Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“ G wen, I’ve wonderful news!” Gwen’s mother swept into the drawing room with a broad grin and excitement dancing in her eyes. “I’ve hired a dancing master at last. He will be here shortly.”

Setting her book in her lap, Gwen blinked at her mother. “You’ve hired a dancing master since this morning, and he’s due any time?” How was that possible?

“I offered him the position and asked if he could start immediately. He just sent a note saying he could be here at two.”

But Gwen had an appointment with Somerton at three!

Gwen’s mother regarded her with concern. “Is something amiss?”

“I was going to call on Tamsin this afternoon, but I can do that after.” She closed her book and stood. “I suppose I should ready myself for the dancing master.”

“You needn’t sound as if you’re marching to the gallows,” her mother said wryly.

“No, especially when it’s the dancing master who should probably feel that way,” Gwen responded with a laugh.

Her mother’s mouth tipped into a slight frown. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things. Overall, your dancing is much improved. The other night at the Phoenix Club, your waltz with Lord Somerton looked exceptional.”

Gwen wanted to say, All credit to Lord Somerton , but did not. “I have been trying.”

“Of course you have, dear.” Her mother smiled sympathetically. “And this dancing master will be the final step in your mastery. He has worked with a great many young ladies. Indeed, he’s highly sought after. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to secure him.”

That usually meant he was above sixty years of age, French, and smelled of cheese. That had been two of Gwen’s past three instructors. “I look forward to meeting him,” she said gamely. She would do anything to please her mother, including take lessons from a hundred aging French gentlemen who enjoyed their fair share of livarot.

“Go and fetch your dancing slippers, and I’ll ensure Mr. Tremblay is shown here to the drawing room.”

“He is not French?” Gwen’s other instructors had all been “monsieur.”

“His family was, yes, but he was born here and considers himself an Englishman, apparently.”

Lake came into the drawing room. “Mrs. Price, the new dancing master has arrived.”

“I’d best hurry,” Gwen said, picking up her book and rushing upstairs to her bedchamber.

Not five minutes later, she returned to the drawing room, where her mother stood with Mr. Tremblay. Not only was he not French, he wasn’t old either. Gwen would judge him to be above thirty, but not by much.

And my goodness, but he was handsome. With shining golden hair and pale, almost crystalline, blue eyes, he looked like a portrait of some lovesick girl’s fantasy. Or a sculpture, for his angled cheekbones, full lips, and cleft chin were most appealing. And his form was perfect for dancing—wide shoulders, narrow waist, and long, athletic legs. It was no wonder he was in high demand. Gwen wondered if he was any good at dancing at all, or if that even mattered to his students.

It mattered to her, of course, because she wanted her mother to be proud of her accomplishments. She would work doubly hard with Mr. Tremblay, and not because he was perhaps the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.

More attractive than Somerton?

The question flashed in her mind. Had she thought him the best-looking man she’d ever seen? He certainly could be. He was the sort of man who, when he regarded you, you hoped everyone around noticed his attention.

Gwen realized she’d especially liked that over the past week during their faux almost courtship. Particularly at the Phoenix Club ball. To be his queen had been nothing short of exhilarating.

“Good afternoon, Miss Price,” Mr. Tremblay said with a perfect bow. “I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.” His smile dazzled her, and Gwen didn’t think she could look away.

She dipped a curtsey. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tremblay.”

“Allow me to present my musical assistant, Mr. Nott. He will play the harpsichord or pianoforte—whichever you have.”

“The pianoforte is just there.” Mama indicated the instrument set in the opposite corner of the room from the doorway. “I’ll observe.” She picked up a copy of La Belle Assemblée from a table and sat in a chair near one of the three windows that looked down on Grosvenor Street.

“Shall we begin with the quadrille?” Mr. Tremblay asked.

“I haven’t danced that yet,” Gwen said. It was new this Season and quite the rage.

He grinned, and again Gwen was struck by his masculine beauty. “Then I have arrived just in time to save you from disgrace.” His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were flirting.

“That is good news for me, then.”

Mr. Nott, a small man with a fine bone structure and dark, wiry hair, went to the pianoforte. He readjusted his spectacles on his nose, then arranged his music. He looked toward Mr. Tremblay, presumably waiting for his signal to begin.

