Nearly a Lady (31 page)

She squared her shoulders, indignant at the implication. “I may grow nervous on occasion, but I am not
afraid
of anything.”

F
our days later, as the hour of Lady Powler’s ball drew near, Winnefred stood alone in the middle of her chambers and admitted to herself that she was afraid.

In truth, she was terrified.

That hadn’t been the case earlier in the day. She’d simply been too busy to be afraid.

She had bathed in rose-scented water, been helped into her pink ball gown, and sat through the lengthy process of having her hair pinned into a complicated array of curls. She wished the process had been a bit lengthier, because now she was left with nothing to do but think about how incredibly nervous she was.

She was going to embarrass Lilly.

She was going to humiliate herself.

No one was going to be fooled into thinking she was a lady.

In an effort to distract herself, she studied her reflection in the cheval mirror and, after moment’s consideration, decided that her appearance, at least, was acceptable. In fact, she looked rather pretty. There was still the matter of her freckles, and skin that had, despite Lilly’s best efforts over the years, become slightly browned in the sun. But the muted rose of the silk did a fair job of flattering her complexion, and the low cut of the neckline did an exceptional job of flattering her charms.

She looked down at herself with pursed lips. She’d never thought of herself as a woman with notable charms before. But there they were, pushed up, laced in, and practically spilling over the top of her bodice. What hypocrisy that she should be forbidden to acknowledge in the company of a gentleman what was being so blatantly revealed for the benefit of that gentleman.

Snickering nervously, she turned her head when a soft knock sounded on her door.

“Yes. Come in.” And stay, she thought. She didn’t want to be alone with her nerves.

The door opened a crack and Rebecca’s head popped inside. “Lord Gideon would like a word with you, miss.”

Oh, perfect.
“Of course. Where is he?”

By way of answer, Rebecca entered the room with Gideon following behind her. He stepped inside, caught sight of Winnefred, and stopped. Slowly, his gaze trailed up and down the length of her, his eyes coming to rest at the low-cut bodice. She couldn’t have asked for a more effective means of distraction, and she wasn’t certain what she wanted to do more—blush, invite him closer, or laugh outright. Hypocrites or not, the ladies of the ton knew what they were about.

Rebecca cleared her throat delicately. “Shall I stoke the fire in the sitting room, my lord?”

“Hmm?” Gideon blinked and turned his head slowly as if waiting for his eyes to catch up. “Oh, right. The fire. Thank you, Rebecca.”

When he looked at Winnefred again, his eyes had cleared and there was a smile playing at his lips. “It appears I was wrong about the gown. You look exquisite.”

“Thank you.” She bobbed a quick and much-practiced curtsy. Then, because it felt as if the movement had shifted the material lower, she tugged at the bodice. “It feels like a ton of bricks.”

“I imagine it does.” His gaze followed the movement of her hands a moment before snapping to her face. “Why bricks, do you suppose?”

She stopped tugging. “I’m afraid to inquire what you mean by that.”

“If it’s a ton of something, what difference does it make if it’s a ton of bricks, or a ton of stone, or a ton of very fluffy pillows? They all weigh the same by definition.”

“Is it absolutely necessary I spare thought for that?”

Gideon shook his head sadly and crossed the room to stand before her. “You display a distressing lack of curiosity.”

“It’s true, I do. And the shame of it weighs more heavily on me every day. Much like a ton of fluffy pillows.”

“Well. I hope you’ll not mind the addition of a few more ounces.” He glanced into the sitting room and, seeing Rebecca occupied, pulled a small box from his pocket. “I saw this today and thought of you.”

She looked at the box and groaned. This was not the sort of distraction she wanted. “Gideon, no.”

He’d bought her presents every day for the last four days—bonnets and bracelets, earrings and fancy slippers. On several occasions, he’d had multiple gifts sent to her chambers. “You cannot keep purchasing such things for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too much, and they are inappropriate. Even I know a gentleman is not allowed to give a lady jewelry or articles of clothing. And a lady is not allowed to accept.”

“As your acting guardian in my brother’s absence, it is perfectly acceptable for me to purchase items necessary for a London season.”

“It is acceptable that you pay for them, not buy them as gifts.”

“The difference escapes me.” He shifted his cane to his arm so he could open the box.

“It does not. It . . .” She trailed off, her eyes going round as he revealed a necklace fashioned of small, delicate pearls and ending with a moderately sized diamond pendant. It was beautiful. Simple, elegant, beautiful, and no doubt worth a small fortune. She felt her resolve to decline the present slipping away. “Oh, it’s so lovely . . . I shouldn’t accept this. I shouldn’t accept any of your gifts.”

“Why do you, if it bothers you?”

“Because . . .” She shifted her feet and bit her lip.

“Because they’re lovely, and . . . Do you
know
how many sheep I could buy with this? And the garnet bracelet? It could see Murdoch House through a drought, and . . . And I can’t say no.”

He bent his head and laughed softly.

“I shouldn’t take this,” she mumbled, looking at the box in his hand. She reached out and took it. “But I can’t say no. I
could
—I’d not be tempted, if you would only stop offering. What must I do to persuade you to stop?”

His laugh faded, and when he lifted his head to speak, his dark eyes were somber. His voice was soft and edged with a sadness she didn’t understand.

“Take them for granted,” he said.

She shook her head. “What?”

