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No doubt, it was that protectiveness that enabled Miss Freestone to retain her air of virginal naivete.
Have I ever been so naive? Perhaps once, but that was so long ago. Oh, she felt so old at times, much older than even her cousin Carolyn, who was basking in the triumph of having been invited to Northington’s country home. It was a social coup of sorts, even though Caro had no particular need to expand her social reputation. Her wedding was to be in the summer, and her future was secured.
Celia wandered onto the terrace lit by flickering lanterns that cast wavering pools of light on trees, vines and pots of flowers. Jacqueline and Mrs. Pemberton were deep in conversation, no doubt plotting the demise of the viscount’s bachelor days, each with their own goal in mind, and Carolyn had gone upstairs to freshen up after the evening meal.
Lately she had noticed a difference in Carolyn, as if she had gained confidence in the past few weeks. What would it be like to feel as Caro must feel? To know that life was safely planned, that there would be no worries other than the proper gown to wear at social functions, or the more important need for an heir. To know that one’s life held no uncertainties save the everyday dilemmas that few escaped?
My life has been so different. To be so protected seems like a fiction, a far distant dream as vague as a shadow.
There were times she couldn’t even remember what her father had looked like, save for a blurry impression of a tall man with dark hair and brown eyes that were always filled with laughter. They had all been content then, and even when Maman had no more children, Papa had not seemed to mind. He’d said he had two beautiful women in his life and needed no more to make him happy. And it had been enough.
Yet it had ended so soon, their lives changed forever when he died aboard that American warship.
“Hello, cat-eyes,” the mocking drawl she’d been half expecting all evening said behind her. Celia turned to face Lord Northington.
Her heart beat a rapid thunder as she met his eyes, and a little shock rippled through her at the intensity of his dark blue gaze.
I’d forgotten how intimidating his stare can be.…
“Good evening, my lord,” she said in what she hoped was a cool tone.
“How very polite you are—no, don’t retreat now, the evening is still so new. We have time enough to explore all our possibilities later.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her progress, and leaned one arm against the vine-covered wall behind her head. It was disconcerting; instead of evening clothes, he now wore a loose white shirt open at the throat and snug-fitting trousers with knee-high black boots.
He radiated masculine power and sensuality, the strong column of his throat a dark contrast to the white cotton shirt, his fitted trousers clinging to muscled legs. Celia averted her eyes from his penetrating gaze.
“What?” he murmured, and drew the backs of his fingers over her cheek in a light caress. “No cutting comments? I’m amazed. And a little disappointed. I had rather looked forward to our usual disagreement.”
“I’m sure you have, my lord. My restraint must be very upsetting for you.”
“Ah well, we have plenty of time to try again. There is to be music this evening. I expect you and your cousins will enjoy it.”
To her faint surprise, he did not try to kiss her, but pushed away from the wall and stepped back. Always the unexpected! She had been sure he meant to kiss her again, and braced herself to resist any response.
But as if he’d anticipated her reaction, he merely smiled that slow, sardonic
smile she was growing used to seeing, and left the terrace. He walks like a tiger, she thought distractedly, as quiet and lithe as one of the huge beasts at the Tower menagerie.
And as restless, with the same predatory stride.
She reminded herself how dangerous he could be, how easily he could upset her careful plans. Yes, she must be on her guard.
Oh, but he is maddening! Celia thought later as she perched primly on the cushions of a large settee and listened to Olivia Freestone play yet one more piece on the pianoforte, a mangled version of a lovely French tune. Northington arrived late, coming into the music room just before the butchered tune ended.
He’d had no intention of being present for such tame and irritating entertainment, of course, but certainly didn’t mind inflicting it on his guests, she fumed. She saw with some satisfaction that Sir John was as annoyed as she was, his voice tight when he spoke to Northington.
“You’ve missed some very nice melodies,” Harvey said with a glint in his eyes, “but I am certain Miss Freestone will be delighted to give you a private concert.”
“I wouldn’t dream of tiring her with such a request.” Northington’s smile betrayed nothing as he moved to the now flustered Olivia Freestone and took her hand to lift her from the seat. “She’s been very accommodating as it is. Refreshments are being served on the terrace.”
“Bloody bastard,” Harvey muttered under his breath, and looked startled when Celia leaned close and agreed.
“Yes. I suggest we tie him to a chair, then have Miss Freestone play the entire score of Beethoven’s Fifth.”
A grin squared Harvey’s mouth. “But who would stay to ensure she complied? No volunteers here.”
They both laughed softly, and she took Harvey’s arm as he escorted her to the torch-lit terrace. Linen-draped tables were laid with delicacies, but Harvey made straight for the decanters of port. “A good host would provide something stronger,” he said lightly. “A little Blue Ruin wouldn’t be taken amiss.”
