Faith (4 page)

Gareth nodded, studying her cameo-perfect profile as she looked away into the night sky. He took an involuntary step forward. “Odder still is the fact that the same mamas thrusting their daughters under my nose tonight advised them that I was a disreputable rake to be avoided at all costs six months ago.”

Faith slanted a look at him. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” he asked, momentarily distracted by the way the moonlight turned her pale hair to spun silver. His eyes followed a long curl to where it lay against the creamy swells rising from the bodice of her gown.

“Never mind,” said Faith with a touch of irony in her voice, watching the direction of his gaze. “I believe you just answered my question.”

Gareth looked up swiftly and found himself imprisoned by her expressionless gray eyes. He shrugged, and grinned sheepishly. “Guilty, I’m afraid, on all counts.”

Faith remained silent, reminded of all the things she despised about him. The man of her dreams would be handsome, gentle, and attentive, not overt and…and…She blushed a little. The Marquess of Roth just seemed so…
ravenous.

Gareth watched the trace of color steal across her face and wondered at the direction of Faith’s thoughts. The faint strains of a waltz floated up to them through the closed doors of the terrace below, and he ached, suddenly, to feel her in his arms. “Do you dance, Miss Ackerly?”

“Much more often than I care to,” she replied in a cool tone.

“It must be that your partners have been less than inspiring, princess.” His voice held a soft husky tone.

Faith found herself suddenly intrigued, despite everything. Provoked by this unwonted response, she took a small step back. “Ah, but not a one has been either disreputable or an admitted rake, as you are, my lord, nor did they take to calling me by inappropriate nicknames, as you now have,” she admonished.

Gareth moved closer, undeterred. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Faith arched a brow. “Here?” she asked dubiously, looking around.

“Why not? It’s a trifle narrow, but sufficiently long, I think.”

She remained impassive.

“It’ll be fun,” he added in a cajoling tone that made Faith picture how very endearing he must have been as a little boy.

She looked at his outstretched hand and felt an irrepressible urge to take it, to throw caution to the winds and allow him to whirl her away down the balcony. Biting her lip, she considered. One of the reasons she didn’t enjoy dancing was that she was uncommonly tall for a woman. Most men were either her height or only slightly taller, and some were even shorter. She lifted her eyes from Gareth’s outstretched hand to his face and realized he was a good four or five inches taller than she.

Feeling suddenly shy, she placed her hand in his and saw him smile. Slowly, he drew her near. And then his arms were around her and he was leading her down the balcony in a dipping, sweeping waltz that took her breath and had her laughing helplessly.

Gareth looked down at Faith’s animated face as he expertly swung around and started back up the way they’d come. What a difference a smile made! This young woman’s beauty was undeniable. She’d always been considered an Incomparable, a cool classic blonde whose perfect features appeared sculpted from the purest white marble. Her glorious hair was always pulled smoothly back in a sedate chignon, never a strand out of place, and without fail she dressed in the demure, pale pastel colors society deemed proper for a young, unmarried female. But it was with great pleasure that Gareth learned the icily perfect Faith Ackerly was utterly entrancing when she smiled: her large gray eyes became a sparkling silver, a becoming flush rose to her alabaster cheeks, and she allowed him a tantalizing glimpse of even, white teeth.

He pulled her imperceptibly closer, thrilled when she didn’t resist, highly conscious of how perfectly she fit in his arms.

As Gareth smiled down at her, Faith realized she’d never quite felt so completely at ease while dancing. Always there was the necessity of making polite conversation while managing to avoid having her feet trampled—or worse, ignoring the sharp ache between her shoulder blades when she was obliged to try and make herself shrink so as not to tower over a shorter man. She wasn’t sure if it was the expert way he whirled her, the fact that she was so unused to actually looking up at her partner, or the tender look in his soft brown eyes that was making her dizzy, but she suddenly felt it imperative that she move closer, for she was perfectly certain her knees would fail her and that she would fall in an undignified heap at his feet at any moment.

Gareth pulled her fully against him, slowing the pace until they were merely standing in place, gently swaying to the distant music. Faith’s head was nestled against his shoulder and he bent his head to breathe in the scent of her, a beguiling combination of soap and fresh flowers that made him want to free her hair from its confining pins and bury his face in it. He chuckled softly, his breath warm against her ear.

“I can’t believe anyone could call you an ice princess.”

The second the words passed his lips, he regretted them. Faith Ackerly stiffened and stepped back and out of his arms, two bright spots of color flaring on her cheeks.

Hot shame at the way she’d forgotten herself was flooding her senses. She belatedly recalled the way he’d openly flirted with his lover at her sister’s wedding. It warred with the odd yearning she had to ignore common sense, to stay in his arms, but somehow Faith managed to keep her head up and her voice firm. “Good night, Lord Roth,” she said tautly, then walked with dignified grace to the doors, opened them, and disappeared back inside the house.

Gareth watched her go, his arms suddenly painfully empty. The chill night air quickly replaced the radiant smile that had warmed his soul. He leaned against the rail, his thoughts returning to the conversation he’d had with his brother at Rothmere. The entire reason he’d come to Town for the season was to see to the business of an heir for the title. And in order to create an heir, he first needed to obtain a wife.

