Chapter 10

"These just arrived for you, miss." Parker held a huge cut-crystal vase filled with lovely pink and cream roses, interspersed with tiny, delicate daisies.

Kate, just coming to sit down to breakfast Monday morning, frowned even as she leaned forward to sniff the fragrant blossoms. Beautiful flowers, but who had sent them? "Is there a card?"

She'd danced only the two dances with Lord Haversham Saturday evening. And had a brief conversation with Lord Finley at supper as he'd waited on Celinda. Much as she'd like to believe the bouquet was from him, she wasn't about to try to fool herself. Which made the arrival of the flowers even more intriguing. She searched over the blooms and finally plucked the card from amongst the greenery and opened it.

With my heartfelt gratitude and admiration for my excellent partner. May I call upon you this afternoon?

Lord Haversham

She jerked back from the blooms as if stung. Her cheeks heated a second later. Lord Haversham. Why the devil did he wish to call upon her? They'd shared the supper dance without incident, although she'd noticed his lordship talked much less wittily and more, well, conventionally. Topics like the weather and the decoration on his sister's gown were the high points of the conversation.

Now this morning he sent flowers and wanted to call?

"Put them in the foyer, please, Parker." She tapped the card against her fingers. What did he mean by this request? Had he thought her granting him the supper dance meant something? It did, but certainly not what he might've thought it meant.

She'd stood beside Celinda and watched all her social aspirations disappear like a thin mist at dawn. No one would ask to dance with her. Young Mr. Pine had cast looks at her briefly—until his cousin, Lord Seaford, with whom she'd argued two years ago, had whispered vehemently in his ear, and they'd then decamped to another part of the house. From the corner of her eye, she'd spied Lord Eastland speaking earnestly to another young gentleman, gesturing toward her and shaking his head. Somehow, when she wasn't looking, she'd become the pariah of the ton .

Only Haversham had offered to dance with her. Rather than be the obvious wallflower, she'd accepted him. Kate closed her eyes, reliving the moment, which had been a country dance. Haversham danced like a dream. While his partner, she need never worry about putting a foot wrong. Supper, however, had been more trying, the conversation focusing on equally mundane topics.

By the end of the evening, she'd thought she'd go mad with the inconsequential prattling of their dinner partners. Usually, Haversham could be counted on for invigorating repartee. Last night, however, his wit had been much more subdued as they'd sat with Celinda and Lord Finley, and Lady Letitia and Lord Carstairs. Her right-side conversation was nearly void as Celinda talked mainly to the viscount. Across the small table, silence reigned, save for a quiet "Pass the salt, please," from Lady Letitia. Haversham's clever quips alone, uttered sotto voce , had kept her amused, though they'd been fewer than usual. She had to give it to the man. He had a wit sharp enough to slice cheese. She almost looked forward to trading barbs with him.

Which brought her full circle back to the foyer and the flowers she'd continued to sniff and stroke. They were heaven to touch. She stepped back and headed for the receiving room. It would be no trouble to allow Lord Haversham to call. In fact, it might be the highlight of her afternoon. Perhaps she could engage him again about his sister's restriction where the waltz was concerned. If he'd only lift his edict on that dance, perhaps Lady Letitia would rest easier about dancing in general. She seemed a sweet lady, but she'd likely never catch a husband if she continued to refuse to dance. Kate would have to come up with some clever arguments that made her point and set Haversham down a peg.

She hurried to the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper, ready to write a brief note agreeing to Haversham's call. The first sheet she pulled out, however, was her unfinished list of things she hated about the earl. Kate stared at it, going from one item to the next, looking to see if she'd been fair to the man. The first five traits she would confidently stand by. Lord Haversham was, without a doubt, an unkind, arrogant hypocrite who was rude and acted superior. At least some of the time. However, she wasn't certain she should label him lazy. She truly didn't know enough about him or the workings of an estate to determine that. And the froggy comment was just spite on her part, although she would have to keep it or else come up with yet another thing she hated about Haversham. She'd found enough fault with him when she wasn't trying to list them all. Why was it so hard to do so now?

