine. She proved to be an engaging companion, full of witty commentary on the people they passed. She was an observer rather than an active participant, a fact which made her all the more attractive.
Arriving at her front door, he jumped down and handed her out of the curricle. He pulled her hand toward him, brushed his lips across it, felt her tremble as they touched the soft leather of her glove. “Miss Leslie. It’s been a pleasure. I hope you will ride with me again.”
Her cheeks glowed pink. “I hope so too. Thank you, Lord Caxton. It was enlightening.” There was a slight flutter in his belly as she moved toward the house, turned back as she reached the door. She lifted a hand, gave a slight wave and an enigmatic smile, and disappeared inside.
The flutter whirled into a storm.
Chapter 4
“Judith, is that you? Where have you been?” Lady Grangemore called from the sitting room as Judith was handing her wrap and gloves to Wildon. Judith sighed. She wanted to return to her room to think about her glorious outing, but there was no avoiding this. God help her if the viscountess had somehow already heard about Judith’s treatment of Lady Cassandra.
“Yes, Mama, I’m here. You knew I was going for a ride in the park with Lord Caxton, did you not?”
Needlepoint on her lap, a glass of sherry at her elbow, Lady Grangemore peered at Judith over her spectacles, a look cultivated to make Judith and her siblings aware she knew they’d been naughty and would suffer for it. “After I told you to have nothing to do with him? You know very well I would not have allowed it had I known.”
Treasure Her Heart Page 2
