Kate Noble (8 page)

She didn’t answer him, instead her face turned pale and waxen as she leaned back against the cool wall behind her. He gently took her chin in his hand, but she pushed it aside and let her head fall to her chest. She was not handling her liquor well at all. Covering his face in his hands, Max took a deep breath (through his mouth, of course), turned on his now slippery heel and walked out from behind the curtain and into the throng of partygoers.

Luck was on his side, for he avoided having anyone notice his shoes, by grabbing the first passing servant he could find. Pulling the poor man toward their hidden spot, he ushered him behind the curtain and spoke in low tones.

“What is your name?”

“Grisby, sir.”

“Grisby, do you know who this young lady is?”

“Why, yes, sir, she’s…blimey, she’s—”

“Can you escort her to her family?” Max interrupted. “Someone to take care of her?”

“Why, yes sir, of course.”

Max discreetly slipped a coin into the astonished Grisby’s hand. “That is for your discretion.”

Grisby blinked several times. “Sir, as a member of Sir Geoffrey’s household, I never—”

“For your services, then. Please take care of her before anyone sees. She’ll need a good deal of water and air.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll take her directly. Come on, now, miss, we’ll fix you right up,” Grisby said, as he gently took hold of Gail’s arm, steadying her against the side of his body. For a man with graying hair and a lean frame he took hold of her inert weight remarkably well. Max watched with concern as Grisby led Gail through a door paneled into the interior wall just to their right, hidden behind the curtain. It blended perfectly, indiscernible, if one hadn’t known to look for it.

Trying not to breathe too deeply (the smell of his shoes being pervasive), Max took a moment to gather himself. It had only been minutes since he had had the misfortune to again be thrown into the presence of Miss Gail…er, something or other, but it felt like hours. She had never failed to aggravate him to his breaking point. This ball was a complete waste of time, Max thought, and suddenly, he was very tired. As much as he did not wish to offend his hosts, Max could not bring himself to face another set of debutantes. There was no bride hunting to be done tonight, it seemed, and Max decided the time had come to head home.

However, he hadn’t taken two steps toward the party before he realized he could not easily cross the ballroom floor without causing a complete scandal. That is to say, without the state of his shoes causing some crinkled noses.

Max cursed himself for not asking Grisby if he could get his shoes washed or at least asked him the direction of the nearest water closet. His eyes flicked to the hidden, paneled door. Where did it lead? Suddenly, a niggling worry entered his brain.
Damn
, Max thought,
I hope I didn’t dump the poor girl on someone who is just going to dump her behind some potted tree.
His conscience getting the better of him, Max made certain no one was coming toward the balcony, then quickly stepped behind the curtain again, found the door’s latch and slipped through.

He stepped into another world. Was it a conservatory? A hothouse? The room was twenty feet high, cased by glass and filled with the most beautiful flowering trees and plants Max had ever seen. It was warm, humid, exotic. Down a wrought iron spiral staircase was a small stone path that wove its way through this enclosed forest, hiding its curves in the shade of wide-leafed palms. Moonlight filtered through the glass walls and played across the branches of the tallest trees, hung with leafy vines that flowered white bells. The tinkling of water mixed with the faded strains of the music, and Max breathed in the heavy perfume of the bright orange lilies that peppered the edge of the path.

Obviously, the hidden door did not lead to the kitchens. Not directly in any case. But as there was no sign of Grisby or Gail, Max had to assume there was another way through, and the old man had used this merely as a hallway, likely to the servant’s quarters. Max wound his way down the stone path, forgetting about the awful state of his shoes for a moment, while he took in the beauty of this isolated spot in the middle of the teeming city. At the far end of the path, closest to the rounded end of the glass enclosure, was a stone fountain peppered with naughty little wood sprites pouring pails of water over unhappy looking stone frogs. Each sprite had a roguish wink in its eye and a pair of wings too small for its rounded cherubic body. But in the moonlight, they seemed to take flight. The fountain flowed down from higher tiers but ended in a wide, low pool. A pool he could easily step into.

Max looked around to make certain he was alone and sent silent thanks for an easy way to clean his shoes. Throwing any lingering caution to the wind, he stepped in to the fountain, splashing about happily. He let the wood sprites pour water over the filth on the once soft leather. They were clean in no time, and Max was about to remove himself from the pool and the party, when a shadowed figured walked through the trees, and jumped back, startled at his presence.

“Oh!” a female voice exclaimed, lifting her head from her own private reverie.

Max was dumbstruck. She was the most glorious creature he had ever laid eyes on. A small, delicate-looking female, swathed in a delicious confection of silk and lace that shimmered in the moonlight. Her hair was a sweet honeyed blonde, piled artfully upon her head, a long curl escaping over her shoulder. She had a blue-eyed gaze that speared him, a slightly sloping nose that curved up in a fetching manner at the end and a pert rosebud mouth that Max ached to taste. He couldn’t help but notice the sleeve of her gown was torn and trailing off her shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said, casting her gaze again to the floor and turning away.

“No! Wait!” Max exclaimed, rushing out of the fountain’s pool with a resounding splash. He caught up to her as she turned to face him. He dared not touch her, for fear she might disappear, but gathered himself enough to bow.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, miss, you should not have to leave such a lovely garden just because I am here.” Given his unexpected jumble of nerves, Max was surprised at his own eloquence. “Er—are you quite well?” He indicated her shoulder, ready to do battle with anyone who had caused such a glowing beauty harm.

“Oh! Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she blushed, her mouth forming an
O
of surprise as she held the shoulder of her gown together with her hand. “This—I’m afraid the stitching on this gown is not very strong. I was dancing, and…well…” The young lady ventured a sweet smile to Max, the warmth of her expression flooring him.