Shaking her head, she tucked the list under the stack of foolscap and pulled a fresh sheet to her. She'd have to avoid Nathan until she could come up with the final three things. Perhaps this afternoon's encounter would help her determine them. Unfortunately, Kate had the sinking feeling the opposite might occur instead.

* * * *

Marcus sat outside Locke Terrace in his curricle, screwing up his courage to enter The Manse, as Ainsley affectionately called his townhouse. He still couldn't believe the note he'd received two hours ago. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the neat hand once more.

You may call upon me this afternoon between 3:00 and 4:00.

Brief and to the point, but he carefully folded it and tucked it away. It hadn't contained any barbs, so that was a step in the correct direction. Of course, she might be luring him into an ambush, but he had to take the chance. He didn't plan to stay long—if he could just convince himself to climb out of the vehicle.

No matter how ridiculous he felt, he had to knock on the blasted door. He jumped down, strode up to the looming jet-black door, and knocked rapidly.

Parker opened it immediately, his impassive face betraying their long acquaintance by a slight twitch of his lips. "Lord Haversham. I am afraid his lordship is from home at the moment. If you would like to leave your card, I will make sure he receives it the instant he returns."

Marcus shifted on the stoop. Deucedly awkward, but there was nothing for it. "I, uh, am come to call on Miss Locke today, Parker. I believe she is expecting me." He tried to ignore the look of profound shock in Parker's sunken brown eyes.

"Yes, of course, my lord." The butler regained his outward composure, ushered him in and closed the door. His hand slipped from the latch, and the door slammed with a loud boom. "My pardon, Lord Haversham." Parker straightened his shoulders and headed into the house, the tips of his ears growing cherry red.

Lord, if he'd rattled the unflappable Parker, this visit must be a nine days' wonder.

The butler led him to the morning room, where the early afternoon light gave the pale blue-gray walls a glow. A comfortable room, with pale blue jacquard-covered sofa and chairs, made uncomfortable now by the figure at the bay window overlooking the rear gardens.

Marcus shook himself and assumed a pleasing smile. If he was going to marry this woman, he'd have to stop dreading her company.

"Lord Haversham, miss." Parker closed the door partially.

He would've laid odds the man had remained nearby. Ainsley's servants were well-trained, well-paid, and loyal to a fault.

Miss Locke turned, and his heart skipped a beat. Lit from behind by the great window, she looked like an angel in white muslin, sprinkled with tiny blue flowers. Her hair, touched by the sunlight, shone like copper fire. She came toward him, and with each step, his heart pounded harder—from fear or desire, he'd best find out, and soon.

"Lord Haversham, how nice of you to call." Her voice, though carefully neutral, still carried a tinge of her usual edge.

That was comforting, somehow, perhaps because of its familiarity, and he relaxed into his own accustomed role. "Miss Locke," he said, bowing, "so good to see you once more." His mouth dried, and he glanced around the room. Fool. One could not take spirits before a lady, but he would've given his soul for one mouthful of good brandy.

"Will you have a seat?" She indicated an elegant Queen Anne chair across from her.

He nodded, dropping onto it gratefully, worn out by mere introductions. He smoothed his coat, picked at the weave in his brown trousers, anything other than look at Miss Locke. How the deuce did someone go about courting a woman anyway? He'd danced and dined with scores of ladies, but nothing more. His amorous adventures had been restricted to forays into the more popular brothels. So how did one woo a respectable lady?

"How is your sister today?" Miss Locke began. "Did she enjoy the ball last evening?"

"I believe she did enjoy it, as did I." He risked a glance at her.

Miss Locke stared directly at him, her mouth pinched into a bow. "I am sure she would've enjoyed it even more had she been allowed to stand up in a waltz."

The woman was like a dog with a bone. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth…but perhaps the devil in Miss Locke might enjoy trying to persuade him to allow his sister leave to dance the scandalous waltz. An odd manner of courtship, perhaps, but it would be lively, he suspected.

