Chapter Nine
As the winter sun began to peep over the hills, casting its first pale light upon her path, Dawn moved faster, running and sliding her way down the cliffside to the beach beneath the castle.
Her solitary walks did not normally take her in this direction, since the beach was so overlooked. But this particular morning, from her bedchamber window, she had glimpsed the earl scrambling over rocks and striding across the sand, and on impulse, she had hurried down after him.
She could no longer see him, so she supposed he must have climbed over the rocks in the direction of Blackhaven. The tide was too high to walk on the sand. But as she reached the bottom of the path, a figure bolted suddenly across the beach toward the sea and she halted in astonishment to watch.
The earl’s bare feet pounded in soft thuds on the sand. Dressed only in his shirt and some loose-fitting trousers–or even an undergarment, she could not tell for his speed, he splashed into the water, still running, then threw his whole body down with a shout of shock that was half-laughter.
Entranced, she watched from the foot of the cliff as he swam and flipped in the water. Once, he dipped his whole head under and emerged gasping, then swam back to shore. Water sprayed off him as he rose, sparkling in the early sunlight, streaming off his skimpy clothes in rivers. He began to run again, back toward the cliff. He must have been freezing cold.
She walked to meet him, a laughing insult forming on her lips. But the words vanished as, still running, he hauled the sodden shirt over his head and threw it on the ground beside a neat pile of dry clothes.
She stopped dead, her heart suddenly hammering, for she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life than this man’s naked chest rising and falling with his quickened breath. His pale skin seemed stretched tight over the cords of muscle. A scattering of damp hair on his broad chest tapered and vanished in a neat line inside his clinging trousers, which left little of his masculine shape to the imagination.
Her throat dried up. Butterflies in her stomach sank lower with dark, arousing heat. Worse, he had seen her.
“Dawn,” he said, blankly. “Where did you come from?”
It was an effort to pull herself together, but she did her best. “Up there, of course. I came to join you before I realized you were actually trying to kill yourself with cold.”
His lips quirked. His gaze held hers, and they didn’t look cold at all. He didn’t even seem to be embarrassed by his nakedness, though he must have seen its effect on her. More, he liked that effect.
Deliberately, he bent from the waist to pick up the towel he had left by his dry clothes. “You should have come in with me.” He began to rub the towel vigorously over his chest and shoulders. “Although that might have defeated the object.”
“What object?” she asked stupidly, trying to think of anything rather than how much she wanted to touch him, run her fingers over his shoulders and chest and that fine, tantalizing line of hair. Shocked at herself, she snapped her gaze back up to his face.
There was a profound sensuality in the curve of his lips. His turbulent eyes seemed to burn her.
“The object?” he repeated. “Cooling my ardor, of course.”
To her excitement, he took a step nearer. If only he hadn’t overwhelmed her so, she could have flirted, could have invited the intimacy she had always sought and which seemed likely now to engulf her.
“But I seem to have conjured you up to undo it all.”
“You would rather I was gone?” she managed.
“God no,” he said fervently.
Unable to resist, she raised her hand and placed her palm against his cold, damp chest. She wished she was not wearing gloves, but even so, she was sure she could feel an inner furnace beneath the icy surface of his skin. His hand closed over hers, pressing it over his thundering heart.
“Now,” he said huskily, “you should run.”
She swallowed, boldly meeting his gaze. “And if I don’t want to?”
He lowered his forehead to touch hers. His wet hair dripped onto her face. “Then I must.”
She counted the rapid beats of his heart, imagining they drummed in rhythm with hers. “You aren’t running,” she observed.
A warm breath of laughter skimmed her cheek. “I’m not running yet,” he corrected, straightening. As if he couldn’t help it, he swept her hand across his chest and then removed it.
She laughed, wishing she sounded more mocking than breathless. “Then I had better do it for you before you really do die of cold.”
She turned and walked away, taking her time. Part of her wanted him to call her back. Part of her wanted to turn and watch him. She began to climb up the path back toward the castle and a smile formed on her lips, because he was far from immune to her. He still wanted her, just as he had said that first night, and she…she was shaken in a rather delicious way by the intimacy of the scene below. She wondered if she could look him in the eye over luncheon.
