Smitten by the Spinster (10 page)

She blushed and waved her fingers in front of her face in the crowded room, knowing why. When Quinn had looked her up and down, she’d seen a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes, even without her being able to have a complicated hairstyle or any jewels. That brief look was worth the discomfort she’d have the rest of the night.

For the moment, everything seemed fine. Lady Amberly found the one person she knew and was already deep in the throes of gossip, occasionally waving at her niece and wiping her brow as if being out in public was the worst possible strain on her constitution. Lizzie had no idea where Quinn had gone, he’d stayed close at first, but soon melted away, probably to a card game. She hoped he wouldn’t get in any trouble, but then reminded herself she only needed to worry about Catie, and Catie was doing perfectly well.

As Lizzie relaxed, a sharp featured matron weighted down with diamonds swooped onto the chair next to her like a glittering hawk. Lady Hollingsborn fanned herself, wafting heavily perfumed air onto Lizzie, before leaning over and getting cozy for a chat. It was all Lizzie could do not to recoil.

“Your new charge is darling, Miss Burnet,” she said. “So quaint. I believe my son heard her talking about goats.”

Lizzie turned to face her, smiling her brightest stage smile, scrolling through her mental lists of the nobility. Lord Edwin Hollingsborn was twenty-four, would be the fourth Marquis of Hollingsborn one day. Soon, based on rumors of his father’s ill health. It was a good title, and gobs of land, but she knew one of their estates was crumbling under the weight of Edwin’s gambling debts as well as literally crumbling due to poor management. Lady Hollingsborn had probably sold a painting just to have a dress to wear tonight.

“Well, she was raised on a farm, Lady Hollingsborn,” Lizzie answered. “I’ve never met such a hardworking and capable girl.”

“Hardworking and capable are two very fine qualities indeed,” she said, snapping her fan. “I wonder if it’s enough for a future Marchioness.”

“My goodness, has your son expressed such an interest in Miss Catriona already? After just one dance?”

Lady Hollingsborn peered at her over the end of her scissor sharp nose and Lizzie continued smiling. This was it, she was about to be made an offer. And after less than two hours.

“Of course Edwin thinks she’s as charming as I do. And I’m certain he’d want to get to know her better, discover some more of her fine qualities.” She patted her coiffure. “Of which she has many, I’m sure.” She deigned to look down her predatory beak at Catie, sizing her up and judging her.

Lizzie fumed, but shook off the unwonted surge of anger on Catie’s behalf. It didn’t matter that she was worth twenty of this old bat and her dissolute son. She had to get married and it may as well be to a marquis.

“Many indeed,” Lizzie said. “I can think of at least thirty thousand. But he will want to discover them all on his own, just as you say.”

Lady Hollingsborn made a less than dignified noise and Lizzie sat back in her chair. It looked like she was going to be able to relax for the next month. She’d keep an eye out for a better offer, but as of now, she’d just hooked Catie a marquis. Of course, if she was able to go home she wouldn’t be around to get her kickback from facilitating, but she decided to do this one for fun. A last hurrah. If Catie was as clever as she thought, she could make a good marriage of it, maybe get Edwin to quit his bad habits. She’d spend her last days in this time schooling her on how to manage. A final good deed to make up for her not so good ones up until now.

As Lady Hollingsborn gathered her wits, Lizzie surveyed the room. Catie still appeared to be having a good time, but she noticed Quinn coming from a back room, looking a bit smug, with two disgruntled gentleman following behind him, giving him the stink eye. She glanced at Lady H, then back at Quinn. Something seemed amiss, and as much as she wanted to hammer out details, she felt the overwhelming urge to make sure Quinn was all right.

“Please Lady Hollingsborn, you must excuse me. Catriona and Lady Amberly will be delighted to receive you any morning this week.” She stood and bobbed apologetically, while trying to maintain the upper hand. “Of course I’d love to speak more with you as well, and pray I’ll be able to offer my counsel to her. She is such a sweet, simple girl. She relies heavily on my advice.”

