The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (10 page)

“You may do as you please. I shall apply my imagination to our rehearsals.”

But as they finally ceased their teasing and began to play, she realized what she had said wasn’t entirely true. Even as she poured herself into the music, some small part of her lingered on the baron and their exchange the previous evening. His vulnerability, that small part of him that he hid beneath his normally brusque manner, called to her. It evoked a strange tenderness toward him that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with. She pictured his haunted eyes and silvery scars as they had looked in the moonlight, and her heart twisted a bit.

There was much more to the man than she had ever imagined, a depth she wouldn’t have guessed before last night. As she closed her eyes and listened to the music he so disliked filling the air around her, she didn’t feel any of the resentment toward him she had in the past. Instead, she felt a measure of sympathy. And curiosity.

Desire, even.

And above it all, a passion to know more about the man she had glimpsed last night.

“W
ell, I’ll be damned. Is that you, Danby, old boy?”

Hugh smiled as Lord Derington pounded him soundly on the shoulder with one meaty hand. “Indeed it is, old friend. It’s been too long.”

“So it has, so it has. Cambridge was a long way off. Lifetime, really.” Dering waved for Hugh to take a chair in the masculine den that served as his study.

“Perhaps two,” Hugh agreed. He chose one of the dark leather club chairs grouped around a marble-topped round table. All the furniture seemed slightly oversized, but given Dering’s six-foot-three height and impressively broad frame, it certainly made sense.

At the sideboard the viscount splashed some liquid from a stout crystal decanter into two glasses. “A drink for old times,” he said, handing one to Hugh before settling into the opposite chair. It creaked ominously beneath his weight, though Dering seemed unconcerned. Despite his elegant dress and neatly combed black hair, the man was an ox, and he was probably used to such things. “Glad to see you returned to Britain’s bosom alive and intact—for the most part, eh? I imagine women find that rakish scar quite appealing.”

Alive? Yes. Intact? Hugh almost laughed. If only that were the case. But at that exact moment, he was feeling remarkably well, so he just smiled and nodded. “Of course. Can’t get a moment’s peace, what with all the attention.” Eager to move on from the topic, he said, “How is your father? I still think the army could have used a shot like him, earl or not.”

Dering chuckled good-naturedly. “Yes, he always was the bane of birds everywhere. Pheasants and grouse alike quiver when they see him coming their way. I’m happy to report that he is quite well, summering in Wales at the moment. Speaking of family, damn shame about your brother, old man. Never met him, but anyone good enough for Felicity must be worth his salt.”

“He was. And thank you. I miss him greatly.”

It had been a relief to discover Hugh actually knew the friend Felicity had written in order to procure an invitation. Not that he was surprised. He doubted the man had ever met a stranger in his life. Dering knew half of England in one way or another. When the viscount’s letter arrived, Hugh actually found himself looking forward to the dinner. He had lost contact with the man, along with most of his other acquaintances, after the war. Retreating to his tiny seaside home at the very tip of England hadn’t been conducive to entertaining. Nor had his injury.

Dering leaned back and propped his ankle on his knee. “I’m glad for the baby. New life in the face of death makes all the difference.” His normally booming voice was quiet for once, and Hugh wondered exactly how well he related to such a statement. But Dering quickly recovered, offering a broad smile. “I really must remember to call you Cadgwith now.”

The name still didn’t quite feel right, despite how he tried to embrace it. It was like an ill-fitting shirt, uncomfortable no matter how one tugged and pulled. “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” he replied as lightly as he could manage.

“Lord Cadgwith suits you, really. You’ve always been the in-control, exacting type. I’m sure it served you well as a captain, and it will do so beautifully as a baron. Now, then,” he said, sitting forward and lifting his glass. “Let us finish our brandy before the others arrive. We may need it to sustain us through the party tonight.”

Hugh smiled and nodded, happy to do just that. It had been years since he had partaken of spirits for enjoyment and not to deaden the pain. He had slept remarkably well last night and had found perfect relaxation at the Baths that morning. The water still tasted like horse piss, but at least now he was convinced it was starting to help. The limberness of his neck was encouraging, and his normal pain at the base of his skull was actually mild enough as to be ignored.

A half hour later, he was still enjoying the warmth the brandy had brought when the first wave of guests arrived. The dark-haired girl from his neighbor’s trio was one of the first to walk in the door. His hopes for remaining detached were dashed when she made a beeline for him after greeting their host.

