Anne tensed again as she fought, clearly, to keep the dismay out of her face, for nearly everyone in the room had heard and turned to look at her.
“Of course, she will,” Philip beamed. “If some kind gentleman could perhaps turn the music for her?” He was smiling directly at someone—Sir Marcus, who, lost in his own thought, didn’t appear to notice.
“Oh, Richard is looking forward to performing that service,” Henrietta assured Anne. “He has quite found his niche.”
Anne rose mechanically, leaving Helen with a growing suspicion. However, noticing that Philip was about to take Anne’s vacant place beside her, she rose, murmuring, “Excuse me, I should go to Lady Overton.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved blindly away from him.
Her path took her between Lady Overton, enjoying a comfortable gossip with another matron, and Sir Marcus, quite on his own. On impulse, she swerved toward the latter, who glanced up as she approached and rose to his feet.
“Thank God,” he said without explanation. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir Marcus, are you very wealthy?” she asked.
He blinked. “Hideously. Are you touching me for a loan?”
A breath of laughter escaped her. “No, of course not! I am sorry to be so vulgar, but I seem to have got into the habit of saying to you exactly what is on my mind. Probably because I know you cannot think any more badly of me.”
“I don’t think badly of you at all.”
And there it was again, that surge of awareness as his eyes held hers, no longer so cool or so harsh. It felt almost like recognition, though of what she couldn’t fathom. She just knew the overwhelming physicality of his presence brought butterflies to her stomach. Was this why Anne was afraid of him?
Anne is a child. I am a grown woman who knows better than this.
“Excuse me,” she said hastily, “I am meant to be with Lady Overton.” Even then, she knew she was fleeing. She just wasn’t sure from what.
Lady Overton responded to Helen’s report on the children with a distracted nod. “Then you are quite at liberty for the rest of the evening,” she said graciously.
With relief, Helen headed out of the drawing room, but Sir Marcus stopped her.
“Miss Milsom.” His voice echoed alarmingly, and she spun around to see him walking toward her.
She had never noticed such unconscious grace in a man before, certainly not in one so overwhelmingly male. She forced herself to wait calmly for him, to halt only a foot in front of her.
“Sir Marcus,” she said, perhaps a little too haughtily for a governess. “Can I help you with something?”
His brows lifted. “Yes. You can tell me why you asked if I was rich.”
She flushed. “As I said, I was thinking aloud. I can only apologize.”
“Oh, no, you can’t get around me that way. I want to know what you were thinking. Come for a walk in the garden and tell me.”
“That would not be appropriate,” she said mechanically, conscious chiefly of the sudden desire to do just as he asked.
“Then I’ll walk to the end of the gallery with you,” he said, undeterred.
There was nothing for her to do but turn and walk on, while he fell into step beside her.
“Well?” he prompted.
For a moment, she was almost persuaded, but some old loyalty to Philip held her back from revealing her suspicion. “I don’t want to tell you.”
To her surprise, a breath of laughter escaped him. “You do intrigue me, Miss Milsom.”
“I am gratified.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied. “You wish I’d keep my personal remarks to myself.”
“I can hardly complain when I speak my own unruly thoughts to you,” she said.
“Part of your unruly thoughts,” he corrected. “An annoyingly small part. I would like to know you better.”
She glanced up at him, unwilling to acknowledge the little thrill of pleasure caused by his words, by his presence. He came to a halt, holding her gaze until she all but tore it free.
They had reached the end of the gallery, and she walked quickly across the dark landing to the table at the foot of the stairs where several candles waited. She hadn’t heard him move, but he was before her, striking the flint and lighting one of the candles, which he lifted and offered to her. Its glow flickered across his face, reflected in his intense eyes.
She had seen that look in men before. But it had never sparked such heat through her body.
She took the candle from him and thrilled to the brief, brushing touch of his fingers. This was madness, this temptation to…what? Stay in his company? Take his hand, touch his shadowed cheek, his firm, slightly parted lips?
She swallowed and nervously thrust out her hand, determined to end the strange encounter. “Good night, sir.”
A smile brightened his face. He took her hand, though his gaze seemed to have dropped to her mouth. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
“Good night, Miss Milsom.” But he did not immediately release her hand. Instead, he raised it to his lips and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. Only then did he let her go.
She hurried upstairs, her skin still tingling from the caress. I am making too much of this… It was true the custom of gentlemen kissing ladies’ hands no longer prevailed in England, but he had spent most of his life abroad. She should not assume he was flirting. And she most certainly should not wish that he was.
Her mouth was dry as she risked a glance back downstairs. She could just make out his figure walking back the way they had come.
Chapter Four
It was unfortunate, Helen decided, that Sir Marcus showed to such advantage on horseback. In constant sight of his straight figure in the saddle and his light, firm hands on the reins, easily controlling his spirited, often perverse mount, was not the way to rid herself of this strange sensitivity to his presence. Instead, every nerve seemed to come alive, whether he was in her line of vision or not. She did not even speak to him, for she rode with the children and Richard, who had been granted permission to join the expedition to the ruin of Silford Castle.
In the company was also Anne Marshall, Lord and Lady Verne, Sydney and Henrietta Cromarty, the two other debutantes, and Mr. Webster. It was a fine but cold day, and Helen was enjoying the fresh air without too much anxiety, since her charges were excellent riders. Which could not be said of Anne Marshall, whom someone had carelessly matched with a skittish mare far too spirited for her.
Eventually, Helen held the children back to see if the mare would behave better among its fellows. “Would you like to swap with me?” she asked Anne. “I have a very well-mannered mount here, and I think I am more used to riding than you.”
“Almost certainly,” Anne agreed ruefully. “But it would be too embarrassing to swap now.”
“Maybe when we reach the castle or stop for lunch,” Helen suggested, and Anne cast her a grateful look.
However, the girl’s nervousness clearly communicated to the mare, who constantly tossed her head, danced across the road, and chose her own speed. Both Richard and Helen had to reach out at different times and grab the bridle to prevent Anne being taken on an abrupt and involuntary gallop.