Twelve

C laire leapt to her feet when two human figures appeared in the open doorway, silhouetted against the light. The taller figure carried a top hat, while the smaller emitted a familiar, high-pitched chortle.

By the time the newcomers entered the hovel, Claire was standing placidly, hands clasped before her, her face an unsmiling mask. For a second time, the tense atmosphere snuffed out the laughter of Elizabeth’s friend Mary, while seeming to have the opposite effect on her companion.

“Why, Lady Claire.” Lord Milstead smirked, one eyebrow raised lecherously. “I see you’ve embarked on a private tour of your own.”

“Begad!” Mary’s eyes lit with intrigue. “And with her former fiancé!”

“Fiancé?” Lord Milstead sounded startled. “Lady Claire has been engaged before…to a duke?”

“To be sure, my lord!” Mary replied with relish. “Though I suppose I’m not surprised you haven’t heard, for it all happened out here in the countryside a year ago.”

He looked rather put out. “And here I’d thought her just a wallflower,” he muttered crossly.

At that, Claire regarded him with new eyes.

He had indeed met her by a wall, for that was where she’d spent most of the last London season—sitting on the fringes of a great many ballrooms.

At the time she’d thought him ever gentle and patient, not to mention kind to seek her out on each and every occasion. And she’d felt guilty for wasting his time, as she was not yet up to forming any sort of attachment.

But he’d tried to set her mind at ease. He’d assured her he sought her company for his own enjoyment. And though his heart had been hers since their first meeting, he was content to wait till she was ready to receive it. His was not a wild, fleeting passion, but a strong and steady devotion, capable of weathering any delay. And until she signaled her readiness, he would not impose on her by pressing his suit.

Now it suddenly dawned on her that to be conspicuously long-suffering was just an imposition of another sort. His gentle assurances had done a work of their own: taking root in her conscience, demanding her gratitude, rushing her decision.

With their history together cast in a different light, all at once Lord Milstead was overbearing and cold-blooded rather than patient and kind. And Claire was an object of prey rather than one of compassion.

For a man seeking out wallflowers was surely after an easy mark.

At the moment, she could only wonder how close she’d come to marrying a man for whom she felt no love or even liking, but merely gratitude mistaken for affection. How fortunate he’d shown his true colors by having the bad grace to flirt with Mary in front of the whole party. If only he might transfer his attentions in truth, Claire could breathe easy!

Yet alas, she was only too wise to his real sentiments, for if he meant to conceal them, he was failing dreadfully.

While paying Mary no mind whatsoever, he glowered at Claire with indignation—and at Jonathan with pure male aggression. But mostly Claire felt a dangerous current she suspected was driven by bruised pride.

Jonathan must have felt the danger too, for he moved to Claire’s side. “Just a wallflower?” he mused. “Isn’t it vexing how looks can deceive?” He eyed his rival mildly. “I daresay Lady Claire thought you a gentleman.”

The man reddened. “You presume to speak for my betrothed?”

Mary’s mouth dropped open.

Though touched by Jonathan’s gallantry, Claire found it entirely unnecessary. Gone was the paralysis of the sleigh ride, when she’d felt unnerved, alone, and physically overmatched. Although she appreciated Jonathan’s support, she wanted to speak for herself.

Accordingly, she said calmly, “I am not your betrothed, Lord Milstead. I’ve had time enough to consider your offer, and while I thank you for the honor, I must refuse.”

Mary closed her mouth and grinned, her face shining with the joy of bearing witness to such a delicious scene.

Jonathan sent Claire a tender look of admiration. The tenderness she would have to sort out later, but for now his approval gave her the strength she needed to face Lord Milstead’s wrath.

“You refuse me?” he spluttered furiously. “ Why? Are you involved with Rathborne still? Explain yourself, for this is absurd!”

“No more absurd,” she retorted, “than your making such a speech with another woman on your arm.”

“Begad!” Mary chortled, and found herself thrown off his arm. Far from taking offense, she looked delighted by the theatrics.