Affecting his best stern countenance, he put up a hand. "Really, Miss Locke, I believe I know what is best for my sister."

"As you have never been a woman who had to refuse partners for a dance, I might beg to differ. I saw Lady Letitia turn down two gentlemen last night alone." She bit her lip, as though restraining her tongue. "I beg of you, Lord Haversham, allow your sister to waltz. I am certain she will be the happier for it."

"Would you have been happier had we danced a waltz last evening instead?" Marcus stared into the blue eyes across from him, which suddenly appeared uncomfortable. They darted all around, avoiding him at any cost. "Did you prefer our waltz the night before last, Miss Locke?"

"Of…of course not, or, no, yes, I did. I did enjoy our waltz, Lord Haversham. You are an excellent dancer." The woman might've been eating a lemon or something that left a bad taste in her mouth, like curdled milk. "As would your sister be, were she able to do so."

He restrained a chuckle. "Perhaps you could convince me while we ride in the park? I have my curricle outside." Would she consent to being seen with him alone in public? Would the bait of being able to change his mind about Letitia prove enticing enough?

She narrowed her eyes, and Marcus braced for the worst. He'd seen that gleam before. It had never boded well for him. "Why yes, my lord. That would be quite a challenging outing, wouldn't it?"

"And you enjoy a challenge, Miss Locke?"

"I do indeed, my lord." She rose, never taking her gaze from his face.

Marcus shot up and out of his seat. Lord, what had he just unleashed on himself?

"I'll be but a moment getting my Spencer." She glided out of the room, deliberately taking her time.

Marcus didn't mind in the least. Her slow exit gave him ample opportunity to appreciate the straight back and hint of curves revealed by the undulating white gown. Had the sun been in front of her, what sights might that gauzy gown have revealed? He gulped, amazed at the sudden response in his breeches. Heavens, was he truly desirous of Miss Katherine Locke?

That thought had crossed his mind before. And reappeared rather quickly now, as well. Of course, she was a beautiful woman. If only she could've kept her tongue in check, she'd have been snatched up her first Season. Perhaps Fate had had a hand in this all along.

"Are you coming, Lord Haversham?" she called from the foyer. "I assume you wish to take me for this ride in your curricle rather than have me drive it myself." The underlying glee in that last statement sent him hurrying from the morning room. He wouldn't put it past her to try to take the ribbons.

"Of course not, Miss Locke." He was brought up short by the stunning sight of Kate Locke standing in a dark blue Spencer with matching hat that made her eyes change to the color of the sky. Breathtaking, to be sure.

He offered his arm, and they walked sedately if rather awkwardly out to his waiting curricle. After handing her in, he hopped up beside her and took the ribbons. A sly glance at her made her laugh.

"Do not worry, my lord. I promise I shall not seize the reins unless you give me good cause." Her cheeks had pinked with her laughter. The color became her. She should laugh more often. Perhaps he could remedy that, as well.

He turned the matched chestnuts toward Hyde Park. They were earlier than the most fashionable crowd, but he hadn't wanted to be obvious about the courtship yet. "We have a grand afternoon for our drive, I see." After a cloudy morning, the weather had turned brilliant.

"Lord Haversham," she said, training a sour gaze on him, "do you think me a simpleton?"

Her words took him by surprise, but he answered back, rapid fire. "I might think many things of you, Miss Locke, but being a simpleton is not one of them." He turned the rig into the park. "Why do you ask?"

The fury in her face made him want to cringe. "My brother put you up to taking me out, didn't he?"

The accusation caught him unawares. He managed to keep the alarm out of his voice, but barely. "No, he did not." Technically, he spoke truth, as Ainsley hadn't specifically asked him to take her out for a carriage ride, but he skated on the thinnest ice possible.

"Then why have you taken this sudden interest in me?" Her voice wavered between outrage and hopelessness. "Dancing with me, the supper dance, a carriage ride. It smacks of Ainsley interfering in my social life again, and I will not have it. He thinks he knows what's best for me."