“I find the best way to learn a dance is for me to stand behind you and guide you through the movements. We’ll do that a few times, and then, depending on how well you’re learning the steps, we’ll progress to me partnering you.”

Gwen nodded, appreciating him describing what they would do. She found this part interesting—the method of teaching and learning. It reminded her of how she approached her lessons with Somerton. It was important to determine how best someone might glean what they needed to know. And she’d ascertained, just from the short time she’d spent with the viscount, that everyone learned differently.

Mr. Tremblay pushed the settee out of the way to give them more room then came to stand behind Gwen. He put his hands on her waist without any warning, and she jumped. “Are you ticklish?” he asked with a laugh.

“Perhaps.” She was, but it was his surprising touch that had provoked her reaction.

“Begin, Mr. Nott,” Mr. Tremblay instructed. Then he spoke in a flurry, his hands guiding her as they apparently danced the quadrille. To Gwen, it was a hopelessly confusing mash of nonsense.

She found it very hard to concentrate. Perhaps because Mr. Tremblay’s mouth was very near her ear. She could feel his proximity as much as hear it. And then there were his hands. They moved about her abdomen, pressing on her rib cage so that his fingers lightly grazed the underside of her breast. Then they slid down to her thigh, as he directed her leg movements. As he brought his hand back up, his touch was like a caress over her hip.

Gwen did not like it.

And while he did not smell of cheese, he did carry a rather strong scent of sandalwood and bergamot, as if he’d doused himself in it before coming into the house. Had he not bathed in some time? Or did he simply like to ensure he had a pleasing smell?

Gwen began to think Mr. Tremblay was a study in excess. Even his clothing was too much—from his bright green-and-blue-striped waistcoat to the large, jeweled pin sparkling in his frothy, overwrought cravat.

She stepped on his foot, and he at last released her. Though she hadn’t done it on purpose, she now knew how to get him to stop handling her. Mr. Nott stopped playing.

“My apologies, Mr. Tremblay,” she murmured. “I am not the fastest learner when it comes to dancing.” She wondered if she could ask Somerton to teach her. As her mother had pointed out, he’d somehow made her look good waltzing.

“Quite all right, Miss Price. You are here to learn. Let us begin anew.”

Gwen hesitated, as she didn’t particularly want his hands on her in the manner he was using. But what if it helped? If Gwen could master the quadrille, her mother would be thrilled.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself as he clasped her waist. By the end of the lesson, she was only marginally closer to dancing the quadrille, and she’d managed to step on his toes four times practicing the waltz. Meanwhile, her jaw ached from clenching it as she’d endured his physical direction.

After arranging their next lesson for later in the week, he departed with his musician. Gwen let herself sag with relief, but then realized it was now three and she was late for her appointment with Somerton.

“You look tired, dear,” her mother said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t visit your friend today. Just send a note.”

“I’m fine, Mama. Although, I’m not sure Mr. Tremblay is the right dancing master for me. That was rather intense.”

“He seems very dedicated. You are likely overwhelmed because he introduced a new dance. Perhaps next time, we’ll tell him to just focus on the reel and cotillion.” She gave Gwen an encouraging smile. “Let’s give him one more chance, at least. It’s not as if we have a great deal of choice, and he is in high demand.”

Gwen didn’t want to argue with her, both because she wanted to please her mother and because she was already late. “All right. I must be off.” The driver had likely been waiting with the gig for a quarter hour.

“Before you go, I wanted to ask about the callers who were here on Saturday. Have you given more thought as to who might have piqued your interest?” Her mother watched her expectantly.

“Not yet. I liked them all.” They were all gentlemen who enjoyed more than inane conversation, which made them more than acceptable. “I just need to become better acquainted with them.”

“Of course. I must say, I’m relieved Lord Somerton isn’t under consideration. While it was quite fortuitous to have his attention, I am not sure he would have been the best match. Because of his reputation,” she added. “I only want you to have a happy, successful marriage.”

Gwen knew her parents had fallen in love, and her mother wanted that for Gwen. She also wanted Gwen’s marriage to be highly regarded. It wasn’t that she was pushing Gwen toward a title, but a gentleman with an excellent reputation and, if possible, a decent amount of wealth. She wanted love, comfort, and security for her daughter, and how could Gwen argue with that? So long as he wasn’t a rogue, Gwen would be agreeable.

