Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series Page 7

  He heard a series of raps on the door, one long and three short. It was the signal he’d worked out with Bitters when he spotted someone in the corridor. Bugger. It looked like his solitude and sanity would end sooner rather than later.

  “Miss, I believe you’ll find the other guests gathering in the Great Room before dinner,” he heard his man say. Good old Bitters—he sounded every bit the snob.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Bane listened, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps.

  “Shall I direct you, miss?” Bitters asked.

  She—whoever she was—seemed to hesitate. “It’s just that I want to explore a bit more of the house while the last shreds of my sanity are still intact.”

  Bane nearly laughed but kept his amusement to himself. It appeared as though he had a kindred spirit among the guests.

  “Yes, but—” Bitters began.

  He heard the handle of the door move.

  “Don’t say a word . . . please.”

  Bane went still. Those words. That voice. Surely, his ears must be deceiving him. Don’t say a word . . . please. I only mean to borrow this for a moment and return it directly.

  The door opened. He felt his heart sputter like a galloping horse suddenly stopped at the edge of a cliff. How many times had he replayed those words and that kiss? He didn’t want to admit how they stirred him, even now. However, he was still unsure if this miss and his brandy-sipping Venus were one in the same.

  Bitters didn’t say another word, but he cleared his throat in disapproval before the door closed with a firm click of the latch. Then Bane heard her sigh.

  His chair faced the unlit hearth, the door at his back. With windows on either side facing west and the days growing longer for summer, the room still possessed enough light for her to see him before he saw her. His heart began to gallop again, the sound rushing in his ears as if he were a lad waiting for his first glimpse of a dairymaid’s bosom.

  She sighed again, slightly louder this time. The whisper of her dress and muffled footfalls on the carpet told him she was in motion, likely gazing at the ancient texts on display. Since neither his aunt nor uncle had been great readers, he didn’t believe the collection held anything printed in the past thirty years or more. Which was probably the reason this library was one of the smallest and least visited rooms in the manor. The exact reason he’d chosen it.

  Impatient to end this mystery, he brushed his hand over the arm of the chair, hoping the movement would draw her gaze, a startled gasp, something—anything.

  Nothing.

  He exhaled, long and slow. Audibly.

  She sighed in answer, sounding more impatient now and leaving him to wonder if she was waiting for him to notice her first. If this was Venus, he could imagine it very well. He shook his head, fighting a grin. Then he cleared his throat.

  She cleared hers.

  This time the grin won, but he still did not say anything. Instead, he coughed.

  She released a tired exhale. “If our avoidance continues, I fear we will both grow hoarse before dinner. Although we are clearly strangers, as I know none of Lady Eve’s guests, we must skip social formalities and introduce ourselves, else our dinner companions will think we are rude for not speaking, ailment or not.”

  It was she. The mistress of ghastly potions and stolen moments. The goddess of softly spoken words and borrowed kisses. Venus. Even without seeing her face, he knew. “You hold the opinions of others in high regard.”

  Now, at the sound of his voice, she did gasp. Ah. She knew him without sight too, then. He wondered if she would be embarrassed and bolt out the door, as she had during their previous encounter. Oddly enough, he found himself hoping she wouldn’t.

  Holding his breath, he waited. His fingers curled over the edge of the chair.

  “I suppose,” she began, her voice airy and winded, as if part of her had bolted out the door, leaving her body behind, “another solution would be for me to slip away, as if I’d stumbled into the library, noticed the fidgety hand of a gentlemen on the arm of the chair, realized I did not want to disturb a man who quite obviously had a nervous condition, and summarily left without a word.”

  He heard the door handle rattle and stood immediately, not wanting her to escape. But she’d duped him. A caustic brow arched and slender arms crossed over a frilly white concoction that, he supposed, was for the purpose of making her look demure. As if Venus could ever disguise her true nature.

  Bane propped his arm along the back of the chair and crossed one boot in front of the other, pretending he hadn’t been ready to dash across the room to keep her within it. “Perhaps it was less a nervous condition and more the idea of having his solitude disturbed that made him fidget.”