The scrape of a boot on the path behind her made her jump and her gaze flew up to the earl’s. He smiled and fell into step beside her. They walked together in silence back up to the castle. Her heart ached and soared at the same time.
*
Between her lessons at Haven Hall and those at the castle, Dawn’s days were full. Nevertheless, she always found time to escape into the outdoors at some point, either alone or in company. She was happy to play running games with the girls and once, when she was wearing the old dress borrowed from Mrs. Benedict, she amused them by climbing to the top of a tree.
“However,” she added a touch guiltily as she swarmed and slid back down to the ground, “It is not ladylike and you should not do it. Not even you, Cousin Helen!”
Once, she had the pleasure of walking alone with the earl himself. It was a Sunday, and Serena had taken the girls to church. Dawn had chosen not to go, instead meaning to work on her reading and writing. But it was a beautiful winter day, frost glistening on the ground and on the bare trees, with a clear sky. She could not resist swinging the cloak about her and going out to feel the rare January sun on her face.
She had not gone far into the wood before she ran into Lord Braithwaite. As it often did, the memory of their strangely intimate encounter on the beach intruded. She wondered if he remembered it as frequently as she. If so, he gave no obvious sign.
“You’re not wearing your bonnet,” he observed. “Serena will scold you.”
“I have a hood,” she said defensively, “and the sun is so weak, I hardly need shaded from it. In any case, where is your hat?”
“I am the earl,” he mocked himself, “and may do as I like.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he fell into step beside her.
“Nowhere in particular. I thought I would clear my head and then go back to my wretched speech.”
“I thought I would clear mine,” she said guiltily, “and then return to my books.”
But in the end, they walked farther than either of them had intended, as far as the river winding down into the sea, and along its banks, before following another path up into the hills from where they could gaze over the castle and the town of Blackhaven.
“It will be dark soon,” he said at last. “And you must be starving.”
“It’s not my stomach that’s rumbling.”
He laughed. “I’m sure it isn’t ladylike to mention a gentleman’s stomach!”
“Then it shouldn’t draw attention to itself.”
“You’re right, of course, and I must hurry back to quell it. I expect we’ll be too late for tea.”
“You’re the earl and may do as you like,” she reminded him.
“I may be, but who will save your reputation from taking tea alone with me?”
“I’m sure the girls will happily take a second tea. Besides,” she pointed out. “I’m alone with you now.”
“But no one knows. That is the secret of avoiding social ruin.”
She glanced up at him, for there was a hint of derision in his mockery. “You sound as if you speak from experience. Who have you ruined?”
He gave a twisted smile. “No one, by the skin of my teeth! But there are so many ridiculous rules that imply we are no more than animals. My sister, Frances, almost came to grief in her first London season—several times—through innocence and folly rather than the corruption she would have been accused of. And my own mother dismissed Caroline—Mrs. Benedict—from her position as governess simply because the schoolroom door had blown closed while I was speaking to her.”
“And that is why she went to Haven Hall… Did you miss her?”
He shrugged impatiently. “The girls did. The point is, the rules dictate we are lustful animals unless we can prove otherwise. Why should I only be a gentleman if a door is open? That would not really make me much of a gentleman.”
“You are a rebel, desperate to break free of your bonds of tradition.”
“The bonds are not mine,” he said unexpectedly. “I would not be shunned from society, however many ladies I ruined, though a few mamas might look at me askance. It is the ladies who would pay the price.”
“I suppose every society has its rules, even mine. You are kind to care, but I would not.”
“You would not care for what? Social ruin?”
“Why should I care for the opinion of a set of vulgar-minded nobs whom I’ve never met?”
A breath of laughter escaped him. “Nobs is not a polite word,” he said, taking her hand to help her over the stream.
“Then I won’t say it again in your company.”
“You may say anything you like in my company, just not in anyone else’s.”
She took him at his word. “Then you are not in love with Mrs. Benedict?”
His jaw dropped. “In love with…of course I am not! Nor ever was. Nor, I might add, was she ever in love with me.”
