The Wooing of Miss Masters Read online

  Audra knew she should just let it rest there, but she couldn't seem to do so. She attempted a smile that was more a pain-filled grimace. "Such a small world, isn't it? My mother is so high-spirited. I suppose she flirted with you most shockingly."

  "Of course not," Raeburn said almost too quickly. "Only look at my face, Miss Masters. Do I appear the sort of man a woman would want to flirt with?"

  Audra did scan his features most intently, from that hawklike nose to the harsh lines carved by his mouth, to the lowering dark brows that could not quite disguise the kindness in his eyes as he lied to spare her feelings. Yes, Audra was disconcerted to discover, he was exactly the sort of man she would wish to flirt with if she were at all adept at the art.

  That realization was almost as embarrassing as her suspicion that likely her own mother had cast out lures to the duke. When he tried to lighten her mood by launching into an anecdote of how he had once nearly fallen into the canal in Venice, she stopped him.

  "I am afraid I have kept Your Grace here talking long enough. You should be paying more heed to your other guests. Dancing or some such."

  Raeburn's dark look showed exactly what he thought of her suggestion, so she hastened to add, "All these determined ladies might wax dangerous if deprived of your company for too long. I daresay your absence has already been remarked."

  Raeburn did glance about him as if half expecting to find some predatory female ready to spring at him from the floral arrangement. Though he scowled, he rose to his feet, the gesture rife with resignation.

  "Very well. I shall go do my cursed duty, but only under one condition."

  Audra regarded him warily. "Which is?"

  "You will let me take you into supper later." Caught somewhere between delight and dismay, Audra stammered. "Oh, n-no, I couldn't."

  "Why not? All right, so you don't dance. But even you, my redoubtable Miss Masters, must eat."

  "Of course, I do," she said with a reluctant laugh. "But—"

  Her protest was silenced when he captured one of her hands. "As my one true friend, Miss Masters, after flinging me to these ravening hordes of women, you should at least promise me some respite."

  His words might be light, teasing, but his gaze was intent. Audra sighed. Was there ever any other man who knew how to use his eyes to such advantage?

  "Very well. I shall sit with you at supper."

  He smiled, carrying her hand to his lips. Then, as if he feared she might yet change her mind, he bowed and was gone.

  Audra sat perfectly still for long seconds after the duke vanished, staring at her hand as if she had never seen it before. Raeburn's kiss had not been in the least romantic, but rather brusque. Yet her skin still tingled from the rough brush of his lips. She drew in a tremulous breath, feeling stranger than she ever had in her life, as if she wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. She, who had never been given to any excess of emotion.

  She should have remained firm, refused Raeburn's demand to take her into supper. But he had called her his "one true friend." Was there any higher compliment a man could pay to a woman? Audra liked the sound of it. Given her reclusive lifestyle, she had never had many friends.

  Glancing up toward the window panes, blackened by night, the ball suddenly seemed more interminable than ever, but for a different reason. With an almost feverish impatience, she tried to calculate how much time remained until midnight, the hour supper would be served.

  It would seem longer if she just sat here, ticking off the minutes. She ought to go look out for Cecily, especially considering she had not seen her sister for some time. A very poor chaperon she was turning out to be. Standing up, she emerged from her hiding place, preparing to skirt across the center of a ballroom where another lively waltz was taking place.

  Odd that she had never noticed, but there was something rather delightful about a ball, the whirl of colors, the graceful way the dancers dipped and swirled. Her feet were feeling a little better, and she was almost sorry she had sent Raeburn in quest of another partner.

  As she made her way past the column of pillars, she caught herself humming with the music. She saw Raeburn in the midst of the dancers and had to choke back a laugh. He had a rare and charming smile upon his face as he waltzed with a sweet-faced elderly dame who looked old enough to be his grandmama. Audra could only begin to imagine what must be the indignation of all the young ladies present. What a teasing devil he was.

  But Audra's amusement was tempered by the fact that nowhere amid all the circling couples did she spy Cecily. Granted the ladies outnumbered the men tonight, but Audra had never expected that her lovely sister would have to sit out a dance.