  “And now?”

  Damn but she looked smug, daring to hide her grin from him. “A miracle cure.”

  She smiled then but all too briefly. “We have not been introduced.”

  “As you stated before, it would not be proper.”

  A lovely burst of color flushed her cheeks. He knew she’d blushed many times the other night, but the light had been too dim for him to admire its beauty. Now, she fairly glowed, the sunset captured in her cheeks, brightening the cerulean blue of her eyes.

  “We seem to have abandoned propriety during our previous encounter,” she said.

  Wanting to tease her, he pulled a face of confusion. “Previous encounter? Are you suggesting we’ve met before?”

  At first, she furrowed her brow and studied him closely. In that split second, he knew she was wondering if he was mocking her or seriously didn’t remember. Then, as if she saw the truth stamped across his face, like a fool playing cards for the first time, her eyes narrowed.

  “Forgive me, but with the light behind you, I could not make out your features.” Up went that brow, more challenging than caustic. “I was mistaken. I do not know you, sir.”

  “Very few people do,” he said, pleased without knowing why. He was pleased for the sake of being pleased, he supposed, even though the idea was ludicrous.

  She pursed her lips. “And where does the fault lie in that?”

  “With everyone else, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I could hardly claim it.”

  “Not when you try so hard to be sociable.”

  He liked this game. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “After all, you found me.” Again.

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth. The memory of the sweet press of her lips forced him to lift his hand and brush the tingles he felt on his bottom lip.

  She blushed again and swallowed. “I should go to dinner.”

  “Why?” He wanted her to stay. Perhaps if they continued their senseless conversation until the light faded from the sky and room grew dark, she would be bold again.

  “Because it is expected.”

  He chuckled and watched her stiffen. “All of society will fall if we do not do what is expected.”

  “Certain rules should be followed,” she stated as fervently as a paddle-wielding governess. “Such as, the proper course for introductions.”

  Then, before he could cross the room to stop her, she opened the door and bolted.

  Rushing after her, he watched her retreat down the hallway, relishing the indignation in her every step.

  There was nothing finer than Venus in all her fury.

  You will soon learn that the only rules Eve makes are the ones she expects to be broken.

  And he was tempted to do just that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Merribeth waited outside the salon to catch her breath and cool her cheeks. Lord Knightswold was at Eve’s party? She’d hoped never to see him again, never to be reminded of her rash behavior at Lady Amherst’s. Yet she couldn’t even seem to control her tongue in his presence.

  What had possessed her to speak so brazenly, flirting with him? She was not so green as to believe it wasn’t flirting. The instant she saw him, she felt the insistent beat of the drum that seemed to pulse only
when he was near. However, she kept herself far from him. Best to avoid temptation.

  Even though he professed not to remember, she highly suspected he was toying with her. His brand of flirting, no doubt. And yet . . . she wasn’t entirely convinced he did remember her. After all, it was rumored he spent time with scores of women. How could one stand out from the rest? She knew from years of being a wallflower, in addition to recent events concerning Mr. Clairmore, she wasn’t remarkable in the least.

  That thought sobered her. The warmth from her cheeks vanished. She felt cold at the thought that something as altering for her as the night in Lady Amherst’s study had been nothing memorable for him.

  “There you are,” Sophie said, peeking out the wide double doors of the Great Room. “Eve and I were ready to send out the hunting hounds.”

  Merribeth affected a grin. “I was exploring the house. It’s quite lovely. I look forward to a tour of the grounds tomorrow.” Anything to keep me as far away from Lord Knightswold as possible.

  “If it does not rain,” Sophie said, ever the voice of reason and sensibility. She linked arms with Merribeth and led her into the room. “For now, there are guests awaiting an introduction before we can begin dinner.”

  The Great Room—with vaulted ceilings; tall, imposing windows; and a fireplace so immense that it could fit a horse and carriage—was a very masculine space. The walls were bathed in a rich golden fawn, with a bank of windows swathed in midnight draperies from corner to corner, open to reveal the pond in the distance.

