Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,52

the back of the house when he was accosted by Miss Julia Grandison, large and resplendent in magenta silk. “Hullo, Macklin,” she said. “A splendid event, eh?”

“Indeed. I was just going…”

“For Ada’s sake, I am allowing my brother to enjoy his triumph. Before his fall. His opera dancer is called Bella, you know.”

He was not about to admit that he did. He looked to see if anyone else had heard. Miss Grandison had a penetrating voice. But no one was paying them any mind.

“It is not too late to do your part,” she went on.

“My part?”

“To repay me for the service I rendered your young friend.”

Arthur had no idea what she meant.

“Putting him and Ada together,” Miss Grandison added impatiently. “Really, everyone seems to forget my efforts in making this match.”

Because they were entirely imaginary, Arthur thought. “Excuse me, I need to speak to someone.” He moved on before she could reply.

He found Señora Alvarez in earnest conversation with Miss Deeping and Miss Finch. They broke off so abruptly when he approached that he wondered what they had been saying.

The two young ladies excused themselves as he came up. “What were you plotting?” he asked Señora Alvarez.

She shook her head. “They so long to join in a plot,” she said. “But I see no place for them. This matter of the opera dancers is rather more serious than a thieving crow or even a hidden treasure.”

“They told you about unmasking the crow.”

“Each of them, in slightly different versions.”

“They are proud of that.”

“I admire their…ingenio. But the disappearances are not part of the world they know. I think they must be left out of this.”

“You will not exclude me, I hope.” He hadn’t meant to allow so much emotion in his voice, but in the end he wasn’t sorry. It seemed that he had been trying for eons to let her know how he felt.

Señora Alvarez gazed up at him. A man might fall into those dark eyes and lose himself, Arthur thought. Unless he already had. “Can we never be alone,” he complained. They were constantly surrounded by people. He could not take her hand or pull her close in this chattering crowd. He couldn’t sue for the right to do so.

“To speak about the dancers,” she replied.

“No!” The exclamation drew a few glances. He turned his back on them. “Of course we will plan what to do about that. But there are other things I wish to say to you.”

“Other?”

“You must have some hint of my feelings. I would have spoken before this, but I think you have been avoiding me.” He hadn’t meant to sound accusing.

There was a pause that went on far too long for Arthur’s comfort. Señora Alvarez looked as if she was considering a knotty problem. Conversations washed around them while they stood like rocks in a sea of words. This was not the response he’d hoped for. But then she said, “I suppose your carriage is here.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you would drive me home.”

“With the greatest pleasure.” He thought he managed to hide his flare of triumph. Or perhaps he didn’t. He didn’t care.

“Very well.”

She didn’t take his offered arm but simply walked out beside him. Arthur saw people noticing. He was happy to let them.

His town carriage was brought around promptly, and he handed her in. As they started off, she gazed out the window, not at him. “People here drive their carriages through the park, do they not?” she said. “Perhaps we could do that.”

Surprised and pleased, Arthur gave the order to his coachman. Now he just had to find the right words to woo her. “Your company is a rare treat,” he said.

Teresa glanced at him and away. Lord Macklin had a touch of arrogance, as was only to be expected from an English lord. But other emotions moved in his blue-gray eyes. He was going to say things that should not be. She didn’t know exactly what things, but she knew that she had to speak before he made some impossible declaration. He was a man of honor. He would feel bound by his words, and she would not have him so.

She had thought of her earl for many hours since the arrival of the false Conde de la Cerda, while waiting for the Spaniard’s malicious tongue to begin to wag. She had pondered love and pain and dreams and fate. She had remembered, so vividly, the feel of disaster, of a whole life sliding away—slowly at first like the tipping snows