Much to Verity’s regret, Lady Broadbent was more than thrilled by the prospect of her playing chaperone to Miss Snow. She claimed to have been feeling pangs of guilt over the fact that she spent most of her time at the town house. So this was the perfect solution. At least, for her.
But as far as Verity was concerned, it was far from perfect.
She enjoyed the time spent with Anna, experiencing the sights and sounds of London. But the problem was, the memories she was creating would forever include Longhurst. Which was the last thing she wanted.
Not only that, but it was hardly enjoyable to be present for every carriage ride and conversation that her new friend had with the man who’d once kissed the stuffing out of her.
Nevertheless, she persevered and kept her attention on all the fun she was having.
The opera was a feast for her senses . . . as long as she didn’t think about how breathtakingly handsome Magnus looked in yards of tailored black superfine, set off by a snow-white cravat against his swarthy skin.
The evening after that, the fireworks and music at Vauxhall were thrilling . . . as long as she chose to forget the moment when the sky had burst with light and color so bright that she caught sight of Magnus looking at her and not the display. It had made her stomach flip.
And yesterday’s outing to Gunter’s had been positively delicious . . . as long as she didn’t think about the way her knee had brushed against his beneath the table, more than once. She couldn’t even remember what flavor of ice cream she’d eaten.
What surprised her the most, however, was her unwarranted and unwanted fame.
She had feared that her last name would incite the scorn of society. But you give one compliment to a man on the quality of his toupee and, before you know it, suddenly you’re a wit and people take notice of you. Whether you want them to or not.
And she, most fervently, did not.
A chaperone wasn’t supposed to be surrounded by gentlemen. Sometimes they paid more attention to her than to her charge. It wasn’t out of any desire for courtship, of course. They were simply waiting for her next bold observation.
Some were rather persistent, lining up the fellows in their coterie to be given a proper set-down for their evening’s amusement. And when she politely declined, they had resorted to inviting her to dance.
Anna provided no assistance in this matter, but pestered her into accepting. And so, Verity did. Twice that evening.
Had she known that her continued foray into the realm of utter honesty would have such a consequence, she would have taken a vow of silence instead.
But the worst thing about being in London was Longhurst’s growing—or should she say, growling—irritation at her.
Lately, it seemed to have reached its zenith.
He’d concealed it much better in Addlewick. Or, perhaps, his ongoing silence was his way of making an effort. She wasn’t certain, but it was beginning to vex her.
Whenever he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, before they left to meet Miss Snow, his impatient gaze would rake over her from head to toe and he would say nothing. Not a single word. Not about her appearance, her punctuality or even the weather. He simply looked at her with those dark eyes, barely surrounded by a sliver of burning amber as if he wanted to throttle her.
And she felt like an utter fool.
Ever since he’d kissed her in the river and she’d kissed him by the tree, she had convinced herself that, whenever he looked capable of throttling, it was actually kissing he had on his mind.
Clearly, she’d been wrong. And their kiss was likely just as he’d said—a mistake.
All in all, she felt that throughout her entire visit to London, Longhurst was making a point to prove that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.
This belief was further cemented by the fact that he was looming like a dark, glowering cloud and growled whenever anyone dared to approach. Fortunately, Anna asked if he wouldn’t mind fetching her a glass of punch, leaving them to enjoy some of the evening.
Glad to have a moment alone with her friend, Verity looked out among the dancers. “The gowns are so much more vibrant than when I was first out. I’d only attended one ball, but everyone was dressed in the palest pastels. And our skirts did not have the volume to burst into bloom when we twirled.”
She swished her own deep burgundy skirts and grinned.
Anna did the same with her ruffled blue gown. “Then I am the cornflower to your rose. And it would be a shame if you did not dance the waltz. Wouldn’t you agree, Longhurst?”
Verity closed her eyes, muttering Drat! beneath her breath. He was supposed to be fetching punch. Whyever did he have to be so efficient? Couldn’t he have lingered at the refreshment table for the next hour or so? Now the comment made it seem as though she were begging for a partner.
“Indeed, I have no desire to dance. I was merely admiring the gowns,” she interjected. “Besides, the waltz should be yours. The two of you.”
She gestured to the pair of them and surreptitiously shook her head at Longhurst, silently warning, Don’t you dare play the gentleman.
Unfortunately, whatever ability he’d once had to read her thoughts, and she his, was gone. Because, in the next moment, he handed Miss Snow her glass of punch and set the other down on a nearby pedestal.
He inclined his head, his palm extended. “Miss Hartley, would you do me the honor?”
Damn it all to Hades! If there was one thing worse than waltzing with a man who despised you, it was having him goaded into it.
