Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (19 page)

But she couldn’t. He was a rake. He was a master at charming women.

She forced herself to step back; he dropped his hands and let her go.

“Thank you, Lord Jack. Now please take me back to Greycliffe House.”

Jack and Frances entered Greycliffe House as a phalanx of housemaids, armed with mops, brooms, and buckets, passed through. Jack looked at Braxton and raised his brows.

“Her Grace is getting the house in order, milord,” Braxton said resignedly.

“I see.” He usually fled to one of his clubs when Mama was in a cleaning mood, but he didn’t want to desert Frances. “In that case, is there somewhere we can hide—I mean, be out of the way?”

“I believe I’ll go up to my room.” Frances took a step toward the stairs.

Braxton cleared his throat. “If you please, milord, Miss Hadley, Her Grace would like you to join her in the music room. Lord Ned and Miss Bowman are already there.”

“The music room, Braxton?” What could Mama be planning?

“Yes, milord. She has engaged a musician to play the pianoforte so you can practice dancing.”

“Dancing?” What the hell—

He saw Frances stiffen. Panic flashed over her face before it shut down into an expressionless, guarded mask. Except for her eyes. She couldn’t hide the misery darkening her eyes.

Damn. What was the problem?

“I’m afraid I’m exhausted,” she said, backing toward the stairs. “Please give my apologies to Her Grace.”

Jack closed the gap between them and took Frances’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll perk up, Miss Hadley.” He looked at Braxton. “Have some tea and cakes sent in, will you?”

“Very good, milord. William delivered a tray half an hour ago, but I suspect it would be wise to take in another.”

“Indeed! If my brother’s had half an hour to make inroads in the provisions, they’re sure to need replenishment.”

“My thought exactly, milord.” Braxton bowed and went off to give Cook the message.

“I’m tired,” Frances said. Her tone was an odd cross between a hiss of anger and a whine of fear. “I wish to go to my room now.”

She tried again to move toward the stairs, but he wouldn’t let her.

“I assure you there’s no escaping my mother, Frances. If you don’t appear in the music room now, she’ll send someone to drag you down, or she’ll postpone whatever she has planned for later. Best get it over with.” He took her other arm, turning her so she faced him squarely. “I think you’re more afraid than tired.”

She glared at him, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then what is the problem? Mama may be overly enthusiastic, but she’s not dangerous.” Unless one was a young, single male intent on remaining that way.

Frances looked away. “Very well, if you must know, I can’t dance.”

“Pardon?” He must have misheard. “Did you say you can’t dance?”

“Yes, damn it.” She glanced at him and then away again. Her face was bright red.

He frowned. He didn’t understand. “But you aren’t deaf or blind or lame.”

That brought her eyes back to his. “Of course I’m not, you dunderhead. It’s not that I’m physically incapable; it’s that I don’t know how.” Her jaw hardened. “I told your mother that.”

He’d never encountered a woman Frances’s age who hadn’t been taught to dance, but now that he considered the matter, he shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing in Frances’s upbringing had been what one would expect. “And what did she say?”

Frances’s shoulders hunched. “That you were an excellent dancer and would teach me.”

He laughed. Trust Mama. “Well, I’m not sure I could hire myself out as a dancing master, but I believe I know all the steps. And Ned and Ellie will be there to help if I turn out to be a complete failure.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice was tight with embarrassment. “I should just go back to the country. I don’t belong here.”

She did belong here, but there was no point in arguing about it. She wouldn’t listen to him. She was too upset.

Better to stoke her anger.

“I didn’t think you were such a coward that you’d run home with your tail between your legs at a little thing like learning to dance.”

Her head jerked as if he’d hit her. “I’m not a coward.”

“No? I think you are. I think you’re afraid to face a ballroom of people.”

“I’m not.”

“And even more, I think you’re afraid to admit the world isn’t exactly as you’ve decided it is.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Her eyes were flashing now.

