Chapter 8
eight
Effie’s head spun after her third dance in a row. The last galop had tested her endurance and her slippers, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
Lord Vaughan’s ballroom wasn’t as wide as the one in her home in Bedfordshire; the dancers had less space to jump around, but the music sounded louder, thanks to the low ceiling, and she loved it. The large windows offered a nice view of the garden, which was better than a busy London street.
She took a glass of lemonade from a passing footman and watched the dancing couples performing a quick mazurka. The ladies next to her clapped their hands in rhythm with the music, and she couldn’t resist. She tapped her foot as well, following the dance.
Papa walked over to her, elegant in a dark suit. “Are you enjoying yourself, darling?”
“Very much. My card is full.”
He beamed. “Anyone you fancy?”
She chuckled at the eagerness in his voice. “I met a few interesting gentlemen.”
“Anyone I know?”
“You know everyone. Isn’t a father supposed to be reluctant to marry off his daughter?”
“I just want to see my youngest daughter settled. You’re the last one. We’ve been so blessed. Thirteen healthy children, and twelve of them are married. I couldn’t be happier.”
She hooked her arm through his. “You didn’t seem so happy last Christmas when you were surrounded by your fifteen grandchildren.”
He feigned being outraged. “I had to pretend to drink invisible tea and eat wooden cakes with three little girls and their dolls for an entire afternoon. Then Margaret’s doll got sick, and we pretended to cure her.
Such a long affair. I’m glad the doll survived, or there would have been a service as well. ”
She laughed. “You adored every minute of it.”
He gave a shy nod, but his smile faltered when he gazed towards the set of double doors on the other side of the ballroom.
“Can’t I have a moment of peace?” he muttered in a harsh tone in stark contrast to the playful one from before.
“What is it?” She searched the room.
Lord Montcrest stood at the entrance, drawing gazes and murmurs from every corner. In his shiny dark evening dress and with his golden hair, he was easy to spot. But above all, his dark aura drew in everyone’s interest. His confident posture and glacial stare added to his persona.
“Didn’t you know he would come?” she asked.
Papa worked his jaw in a nervous gesture she’d rarely seen. “He usually doesn’t attend balls. I bet he’s here only to see me.”
“Why don’t you simply talk to him?”
“Because he doesn’t deserve my time.”
“You agreed to help him when he was in need,” she whispered behind her fan.
“Yes, and he and his father showed no gratitude afterwards.”
“But you didn’t help him only in the hope he would remember the gesture, did you?”
He said nothing.
The dancing couples slowed their paces but started again when Jane prompted them to keep going with a charming laugh, dancing with her partner.
When Lord Montcrest crossed the ballroom, heading for their corner, Papa straightened, and Effie sighed.
“Good evening.” Lord Montcrest shot a glare at Papa. “Winchester, Lady Effie.”
“Montcrest, what a surprise,” Papa said in a sharp tone.
He ignored him, fixing his intense stare on her. “Lady Effie, I would like to dance with you.” The words formed a request, but the tone sounded like an order.
“What…” She cleared her throat to take the time to recover from the shock. “I would be delighted, but my card is full.”
“Who’s next?”
“Montcrest, my daughter was clear,” Papa said.
“So was I.” He radiated coldness. Those blue eyes seemed chipped out of a glacier.
Just not to let her father argue with the marquess, she said, “Lord Henry.”
He gazed around before marching towards an oblivious Lord Henry who was chatting with a friend next to the window.
“What is he doing?” she asked.
“What he does best.” Papa scoffed.
Lord Henry stood at attention as Lord Montcrest interrupted the conversation. She couldn’t hear what they said, but Lord Henry flushed red and bowed and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief too many times in her opinion. Then both gentlemen walked towards her.
She fiddled with her fan, not sure what a lady was supposed to do in a situation like that.
“Lady Effie.” Lord Henry’s mouth twitched in a nervous smile. His thin moustache seemed drawn with a pencil, and when he moved his mouth like that, it went up and down, making her want to laugh. “I agreed to exchange my spot on your card with Lord Montcrest.”
She shifted her gaze from Lord Henry’s embarrassed face to Lord Montcrest’s stony one. ‘Agreed’ didn’t sound peaceful at all.
“I must protest,” Papa said.
“Protest away, Winchester, but it’s the lady who decides.” Lord Montcrest offered her his hand. “Lady Effie.”
