Wonderful (3 page)

“I won’t,” he murmured.

“If I lost his good opinion—”

“You won’t lose it because of me.”

“Swear that you mean it.”

“Yes, I swear.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She pressed her forehead to his hand, almost as if she was whispering a prayer of relief. Had she been up here fretting? Had she been terrified Aaron would rush over and tattle to Iggy?

Aaron never talked to his cousin if he could avoid it, but she didn’t know that.

“Get up, Miss Etherton,” he quietly urged. “Get up, would you? There’s no reason for all this upset.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “Should I leave Fox Run? I’ve packed my bag. I can go at once.”

“Leave? Why would I want you to leave?”

“Well, you can’t want me to stay. Not after how I acted.”

“It was nothing,” he scoffed, although he was quite ashamed of himself.

Typically, he was a model of decorum, and Florella was a horrid doxy who had no scruples or sense. Why Bryce continued on with her was a mystery, but Aaron was mortified that Miss Etherton had observed him with Florella.

Though it was disgusting to admit, if Bryce hadn’t barged in when he had, there was no predicting what Aaron might have done. He’d always been attracted to Florella, but so was every man in London.

She was a renowned actress who loved to have rich oafs panting after her. Bryce was the latest fool—in a long line of fools—to be snared in her web. She’d be more than happy to substitute Aaron for Bryce, but Aaron didn’t keep mistresses, and he was greatly irked that Miss Etherton had seen him at such a weak moment.

Not that he’d confess as much to her. He deemed women to be frivolous and exhausting—and indiscreet.

She staggered to her feet, those luscious blue eyes still focused on him, and he couldn’t believe how she held him rapt. She recognized the odd swirl of emotion flitting between them, for she frowned and whipped away. She went over by the door and leaned her back against the wall.

“I’m not usually so rude or uncouth as I was this afternoon,” she said.

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“I was walking down the hall, and I peeked in your room. Miss Bernard is so beautiful, and I paused to look at her—only for a second—then suddenly she started removing her clothing.”

“She has a habit of that.”

“I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do.”

“Neither did I. I was minding my own business when she slinked in. I can’t imagine why she assumed I was interested in a dalliance. I’ve never given her cause to suppose I would be.”

Miss Etherton studied him, then she smiled, and it was such an arresting smile that it illuminated the space around her as if someone had lit a very bright lamp. He was glad he was sitting down. If he’d been standing, the force of it might have knocked him over.

“Mr. Blair is your friend?” she asked.

“Since we were boys.”

“And Miss Bernard?”

“She’s
his
friend.”

“You’re too polite. I heard her true role.”

“She has a low side to her character, but mostly, she’s an actress, which I guess isn’t much better.”

The word
actress
caught her attention. “She’s an actress? In London?”

“Yes.”

“She appears on the stage?”

“Yes. She’s very famous.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. Bryce and I came to the country for a few days of rest and relaxation, and she begged to tag along. Bryce thought she would enliven our party.”

“Has she?”

“Not yet.”

He assessed Evangeline, trying to picture her as his cousin Iggy’s wife. She was so fresh and vivacious. Iggy was pretentious and curt and set in his ways. How could anyone have imagined them a suitable pair? Weren’t they marching toward decades of misery? But what did he know about marriage or romance?

His own wedding was in six short weeks. His fiancée, Priscilla Cummings, was a fussy, spoiled shrew who was twelve years younger than Aaron and totally wrong for him, so he was hiding in the country, eager to forget the entire mess for a bit.

His father, Lord Sidwell, had arranged the match, but Aaron couldn’t bear to proceed. He had to come to terms with the situation, had to muster the temerity to return to London with a smile on his face and peace in his heart. As his father kept pointing out, the union would bring an enormous amount of money and property into the family, and a man didn’t wed for love. He wed for wealth and personal gain, and Priscilla delivered them in spades.

“How did you end up engaged to my cousin?” he asked.

“I received an inheritance as a dowry, and a friend of mine contracted it.”

“But you haven’t met him?”

