Bewitching (51 page)

"But surely everyone's seen them by now."

He glanced over to where a group of guests were fingering the bright yellow fruit on the potted trees. He turned on her with a look of fury. His jaw was clenched tight, and his next words were almost ground out. "What the devil did you think you were doing? Lemon trees in February?"

"It was an accident, truly. And there are hothouses."

"Dammit, wife—"

She placed her hand on his arm and explained, "The snuff made me sneeze. Please don't be angry."

A dawning light hit his eyes. "
Seymour
?"

She nodded, feeling a little sheepish. "It just blew right into my face. I'm sorry."

His anger drained away and, frowning, he rubbed two fingers over the bridge of his nose. "Bloody hell. I forgot about his penchant for snuff." He looked at her, then he said, "Do me a favor, Scottish."

Surprisingly she stared into eyes that held no anger and a tinge of forgiveness, and nodded.

"Keep clear of anyone with a snuff box." He turned then, his gaze scanning the room. A footman in royal livery chose that exact moment to approach them.

"His Royal Highness is waiting," the man told Alec, who nodded and indicated they should follow.

Utter fear swept through her. She took two steps, then came to a halt.

"What is it?" Alec asked.

"I'm frightened."

"You'll do fine," he said with an assurance she was far from feeling. "He's only another Englishman. Try to think of it that way. Like me, he's just English."

"My knees feel Scottish," she muttered. That drew an odd look from him. If she hadn't known better, she would have believed he was actually amused.

"Just curtsy. You'll be on my arm, before and after. And don't look at him or rise until he speaks."

She stared unseeing at the back of the footman. "I'll remember."

"And don't forget to breathe."

She nodded and took a deep breath.

"You're the Duchess of Belmore." His warm hand slid over hers as he led her from the large ballroom into a narrow hallway. "And you look lovely, Scottish."

She smiled then, his approval doing rejuvenating things to her confidence, and as they stopped outside a set of double doors she turned her face toward his, but there was no time for words. The doors opened.

"The Duke and Duchess of Belmore!"

The heat from the room hit her like a blast from a bonfire. Instantly perspiration beaded all over her skin. Inside the stifling room was a group of people in full court dress. All eyes were riveted on her.

Alec's hand still covered hers and he squeezed it, then whispered, "Breathe." She did and a second later they stopped. The next thing she knew he released her hand and introduced her, and then she was in a full curtsy—head bowed, shoulders straight, her hands gripping her skirts, and her Scottish knees shimmying like aspen leaves. The silence went on. If the man didn't speak soon she was going to shame her husband by falling face down on the floor. She remembered Alec's comment and took a deep breath, knowing it was probably the last movement her wee body could make.

"Ah, my lady duchess."

Joy almost crumbled to the floor with relief. Slowly straightening, she gave him a smile, but it faltered when her knees cracked like Christmas walnuts. Even Alec heard them. She caught his wince out of the corner of her eye.

"Lovely, Belmore. We are impressed. You always did have a good eye." The prince regent studied her, rather rudely and quite thoroughly. Joy just stood there, her smile plastered to her lips, her heart pounding and her knees aching, amazed that this man was the future monarch of
England
. He had a large midriff, although there were no rolls of flesh bulging from his buttoned coat. He looked puffed up.

His hair was a golden red and swept upward from his wide forehead in a comblike wave. That hair, combined with his thin bandy legs, gave him the distinct look of a plump rooster. He even had a few red chins that rested wattlelike against a pinch-folded cravat.

She sneezed.

The prince regent opened his mouth. And crowed. Heads turned and stared at him, but he apparently didn't notice and kept on talking to her as if nothing unusual had happened.

Unfortunately, Alec had noticed. He did, however, keep his composure, continuing to speak quietly and briefly, his hands gripping her close. She had a feeling he had some ruthless way to stop her should she chance to sneeze again. Calmly he carried most of the conversation until the prince requested they dine at his personal table, and her husband became suddenly quiet.

"We desire to better know your lady duchess, Belmore." And with that pronouncement they were dismissed and the prince regent turned and moved across the room, an odd creaking sound following in his wake.

"What's that sound?" she whispered.

"His corset." Once they were well out of whispering distance he asked, "What the devil were you thinking when you sneezed?"

She didn't want to tell him, but his hand tightened on hers as he led her from the room. "I thought he looked like a rooster."

Once they were back in the hallway he wordlessly handed her a handkerchief. "Blow until all the snuff's gone."

She did as he asked, allowing him to use his body to hide her actions from the rest of the room. She looked up at him.

"Finished?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You're certain?"

She nodded. "No one appeared to notice when he crowed."

"The prince can sometimes be as eccentric as his mad father. I suppose we should be thankful people tend not to question royal behavior."

She chewed her lip, then looked up at him from wary eyes. "Are you angry?"

He stared down at her for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I have to admit, Scottish, he does look like a rooster." Then he actually laughed. For the first time since the inn, he laughed.

