CHAPTER 19 #2
Tyler’s brusque tap-tap jarred her back to the present moment. “Lady Charlotte, now that you’ve observed the steps, let us try it together,” he said. “Weasels, pay strict attention, as I shall then ask each of you to serve as milady’s dancing partner while I follow along and make any corrections.”
Shaking off her musings, she quickly moved to join him. The carpet had been rolled up, allowing ample room for dancing.
“Raise your hand and place it against mine, like so,” he said, demonstrating what he meant. “And then, I shall place my other hand at the small of your back.”
She felt a light pressure as Tyler drew her a touch closer and she suddenly understood why the dance was considered risqué by the high sticklers in Society. No wonder girls fresh from the schoolroom weren’t permitted such liberties.
“Mac, you may begin the music, but keep to a sedate tempo for now,” he counseled. “And now, milady, be ready to start on the count of three . . .”
* * *
In no mood for conversation, Wrexford let himself into his town house through the back tradesmen’s entrance to avoid encountering any of the servants.
After making his way to the kitchen and lighting a candle, he shrugged out of his overcoat and let his hat drop atop the damp wool.
Despite the warmth of the banked stove, the chill of the late-night rain seemed intent on seeping into his bones.
Perhaps, he thought, his prickly mood would yield to the heat of Scottish whisky. It would at least dull the edges.
What lay at the heart of his disquiet was not something he cared to contemplate right now.
The flickering flame lit the way through the silent shadows as he climbed the stairs and headed for his workroom. But when he was halfway down the corridor, a peal of laughter pieced the stillness.
Wrexford stopped and cocked an ear. Was his imagination playing tricks on him, or was that really the sound of a pianoforte coming from the music room?
“What the devil . . .” Puzzled, he reversed direction and went to investigate.
A flutter of light danced through the half-open door, along with more hilarity. Quickening his steps, the earl leaned a shoulder to the fluted molding and took a peek inside.
“No, no, no, Master Alexander Hawksley!” chided Tyler, tapping his baton to Hawk’s scrawny shoulders.
“You must stand up straight, and keep your arm in a graceful arch—like so!” He demonstrated the position, much to the chortling amusement of Raven.
“Lady Charlotte cannot perform properly if her gentleman partner is shirking his duties.”
“Sorry,” intoned the boy, trying mightily to add an inch or two to his height.
“That’s better,” said Tyler, flashing a wink to Charlotte.
She was dressed in her urchin garb, noted Wrexford, save that she had removed her boots and was wearing satin dancing slippers. It should have looked ridiculously absurd . . .
And yet it didn’t.
As his gaze took in the sight of her willowy body, its curves and long-legged grace accentuated by the snug-fitting boy’s breeches and stockings, he felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Mac, you may start the music again,” called Tyler.
A laugh quivering on her lips, Charlotte followed Hawk’s lead through an awkward turn—
And then froze in midstep as she spotted him.
“M-Milord!” she stammered, her expression pinching in embarrassment.
“I’m learning to be a proper gentleman,” exclaimed Hawk proudly. But as his brother made a very rude sound, he responded with a word that would have singed Satan’s ears.
“It appears we have a bit of polishing to do,” drawled Wrexford.
“M-My apologies for this invasion of your privacy,” continued Charlotte. “I can explain—”
“It was my idea,” said McClellan as she rose from her seat at the pianoforte. “It occurred to me that Lady Charlotte had never learned the waltz, and Tyler and I didn’t wish for her to be put in an awkward position at her first ball.”
“So we decided to give her a lesson and some practice,” added Tyler. “And given her coming entrée into Polite Society, it seemed a good idea to include the Weasels.” He waggled his brows at them. “We wouldn’t want the little beasts to behave like savages when they are introduced to the dowager.”
Raven mimed a hideous face, but the earl saw him dart a concerned look at Charlotte. “Oiy, we’ll try not to disgrace ourselves.”
“I think we’ve practiced our lessons enough for one night. Come, gather your coats, Weasels”—Charlotte still looked ill at ease—“let us leave His Lordship in peace.”
“Not so fast.” Wrexford stepped into the room. “There is an old adage that says ‘practice makes perfect.’”
She made a face. “Since when have you taken to spouting platitudes?”
He laughed. Charlotte somehow always managed to tease him out of a black humor. “It’s a truism, as well as a platitude. And since your first foray into a Mayfair ballroom will be here sooner than you might like, I daresay one more spin across the dance floor can do no harm.”
