Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (7 page)

As Ellie played a popular reel, Randall tapped his foot. Kitty resisted the urge to push him off the settee, though she would have been justified as he sat far too close. His cloying, overly perfumed scent surrounded her, and she stifled a gag as he shifted in his seat, sending more of the noxious aroma wafting over her.

Sighing, Kitty inched away from Randall, praying he wouldn’t follow her. As she moved, she chanced a look at Lord Strathern, but he sat with his widowed cousin, their heads together in intimate conversation, both apparently oblivious to the music.

“I say, with some rearranging, we could fit some dancing in here,” announced Kitty’s father, his voice booming throughout the salon.

As though the Earl of Strickland had issued an order rather than a suggestion, Walter and Stephen sprang into action. After a moment’s hesitation, Randall pushed to his feet.

Kitty suppressed a groan. It was all too painful. “Do sit down, Randall, lest you harm yourself irreparably,” she murmured. As much as she might like to see him at the bottom of a well, he
was
her escort for the evening. If he dropped a chair on his foot, he would only succeed in drawing attention to that fact.

He remained standing a bit longer, his gaze darting between Kitty and the men who were moving furniture at the far end of the salon. Finally, with what sounded like a relieved sigh, Randall capitulated and sank back onto the settee. Lord Strathern rose in a single elegant motion and assisted with shoving the furniture aside. Kitty smiled her approval when he glanced in her direction. For the briefest of seconds, their gazes crashed together, but then Lady Frances stepped to his side, touching him on the hand and smiling up at him before she glided across the room to join Kitty’s mother and Lady Chambers.

With the furniture out of the way, couples began to wander onto the impromptu dance floor. At the pianoforte, Ellie began to play “Rakes of Rochester,” and the couples launched into a longways country dance. Randall leapt to his feet and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Kitty recoiled, glaring at the offensive outstretched hand. She lifted her gaze to Randall’s hopeful face and injected as much venom into her response as she could. “Shall we…
what?
”

“Join the dance, of course!” A grin accompanied his answer. “Come on. ‘Twill be fun!”

“You must be mad! I have no intention of—” She stared across the room as Lord Strathern led Lady Frances into the throng of dancers. Perhaps, if played just so, they might change partners. Forcing herself to smile, Kitty placed her hand in Randall’s, grateful for her white silk glove. “Very well. I suppose a dance wouldn’t hurt…”

* * * *

It was the music that drew him toward the manor, and not any desire to see what Lady Caroline might be about. Every muscle in Hugh’s exhausted body called for him to find his bed, but he needed to remain wakeful until the last guests left or word was sent that they would be staying the night. A walk in the brisk night air had seemed the perfect solution. The full moon in the cloudless sky did little to dispel the shadows in the bushes, so he made certain to stick to the well-worn path. The night embraced him like a beloved blanket. Typically, the nights were his own, out of sight of the privileged, when he could do or say anything he wanted without worry of propriety.

Except some of the things he wanted to do of late involved one of those privileged — a certain willful, walnut-haired temptress, to be exact. And that made his notions something even the nighttime couldn’t forgive. He should go, turn around and head in the other direction… except that way led to the gardens. And the follies. The memory of her soft skin beneath his fingers, the warm responsiveness of her lips against his… He still felt it all acutely, as though it had happened moments earlier instead of hours. No, to revisit the place it had all started would be worse than madness.

So instead, he allowed himself to linger in the shadows listening to the trill of the pianoforte.

The lively music brought a pang of sadness and a longing for home, where the family gatherings every Sunday would often turn to dancing in the parlor. Ah, his eldest sister, Fiona could dance a fine reel. And Jean… the wee lass had worked hard to keep up, her little legs not quite as quick. Dougal had often lifted their youngest sister to his shoulders and kept right on dancing.

Hugh sighed and kicked a small stone into the bushes. Thoughts of his family had dampened his spirits. Their parents had succumbed to catarrh three… no, four years back come January. Both girls were grown and married, Fiona with three young ones of her own last he’d seen her. She and her husband lived in the family house now, worked the land together. It was fitting, as she’d loved the place the most.