"Brothers often do." Marcus dangled that bait, praying she'd take it and move swiftly away from the dangerous waters in which he now treaded.

"Hah. You think marrying you is what's best for me?" Her voice rose alarmingly, and he peered around, terrified someone had heard her.

Fortunately, the park was lightly populated. Time to tease her back to safer shallows. "I would never presume to tell you, of all people, Miss Locke, what's best for you. I would, however, like your advice on how to help Lady Letitia as she navigates the sometimes treacherous waters of her first Season." He cracked a slight smile. "The waltz notwithstanding." He pinned her with a sharp stare as she leaned forward and opened her mouth.

Marcus steeled himself for the onslaught.

She pursed her lips. "Why would you want my opinion, my lord? We obviously disagree on most topics."

He released a sigh of relief. "You have expressed an interest in my sister's welfare, Miss Locke. I appreciate that deeply. My sister has few friends, and Aunt Alexandra is much older. I would like to hear what you would recommend as one closer to her own age, to help bring her out of her shell."

"She is rather retiring." Miss Locke nodded in agreement. "I did notice that last evening." She cut her eyes at him then stared straight at the horses' backs. "I believe she is particularly fearful of the punishment or penalty you have imposed if she dances that waltz. If I may speak frankly—"

"I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you."

Miss Locke faltered, blushing, then chuckled. "Well, you might attempt it, my lord, but I would doubt your success." Miss Locke sent him a sly look and adjusted her Spencer. "As I was about to say, your sister is frightened of dancing the waltz. You must lift this ban so she can take part in Society more fully."

Marcus pretended to think on the scheme's merits, furrowing his brows, pursing his lips, clenching his fist. "I cannot see my way clear to do so at this time, Miss Locke, although I do appreciate your point."

She scowled at him and opened her lips, but he cut her off. "Other than dancing, however, is there some way you can think of to bring her out of herself?" He truly would be grateful if she could hit upon a plan that would help Letitia.

"Well," she said, fingering the material of her reticule, "does Lady Letitia enjoy shopping?"

The simple question stymied Marcus. "I'm not certain." He'd never heard his sister talk about such outings, but then he'd been seldom at home before his father's death last autumn. During her mourning period, of course, she'd wanted to do nothing, save stay in her room and cry.

"If you will allow me, my lord, I will send a note to Lady Letitia this afternoon requesting her company on a shopping excursion tomorrow morning. Then I can better assess how much work it will take to bring her out of her shell."

"My sincerest gratitude for your assistance, Miss Locke." Marcus beamed at her, and she ducked her head. "If we can encourage my sister to interact more with other ladies and gentlemen, I will be forever in your debt."

Miss Locke's eyes sparkled, and Marcus's stomach dropped. He had no idea what she might be planning, but he would've bet his fortune—if he'd had one—she would try to coax Letitia into standing up in a waltz in defiance of his edict. He suppressed a smile. Just let her try. "If you are free tomorrow afternoon, might we meet again, to confer on Letitia and perhaps come up with a plan for her for the rest of the Season?"

As she opened her lips, Marcus steeled himself for the rejection he was sure would come. Miss Locke had been too accommodating thus far not to expect it.

"Yes, of course."

He pulled back on the reins so swiftly the horses jibbed. "Whoa, Samson, Delilah." Marcus peered at Miss Locke, incredulous. "Yes, of course?"

She smiled at him, a genuine one this time. "If we are to help Lady Letitia, you must know what I find out as soon as possible. That way, we can come up with several things you can encourage her to do to help free her from her shyness."

"Yes, of course." Marcus suddenly had to concentrate on driving. He didn't quite trust himself to look at Miss Locke. Her kindness toward his sister seemed out of character for her. Or perhaps he simply didn't know the lady as well as he believed he did. "At this same time?"

"I think that would work admirably." She gave him a serene smile then turned her head to watch the increasing number of people walking about the park.

So she did not seem to have an issue with being seen in public with him. All well and good. He shook the reins, and the horses picked up their pace. Time to move them further along in their courtship.