  “Here she is,” Eve said, walking toward them. “Now, this is Miss Wakefield’s first house party, so I expect each of you to set an example of model behavior.” Her words were met with snickers and sideways glances, though thankfully, none of them directed at Merribeth.

  A gentleman with a square jaw and a generous salting of gray through his short brassy locks took a step forward and bowed. “I vow to keep my talk of battles to a minimum.”

  Before Eve could make an introduction, a curvaceous woman with an artful spray of feathers woven through honey brown ringlets sidled up to the man and slipped her arm into his. “Colonel Hamersley should sit beside me at dinner, for I do not mind heroic tales. The most conversation I get from my husband consists of flocks of our sheep and on which part of our land he’d last spotted them,” she said with a laugh but cast a spurious look toward the slender, well-dressed gentleman standing near the hearth, holding a crystal cordial glass.

  Eve directed her first introduction to that man, Sir Colin Whitworth, who had kind eyes and smiled warmly, despite his wife’s waspish comment.

  The Baron and Baroness Archer were next. Though they should have been introduced first by rank, no one seemed to mind Eve’s rule flaunting.

  Lord Archer swayed slightly on his feet and lifted his empty goblet in greeting. “The more the merrier!” He had the look of a man who’d been considered handsome at one time. Beneath the florid complexion and slightly rounded face, Merribeth could see the ghost of a rakish gleam in his gaze.

  Beside him, his wife offered a small smile and patted his arm. Her frame and features were dainty, and she had an air about her that spoke of centuries and centuries of family money.

  Daniela Pearce came forward, her reputation for being a hedonistic widow having preceded her. She held out her pink-gloved hand in greeting and then tugged Merribeth forward to kiss her on both cheeks. “I’m going to take you under my wing, darling, and together we’re going to get him back,” she whispered, pulling her closer. Her breath was scented with wine, and her ample bosom smothered Merribeth.

  She looked to Eve, not for help but with accusation. You told her? Her aunt’s friend offered a pout, pretending to beg forgiveness.

  “I do hope Mrs. Pearce shares her secret with me,” Colonel Hamersley said with a chuckle.

  His remark earned an outraged giggle from the woman still in possession of his arm. “My dear Colonel, what a terrible flirt you are,” Lady Cordelia said, batting her eyes and doing her best to arrange the tips of her feathers to draw attention to her own bosom.

  Finally, Merribeth was set free, albeit a little deflated. “Thank you, Mrs. Pearce,” she murmured. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion of their conversation, in case there were still guests who had not heard of Mr. Clairmore’s betrayal, which she doubted greatly.

  “Unfortunately, our party is uneven,” Eve announced. “Reverend Tiberon sent his regrets, and the last guest has been delayed. Ah, but here is the man of the hour—my nephew, the hermit.”

  Merribeth went still and gaped at Eve as she made the announcement. She knew of only one other person who hadn’t been in the room before she’d arrived: Lord Knightswold.

  Suddenly, her thoughts scattered like cinders on a breeze.

  Nephew?

  “I’m certain someone would have discovered my hiding place, sooner or later,” he said from behind Merribeth. His words rumbled through her body like a team of stampeding horses, lifting gooseflesh on her arms as well as the fine hairs at her nape. “One can never be a hermit for long at a house party.”

  “What’s the use of being without the pleasure of another’s company?” the widow Pearce asked. Apparently, her ample bosom meant she was deficient elsewhere.

  “I can think of no reason at all,” Archer replied as he tapped the rim of his glass for a footman to refill it.

  Merribeth dared not turn. Nephew? Her previous assumptions were now riddled with doubt. She’d assumed that Eve had sent her to retrieve her reticule at Lady Amherst’s for the purpose of a flirtation with a rake. Surely Eve wouldn’t have sent her to flirt with her own nephew.

  Oh dear. The weight of the world seemed to plummet to the bottom of her stomach. His presence in the room that night had likely been only a coincidence. If she had known Lord Knightswold was Eve’s nephew, she never would have been so bold.