“Is it?” Suddenly his own anger and frustration were pushing him on. “Mostly I think you’re afraid to admit that not all men are bloody bounders like your father.”

Her hand flashed up, but he stopped it before her palm could connect with his cheek.

“You
are
a bounder, damn it.”

He certainly felt like one at the moment. He should apologize, but the words stuck in his throat. He watched tears well up in her eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her, but he knew she’d knee him in the groin if he tried.

“Perhaps I am.” These were not the words he should be saying. “But at least I won’t turn my back on you. I won’t leave you when you need me.”

She sniffed—in disdain but also, he’d wager, because she was too proud to pull out her handkerchief. “I don’t need you.”

She was lying, and they both knew it. At least she no longer looked as if she was going to cry.

He smiled. “Then who’s going to teach you to dance?”

She shook her head, but she was smiling a little, too. “All right, I give up. I’m sure your mother
will
hunt me down if I don’t come now.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Let’s see what sort of a dancing master you are.” She grimaced. “And what sort of a student I am.”

He led her toward the music room. “As long as you apply yourself, you’ll be an excellent student. It’s the teacher’s duty to see his charges learn, so if by some strange turn of events you don’t become an able dancer, you can lay all the blame on my doorstep.”

“Well, that will be amusing at least. I suspect you don’t fail at many things.”

“Exactly!” He opened the door and whispered in her ear as she went past. “And I don’t intend to fail with you.”

 

 

“Oh, there you are!” The duchess beamed at Frances. Did she look a little relieved, too? “Did you have any luck locating your brother?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Mr. Puddington told us where to find him once he returns from his honeymoon.” Just as Jack had suspected, only a few fragments remained as evidence that cakes had ever been in the room. Lord Ned dusted something from his lap as he stood to greet them, and Shakespeare hurried to investigate. He sneezed and trotted over to be petted—apparently the crumbs were too small to interest him.

“This is Miss Addison,” Her Grace said, indicating a white-haired woman who was just putting down her teacup. “She will play the pianoforte so you can learn a few steps, Frances, and Ned and Ellie can brush up on theirs.”

The carpet had been rolled back and elaborate marks chalked on the floor.

“I
know
how to dance,” Ned grumbled, “as does Ellie.”

“But I’m happy to have the chance to practice.” Ellie glared at Ned and then turned to smile at Frances. “I’ve never danced in a London ballroom. I’ll confess I’m a little nervous.”

A little nervous was nothing compared to what Frances felt. Full-blown, breath-stealing panic was more like it. And also something else at the thought of being Jack’s pupil—an odd, fluttery feeling, akin to what she’d felt at the park.

She must be getting sick.

“I truly don’t mind being a wallflower, Your Grace,” she said, patting Shakespeare.

“Nonsense. There will be no talk of wallflowers. You can’t go to a ball and not dance, Frances. Dancing is invigorating”—the duchess smiled at Jack—“and an excellent way to flirt, isn’t it, Jack?”

“I am not given to flirting, Mama.”

“You certainly have women throwing themselves at your head.”

Jack flinched. “Through no fault of my own. The ladies of the
ton
can be excessively silly.”

“As can the gentlemen,” the duke said, coming into the room with a slice of seedcake. William was behind him, bearing fresh tea and a plate with the rest of the cake.

“Splendid!” The duchess took the duke’s arm. “We are all here. Now if everyone will take his or her place, we can get started.”

“But Frances and I would like some tea and cake,” Jack said.

“After we’ve gone through a few dances. We don’t want to keep Miss Addison waiting any longer.” The duchess smiled at Frances. “I do hope you aren’t too hungry, dear, but at least Ned will be dancing, too. The cakes should be quite safe.”

“I’m not hungry at all, Your Grace,” Frances said. The thought of eating made her stomach churn even more. That would just complete the dreadful morning, if she cast up her accounts here on the music room floor.

