An Unexpected Gentleman Part 1

AN UNEXPECTED GENTLEMAN.

by Alissa Johnson.

For Ralph E. Johnson, because even though youall probably never read this book, youare still proud I wrote it.

Chapter 1.

Miss Adelaide Ward was, by her own admission, a woman of una.s.suming aspirations.

In recent years, she had come to the conclusion that it was folly to seek more from life than what might reasonably be expected to materialize. And for an undowered spinster burdened with an eighteen-year-old sister, an infant nephew, a brother in debtorsa prison, and seven-and-twenty years, what might reasonably be expected was very limited indeed.

She wanted a home, the company of those she loved, and the security of a reliable income. These were her dreams. They were few in number and simple in nature, but they were hers. She longed for them as any debutante might long to snare a peer, and she had fought for them as any officer might fight for glory on the battlefield.

It was with some disappointment, then, that on the very eve of seeing her efforts come to fruition, she found herself not emboldened with the thrill of imminent victory but battling fear, nerves, and the surprising weight of reluctance.

Tonight, Sir Robert Maxwell would propose. She was certain of it. Fairly certain. It seemed a reasonable expectation. The courtship was reaching near to four months, which, in her estimation, was an excessive amount of time to allocate to romance. More significantly, Sir Robert had strongly hinted at the possibility of a proposal should she attend Mrs. Cressas house party. Well, she was in attendance and had been for a fortnight. Surely, tonight, amidst the music and drama of a masquerade ball, Sir Robert would present his offer.

Mind you, Sir Robert had no great appreciation for music, but he did seem to Adelaide to be inordinately fond of dramatics.

aI donat care for dramatics,a she muttered.

Her feet slowed in the hall that led from her guest chambers to the ballroom. At best guess, the distance between the rooms required a thirty-second walk. She managed to stretch the first twenty yards into a ten-minute exercise of unproductive meandering. She stopped in front of the mirror to fuss with a rebellious lock of chestnut hair and wrinkle her small nose at the narrow features and light brown eyes shead inherited from her father. Eyes that had, she could not help but note, begun to crease a bit at the corners.

A few feet later, she reached down to straighten her hem and pull a bit of lint from the ivory silk of her sleeve. Then she peeked into a room, fiddled with a vase, adjusted the low bodice of her gown, and stopped again to examine an oil painting . . . in minute detail, because art appreciation was not something one ought to rush.

And between each pause in movement, she literally dragged her feet. Her dancing slippers made a soft and drawn-out woooosht, woooosht, woooosht against the polished wood floor with every step.

Annoyed by the sound, Adelaide stopped to pull off her mask and fiddle with the feathers. This, she a.s.sured herself, was not another bid to stall. The mask required a considerable amount of fussing. Shead constructed the silly piece herself, and having no experience witha"nor any apparent talent fora"such an endeavor, shead made a terrible mess of the thing. The feathers were unevenly s.p.a.ced, sticking out where they ought to be lying flat, and bent in several places.

Sir Robert was certain to take note of it. She could envision his reaction well. His pale blue eyes would go wide, right before they narrowed in a wince. Then he would cover the lapse of manners with a smile that was sure to display his perfect teeth to best advantage. Then he would p.r.o.nounce her a most charming creature in that awful, condescending tone.

aI donat care for that tone,a she muttered.

She rubbed an errant feather with the pad of her thumb while the lively strains of a waltz floated down the hall and the scent of candle wax tickled her nose.

It was only a tone, she told herself, a minor flaw in a man positively br.i.m.m.i.n.g with things to recommend him. He was handsome. He was fond of her.

He was in possession of five thousand pounds a year.

The mere thought of so much money lightened the worst of her nerves with visions of a happy future. Her sister, Isobel, could have a London season. Little George could have a proper nanny. Wolfgangas debts would be paid. And the lot of them would have a roof over their heads and no shortage of food on the table. It was her dream come true.

aRight.a Ignoring doubts that lingered, she replaced the mask, securing it with a double knot and an extra yank on the ribbons for good measure. She set her shoulders, took a single step forward . . . and nearly toppled to the floor when a deep voice sounded directly behind her.

aIad not go just yet, if I were you.a She spun around so quickly, she dislodged her mask and tripped on the hem of her gown.

aEasy.a The deep voice chuckled, and a large, warm hand wrapped around her arm, steadying her.

She caught a glimpse of dark blond hair and light eyes, and for one awful moment, she thought she had been caught dawdling in the hall by Sir Robert. But by the time she righted herself and straightened her mask, that fear had been replaced by an entirely new sort of discomfort.