“But—”
Wrexford silenced her protest by taking her hand. “Relax,” he murmured, feeling a tingling current of warmth melt through his own tension and fatigue. “Just follow my lead.”
* * *
All of a sudden, Charlotte was aware of a pulsing against her palm.
Electricity—the word flashed to mind, and for an instant, the thought of Cedric, and his frightening experiments, sent a shiver through her core.
But no, she quickly realized, this was a positive force, its heat helping to dispel her doubts and fears.
Looking up, she met Wrexford’s eyes. A warmth was there too, pooled within their smoke-green hue. It softened the austere angles of his face and—
As they passed under the chandelier, Charlotte saw the lines of worry etched around his mouth. She tightened her hand, which strangely enough drew a smile to his lips.
“Have I sprouted purple spots or grown a set of horns?” he inquired.
“Sorry, I was simply thinking . . .”
He spun her through an intricate turn. “About what?”
About how much I like dancing with you.
“About the fact that I’ve actually never attended a ball before,” she answered. “I eloped before I was of age to make my come-out in Society.” A sigh slipped out. “If you must know, I’m worried that I’m going to make a cake of myself.”
Another spin, another turn. “You dance exceedingly well,” replied Wrexford.
Charlotte wasn’t at all sure how her feet were moving so effortlessly across the floor. “That’s because I’m with you.” She made a wry face. “With a stranger, I’ll probably be so nervous that I’ll trip on my skirts and fall flat on my . . . derriere.”
“So promise me the first dance.”
“But—”
“Clearly, it’s the logical solution,” he reasoned. “I’ll make rude remarks about the other guests, and in raking me over the coals for my cynicism, you’ll forget about letting your nerves tie you in knots.”
She smiled. “I may always count on you for a rational solution to any problem.”
A glint of amusement lit in his eyes. “Unlike you, I have no imagination.” Drawing her a touch closer, Wrexford twirled through another figure of the dance. “So my mind must plod along in a straight line.”
Feeling a bit breathless, Charlotte needed a moment to still her thudding heart. “Straight lines are boring. And you, sir, are never boring.”
That drew a chuckle. “I can guess what adjective you would find most fitting.”
She let a moment dance by, savoring the feel of his body moving in harmony with hers. “I doubt it.”
“Oh?” He raised his brows. “Nonetheless, I shall try. Let’s start with aggravating? Annoying? Arrogant—”
“Are you going in alphabetical order? Or—”
Charlotte stopped short, all at once aware that the music had ceased. Looking around, she saw Tyler and McClellan were watching them with bemusement, while Raven and Hawk were trying to hold back their chortles.
“It appears that Lady Charlotte has mastered the waltz’s footwork,” said the valet after clearing his throat with a cough. “I see no need for further practice this evening.”
“Aye,” agreed McClellan. “Shall we retire to the kitchen for some refreshments?”
“Jam tarts?” said both boys in hopeful unison.
“Perhaps.” A pause. “There may even be a package of Cook’s ginger biscuits to take home.”
As the pelter of footsteps echoed down the corridor, Wrexford waved for McClellan and Tyler to follow the boys. “You go on. I need to have a word with Lady Charlotte.”
So she hadn’t been wrong about his troubled mien when first he had entered the room. “What have you discovered?” she demanded, though her insides clenched in fear at what the answer would be.
His expression turned bleak. “Nothing good.”
“Nicky—”
“Locke is fine, though a date for the trial has been set.” The earl frowned. “And it’s even sooner than I expected.”
“Dear God. That means . . .” Charlotte looked away to the far windows, where shadows dipped and darted through the midnight gloom. “That means we haven’t much time to prove him innocent.”
Wrexford took her arm. “Come, sit.”
Ye gods. That didn’t bode well.
“H-Has there been another murder?”
A low rumble seemed to catch in his throat. “In a sense.”
“Wrexford!” Now she was truly alarmed. “You’re speaking in riddles.”
The earl took a seat on the sofa and drew her down beside him before he responded. “That’s because I’m having trouble making any rational assessment of it.” Leaning back, he ran a hand through his hair. “The only creature to lose its life was a rat—at least I am guessing it was a rat . . .”
Charlotte listened in growing horror as he went on to describe the macabre discovery in Thornton’s laboratory, and his subsequent conversation with Henning about Galvani and Aldini.
“That’s horrible,” she whispered when he finished. “But surely it points the finger of guilt at Lord Thornton.”
He shook his head. “You know as well as I do that conjecture is merely spitting into the wind. To convince the authorities, we need proof, and so far, there’s not a scrap of evidence tying him to Chittenden’s death.”