Page 27 of Captivating the Countess
Rainford returned just as Teddy was demanding Bell’s supper dance. Without a word, the marquess swept her onto the dance floor and imperiously gestured at the musicians. The onset of the waltz before everyone had found their partners caused mass confusion on the sidelines, but Rain swung Bell into the dance with a firm arm and step and pretended he didn’t notice.
Perhaps he didn’t. He seemed so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even speak. For a few minutes, Bell simply enjoyed the sensation of being expertly swept around the nearly empty dance floor as if she were thistle down. She dared say they appeared very dramatic, Rainford in his black and silver and her in black and gold. She didn’t know how he kept the white and silver embroidered waistcoat so immaculate, but it sparkled like the glittery ornaments along the walls.
She sighed in exasperation as she realized what Alicia had contrived. “We match,” she muttered.
That caught his attention. He finally glanced down at her instead of glowering over her shoulder. “What?”
“Alicia told me to wear the gold gown. Did she tell you to wear the silver waistcoat?”
“She told me it was a winter ball and this looked wintery.” He swept her past other couples finally filling the floor and toward the edge where they could see the golden birds and silver boughs. “Gold and silver, I see. Wretched imp.”
“We should be thankful she didn’t ask for green. How is your father faring?” Now that she had his attention, she had to ask, even if it returned his blue gloom.
“He’s dying,” he said flatly. “Not tonight or tomorrow, but I can’t imagine he will last the winter. I’m not ready to lose him.”
That was frank. “I wish I could help.” Bell said it without thinking.
“He wants me to marry. He’s become obsessive about it. Help me choose a likely bride or marry me. Consult with my sisters, if you like. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make him comfortable.”
Startled, Bell missed a step. Rainford held her steady until she recovered.
For his father’s sake, the marquess was quite capable of cold-bloodedly picking a female, pointing at her, and saying, “You, marry me.” And most of the single women in here would curtsy and agree. Heaven help them all.
“I don’t know these people,” she protested. “Will they stay long enough for me to learn which ones are most likely to suit you?”
“No.” His expression was stony. “I am supposed to choose a bride after a few dances and brief conversations with chaperones present. That’s why I’d rather choose you. At least I know you’re not a spendthrift ninny.”
Bell almost laughed. “That was very romantic, thank you. But I am a fragile buffoon who faints if a door slams and who hears spirits in my empty head. I do not even dare lift an infant for fear its cry might startle me into dropping the poor creature. Besides, I enjoy my routines and require peace, which rules out your entire household. What about one of the widows? They’re older. Perhaps they have a little more experience in marriage and aren’t quite so silly?”
“I suppose experience counts, and I should start somewhere.” He studied her while abruptly swinging her in an unexpected circle. “Or I could find a way to heal your fainting. Is it just being startled that causes you to drop?”
Knowing he asked for his own benefit and not hers made it easier not to care about her one irrationality. For a brief moment, Bell allowed herself to be transported by the lovely music, the glamorous couples waltzing around them, the glittering décor—and the handsome marquess actuallylisteningto her.
Briefly, she relaxed in his arms, wishing she could sear this pleasure into her memory. Abruptly, Rainford tightened his embrace and swirled her in a tight spin.
Obviously, his mind wasn’t on the beauty surrounding them.
“Swinging me about like a bell as you just did does not startle me.” She laughed at his air of resolve, as if she were a scientific experiment he must study. “If the music abruptly shattered into cacophony, that might surprise me. I don’t always faint, though. It’s only when the spirits swoop in and batter at my mind. I cannot always fend them off. That’s when I faint.”
“Do you faint if youallowthem in?” he asked in curiosity.
“I purposely don’t allow them in, not since childhood.” She wrinkled her nose at his disapproving glance. “Have you ever attended a séance? Listened to the silly women who wave their arms or talk in sonorous tones about the spirit of a long dead loved one wishing to speak with a man with an R in his name?”
“Good heavens, no. Do people actually believe that folly?” He looked rightfully appalled.
At least that was better than his earlier gloom. “Then you understand why I do not do that. Iona and I attended a few séances when we were in London. They were ludicrous, and made me uncomfortable, as if I were the charlatan. The people attending, though, were desperate souls. Their hunger for words from beyond was frightening. I am not opening up myself to that kind of notoriety.”
Enlightenment lit his eyes. “You do not want people seeking you out in hopes you might speak to their long-dead loved ones. Understandable. The dead should be left to rest.”
“Your grandmother disagrees,” she countered dryly. “And if I let her speak, how soon will all the others wish to do so? I could spend the day conversing with ghosts instead of actually living.”
He frowned. “Fainting and avoiding life is not necessarily preferable.”
Well, there was that. Shaking her head, feeling her cap loosen, Bell discontinued the uncomfortable discussion. “May I visit your father while you entertain widows during the supper break? We really shouldn’t encourage Alicia’s fantasies.”
“You won’t return, will you?” He said it with accusation.
“I’d rather not. I’m tired and unused to these hours. I’d rather read and retire early.”