“Why, Lord Cadgwith, how lovely to see you,” she said, her warm smile reaching her dark eyes. “Allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Wembley. Mama, Baron Cadgwith is Miss Effington’s neighbor for the summer.”

The older woman was as short as her daughter but quite a bit rounder. Her eyes immediately lit up at the word
baron
. So, she was one of
those
mothers.

“How do you do?” he asked politely, careful not to show too much enthusiasm.

“Oh, quite well, my lord, as I hope you are. My, Sophie,” she said, linking elbows with the girl, “I don’t know how you could have failed to mention your introduction to Lord Cadgwith. Such a
notable
acquaintance.”

And that, exactly, was one of the reasons he had dreaded inheriting the damn title. He wondered if she had actually noted his face, or only saw the word
baron
written across his forehead. Actually, she had probably already memorized his every feature—the better to recognize him later.

The girl seemed unperturbed at her mother’s admonishment. “Oh, it had happened so fast. He was walking by while Miss Bradford and I were leaving, and, goodness, was it hot that day. We hadn’t spoken for a moment when we all parted ways before the rain started again.”

It was remarkable how many words she could fit into such a short amount of time. When she looked at him expectantly, he cleared his throat.

“Yes, it was a brief encounter,” he murmured, glancing across the room for some form of escape. At that exact moment, Miss Effington entered the room, her grandmother at her side. He stood a little straighter, watching as his young neighbor greeted Dering warmly. Very warmly. Did the two have an acquaintanceship?

She looked around as her grandmother said something to their host. Charity’s gaze caught on his, and whatever he had been thinking abruptly fell from his mind. Even from the distance separating them, he could see the subtle rise of her chest as she drew in a lungful of air. Licking her lips, she gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment before looking away.

He pressed his own lips together, not sure what to make of the moment of awareness between them. It was the second instance he had felt such a connection between them, brief though each time was.

“Well,” Mrs. Wembley said, drawing his attention back to her. “We shall have to remedy that, won’t we? We have all the time we wish to get to know each other. Is this your first visit to Bath?”

All the time they wished? The woman knew how to stake a claim. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. Well, not
all
of it. He didn’t want her to feel encouraged to keep him pinned down for the duration.

“How nice. Do tell us all about your plans for the summer. How are you tolerating this unusual hot weather?”

He concentrated on his peripheral vision, keeping Charity just in view. “Er, nothing overly exciting. The heat is tolerable enough. I wonder, would you excuse me for a moment? I see Lady Effington has arrived, and I have something I need to ask her before I forget.” He smiled and gave a brief nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wembley, and to see you again, Miss Wembley.”

Sophie broke out into a rather delighted grin, while her mother looked momentarily confused. He took advantage of her hesitation and dashed toward the front of the room.

It appeared that Charity’s attention had returned to the conversation, her gloved hand resting upon Dering’s forearm in a very familiar gesture. Hugh clenched his jaw—he didn’t give a damn if they were lovers, so long as they would rescue him from more conversation with the matchmaking mama. He didn’t pause to analyze the pang in his gut at the thought of Dering laying a finger on her. What the hell was it to him?

His gaze shifted to her face as she laughed at something the viscount said. It was open and joyful—not a look he had seen aimed in his direction. At least not in the light of day or glow of a candle. Her simple white gown had some sort of gold netting atop it that complemented her coloring. Her glossy curls, the color of fresh cinnamon, were pinned at the crown of her head. Several soft ringlets framed her face, bringing attention to her wide gray eyes. Eyes that he hadn’t given much thought to before. They were quite pretty.

She glanced over to him as he approached. Her smile didn’t diminish, but it did somehow soften a little. So their stolen evening on the balcony had made a lasting impression after all. Every other time they had met had started out with uncertainty, wariness, or downright animosity. He felt her welcome all the way to his fingertips, which he fisted at his side.

“Good evening, Lady Effington, Miss Effington,” he said, nodding to them both. “If I had known you were coming, I would have offered you a ride in my carriage.”

Miss Effington’s brows lifted in either surprise or disbelief. He’d bet the latter. Based on how he had treated her in the past, she might assume he’d as soon leave them stranded than offer a carriage ride.

His words were meant to be polite greeting, but damned if he didn’t actually mean them.

Lady Effington beamed at him. “Such a kind thing to say—a missed opportunity for us, to be sure. Isn’t that so, Charity?”

