Page 5 of A Winter Scandal

After some time she was roused from her reverie by her mother’s voice, saying, “Thea, dear, Lady Fenstone is here.”

“Hmm?” Thea turned, somewhat reluctantly letting go of the daydream about a dark-eyed man that she had been spinning in her head, and looked over at her mother. The Earl’s wife was standing in front of Mrs. Bainbridge, looking at Thea, and beside her stood Gabriel Morecombe.

It was all Thea could do to keep her mouth from dropping open in astonishment. “M … ma’am.” Thea shot to her feet, sending the fan that had been resting in her lap tumbling to the floor with a clatter. “Oh!”

She bent to retrieve the fan, but Morecombe had already scooped it up. He did not offer it to her, just smiled at her, his dark eyes sparking with laughter. Thea didn’t know whether to reach for the fan, so she just twisted her hands together awkwardly and turned once more toward the Countess. Remembering that she had not curtsied to the older woman as she should have, she did so now, thinking miserably that she must look even more gauche.

The corner of the Countess’s mouth twitched, whether from irritation or amusement Thea was not sure. She gave a small nod to Thea and said, “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Morecombe.” The Countess turned toward the young man. “Mr. Morecombe, my cousins, Mrs. Latimer Bainbridge and Miss Althea Bainbridge.”

“Ma’am.” Gabriel executed a perfect bow over Thea’s mother’s extended hand, then turned to bow to Thea. “Miss Bainbridge. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you. May I ask for the honor of this dance?”

Thea gaped at him. “Me?”

She heard the Countess emit a little sigh, and Alice Bainbridge said quickly, “That sounds lovely. Go ahead, Althea, it was good of you to keep me company, but I shall be fine here by myself.”

A flush spread across Thea’s cheeks. She was being thoroughly graceless, and she knew that Mr. Morecombe was laughing at her. Though his smile could be mistaken for polite interest, the light in his eyes could be nothing but laughter. She supposed she should be grateful that he was reacting in such good humor. He could have been sullen about Lady Fenstone’s dragging him across the room to ask the wallflower cousin to dance—for Thea was well aware that that was what was going on here—but he did not betray even the slightest disdain. Still, Thea could not help but surge with resentment that he found her ineptness comical; it made her doubly irritated because she knew she did, indeed, look comical.

“Very well.” Thea knew her words came out grudgingly, but she could not manage to twist them into anything else.

Morecombe’s brows went up just a little, but he said nothing, only offered her his arm. Thea put her hand on his arm, praying that he would not feel the trembling in her fingers, and walked with him toward the dance floor. It made her a trifle breathless to be this close to him. She could feel the warmth of his body and smell the trace of cologne that clung to him, tinged with a hint of brandy and smoke. She imagined him in the smoking room with his friends, a glass of brandy in one hand, bringing a cigar to his lips with the other. Thea wondered if his lips would taste of tobacco and alcohol, too, and she blushed yet again at the wayward turn her thoughts had taken.

“You might give me back my fan,” she told him crossly.

He chuckled and flipped the fan in his hand, catching it neatly by the other end. “Oh, no, I think I shall hold it hostage.”

“Hostage! For what?” She glanced at him, frowning.

“A smile, I should think.” He cocked a brow impudently at her. “I fear that will be the only way I shall gain one from you.”

He was even more handsome up close, impossible as it seemed. His lashes were thick and black, deepening those already dark eyes until they seemed fathomless, yet light glittered in them, making them spark with life. Something coiled deep inside Thea, warm and twisting, and she had to look away. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You see? Already I have offended you.” He let out a mock sigh as he handed back her fan.

“You haven’t offended me. You simply talk nonsense.”

“But isn’t that what we are supposed to talk?” Gabriel grinned. “Everyone does at a party.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone wishes to go to them, then.” Thea kept her voice tart even though his grin did even more peculiar things to her insides.

“I am sure we should not if we were all so serious. But a little nonsense can make the time pass pleasantly, especially if it can make a lady smile. Come, Miss Bainbridge, cannot I wrest even one small token of appreciation for saving your fan?”

“For saving me from the ignominy of being a wallflower, you mean.” She cast a sharp sideways glance at him and caught the surprise that flickered across his face. “Come, Mr. Morecombe, surely you don’t think I am naïve enough not to realize that you were pressed into service by Lady Fenstone to make sure all the young women had a chance to take to the floor.”

“Clearly you don’t know me well, Miss Bainbridge, for I am rarely pressed into anything. It is one of my many faults, as I’m sure a number of people would be happy to tell you.”

“You did not ask Lady Fenstone to introduce us,” Thea said flatly. She was not sure why she was pressing the matter, but somehow it was important to her pride to let him know that she was undeceived about his act of courtesy.

He cast a long look at her, then said, “No, I did not.” He paused. “But neither did I hesitate.”

Thea looked away, not sure what to say. Fortunately, they had reached the dance floor, making it unnecessary to speak. She took her place in line across from him, relieved to see that they would be participating in a country dance rather than one of the waltzes that had become all the rage in London. Veronica had learned the waltz, of course, and insisted on teaching it to her sister, but it was still considered a bit scandalous in the country, so Thea had never actually danced one before. At least she had stood up at a County Assembly a time or two in a country dance so she would hopefully not disgrace herself.

She was also grateful because the dance was both too active and too intricate to allow for conversation between her and her partner. Thea concentrated on executing the proper steps and tried to look at Morecombe as little as possible. Unlike her, he moved with ease through the steps, which Thea found irritating. What was even more annoying was that whenever she glanced over at him, she felt that same little flutter of excitement. And when they moved closer in their movements and their hands reached out to touch, palm to palm, it left her breathless, her heart pounding.

It was only the exertion of the dance, she told herself, that made her cheeks flush and her blood hammer in her veins. But, deep down, Thea was too honest to let herself believe such a lie. It was Gabriel Morecombe’s nearness that made her feel so strangely wobbly and fizzy, so hot and cold, all at once.

The dance ended, and they made their polite curtsy and bow to one another. Gabriel offered her his arm, his eyes sweeping over her flushed face, and as they walked off the floor, he guided her through the open French doors onto the stone walkway beyond. Startled, Thea could think of nothing to do except go with him. She glanced around and saw that a number of other couples were strolling out onto the terrace to escape the heat of the ballroom, so she supposed that it could not be a scandalous thing to do. Again tingling with that sense of unease and excitement that Gabriel seemed to call forth in her, Thea strolled with him along the terrace. The garden below was illuminated with lanterns placed strategically along the paths between the flowers. A few bold couples even walked there, at least as far as to the fountain.

“I—why are we out here?” Thea asked. It sounded graceless—again—but she could think of no other way to put it. Gabriel might have asked her to dance as a courtesy to his hostess, but she could see no reason why he would extend the experience by taking her for a stroll.