“I want you to take these things for granted. I want you to be as sure of their existence in your life as you were of hunger and cold in Scotland.” He reached out to tap the edge of the box with his finger. “I want to bring you a pretty, useless trinket and have you see a pretty, useless trinket—not a windfall, not its worth in livestock, and certainly not salvation from the hardship you seem to think awaits you in the future.”

“You want to spoil me.”

“I do, yes.”

“And I want to be annoyed with you for it. It pricks at my pride.” She looked down at the necklace. “But it would be foolish of me.”

“
That
, Winnefred, is my very point. When you can turn away an expensive piece of jewelry without feeling like a fool, then I will curtail my gifting habits.” He slipped the necklace from the box and handed her his cane. “Hold this a moment.”

Before she could ask what he meant to do, he’d stepped behind her and reached around to settle the pearls and diamond against her throat. She barely registered the weight of the jewels on her skin. It was impossible to think of anything but how close he was standing. She felt the warmth of his breath against her hair and the brush of his wrists across her shoulders. Heat and a giddy sense of anticipation gathered in her chest then spread out in waves, until she was certain every inch of her was flushed. She wanted to turn around and tilt her face up to his, but Rebecca was still in the sitting room. And all too soon, the necklace was secured and Gideon was stepping away.

“Perfect,” Gideon announced when she turned around. “Now for these.”

To her astonishment, he pulled another box from his pocket and revealed a set of sapphire earrings.

“More jewelry?” Without thought, she reached out to touch.

Gideon pulled his hand away. “Becoming greedy already? That’s a fine start.” He snapped the box shut. “But they’re not for you.”

“Not for me? But . . .” She looked up and saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes. “For Lilly?”

“Indeed. Would you like to give them to her?”

She would have rather kissed him, but as alternatives went, presenting Lilly with sapphires wasn’t half bad.

“Go on, then,” Gideon urged. He handed her the box. “I’ll meet you downstairs when it’s time to leave.”

 

G
ideon watched Winnefred leave the room with sapphires in hand and asked himself, as he had a dozen times a day for the last week—

The answer was always the same. He was torturing himself.

There was no other possible explanation, no other plausible reason he could give for why he had ceased trying so hard to avoid Winnefred and had even begun to seek her out.

Why else had he not set his foot down when his aunt had insisted he be present for every lesson and shopping trip? Why else would he hand deliver a string of pearls to her chambers if not to see her, knowing he couldn’t have her? It hadn’t been necessary for him to pick out her gowns at the modiste’s either. His aunt could have managed, and Winnefred hadn’t cared one way or the other. It certainly wasn’t necessary that he sit in the high-back chair in the library every night simply because Winnefred always sat on the green settee and the high-back chair afforded him the best view of her profile.

It was absurd, and it was the trip from Scotland that was to blame. He’d grown used to being able to talk to her anytime he wanted, and feeling the warmth of her pressed against his side, and seeing the details of her face with just the slightest turn of his head. He’d become so accustomed to having her there, right there next to him, that he found he could no longer go the day without needing to see her. Even the space of a few hours made him feel restless and dissatisfied.

The two days she had spent recovering in her chambers had been hell. Another day and he would have . . .

He shook his head and dragged a hand down his face. He’d not have made it another day.

And what did it matter that he couldn’t go a day now?

There was nothing unseemly in his behavior toward Winnefred. Admittedly, he had a fair number of unseemly thoughts toward Winnefred, but a man couldn’t be held responsible for a few—very well, quite a few—erotic daydreams.

Nothing he was doing harmed her. Nor did any of it threaten his independence from responsibility. So, he stared a bit. A man was entitled to look. And he brought her trinkets from time to time. There was no harm in that. The woman needed spoiling—the Engsly estate
owed
the woman a bit of spoiling—and a gentleman could present gifts to a lady without becoming responsible for her. Too many gifts, or the wrong sorts of gifts, and he was honor bound to present an offer of marriage, but that didn’t apply to wards and guardians.

The irony of using his questionable role of guardian as an argument
against
his responsibility for Winnefred was something he chose not to examine too closely.

He preferred to concentrate on his future plans. It would be months before the season was over, months before he would have to let Winnefred go, and if he was determined to spend that time torturing himself, so be it. He would stare, and buy her diamonds and pearls, and imagine her wearing them with nothing else. And he would do it as damn well often as he liked.

He tapped his cane against the side of his foot as a slow, determined smile spread across his face. If he was going to spend the next several months in torment, then he was bloody well going to enjoy it.

“Would you care to explain what you are doing in Miss Blythe’s bedchambers, nephew?”

Gideon’s head snapped up at the sound of his aunt’s voice in the doorway. “Er . . . Just woolgathering. And now leaving.”

“Not so quickly, if you please.” Lady Gwen stepped into the room with a soft rustle of gold silk.

“Rebecca is in the sitting room,” Gideon explained. “And Winnefred is with Lilly.”

“Yes. I’ve just come from
Miss Ilestone’s
chambers, where I was informed by
Miss Blythe
that she has no interest in obtaining a match this season.”

He ignored her less-than-subtle reminder of her distaste for his use of first names. “Yes, I know.”

“I presume this is the reason you were so adamant in your letters from Scotland that a dowry not be arranged?”

He gave a small shrug. “I see no point in making her a target for fortune hunters.”

“There is still Miss Ilestone to match,” she reminded him.

“Your expertise may not be needed in the case of
Miss Ilestone
.” Because he wanted to draw the moment out, he leaned forward slowly before whispering, “She is Lucien’s Rose.”