That was why she preferred dealing with animals. They weren’t bossy. Well, Kettle was bossy, but he also was cute and adorable.
If she refused, an argument would ensue between Papa and Lord Montcrest, and while Papa should solve whatever problem he had with the marquess, she didn’t think a ball was the right place to do so.
Lord Montcrest had already attracted too much attention.
Several heads were turned their way, and she didn’t want Papa to have yet another reason to dislike Lord Montcrest. Lord Henry seemed about to melt on the spot.
So she slid her hand into Lord Montcrest’s.
“Do not worry, Papa.” She gave him a pointed look, hoping he would understand she didn’t want him to make a scene.
He pressed his lips in a hard line but didn’t say anything.
A corner of Lord Montcrest’s mouth quirked up. “We’ll talk later, Winchester. Do not fear.”
Effie forced a smile as he led her to the centre of the ballroom. “There was no need to frighten Lord Henry.”
“I didn’t. What makes you think I frightened him?” He took her waist and pulled her closer in a possessive gesture she found shocking.
No warm, fluttery feeling started in her belly. Absolutely not.
“He looked upset.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling his steel-like muscles underneath the smooth fabric of his jacket.
“Of course he was upset. He lost the opportunity to dance with a beautiful lady.”
“Flattery won’t lead you anywhere.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why, do you know where I’m going?”
She was about to answer but then closed her mouth. Actually, she had no idea what game he was playing.
The music of a slow contradanse started, saving her from giving an answer she didn’t have.
He was a great dancing partner—she ought to give him that. He moved with grace and elegance, never stepping on the hem of her skirt or hitting her slippers with the tips of his shoes, as her former dancing partners had done.
He held her gently but firmly and was protective of her, making sure she could easily follow his wide strides. She was enjoying herself. A great dancing partner was the best way to savour a dance.
The tension left her shoulders, and as he made her twirl quickly without letting her trip, she couldn’t hold back a laugh.
He smiled back, a charming, warm smile she had no idea he could produce. Still, she wasn’t so easily fooled by good looks and dancing skills. He’d invited her to dance only to upset Papa, and she couldn’t overlook that.
“You stopped smiling,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. “What is it?”
“I would be grateful if you would leave me out of your business quarrel with my father,” she said as they turned around.
“I don’t have any quarrel with your father. It’s him who does with me.”
“Is it possible to have a normal conversation with you?”
“Yes, by being honest.” He drew her closer, and his clean citrus scent engulfed her.
Another inch and she would be flush against him, and Papa would intervene.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never lied to you.”
“Did you know your father wasn’t visiting your brother the other day when I came calling on him?”
“What are you talking about?” She had to break eye contact with him to turn around under his arm. “Papa was in Greenford, as I told you.”
“No, he was in London.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Maybe he changed his plans at the last moment. Maybe he missed the train. I don’t know. What I know is that he told me he would be there. Is this why you asked me to dance? To interrogate me?”
“No.” He led her through a series of quick steps flawlessly. She was gliding over the polished floor; it was like flying.
Jane gave her a shocked stare as she danced past them.
Effie waited for him to say more, ignoring her friend. Of course, he didn’t say anything else. The more time she spent with him, the more similarities she found between him and cats.
“Then why did you ask me to dance?” she asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
“No, you wanted to annoy my father.”
He leant scandalously closer to whisper, “If I’d wanted to annoy your father, trust me, I would have found something more effective.”
Talking about honesty, she was more annoyed with herself for the little shiver his closeness and deep voice caused than with him. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t be used like a pawn between Papa and a grumpy marquess.
“I’m never sure if you mean what you say or if you only want to provoke me.” She huffed and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a turn.
The quick stop broke his momentum and, since he was still holding her waist, he slid forwards.
She tottered on her feet as well. Her elbow hit his abdomen, causing him to bend over in a deep bow.
The impact did almost nothing to her balance, but he grimaced in pain and clutched a hand over the spot she’d hit.
He gritted his teeth, his cheeks paling. “Damn.”
“I’m so sorry.” Although she didn’t understand how a simple poke in the ribs could have hurt so much and brought him to swear. She’d barely touched him.
He straightened. The tendons of his neck stood out over the rim of his collar.
“It’s nothing.” His voice sounded strained as well.
“It can’t be nothing. You look in pain.”
As he removed his hand from his abdomen to take his handkerchief, she caught a glimpse of a blossoming red stain.