“She is very pretty,” Dawn said accusingly. “Though so is Mrs. Grant.”
“I’m not in love with her either, before you ask. Or Miss Muir! Why this concern for my love life?”
“I was wondering why you are not married.”
He shrugged. “Because I have not so far chosen to be. I am twenty-six years old, not yet in my dotage.”
“You are a man,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you don’t go without female companions.”
His eyes, half startled, half amused, flew to hers. “I’m not a saint,” he admitted. “And I have no intention of discussing those matters any further!”
She smiled encouragingly. “Do you have to clear them out of your London house when your mother and sisters visit?”
He let out a snort of laughter. “With a shovel,” he assured her. “You must know it would hardly be proper to install one’s inamorata in the family home.”
“Where then?” she asked with interest.
“Oh, a discreet house on the outskirts somewhere. Kensington is popular for such purposes, I believe.”
“Is that where you keep yours?”
“You don’t know that I keep any,” he retorted.
She side-stepped that one. “Nor can I believe that your mother—who I gather is a somewhat forceful character—has not tried to match you with at least one very suitable lady.”
“Several,” he admitted with a quirk of his lips. “But then, I am quite forceful, too, in my own way.”
“I have noticed that. You never shout or argue much, but things are always done as you wish.”
“Not always,” he denied. “Just when it matters.”
“I can’t think why it matters to have me here pretending to be Eleanor Gardyn in disguise.”
He nudged her gently with his elbow. “You can’t gammon me either. I’m well aware you would not be here had you not wished to punish your father. You do not lack force of your own.”
She shrugged. “True. But I like being here. With you.”
“I like it, too.”
She hadn’t expected the admission, and in her distraction, she stumbled over the rocky ground. He caught her arm to prevent her fall, and suddenly they stood very close together. His eyes devoured her, lingering on her lips before returning with obvious determination to meet her gaze.
“I like it a little too well,” he said huskily, “if the truth be known.”
“Too well for what?” she whispered, tilting her head.
“Comfort. Gentlemanly conduct.” His head was bent, so close to hers that his breath stirred her lips.
Her heart drummed. “No one would see,” she pointed out. “So, it would not be ungentlemanly.”
His lips curved, fascinating her by their shape and texture. “Oh, it would.”
Her stomach fluttered. She could not breathe. She tilted her face the last fraction of an inch until her lower lip touched his, the faintest, slightest of caresses and yet it melted her. And then his finger pressed the corner of her mouth, separating them again.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “If I kiss you, I’ll never stop.”
“I could live with that.”
His breath heaved. “I couldn’t.” He straightened and walked on, dragging her with him, since he still held her by the arm. His grip eased, as if afraid of hurting her.
“Because of your forceful mama?” She meant it to tease, but she suspected it sounded too bitter for lightness.
“No. The force here is mine, and you’ll never know how much it took. Takes. Dawn, I want you to see the best as well as the worst of your new position, to be able to choose.”
“I have no new position except in pretense,” she retorted. “I am not your Eleanor Gardyn, whatever you think.”
“Neither of us know that.”
“You are so determined, you cannot see what I am in reality.”
“And you are determined not to see the possibilities. I understand why, a little. You’ve spent all your life trying to belong, you won’t give it up.”
“And if I did? If I went along with your possibilities? And then you found I’m exactly what I’ve always said I am? How easy would it be for me then to go back to my own people? How would I even live in that cottage I once asked you for and work for my living? I would be a discontented, over-educated gypsy with delusions of grandeur, rejected by my people and yours.”
For an instant, he stared at her, as though stricken. And then, unexpectedly, he dropped her arm and instead hugged her to his side. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve upset your whole life for a mere hope, an instinct. But know that I’ll never reject you, let alone leave you to fend for yourself. Whatever happens, you’ll have my protection. Even if you remain our long-lost cousin from America.”
Refusing to show that she was touched, she pushed his arm away. “Get that past your forceful mama,” she muttered.
“Oh, I will,” he said with quiet certainty. “Never doubt it.”