Lizzie could barely restrain herself from punching the air in triumph as she strode away to speak with Quinn.

“I’ve just won Catriona a new fortune,” he said, pleased with himself beyond measure. His radiant, open smile made him look extremely huggable, and very young.

“How old are you?” she asked abruptly, about to beg his pardon the second the words were out. It was none of her business, yet he answered her anyway, without a hint of embarrassment.

“Two and twenty,” he said, leaning closer to her.

He was so young. Four years younger than her. It depressed her, wondering if he viewed her as an old maid. She must seem ancient to him, dried up and alone. She remembered Catie blurting out that she didn’t look like a spinster and her heart sank further. Catie must have gotten that notion from someone and it was probably Quinn.

If they’d grown up in the same neighborhood, she might have been his babysitter! Depending on his birthday, they might not have even gone to the same secondary school. She couldn’t picture Quinn as anything other than the virile man who stood before her, and almost laughed thinking about him in her old school uniform. Well, here she was about to reinforce her advanced age by chastising him.

“They won’t be pleased with you,” she said, glancing over at the losers who continued to glare at him. “Have a care where you walk at nights.”

“I’ve had more and worse try to do me harm,” he said with a careless shrug. She could see it wasn’t a boast and felt a bit sad and protective of him that he’d had a tough lot of it, up in the wilds.

“Still,” she said, not backing away, when she knew she should. “Best not to underestimate them based on their accents, aye?”

“Aye,” he agreed, his smile growing wider, her knees growing weaker. “Wise advice.”

“Well, here’s some more,” she said. “Quit gaming for this evening. Let them keep what’s left of their riches just for tonight.”

He leaned in even closer and she felt herself being pulled into him, as if he had his own gravity. Dear God, she was likening him to the sun again. She tried to shame herself into lowering her gaze, stop being taken in by his engaging expression.

“What shall I do instead?” he asked. His hand brushed her sleeve and she felt the lace rustle against her wrist, or perhaps it was his fingertips.

“There’s a buffet,” she said weakly, staring at the velvet of his waistcoat, then looking up into his eyes.

He shook his head and took her hand. “Dance with me, Miss Burnet,” he said, already leading her toward the dance floor.

She stopped, digging in her heels. “We shouldn’t,” she said, quickly clarifying, “I shouldn’t.” She continued to look at him head on, despite her burning cheeks. “It wouldn’t be proper. But please, you’ll find no lack of partners here. Especially with your new riches.” She tried to make a joke, but her voice was flat as she looked out at the dance floor, all the lovely ladies and gentleman twirling and bowing.

“Ye’re the only partner I desire,” he said gruffly, pulling her in the opposite direction and out into the dimly lit back courtyard.

They stood just outside the doors and could still faintly hear the music. He stepped close and held out his hand.

“This is worse,” she cried, unable to stifle a nervous laugh. He was going to ruin her, but she so wanted to dance.

He raised a challenging brow and looked down at his outstretched hand. Closing her eyes and sighing, she stepped forward and took it.

Quinn was better than her, since she’d never actually had a chance to do any of the steps of this time with a partner, but she’d taken years of ballet and tap and quickly caught on. The current tune was lively and he whirled her about, dipping her back on his forearm and lifting her with the music. She was certain he was just making up moves, but she didn’t care and when the music stopped, he pulled her in close, her chest heaving from exertion and from pressing against him.

A moment later a slower piece started and he swayed in time, still holding her against him. She rested her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist and let her feet follow his in time. For about twelve seconds. Her senses came rushing back to her then, and she leaned back, pushing out of his warm grip.

“Thank you, sir,” she said breathlessly, even though she’d recovered from the lively dancing. Her inability to catch her breath was one hundred percent due to proximity to Quinn.

“Dinna call me sir,” he said softly. His hands still rested lightly at her waist and even through the layers of clothes, she could swear she felt the warmth of his fingertips. “Lizzie,” he said.