  Imagining what Cecily's chagrin must be, Audra hastened to find her. Most of the partnerless ladies were clustered in disconsolate groups to one side of the ballroom. As Audra made her way toward them, she squeezed behind several gilt-trimmed chairs where some of the women had taken refuge.

  She overheard the dark-haired beauty who Raeburn had danced with earlier complaining in peevish accents to a formidable dowager in a purple turban.

  "We may as well go home, Mama. Since the duke has stopped dancing with any of the eligible ladies, it is obvious he has settled upon his choice."

  "What utter nonsense, Charlene. Whom do you think he has chosen?"

  "That tall, plain creature, the one who stepped all over him during the cotillion. His Grace was over there in that corner, talking to her forever. Alicia Wright even saw him kiss her hand."

  "That Masters woman? The eccentric spinster who lives like a hermit. Ridiculous! Good lord, I have heard that she is even bookish."

  Audra knew she should not listen to any more of this, but she felt rooted to the spot with dismay, unable to move.

  Another older woman whom Audra vaguely recognized as Mrs. Wright, the mother of six unwed daughters, leaned forward to join in the conversation. "Eccentric Miss Masters may be, but she is also possessed of a large fortune, according to Lady Coleby."

  The turbaned one sniffed. "Sophia Coleby is a wicked gossip, but she does usually know everything. But surely the duke need not take fortune into account in his choice of a bride."

  "My dear," Mrs. Wright sneered. "The gentlemen always take that into account."

  No! It was all Audra could do not to break in upon the women and protest. Raeburn wasn't counting upon any such thing, because he had not chosen Audra for anything other than a friend. It was horrid of these old tabbies to be implying otherwise.

  But worse was to follow. Mrs. Wright lowered her voice, but remained disastrously audible. "Of course you know whose daughter Miss Masters is. That vulgar creature known in London circles simply as Lady Arabella. Widowed four times and married again to say nothing of . . ."

  Behind the cover of her fan, Mrs. Wright whispered something to the turbaned dowager which caused that lady to stiffen with shock.

  "Well," she huffed. "That explains why Miss Masters is so shameless in setting her cap at the duke. Like mother, like daughter, I always say."

  Mrs. Wright gave a sour laugh. "I fear Miss Masters will never be able to rival Lady Arabella in the number of marriages. The poor dear is getting such a late start, and the duke is a remarkably healthy specimen." Mrs. Wright stood up, shaking out her skirts. "I grow stiff from just sitting here. Shall we take a turn about the room?"

  "We might as well." The purple turban also rose. "Come along, Charlene. Perhaps if you keep moving, your want of a partner will not be as noticeable."

  The two dowagers rustled off, the pouting dark beauty trailing in their wake. Audra stepped forward, then leaned on the back of one of the vacated chairs for support. She touched a hand to her cheek, astonished to find it was possible to blanch and still burn at the same time.

  If things had been arranged more fairly, it would be possible for her to stalk after those creatures, slap Mrs. Wright with her glove for bandying Audra's name about, challenge her to a duel. But the world only favored gentlemen with such an outlet.
A lady was ever obliged to smile, confining her barbs to her tongue, and the heavens help those possessing no claws to defend themselves.

  Audra knew she shouldn't pay any heed to malicious gossip. She flattered herself that she was usually tougher than that. But Mrs. Wright's remarks were not all easily dismissed. To be compared to Lady Arabella, to be said to be like her mama! That was one raking of claws that had drawn blood.

  And yet she had to absolve even those two harpies. The fault was her own, entirely hers. She had known any woman Raeburn bestowed attention upon tonight would attract undue attention, jealous criticism. At what point had she allowed herself to forget that—when he had smiled too deep into her eyes, when he had teased her into forgetting her shame about Mama's behavior, when he had kissed her hand?

  It little mattered when she had become a fool, only that she had. Most heartily did she now regret her promise to Raeburn that he could take her to supper. She might possess neither beauty nor charm, but one thing she did have was pride.