“No.”

He could practically see her mind whirring. She was dying to inquire about his cousin, but it would be completely inappropriate for them to discuss Iggy. Aaron hadn’t a kind word to say, and she needed to form her own opinion.

Still, he hated to have her fretting. What were her circumstances? Iggy was marrying for the same reason Aaron was marrying: for his bride’s dowry. Why was Miss Etherton marrying? It had to be for stability and security. Who could fault her for that?

“My cousin is all right,” he said, anxious to reassure her.

“Is he?”

“He can be a tad stuffy, but then he’s a vicar. I think it’s in their blood. They have to be stuffy.”

She seemed relieved by his comment, and she smiled again, the beauty of it washing over him like a cool rain, and it occurred to him that he’d like to linger in her company all evening. She attracted him as no other female ever had. The sensation was peculiar and novel, and it made him nervous, made him wary.

He was in an awful condition himself, and he had no business flirting with her, no business gaping at her as if he’d like to gobble her up. But she was just so damned pretty. How could he mind his manners?

He had to force himself out of the room before he thought up a hundred excuses as to why he should remain. He unfolded from the chair and walked toward her. At six feet, he was much taller than she was, and he towered over her.

She watched him come, her gaze guarded and tense, as if she was afraid of what he might do, and he had to admit, he was curious himself.

He approached until he was close enough that the toes of his boots slipped under the hem of her dress. Sparks ignited, the air charged with an electric energy.

“You’ll stay at Fox Run—as my guest—until your wedding.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t be embarrassed by Miss Bernard or what you saw. I’ll send her away tomorrow.”

“No! I don’t mean to impose. It’s a huge house. I’ll keep to myself. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He doubted that. Where she was concerned, he could detect her scent—as if he were a hound chasing a fox.

“I insist you join us for supper every night, as well as for any of the amusements we plan.”

“I shouldn’t, Lord Run.”

“I insist! Florella will be on her best behavior, and I’ll try to be on mine.”

She considered his request, and he held his gaze firm, pressuring her with his male presence, with his greater size and position.

Her shoulders slumped. “All right, and I’ll be on
my
best behavior too. No more peeking in bedchambers for me. I learned my lesson the first time.”

“Good.”

They stood, grinning. He felt as if there was something else he should say, something he should tell her, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be.

It was the moment for him to depart, but he couldn’t move. Eventually, he reached out and touched the tip of his finger to the tip of her nose. She appeared surprised, but didn’t back away.

He traced it down across her lips, her chin, her neck, to the bodice of her dress. Sparks were exploding, the air hissing with the excitement generated by their proximity.

“Have you a dress that’s not gray?” he asked.

“Just one.”

“Is it blue? Is it the color of your eyes?”

“It’s violet.”

“Wear it for me tomorrow.”

“I will, Lord Run.”

He pulled his finger away and hurried out, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. Was she a sorceress? Had she cast a spell on him? If so, what insanities might he perpetrate?

The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

He shook off his eerie sense of bewitchment and continued on. Behind him, she shut her door and spun the key in the lock.

*    *    *    *

“Play it again! Play it again!”

“Yes, yes, please do!”

Aaron halted in his tracks.

Down the hall, a group of people were laughing and clapping as if a party was in progress. It was nearly midnight, so who was up and raising a ruckus?

After leaving Miss Etherton, he’d gone to his own bedchamber, had written some letters and drunk more liquor, but he hadn’t been able to relax. He’d given up and had come downstairs again, thinking he’d head to the estate office and review the ledgers. Nothing would put him to sleep faster than adding up long columns of numbers.

But to his surprise, he’d encountered the merry gathering. It could only be the servants, but why weren’t they in bed? They all had chores early in the morning, with many of them having to rise before dawn.

The noise was emanating from the music room, and he tiptoed toward it.

He wasn’t a musician himself, but he kept the room for entertaining and also for the unlikely chance that his brother, Lucas, might visit someday. Lucas was a renowned rake and scapegrace, but also an accomplished keyboardist who would enjoy the spot should he ever have occasion to use it.

