“Not at all! I find the country very pleasant, if you hadn’t noticed.” As she spoke the words, she realized they were true. She’d been enjoying her time at Darton Hall a great deal: putting her organizational talents—and notebook—to good use, riding almost every day, bantering with Lord Darton… All of it had been deeply satisfying in a way she was almost afraid to identify.
Something had changed in her, but she wasn’t ready to consider it too closely.Wait, her mind said.Wait until after Christmas. Once she was back in London, everything would become clear.
So, she sipped her punch and caught her breath, and when the orchestra started up with a waltz, she gladly agreed to dance with the duke.
He was, as it turned out, quite an accomplished dancer even under the challenging conditions of a crowded floor packed with less-than-practiced dancers. He held her firmly, yet not too tightly, at a proper distance—except when he was required to pull her closer to avoid collisions with neighboring couples.
“My apologies,” he murmured each time, until she finally tired of his politeness.
“Stop apologizing,” she said, the next time he gathered her against him. “It’s quite all right.”
It was, she had to admit, more that all right. Little flickers of sensation went through her whenever their bodies brushed together, as though he were a wind and she a birch tree quaking at his nearness. When the dance ended, she was sorry to part.
“Will you dance with me again?” she asked, gazing into his eyes and knowing she was being quite forward.
He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it and looked past her, his expression going hard. Without turning, she knew that his brother had come up behind her.
“Do spare Miss Randall another turn in your arms,” Lord Christopher said, then smiled at Catherine when she turned to face him, as though they were sharing a joke at the duke’s expense. “I have arrived to save you, milady.”
For a moment she considered giving him the cut direct. Not yet, though. She wanted to tell him precisely what she thought of his treatment of his brother.
“By all means,” Lord Darton said, taking a step back. “Don’t let me spoil your evening.”
She frowned at him, wishing she could shake some sense into the man. “It’s not spoiled in the least.”
“Not since I’m here.” Lord Christopher scooped up her gloved hand and pressed a kiss upon the back.
She pulled out of his grasp, but when she looked up, the duke was gone.
“I’m sorry I was tardy in rescuing you from my stick of a brother,” Lord Christopher said as the next dance began to form upon the floor. “What a killjoy he’s become.”
She met his gaze, and for the first time noticed that the spark of mirth in his eyes seemed a bit forced. Perhaps he and his brother were like magnets, obliged by nature to push against one another through no fault of their own. But, unlike magnets, they were capable of changing. She hoped.
“I confess, I’m not in the mood to dance at the moment,” she said. “But might I speak freely, milord?”
“You’re free to complain to me about Lord Darton any time you wish, my dear.” He drew her away from the dance floor and toward the bank of windows where the candle flames shone, doubling their reflections in the glass. “You’ll find me a sympathetic listener. Is it my brother’s dreadfully boring way of speaking? Or perhaps the oh-so-proper -”
“It is nothing of the sort.” Her voice emerged too fiercely, and she attempted to modulate it. “It’s the way you treat him so dreadfully.”
Lord Christopher drew back as if she’d slapped him, his smile slipping. He blinked at her twice, then he pasted it back on. “Ha, ha. You’re having a joke at my expense. But surely you can see that he’s the dreadful one, not me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He is not dreadful. Lord Darton is perhaps overly concerned with propriety, and overburdenedwith his duties. But at heart he is a good man and means well. Sadly, I cannot say the same of you.”
His expression hardened and he leaned forward. Catherine took a step back, knocking against a candelabra. She whirled to catch it, but it tipped, the flames brushing the inner draperies. The sheer material caught fire in an instant.
Oh no! This was all her fault.
She hastily bent and removed her slipper, then began beating at the blazing curtains in an attempt to extinguish the flames. She was dimly aware of Lord Christopher bellowing “Fire!” and a confusion of shouting and movement throughout the Assembly Rooms.
The flames had run up the length of the draperies and spread to the next ones over. Catherine followed, still attempting to quash the flames. If only she could halt the fire! Some of the draperies would be ruined, but surely, if she were more vigorous in her defense…
Smoke billowed around her, and she bent over, coughing. When she straightened, eyes stinging, she realized the rooms were Deserted. Empty of everything except the acrid smoke threatening to overwhelm her.
Shallow breaths, she told herself, crouching down in search of clearer air. If she crawled, certainly she could make it to the doors. Though they seemed strangely distant…
CHAPTER 7
Philip watchedhis brother lead Catherine away, their heads close together in conversation, and clenched his fists in useless frustration. He could never compete with his charming, feckless brother, and he’d been an idiot to even try. If Christopher had decided to court Miss Randall, then she was lost to him.
