Page 4 of Married By Twelfth Night
His eye narrowed and his mouth curled. “Oh, I think you knew perfectly well what you were doing then and now. You’re always scheming something. I’m not certain this request for a danceis not a trap.”
Perhaps she had known that he was to see his friends that day she’d pinned a note to him, but she was generally good-natured and trustworthy. “Everything I do is not so calculated. You cannot even think of a current example.” His expectant, pointed look forced her to clear her throat and regather her argument. “No harm will come to your person this time,I promise.”
He shifted against the marble. “Ah, but your honesty leaves little to be desired.”
Her hand slid to her hip. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I have plenty of current examples of your ill will toward me. Where to begin?”
Grace swallowed, glancing at the other couples braving the cold and milling about. “Do you have the time? I think we ought to return inside.”
His words barreled forward, completely dismissive of her own. “Just a few weeks ago, you told Miss Thorne that my reading voice sounded like the snores of a hibernating bear.”
Drat! So he heard about that, had he? “She knew I was close to your sister and asked for a list of your qualities. I said a few redeeming things as well . . . I think.” She straightened. “Would you have me lie?”
He shrugged. “You expect me to be flattered by all this honesty?”
She should have apologized, or even begged, but she had never been very good at either. “Flattered, no, but understanding, yes. It’s you or Mr. Dobson, and can’t I prefer the lesser evil of the two?”
“Mr. Dobson?” His eyes lit up like a fire consuming the yule log. “What a fine catch you have ensnared.”
She winced. The truth was out. He knew her weakness. “I have no desire to couple my name with his, but he is quite determined. He cannot corner me if we are dancing, and the night is almost over. Youwill not have to stay by my side after the set is finished.” She paused, waiting for him to respond. “So . . . will you do it?”
His eyes glimmered like he was doing a math problem and was pleased with the solution. “And you will owe me what?”
“Anything!” she blurted.
“Ah, I like that sound of that.” The smoldering intensity of his words and expression made her worry she’d promised too much. But this was Mr. Dobson they were speaking about. Avoiding him was worth a great deal of sacrifice.
Dazzling white snowflakes broke their taut gaze. “The first snow,” she whispered. No one would deem her a romantic, but her older sister Ruth once told her that witnessing the first snow with a man was a sign of true love. But since Grace was viewing it with Richard, she took it as a sign of foreboding.
Richard pushed away from the balustrade. “Our cue to return inside. Lead the way, Gracie May.”
There it was. His pet name for her reminded her that she was but a child to him, which was made worse with a rhyme. Still, a real smile slipped free at the corners of her mouth. She would never admit it, but that name that she’d tried desperately to despise was actually her favorite part about Richard Graham. After all the harmless teasing, there was loyalty and unspoken respect between them that meant they would never push too far. She would have to repay the favor at some point, but he wouldn’t ask anything impossible of her. No, he valued her relationship with his sister too much. At least she had that small comfort.
Chapter 3
Richard hadn’t time forgames, but the clock ticked steadily in his mind since he’d arrived at the ball and suddenly slowed when he’d pulled Grace outside. The rush of chilly winter air had opened his eyes. He didn’t have to solve his problems alone. Grace could help him. Vexing but, oh, so intelligent Grace. When she wasn’t out to skewer him with her words, she could be rather brilliant.
No one else could have convinced his mother to leave her bed and try Bath for her health. If she didn’t despise him so, he might have thought of her sooner.
When they reentered the glowing ballroom, warmth radiated from the grand fireplace on the far end combined with the sheer number of Wetherfield’s finest. Richard kept Grace’s arm in his and moved along the wall swathed with glimmering candlelight and dancing shadows from the sparkling chandeliers.
He glanced at his silent companion, who was far too busy searching for Mr. Dobson to heed him. He slowed before reaching his friends. Could he stomach more trivial conversation and gossip? No, he didn’t believe he could. He stopped abruptly, a good distance from them, content to wait alone with Grace in preparation for the next set. Oblivious to his own mental dilemmas, she dropped his arm and worried her hands together.
He attempted to put her out of her misery. “He’s on your right behind the woman with the green turban.”
Grace’s head whipped in the direction he indicated, and she stilled. “He hasn’t seen us yet.”
“He’s searching for you. He must have seen us come back inside.” Mr. Dobson wasn’t tall, but he craned his neck every which way.
“This dance cannot end and ours begin soon enough,” she muttered, her lips pulling into a tight line. His eyes naturally traced her face to her pert little nose. She had always reminded him of a little pixie—naturally pretty and far too clever for her own good. Her brown hair was neatly pulled back in a soft but practical style. She never had loose tendrils by her face; no, she was too sensible to let her hair obscure her smart greenish-blue eyes. They were the stage of her face where everything was dreamed up and executed. One could watch it happen like an expertly crafted play, usually with plenty of wit, and if it included him, a hint of artifice.
Grace was Bridget’s dearest friend, and thankfully, she treated his sister far better than she treated him. For that reason, he had tried dutifully to ignore her through the years. Unless, of course, one of her schemes made doing so impossible. This time though, the tables were turned, and she had played right into his hands.
“Gracie . . .” he began, not certain of the best way to approach the subject. “Let’s start a game while we wait. You seem in need of distraction.”
“Game?” Her brows lifted, and he suddenly had her full attention. That had been much too easy. But Grace had always had a knack for games, and it was only in the playing of such games that they were able to make a temporary truce and get along.
