Rhonda Woodward Read online

  Unlike her younger sister who often caused her parents to shake their heads over her silly behavior, Marina had always believed that as the eldest, she should comport herself with self-possession.

  However, she could not deny that one look at the startling beauty of Mr. Sefton had her on the verge of behaving like a giggling miss.

  Just then, there was a pause in the distant music. A moment later the unmistakable strains of a waltz began. A waltz! Oh, how she loved to waltz, even if she had only waltzed with Mama and Deirdre.

  Mama had expressly forbade her to accept an invitation to waltz until she had gained her vouchers to Almacks, this coming spring, and received approval from the patronesses. Even here in Parsley Hay, Marina knew she could not defy convention, for Mama was exceedingly attentive to all the rules and strictures, spoken and unspoken, regarding the proper behavior of a young lady.

  It really was too bad, for Marina adored the romantic dance.

  But at this moment there was no one to see whether she was behaving properly or not.

  After making a sweeping curtsy to the bronze mermaid spitting water into the fountain, she began waltzing around the terrace with an imaginary partner—who had golden hair and aquamarine eyes. Feeling a carefree delight, she swayed and twirled to the verge of dizziness.

  “I believe I would be deemed a fool if I ignored this heaven-sent opportunity to dance with such a lovely vision.”

  At the sound of the low-timbred comment, Marina swirled to a stop.

  The blond man! Mr. Sefton—Henry had said that was his name—looking resplendent in his black evening clothes and dazzlingly white neckcloth, stood on the flagstone steps gazing down at her with a slight smile curving his perfectly formed lips.

  If she had been able to breathe, she surely would have gasped.

  He was here! Hardly comprehending that he was not a concoction of her own imagination, she opened her mouth to speak, only to discover that she had no voice. Distractedly, she noticed how the fairy lights glinted off his golden hair like a halo.

  He laughed and descended the last steps. “Are you truly a vision? Is that why you don’t speak to me?”

  He was the vision, Marina thought, still unable to find her voice.

  Suddenly, Mama’s words from the previous week came back to her; Marina, you must develop the art of witty conversation. You must learn to banter and to artfully tease. This skill alone will ensure your success in Society.

  Grateful that the light was not strong enough to reveal the disturbing color of his eyes, Marina took courage and gathered her wits.

  “You have caught me, sir. But can you blame me for desiring to dance with the perfect partner?” She supposed it was not too gauche for her first attempt at banter.

  A flash of surprise crossed his features before he laughed and joined her by the fountain. “And you cannot blame me if I refuse to ignore that delightful challenge, Miss Marina Buckleigh.”

  Marina’s eyes widened in surprise—not only because he had taken her words as a challenge, but also because he knew her name.

  “You should not be surprised that I know who you are. Everyone has been commenting on the lovely Miss Buckleigh with the very fine gray eyes.”

  Before she could think of how to respond, he stepped forward, swept her into his arms and into the swirling steps of the waltz.

  “Now let us see if I dance as well as your perfect partner.”

  So shocked were her senses, Marina could not even breathe for a few moments. The feel of his hand on her waist and his other holding her hand created such a chaotic, fluttery feeling she could scarce put her thoughts in order.

  He gazed down, smiling deeply into her eyes and somewhere in the recesses of her bemused mind, she marveled that they had not missed a step.

  A delicious feeling of heady excitement and triumph began to replace her shock and confusion. This man, as beautiful as an angel, had sought her out to waltz amongst the fairy lights! Things like this never happened in Parsley Hay, she thought hazily, delighting in the feel of his hard shoulder beneath her hand. Nothing so magically wonderful had ever happened to her before.

  He continued to lead her around the fountain, until her senses were swirling. She never wanted the music to end, and never wanted the feeling of his warm hand in the cool air to leave her waist. His eyes never left hers and her heart sped faster than they twirled.

  But in the midst of this dizzyingly romantic moment, an unformed feeling of alarm began to surface through the tangle of her overwhelmed senses.

