Martin puzzled over Max’s last words on the Twinnings but it was not until he met the sisters that evening, at Lady Montacute’s drum, that he divined what had prompted his brother to utter them. He had spent the afternoon dropping in on certain old friends, only to be, almost immediately, bombarded with requests for introductions to the Twinnings. He had come away with the definite impression that the best place to be that evening would be wherever the Misses Twinning were destined. His batman and valet, Jiggins, had turned up the staggering information that Max himself usually escorted his wards to their evening engagements. Martin had found this hard to credit, but when, k
eeping an unobtrusive eye on the stream of arrivals from a vantage-point beside a potted palm in Lady Montacute’s ballroom, he had seen Max arrive surrounded by Twinning sisters, he had been forced to accept the crazy notion as truth. When the observation that the fabulous creature on his brother’s arm was, in fact, his eldest ward finally penetrated his brain all became clear.
Moving rapidly to secure a dance with Lizzie, who smiled up at him with flattering welcome, Martin was close enough to see the expression in his brother’s eyes as he bent to whisper something in Miss Twinning’s ear, prior to relinquishing her to the attention of the circle forming about her. His brows flew and he pursed his lips in surprise. As his brother’s words of that morning returned to him, he grinned. How much was Max prepared to stake?
For the rest of the evening, Martin watched and plotted and planned. He used his wound as an excuse not to dance, which enabled him to spend his entire time studying Lizzie Twinning. It was an agreeable pastime. Her silvery dress floated about her as she danced and the candlelight glowed on her sheening brown curls. With her natural grace, she reminded him of a fairy sprite, except that he rather thought such mythical creatures lacked the fulsome charms with which the Twinning sisters were so well-endowed. Due to his experienced foresight, Lizzie accommodatingly returned to his side after every dance, convinced by his chatter of the morning that he was in dire need of cheering up. Lady Benborough, to whom he had dutifully made his bow, had snorted in disbelief at his die-away airs but had apparently been unable to dissuade Lizzie’s soft heart from bringing him continual succour. By subtle degrees, he sounded her out on each of her hopeful suitors and was surprised at his own relief in finding she had no special leaning towards any.
He started his campaign in earnest when the musicians struck up for the dance for which he had engaged her. By careful manoeuvring, they were seated in a sheltered alcove, free for the moment of her swains. Schooling his features to grave disappointment, he said, “Dear Lizzie. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but…” He let his voice fade away weakly.
Lizzie’s sweet face showed her concern. “Oh! Do you not feel the thing? Perhaps I can get Mrs. Alford’s smelling salts for you?”
Martin quelled the instinctive response to react to her suggestion in too forceful a manner. Instead, he waved aside her words with one limp hand. “No! No! Don’t worry about me. I’ll come about shortly.” He smiled forlornly at her, allowing his blue gaze to rest, with calculated effect, on her grey-brown eyes. “But maybe you’d like to get one of your other beaux to dance with you? I’m sure Mr. Mallard would be only too thrilled.” He made a move as if to summon this gentleman, the most assiduous of her suitors.
“Heavens, no!” exclaimed Lizzie, catching his hand in hers to prevent the action. “I’ll do no such thing. If you’re feeling poorly then of course I’ll stay with you.” She continued to hold his hand and, for his part, Martin made no effort to remove it from her warm clasp.
Martin closed his eyes momentarily, as if fighting off a sudden faintness. Opening them again, he said, “Actually, I do believe it’s all the heat and noise in here that’s doing it. Perhaps if I went out on to me terrace for a while, it might clear my head.”
“The very thing!” said Lizzie, jumping up.
Martin, rising more slowly, smiled down at her in a brotherly fashion. “Actually, I’d better go alone. Someone might get the wrong idea if we both left.”
“Nonsense!” said Lizzie, slightly annoyed by his implication that such a conclusion could, of course, have no basis in fact. “Why should anyone worry? We’ll only be a few minutes and anyway, I’m your brother’s ward, after all.”
Martin made some small show of dissuading her, which, as he intended, only increased her resolution to accompany him. Finally, he allowed himself to be bullied on to the terrace, Lizzie’s small hand on his arm, guiding him.
As supper time was not far distant, there were only two other couples on the shallow terrace, and within minutes both had returned to the ballroom. Martin, food very far from his mind, strolled down the terrace, apparently content to go where Lizzie led. But his sharp soldier’s eyes had very quickly adjusted to the moonlight. After a cursory inspection of the surroundings, he allowed himself to pause dramatically as they neared the end of the terrace. “I really think…” He waited a moment, as if gathering strength, then continued, “I really think I should sit down.”
Lizzie looked around in consternation. There were no benches on the terrace, not even a balustrade.
“There’s a seat under that willow, I think,” said Martin, gesturing across the lawn.
A quick glance from Lizzie confirmed this observation. “Here, lean on me,” she said. Martin obligingly draped one arm lightly about her shoulders. As he felt her small hands gripping him about his waist, a pang of guilt shook him. She really was so trusting. A pity to destroy it.
They reached the willow and brushed through the long strands which conveniently fell back to form a curtain around the white wooden seat. Inside the chamber so formed, the moonbeams danced, sprinkling sufficient light to lift the gloom and allow them to see. Martin sank on to the seat with a convincing show of weakness. Lizzie subsided in a susurration of silks beside him, retaining her clasp on his hand and half turning the better to look into his face.
The moon was behind the willow and one bright beam shone through over Martin’s shoulder to fall gently on Lizzie’s face. Martin’s face was in shadow, so Lizzie, smiling confidingly up at him, could only see that he was smiling in return. She could not see the expression which lit his blue eyes as they devoured her delicate face, then dropped boldly to caress the round swell of her breasts where they rose and fell invitingly below the demurely scooped neckline of her gown. Carefully, Martin turned his hand so that now he was holding her hand, not she his. Then he was still.
After some moments, Lizzie put her head on one side and softly asked, “Are you all right?”
It was on the tip of Martin’s tongue to answer truthfully. No, he was not all right. He had brought her out here to commence her seduction and now some magical power was holding him back. What was the matter with him? He cleared his throat and answered huskily, “Give me a minute.”
A light breeze wafted the willow leaves and the light shifted. Lizzie saw the distracted frown which had settled over his eyes. Drawing her hand from his, she reached up and gently ran her fingers over his brow, as if to smooth the frown away. Then, to Martin’s intense surprise, she leaned forward and, very gently, touched her lips to his.
As she drew away, Lizzie saw to her dismay that, if Martin had been frowning before, he was positively scowling now. “Why did you do that?” he asked, his tone sharp.
Even in the dim light he could see her confusion. “Oh, dear! I’m s…so sorry. Please excuse me! I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Damn right, you shouldn’t have,” Martin growled. His hand, which had fallen to the bench, was clenched hard with the effort to remain still and not pull the damn woman into his arms and devour her. He realized she had not answered his question. “But why did you?”
Lizzie hung her head in contrition. “It’s just that you looked…well, so troubled. I just wanted to help.” Her voice was a small whisper in the night
Martin sighed in frustration. That sort of help he could do without
“I suppose you’ll think me very forward, but…” This time, her voice died away altogether.
What Martin did think was that she was adorable and he hurt with the effort to keep his hands off her. Now he came to think of it, while he had not had a headache when they came out to the garden, he certainly had one now. Repressing the desire to groan aloud, he straightened. “We’d better get back to the ballroom. We’ll just forget the incident.” As he drew her to her feet and placed her hand on his arm, an unwelcome thought struck him. “You don’t go around kissing other men who look troubled, do you?”
The surprise in her face was quite genuine. “No! Of course not!”