Nearly a Lady (13 page)

“It qualified as a mockery of a perfectly lovely dance.” Lilly sighed with frustration. “We need an actual gentleman.”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

Winnefred turned to find Gideon standing in the open door of the parlor. No, not standing, she amended, but leaning comfortably against the doorframe. How long, she wondered, had he been there, watching?

He smiled, straightened, and stepped into the room. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Winnefred?”

Winnefred shot Lilly a quick smug expression. She had suggested asking Gideon to be her dance partner, but Lilly had insisted that such a request would show a grievous lack of sensitivity. “I would be delighted. Can you dance with your cane?”

“No.” He leaned the cane against the wall. “But I can manage without it for a time, provided Lilly slows the tempo a little for me.”

“You won’t risk exacerbating your injury?”

“Not at all.”

“Even if I should trod on your foot?” It was practically inevitable that she would.

“The injury was not to my foot,” he assured her as he crossed the floor.

“Oh. What was the injury to?” She pretended not to see the look of censure from Lilly. The question was indelicate, perhaps, but if Gideon wasn’t troubled by the topic, Winnefred saw no reason why anyone else should be.

“The upper leg. So, if you could avoid swinging your arms about below your waist, or kicking your feet up above the knees, I believe we’ll do well enough.”

The image made her laugh. “I shall do my best.”

Lilly shuffled the papers on the piano. “If you are ready, we shall try the same dance again, but slower.”

As she took her place across from Gideon, Winnefred considered what a strange sensation it was to stand in front of a man, quiet and unmoving while the lilting strains of a piano filled the room. It was strange enough, in fact, that she lost count of the beats and stepped toward Gideon’s side too soon. He caught her round the waist with his arm, lifted her off her feet, and set her back down again in her spot. “Not quite yet, Winnefred. And wrong side.”

The words barely registered, nor did the sound of the music stopping and Lilly’s groan.

“Good heavens,” Winnefred breathed, “you’re strong as an ox.”

He stepped back to his own spot. “Perhaps you’re just dainty.”

“We start again,” Lilly announced.

“Dainty?” Though Winnefred knew herself to be a woman of small build, the description “dainty” was one she never expected to hear applied to herself. She found herself grinning at the very notion. “Lace is dainty.”

“Not the sort my grandmother used to wear,” Gideon replied, raising his voice a little as Lilly began to play once more. “Lucien and I stole some yards of her lace once and fashioned a very fine rope swing for the lake.”

“She must have been furious.”

“We never admitted to the crime. Step forward now.”

“What? Oh.” She moved forward offbeat and remembered to take his hand only after he held it out to her, but she managed to refrain from trampling him as they turned a circle around each other, and she thought that a fine start.

“Swings aside, I’m not sure I care for the word ‘dainty,’ ” she commented. “It implies fragility.”

“A fitting description.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“All life is fragile.”

“Unless you’re Mr. Pirkle falling from his roof,” she pointed out and remembered just in time to switch hands with him and turn in an opposite circle. “Perspective, I suppose.”

“Perhaps it is,” he conceded. “Step to the right.”

She did and nearly tripped over her feet in an effort to catch back up to the beat.

“Concentrate, Freddie,” Lilly called out.

She shared a smile of amusement with Gideon but followed Lilly’s advice all the same, forgoing conversation for the sake of paying attention to the music and the steps. And what she soon discovered was that dancing with an actual gentleman truly did make a difference. She’d been jesting about merely following Bess’s lead earlier, but now that she had Gideon as a partner, it did seem quite a bit easier to step when and where she ought. Admittedly, it also helped that Gideon periodically reached out to steer her in the right direction.

It wasn’t fun in the same way it had been with Bess, with the two of them dizzy with laughter. It was a completely different kind of pleasure dancing with Gideon. Every time they touched hands or stood mere inches apart, a warmth spread over her skin, her pulse beat a little faster, and her breath caught as if she’d been dancing with him for hours.

When the song ended, she felt giddy and light-headed, and more than a little disappointed it was over. Lilly, on the other hand, appeared ecstatic. She applauded with considerable enthusiasm.

“Well done, Freddie. Very well done. Much improved. Shall we try it again? Or something new . . . Oh, a waltz.” She looked to Gideon. “I presume your aunt will see to it she gains permission—?”

“Naturally,” Gideon cut in, “but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Winnefred’s disappointment grew. She was quite certain in that moment she could spend the rest of the day dancing, as long as it was with him. “I can’t persuade you to try another?”

He tapped a finger against his leg. “Would that I could.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No need.” He retrieved his cane from the wall and turned to Lilly. “May I request a respite for all parties? There is something I wish to discuss with Winnefred.”

“Oh. Well.” Lilly glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I suppose a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

 

G
ideon led Winnefred from the room with his hand wrapped in a tight fist around his cane. He shouldn’t have come to the parlor. He’d known it was a mistake the moment he peered into the room.

He’d taken one look at Winnefred, her face lit by laughter, and he hadn’t been able to resist offering to dance. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was stumbling into. He wanted to dance with her and knew he might never have another chance. A reel at full speed was more than his leg could manage, but the slow stop-and-go method of a dancing lesson was well within his capabilities.

It was a damn good thing two dance lessons had not been within his capabilities. Every smile, every intentional brush of the hand and accidental bump of shoulders had been exquisite torture. A torture he would have gladly continued had he been able. For the first time, he was grateful—albeit begrudgingly so—for a limitation set on him by his injury.