  Her heart raced, and her palms were damp. Eve was about to introduce them. The question of whether or not he would reveal their previous acquaintance suddenly entered her mind. And why, of all the things she’d heard of Lord Knightswold, had she never heard he was related to Eve?

  “Bane, you know nearly everyone here, so introductions are pointless. However, there are two people I’m certain you will love to meet. This is my dear friend, Sophie Leander.”

  From the corner of her eye, Merribeth watched her aunt bow her head and smile. “Lord Knightswold, I’ve heard so many good things about you from your aunt.”

  “A great pleasure, Mrs. Leander. I have heard equal praise of you.”

  When her vision went hazy, Merribeth realized she was holding her breath. Yet if she fainted, she’d draw more attention. Better breathe, then.

  Then, even though it went against her instinct to flee, she slowly turned, keeping her eyes on the floor as if fascinated by the carpet. In truth, the Turkish weave was quite lovely.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. Drat.

  “And this is Miss Wakefield,” Eve said, emphasizing the Miss. In other words: stay far, far away from this one. “Sophie’s niece.”

  When Merribeth lifted her gaze, she saw him grin but soon enough discovered his gaze was not on her but on the buxom widow past her shoulder. “Miss Makepeace, a pleasure,” he said absently.

  “Miss Wakefield, nephew.” Eve clucked her tongue. “I can already see I’ll need to rearrange the cards at dinner.” She pulled Sophie aside and called the butler over, presumably to talk about the seating arrangement.

  Bane met Merribeth’s gaze for a brief, smoldering instant. “Forgive me, Miss Wakefield. It seems a few sips of brandy have gone to my head.”

  Her mouth opened in shock but then closed before anyone noticed. How dare he say something to make her blush!

  Fortunately, her temper took care of any embarrassment. After all, he was just ogling Daniela Pearce. “Lord Knightswold, it’s an honor to meet a gentleman who is unafraid of admitting favor for temperance in the company of his peers.”

 
“Man can’t hold his liquor,” Lord Archer chuckled, draining another cup.

  Bane grinned. “It’s only brandy that affects me so, I fear. It has a tendency to stay with me. For days, in fact,” he said, loud enough that it sounded as if he were making a joke for everyone’s amusement. It gained him several more chuckles.

  He stepped forward, as if to pass by Merribeth. Then he hesitated, his voice low. “I should probably abstain from it completely, but there’s something indescribably tempting in the elixir.”

  Double drat. Her cheeks were aflame—she could feel it. He was bedeviling her on purpose. She feared her quick tendency to blush would reveal her secret and suddenly realized that her only method of combating his flirtation was to remove herself from his presence.

  Then, as ever, Eve had perfect timing and announced that dinner was ready.

  Merribeth breathed a sigh of relief, short lived though it may be.

  Bane was never more grateful for a dinner to end.

  Instead of gathering in the dining room, seated at the grand table that had once hosted a king, Eve decided that a more intimate dinner in the dimly lit conservatory was perfect for a smaller party. Because of it, they took their places at a round table, seated within elbow’s reach of each other. The close proximity gave Daniela the notion of playing hide-the-napkin, as he frequently found her hand seeking the one in his lap.

  On the other side of him, Cordelia Whitworth did not offer a reprieve. She was still cross with him for not accepting her advances a year ago. He’d tried to explain that, contrary to rumor, he did not dally with other men’s wives, but she had taken his refusal as a slight.

  Although his statement implied a moral quality that everyone knew he didn’t possess, his reason for this had more to do with his ultimate revenge against his grandfather than anything else. Simply put, wives were not as careful as widows when it came to matters of begetting a child.

  Because of his slight a year ago, Cordelia now focused all her attention on the colonel, who sat on her other side. Beside Daniela, Sir Colin would have been without conversation entirely, had it not been for the soft-spoken Lady Archer. Beyond her, Sophie and Eve kept to their conversation, which left Venus—or rather, Miss Wakefield—to the company of the leering Lord Archer. Her gaze had only strayed to Bane’s once during the entire service, and that was only when she answered a question posed to her by the colonel on her other arm.