The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (11 page)

She drew a deep breath. Even just thinking about the moment made her heart do a little somersault. There had definitely been something charged between them, just as there had been last night. Why did he keep denying it? Not verbally, but rather emotionally and physically. Just when she began to think she was getting a handle on him, he up and withdrew.

Just like now.

“Absolute perfection, just as I knew it would be,” the viscount said, patting her gloved hand. “It’s been far too long between performances. We shall have to visit more often.”

She smiled, despite her lips’ reluctance to do so. “I should like that very much.”

“As would I,” Grandmama said. “My son’s lands have become far too thick with grouse in your father’s absence. You and he should join us this fall to remedy that.”

As Dering and Grandmama chatted about his father, Charity chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering where her blasted neighbor had disappeared to. Assuming he didn’t leave altogether, there weren’t a lot of places he could have gotten off to. Coming to a decision, she turned back to the others. “Oh, look—Sophie and her mother are here. Will you excuse me?”

At their nods, she hastened across the long, narrow room, smiling and nodding at the two dozen or so other guests who offered her appreciative grins. She recognized about half the attendees, but she made no move to engage any of them. Not yet.

Sophie caught sight of her and waved. She waited until Charity was within arm’s reach before saying, “Well done! And how pretty you look tonight! Have you—”

“Sophie, I was just on my way to the ladies’ withdrawing room. Would you like to join me?”

Her mouth opened in a little
o
of surprise at Charity’s abrupt interruption, but quickly recovered. “Oh yes, please. I do believe the ribbon in my hair is coming loose. Mama, will you excuse us?”

The older woman looked up from her conversation with Lady Upton. “Hmm? Oh yes, whatever you wish,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. Lucky timing on Sophie’s part; Mrs. Wembley did always seem to be happiest when talking to someone of rank.

Not wasting a moment, Charity grabbed Sophie’s hand and towed her toward the well-lit corridor that clearly marked the rooms available to the guests.

“I’m so glad you found me,” Sophie said as they let themselves into the designated room. “I simply must know what Lord Cad said to you. You wouldn’t believe the look on his face when he saw you come in—”

“I saw the look on his face.” Charity broke in, her cheeks heating at the memory of that moment between them.

“You did? My goodness, I must be missing something. First he watches you with all that intensity, then he quite abruptly abandons us in favor of you, and then the next thing I know, he is rushing away. Did you tell him he had bad breath or something?”

At least Charity wasn’t the only one confused by the man’s behavior. It was validating to know she wasn’t being overly sensitive. “I didn’t tell him anything. One moment we were conversing quite nicely, and the next his smile is gone, his shoulders are stiff, and he is practically knocking over the other guests in his haste to get away from us.”

“Where did he go, exactly?”

“I’m not exactly certain. Which is why I needed you.”

H
oled up in Dering’s study, Hugh sat in the same chair he had availed himself of earlier, without the benefit of the brandy. He didn’t need a drink. He needed a moment’s peace.

Late-evening light filtered through the sheers, providing enough illumination to bypass lighting a candle. He settled back and rubbed a hand to the nape of his neck. It was such an ingrained gesture, it didn’t even matter that there was no pain there.

He was a bloody coward. For good reason—he sure as hell didn’t want to end up an ashen shell of a man in front of dozens of witnesses—but still.

This was why it wouldn’t do for him to be making doe eyes at a female. What would become of it? Until he was free from his attacks, he was fit to be with no one. Yes, he eventually needed to produce an heir, but at eight-and-twenty, he was in absolutely no hurry to address the issue.

Getting better—that was the only thing he needed to worry about. It needed to be his sole purpose. Hadn’t he always believed that if a man could just try hard enough, work hard enough, or had a strong enough force of will, he could accomplish anything? The fact that his own damn body was out of his control or ability to change was difficult to swallow.

A noise at the door made him glance that way, his brow knitted with displeasure. Couldn’t a man get away for two minutes without being bothered? Yes, it was a party, and he had chosen to attend, but he was not in the mood for talking to anyone at that moment.

The door opened and Charity poked her head in. His stomach dropped at the sight of her. The moment she spotted him, her eyes narrowed and she pushed the door wide enough to slip inside. Had she come looking for him? Surely she knew better than to shut them in a room alone together, but that is exactly what she did. As she quietly clicked the door closed, she met his disapproving gaze full-on.

“I think you owe me an apology.
Again
,” she added, crossing her arms.

He wasn’t in the mood for this. Purposely not standing, he shook his head. “I beg to differ. I was rude to neither you nor your grandmother.”

Marching across the room, she parked herself in the chair Dering had occupied earlier. The large scale of the piece dwarfed her, but in no way made her look vulnerable. Not with the exasperation that was rolling off her in waves.

