Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (9 page)

For a moment she was panicked at being alone with a man for the first time in her life, if one did not count the brief interlude in which he made his offer, but his easy manner and the beautiful day composed her. Even with her arm in his, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath cloth, she experienced no alarm in his company. In fact, she was very much at ease, as if he were an old friend. The air had a special clarity, and the sweet, earthy smells of spring were like a perfume.

“I am reminded of when I mounted my first pony,” she said dreamily, half to herself.

“Was that a special day?”

“Oh yes,” she replied with a shining smile. “She was just a tubby little thing called Jenny, but she was mine. I was six, I think.”

“And now you have Serenade,” he said, referring to her current mount.

“Yes,” she replied, some of the glow leaving her face. “She’s a slug. Mama does not think fast horses suitable for young ladies.”

She thought he might say something, but he did not so they walked on in silence.

“Are the archery butts in this direction?” she asked after a moment. “I would think we are going down to the lake.”

“Excellent geography,” he admitted. “The butts are close to the house near the tennis court. I thought it would be pleasant to walk for a little. Do you realize we have never really been alone?”

“I do not think it is proper,” she said, wondering if she had been wise to relax with him.

“But we are betrothed,” he responded, steering her to a convenient bench. “Being alone in such safe circumstances as these is one of the privileges of our situation, Jane. Another is that I am permitted to give you handsome presents. What shall the first one be?”

Oh no, My Lord, thought Jane. Having failed with your blandishments, do not think you can buy my affections.

“I do not need anything, thank you, Lord Wraybourne. I think we should join the others, or they will look for us.” Her attempt to rise was thwarted by the fact that he had a gentle but firm hold on her hand.

“Nonsense. Sophie is an excellent archer and will be delighted to steal the attention all afternoon, if needs be. I wish you were a little more comfortable in my presence,” he added plaintively.

She met his eyes and was touched, despite herself, by the honest note in his voice. Perhaps he was only behaving as he thought proper. Perhaps his attentions were honest.

“So do I,” she admitted, feeling some explanation was called for. “I am unaccustomed to the company of men, especially ones I am to marry. All this is so different for me. I feel . . . unsure. I am afraid of behaving incorrectly.”

He pressed her fingers reassuringly. “Your behavior is impeccable, Jane. As for men, you have nothing to fear. Being betrothed gives you a certain immunity.”

“Except from you,” she said abruptly.

“But what can you possibly imagine I would do?” he asked in surprise and added, “Be assured that I will never do anything to hurt you. If I distress you in any way, you have merely to say.”

She turned away from his distracting blue eyes. Was this a declaration of warmer feelings or a practical admission that he could not afford to offend her? Whichever, he was making it impossible for her to be rational. She wished she could have a little time to sort out her confusion in peace.

“What if I were to request that you stay away from me?” she asked, turning to catch his expression. He looked merely thoughtful.

“Stenby Castle is a huge barracks of a place,” he remarked. “I suppose it would be possible for us both to live there without meeting. In fact, I have two great-aunts in the north wing at the moment and haven’t seen them in an age. But the town house is a trifle small for separate establishments.”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “You are being absurd to tease me, Sir!”

Suddenly serious, he managed to possess her other hand and forced her to face him directly. “I am trying to understand you, Jane. Do you wish to draw back from our betrothal?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

That was not what she intended at all. Tears formed in her eyes, and he quickly released her and proffered a linen handkerchief.

“I did not mean to disturb you so, Jane,” he said quietly. “When you are recovered we will go on our way without me teasing you any more.”

“You disturb me all the time,” she said with a sniff. “If you did not do so, we would get along a great deal better.”

If she had looked she would have seen a triumphant gleam in his eye, but his tone was serious. “I will have to study the things I do that disturb you so.” He retrieved his handkerchief and drew her to her feet. “Now when I hold your hand like this. Does that disturb you?”

“No-o,” she said hesitantly and distrustfully.