  Supping with the duke would really set tongues to wagging. But far worse than any gossip was the doubts that had been sown in Audra's mind.

  Was she so sure herself that Raeburn's only design in courting her attention was friendship? The kiss to her hand, forcing her to dance, repeatedly seeking her out, could those have any other significance? She couldn't bring herself to think of Raeburn as a fortune hunter, or even that he would consider marrying her for any reason.

  It was all so absurd, so confusing. Only one thing was certain. The prospect of facing him again filled her with a sensation of panic. If there was only some way she could vanish before midnight, be far away from here. Yet Cecily would never forgive Audra for tearing her away from the ball that early.

  She was still pondering what to say to the girl when she finally located her sister. Or rather Cecily found her first, fairly hurling herself into Audra's arms. Before Audra could speak a word, she was dumbfounded to hear Cecily's declaration.

  "Oh, Audra, I want to go home."

  Audra blinked, attempting to recover from her astonishment. But instead of relief that her own escape should be made so easy, Audra felt alarmed. Cecily was quite pale, with a glazed look in her eyes.

  "Muffin, what's wrong? Have you not been having a good time either?"

  "I have been having a wonderful time." A large tear escaped to trickle off the end of Cecily's pert nose. "B-but now I feel like I am going to be s-sick."

  She clutched a hand to her stomach, her face going from white to hints of green.

  Audra slipped her arm about Cecily's waist. "Don't cry, love. I will take you home at once. Where is Uncle Matt?"

  "In the card room, I think."

  "Well, there is no need to disturb him. We can send the coach back to fetch him later. Come on."

  Bracing Cecily, she led the girl toward the main door of the ballroom. Although her concern for Cecily was quite real, Audra experienced a sense of shame as well. Her solicitude was perhaps a shade too eager, as if she exploited Cecily's illness to cover her own cowardly desire to flee.

  Guiding Cecily down the long, curving stair back to the lower hall, Audra requested a footman to send for her coach and fetch their cloaks.

  Cecily sagged against Audra, a picture of misery. "Shouldn't we take our leave of Lady Augusta and the duke?" she asked.

  "No!" Audra lowered her voice, managing to add in a calmer tone. "We will send round our excuses later. You don't want to be sick here all over His Grace's marble tiles, do you?"

  "Oh, n-no, Audra." She stood, listlessly docile while Audra swept her cloak about her shoulders. Audra pulled up the hood, hiding drooping blond curls, a face most woebegone. Audra tried to be gentle, hoping her own nervousness was not apparent. Her chief dread was that Raeburn would somehow detect her flight and swoop down for explanations.

  Not that she did not have an adequate excuse. Anyone could see how ill Cecily was. But she feared that His Grace might have an uncanny knack of seeing other things as well, the desperation that surely must lurk in Audra's own eyes.

  Bundling up in her own mantle, Audra hustled Cecily toward the door. Just as she felt herself safe, her worst fear was realized. Raeburn appeared on the landing above her, casting a long shadow down the curve of the stairs.

  Audra didn't look back, didn't hesitate, but shoved her sister out into the night. Over Cecily's muffled protest, Audra dragged the girl across the flagstone courtyard to where the coach awaited them.

  "Audra," Cecily moaned, but Audra scarce heard her over the wild thudding of her own heart. She was moving so swiftly that she stumbled, painfully wrenching one slipper half off her feet.

  Audra had to pull up. Hopping on one foot, she reached down to right it, but at that moment she thought she heard Raeburn calling her name. Calling? Nay, bellowing.

  Swearing, she yanked one slipper off, then the other one, hurling both the cursed things in the direction of the moat.

  Able to move more quickly in her stocking feet, she got Cecily to the coach door.

  "But Audra," Cecily said. "I think the duke is—"

  Audra gave her sister no chance to finish, pushing the girl into the carriage. Shouting up to the coachman not to spare the horses, Miss Cecily was deathly ill, Audra vaulted into the carriage herself unassisted. As a footman slammed the door, she glimpsed Raeburn emerging into the circle of lantern light.