London, he was learning, was positively
littered
with young women who would dearly love to become his wife.

He grimaced. Actually, he amended wryly, London was littered with young women who would dearly love to become a marchioness. He considered the hordes of simpering debutantes who had been thrust beneath his nose before he’d escaped to this balcony, and compared them with Faith Ackerly.

There was no contest.

A touch of the prankster from his past returned, and he grinned, suddenly vastly entertained by the notion of courting the lovely, if prim, Miss Ackerly. If he had to find a wife, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy the process. He straightened and walked to the doors, his mind made up. The young lady was entirely too controlled and proper, which were both excellent qualities in a marchioness…but he wanted more from his wife.

Yes, he decided, Faith Ackerly could definitely use some shaking up.

Five

P
erched on the window seat with her legs curled beneath her and an embroidery hoop in her hand, Faith looked every inch the serene, gently bred young lady Society saw daily. Her face was calm as she looked out over the gardens, and she allowed her hands to fall idle for a moment as she lost herself in a short daydream. Then, as if the reverie brought unpleasant thoughts, she thinned her lips and returned her attention to her needlework, repeatedly stabbing the needle through the linen with far more force than accuracy.

“Is it dead yet?” Grace asked jokingly from the small writing desk where she sat patiently writing what seemed like endless thank-you notes for gifts sent to welcome her son, Christian, into her household.

Faith looked up in chagrin when she realized what she was doing. She surveyed the damage to the delicate linen collar she was embroidering, then sighed and began pulling out stitches.

“Do you want to talk about it?” It was unlike Faith to get so worked up, and Grace found herself genuinely worried about whatever was bothering her sister. Faith shook her head, which was not surprising. Where Grace had a tendency to blurt out everything that crossed her mind, Faith was more introspective, usually preferring to keep her concerns private until she’d worked them out for herself.

At the discreet knock on the open door of the salon, Grace looked over her shoulder. Hovering on the threshold was her favorite footman. The short, round servant once worked for her aunt but had come to work in the Caldwells’ London town house shortly after her marriage. She smiled sweetly at him. “Yes, O’Reilly?”

“More flowers have been delivered for Miss Faith, my lady.”

Grace glanced at her sister, who hadn’t moved. “Just keep the card and send them to the hospital with the others, please.”

“Yes, my lady.” O’Reilly hesitated. “It’s just that they’re a bit more voluminous than the usual bouquets,” he explained.

“Voluminous?” Grace asked curiously. Faith slowly turned her head, a strange expression dawning on her face.

“Well,
larger,
” clarified O’Reilly.

Faith stood abruptly. “Whom are they from?”

“Why Miss Faith, I’d never presume to—”

“Whom?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.

O’Reilly’s mouth snapped shut and he drew himself up as much as his short, portly frame would allow. “The Marquess of Roth,” he said.

Faith tossed the embroidery hoop on the window seat and stalked out of the room and into the foyer.

She stopped abruptly and gasped in shock. Before her stood the most enormous flower arrangement she’d ever beheld. It was a small tree, really, in a large clay pot, with iris and larkspur and pink and white daisies woven with ribbons throughout the branches to create a delicate, colorful pattern. Behind her, she heard Grace enter the foyer and echo her surprise.

Annoyed, Faith walked up to the enormous bouquet. “Where’s the note?” she asked O’Reilly.

“Actually, I was hoping to deliver the note by hand,” came a mocking voice from beyond the open door. Gareth appeared from behind the tree, a white envelope in his out-stretched hand.

Grace stifled a giggle.

“Take it out of here!” commanded Faith in her best no-nonsense tone.

“The note?”

“The…” She gestured toward the tree. “Whatever
this
is.”

“You don’t like it?” asked Gareth in a hurt voice. His brown eyes glowed with amusement, which only irritated Faith further.

“No,” she answered shortly, then pressed her lips together in a manner Gareth was quickly coming to recognize as a struggle for control.

“I promise to take it away at once, if you’ll at least accept my note.”

Faith stood silent, her expression unreadable.

“All right, then, you prefer the flowers,” said Gareth cheerfully, taking off his hat and thrusting it at O’Reilly, who accepted it without thinking.

“Oh, just give me the note,” said Faith irritably. “And give Lord Roth back his hat, O’Reilly.”

Grinning, Gareth handed her the envelope and took back his hat, while two of his footmen appeared as if by magic and began hauling the tree away.

“Leave it,” snapped Faith as she opened the envelope. The footmen looked uncertainly at Gareth, who indicated they should leave with a subtle inclination of his head. They promptly disappeared.

Faith unfolded the note and began silently reading.

My humblest apologies for the unintentional insult last night. May I take you driving to atone?