Finally able to extricate herself, Gwen dashed upstairs to change her shoes and fetch her hat and gloves. Thankfully, Tamsin’s house wasn’t far, which was the only reason her mother allowed her to go alone in the gig, and Gwen arrived quickly. Still, she was exceedingly tardy. She hoped she and Somerton could still have an hour so they wouldn’t lose any of their precious time together.

L azarus was beginning to grow concerned. He couldn’t imagine why Miss Price would be so late. And Tamsin didn’t know either. Droxford was working in his study, while Lazarus was in the library with his cousin.

“I hope nothing is amiss,” Tamsin said from the settee, her brow gently creased.

Could she have forgotten? Lazarus couldn’t see that happening.

At last, Miss Price burst into the room, her cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”

Tamsin stood. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. I had a lesson with a new dancing master. Mama was able to find someone to take me on, and she asked him to start immediately. My apologies.” She looked to Lazarus with a faint grimace.

“I’m only pleased to see you are well.” Lazarus had been genuinely worried.

Miss Price looked from Lazarus to Tamsin. “Can we still have an hour, or will that intrude on everyone’s plans?”

“It’s fine by me,” Tamsin said. “I’ve correspondence to attend to.” She smiled at them, then departed the library.

“And you?” Miss Price asked, facing Lazarus.

“I have an hour.” He could take the rest of the day and night, but he’d get to that when he told her about the literary salon. He’d received confirmation from Jo that they were indeed invited to attend this evening.

But first, he needed to talk to her about their ruse.

“I wanted to speak with you about a few matters before we begin our lesson,” he said.

She deposited her bag on the table and removed her gloves. “This sounds serious.”

“Part of it is, I suppose.” He smiled to put her at ease. It wasn’t bad news. On the contrary, it was a marker of their success. “Since things are going so well for you on the Marriage Mart, I think it’s best if we put an end to our public scheme.”

Setting her gloves on the table, she removed her hat next. She smoothed a few stray locks behind her ear. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve paid a good amount of attention to you, and the Phoenix Club ball has provoked deeper speculation as to whether we will make a match. I don’t want to deter other gentlemen from seeking to court you, and I’m afraid any perceived attachment between us will keep some of them away.”

She rested her hand on the back of the chair. “I suppose I can’t argue with that reasoning. I did speak with one of my callers from Saturday after church yesterday.”

Despite the stab of jealousy cleaving into his chest, Lazarus summoned a smile. “That’s wonderful. Exactly what we were working toward. Then yes, I think it’s time we call a halt to our faux almost courtship or however you would describe it. I confess, it worked more quickly than I anticipated.” Much to his chagrin.

“What will we do? You’ll just stop paying attention to me?”

“No, as that won’t help you either. You must tell people that you’ve decided we wouldn’t suit. I’m too much of a rake for your tastes.”

Her eyes rounded slightly. “Well, that’s not very charitable of me to say. Can’t I just say we don’t suit?”

Lazarus shook his head. “I want it to be clear that this is your decision. And don’t worry about me or my reputation.” He chuckled. “I’ll survive.”

“Yes, I suppose you will,” she murmured. “It’s not terribly fair, is it?”

“Because a woman would not survive such a reputation.” He pressed his lips together. “No, it isn’t fair.”

She frowned at him. “I still don’t like it. I would rather say I decided we wouldn’t suit.”

“You could, but referencing my already known and widely accepted reputation won’t cause anyone to think twice. Indeed, they’ll applaud you for your good sense.”

Taking her hand from the chair, she moved toward him, her sprigged skirts swaying. “It feels as though I’ll be disparaging you, and I hate to do that.”

Lazarus could easily have lost himself in the dark warmth of her gaze. “You must. And it’s not as if it isn’t true .” He waggled his brows at her, offering his most wolfish grin. “I am a rake.”

Miss Price sniffed. “You’ve behaved with nothing but decorum and propriety with me. I do wonder if you are as much of a rogue as people say.”

He fixed her with a heavy stare. As much as he enjoyed her kind thoughts about him, she had to accept who he was. “I am every bit that rogue,” he stated firmly. “If you must know, I’ve simply been on my best behavior with you. Don’t disillusion yourself about who I really am. If you were not my friend’s sister or a young lady I’ve agreed to help, I would have stolen a half dozen kisses—and perhaps more—by now.” Indeed, he was at this moment contemplating the contour of her lips and the curve of her hip.