  With an oath, the duke rushed forward, but his shouts were lost in the rattle of carriage wheels. Miss Masters's coachman whipped up his team, tearing out of the courtyard as if a thousand demons were in pursuit.

  No, not a thousand, only one. Simon thought grimly as he pulled up short to catch his breath. He raked his hand back through his wind-tossed hair in frustration. Hands on hips, he watched the coach vanish into the night.

  Now what the deuce had gotten into that woman? Bolting off without a word after having pledged to dine with him. Forever running away. If it had been any other female avoiding him, he would not have been surprised. But Miss Masters was not frightened of him. Far from it. Though not given to vanity, he had begun to flatter himself that she even liked him a little.

  Well, the devil with her, he muttered, spinning on his heel. He could not stand out here all night staring after her like some lovelorn sot. There was a nip in the air, and some of his footmen were gaping at him as if he had run mad, which perhaps he had.

  But it was harder than ever to steel himself to return to that ball. The evening that had begun to hold such promise seemed again unendurably flat. And all because she had gone. Raeburn was man enough to admit that. Miss Masters company held great attraction for him, although at times he felt ready to throttle her. Yet they had been getting on rather well at the last. So why had she fled?

  Perhaps it had something to do with that one moment when she had mentioned her former suitors with her chin lifted in defiance. Raeburn wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable she had looked when she declared. "I drove them all away."

  Just like the princess hiding behind the wall of thorns. Raeburn had been teasing when he had said that to her, but now he realized that it was not that far off from the truth.

  "Except, Miss Masters, I am no prince," Raeburn murmured frowning. "I am more of a dragon, and there is no blasted way you are going to keep me out." His jaw set with grim purpose, Simon was striding back to the castle when he was approached by a timid stable boy.

  "Beg pardon, Your Grace. But that last lady as what left here in such a hurry. Why, she forgot these."

  The boy's eyes were round as saucers as he extended something toward Simon. When he saw what the objects were, Simon emitted a soft bark of laughter.

  At that instant, Lady Augusta emerged from the house, slightly breathless. "Simon, I saw you go running down the stairs. Is something wrong?"

  "No, Gus. Nothing at all." He astounded Augusta by planting a smacking buss on her cheek. With a puzzled frown, she watched as he strode past her whistling a tuneless song.


  She was further confounded to note he had a pair of lady's dancing slippers tucked under his arm and he was smiling in a way that he had not for ages . . . not since Robert had died.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The morning was well advanced, and Audra could not seem to rouse herself from the lassitude that had overtaken her. She had no inclination to venture down to the stables and go for a ride or even to walk into the village to see what might be newly arrived at the local lending library.

  She might at least have delved into her book. The house was quiet enough with Cecily still abed. But Ivanhoe lay unopened upon the small parlor table, Audra not even possessing the energy to lift the cover.

  Muffin had passed a bad night after leaving the ball, being sick several times, once in the coach going home and once in her room. Heavy-eyed herself from ministering to Cecily's needs, Audra had been left too exhausted to even think until now.

  Slouched in the armchair before the parlor fire, she sat listlessly regarding what remained of the nosegay Uncle Matt had given her. The flowers were already wilting, a sad reminder of last evening's festivities. Audra had heard of some sentimental maidens pressing flowers into books to remind them of a particular night. But Audra thought she would as soon forget the event where she had made such a roaring fool of herself.

  When some of the drooping petals came off in her hand, Audra chucked the whole bouquet into the fire, watching as it was consumed with a sharp crackle and an angry hiss. She supposed by this time the entire county would be clacking over her hasty departure from the duke's ball, wondering, speculating. Likely they would all conclude it was just another example of her odd behavior. What more could be expected of a woman who preferred books to men?

  Far better that they think that than continue to link her name with Raeburn's. Hopefully, after a time, some fresh piece of gossip would divert their minds, and the mad spinster of Meadow's Lane would be entirely forgotten again.