He’d heard it said that infatuation with a woman could make a man feel drunk, but he’d never before experienced the sensation. He’d been intrigued by women in the past, charmed by them, and certainly desired them, but he’d never been in jeopardy of losing his head.

Gideon glanced at Winnefred as they stepped outside into the sunlight, and he decided it wasn’t like being drunk. It was like being tipsy—with just enough sense left to know one more drink would propel a pleasant headiness into outright inebriation, but not enough sense left to keep from reaching for the bottle.

He shouldn’t have reached for Winnefred in the parlor. He’d known it would be a mistake to offer his services as a dance partner. He’d known exactly what he was doing and exactly what the consequences would be. And he’d done it anyway.

“You’re very quiet all of a sudden, Gideon.”

There was a thread of uncertainty in Winnefred’s voice, prompting him to make a conscious effort to set aside his frustration and relax the hand gripping his cane. He’d brought Winnefred outside to surprise her, not worry her. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”

“Does it have something to do with the messenger that came this morning?” She reached for his arm. “It’s not bad news, is it?”

“Not at all.” He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his coat sleeve. “It’s something I have been anxious to receive. Something for you.”

“For me?” She dropped her hand. “But—”

“My first morning here, I told you, and Lilly, you could have anything you wanted from the Engsly estate as restitution for my stepmother’s crimes. You asked for nothing.”

“That’s not true. I asked not to go to London.”

“So you did,” he conceded with a smile. “Well, I hope this makes up for the denial of your request.”

“But I have plenty, Gideon. I don’t need—” She broke off when he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “What is this?”

“Look for yourself.”

She unfolded the paper and read the tidy script. It was, in essence, a deed to Murdoch House, or as close to one as an unmarried woman could hope to retain within the constraints of the law. It granted Miss Winnefred Blythe the letting of Murdoch House for the period of five hundred years, the amount due for such a time having been recognized by the Engsly estate as having been paid in full. In addition, the contract, and all rights granted within, was transferrable upon death to the inheritor of her naming.

She stared at the contract a long time without speaking.

“Does it please you?” Gideon asked softly.

She looked at him, back to the contract, then back to him again. Her expression was one of shock and marvel. “It’s . . . When . . . Can you do this?”

“I can and have. I wrote to my brother’s solicitor last week and requested he draft the lease immediately.”

“It’s mine,” she breathed. “Murdoch House is mine.”

“To do with as you please. The contract clearly states you are not required to answer to the Engsly estate for the condition of the land. You can restore the house and grounds, run a hundred sheep on the land, or you could burn the house to the ground and build a haberdashery in its place. The choice is yours.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I would give it to you in full, if I could.”

“No. This is . . . This is plenty. So much more than . . . It’s more than I’d thought to even imagine.” The stunned look faded from her face, and in its place came wonder and unbridled joy. She laughed suddenly and, to his considerable surprise, stepped forward to throw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you.
Thank you
.”

Gideon told himself it was simply instinct that made him wrap his arms around her in return. Instinct and a need to regain his balance—she had bumped his cane, after all. But even as he made the excuses, he knew them to be lies.

He wanted the feel of her. He wanted the warmth and smell of her. He wanted a moment to feel surrounded by something good and beautiful and innocent, and he wanted to enjoy that moment without envisioning turning it into something decidedly . . . less innocent. But that, apparently, was too much to ask. The smell of lavender teased at his nose, and he could feel the soft weight of her breasts pressed against his chest. Every muscle in his body tightened. Carefully, ever so carefully, he disentangled himself and held her at arm’s length.

If she noticed his discomfort, it didn’t show. She was looking at him just as she had the day he’d brought Lilly a new gown, with that wonderful wide mouth grinning, and those beautiful amber eyes lit with happiness. He dropped his arms and took a step back.

“I’m glad it pleases you.”

She laughed and held up the contract. “You’ve given me Murdoch House. Pleased does not begin to describe what I am. Overwhelmed, perhaps, or . . . Oh!” She danced a little in place, and the silliness of it made him chuckle, easing his tension. “Oh, I have to show Lilly. May I show Lilly? Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Why should I mind?”

“I haven’t thanked you properly. But I don’t know how. I . . . Thank you.” She laughed again, a girlish bubbling sound of pure joy that pulled at his heart. She stepped up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

She grinned at him once more, then spun on her heel and raced toward the house. Gideon watched her go and found himself grinning in return when she let out one very unladylike hoot of excitement at the top of the front steps.

He lifted two fingers to his cheek where the warmth of her kiss still lingered and told himself there was nothing wrong with having pretended to be a knight-errant for a few minutes. Hadn’t that been his intention when he’d first come to Scotland, to play the hero?

Yes, it had been, and he’d been confident in his ability to fill the role because his only task had been to hand over an apology and a bit of coin. His responsibility had been to literally
play
the hero. As long as he refrained from trying to actually be one, everyone would remain happy . . . and safe.

W
innefred lifted her hand to knock on Gideon’s door, hesitated, then dropped her arm. There was a possibility, a very real possibility, the conversation to come would result in a disagreement.

Just the idea of it made her wince. She didn’t want to argue with Gideon. It had been little more than twenty-four hours since he’d given her Murdoch House. The monetary value of such a gift was staggering, but it was the kindness of it that had made her chest tighten and the air catch in her lungs when she had read the contract. Gideon had handed her a dream, as sure as he was handing one to Lilly by taking them to London.