  Things like this never happened in Parsley Hay, came the distant yet logical thought, because they were highly improper.

  Despite the pure magic of this moment, and with their gazes still locked, her deeply ingrained sense of propriety began to whisper, then shout a warning.

  The confusion, the unfamiliar feelings roiling through her body, and even his very good looks added to this sudden feeling of panic.

  She pushed at his shoulder. He resisted for a moment before halting. He took a half step back, but did not release her. A slight frown marred his perfect brow as he gazed at her.

  “Is this not what you wanted, Miss Buckleigh?”

  Marina struggled to sort out her feelings. “Sir, I—”

  “I daresay you will forgive me for interrupting this charming scene,” a deep, drawling voice cut into her words.

  Marina yanked her hand from Mr. Sefton’s and whipped around to see who had spoken.

  A dark figure loomed on the balcony, his face hidden in shadow. Imposingly tall and broad-shouldered, the man moved down the steps with easy grace, until the fairy lights illuminated the rugged hollows of his features. She instantly recognized his square jaw and straight, grandly aristocratic nose. He was the notorious Marquis of Cortland whom Henry had pointed out to her earlier.

  Despite his casually negligent stance, there was something menacing in the way he looked at Mr. Sefton.

  “Cortland! What brings you here?” Mr. Sefton asked in a tone unlike any Marina had heard from him thus far.

  An alarming wave of realization washed over her entire body as the magic of only a moment ago vanished as if it had never existed.

  “The fresh air brought me out.” Lord Cortland answered, keeping his hard gaze on Mr. Sefton.

  There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. Her panicked gaze swept his imposing, powerful frame and the thought came that if Mr. Sefton was an angel, this man most certainly was the devil.

  Good lord, she was alone in the dark with two gentlemen she did not even know! She was ruined! Utterly ruined! Mama and Papa will be devastated. She clenched her trembling fingers together. How could she have been so foolish? Frantically, she cast about for some way to extricate herself from this horrible situation.

  ***

  The Marquis of Cortland found the young lady’s expression all too easy to read.

  Her eyes, flinty colored in the fairy lights, were full of panic—and to his mild surprise, banked defiance.

  A grudging admiration for her pierced his anger at Sefton. Despite being caught in such a compromising position, the young lady did not hang her head in shame as others in her predicament undoubtedly would.

  In truth, the girl had done nothing wrong—only behaved a little foolishly, perhaps. But it did not matter for no one would believe her. He spared a contemptuous thought for Society in general and Sefton in particular, for her reputation would surely be in ruins after this night’s work.

  Alas, he thought with a mental shrug, the consequences to her good name were not his concern. He shifted his gaze to a wary-looking Sefton. His only purpose in coming to this damned ball in the first place—to this damned provincial village, for that matter—was to confront Sefton. Now, his prey could avoid him no longer.

  “I’d like a word with you and I believe you know why.”

  Sefton hesitated and by the look on his face, Cortland wondered if he might actually try to bolt.

  “I sa
y, Cortland, this is neither the time nor the place for a discussion.” His tone attempted brusqueness.

  “Dutch courage, Sefton? This young lady seems to have inspired at least some sham bravery into your character.” Cortland crossed his arms over his chest and held Sefton’s gaze, until the younger man looked away.

  Pressing his lips together, Sefton shot a nervous glance to the young woman at his side, who still stood frozen as a statue.

  Cortland waited, his disgust with the fair-haired man growing with each passing breath. Any other man worth his salt would accept his insult for what it was—a challenge.

  “Sir, I find your manners quite lacking. We have not been introduced.”

  At this outrageous bit of nonsense, Cortland shifted his attention back to the young lady, who had spoken with barely a tremble in her voice. Defiance was beginning to outshine the distress in her very fine eyes.

  He found himself laughing for the first time in days, and swept her his most courtly bow.

  “Forgive me. I am Cortland. And if you are not awake to the fact that your name is on the verge of becoming a byword for scandal, then you are sillier than I thought.”

