Chapter 17
The dance was not going well. Mr. Pembroke was not a good dancer at the best of times, and Thalia found herself distracted, unable to focus on anything.
“Ouch!” she yelped, unable to stay quiet when he trod heavily on her toe. Her shoes, thin satin dancing slippers which Jonathan had insisted she wear, offered no protection at all.
“Have a care,” Mr. Pembroke snapped, as if it were her fault.
A cold fury, not unlike the one that had pushed her to threaten Emmeline Hartridge, flared within her.
“I am not the one stamping on your feet,” she hissed. “You are hurting me.”
Mr. Pembroke blinked, briefly taken aback. She wondered if she had ever spoken back to him before and decided that she had not. No wonder he was so shocked.
“You are dancing incorrectly,” he managed.
“I think not, sir. You are the one tramping around as if you are trying to crush me. You are off beat, and everybody is looking at us!”
Scowling, Mr. Pembroke cast a quick, panicked glance around him. She knew he would find that she was correct. One man in particular was looking at them, and she could think of nothing else.
Christian’s eyes bored into her, a long, thoughtful stare that seemed to catch every move she made. Heat bloomed in her gut, and she absentmindedly tightened her fingers on Mr. Pembroke’s hand.
“Ouch!” he complained. “Stop pinching me.”
“Then stop treading on my toes,” she snapped, mostly to hide her own embarrassment.
To her horror, she found herself thinking about the kiss she and Christian had shared. The wretched moment was never far from her mind, filling her with heat whenever she recalled it.
She was recalling it now, and the heat plunged between her thighs. Swallowing hard, she missed a step, stumbling. This time, several couples glanced their way, and she caught some disapproving looks.
“Wretched girl,” Mr. Pembroke hissed.
She narrowed her eyes. “I shall tell my brother what you said to me.”
“Tell him what you like,” he retorted. “He won’t believe you. He said that you have a habit of lying. He warned me about it. Said that a good, firm husband would cure you of it.”
Thalia’s skin prickled. Now, why would Jonathan tell people that she was a liar? It was almost as if he hoped to destroy her credibility so that if she made any accusations, he could easily discredit them.
A chilling thought.
The dance came to an end, and she almost cried with relief. She dropped Mr. Pembroke’s hand at once, stepping back. He eyed her uncertainly, as if he had not quite decided whether to pursue her, ask her to dance again, or move away. Perhaps her last sharp comment had killed his attraction to her.
I should be so lucky, she thought miserably.
At a dance like this, even without the fireworks show, the etiquette was clear. Jonathan or Augusta would soon be hurrying over to claim her once more, and then there’d be no escape.
At that moment, Mr Pembroke’s gaze slipped over her shoulder, and he paled ever so slightly, his spine stiffening.
She glanced behind her, already guessing who she would find.
Christian stood behind her, his face smooth and impassive.
His hands hung loosely at his sides. For the first time, she noticed how large they were, strong and square, more impressive than a gentleman’s hands ought to be.
Almost at once, she remembered how his fingertips had felt sliding along the curve of her cheek, and color rushed to her face.
“Mr. Pembroke, Lady Thalia,” he murmured evenly. “What a fine dance. You’re excellent dancers.”
She couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow. “Really?”
He met her gaze, a tight smile crossing his face. “Really.”
“Right,” Mr. Pembroke muttered, turning away. “There are plenty of ladies who’d like to dance with me and won’t embarrass me by missing steps.” He stamped off.
Thalia watched him go with undisguised relief. That left her free to turn back to Christian.
“We haven’t much time,” he warned, staring at Mr. Pembroke’s retreating back. “Your esteemed brother will be hurrying to collect you.”
“I imagine so.”
He looked back at her. “We need to talk. Slip away, if you can, and meet me in the conservatory. Can you do that?”
She swallowed hard and nodded, not sure if she could manage words.
“Good,” he said brusquely, then slipped away, disappearing into the crowd.
For a moment, Thalia stood there, heart hammering.
It’s only about Laura. It’s not a… not an assignation.
She had no reason to feel guilty. Of course, it would look very bad if anybody saw her. That was why she had to be careful.
A movement in the crowd caught her eye, and she saw the top of Jonathan’s head bobbing towards her.
Now or never.
She turned tail, plunging into the throng around the dance floor. With couples stepping on and off the floor, it was easy enough to hide herself from view.
