Secrets of a Spinster (25 page)

Really, Timmons looked as though he were going to swoon under such attention, let alone the inviting tones of Mary’s voice that made Geoff want to hit something.

Fire, he thought hard. Fire, you fool, the answer is fire!

“Fire!” Timmons cried, grinning wildly. “The answer is fire!”

He earned a faint applause from some, and Mary nodded regally, her hand touching Mr. Timmons’ arm encouragingly. More than encouraging, as she rubbed it softly. She was flirting with the idiot! The man could not figure a simple riddle, and she had spoken harshly to him, and now she was flirting?

He forced his glower to abate, and looked directly at Miss Arden, who was watching the game with amusement. “I have one for Miss Arden,” he said suddenly.

The room quieted, though excitement was still palpable. The corner of his eye caught Mary looking directly at him, and he could only imagine the glare that he was receiving.

Miss Arden looked at him in surprise, but nodded. “Very well, Mr. Harris. I am not particularly skilled with riddles, but I shall try.”

He smiled at her. “I am sure you are too modest.  Here it is; if you break me, I do not stop working. If you touch me, I may be snared. If you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?”

She frowned ever so slightly, and Geoff took the moment to glance around a bit with his eyes only. Cassie looked astonished, but she had a smile for him. Mary’s glare was indeed potent. The gentlemen in the room were thinking equally as hard. Derek and Kate on his other side were watching him carefully, a small, bemused smile on both of their faces.

Miss Arden’s expression cleared a bit as she looked up at him. “Is it… might it be… one’s heart?”

He smiled genuinely at her and nodded. “Indeed, Miss Arden, it is.”

There was considerable applause for Miss Arden, and not a few of the young ladies now regarded Geoffrey with a bit more interest, which didn’t matter to him. Miss Arden looked very pleased and smiled at him, then at the two girls beside her, who congratulated her.

Mary got to her feet, a little quickly, but her face was composed. “Mr. Harris, I wonder if you might oblige me with a word?” The room became utterly silent, as if they could sense the tension radiating from her.

“Confused about the riddle, Miss Hamilton?” he asked innocently.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her smile tightened. “Not at all, sir. I merely wish to discuss an alternative answer. Privately, if you don’t mind.”

He shrugged and pushed off of the wall, gesturing for her to lead the way out.

“Perhaps I should go next,” Derek said a bit loudly, bringing the attention in the room away from them. “The man who invented it does not want it…”

Derek’s voice faded as Geoff followed Mary down the hall, far enough from the room that they could hear voices, but not quite make out what was being said.

“What was that?” she hissed furiously, her composure gone in a blink.

“A riddle for Miss Arden,” he said, as if that should be obvious.

“Geoff, I told you to leave her alone!” She looked back at the room, then up at him. “A riddle about the heart? Honestly!”

“Oh, and you are the only one allowed a little harmless flirtation?” he asked, his voice rough as his own irritation swept in.

She opened her mouth in affront. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were practically throwing yourself on Timmons in there,” he said as he flung a hand towards the room. “The idiot who couldn’t figure out what fire is, and you insult him, and then encourage him!”

“Insult him?” she cried. “When have I…?”

“A coffin!” someone shouted from the room, to the delighted cries and applause of the rest.

“When did I ever insult him?” she asked in a quieter, more deadly voice.

He snorted. “Your tone when you offered a hint. A man with any intelligence would know exactly what you thought of him from that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey.”

“I’m not the one giving false impressions to anybody who blinks in my direction.” Her eyes were blazing now, but he wouldn’t stop this time. “And yet, you would not even acknowledge when Lord Wofford was blatantly disrespectful towards your sister.”

Mary huffed and put her hands on her hips. “I did not…”

“You did nothing,” he ground out harshly. “If it wasn’t for Derek, Cassie might have actually been insulted by the man in her own home. And you, too busy with your own attention, wouldn’t have noticed. Are you so heartless now that you care so little for those who care for you? Or is everything about you?”

“Needle and thread!” a female shouted from the room to much applause and laughter.

Mary’s eyes were ice cold and she lifted her chin. “You needn’t worry about being my escort this season any longer, Geoffrey. I have quite enough options to ensure that I have excellent company at my disposal.”

He laughed and stepped closer. “Really? You mean those fops in there? They don’t even know you, Mary.”

“Oh, and you do?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him more fully. “Those fops are the first gentlemen to ever show interest in me. Why shouldn’t I receive their attentions and offers, if I find them agreeable?”

He ground his teeth and moved closer. “Because they are interested in who they think you are, not who you really are. They want this…“ He gestured to her form, perhaps a bit recklessly, but it served his point. “The imaginary creature you have turned yourself into, the one who barely resembles the real you at all.”

She backed away, her back now at the wall. “Did you ever think that perhaps this is who I am? Who I was meant to be?”

“Not possible,” he said with a shake of his head, moving in on her again. He could hear her breath coming rapidly as her ire rose. Even like this, when he was so angry with her he could hardly see, some small corner of his mind registered the fact that she was beautiful. Breathtaking. Captivating.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted…

She held up a hand to stop him coming any further, pressing against his chest. “Did you ever think that I might enjoy being this? Why should you hate that I have changed and now have suitors?”

