“Yours?”
“Aye.” He held his left hand between them and brought hers to it so she could feel the wrapping. “Sliced a good inch along my palm earlier.”
“Nicholas! Why did you not say something sooner? Has it been stitched?”
He smiled at her concern. “After spending years serving king and country and seeing all manner of wounds, I can assure you ’tis nothing that a bit of time and clean dressings won’t heal.”
Her fingers were gently frantic upon his hand. “You do not bam me? It truly isn’t serious?”
“How could you think I lie?”
Her ministrations faltered, head lifted toward his. She cocked one eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Ahem.”
He coughed self-consciously. “Well yes…I take your point, but did I not already confess I am the modicum of truthfulness everywhere but around…ah…”
“Me?”
He coughed again. “Peck my eyes with a deuced goose if I do not tell the truth. Now and forevermore.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That no one ever muddled my mouth as you do. That I want to be muddled forever and—blast it—though it grieves me to no end, I know I need to speak with your father before I offer—”
“No!” She covered his lips with her hand. Well, first his chin then his lips. “You must not speak thus. My course is set after Twelfth Night and does not—”
“With another?” he mumbled against her fingers. “Have you plans with another?”
“Nay. But what you speak now… Leave off spinning castles betwixt us, if you please. Come now, we have two nights remaining of this glorious holiday. Let us not mar it with talk of anything else.”
He licked her fingers and she removed them at once. “Even when it is our future happiness I speak of?”
“Oh, Nicholas…”
“I shall change your mind and claim your hand, of that I promise you.” Before she could protest further he added, “And you will promise me a dance.”
“Will I now?” She gave a saucy tilt that sent those enticing ringlets bouncing. “Orders who?”
Chapter Eight
Nicholas Commands a Festive Ending
Blast and damn, the vexing chit still refused to dance with him.
I do not know how to waltz. Everyone will be watching… Oh, I just cannot! Please understand!
He understood one thing with surety. She would be dancing with him—and in mere minutes—and she wouldn’t be concerned with where anyone else was directing their gaze either.
January 5th, 1814 ~ Twelfth Night
“As tomorrow marks the end of our time together—” A chorus of good-natured boos interrupted Anne’s statement. She made consoling noises until the clamor died down. “It has been a splendid holiday, has it not? And tonight, it promises to only get better!”
From her seat near the corner, Isabella spared not a thought to what was in store, too embroiled in her own turbulent musings.
What Nicholas alluded to—a future between them—was all she’d ever dreamed of, more than she’d dared conceive, but Father would never agree to her marrying a peer. To her marrying anyone. For it equated to advertising her defects. He’d never allow it and, as a female, she had no right to gainsay him. No authority to do as Nicholas decreed.
And she must stop thinking of him as such! He was Lord Frostwood.
Oh, but how it hurt to deny him and her own heart.
You don’t have to, some rebellious imp whispered. The same imp she suspected who had encouraged her to come to Redford Manor. The same imp who kept urging her to admit to Nicholas how she felt. But how could she? They were from different worlds, different—
“Because…” Anne’s voice rang out, louder than before. “Everyone will be blindfolded for the duration of the evening!”
Blindfolded?
Pardon?
Excited murmurs erupted throughout the crowded ballroom. “Not the men of course—they need to know where they’re going so they can lead, but all ladies will have their eyes covered! A truly masked ball, if you will.” Anne clapped her hands. “Silk scarves are being distributed by the servants. Once yours is on—”
A butter-soft sash was thrust into Isabella’s restless fingers. “But I’m not—”
“Yes, miss. Lady Redford said specifically you was to have one,” the servant told her before departing.
“Each dance will be gentleman’s choice,” Anne continued. “Are you ready, ladies? Gentlemen, snare your partners!”
Amid giggles and titters and the shuffling of many feet, Isabella sat there bewildered and baffled and not blindfolded. What was Anne about now?