“You could at least be consistent, you know. I have never met a more maddening human being. The very moment Dering mentioned my playing, your whole countenance changed; you practically turned to stone before my eyes. And then to disappear when you knew full well Dering wished for you to hear me . . .” She shook her head. “Did nothing change after the conversation we shared on the balcony?”

He pushed away the image of her bathed in pale moonlight, leaning against the narrow railing that separated their balconies. He had allowed the moment to become too personal, too unguarded, and now he was paying for it. “It was a perfectly pleasant conversation, just as our greeting was earlier. My stepping away from the party has little bearing on you. I am not sure what it is, exactly, that you are expecting from me.”

*   *   *

What did she expect from him? “I thought we were beginning to forge a friendship of sorts. Setting aside our differences.”

It was a forward statement, but her frustration was wearing on her normal reserve. He was sitting in his chair like some sort of monarch, well above all the little subjects at his feet. It was absolutely nothing like the way he had looked at her last night—or even a quarter of an hour ago! “I don’t care whether you like or hate me, but at least choose one and stay with it.”

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “Did you truly risk your reputation to come find me,
alone
, and tell me that you don’t care what I think of you?”

She bit down on her cheek, willing away the embarrassment that threatened to cause her to blush. “A woman wants to know where things stand, same as any man.”

“What ‘things’? We are neighbors, which will lead to inevitable interaction. I think perhaps you’re assigning far too much importance to our encounters. I should think my cordialness would be welcome.”

“It is,” she ground out, wishing this discussion was more in her control. “But it is beyond frustrating when you . . . you
look
at me one way and treat me another.”

He sighed, coming to his feet. “I really don’t know what you mean. I smiled when I saw you. I interacted cordially with you, your grandmother, and Lord Derington until we went our separate ways. Where, exactly, did I cause such harm that you felt you needed to chase me down?”

He made her sound like some sort of overreacting twit. Was he really going to act as though they hadn’t shared such a charged look? As though he hadn’t changed from welcoming to closed off in the space of a few seconds? “You disappoint me, my lord.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “Get in line, Miss Effington.” The sharpness was notably absent from his voice.

She blinked, trying to figure out what to make of such a statement. Did he regularly disappoint people? Did he even care if he did? “If you wished to have a shorter line, perhaps you should try being nice for more than five minutes in a row.”

“I am not here to make friends. It matters not what others think of me.” He spoke imperiously, as though he were above anything as trivial as the need for forming bonds in life.

Sometimes he just seemed so blasted superior, she wanted to shake him. “If you are not here to make friends, nor for the music, why
are
you here? It is a question you handily avoided last night.”

His green eyes dulled as he met her gaze. “I don’t believe my reasons are any business of yours.”

If he were as good at an instrument as he was at building walls around himself, he’d be a master musician by now. She dropped her arms, allowing them to fall to her sides. “You’re right. It’s not.” Gathering her dignity, she swiveled around and stalked for the door. A sound from the corridor caused her to hesitate.
What was that?

Before she knew what was even happening, strong hands encircled her arms and swung her around to just behind the door. What was the man doing? Heat scorched her skin where his fingers wrapped around her arms. She jerked her gaze to his in time to see him place an urgent finger to his lips before stepping back.

Seconds later the knob rattled and the door swung open. From her vantage point pressed against the wall on the other side of the door, she watched, heart pounding, as the baron stepped back as if startled.

“Dering! I was just coming out to rejoin you.” He sounded completely at ease, as though he wasn’t hiding an unmarried female in plain sight not four feet away. She pressed her hand to her mouth in an effort to quiet her breathing—dear God, she couldn’t be caught in here with him!

With Sophie waiting for her in the retiring room, she had her alibi all ready to go upon returning to the party, but all of that would be for naught if Dering took two steps in and caught sight of her. Her hammering heart seemed loud enough to wake the dead.

The viscount’s deep chuckle rumbled through the room. “I’ll bet you were. Something tells me you’d spend the whole evening in here if given the chance. Unfortunately for you, I promised Felicity I would force you to socialize, whether you liked it or not.”

Force him to socialize? Why would Dering promise the baron’s sister-in-law such a thing? Was it simply because he was antisocial in general, or was something else going on? Something to do with his brother’s death? The scars on his face? The exhaustion that seemed to hang about him like an aura?

The sound of his advancing footsteps nearly stopped her heart cold, and all thoughts of the mystery fled in the face of discovery. Cadgwith sprang forward, his eyes betraying none of the panic she knew he must be feeling. “Well, then, best get back to it.”

