Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
R oderick stood at the edge of the ballroom, couples bobbing by him in dance after dance, and yet he hardly noticed them. His mind kept going back to hours ago on the pall-mall court. To the bright triumph on Clarissa Lockhart’s face when she had…well, she’d let him win. Forced him to win, if he was clear about it, entirely against his will. Why, he had no idea. It had become a battle between them, just as everything had felt like a battle with the woman since his arrival.
He glanced across the room and found her chatting with a group of women. Sometimes she would grow excited and her hands would begin to move in animated display, but she’d catch herself and immediately temper the action, bending her head. Returning to the demure exhibition she seemed to think was required in company.
It was all an act, just like her losing to him was an act. She was always pretending, it seemed. Only her dislike of Roderick appeared to be genuine, which was both infuriating and fascinating. And perhaps it was time to resolve all that at last so he could stop thinking about it.
He moved across the room just as the other ladies left her. She turned toward him and the smile fell from her face. She corrected herself quickly enough, becoming blank and serene, but he’d seen it. He would almost laugh at it, but there was some strange drive within him to understand it. Perhaps because she was the cousin of a good friend.
“Miss Lockhart, a pleasure to meet you again when we are not on the battlefield.”
She sniffed rather than laughed. “It was hardly a battle, my lord. I was routed.”
He arched a brow. “That isn’t exactly how I recall it, but I would never correct you.”
Her lips thinned a little, but she made no retort even if he sensed one on her tongue. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes. A great deal. Many of the attending parties are friends or at least good companions. And those invited to the ball from the surrounding area have increased the pleasure of the night. This is a triumph for you and your parents.”
Her brows knitted together, as if she hadn’t expected that response. Didn’t trust it, it seemed. But she was thrown off and he had to believe this was the best time to… strike was the word that came to mind. As if they were still engaged in mental combat on the pall-mall field.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?”
The color left her cheeks and she hesitated. He could see she wished to reject him. It was almost comical. But then she inclined her head. “I could not refuse.”
“Of course you could,” he said.
Her gaze darted to the dancefloor. He realized then what the problem was. Propriety dictated that if she refused one partner, she was required to keep herself from the dancefloor for the rest of the night. He hadn’t meant to trap her like that and he took a step back with his hands slightly raised.
“I would retract the offer if you truly didn’t wish it, and say nothing about it so that you might continue your evening.”
She jerked her gaze to his and he caught his breath. Hidden within the dark brown of her stare was a little green. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it made her eyes so very different from any other lady’s.
“That is a chivalrous offer, but to do so would be dreadfully rude on my part. I-I would be happy to dance with you, my lord,” she said a little more softly both in volume and tone. She extended a hand and he took it to guide her to the dancefloor.
It was a waltz. He hadn’t intended that. It felt a little too close and intimate to perform with a woman who did not like him, nor wish to be near him, let alone fully in his arms. But it was too late now to change things. She placed a hand on his shoulder, another in his and he lightly touched her hip. They turned out together for a while, though she kept her gaze on a spot that wasn’t exactly his face.
“I have never been to this part of Leicestershire before,” he said, trying to find a benign topic to soften Miss Lockhart before he tried to determine the source of her dislike. “It’s lovely.”
“It is,” she agreed.
He waited for her to expound, but she didn’t and he sighed as they turned a few more times in silence. “Do you have any recommendations for things to do during my visit?”
She pursed her lips and then said, “The Duke and Duchess of Rutland are in the midst of building a new Belvoir Castle on the site of the old ruin. It’s far from finished, but the grounds are lovely. You might even get permission to fish in one of the lakes, if you’re of a mind. My cousin could arrange it, I’m sure.”
They pivoted to the beat of the music, which he could tell was coming to its end. “Ah yes, Rutland. He breeds fine thoroughbreds, as well.”
“He’s known for that, yes.” The music faded at last and she stepped back to give him a deep curtsey. Her expression seemed more relaxed now and she glanced away from him, like she was counting the moments until they were parted. “Thank you, Lord Kirkwood.”
He took her hand to escort her from the floor. They stopped to the side and he tilted his head to look at her more closely. “I do not think you like me much, Miss Lockhart. ”
Her lips parted and he could see he had startled her. “That is very direct.”
“I find it is easier when one is. I note you do not deny it.”
“Because it is also an entirely impertinent observation to make of someone you hardly know. Very rude.” The words bubbled from her lips and she paled instantly. She shifted and then said, “Forgive me. I should not have said that.”
“Why-ever not? I prefer it, for it’s far more honest than glaring daggers at me across every room I enter. So, you believe me rude.”
She shoved her hands down at her sides and drew a long breath before she curtseyed to him a second time. “Please excuse me.”