They walked on in silence for a little, until Dawn realized that she had won another admission of his attraction to her. The rest was merely getting to know each other, reaching a better understanding. And she could not doubt he had enjoyed the day as much as she. And so, she smiled up at the sky and pointed out the glorious colors of the setting sun, and things were easy between them once more.
Only as they finally approached the castle in the gathering dusk did she notice that his step had grown uneven.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, no, it’s an old injury. It will be better after I rest it.”
“What happened to you?”
“I broke my leg last spring, when my horse stepped in a rabbit hole. It mended well, but it still plays me up if I walk or ride too far.”
“I would never have guessed.” He had never before given the faintest hint of physical pain. Or perhaps she just hadn’t been looking closely enough, too stupidly concerned with his effect on her. And her lack of effect on him…
A crooked smile twisted his lips. “You would if you’d seen me confined to bed and then hobbling about complaining,” he said deprecatingly.
“The pain must have been dreadful,” she said with genuine sympathy. She had broken a toe once when she was a child and that had been agony enough.
He shrugged. “I didn’t mind, in the end. With forced inactivity, I had time to read a lot, and that is when I really got interested in politics. I returned to London and limped into the House every day.”
“And one day you will be Prime Minister,” she said, smiling.
He cast a mocking glance at her. “Still telling my fortune?”
“Only the bits I saw. It was all very fast.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“Why do you need evidence of my skills but not my identity?” she flashed.
He laughed. “I assure you, I need both.”
*
Two days before the long-awaited assembly ball, it snowed heavily, covering everything from the hills and the sea with bright, pristine whiteness. Dawn secretly hoped that the bad weather would keep Julius Gardyn away from Blackhaven for another week or so, just to extend her idyll with the earl and his family.
But when she walked into town with Serena and the girls that afternoon, her hopes were dashed. They had gone ostensibly to make some last-minute purchases before the ball, though in reality they had all wanted to “play” in the snow. A snowball fight en route had almost seen Dawn victorious, until all the girls had ganged up on her and she’d begged for mercy. Serena threw the last snowball before instantly demanding a truce and instructing everyone to brush the snow off their own clothes and each other’s backs, which was almost as amusing.
They arrived in town in high humor and were gazing in the hat shop window when Serena murmured, “There is Gardyn, entering the hotel with his mother.”
Of course, Dawn could not help looking. An elegant man, perhaps in his forties, with a tall beaver hat, was bowing an elderly lady into the hotel. She tottered past him with the sort of graceful frailty only ever achieved by the wealthy. The gentleman was about to follow when, no doubt sensing the scrutiny, he glanced up the street.
For no reason, Dawn shivered, as though ice radiated from him, and yet at this distance, she could not even make out the color, yet alone the warmth or coolness of his eyes.
He bowed, and Serena inclined her head distantly before returning her gaze to the shop window.
“I must send a note to Caroline,” Serena murmured. “I wonder if they know he is here?”
“Will they be at the ball, too?” Dawn asked.
“I believe they will.” Serena cast her a quick smile. “Caroline feels a vested interest in your debut. The Grants will be there, too. And Bernard, inevitably.”
They had begun teasing her about Bernard’s admiration since he had brought her his stepmother’s guitar.
“She has had no time to play since my little brother was born,” Bernard said. “And when I told her you played, she bade me bring it to you at once.”
While grateful for the kindness, Dawn could not help hoping the lady actually knew her guitar had been spirited away. But she was glad to have it and even got used to entertaining her hosts with it in the evenings.
“How on earth do you dance to music like that?” Maria asked once, in clear awe.
“I’d show you,” Dawn laughed. “Only there is no one to play for me!”
She caught the earl’s gaze upon her, only for an instant, but it was hot enough to catch at her breath, He wanted to see her dance. And suddenly, she ached to dance with him, not one of the intricate formal dances Mrs. Benedict had taught her, nor even the daring waltz, but the wilder courtship dances of her own people. She remembered only too clearly the insistent, almost primitive rhythms and the slow, sweet ache to be caught by her partner…and the disappointment when she was.
The earl would not disappoint, she thought with longing. Although she had difficulty picturing him in such a dance in the first place. It was the closeness she craved.