  He watched the fear completely vanish as she raised her chin a fraction, unwittingly showing the elegant length of her neck to better advantage.

  “I have never been silly in my life, you ill-mannered lout. And I am most certainly aware of the danger my good name is in, I just don’t know what to do about it at the moment.”

  Cortland blinked. Her succinct and direct comment was most unexpected. And his success with the fairer sex had left him ill prepared to deal with being called names. For the first time since reaching his majority, he did not quite know how to respond to a woman.

  Apparently, this dull hamlet—Parsley Hay, for God’s sake—was perhaps not as dull as he had thought upon arriving this afternoon.

  Sefton finally found his tongue, and stepping forward, he proffered her his arm. “Miss Buckleigh, you have my most sincere apologies for this untenable situation. Please allow me to escort you back to the ball.”

  At least Miss Buckleigh, as Sefton called her, had the good sense to look appalled at this offer. Cortland gave a derisive laugh.

  Ignoring the extended arm, she said, “I rather think that would make things worse.”

  Again, Cortland felt a grudging admiration for her attitude.

  With a rumbling sigh, he knew he was about to intervene and decided not to analyze why. “Run along, Miss Buckleigh. Go back and stay in one of the antechambers for a bit. Tell whomever you came with that you were fatigued and pray no one else saw you out here. Sefton and I will stay here awhile and then find another way back into the house.”

  For a moment, he held her gaze in the twinkling fairly lights, sensing she was weighing his words.

  “If you will stop blocking the way that is exactly what I shall do.”

  He felt himself smiling again. He stepped aside and she swept past him without so much as a glance—nor did she bid farewell to Sefton.

  He watched her take the terrace steps with measured grace and disappear into the moonlit gloom of the balcony.

  He shrugged before turning back to Sefton.

  Sefton lifted his hands, palms up. “Er . . . Look here Cortland, I can explain.”

  “Indeed, you will,” Cortland said in a near growl, “but will it be good enough?”

  Chapter Four

  Once she felt sure that she was beyond their sight, Marina rushed to the door she had exited a short time ago.

  Heart pounding, she pressed her ear against it, praying no one had entered the room since she had left. If someone was in the room, she would just have to brazen it out and say she had stepped out for a breath of fresh air.

  Before turning the doorknob, she took a deep breath, composed her features and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  Opening the door cautiously, Marina’s heart went to her throat when she saw someone standing by the fireplace. Holding her breath, she didn’t open the door any further and prepared to flee, willing to take her chances on finding another way into the house.

  Marina took another peek, and saw the person had moved closer to the door. She lifted her skirts, ready to run, when she realized it was Deirdre.

  Weak-kneed with relief, she pushed the door open and told herself to stop acting like a goose.

  Deirdre, standing in the middle of the well-appointed room, looked at her in surprise. “Marina! What are you doing? You’ve been gone nearly half an hour. Mama is becoming most annoyed.”

  Marina moved to stand in front of the fireplace and caught her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror over the mantel. Strange—she looked just like herself.

  “The music was so loud, I needed a few moments’ respite. Are you enjoying yourself?” She knew the surest way to divert her sister’s attention was to ask about her.

  “Oh yes.” Deirdre drew her hand through the crook of Marina’s arm and pulled. “I have danced every dance, but the first. But you missed watching everyone waltz. It was beyond lovely. Come, Mama sent me to fetch you, for we are about to go into supper.”

  Marina felt her cheek grow a little warm, at the very recent memory of her own most unexpected waltz.

  She allowed Deirdre to pull her along the passageway. “Good, I am feeling a bit hungry.”

  They joined the other guests exiting the ballroom and the raucous atmosphere continued into the reception rooms, punctuated with loud conversation and gales of laughter as everyone made their way to their seats.

  Marina greatly appreciated the distraction for she needed a few moments to regain her equanimity.

  At the longest table, the Buckleigh ladies took their proper places near Lady Darley. Not surprisingly, there was no sign of Papa. Nor, to her utter relief, did she see Lord Cortland and Mr. Sefton.