“But if I were to kiss it . . . ,” he said with a wicked smile, suiting action to words.

“Yes!” she declared, attempting to snatch her hand away.

He placed it instead in the crook of his arm. “Surely you do not find this excessively disturbing?” he inquired with concern.

“No,” she said, unwillingly beginning to enjoy the game he was playing. She glanced up at him in a way which was instinctively flirtatious.

His eyes gleamed with appreciation, and he placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek. “Am I permitted that?” he asked.

She turned her head to answer and found his lips ready to claim hers. It was the gentlest of kisses, although he lingered a little. She pulled away as an aching shudder stirred within her.

“Oh no, please!” she gasped.

“Pity,” he said amiably as they resumed their stroll. “I found it very pleasant. However, I promise not to disturb you again—at least not for a while. Perhaps you will become accustomed to me. But remember,” he added seriously, “if I should do anything else which—er—disturbs you, please tell me immediately. I will keep a mental list.”

She looked up at him suspiciously and was sure she could see a twinkle in his eyes, but he met her gaze so frankly that she was thwarted. She should have won a victory and persuaded him to cease his blandishments for the time being. Instead, she felt as if he had marked her and the disturbance of which she had complained would be with her always.

At least, he kept to the spirit of their agreement when they reached the archery butts by happily handing her tuition in the sport over to Lord Randal and challenging his sister to a duel. Both the Kyles were excellent archers, and at short range Lord Wraybourne’s extra strength was little advantage. Sophie was jubilant when she won.

“How do you go on, Jane?” she asked, coming over to them. “David should be teaching you. He is a much better archer than Randal.” Her teasing eyes suggested other reasons for a change in tutor.

Lord Randal, his arms around Jane as he corrected the angle of her bow, protested at any thought of depriving him of his task. Jane refused to make any comment. She was surprised to find that Lord Randal’s body close to hers had none of the power to disturb her that she complained of in her fiancé. It must be her awareness of their special relationship which made her so very sensitive to Lord Wraybourne’s every touch. How then was she to resist his influence?

Glancing at Lord Wraybourne, she saw one elegant eyebrow raised in teasing query and blushed as she realized he was living up to their agreement. She had to admit that the mere thought of standing with his body pressed close to hers caused an uncomfortable warmth. She released the arrow prematurely, and it sailed over the target to land in the earth.

“I’m sorry, Lord Randal,” she said firmly. “I am clumsy at this sport. Please, let us watch the contests.”

She was happy to be a spectator as the others played one against the other, and, by carefully avoiding looking at the earl, she found his presence no bother at all. She congratulated herself that he had taken her words to heart and given her the interlude she needed to come to terms with her new life and their relationship.

 

During the rest of her stay at The Middlehouse, however, Jane became less and less comfortable with Lord Wraybourne’s lack of attendance. It was pleasant, of course, to talk with Lord Randal and to partner him as she learned simple card games or to follow his steps as he taught her the cotillion and the intricate quadrille. It was strange to dance the
risqué
waltz with him, however. She thought her betrothed might object to her being whirled about so by another man, but Lord Wraybourne merely glanced up benignly and returned to his conversation with the beautiful Mrs. Danvers. Jane couldn’t seem to help how often her eyes were on them as they smiled and talked. Desperately, she would drag her gaze away only to have it drawn back irresistibly a moment later.

And this was not the only time he commanded her thoughts. Even when he was absent, she found the memory of the fencing match etched in her mind. The two men had fought in the armament room, well lit by dozens of candles. The rest of the party sat to one side except for Sir Marius, who stood opposite to referee.

Jane was relieved to discover that the fencers used foils with buttons on the ends for safety and thus was able to relax and enjoy the event, but she was disconcerted when both men stripped down to shirts and breeches and removed their boots. They also removed their cravats and high starched collars, leaving their shirts open at the neck. Jane was seeing more man than she had ever done in her life. As swords had hissed and stockinged feet padded back, then forwards, she found her eyes drawn to the column of Lord Wraybourne’s throat and the muscles which stretched and tightened there and gradually became glossed with sweat.