She pivoted and walked away and he watched her with increasing frustration. The woman was impossible. He should have let her go, simply walked away with a shrug at her strenuous dislike and rigid idea of proper comportment and find something more entertaining to do. Mr. Longford’s sister, Mrs. Vale, had been making eyes at him all day. She was a widow—if she was open to it, he could have a bit of fun at least. That would make him forget the entirely unpleasant, if lovely, Miss Lockhart.
And yet he didn’t filter back into the crowd and find the lady who actually seemed to want to spend time with him. Instead, he followed the one who made it increasingly clear she didn’t. Through the crowd, out the terrace door and around to a quiet corner of the wide veranda. She had stopped at the terrace wall and gripped her hands into fists against the rough stone there as she looked out onto the moonlit garden.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said.
She turned to face him. “Gracious, why must you continue to harangue me?”
Her cheeks were pink with angry color and her eyes snapped with the same. It made her even prettier and more interesting to look at. But he ignored that and folded his arms.
“Because you are adept at avoiding a simple, straightforward conversation. You dislike me. Greatly, it seems, though I don’t think we’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering each other before I dismounted from my horse on your drive not four full days ago. So unless we have some shared history I’ve forgotten, then I can only assume all this vitriol you are barely containing is about me committing the cardinal sin of arriving to your family home uninvited? Is that why?”
She seemed to struggle with a response, but at last she folded her arms and took a long step toward him.
“ Yes ,” she snapped out. “I find the fact that you have intruded uninvited into a party of a family you do not know is abominably rude and entitled. Are you happy now, Kirkwood? May I be freed from this ridiculous interrogation?”
T he words spilled from her mouth, laced with all the anger she so often repressed down deep in her chest, and Clarissa immediately wished she could take them back. Just as she had in the ballroom a few moments before and earlier on the pall-mall alley, she was allowing her emotions take over. According to etiquette guides, that was one of the deepest sins a lady could commit. And yet this man, this tall and handsome and really entirely annoying man, seemed to bring them out. That was the very best reason to avoid him if he would ever let her do so.
“Please,” she said, drawing a few breaths. “Forgive my lapse in manners and let me go.”
He caught her hand instead of doing so and she stiffened. He’d touched her during the dance, as well, and she felt an odd reaction through her body when he did. Not entirely unpleasant, though certainly foreign. Was it disgust? No, it didn’t feel like that. It was like warmth that spread through her. What did one call such a thing that no other gentleman had ever inspired?
“I asked you for the truth of your feelings,” he said, his tone making it clear that he was only clinging to control just as she was. “ So you needn’t apologize. But you must allow me to respond to your charge.”
She shook his hand away and folded hers in front of herself, willing them to stop tingling. She didn’t want to let him respond. She wanted him to bow his head and just go away so his presence would stop troubling her so much.
But that wasn’t fair, was it? Certainly this entire situation made her just as impolite as she wanted to believe him. She let out a shaky sigh. “Yes. I suppose I owe you that.”
He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the smooth lines of the style and making him look as rakish as he was rumored to be. “I’ve been mates with your cousin George for years, you know. And so when he approached me in London at the end of the Season and asked me to accompany him to his estate, with a stop here at your gathering, I agreed.”
She sucked in a breath to retort, but he held up a hand and it stopped her, as annoyed as she was by the act.
“ But ,” he continued with a little glare. “I also insisted he ensure that my presence would be expected and welcome by your family. He agreed and since he said nothing to the contrary before our departure, I assumed it was until I dismounted Othello and found everyone in your family either shocked or annoyed to see me there.”
Her anger cooled a little at that entirely understandable and rational explanation. “Oh.”
He arched a brow at her tiny response. “So, yes, I agree that it is very rude to come uninvited to a gathering with a family I hardly know. And yet, that was not my intent, even if it was the result of circumstances out of my control.”
She stared at him a moment, lit by the moon and the glittering candlelight of the ball through the windows. He looked truly bothered by this conversation. She had no idea if that was real, but she had no reason to doubt him. Or at least none she could find when she didn’t even know him.
“I-I could see how my cousin might do such a thing,” she admitted at last. “He is a dear little rapscallion at best. And a forgetful clod at worst.”
“He is, indeed, often both those things at once,” Kirkwood agreed with a half grin that made him even more attractive. She wanted to return it with a smile of her own, but forced her expression to remain unmoved.
“Is—is your horse really named Othello?” she asked.
He seemed surprised by the question, but he nodded. “He is. A favorite Shakespeare play of mine.”
She shifted her weight with discomfort. She would also count Othello amongst her favorite plays from the Bard. Having that in common with this man was a bit...infuriating.
