Chapter 18
CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER
Not long after forfeits, Miss Blackwell stood and all the men, including myself, rose from the tables. She waved us off. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I believe I will find myself a book to read.”
From every outward appearance except one, she seemed calm and collected.
She smiled at each of us with no tightness in her face or shoulders, but her right hand clenched the side of her skirt.
I’d seen her do that once before—when I’d told her I was planning on leaving that morning in the croft.
She’d been uncomfortable with letting me go then, and a similar discomfort plagued her now.
Her eyes flicked to mine and then rapidly away, almost as if I was the person making her uneasy.
But why? Mr. Howard had been the one to ask the blasted question.
It shouldn’t matter to her that I knew some man’s lips had been on hers.
At least it shouldn’t matter any more than it did to anyone else.
What was the meaning of that glance? She didn’t care what I thought of her, did she?
She didn’t. She couldn’t. Yet a tightness in my chest shortened my breaths at the thought of it.
Harriet didn’t follow her—in fact, she stayed seated.
Only a day ago, Miss Blackwell never would have left an open seat next to Harriet while I was in the vicinity.
I should take that seat and spend as much time beside Harriet as Miss Blackwell would allow.
Who knew if she would be so amenable toward me tomorrow?
Harriet’s eyes met mine, but instead of motioning to the empty seat beside her, she tipped her head toward the bookshelves and her cousin. Why would Harriet want me to be the one to ensure Miss Blackwell was well? Wouldn’t she be a better fit?
Harriet motioned toward the bookshelves once again, this time with a lift of her chin. I glanced once again at that empty seat and then turned away. I wasn’t certain what, if anything, I had to say to Harriet and the truth was I had quite a few questions for Miss Blackwell.
I couldn’t ask them, of course. Not unless I wanted to become a more despicable cad than Mr. Howard. But they burned inside me anyway, drawing me toward her with a pull that was impossible to resist.
I approached slowly, pausing after only a few steps to evaluate Miss Blackwell’s demeanor.
She made for a pleasant picture standing in front of the bookshelf in her dark blue, striped evening gown.
The column of her skirt swept down from the high waist of the dress in such a graceful way, I couldn’t pull my eyes from her.
The candles and lanterns in the room were on the walls and tables, leaving this corner of the bookshelf dim compared to the rest of the room, but she had enough light to run her fingers upon each spine, searching the titles until she finally stopped at one and pulled it from the shelf.
I continued my advance silently, uncertain of my welcome, but when I saw the title of the book she’d chosen, A Treatise on the Blood, Inflammation, and Gunshot Wounds, all thoughts of not wanting to disturb her comely tableau fled. “Are you planning on shooting someone?”
She’d been in the middle of opening the book, but at the sound of my voice she paused. Her fingers curled over the top of the cover. She pulled the book to her chest and turned around.
Blast, but she looked stunning, her wide eyes blinking at me in surprise. She glanced back at the table we had just left, obviously thinking the same thing I had only a moment ago. She’d left me alone with Harriet, so what was I doing here, with her?
She shook her head, only slightly. “I’m not.”
I took a step closer to her, because . .
. I couldn’t help it. We were magnets, either pulled together or repelled violently apart.
There was no safe space between those two options and at the moment it was impossible to keep my distance.
“That’s a relief. I assume if you were, your victim would be beyond the help found in those pages. ”
Her eyebrow raised. “True enough.” With a soft smile, she turned away from me and replaced the book. “I suppose I don’t need to read that one.”
I laughed softly, and as we stood apart from everyone else, the sound felt intimate. She turned back toward me and I caught her eye. “I shall be certain to stay in your good graces, Miss Blackwell.”
“Stay in them?” She arched an eyebrow, then slipped her hands behind her waist and leaned back against the bookshelf. Something about that posture made me want to tilt toward her.
“Crawl and fight my way into them, if necessary.” And though I’d said the words in jest, I found I meant them.
I’d been in her good graces once, and it had been a pleasant place.
How strange that she’d trusted me more when we had been half-dressed and alone together than she did now surrounded by her friends and family.
She grinned. “Most men find that wise, considering who my father is.”