She knew nothing of the finer points of the sport. The applause of the others for a skillful pass was meaningless, but she saw beauty and grace in the lithely stretching and twisting bodies. As the bout progressed, the men’s fine lawn shirts began to cling to their bodies, outlining them for her admiration. The memory returned to disturb her time and time again, and she was infuriated that, try as she would, she could not recall Lord Randal’s body as vividly as she could that of her betrothed.

 

On the final evening of her stay, Jane’s lessons were the excuse for a small dancing session in the music room. The Harrovings’ governess was brought down from the west wing to play the piano, and even Sir Arthur consented to stand up in the fourth couple necessary for most of the dances. As the partners rotated, Jane found Sir Arthur was a clumsy dancer and Sir Marius, too tall to be the most graceful, but she could not decide whether
that
title should go to Lord Randal or Lord Wraybourne. The former had the edge in beauty of movement, but the latter was more elegant.

She stood with Lord Wraybourne ready for the first cotillion. “Now I will find out whether my dancing is really adequate or my teacher has just been kind,” she said to him with a nervous smile.

“Good heavens, how am I to take that? Do I appear to be a critical sort?”

Jane stared at him, distressed. “Oh, Lord Wraybourne, I never meant . . .”

“And I am a swine to tease you when you are on edge. Forgive me, and do not worry. I have been watching your lessons, and you are a natural dancer.”

Jane’s faint color was due to gratification and not embarrassment. “I
do
love dancing,” she confessed. “I hope I am invited to dance every dance all through the Season.”

He laughed. “You will be worn to a frazzle, my dear. But whenever I am present you will not lack a partner.”

“Surely, that would be very unfashionable?”

He raised his brows. “But I, and therefore you, are fashionsetters, Jane. We will start a new style for marital fondness.”

It was such an attractive notion that Jane felt obliged to protest. “We are not, however, married yet, Lord Wraybourne.”

“I am very aware of that, Jane,” he said as the music started and they began the steps.

Jane was glad the conversation had gone no further. During the lively dances there was no opportunity for more than the lightest conversation. Then, Lord Wraybourne claimed her for the waltz for the first time. Even though they danced at arm’s length as was proper, Jane felt ill at ease and kept her eyes down in the pretense that she was watching her steps.

“You’ll find it easier if you look up, you know,” he said after a while. “You’ll just become light-headed doing that.”

In fact she was feeling a little dizzy. “I am anxious not to make a mistake.”

He smiled. “Then look up at me and tell me what a dreadful crush this ball is and how absolutely exhausted you are from all the invitations you simply
have
to accept.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “I must practice my social conversation.” And with a slight and artificial smile she said, “It would be
so
much more enjoyable to spend a quiet evening at home for once, would it not, My Lord?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “But then we poor gentlemen would miss the company of beautiful and charming women such as you.... Now Jane, you mustn’t gape at a compliment or they’ll put you down as the merest country bumpkin.”

“But I am not
accustomed
to compliments.”

“Tush. Randal must be losing his touch! I shall have to work at it. You will soon come to accept them as your due, and quite unworthy of the slightest consternation.”

“Please, I wish you would not,” said Jane, lowering her head once again.

“But the top of your head is quite delightful. If you do not wish me to rhapsodize it, then you should not present it to view.”

Jane raised her head hastily.

“And, of course, your eyes are superb.”

Jane promptly closed them.

“With long, long lashes like thick, dark silk against ivory velvet skin.”

Jane’s eyes flew open once more, and she stared up at him, completely forgetting even to think about her steps. “Lord Wraybourne,
please.
”

“More?” he queried wickedly. “What a shame your dress is so concealing. I am sure your shoulders are smooth and milky white. Of course, there is your harmonious speaking voice, the elegant column of your neck, and the supple curve of your waist beneath my hand.”