Her nostrils flared, and her lips parted. The pink in her cheeks had faded since her arrival, but now reappeared. “I didn’t realize.”

“Now you do.” It occurred to him that he wasn’t laying the groundwork very well for his next topic. Would she agree to attend the literary salon with him now knowing he was a dastardly rogue? “But be assured I would never overstep with you. You can trust me.”

“I’ve always known that,” she said without pause.

“Good. Because I’ve something else to share, and this is much more delightful.” His lips curved up.

She smiled in return, her eyes dancing. “Do tell me.”

“I’ve secured an invitation to a literary salon this evening being given by Mrs. Davenport.”

A surprised but clearly elated gasp leapt from her lips. “Her grandmother was one of the original members of the Blue Stockings Society.”

Lazarus had no idea what that was, but delighted in her excitement. “I take it that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, yes! This is wonderful! But how can I go? My mother is already engaged this evening.”

“I will take you. The invitation is mine, and I may bring a guest.”

Her features fell. “Surely I can’t just go with you.”

He laughed softy. “Of course not. You must wear a disguise. I thought you could be my great-aunt. She lives outside Bath and could be ‘visiting’ me. She adores literary discussion, you see, but doesn’t like to go out much because her face is quite marked by having the pox as a child.”

“Is that true?” Miss Price asked incredulously.

“God, no. Except the part about not going out much. But that is because, generally speaking, she doesn’t like people.”

“Oh.” She giggled. “So no one will suspect I’m not her?”

“No one who will be there even knows she exists. You will need a thick veil. Can you manage that?”

She nodded. “And gloves, of course. I’ll be sure to wear a gown that comes to my neck.”

“Very smart. Can’t have any of your youthful, glowing skin showing.” Why had he described that? That hadn’t been at all necessary. It really was taking effort not to allow his mind to travel a wayward path with her.

Her lips twisted into a slight pout. “But how do I leave my house? It’s true my parents will be at a dinner party, but the servants will know I’ve left.”

“Can you say you’re going somewhere with Tamsin as your chaperone?” Having a friend who was married was deuced convenient—for young ladies. Men such as Lazarus could go anywhere at any time with anyone. One’s choices on those details might cause gossip, but to simply leave the house and go for a walk was not scrutinized. It wasn’t really fair.

“I can do that,” Miss Price said with a nod. “I’ll say we’re going to a musicale. I suppose I should check with Tamsin to make sure she isn’t going to show up at the same dinner as my parents.” She laughed. “Though, that seems highly unlikely.”

“Excellent. I’ll pick you up then.”

Gwen sucked in a breath, but her eyes were glowing with anticipation. “I feel so scandalous,” she whispered.

“All so you can simply enjoy a night of literary discussion. I’m sorry we must take such extreme measures. If you enjoy yourself, perhaps in future, Tamsin could actually accompany you.” Lazarus would ask Jo to coordinate that invitation as she’d done this one.

“I’ve no doubt this will be the most exciting event I’ve attended all Season.” Her giddiness was palpable. “But will you enjoy it too?”

He would, if only because he was watching her. “I will. I may not have read as much as you, but I hope to change that. It isn’t that I don’t like literature.”

Her features creased, and she moved closer to him. “I know. That was terrible of me to ask. We should probably get to our reading lesson. I was already so late, and now we’ve spent a great deal of time talking.”

Lazarus could have spent the entire time they had together talking. But he had an objective, and there was no knowing how long they’d be able to continue meeting like this.

“One last thing,” he said. “You’ll need to make sure you sound older when you speak tonight.”

“Perhaps I should just be quiet.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that would be satisfying for you.” He laughed. “You finally attend a literary salon, and you’re just going to sit silently?”

She laughed as she moved toward the table. “You have come to know me quite well.”

Yes, he had, and he would be sorry when he didn’t know her any longer. Because at some point, their association would end entirely. It had already been halved. Or would be anyway.

Lazarus would treasure what time they had left together, for he’d come to regard her as a singular person. Though they’d only had two lessons so far, she’d had a great impact on his life, and he would be eternally grateful.