Page 19 of Wynter's Bite

“I already promised him a waltz,” Bethany said. “He’s never asked me before. Perhaps his intentions are honorable.”

Her mother’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Lord Tench was going to ask for the waltz.”

Bethany snorted indelicately. “He can barely walk. How is he supposed to dance?” Before Lady Mead could begin a lecture, she fabricated an excuse. “I must retreat to the retiring room.”

She spent the next hour hiding from her mother before it was time for the waltz. Justus met her the moment the first sweet note trilled on the violins, and when he took her into his arms, the rest of the world fell away.

They twirled and swayed together as if they were one, and Bethany’s heart pounded with excitement at the feel of his firm shoulder beneath her hand and the solid heat of his grip on her waist. Their faces were so close she could see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. His deep, green eyes remained locked on hers, seeming to communicate with her in a new and magical language.

When he bent down and a silken lock of his hair caressed her cheek, Bethany gasped, at first thinking he would kiss her again right there in front of everyone.

Instead, Justus whispered, “Are you able to escape your room without detection tonight?”

A tremor of fear and excitement shivered up her spine, along with a pang of disappointment. “Are you suggesting a tryst?” Perhaps he was as much of a rake as people said.

“No. I would never dishonor you that way.” His hand stroked her back beneath her hair soothing motion. “But I must speak to you in absolute secrecy, for the matter is of utmost importance.”

The intensity of his gaze made her heart leap in her throat. He looked afraid, yet somehow elated all at once, as if he was on the verge of unloading a great burden. Bethany decided to trust him. Or perhaps she really did not find the prospect of a tryst to be a bad thing. If his kisses were so potent, what would it be like to experience more?

Rising up on tiptoes, she spoke softly. “There’s a tree by my window. I can shimmy down it. I used to do it all the time when I was a girl.”

He nodded. “Meet me in your orchard at midnight.”

The music faded and he bowed before walking away from the dance floor as if indifferent to their waltz. Bethany struggled to breathe as her stays seemed suddenly tight. Did she truly agree to meet Justus alone in the dark tonight? All the gothic novels she’d read implied that such a thing was a very unwise notion. What if he planned to abduct her?

She shook her head. No. Justus was her friend. He’d never do anything to harm her.

Despite that firm truth, her mind still raced to devise his motives for such a covert liaison. Had he contracted a fatal illness and only trusted her with the tragic news? Heavens, she hoped not.

Another thought made her knees go weak. What if he wished to elope?

Although the notion was incredibly romantic, she could not fathom why he wouldn’t simply court her and ask her father for her hand like a normal gentleman.

A humorous smile tugged her lips. Justus de Wynter was anything but normal. His hair was red as autumn leaves, he was more well-read than anyone she’d ever met, he did not go anywhere during the day, and no one of her acquaintance had ever been inside his manor house by the river. All that aside, there was an aura of power and mystery about him that set her imagination to flight.

As she reached the punch bowl, Bethany searched the room for him, hoping to glimpse a hint of his intentions in his eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, she sat next to a group of wallflowers and made polite conversation until Lord Tench asked her to dance.

After enduring his wandering hands and clinging to her person all for the excuse of maintaining his balance— which she suspected wasn’t nearly as impaired as he wanted her to believe— Bethany sought out her mother and pleaded exhaustion.

“Oh, but it is not even ten o’clock,” Lady Wickshire protested.

“I know, but I did not sleep well last night and I do not wish to have circles under my eyes.” Bethany appealed to her mother’s obsession with her appearance. If she could be home by eleven, that would give her enough time to bathe and ready herself for her assignation with Justus.

Lady Mead’s countenance softened. “Very well, I’ll ask your father to have the carriage brought ’round.”

Bethany hid a smile behind her fan as she saw the relief in Father’s eyes as Mother requested that they depart. He had grown progressively fatigued with the social whirlwind they’d plunged into to secure Bethany a match. Lord Wickshire was much more comfortable in his overstuffed chair in the study, reading a book by the fire. If not for their opposing preferences, Bethany and her father would have been kindred spirits. Alas, Father disdained poetry and novels. He preferred memoirs and accounts of historical battles, which made Bethany’s eyes glaze over. However, if it weren’t for him taking her upon his lap and having her read some of those battle stories with him when she was young, Bethany never would have learned to read Old English and thus never would have had the opportunity to fall in love with Chaucer. It was a shame Father now disdained her love of novels. Not for the first time, she wondered what made him so apprehensive of anything in the realm of fiction. He often behaved as if he feared she wouldn’t be able to discern a story from fact.

When they were settled in the carriage, Bethany silently implored the horses to go faster while also praying that one did not turn an ankle or pick up a stone so they would not be delayed. Then, once they arrived at home, she fabricated a story about a popular debutante advising her of the beautifying powers of bathing with lavender in order to persuade her mother to have a bath drawn despite the late hour. There was no way Bethany would meet Justus smelling of Lord Tench’s putrid odor of old sweat and fermented cologne.

Taking extra time on cleaning her hair and scrubbing her skin, Bethany breathed a sigh of relief when her mother came in to bid her goodnight and she already heard her father snoring in the next room. Mother always retired minutes after father, so she should have time to change into suitable garb and steal away in time for her rendezvous.

The moment Mother closed her bedroom door, Bethany tiptoed to her wardrobe and searched for something fetching, yet practical for climbing up and down the tree. She settled on a navy blue riding habit that had breeches instead of a skirt, along with her best riding boots.

Darting glances at the small clock on her vanity, she brushed her hair for one hundred strokes before gathering it in a loose plait so it wouldn’t catch on the tree branches. Then she touched up her face with a smattering of powder and a bit of rouge that mother gave her last Christmas. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as she reached for her jewel box to fetch her lucky necklace.

No matter what Justus had to say to her, she wanted him to know that he’d chiseled a permanent place deep in her heart and that his friendship meant the world to her. After lifting her favorite necklace, a small watch on a gold chain that had belonged to her great, great grandmother, Bethany’s gaze lit upon another trinket.

Just before they’d arrived at their country manor, Bethany’s mother had commissioned to have a miniature of her painted and then placed in a locket. The necklace was meant to be given to her future intended as a token of affection.

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