“You are too kind, my lord,” Charity murmured, watching him as one watched a magician. Wanting to believe, but looking for the trick.

He dipped his head in response, not at all certain how to feel about her. Last night had been odd, strangely relaxed and natural. He always thought of her as a silly debutante, but she had shown herself in a different light. Perhaps it was the moonlight playing tricks on him or the exhaustion coloring how he viewed her, but whatever it was, for the first time he had really taken notice of her as a person.

As a woman.

That made a man feel uncomfortably vulnerable. He bloody hated vulnerability. He had scarcely been without it since the day he’d gone from a man to a near invalid in the space of a second.

“So, then, you’re already acquainted, I see,” Dering said, grinning as he looked back and forth between them.

“Oh yes,” Lady Effington replied, the feather atop her lavender turban swaying as she nodded. “We’re neighbors. Upon hearing our Charity’s playing, Lord Cadgwith came over straight away to introduce himself. Unorthodox, but understandable.”

Dering winked at Charity, the familiarity of the gesture not lost on Hugh. “Completely understandable. And do you know it has been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of listening to you play? Would I be able to convince you to do so now? I can think of no better way to begin a party during the Summer Serenade in Somerset.”

Her eyes darted to Hugh’s for a moment before giving her head a little shake. “How kind you are, Dering, but I couldn’t impose.”

Unease weakened Hugh’s polite smile. He had done so well this week, but the thought of having an attack now, with all these people around, made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Nonsense,” the viscount returned, his deep voice brooking no argument. “It would be an imposition only if you refused. If the best pianoforte player in England is in my drawing room, I have no intention of depriving myself of her talents.”

“Really, my lord—”

Dering held up one large hand. “No, I’ll hear no false modesty.” He gestured toward the adjoining room. “Come, let us put my poor, neglected pianoforte to good use. Either that or break my heart—the choice is yours.”

A grin tugged the very corners of her pretty lips. “Very well, if you absolutely insist upon it.”

Damn it all.
Hugh already knew that Charity’s playing seemed to trigger whatever it was that brought on his headaches. And in those instances, it seemed to come on quicker and more fiercely than usual. First his vision would dim, narrowing to a tunnel before going out completely in his left eye. He’d have five, maybe ten minutes before pain would consume him, thrumming and throbbing at the base of his spine so powerfully, it was a wonder his skull didn’t crack beneath the onslaught. He’d be helpless as an infant, sometimes reduced to vomiting and vertigo.

As Dering led Charity to the pianoforte in the next room, Hugh remained rooted in place. There was a chance he’d be fine. It had been a good week, after all. He could stand back like he was and hope that the distance and low buzz of conversation would temper any reaction.

His palms started to sweat, and he rubbed them on his breeches. Or he could withdraw. Slip away for a few minutes, and return when she was done. Yes, that’s what he would do. There was no reason to tempt fate when he knew of a perfectly good bottle of brandy right down the corridor in Dering’s study.

He stayed a moment longer, watching as Charity laughed at another of Dering’s quips before taking a seat at the instrument. The joy was back in her countenance. She was delighted, basking in Dering’s attention. As she should.

Bloody hell.

Turning on his heel, Hugh stalked from the room. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He already knew there was nothing for him there.

*   *   *

He had left her.

As Charity smiled and curtsied in response to the other guests’ applause, her gaze raked the room, looking for a certain sandy-haired baron. She had seen the look on his face when Dering had invited her to play. She had even tried to avoid doing so in deference to him, but she couldn’t be rude to her host.

Clearly Cadgwith had no such reservations. He had to have known he was meant to join them, to stand with the viscount and Grandmama while Charity played.

But he was gone. She gritted her teeth, irrational anger flaring suddenly. Was he so opposed to her music that he couldn’t even be bothered to stay for a five-minute song? Was her music really that repulsive to him?

Hurt chipped away at her enjoyment of the evening. Had he even attempted to stay? Perhaps without the distortion of the walls between them, he might actually like what he heard. Had he ever considered that? Obviously not.

And here she thought they had turned a corner.

It was almost as if the man was
trying
to be an enigma. Charity gave her head a little shake, confused and frustrated. They’d had a connection there for a moment, she was sure of it. When she had caught his eye across the room when she’d first arrived, it was as though everything around them had faded. Even the distance between them seemed to disappear as his eyes locked on hers.