The man was a stranger. He shared the same light coloring and uncommon height as Sir Robert, but that was where all similarities ended. There was an air of aristocratic softness about Sir Robert; his frame was elegantly long and thin, and his features were delicate, almost feminine. There was nothing even remotely delicate or feminine about the man before her. He wasnat longa"he was tall, towering over her by more than half a foot. And he wasnat thin but athletically lean, the definition of muscle visible through his dark formal attire. He was handsome, without doubt, with broad shoulders and a thick head of hair that was more gold than blond. But his features were hard and sharp, from the square cut of his jaw to the blunt jut of his cheekbones. Even his eyes, green as new gra.s.s, had an edge about them.

He put her to mind of the drawings her sister had shown her of the sleek American lions. And that put her to mind of stalking. And that made her decidedly uneasy.

Her senses tingled, and her breath caught in her lungs.

She wasnat sure if she cared for the sensation or not.

aMy apologies,a he said quietly. His voice held the cadence of an English gentlemanas, but there was a hint of Scotland in his p.r.o.nunciation. aIt was not my intention to startle you.a aQuite all right.a She wanted to wince at how breathless she sounded. She cleared her throat instead and carefully withdrew her arm from his grasp. aI was woolgathering. Do excuse me.a She turned to leave, but he moved around, quick and smooth as you please, and blocked her path. aYou shouldnat go just yet.a aGood heavens.a The man even moved like a cat. aWhy ever not?a aBecause you want to stay here.a He offered that outrageous statement with such remarkable sincerity that there could be no doubt of his jesting. The act of silliness both stunned and intrigued her. He didnat look to be the sort of man who teased.

aThat is the most ridiculous, not to mention presumptuousa"a aVery well, I want you to stay here.a His lips curved up, crinkling the corners of his eyes. aIt was unkind of you to make me say it.a She was surprised to find he had a charming smile. The sort that invited one to smile back. It did little to slow her racing pulse, but she liked it all the same.

She shook her head. aWho are you?a aConnor Brice,a he supplied, and he executed an eloquent bow.

She curtsied in return, then righted her mask when it slipped. aMiss Adelaide Ward.a aYes, I know. Settle your feathers, Miss Ward.a aYouave not ruffled them, Mr. Brice.a She hoped he believed the lie.

aNo, I meant . . .a He reached out and brushed the edge of her mask with his thumb. She swore she could feel his touch on the skin beneath. aYour feathers need smoothing. What are you meant to be, exactly?a aOh. Oh, drat.a She reached up and pulled on the knot of ribbons at the back of her head. They refused to give. Sighing, she pulled the contraption over her coiffure and tried not to think of the damage she was doing. aA bird of prey.a aAh.a He grasped his hands behind his back, leaned down, and peered at the mask in her hands. aI thought perhaps you were aiming for disheveled wren.a The sound of her laughter filled the hall. She much preferred the gentle insult to the sort of compliment Sir Robert was sure to give. Mistakes were so much easier to accept when one was allowed to be amused by them.

aItas true,a she agreed. aI look dreadful.a He straightened, and his green eyes swept over her frame in a frankly appraising manner that made her blush. aYouare lovely.a aThank you,a she mumbled. And then, because shead mumbled it at the mask instead of him, she forced herself to look up when she asked, aAnd where is your mask?a aI donat have one.a aBut itas a masquerade.a Had a mask been optional? She wished someone had mentioned that earlier.

aThere is more than one way for a man to hide himself.a He gestured at a door she knew led to a small sitting room.

aIs that where you came from?a No wonder head been able to sneak up on her so quickly. aWhatever were you doing in there?a aAvoiding a particular lady. What were you doing out here?a She wanted to ask which lady, and why head broken his self-imposed exile to speak with hera"she was hardly the most interesting person at the partya"but she was too busy trying to arrive at a suitable excuse for her dallying to devise a subtle way to pry. In the end, she didnat have to come up with anything. He answered for her.

aYouare avoiding a particular gentleman.a aIam not.a aSir Robert,a he guessed, and he shrugged when she sucked in a small breath of surprise. aYour courtship is hardly a secret.a She hadnat thought it was fodder for gossip either. At least not in . . . wherever it was Mr. Brice was from.

aIam not avoiding anyone.a aYou are.a Since he seemed immovable on that point, she tried another.

aPerhaps it is Mr. Doolin,a she said smartly. She did make a habit of steering clear of the elderly man and his wandering hands, so it wasnat a lie, per se, but more of an irrelevant truth.

He gave a small shake of his head. aItas Sir Robert youare not eager to see, and you were wise to drag your feet. Last I checked, he was lying in wait for you right on the other side of the ballroom doors.a Her mouth fell open, but it was several long seconds before she could make sound emerge.

aSir Robert does not lie in wait. I am quite certain he is not to be found crouched behind the doors like an animal.a It was a little discomfiting that she could, in fact, easily imagine the baron doing just that. More than once in the past, shead felt as if his sudden appearance at her side had been something of an ambush.