“Because I want you to be who you were before!” he cried, his voice becoming pleading. “I don’t want you to be this!”

The color faded from her cheeks and her eyes widened. Her mouth worked silently, and eventually, her voice breathy and weak, she managed, “You encouraged me to do this. You told me it would be fun.”

“And I hate myself for it,” he rasped, his eyes raking over her face. He could kiss her now. She would let him, he could see it in her eyes.

She said nothing as they stared at each other, breath uneven, emotions high, too close and yet not close enough.

“A turtle!” Applause.

“Miss Hamilton!” a male voice called urgently. “Miss Hamilton, are you returning to the game? We have need of your excellent wits!”

She cleared her throat and laughed a shadow of her merry debutante laugh. “Of course, Mr. Burlington! I shall only be a moment more! Save your cleverest for me!”

Geoff snorted, shook his head, and stepped away from her, ignoring the sudden cold that washed between them. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Perhaps I don’t know you after all.” He looked her up and down with distaste, his look becoming a sneer. “Perhaps this really is all you have to offer.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and her breathing faltered. She took in a shaky breath, then whispered, “Get out.”

He jerked as if struck. “What?”

“Get out,” she said again, her voice stronger, her eyes flashing as he had never seen them before. “Don’t ever set foot in this house again.”

“What?” he cried, stepping back as she advanced. “Mary!”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Harris. Not now, not ever.” Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and her voice might have been filled with icicles as cold and dangerous as it was.

“You don’t mean that,” he protested, his mind whirling, his head swimming through sand. “You… you need me!”

She laughed, then; a cold, heartless laugh that made him numb from head to toe. “Need you?” she laughed once more. “I never needed you.” She gave him a hard look, and turned to go back into the room. “Not even once.”

And with that, she reentered the gathering, apparently as bright and enthusiastic as she had been moments before, as if nothing had happened.

As if she had not just left her oldest friend in an empty hallway of her home, feeling just as empty himself.

He slowly turned away from the party and made his way down the hall, grasping onto random objects along the way to aid his progress. His chest ached as though there was a knife piercing his flesh, and he had to feel his chest just to be sure. He could barely see straight and wavered a number of times before he reached the door. A mindless footman saw him coming and opened it for him.

The night air was cool, pleasant, one might have said, but it hit him like a bitter winter wind and he shivered. He glanced back towards the room, utterly lost. How could he be furious with her and yet ache for her at the same time?

Laughter met his ears, and he could make out hers loudest of all. He swallowed with difficulty, and turned back to the night.

What had he done?

C
hapter
S
ixteen

T
he wood on the table before him was positively ancient. He had never paid much attention to tables before, but after staring at one for a few hours, he began to notice all sorts of things. No portion of the wood looked the same. No swirl looked like any other swirl, no line was perfectly straight, and each plank of wood was a slightly different shade from the one next to it. The age of the wood was evident by the slight fraying on the top, not immediately noticeable to the untrained eye, or even to the hand as it rested upon it. But when noticed, it was difficult to not notice it. He could keep his hand just a breath above the table and run it carefully along the direction of the grain and there would be the very faintest tickling of miniscule slivers of wood against his palm. Fuzzy, that’s what it was. There was a hint of fuzz to the table top.

And it creaked deeply every time he shifted the weight of his body against it, whether his elbow or his arm or his head, they all had experienced the sound and the vibration. He used to think creaking was a very high sounding thing. This table had proven him wrong.

He spun the tankard before him absently, staring at this old, creaking table. Would he become so scarred and noisy as he aged? Would he develop some almost invisible fuzz? Would ignorant eyes look at him and fail to see all that had transpired in his lifetime?

At least a sturdy, strong table like this one would never have to reflect back on its life with horror. Or regret. Or disgust. It would only have the fond memories; its previous life as a tree giving shade and possibly being a home for animals, then becoming this table which had undoubtedly supported thousands of grieving and despondent people in its time. It had probably even seen much celebration and joy. It might not have been a bad life, being a table.

“Oh, there he is, I see him.”

“Holy mother of… He looks terrible.”

“Is that a beard?”

“Not yet. But it will be.”

“He looks like a ruddy sailor.”

“Good heavens. Geoff?”

He grunted, still staring at the tankard as he spun it.

One by one his friends began taking seats around him, leaning their arms on his new friend, the table, as he was doing. Nice of them to join him. Then he remembered it was he who had summoned them here. Right.

“Geoff,” Derek said in a careful tone, as if speaking with infinite patience to an out of control child, “how many of these have you had today?”

He looked up as Derek tapped the tankard with a finger.

He shook his head. “Just one.”

Derek rose up and looked in, then sat back down heavily. “It’s still full.”

“Wait… you’re not drunk?” Colin asked in surprise.

Geoff shook his head slowly, back and forth, then back and forth again.

“Someone go check on that,” Nathan muttered, leaning down a bit to try and catch Geoff’s eye.