“Miss Lockhart, would you like me to leave?” he asked. “Depart your home now that we understand each other? If my presence is that difficult for you to bear, despite my explanation, I could find a reason to depart that would leave you with none of the blame. It’s your home, after all, and despite what you seem to think of me, I wouldn’t want to leave you in discomfort in your own walls.”
She worried her lip. For the second time, she found him being chivalrous, trying to think of her comfort. First when he had told her he wouldn’t hold her to a dance if she didn’t wish it. And now. Of course whether he was here or not, she would not feel comfortable in her own walls. She didn’t think she ever truly had. She shoved those thoughts aside, refusing to ponder them.
“No. I’ve been unfair to you, I think,” she said softly. “Which was as vulgar of me as I accused you of being without all the facts. Perhaps we can forgive each other and start over.”
“I’d like that,” he said.
For a moment they just stared at each other. Then she bent her head. “Well, I should return to the party.”
“As you wish,” he said. “I’ll stay out on the terrace for a moment’s air. I’m pleased we could resolve our differences and can now become neutral acquaintances rather than enemies. Good evening, Miss Lockhart. "
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, and wondered why her voice was suddenly rough. It must have been the autumn air, filled with dust from the falling leaves and smoke. She inclined her head and returned to the ball, feeling his gaze on her with every step.
And even though this conversation should have, in theory, made her feel better about everything, instead she felt something else. A vague discomfort, an odd misalignment, as if she no longer fit into her clothing or her skin anymore.
So even though she resolved not to be angry with him anymore, Clarissa still found herself looking forward to the moment when the Earl of Kirkwood would depart her presence and allow her to return to the person she was before she’d met him on her drive.
R oderick wasn’t certain how long he stayed out on the terrace. At least a few songs from the orchestra played as he looked out over the moonlight garden below. He’d offered to remain here to give Clarissa…Miss Lockhart, an opportunity to return without his interference or company. But the longer he remained outside, the more his mind turned.
He had created a life where he didn’t often brood. At least not about women he didn’t even know. And yet the conversation with her replayed in his head over and over again. Her expressions of emotion, ones she kept repressing, danced before him. She was a fascinating creature, somehow. One he didn’t want to be fascinated by.
He turned to go back to the ballroom and the terrace doors opened again. George stepped out, glanced over the terrace, and his expression lit up when he saw Roderick.
“There you are,” he said. “I thought you’d run off with some woman or something.”
Roderick almost snorted in response. He had done just that, he supposed, at least briefly. Though not the way his friend thought. “No, just getting some air,” he said, and stepped toward George. “I was just coming back in.”
“How are you enjoying yourself?” George asked as they reentered the hall with its crush of guests.
Miss Lockhart had asked the same thing a short time ago. For his friend, he gave a different answer. “It is much as you thought it would be. Not the worst country gathering I’ve been to, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I did manage to get a moment with your cousin.”
“With Clarissa?” George said in surprise. “I’m shocked you survived it. She glares daggers into you at every turn. Did you seduce a friend of hers or something?”
“That was my question, but it turns out it was exactly as I feared and warned you about upon our arrival. She was angry that I came uninvited. I thought, yet again, that you were going to clear the air about that with the family, but it’s obvious you didn’t.”
George pulled a face of playful guilt. “Ugh, yes, I suppose I was. I hope you blamed me entirely.”
“I did.” Roderick folded his arms. “I swear, you are terrible. You let the woman hate me for days.”
His friend’s brow wrinkled. “I suppose. But…why do you care?”
“What?”
“Why do you care? You don’t know my cousin, you’ll likely rarely encounter her. She’s too polite to spread nasty stories about you, for fear it would reflect poorly on her and her drive to be unfailingly well-mannered. She isn’t your type, and even if she were, she’s looking for marriage, not the sort of wickedly temporary arrangements you tend to make with ladies. Why would you care what she thinks of you?”
Roderick blinked. He’d spent so much time since his arrival being irritated with the woman, wanting to clear the air between them, he hadn’t actually ever asked himself that very good question. Why did he care what she thought of him?
“I don’t,” he said. “I just don’t like that I was blamed for something you did.” He arched a playful brow. “This is exactly like school, you know.”
George laughed. “Very well, I am in the wrong, I know. Again . Great God, though, the idea that she tempted you…”
“Of course not,” Roderick said.
His mind went back to the terrace, when Miss Lockhart had looked up at him in the moonlight, her expression soft and fascinating eyes holding his. Perhaps there had been a bit of temptation, albeit brief, in that moment. But that was different. The woman was attractive, he was allowed to notice that. It didn’t mean anything, though.
None of it meant anything at all.