It didn’t stop Dering, though. As far as Charity could tell, his footsteps didn’t even slow. With horror tightening her throat, she watched as his broad back came into her field of vision as he headed for his desk. If he turned even a little, there was no way he could miss the girl in the golden gown pressed against the wall.

Good God, she didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he discovered she’d been there, alone with the baron behind closed doors.

Cadgwith quickly stepped between them, locking eyes with her for a moment before grabbing the door and swinging it open wider, effectively blocking her from view. “Needed a proper drink, did you?” he asked, his voice remarkably lighthearted.

“No, I need to pass along a bit of correspondence to Sir Anthony while he’s here.”

Breathing carefully through her nose, Charity listened to the scrape of the desk drawer being opened and closed. A rustle of paper, then Dering’s heavy footfalls approaching again. Fear prickled her every pore and formed a lead ball in the pit of her stomach.

“After you, my friend,” the baron said, and Charity could just imagine him sweeping his hand out.

The sound of retreating footsteps was the sweetest thing she had ever heard. The door swung closed, and for a second she just stood there, alone and stunned. Lord have mercy, that had been entirely too close. She leaned back against the wall, pressing a hand to her middle. Now that the danger was past, her knees barely had the strength to hold her upright.

Yes, Dering was a friend of the family, but would he have kept his tongue if he had found her? Impossible to say. She could have very easily found herself betrothed to the baron, just like that.

He had reacted perfectly. She wouldn’t have been able to be so casual if her life depended on it—and, in a way, it would have. Wherever had that poise come from? He had seemed so calm and in control, as though nothing in the world was amiss.

She thought again of the viscount’s strange comment. What was it that had happened to her neighbor? The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that, one way or another, he was hiding something.

The doorknob suddenly turned and Charity jerked back upright. The door eased open a few inches, and a soft voice whispered, “Charity?”

Sophie!
Charity exhaled as relief cascaded through her whole body. She hurried around to greet her friend. “I have never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life.”

“
I’ve
never been so happy to see someone hiding!” Sophie exclaimed, grabbing Charity’s hands and squeezing. “I nearly died when I saw Lord Derington stride down the corridor and head straight for the study. Before I could so much as blink he was at the door, and then inside, and then I was
sure
he would find you. But then only he and Lord Cadgwith emerged, and, as they walked by, the baron spotted me and nodded toward the door, so here I am, come to rescue you.”

The baron had sent Sophie to her? Charity smiled gratefully at her friend. “Well, do let’s get back to the party. I don’t believe my nerves could handle much more excitement for the night.”

“Really?” Sophie said, her whispered voice rife with scandal. Charity could only imagine what sorts of scenarios were running through her friend’s head.

A touch? A kiss? Something even more scandalous? She shivered, not daring to even think on such things, most especially not with Lord Cad. Even so, the memory of the baron’s strong hands wrapping around her arms as though she belonged to him, as though he had every right and intention of pulling her into his arms, flashed through her mind. She swallowed before rolling her eyes for Sophie’s benefit. “Nothing like
that
.”

As they hurried down the corridor to rejoin the others, a small, traitorous thought emerged from beneath all the sensible ones of never allowing such a thing to happen again.

What would it feel like, exactly, to be wrapped in her neighbor’s embrace for real? She didn’t even want to consider what she would give to find out.

*   *   *

He had no idea what his food tasted like.

Nor what his dinner companion was talking about. Hugh couldn’t even be bothered to remember what course they were on. All he knew was, Charity Effington had the softest skin he could ever remember touching.

And if she ever put them in a situation like that again, he would happily turn her over his knee. What in God’s name had she been thinking? Why was it so blasted important to her to speak with him right then and there?

Jesus, he was just now able to breathe normally again. If Dering had realized she was in the room, well, Hugh didn’t even know what would have happened next. Could they force him to marry the girl for something like that? What if he refused?

He didn’t dislike her—unfortunately for him, the opposite was true—but he sure as hell didn’t want to marry her. Having her witness to his every move, to the reality of his life, wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate.

Had she learned her lesson? Her gray eyes had certainly been expressive enough—he could practically feel the terror radiating from her when the door opened. Served her right, trapping him alone like that. Although at least it was clear that it was not her intention to be discovered.

Lifting another forkful of mushroom fricassee to his lips, Hugh glanced down the table to where Charity sat. Even in the golden candlelight, her face was still a bit pale and her expression reserved. Why had she even felt it worth the risk to seek him out? She should save her energy and efforts for someone who would appreciate them. Tomorrow, he would finish the conversation they had started. If she had any doubts whatsoever about where they stood with each other, he planned to remedy that. They were neighbors and nothing more.

More important, they never could be anything more . . . no matter how soft her skin may be.