Muttering a particularly foul curse under his breath, Hugh spun on his heel and stalked away from the building. Apparently, the dinner party would be going on a bit longer. A joyful laugh caught his ear, and Hugh allowed his steps to drift to a stop. From his vantage point, he could just see through the window. Family and guests had lined up into a country dance. Someone laughed again. Lady Caroline?

No, he realized, catching sight of Lady Jennifer with the young man servants had wagered would be her husband one day. Her joy brought Fi to mind again, and his heart lightened. Straining to hear and see more, he stepped closer and peered through the glass. Where was Lady Caroline?

There! In the middle of the dance, being escorted up the line by a very young man in a stark black coat. The boy’s movements were awkward but the look on his face sincere as he regarded Lady Caroline before passing another couple and switching partners.

Lady Caroline’s face lit with inner radiance that plucked at Hugh’s heartstrings as she accepted her new dance partner. Was that the man she’d set her cap for then? Stratton? No, Strathern. Hugh’s mind recoiled from the notion. Worldly? The man was far beyond worldly. He had to be in his middle thirties, not late twenties as Lady Caroline had surmised. Why would a beautiful young woman such as Lady Caroline want with him? The young boy returned with the man’s partner. What would the lady think of Lady Caroline’s interest in her escort?

“Who in…” Hugh leaned closer. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Not vaguely, he realized, reeling backward. What was Lady Frances Braithwaite doing with Strathern? The last he’d heard, she’d been widowed and left nearly destitute as her elderly husband had bestowed his entire fortune on a nephew.

Money. Apparently, the need for funds to maintain her lifestyle had the lady venturing into public whilst still wearing her widow’s weeds. Dougal might be interested, if for nothing but the humor he would find in her desperate situation.

Hugh’s gaze found Lady Caroline again. Back with her original partner, she had taken on an expression of boredom except for the odd time she looked in Strathern’s direction. Worldly… yes, the man obviously appreciated the more
worldly
attributes of Frances Braithwaite.

The thought of his Lady Caroline competing against the ilk of Lady Frances for the attentions of the
worldly
gentleman turned Hugh’s stomach as he considered exactly what such a competition might involve. He turned to walk away but stopped again, wincing against the pain of his heart attempting to beat its way from his body.

His
Lady Caroline? He shook his head in a vain attempt to think more clearly. Best he disabuse himself of that notion immediately. Madness lay down that path. He stole a last look over his shoulder but failed to catch sight of the lady. He did, however, see the object of her desire laughing with Lady Frances just before the music ended and the pair retired, arm-in-arm, to a quiet area of the room. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hastened to the stable.

* * * *

Kitty yanked at her gown, struggling to rip it over her head, uncaring if such harsh treatment would likely rend the tender fabric. She’d certainly never wear the blasted thing again. It hadn’t come close to accomplishing its intended purpose. Lord Strathern had hardly spared a glanced for her all evening. Even when they had been briefly partnered during the dance, his gaze had kept straying to his widowed “cousin.”

“Widow!” A harsh laugh escaped as she managed to free one arm from the silky bonds of her gown. “Whore is more like it.” The woman had seldom left his side, touching and stroking his arm and hand with her long, harlot’s fingers. “And she’s probably not his cousin, either.” She tugged at the other sleeve, dismayed to find she’d twisted the gown, and it now held her firmly trapped.

The soft
thunk
of the door closing gave her pause. The whisper of footsteps on the plush carpet told her she was no longer alone.

“Help me out of this dress,” she demanded, cross and beyond caring to whom she was speaking.

“I might decide to help you,” said Jenny softly. “And I might not, depending on whether you ask nicely.” But her gentle hands were already working the silk loose.

With a sigh the fabric was whisked over Kitty’s head, and she stood in just her thin undergarments while Jenny took care to fold the gray gown.

“You’ve managed to tear one of the seams but I’m certain it can be mended.” Jenny opened the wardrobe and set the gown inside.

“I don’t care if it’s mended or not,” snapped Kitty. “I don’t wish to ever see it again.” She retrieved her pink woolen nightdress from the wardrobe before Jenny closed the doors and drew it over her head.