*
On the day of the ball, Colonel and Mrs. Benedict came for dinner first. Since the weather was so bad, no one liked the idea of them having to drive so far back to Haven Hall in the dark, and they were to stay the night at the castle.
Immediately after dinner, everyone repaired to their bedchambers to change once again, and Clarry dressed Dawn’s hair before helping her into the new ivory ballgown with its fine gold mesh overdress. Dawn was doubtfully inspecting the expanse of skin from her naked shoulders to the hint of cleavage, and Clarry was smiling with delight at her work, when Lady Serena sailed in, and came to an abrupt halt, staring at the glass.
“What is it?” Dawn asked nervously. “Does it not suit me after all? I did say at Madam Monique’s that my skin is too—”
“Your skin is beautiful,” Serena said impatiently. “Glowing. The whole look is so perfect that you will slay hearts from here to…” She broke off, frowning. “No, I was wrong. It is not quite perfect. Clarry, run to my chamber and ask Denny for the gold filigree set. Quickly!”
Dawn used the interval to admire Serena, enviably elegant and quite stunning in her yellow silk ballgown. Since they were alone for once, Dawn asked, “And are you still waiting?”
Serena clearly understood at once, for a quick, happy smile flitted across her face. “I show no sign of bleeding. I shall wait another week, I think, and then summon Dr. Lampton.”
“And tell Lord Tamar?”
“Not until I’ve seen the doctor,” Serena said firmly. “There are just too many babies around just now, what with Frances and now Gillie. I could just be wishing the whole thing.”
“I don’t think so,” Dawn said, regarding her. “There is a look about a newly-expectant mother.”
“Don’t,” Serena said quickly. “I don’t want to be disappointed. Even though I didn’t think I wanted a child so soon, it seems I do!”
Clarry rushed back into the room, panting, and proffered a box to Lady Serena, who set it on the dressing table and took from it a fine gold chain, from which dangled an intricate, gold filigree pendant in the shape of a rose bud.
Serena fastened the pendant around Dawn’s neck and added the matching earrings. Then, she clasped a bracelet about her right arm and stood back with satisfaction. “Now, you are perfect.”
Dawn swallowed. “I feel like someone else.”
“No. You are still you, in a very becoming style.”
“What—?” Dawn began, and broke off, shaking her head.
When they had left Clarry behind and were walking downstairs, Serena murmured. “Go on.”
“What if I am not Eleanor Gardyn?” Dawn blurted. “You are wasting your time and generosity on me.”
Serena shrugged. “I don’t consider it wasted, though I’ll be sorry if we’ve spoiled you for another life. I don’t think it matters since every time I see you I’m more convinced you are Eleanor.”
“I’m more likely to be her father’s by-blow,” Dawn said bluntly. “Or Julius’s.”
“Then that, too, must be addressed.” Serena said. “Only for God’s sake, don’t go around talking about by-blows!”
Dawn followed her into the drawing room, still smiling at the thought of outraging the feminine company at the ball. Then she became aware that Serena had moved to one side and paused, spreading both arms toward Dawn as though displaying her.
Inevitably, Dawn blushed, for everyone was gazing at her in silence. “Is staring not considered rude in polite circles?” she demanded.
“Yes, it is,” Braithwaite said, coming toward her with his hand held out. “I apologize for all of us. In my defense, I can only say, you look far too lovely.”
Her blush deepened, but, tilting her head defiantly, she gave him her hand. He bowed over it, just brushing her fingers with his lips. Even so, her skin tingled.
“It’s a complement,” he reminded her, straightening. “Don’t look so angry.”
Just in time, she saw the teasing laughter in his eyes. “I’m not angry. I’m taking it as my due and not troubling to thank you.”
“Have at him,” Colonel Benedict encouraged, amused, but she caught a look passing between the Tamars that disturbed her.
Was Lord Braithwaite flirting with her?
If so, it was no doubt to give her practice. He had made it clear there could be no real relationship between them. All the same, she thought she liked it, and had no objection to more. For the first time, she actually looked forward to the coming ball, not least to her dance with the earl.