The conservatory. The conservatory.
She followed a path, gravel crunching under her feet, until the lights set beside the pathway faded, leaving her in darkness.
The moon shone down, providing a little light but not quite enough.
She stepped carefully, squinting into the gloom.
Eventually, she saw it. A glass conservatory stood amongst the trees, a single candle flickering inside it.
She set off towards it.
The path led her there, thankfully. She would not have enjoyed stumbling through the greenery, perhaps snagging or tearing her dress or even trampling Lady Pembroke’s prize roses. She reached the door and let herself in. The hinges did not even squeak.
The conservatory was neat and well-maintained but did not seem to be regularly used.
The plants thrived, but a film of dust covered the floor.
There were seats, three of them, arranged around a low table with a cobweb strung between the three.
The candle she’d seen burning sat on that table.
Other bits of furniture were arranged here and there between the greenery.
Thalia was not passionate about plants, and she could not identify them, but whichever gardener was tasked with keeping the plants in the conservatory alive was doing a fine job.
“Hello?” she called out nervously. “C-Christian? I’m here.”
There was no response.
Swallowing, she closed the door behind her and set off to investigate. There was a narrow walkway that led up and down the space as far as she could see, fringed with thick green leaves.
She turned left, passing by towering plants that brushed the glass ceiling. Strange fruits grew, a few that she recognized. Some plants had stems as thick as tree trunks and pots larger than a man was tall.
I feel like a mouse creeping through a vegetable patch.
The path ended in a round little courtyard with more chairs and a deep, padded window seat overlooking what would probably be a fine view of the lawn in the daylight.
There was no sign of Christian, so she set off in the other direction, beginning to feel uncertain.
It would not do to be caught prowling around her host’s conservatory. The guests were quite clearly meant to remain on the terrace and patio, and were only permitted to venture onto a small area of the lawn. The distant trees and conservatory were quite off limits.
And yet here she was.
The other half of the conservatory appeared to hold mostly flowers, bright and rich-smelling, their perfume enough to make her dizzy.
There were also a great many dangling plants, the pots hanging from the ceiling, long, green tendrils curling down.
She paused before a plant with tiny, knobbled green protrusions, almost like peas.
Its tendrils were taller than she was, curling all the way down to the ground.
“It’s a new plant,” came a voice from the darkness ahead of her.
She flinched, jerking back from the mysterious plant.
“Well, I say new because it is new to us. It’s remarkably difficult to keep alive here in England. I must congratulate Lady Pembroke. For all her flaws, she is a magnificent gardener.”
Thalia squinted into the dark. “Is that you, Christian? I can’t see a thing.”
“Just a moment.”
A candle flickered into life, illuminating another small, circular space fringed with encroaching, heavy-leaved plants. A long settee halved the space, and Christian lounged on it.
“I suspect that this conservatory is not often used,” he remarked, getting to his feet. “I disturbed several spiders when I sat down.”
“I hope they are gone. I would not like to crush them when I sit down.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t afraid of spiders?”
“I am not fond of them, but they are very useful. And I don’t care to hurt small creatures for no reason, so I do not crush spiders if I can help it.”
“Very good. Well,” he observed, glancing around, “here we are.”
“Here we are,” she echoed, eyeing him. “We had better not stay here too long. My brother will be looking for me.”
“Your brother is not an imaginative man. I think he will search Lady Pembroke’s library and will be truly baffled when he doesn’t find you there. I shouldn’t fret.”
“Excuse me if I do fret,” she muttered. Tugging off her glove, she removed the paper containing her translations. “Here, I believe that this is what this meeting is all about.”
She held out the paper. The sooner he took it, the sooner she could return to the party, and she would not have to worry about being caught here.
Christian did not immediately take it. Instead, he stared at her, eyes giving away nothing.
Overheard, the first fireworks exploded into the sky, showering down in a flare of red and yellow. Thalia flinched despite herself, gaze flicking up.
She let out a shaky breath. “Oh, it’s just like Vauxhall. Not that I would know about Vauxhall, since Jonathan never cared to go.”
“Indeed,” Christian remarked evenly.
There was something strange in his voice, something that made her breath catch in her throat. He took the paper, fingers slowly and deliberately brushing hers. There was no chance it was an accident, no chance at all.
Then he stepped past her, moving to the door. She stood where she was, slightly breathless.