Faith carefully refolded the note, replaced it in the envelope, and turned to O’Reilly. “My pelisse and a suitable hat, please,” she said sweetly. O’Reilly hastened off to find her maid, Becky. An awkward silence fell over the foyer. Gareth winked at Grace, who folded her lips in an attempt to control the urge to laugh. Faith stood quietly in place, a cool expression on her lovely face. When the footman returned with the requested items, she put them on, stepped around the tree, and placed her gloved hand on Gareth’s arm. Without a word, they disappeared through the front door.

Grace exchanged glances with O’Reilly as soon as Wilson, the Huntwick butler, closed the door after them. “I’m glad you were able to find a suitable hat.” Her lips twitched.

“I was a bit worried, my lady. When I reached Miss Faith’s chamber, I couldn’t find Becky and I wasn’t at all sure what would
be
suitable. I had to guess,” the footman responded, doing his best to look solemn.

Grace, who had almost regained her composure, began laughing helplessly. “Oh, my! What if you had guessed wrong?”

O’Reilly gave up all attempt at solemnity. “I’d have hidden behind the t-t-tree!” he choked out, wiping away tears of mirth.

When they’d recovered somewhat, O’Reilly hastened away to find someone to help him move the “tree.” Grace stood in the foyer another long moment, staring thoughtfully at the door, as if it could help her discover what was brewing between her sister and Gareth Lloyd.

All was quiet except the rumble of the wheels, the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves and the ambient sounds of the city. Faith sat primly erect, her hands folded in her lap, her face composed, staring straight ahead through the animal’s ears.

After about ten minutes, they entered the park, and Gareth cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you could find it in your heart to allow me to apologize?”

Faith slowly turned her head and regarded his profile with a cool, appraising look. He didn’t seem nearly uncomfortable enough yet, she decided, so she said nothing but did not look away.

Gareth gave her half a glance before returning his attention to the road. “I realize, of course, that my clumsy attempt at conversation was unforgivable…” His voice trailed off, and he was clearly hoping she would respond. When she didn’t, his exasperation rose. “Have you heard a word I’ve said, Miss Ackerly?”

“I have,” she replied.

Gareth raised his eyebrows. This was, by far, the strangest conversation he’d ever had with a woman. It had long been his experience that women seldom
stopped
talking, and never had he found it necessary to make an effort to drag a complete sentence out of one. “And have you nothing to say?” he asked patiently.

Faith looked back at him steadily. “When you’ve said something worthy of a response, I shall give you one.”

At that unbelievable statement, Gareth abruptly lost his temper. “Do you realize, Miss Ackerly, that your behavior toward me has been nothing short of callous, disrespectful, and rude from before we even met until this very moment?”

Faith continued to sit in silence, so he went on. “The first contact I ever had with you was a short, terse note ordering me to remind Trevor Caldwell that his business reputation would suffer if it was shown he couldn’t handle your sister. At the time, I thought it a brilliant piece of deductive reasoning—and, of course, it worked.”

Faith finally stirred at this reminder of the role he’d played in almost ruining her sister’s relationship before it even began. “Given the fact that it was your impetuous and ill-placed wager in White’s betting book that nearly cost my sister the only man she’s ever loved, I felt it necessary to help you bring them back together.” She gave Gareth a smug, superior look.

The marquess’s voice grew soft. If Faith had known him better, she’d have become immediately alarmed, for any of his family and close friends could have told her that his tone indicated his otherwise rather generous supply of patience was at an end. “And so, princess, in the hope that you’d forgiven me, as your sister and brother-in-law have, I spoke to you at their wedding reception. I’d hoped to tell you how impressed I was with your strategy, but my attempts at conversation were clumsy, and you left me no chance to make it up.”

Faith raised her eyebrows. “The topic you broached that evening was neither suitable to me nor apparently relevant to the subject you say you wished to discuss, my lord.”

Gareth ignored her words. His smile turned mocking as he expertly brought the vehicle around to exit the park and return to the Caldwell town house. “You can imagine how pleased I was, then, to find myself alone with you last night on that balcony. It was the perfect opportunity to impart to you what I’d meant to say all those months ago.” His voice softened again, this time turning husky and deep. “I hadn’t counted on your being so lovely in the moonlight, or on the wistful expression in your eyes when you heard that waltz.”

Faith caught her breath and turned again to face him, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His expression in rugged profile was hard as he looked out at the road before them, and his brown eyes weren’t soft and warm any longer. They lapsed into silence.

Too soon, they pulled up in front of the Caldwell town house, and Faith felt a moment’s remorse as Gareth jumped down and held a hand up to help her disembark the carriage. She placed her gloved hand lightly in his and stepped down, halting him briefly when he started to escort her up the steps.

“My lord, I didn’t realize your intentions at my sister’s wedding.”

His face remained impassive, so she turned to walk up the steps, feeling helpless in the face of his withdrawal. He fell into pace beside her.

At the door she tried once more. “Lord Roth, I
do
accept your apology.” She stopped awkwardly as Wilson opened the door.

Gareth tipped his hat then took a step back. “Never mind, Miss Ackerly. If you’ll recall, you never gave me a chance to offer it.” And with that, he turned and strode down the steps, leaving a bemused Faith to step inside.

Wilson closed the door behind her.