Left without a choice, she gave him her hand as the orchestra struck a chord that sent a tremor through her.
Then off they went. There was no hesitation or misstep this time. But it was still awful because her body fit into the frame of his like a hand to a favorite glove. If she were of a romantic nature like her mother, she might have issued a soft sigh or thought how perfectly they moved, turning together on the dance floor.
Thankfully, she was sensible enough to know that it was his skill alone, his command of every movement that gave her a sense of floating around the ballroom like a downy feather caught in a whirlwind.
It wasn’t romantic at all. Not in the least.
“Must you hold me so close?” she groused, trying not to enjoy the feeling of being in his arms again.
Though, it was almost impossible since her blood was fizzing like champagne in her veins and her lungs were filled with clouds. He was such an exceptional dancer, and they really did move well together. She hated it.
He wasn’t looking at her, but just above the braided twist of her hair, until she spoke. Then his gaze settled on hers and it was throttlingly dark. “This is the only way to save my toes.”
She scoffed. “It was one time and I was taken off guard.”
He pulled her a fraction closer, and dimly she wondered if he noticed her new gown or the way it clung to her torso as none of her older dresses had. Her corset was new as well, longer than the others she’d worn and with gusseted cups that lifted her breasts.
Yet, as his fingers flexed on the silk and his gaze dipped briefly to her bare shoulder, he said nothing of her appearance. He never did.
Well, except for that one time beside the river.
“Regardless,” he said, “it is a man’s duty to prepare for the worst.”
“Which is precisely what you tell yourself before you look in the mirror each morning.”
“Peering through my keyhole, are you? I’m not surprised. Everywhere I turn, you are always there. Never giving me a moment’s peace.”
“Me? I have been avoiding you like the plague.”
“If these past days speak of your efforts, then the black death is surely upon me.”
“As if I would wish to spend a single moment in your company when you treat me as though—” Hearing a catch in her voice, she broke off and averted her gaze. She refused to let him know that the daggers they’d been flinging at each other had hit the mark. “Oh, will this music ever end?”
And just then, it did.
She would wait to exhale with relief until after he was no longer at her side.
However, instead of returning her to Anna, he directed them through the open, linen-swathed doors leading to the terrace.
They weren’t alone. The cool evening air had attracted a handful of couples to stand at the balustrade and stare up at the stars, so it wasn’t at all scandalous. Additionally, the fact that she was a spinster and chaperone to his would-be fiancée would make any conversation between them draw little attention. It would likely be seen as a gentleman keeping a little old lady from slipping on the terrace stones.
But he walked with purpose. In fact, he didn’t stop until he led her to the far end and around the side of the house that was eclipsed in shadow.
Then her breath caught when he took her by the shoulders and his head bent.
Was he going to kiss her? Was that the reason his eyes were so—
“This game you are playing must stop here,” he said tersely.
She was confused by the low warning, and so was her body. His nearness made her heart quicken. Her bones softened, wanting to bend toward him. But his cold vehemence unsettled her stomach.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come now, Verity. We both know you are far too clever to act oblivious. And it is unsuitable for a chaperone to lure a swarm of men around her like bees to a honeypot.”
“Lure. How ridiculous you sound. You know very well I could do nothing of the sort.”
“Stop pretending you have no idea how captivating you are,” he snarled and continued as if he hadn’t just dissolved the ground from beneath her feet and stole the breath from her body. “I have a meeting with Mr. Snow at the end of the week to discuss my suit for his daughter. Do you think that will go in my favor with you constantly between us? Everywhere I turn, you are there. You’re in my house, in my carriage, in my—”
Longhurst broke off at a glance to his hands on her shoulders. His fingers flexed and, for the barest instant, she felt herself being drawn closer.
Then he released her.
Befuddled by what he’d said and what—she imagined—he’d almost done, she teetered back on her heels. Yet, somehow, she managed to stay upright. Which was good because he had turned away, his attention on the darkness where the torchlight did not reach.
His shoulders were stiff, his form unforgiving. She saw the struggle within him, tension vibrating from him in waves that nearly made the darker part of him shimmer.
This was her fault, she knew. If not for her lie, he would be betrothed by now.
That was what he’d wanted all along. He certainly didn’t need someone from a family he hated to interfere with his plans. And she had no doubt that he had considered every aspect of what a marriage to Anna would mean for himself, his family and for his bride.
Verity was in the way of all this. Not because she actually believed he thought she was beautiful. She had enough experience to the contrary to refute such a declaration made in the heat of the moment. No, indeed. He was just under a great deal of strain and—as he’d said—she was between him and what he wanted. Obviously, the words had been meant as an accusation, more cannon fodder for their constant argument.