  “Ooh,” Deirdre sighed, gazing around at the fine silverware and large centerpieces, “Mr. Penhurst is certainly bringing a bit of London flair to our little village.”

  “Lady Buckleigh,” Lady Darley called gaily, “It seems our gentlemen cannot leave the billiard room so I have sent footmen to set up a small table with enough nourishment to sustain them.”

  This was met with amusement and appreciation on Mama’s part, and Marina thought by Lady Darley’s manner, she must be used to dealing with gentlemen who did not like to dance.

  Marina managed to smile at the other guests seated nearby, and within minutes, the conversation whirled around them all, as footmen brought in trays of food.

  Everyone took discreet notice of the food Lady Darley presented her guests. A clear soup came out for the first course, followed by roast partridge with French beans and mushrooms. The guests looked duly impressed. Marina managed a few bites before the footmen cleared the table and brought in great platters of veal, boats of heavy sauce, potatoes, and countless savory dishes.

  Feeling quite unlike herself, Marina remained silent while Deirdre and Mama gossiped about the ball. In this bright noisy place, she could almost convince herself that she had imagined the most incredibly romantic thing that had ever happened to her—followed so closely by the most embarrassing thing.

  Too bad that odiously arrogant Lord Cortland had interrupted them. Her more practical and charitable side said this attitude was a little unfair, for it really would have been unwise for her to have stayed any longer with Mr. Sefton.

  Her heart fluttered anew at the memory of those brief moments in Mr. Sefton’s arms.

  Could it possibly happen this quickly?, she mused with a sense of wonder. Could one fall in love in a moment?

  She had heard of love at first sight of course, but had always put it down to the fancy of poets.

  Checking her heart again, she almost smiled. This exhilarating flutter could quite possibly be love. She dropped her hands to her lap, knowing she must behave with all circumspection.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything, Marina? I vow I’m hungry enough to eat a bear,” Deirdre said wi
th some gusto.

  “Do not be indelicate, Deirdre dear,” Mama said.

  So as not to raise suspicion, and to avoid speaking, Marina began to tuck into her food, realizing after a few bites that she was indeed hungry. She wondered if love made one forget such mundane things as food.

  The festive midnight feast continued, and after cinnamon-stewed apples and sharp cheeses were served to finish the meal, the guests began to rise and mingle, hailing friends and arranging dances for when the orchestra commenced playing.

  “Oh, there is Lord Cortland,” Deirdre hissed excitedly. “He is a marquis, Mama, the heir to the Duke of Hawksmoor. Isn’t he terribly handsome?”

  “Indeed, Deirdre, he is a most handsome man,” Mama replied through unusually tight lips.

  Marina’s startled gaze instantly went in the direction her sister was looking.

  He was standing next to a man Marina had danced with earlier: Mr. Fairdale. She did have to concede that Lord Cortland was quite handsome—not nearly so as Mr. Sefton, for she did not like the arrogant arch to his left brow. That raised brow seemed to say that he found them all something to marvel at.

  Recalling his comments to Mr. Sefton, she wondered at the animus between the men. From what she had learned of Lord Cortland’s disreputable behavior, she was convinced Mr. Sefton was more than likely blameless in the matter.

  At that moment, Lord Cortland’s gaze swung around to her and after a flash of alarm, she refused to look away and held his golden-hazel scrutiny. In fact, anger flared when she recalled the way he had spoken to her. It had been most ungentlemanly, to say the least.

  With his expression an infuriating mix of hauteur and boredom, he inclined his head toward her in the scantest nod.

  Indignation rose within Marina to choke out every other emotion. How dare he? How dare he come to her village and treat them—treat her—as if they were bugs beneath his lofty notice.

  She was the Honorable Miss Marina Buckleigh. Her father was Baron Buckleigh and the Buckleighs had been lords in this area of Herefordshire for eight generations.

  Well, she knew her manners, even if a marquis did not.