“I expect you will be, though, after a few vigorous country dances. Now if—hmm.” The duchess looked at Shakespeare, who was watching William put the cake-laden plate on a table. “Perhaps the cakes aren’t so safe. William, put the plate up on top of that cabinet by the mantel, will you? We don’t want to tempt the poor dog into misbehavior.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” William moved the plate; Shakespeare treated the duchess to an exceedingly mournful look.

“Now, Shakespeare, you will just have to wait until Jack and Frances are ready for some tea. You’ve already had more than you should. Cake can’t be good for you.”

Shakespeare lay down, put his head on his front paws, and regarded the duchess with large, pleading brown eyes.

“Oh dear. Perhaps one—”

“Be strong, my dear duchess,” the duke said, popping the last bit of his cake into his mouth and dusting his hands. “Do not let Shakespeare’s acting skills persuade you to ignore your better judgment.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “You’ll spoil the dog if you do. And the sooner we get this dancing over the sooner I can have
my
cake.”

The duchess sighed. “Yes. It is always best when one is firm with animals.”

The duke laughed. “Have you ever been firm with one of your pets, my dear?”

“Of course I have.”

Ned snorted. “Not with Sir Reginald.”

The duchess dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Reggie is a cat. Cats are vastly different from dogs. Now come, take your places. Frances, you stand between Ellie and me on that triangle there.”

“What have you done to our floor, my dear?” the duke asked, standing on a circle across from the duchess.

“I have marked out the steps to help Frances learn them, of course.” She smiled at Frances. “We will go through everything slowly several times, and then Miss Addison will play for us. Let’s start with turn your partner. Take Jack’s hands, Frances, and we’ll begin.”

At first she thought she could manage it; the basic steps were simple enough. But putting them together was confusing, and it didn’t help that she was so very distracted by Jack’s touch. Her nerves must still be frayed from her meeting with Puddington. Everything—the strength of Jack’s fingers, his closeness, the act of moving together—affected her. She was having trouble breathing; remembering steps was out of the question.

“Clockwise, dear,” the duchess said when Frances bumped into her for the fourth time. “Move clockwise.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I hope I didn’t hurt you?”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

Frances would swear the duchess winced.

“Perhaps Frances will do better with music, Mama,” Jack said.

“Or perhaps I’d do better as a spectator.” She forced herself to smile. “You must all be covered in bruises.”

Lord Ned started to nod, but Ellie trod upon his foot. “Ouch.”

“Don’t give up.” Ellie ignored Ned’s wounded expression. “I think you’re doing quite well.”

Which was a plumper of enormous proportions, but Ellie smiled so kindly when she said it, Frances actually felt encouraged.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jack said. “Relax. Once you have the music to guide you, you’ll find the steps come easily.”

“Yes.” The duchess nodded, though she looked more than a little doubtful. “Music will likely solve the problem. Miss Addison, if you would be so good.”

Miss Addison struck the opening chord.

“Though perhaps a little slower than normal,” Her Grace said, “if you will.”

Music did help, somewhat. By the time they’d gone through the dance three times, the last time at full speed, she was only making a few missteps, though the last one had sent her full up against Jack just as the music was ending.

It was like hitting a wall—a warm, male, far too attractive wall.

She felt sure her entire body turned as red as her hair. “Oh, excuse me.”

Jack’s eyes held an odd, somewhat hot light, but he laughed. “No damage done.”

Her Grace was smiling—in relief, no doubt. “I think that’s all for now. You’ve made excellent progress, Frances.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She must look a sight. Her hair was coming out of its pins, and she felt very . . . damp. She took out her handkerchief to blot the sweat from her face. Her feet hurt, too.

“So do Frances and I finally get our tea and cakes, Mama?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I think you’ve definitely earned some refreshment. Let’s—”

They all spun toward the fireplace to see what had caused the noise. Shakespeare was jumping down from the chair by the cabinet, and the cake plate was in pieces on the floor, slices of cake strewn everywhere.

“Oh dear,” the duchess said. “Well, I suppose it’s time for nuncheon.”