I took a step closer to her, again drawn by that magnetism of hers. Our conversation felt like secrets shared, and one needed to be situated in close proximity for that. I pointed to the book she’d just replaced on the shelf behind her. “It isn’t your father I’m intimidated by.”
At that, she snorted. “I know that isn’t true.”
I shook my head, because of course she was right. “It isn’t only your father I’m intimidated by.” I sought her eyes again. “But I find you much more daunting.”
She blinked, and then stopped leaning against the bookshelf and stood straight instead, her eyes darting over to where Harriet and the others still sat.
I took a step back. What was I thinking?
Had I been flirting? With Miss Blackwell?
In front of the woman I’d spent the last six years thinking I would marry?
I cleared my throat. “Harriet asked me to come check on you.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “She did?”
“Not in so many words, but she made it clear that I should. Are you well?”
“Quite well. I don’t know why she is concerned. Nor do I know why she would have sent you.”
“Did . . . ” How did I ask this? “Rather . . . Mr. Howard was out of line. I’m sorry he put you through that.”
Silence. She wouldn’t even meet my eye.
“It is no business of mine—”
“No,” she said sharply. “It is not.”
I swallowed, taken aback by her change in tone. Why? Miss Blackwell hadn’t wanted to keep our night together a secret, at least from her family, and she didn’t strike me as someone who would feel so secretive and uneasy about what had just happened.
Was she still attached to the man?
“You are puzzling, Miss Blackwell.” And even though it wasn’t wise, I stepped closer to her once again.
Her eyes flew up to mine, wide with . . .
what? Worry? I refrained from leaning nearer to her.
“I don’t understand you. You fought to have me stay at that shepherd’s croft despite the ruin that would have caused to your character had it become known.
Why are you so concerned for some of your closest friends to discover you’ve kissed a man? ”
She glanced furtively around at my words, something I should have done before asking such an impertinent question. Based on the way she leaned forward, no one was within listening distance. “I never said I kissed someone.”
“You might as well have.”
Her jaw clenched. “To be clear, that wasn’t the question asked.”
What exactly had Mr. Howard asked? My breathing stopped. Something hot rolled over my chest, the meaning behind her insistence about the wording of Mr. Howard’s question and her discomfort around it suddenly clear. “Someone kissed you? Without your leave?”
Instead of her lip quivering or a tearful nod, she once again surprised me with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t be overly dramatic about it. It was pleasant enough. I just wanted you to understand it wasn’t I who kissed him.”
“Then why were you so . . . so evasive about it?”
She blinked her widened eyes as if in confusion. “Was I?”
She most definitely was. “Yes.”
Her graceful shoulder, the one that carried a brush-like mark just below it, lifted in a shrug. “I was surprised by Mr. Howard’s audacity, I suppose.”
She was still hiding something. “I don’t see you as a woman who is surprised often.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her eyes made another furtive glance about the room, almost as if she was looking for someone in particular. She brought her eyes back to mine. “You’ve managed to surprise me several times.”
I sensed some truth to her words, but also a deeper emotion hidden behind that truth. I ignored the tiny flick of pleasure the thought of surprising her sent down my spine. She’d obviously only said it as a distraction. Her words said one thing, but her actions said another. “Is he here?”
I didn’t need to specify which man I meant. Her face jerked back slightly in surprise and her hand went back to her skirt and balled it.
Once again she answered with silence. But I couldn’t read what she meant by it. I studied her face, her neck, that spot on her shoulder and her fist in her skirt. She had gone slightly pale and stiffened.
Perhaps she was simply done being questioned. I had no right to pester her about her life.
Or perhaps, once again, no answer was an answer and one of the men in this room had kissed her.
Who, though? Brookhouse was a rascal at times, but he was a gentleman.
The thought of Davis being flippant with a woman was preposterous.
Besides, no man who served under General Blackwell would dare lay a finger, let alone a mouth, on his daughter.
My gut twisted. That left only Vincent Howard.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. His smirk when he’d asked her—the way he’d caught her eye. Hot rage rolled from my chest down deep into my stomach. If that suave blackguard had kissed her, then he’d also set her up for embarrassment with his question. Jaw clenched, I turned my head.