It had nearly killed him, watching that performance. If one could even call the unfolding disaster at Bruxley Hall aperformance,per se. But even embarrassed and utterly out of place as she was, Luna was always just so graceful. So lovely, so genuine. So effortlesslyherself.So perfect in every particular.
Nigel set his teeth. This evening was not serving the purpose he’d intended. Why did every little thing have to drag his mind straight back to Luna Talbot? Why couldn’t he stay present, in the moment?
Grimacing, he took another swig of Penny Pilsner only to end up coughing and gagging all over again. It was enough to bracehim, however, and Nigel forced his gaze back to his date just as she finished her performance to a tremendous explosion of applause. Five different gentlemen rushed to assist her, and she allowed two of them to lift her down from the bar, favoring both with kisses and pinches and winks. Then she sauntered back to Nigel, tilting an eyebrow expressively. “Well, Grimmsy, what did you make of that?”
“Erm.” Nigel swallowed. He hadn’t really taken in much of the display. “It was . . . something else, Miss Braithwait.”
Her brow lowered. A little line formed above the bridge of her nose. “Drink your beer,” she growled and turned to lean back against the bar, elbows propped, assets angled. Nigel looked away quickly and took another swig from his glass, which he instantly regretted.
“Hey,” Bryony said suddenly, reaching out to pat his arm with her fingertips. “Is that who I think it is?” She pointed across the crowded room.
Nigel turned his gaze idly in the direction she indicated. Then his vision snapped into focus, and he looked again, harder, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke and the mayhem of moving figures to a booth in the back where a magnificent specimen of manhood lounged in his green wardsman’s uniform. And next to him, sitting very upright, with her shoulders back, and her hands folded in front of her, and her eyes downcast—
“Lunaloo!”Bryony cried, lifting her arm over her head and waving enthusiastically. “Oh, she doesn’t see me. Come on, Mr. Grimm, let’s go say hi!”
Despite Ward’s assurances, Luna couldn’t help feeling that she was a bit of a dumpy mess, even for the Rowdy House. Sure, it wasn’t the classiest assortment of Ballycastle denizens she’d ever rubbed elbows with, but . . . well, most of them didn’t look like they’d just crawled out of a back-garden pool and then survived a surprise blizzard. Because they hadn’t.
She sighed, trying not to make eye-contact with anyone while she waited for Ward to come back to their table with drinks. He’d assured her the food was unexpectedly good here.Besides,she told herself for the umpteenth time,at least you know this is thelastplace you’ll bump into Bryony on her night off. Right?
The atmosphere was so dark and shady, particularly back here in this booth Ward had tucked them into. She supposed that was just as well; she needn’t be overly concerned with her bedraggled state. She swiped a lock of hair back from her face. It smelled of sandalwood. And cinnamon. Because she’d borrowed some of Mr. Grimm’s hair tonic to try to smooth out the worst of the frizz. Apparently that’s where the sandalwood-and-cinnamon-ness of him came from.
“Dratted hecks,” she whispered softly, her voice lost under the noise of jazz. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of Mr. Grimm every few seconds. But now she couldn’t help it. Every time she turned her head, she positivelyinhaledhim.
Closing her eyes, Luna squeezed her fingers into tight knots. Shewouldbe present. With Ward. She would concentrate on him and his beautiful dimples, and she would be happy. Super happy! Because he’d not gone on assignment yet. He was here. With her. And he’d sought her out and made an effort, and what girl wouldn’t be thrilled with that?
As though summoned by her thoughts, Ward reappeared through the throng, drinks in hand. “Hey, what’s with the long face on the pretty girl?” he asked, his deep voice carrying over the swoony sigh of a lovelorn saxophone.
Luna forced her lips to form a smile. He slid into the booth beside her and pushed one of the glass mugs her way. “Try that,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked a bit uncertainly.
“Cider.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Nothard cider.” Ward laughed and gave the glass an extra nudge. “The tame stuff, like my old mam used to make. Perfectly safe for a Crimble girl.”
Luna flushed but sampled her drink, pleased to discover its apply-spicy-sweetness. No burn of alcohol on the back of her palate. Ward might laugh all he liked, but she couldn’t help her squeamishness. If he wanted a cool date, he could have picked a different girl to shower with his attentions. Any other girl. Why, from where she was sitting, Luna could spot at least a dozen lovely, sultry options, all giving Wardthe lookfrom behind dark-stained lashes.
But Ward’s attention remained fixed on Luna. He performed a very smooth, very practiced, very neat stretch and draped hisarm along the back of the booth, his fingers just lightly tapping her shoulder.Well played,Luna thought with a lifted brow. But she didn’t push him away. Not yet anyway.I mean, if the man hasn’t earned an arm around the shoulder by now, at the very least . . .
She took another sip of cider to calm her nerves.
“Hey,” Ward said suddenly, setting down his own mug of hard cider. “Isn’t that your roommate over there? With your boss?”
A number of things happened all at once in the course of about five seconds. First, the strains of that horrible song which still haunted her nightmares nearly a week later—the song which had burst her eardrums at Bruxley Hall and heralded an embarrassment the likes of which she would not survive a second time—began to play suddenly, manically, an eruption in Luna’s head.
Second, she saw Bryony. Glorious Bryony, goddess-like Bryony, fulfilling the wildest fantasies of every man in that room,climbing up onto the bar.She wore gold. But that didn’t matter. Because it was Bryony herself who positively shone, eliciting a cheer from everyone, male and female alike, as she launched into a solo variation of the Bruxley Hall dance routine, deftly moving her feet in and out among glasses and tumblers on the bar top.
And sitting on the barstool just below her—from which location he must have quite the spectacular view—a stupid marigold wilting in his lapel, right where Luna had placed it . . .
Luna’s lips parted in a breathed out: “Damn.”
Why had she left the shop? Why had she left the Crimble Mountains? Gods, why had she ever even bothered to crawl out of that bolt-hole under her parents’ living room floor all those years ago? Because that dark, cramped, terrifying space suddenly seemed perfectly delightful in retrospect. Anything was better, less stifling, less utterly and unbearably horrifyingthan being trapped here in this booth, staring at this unfolding scene.
“He’s the song, my heart’s gotta play!”Bryony wailed, in keeping with the jazzy strains, her body doing what it was made for as she moved.“Every night and every day-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
“You know, I thought they had a little something going on between them.” Ward’s voice spoke very close to Luna’s ear, loud enough to be heard over the band. She winced away from him but couldn’t go far with his arm around her shoulder. “At the fair, remember? Wouldn’t have placed a girl like that with a stuffed-shirt like him, though.” He chuckled, teeth flashing in the low light of the little candle burning in the middle of the booth table. “Maybe old Grimm’s a bit of a lad after all!”