Though, even with that understanding, she had to fight the urge to go to his side, to soothe him, to smooth her hands down the back of his nape and over his brow.
Somewhere along the way, she’d developed a fondness for this ill-tempered duke. I am such an idiot.
She expelled a heavy breath and clasped her hands. “I’ll inform Anna that I will no longer be her chaperone, but I won’t mention our conversation.”
He nodded once. “And I’ll spend more time at my club during the day.”
“You’re hardly home as it is.”
“Home? It is not your home, Miss Hartley. Never forget that.”
She swallowed thickly, feeling the strain of all this animosity collect in the back of her throat and sting the corners of her eyes. “Understood.”
He escorted her back into the ballroom, just as a new dance was beginning.
Strange, but it had seemed as if a lifetime had flashed by out on the terrace. In truth, it was only a few minutes. And as they reached Anna’s side, he bowed and asked her to dance. As if Verity wasn’t even there.
Unable to watch them together, she slipped away to the retiring room, feeling fragile and in need of putting herself together.
Unfortunately, that would have to wait. Because the very last person she wanted to see found her just as she mounted the final stair and entered the corridor. The Tick.
This wasn’t the first time they’d been invited to the same party. In fact, it seemed they were always forced to acknowledge each other with a tight smile.
Nell Hunnicutt, dressed in serpent green, sneered in her usual sour manner. “Why, if it isn’t my old friend, Miss Hartley.”
“Miss Hunnicutt,” she said noticing the inflection, even above the din of the orchestra playing directly below. But she refused to take the bait.
When she continued down the corridor, Nell snared her arm just as a maidservant passed by.
Verity would have jerked away but didn’t want to make a scene. She had already caused enough of those to last a lifetime.
“I saw your waltz with the duke,” the Tick said. “It was rather pathetic the way you clung to him, my dear. Is that why you became Miss Snow’s friend, so that you could spend more time mooning over him? I certainly hope you don’t actually think that you could ever compete with an heiress when you are just a poor, ill-bred country spinster with nothing to offer.”
The insecurities that Verity had fought to control for most of her life suddenly seemed as if they’d jumped out of a locked trunk and were now parading naked around for all to see. But she refused to give Nell the satisfaction of knowing that she’d struck her target.
Instead, she drew in a slow, steadying breath and squared her shoulders. “Don’t look now, but you are very close to being a country spinster yourself. And I have to wonder where all your admirers have gone. Wasn’t it a knight, a viscount and a marquess all vying for your hand? What happened? Did they all go on holiday together?”
The Tick’s eyes thinned with pure malice as she advanced on her, forcing Verity to take a step back. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but everyone is laughing at you. The most amusing part of it all is that you actually believe these members of the haute ton think you’re a clever wit and that’s why they are paying attention to you. And there you are, smiling through it all, completely oblivious.”
It wasn’t true. She told herself that it wasn’t true. And yet, it was the word oblivious—the same word that Longhurst had just used a moment ago—that made her second-guess herself.
She wasn’t even aware that Nell had backed her into a doorway until she was shoved.
Shocked, Verity stumbled back on a gasp. Then she tripped over something on the floor and fell flat on her bottom.
Stunned and smarting, she was about to unleash her outrage . . . just as a wealth of linens toppled down over her head.
No. Not a closet, she thought, batting the fabrics away.
She tried to right herself and scramble to her feet, but her limbs turned sluggish as cold dread sluiced through her veins.
When she heard the creak of the hinges, she looked up in time to see a malicious gleam in Nell’s eyes. She swallowed thickly and tried to keep the rising panic from her voice. “Don’t do this. Please. I’m beg—”
The door closed. And there was a tittering laugh on the other side. “Enjoy the rest of the ball, my dear.”
Blindly, Verity scratched at the door, clawing at the handle just as the key turned in the lock.
Oh, how she hated closets. Her lungs cinched tight, making it hard to breathe.
“You’re not going to panic, Verity,” she said to herself, her voice frayed and panting, barely audible even to her own ears. “You’re going to . . . knock on the door and that maidservant will come by . . . eventually . . . and let you out. There’s nothing to be . . . afraid of.”
And yet, as she knocked and knocked, rapping on the door until her knuckles ached, no one came. All she could hear was the swell of the music below as the orchestra played a lively country dance.
“Those aren’t screams,” she told herself. “Those are only violins.”
But even though she was trying to be brave, the darkness threatened to close in on her, robbing her of rational thought. Suffocating her.
Then a sharp, haunting sound pierced the air. She was sure it wasn’t just the violins.
The sound reminded her of the day, long ago, when all she could do was listen to her sister’s screams on the other side of the door. And in that moment, she knew that the nightmare had won.