“But it’s a beautiful gown,” protested Jenny. “And it’s certainly not the fault of your dress that you had a horrid evening.” She leaned against the rosewood and crossed her arms over her chest. “What was the matter with you anyway?”

Helpless to respond, Kitty shook her head. How could she expect Jenny to understand something she barely understood herself? But her sister cocked her head sideways and waited, obviously expecting her to say
something
.

“Whatever possessed Mother to invite Randall as my escort?” she burst out.

“You and Randall were once friends, you know,” admonished Jenny, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. “And Mother had to invite someone to even out the table. Or would you have her dress up one of the stablehands and invite him inside?”

In the process of tying the laces on her nightdress, Kitty suddenly battled for her next breath. “St-stablehand?” She tried to laugh but the sound that came out was more like a strangled cry.

If Jenny noticed Kitty’s reaction, she didn’t show it. “Honestly, you spend more time with your horse than you’ve spent in the company of a gentleman.”

Easing out a relieved sigh, Kitty made short work of tying her laces. “Maybe because the horse holds more appeal than the likes of Randall Berwyn.” There! Let her sister make of that what she would. The brown and green patterned Turkish rug didn’t quite dispel the chill at her feet as Kitty stalked to her bed. Henrietta had pulled back the duvet. Where was the girl? She needed to warm the bed! Kitty released the tie on the bed curtain and watched as the green velvet fell into soft waves that embraced the bed.

“Take care, Kitty.” Jenny’s stare pinned Kitty in her place. “Take care that ‘tis the horse you’re going to the stables to see.”

She does know something!

Kitty whirled about, ready to deny and defend. But Jenny had already left the room. Seconds later, Henrietta pushed her way through the door.

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” she murmured as she scurried across the room and snatched up the bedwarmer from the hearth. “Lady Jennifer asked that I delay myself in the hallway until she’d had a chance to speak wi’ ye in private.”

Unable to speak, for her heart felt as though it had lodged itself in her throat, Kitty nodded. She made a weak gesture toward the bed and then waited while the maid drew the warmer back and forth between the sheets.

Kitty drifted to the window. Winter chill leaked through the heavy drapes, no more than a prelude to the colder air on the other side. Ignoring the warning, Kitty nudged the brocade aside and stepped up to the window. Brilliant moonlight painted the landscape vivid white and black. The only movement came from the waving bows of leafless trees. Wispy clouds floated in the sky, and Kitty knew before too much longer, snow would blanket the ground. Shivering as the cold seeped into her, she dropped the drapery and turned back to her bed just as Henrietta finished the warming.

Chapter Seven

Hiding was the coward’s way out, and Hugh knew it. Nevertheless, he’d stuck to the tack room repairing harnesses with little wear for much of the morning. He pushed the leather tools against the back of the workbench and hung the last harness on a hook near the door.

“Have ye been in here all morning?” asked Dougal from the doorway. Curse the man for his tendency to walk like a ghost.

Hugh took care to compose his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression before he turned and faced his brother. “I noticed some wear on a few of the harnesses.”

Dougal held out a folded slip of paper. “I didn’t know where to find ye when yer girl showed up so she left a note.” His mouth turned up in a one-sided smirk as Hugh snatched the paper. “Easy goes, brother. If I’d known ye were that eager I’d have looked harder for ye.”

The paper was folded but not sealed. One look at Dougal and Hugh knew he’d have to find some privacy to read it. His brother would demand explanations he wasn’t willing to provide. So he feigned indifference and shoved the note unread into his pocket.

Dougal shook his head. “I wouldn’t wait too long to read it were I you.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “The lass seemed most impatient that ye get the message.”

Hugh stared at his brother. Why wasn’t he more put out about Lady Caroline seeking his company? He shuffled his feet. The scraping sound of leather on wood might have been a thunderclap in the heavy silence between the two of them. “When, er… when was she by?”

Dougal shrugged. “Near an hour gone, I suppose. I was about half finished with Maleek when she came running across the yard.”

Lady Caroline… running? That was a vision he couldn’t quite imagine.