She sniffed and, with what she thought was commendable loyalty, added, aHe is a gentleman.a aDo you think?a Mr. Briceas smile wasnat inviting this time. It was mocking. aIt is a constant source of amazement to me how little effort the man must exert to disguise his true nature. But then, the ton is ever ready to take a baron at his word and at his . . . five thousand pounds a year, I believe you said?a Oh, dear heavens. Shead said that bit out loud?

Heat flooded her cheeks. This was awful. Perfectly dreadful. There was no excuse for having made such a comment. And yet she couldnat stop herself from attempting to provide one.

aI was only . . . What I meant by that is . . .a She told herself to give up the effort before she somehow made matters worse. aOne cannot . . . There is no shame in marrying a man with an income.a And there it was . . . Worse.

Oh, d.a.m.n.

Leave, leave now.

aExcuse me.a She struggled to untie the ribbons of her mask. Shead put it on, go to the ball, and pray to every deity known to man that Mr. Briceas low opinion of Sir Robert kept the two men from speaking to each other, or about each other, or near each other, or . . .

aAllow me.a Mr. Brice took the mask from her hands, his long fingers brushing across her skin.

aYouare right,a he said gently. aThere is nothing wrong with making a practical match.a aOh. Well.a That was very understanding of him, she thought with a sigh of relief. Then she wondered if he might expand on that understanding a little. aYouall not repeat what I said?a aOn my word.a He pulled the knotted ribbons free and handed her the mask. aThe true shame is that youare given no other choice.a Was he speaking of the lack of opportunity for women everywhere to make their way in the world, she wondered, or was he referring to her shortage of suitors? She would have asked him, but she was distracted when his gaze flew to something over her shoulder.

She heard it then . . . Footsteps. The sound was m.u.f.fled and distant, still around the turn in the corridor, but it was growing louder and more distinct.

She winced and stifled the urge to swear. It wasnat uncommon for two guests to meet in the hall and share a few words in pa.s.sing, but it was generally frowned upon for a young, unmarried lady to converse with a gentleman to whom shead not been properly introduced. At seven-and-twenty, she was no longer considered a young lady, but that wouldnat stop Sir Robert from chiding her for not making the trip to the ballroom in the company of a maid.

She didnat care for his chiding.

aPlease, do pretend weave not been speaking,a she whispered and took a step to move around Mr. Brice. Perhaps, if she put a bit of distance between them . . .

Mr. Brice had another idea. He reached over and opened the door head emerged from earlier. aThis would be easier.a aYes, of course.a Hiding seemed something of an overreaction, but it was preferable to having a marriage proposal turn into a lecture.

She brushed past him into the dimly lighted room. The door closed behind her with a soft click of the latch, and she stood where she was for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle her racing heart. It was fortunate Mr. Brice had so quickly interpreted the cause of her discomfort. It was even more fortunate that Mr. Brice had thought to shield her presence while he sent the pa.s.sing guest on his way. Quite considerate of him, really. Very nearly the act of a knight-errant.

Having never before been the object of a gentlemanas chivalry, the thought brought a warm slide of pleasure and a small, secret smile. But both began to fade as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned around slowly and found herself staring at the small ruby pin in Mr. Briceas crisp white cravat.

aGood Lord,a she gasped and stumbled back in retreat. aWhat do you think . . . ?a Mr. Brice held a finger up to his lips, and she had no choice but to obediently snap her mouth shut. The unknown guest was approaching the door. She could hear his footsteps . . . or were they hers? She couldnat make out a click of a heel, and there was an odd rhythm to the gait, as if the person was shuffling down the hall.

The noise paused outside the door.

No. Oh, please, please donat.

She watched in mounting horror as Mr. Brice slowly extended his arm and took hold of the door handle. Surely he wasnat going to try to turn the key in the lock. Surely he wasnat stupid enough to open the door.

He wasnat. He kept perfectly still, his hand wrapped around the handle as if he meant to physically keep it from turning if necessarya"which wouldnat seem at all suspicious to someone on the other sidea"until their uninvited guest resumed his leisurely stroll.

She let out a long, shaky sigh . . . then froze when the shuffling stopped and a loud creak issued from an old wooden bench not five yards down the hall.

He was stopping to rest. Who the devil actually used those benches to rest? An elderly guest, she realized, or a maid or footman neglecting their duties. It could be Mrs. Cressas mastiff, Otis, for all she knew. The dog was always about climbing on the furniture.

Adelaide bit her lip and clenched and unclenched her hands. What was she supposed to do now? She couldnat be seen leaving a dark room without causing raised brows . . . But Mr. Brice could. Gentleman could get away with all sorts of suspicious behavior.