How was this possible? Max hadn’t felt so undone since he was a green lad, girding himself up to talk to a girl for the first time. Propriety dictated he leave the lady to her garden, but somehow, he couldn’t. Max was caught up in her dazzling gaze, and she had forgotten her feminine blushes and found herself staring, entranced, in return.

A comfortable silence descended, and a sudden need to fill it. She spoke first.

“Um…what were you doing in the fountain?” she asked, awkwardly folding one hand to her waist, while the other was occupied holding up her sleeve.

Max looked down at his shoes, clean now, and the footprint puddles that tracked back to the fountain. He had been in quite the hurry to stop her from going, hadn’t he? “Some, er, food was spilled on my shoes. I came through the door looking for a servant and found this marvelous place, and uh, washed off my shoes.” Max grinned ruefully at his own story. It sounded so silly now, his anger at his ruined shoes and that damned girl.

Oh, no, Miss Brat Whomever
, Max thought,
I shan’t think about you. You and your irritating mouth and golden eyes won’t intrude on my time with this captivating beauty.

“Was it pudding?” asked the captivating beauty.

“Pardon?” Max said, startled out of his reverie.

“On your shoes, did someone spill a pudding?”

“Probably.”

Again, they found themselves lapsing into that comfortable silence. He was so enchanted with this vision before him, the magic of the glass garden, that he couldn’t help but devour her with his eyes. She met his gaze with one of equally fascinated interest.

“What’s your name?” Max murmured, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

Suddenly she smiled, giving a surprisingly low, husky laugh, exuding a sensuality that had Max’s full attention.

“My stepmother would tell you that propriety dictates the gentleman introduce himself first,” she said coyly, looking out from underneath her lashes.

Where had he heard that before? It didn’t matter.

Max bowed, not extravagantly, but warmly, bending at the waist, but always keeping his eyes locked with hers. “Maximillian, Lord Fontaine, at your service, ma’am.”

“I think I saw you enter the party tonight, Lord Fontaine. You and a blond gentleman, who looks to be perpetually happy.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken. My friend is really quite dour.” Max smiled. When she looked at him quizzically, he continued. “Sometimes, there are whole minutes when he’s not smiling.”

That elicited a giggle from his companion, entrancing Max even further.

“I am Miss Evangeline Alton.” She dipped into a curtsy. “A pleasure.”

“So you’re the daughter of the house!”

“One of them,” Evangeline replied, nodding sweetly.

“Elder or younger?” Max inquired.

When she replied elder, Max asked if this was her first outing in society, for he did not recall having seen her before.

“In London, yes,” she replied. “But I have been in Portugal for the past year, and Paris and Madrid before that, so…”

“Yes, I doubt you are unfamiliar with the ways of society,” he chuckled. “But you should be out enjoying the party.”

“I was. I mean, I am. Romilla—my stepmother—was dancing so merrily, I didn’t wish to bother her. So I thought to simply cut through to the kitchens, to see if I could get my dress stitched. I didn’t think anyone would be in here. How do you know my family?”

He told her of meeting her father in Vienna. “You were still in the schoolroom at the time, else I certainly would have remembered you.” Yes, he would have remembered her, very well indeed. What if, what if he was so bold as to touch her? Would she disappear like smoke?

Overcome by the idea, Max held out his arm in a courtly gesture, inviting her to take it. “Miss Alton, you must know all about this lovely conservatory. Would you be so good as to show me some of its secrets?”

She hesitated at first, likely not used to being left alone with a man. But, he wanted no more than he asked, and smiled to urge her on—and saw in her answering smile the moment she lost all hesitation and decided in his favor.

Her free arm slid through his, and warmth flooded Max’s body. She started speaking, idling through the path and under tree branches, and Max was determined to remember every word.

“This was my mother’s garden. She loved to sit in here. She loved different kinds of plants, so every time my father came home from his travels, he brought her something new and exotic. These vines, with the white flowers? They’re from Greece. The olive growers plant these vines beside the olive trees, because they make the fruit sweeter.”

Max reached up to one of the white-belled flowers and, with a firm hand, plucked it and presented it to Evangeline. Although she had no free hand with which to take it.

“Allow me,” Max said softly, and at her acquiescing nod, tucked the flower behind her ear, tracing her jaw as he withdrew his hand.

She smiled at him, his eyes never leaving her face. He could get lost in that face.

“My mother died when I was young,” she continued, “but my father dictated that the garden should always grow, even when we weren’t here. I’m impressed you managed to find it—the doors are well hidden.”

“I consider it fortunate I did so.”

They had stopped walking, although Max hadn’t noticed. His feet had stopped touching the ground long ago. They stood in that garden, with the muted strains of music lilting through from the ballroom, moonlight drifting through the trees, and his mind filled with her.

He didn’t plan it. But as easily as Evangeline had taken Max’s arm, as hopefully as he’d offered it, Max and Evangeline found themselves leaning into each other. Her hand abandoned her own torn sleeve, transferred to his. His face was a hair’s breadth from hers, her mouth tilted up. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin, and when their lips met, it was simple.

It was sweet.

“Oh, Miss Evangeline! Thank goodness!”

Evangeline pulled away from him quickly, her jerky movement breaking the spell that held them both. The darkness hid most of them, but Evangeline’s pale hair and dress had caught the moonlight, making her glow like a beacon, which attracted the very person searching frantically for her. Evangeline quickly tried to rearranged her torn shoulder, but to no avail.

A servant, the housekeeper by her dress, stood in a second doorway, one that led down to the kitchens. She rushed forward, the jangling of her pockets announcing her arrival to everyone near and far. She approached her quarry nervously, her eyes flitting from Evangeline to Evangeline’s sleeve to Max in quick succession.