She released her held breath, and a smile of blinding happiness came unbidden to her lips. He watched her for a long time until he began to look uncomfortable, so she looked away. The moment was lost.

Without another comment he guided her back into the ballroom, where they stood on the rim of the crowd.

"I do, however, believe this is going to be a long night." His face stayed taut, but he loosened his hold.

Before she could ponder what he meant, the haunting strains of a waltz rippled through the ballroom, causing gasps of outrage and titters of eager laughter. The dance floor emptied, and remained so. No one dared to move into the dance.

She watched the crowd close tighter and saw secrets being whispered behind a bevy of fans as the guests hesitated. "What are they waiting for?"

"Looks as if no one wants to be the first to begin waltzing. The dance is still considered improper in many circles."

"Are they just going to stand there?"

"Until someone throws caution to the wind, I'd say yes, the floor will remain empty."

"I suppose everyone knows that the Duke and Duchess of Belmore wouldn't dare be the first couple to waltz."

"Is that a challenge, Scottish?"

Her shrug said he could take it any way he wanted.

The earl suddenly appeared at his right "May I have the honor, Your Grace?"

Alec's hand tightened on hers. "I'll dance with my wife, Downe. Find someone else." With a knowing smile the earl moved on, choosing a partner and spinning her onto the dance floor, looking as if he cared not a fig for what anyone in the room thought.

Alec watched the couple intently, speculation in his dark blue eyes, and with a fleeting wistfulness, she wondered if perhaps he might have, given a minute longer, whisked her out onto the dance floor, public opinion be damned. But now it mattered not, because others had joined the first dancing couple. Finally Alec grasped her waist and with no words, only a nod of his head, he spun her onto the dance floor.

The sweet music swelled just as before. As if the fates needed to prove life's recurring ironies, the orchestra played the same Viennese waltz the earl had played that night at Belmore House. And as before, she and Alec moved as one, sweeping across the room with movements so fluid and light that she barely felt the floor beneath her. Candlelight rained in glittering light-drops downward from the dome of the ballroom, thousands of wee flickers that bathed the dancers and the other guests in the starry luster of the moment. Her gaze was drawn upward, driven by the overwhelming compulsion to see if the glimmer was as startlingly brilliant as it felt.

If only her curious eyes had gotten that far. Once they met her husband's they were held prisoner. The impact of his look fanned memories that flashed like wind-ruffled book pages through her mind, memories of the last time they had danced just so, and the passion, the kiss. The same thoughts must have flooded his mind too, for the moment suddenly existed again as naturally as if they lived it every day, every minute.

How odd that the world could melt away so easily, with a look, the touch of a hand, the sweet kiss of a lover's breath upon one's cheek. Bewitching. The rich sound of music wafted through and around them like colorful garlands on a Maypole. And the tension grew with the notes, that incredible magical presence that seemed to burn like a flame fanned between them with the engulfing and overpowering strength of something more than mere magic, something that no one else in the world could ever know, live, or cherish. And she knew with certainty she would never experience this passionate force with another. This was theirs alone. This wonderful bewitching.

He pressed his hand against her back, and she moved inch by small inch closer. Each time they turned, each step they took, brought them together. Her skirts brushed his legs, swished and swirled and floated between them like mist. Their steps were flawless, their gazes locked, the motions little more than elegant foreplay. The emeralds on her gloved wrist caught the brilliant light, but their sparkle was dim compared to his look, open and needful for one brief instant in time.

They were so close that their bodies grazed each other scandalously, and his fingers tightened on her waist and hand.
He feels it as strongly as I,
she realized. But he fought the magnetic pull, fought it as the sea fought the moon tide.

Kiss me . . .
. Her mind called out to him over and over, just as it had before. His gaze drifted to her mouth, reveled in it, but he wouldn't move closer, wouldn't close the space between them and say, "The world and propriety be damned."

Then the music ceased and they stopped, suddenly aware that they were observed by a thousand curious eyes. Alec immediately stiffened, but before they could move, let alone speak, supper was announced to the chiming of a group of royal glass bells, and they were swept up with the noisy crowd, a heavy silence between them because neither one was in control, and they both knew it.

***

With a sense of impending doom, Alec watched the steward refill his wife's wineglass. She sat talking to the prince, waving her animated hands to emphasize her words —on which Prinny appeared to be hanging. The prince had insisted they attend the theater with his party tomorrow night. Alec mentally groaned at the thought. He had hoped to leave for
Belmore
Park
first thing in the morning so he could sequester Joy safely in the country.

Her joyful laugh caught his attention, and he turned back, watching. She was a success. He should be proud. Uneasy, but proud. And pleased that they had pulled this off. So why did he feel as if the world around him danced to a different tune? He felt out of place and alone. The feeling of isolation was not comforting. It annoyed him. He had always sought solitude, preferred it to the noisy life of the English aristocracy, but now he found it unsettling. Why did he wish for something else? He sipped his own wine and asked himself what it was he sought.