“The flirtation was your own fault,” he charged Claire, “for you provoked me this morning. You’re just the same as every other female. You all sport with us as you like, then lay the consequences at our feet. No matter how deserving a fellow, no matter if he prostrates himself before you—why, months I waited for you, with nary a reproach! What more would you have of me, my lady? What more could I have possibly done to show you my regard?”

“Nothing, my lord,” Claire said evenly. “You did not lack in showing regard. You lacked in feeling it.”

He dismissed her with a wave. “I’m sure I shan’t take the trouble to understand your meaning. All nonsense, I wager, to cover your indiscretions with Rathborne. His grace should count himself lucky my pistols are at home.” Rudely turning his back, he offered Mary the return of his arm. “Madam?”

She took it readily and followed him out, exchanging a look of incongruous hilarity with Claire.

After a moment of heavy silence, Claire felt a hand on her shoulder. “That was well done,” Jonathan said.

“Was it?” Though relieved the matter was ended, she felt no satisfaction. Mostly what she felt was sore and tired from sleeping atop her writing desk.

His hand, warm on her shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze. “I wish I had your courage.”

She turned to meet Jonathan’s gaze—just as her brother’s head materialized behind his.

“By George!” Noah called from the doorway. “There you two are! The horses are harnessed and ready.”

When they joined the group gathered about the sleighs, one vehicle was already driving off.

“What the dickens?” Noah muttered, and moved off to consult with a groom. He soon returned and favored Claire with a sour look. “It would appear your Lord Milstead took it upon himself to drive out ahead—accompanied by Miss Harris.”

“He is not my Lord Milstead,” Claire informed her brother.

“I’m glad of that.” Noah shook his head. “He’s behaved most infamously.”

“And irregularly,” Jonathan added with a note of urgency. “Foolish though she’s been, we ought not leave Miss Harris in his power.”

“I agree,” Noah said. “I’m taking one of the grooms’ mounts to catch them. Harry is saddling her now.”

“I could go in your stead,” Jonathan offered, “should you wish to remain with your guests?—”

“I certainly do not wish that.” Through narrowed eyes, Noah watched Lady Caroline mount the foremost sleigh. When she looked round for him, he quickly turned away.

“She’s ready, milord!” Harry appeared at Noah’s elbow and handed him the reins of a dappled mare.

“Thank you, Harry. You’ll drive Lady Caroline?”

The groom bowed and headed off as Noah began to mount up.

“Mind yourself,” Claire advised him, patting the horse’s neck. “Lord Milstead is in a temper.”

“It’s he who should mind my temper,” Noah said darkly. “I’ll see you back at the castle, with Miss Harris in tow. Milstead, I fear, may be called away on urgent business. A pity he shall miss the Christmas festivities.”

As he rode off, Claire turned back to survey her guests. On finding them all settled in their sleighs, ready to depart, she had naught to do but to climb into her own seat. Having both been slighted by their original driving companions, she and Jonathan were obliged to claim the last vacant sleigh for themselves (not that she minded).

When he handed her up, she felt exceedingly aware of his fingers clasping hers, even through the thick protection of their gloves. Now she recalled that, just before Noah’s interruption in the hovel, she’d had something she’d wanted to say to Jonathan. But she couldn’t remember the details.

Her thoughts seemed washed away by a swell of fatigue. Willing her eyes to stay open, she sank onto her seat with a languid sigh and pulled a blanket over her lap.

The blanket pulled back—Jonathan had seized the same one. They shared an awkward laugh, both recalling Claire’s troubles with the earlier blanket. Relinquishing his hold, Jonathan began to rummage for another.

But he searched in vain, and a peculiar tension grew the longer he hunted, till Claire felt she should offer hers. Of course he graciously declined, and Claire’s well-bred politeness made her insist, and they went round in this manner for some time before she was on the point of acknowledging the inevitable: They would have to share the blanket.

Once she’d mentally accepted that solution, she began to fancy it. And that’s when he discovered, at long last, the second blanket.

Thus settled in their respective places, under their separate blankets, they both stared straight ahead as the sleighs moved off. And before her weary mind could grasp the threads of what she’d wanted to tell him, Claire was asleep.