It was the first time he said her name, not Miss Burnet. She never cared one way or another about her name, had tried to go by Eliza for a while because she thought it sounded posh, but it never stuck. She was always Lizzie, a serviceable, sturdy name. But from Quinn it sounded like a lullabye, like the ocean in the early morning, like strumming a harp. She wanted him to say it again, closer to her ear, so she could feel his breath ruffle her hair. Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned against him.

A clatter by the door made her tear away. A young man had stumbled over a decorative urn, several of his drunken mates close at his heels. They hadn’t yet noticed her and Quinn and she quickly ducked back into the house as soon as the boys were further down the courtyard.

Quinn followed and took her hand. Spinning around to face him, she blinked at his confusion, but quickly steeled herself against the feelings she couldn’t afford to have.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said, hating the unnatural sound of her voice. The easy ability to be herself around him was too dangerous, to lose control of her carefully crafted persona frightened her too much.

She shook him off and continued further into the safety of the crowded room, trying to find Catie. She saw Lady Amberly searching through the people, her face drawn with fatigue and anxiety. It was late, time to go home.

 Catie slipped into Miss Burnett’s room and leaned against the door, struggling hard to keep her conscience at bay.

They’d all returned from the party, and too worked up with happy memories to sleep, Catie settled herself in her window seat and stared dreamily out at the dark night. Her feet ached from dancing and she was stuffed full to bursting with food. Oliver had been the first to ask her to dance, and she wished she could have spent more time with him, but Miss Burnet explained she couldn’t show favoritism to anyone too soon or people’s tongues would wag. And Miss Burnet seemed to think she could do far better than Oliver Cliffstone, had in fact introduced her to Lady Hollingsborn and her son Edwin, who was going to have some grand title one day. Catie couldn’t remember which but Miss Burnet was plenty pleased by it.

It had been a perfect night, and she wanted to savor it before she went to sleep, but then she saw Miss Burnett tiptoeing around from the back of the house, looking up and down the street, then scurrying off in a great hurry. It had set her curiosity to spinning, making her think of the message Miss Burnet received before they all left for the party. A few minutes later, Quinn exited the front door and made his way more casually down the street, probably to gamble away the money he’d just won that night.

The more she thought about her brother, the angrier she got at him. He’d been on edge lately. She could tell something was wrong, even though he was putting on a charming face for Lady Amberly and Miss Burnet. He wasn’t himself, and hadn’t been since Lachlan died. He’d say he had to be different now that he was in charge, but it was more than just added responsibility. He was keeping something from her, and that was why she decided to search his room.

That hadn’t touched her conscience one little bit. She was sick and tired of being treated like a child, coddled and kept in the dark. Lachlan had done it, her Auntie Gwen did it, and now Quinn. The only way she’d ever learned anything was finding it out on her own, and she’d been listening outside doors and sneaking looks at things she wasn’t strictly meant to look at since she was a wee lass. If they bloody thought she was old enough to get married, they could bloody tell her if something was going on with the clan. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had troubles before.

When she crept into Quinn’s room and turned his things upside down, she found a message from home. They’d only been there a few days, the messenger must have rode day and night from the moment they’d left. Sure enough, something was wrong and Quinn was wanted back at home. She was taken aback to find they hadn’t wanted Quinn to come with her at all, and felt betrayed and treated like an outsider. Did her own family and friends, people she’d known all her life, consider her only by her English half, counting the days until they could be rid of her?

Her heart sank further at the thought of Quinn leaving. As much as she wanted to hit him a good lot of the time, and as lovely as her new English auntie was to her, she didn’t want him to leave her. Well, whatever happened, all she could do was have a stiff upper lip about it. She recalled Miss Burnet’s words on her first day here, how she could choose whoever she wanted, due to her fortune. Her resolve solidified as she looked down at the message from Quinn’s advisor, a person she thought loved her, who she thought of like another brother. Pretty much telling Quinn to abandon her and race home to settle some dispute.