Aaron stopped outside the door and peeked in.

To his astonishment, Miss Etherton was seated at the pianoforte and belting out a bawdy song. Eight footmen and housemaids were scattered around the box of the instrument. Even the housekeeper was present, and as Aaron listened to Miss Etherton sing, he swiftly understood why they were so enamored.

He was a regular theater goer in London, had attended many musicales that boasted recitals by the most famous voices in Europe. But he’d never heard anyone sing as she could sing. She had a throaty, sexy alto, and her love of performing was blatantly apparent. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her cheeks were rosy from her efforts, and she reveled in the acclaim of her small audience.

In that, she was very much like Lucas, who relished the opportunity to have a crowd applauding and telling him he was marvelous.

The local parishioners were very fortunate to have her coming into their midst, but how would she fare as Iggy’s wife? It was the strangest mismatch in history. Who would have arranged such an odd pairing? Obviously, it had been carried out by an idiot who didn’t recognize Miss Etherton’s flamboyant nature.

She arrived at the chorus of her song, and the servants heartily joined in. He supposed he should have been incensed by their raucous exhibition, but he’d never seen them in such a state of gaiety, and Miss Etherton was simply too mesmerizing to ignore. When she sang like that, how could a person
not
join in?

She finished off with a whisk of her fingers up the keyboard. She was laughing, the servants clapping, and Aaron was grinning like a fool.

What a breath of fresh air she was! What a fantastic addition to his dreary abode! How lucky that he’d traveled to Fox Run during the brief period she would be in residence.

“Now then,” Miss Etherton was saying, “I must head for my bed.”

“No, no,” they all protested, and there were pleas of, “Just one more!” and “Don’t quit yet!”

“I’m sure Lord Run would be upset if he learned we were cavorting in here,” she told them.

There were comments of, “Lord Run won’t find out,” and “We won’t tell him.”

Aaron thought it was a moment fraught with danger. At any second, they might utter derogatory remarks about him that he shouldn’t hear.

He’d moved to sneak away, when a housemaid glanced over and saw him. She gasped and nudged the footman next to her, and very quickly, they all straightened, their jollity vanishing. They looked like guilty children bracing for punishment.

He hated that he’d wrecked their merriment, and he blustered in. “There’s no reason to stop, Miss Etherton. Don’t mind me.”

She leapt to her feet. “It was all my doing, Lord Run. I was wandering the halls, and I stumbled on the pianoforte. I was being much too loud, and they came in to discover what was happening. I apologize.”

“No apology is necessary.”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not.” He smiled and, hoping he appeared cordial, he let his gaze drift across the assembled group. “Miss Etherton is quite amazing. You have my permission to listen to her sing whenever she decides to grace us with her talent.”

Miss Etherton’s cheeks flushed in that delightful way he was coming to enjoy.

“You’re too kind, Lord Run,” she murmured.

“I’m absolutely stunned by you. Thank you for your performance.”

The servants were completely intimidated by him. They were elbowing each other, nodding to the door, slipping out one by one.

“Good night,” Aaron said to each of them as they passed by.

They dipped curtsies and hurried off, clearly terrified that there would be consequences, and he felt awful that they viewed him as being so imposing. His father was the sort to terrorize people. Not Aaron.

Very rapidly, he and Miss Etherton were alone.

“You certainly know how to empty a room,” she saucily said.

“It’s my best trait,” he replied, and he wasn’t joking. He was a renowned boor, a notorious fusspot and stickler for the proprieties.

Lucas was the easy-going member of the family. He had the knack to fit in to any situation, to make any person comfortable, but then he took after their long-deceased mother. Aaron, to his chagrin, mostly took after their father who was famous for his conceit and snobbish ways.

“How did you learn to sing like that?” he asked as he walked over to her.

“I’ve always been able to. It comes naturally.”

He pointed to the keyboard. “And the playing?”

“I had teachers at school. I caught on right away.”

“Were your parents musically inclined?”