She waved her hand about to catch his attention, then pointed a finger at the door and mouthed the word agoa as clearly as possible.

Apparently, she wasnat clear enough. He gave a slow shake of his head.

She pressed her lips together in frustration and jabbed her finger more emphatically.

He shook his head again.

Idiot.

He lifted a finger and pointed behind her. aGo.a Glancing over her shoulder, she saw doors leading onto the terrace. The dark terrace that led down to the dark garden. The ballroom and lighted side of the terrace and garden were on the other side of the house.

She turned back with a scowl and shook her head.

He nodded.

She had the most ridiculous urge to shake her fist at him.

She fought it back. The silent battle of wills was getting them nowhere, and the longer they remained in the room, the greater the chance of discovery. With no other option left, she gave him a final resentful glare, then spun about and headed for the terrace doors.

The soft pad of his footsteps trailed behind her. d.a.m.n it all, he was following her. She would be in the garden, at night, with a complete stranger.

Without another thought, she grabbed a st.u.r.dy bra.s.s candlestick from the mantel. Instantly, he was beside her, his large hand covering hers on the candlestick. The scent of him filled her sensesa"the hint of soap on his skin, the light touch of starch on his clothes. His breath was warm and soft in her ear as he bent his head to whisper.

aItas the poker you want.a His hand slid over hers until he grasped the top of the candlestick. He drew it away from her slowly and replaced it on the mantel without moving his mouth from her ear. aLonger reach.a She heard the edge of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice and could have cheerfully murdered him in that moment. At the very least, she would have liked to s.n.a.t.c.h the weapon back and take aim at his head. But ever the practical woman, she took the poker instead and slipped out the doors and into the garden.

Mr. Brice fell into step beside her. aThereas a rarely used door around the back of the house. It opens to a short hall and stairwell that will lead you back upstairs.a aI know that.a Her sister, Isobel, had an insatiable curiosity. Shead explored every inch of the house on their first day and then given a detail accounting of the building that evening. Adelaide made a mental note to apologize for the lecture shead delivered to Isobel on the perils of snooping.

aWhy are you following me?a she demanded.

aWhat sort of gentleman would allow a lady to traverse a dark garden alone?a aThe gentlemanly sort.a Her eyes scanned the grounds for other guests, but their side of the garden was still and silent as a tomb. aWhy on earth did you come into the room? You should have remained in the hall.a aI should have? Why not you?a aBecause . . . You opened the door. I a.s.sumeda"a aThat I opened it for you? Thereas a fine bit of arrogance.a She tried to remember if he had motioned her inside the room or not and was forced to admit he hadnat. aNevertheless, you should have remained outside once I had gone in.a aYou were not the only person hoping to avoid a particular guest,a he reminded her.

How was it she could be walking in a dark garden while carrying a fire poker and fearing for her futurea"all because of the man beside hera"and still feel as if she needed to apologize for the circ.u.mstances?

She was not apologizing. Probably. She would reconsider the matter when she was safely back inside. For now, she needed to concentrate on the best route through the garden.

The single path before her split into three. The one to the right went to the front of the house. The path to the left led to the back, but it wound about the flower beds close to the house. It was visible to anyone who happened to look outside. The path in the center led deeper into the garden where they would be shielded from view by a hedgerow. She could make her way to the back of the house from that path, but she hesitated at the thought of going further into the darkness with a near stranger for company.

aIf I wanted to hurt you,a Mr. Brice said conversationally, apparently aware of her line of thought, aIad not have troubled to introduce myself first. Nor suggested a better choice of weapon.a Adelaide had to admit that he made a sound point. But, all the same, she readjusted her grip on the poker before setting off down the middle path.

Chapter 2.

The trip through the garden began in silence. Adelaide steered them past sweetly scented flower beds and shrubs, a pretty stone fountain, and a small reflection pool that sparkled in the light of a full moon. The warm air was cooled by a soft breeze, and the occasional hum of music could be heard in the distance.

When they pa.s.sed under a long arbor thick with climbing roses without incident, Adelaide let out a quiet breath and loosened her hold on the poker. If Mr. Brice was interested in a.s.sault, he could not have chosen a better spot than what essentially amounted to a long, dark tunnel. Evidently, he wasnat interested.

aMay I speak now without sending you into a faint?a Mr. Brice inquired.

Head been so quiet until now that the sudden intrusion of his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the garden. She started a little and wished she hadnat.

aIad not have fainted.a She might well have swung the poker at him if head startled her before the arbor, but she wouldnat have fainted.

Flicking a glance at him, she saw he was striding along beside her with his hands behind his back, his long legs taking one step for her every two. He turned his head, caught her eye, and smiled amiably, looking for all the world as if they were out having a perfectly innocent, perfectly harmless evening stroll.