“Well,” Lord Moorland said, grinning, “you certainly are a brave girl,, willing to make a spectacle of yourself before the entire peerage, and for the sake of a simple dance. I can see why you like her, Ryan.”
“You mustn’t worry yourself overly much, Mary,” Alexandra said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Ryan is a wonderful dancer, and if I am not mistaken, then this next one will be a waltz. Just hold on tight and let him guide you.”
“Shall we?” Mr. Summersby asked, offering Mary his arm before she could conjure up that proverbial hole in the ground that she hoped might swallow her up at any given moment. Instead, she straightened her spine, smiled back at him, and allowed him to guide her toward the dance floor.
Mary felt as if she were flying. They were moving so much faster than when they’d danced before on the terrace at Richmond House. Thankfully, her feet had obeyed her this time, and she’d managed to avoid embarrassing herself or Mr. Summersby. Had they been alone, she would have squealed with delight for all the fun she was having. Instead, she simply enjoyed the feel of Mr. Summersby’s hands holding her firmly in his arms as he guided her about the dance floor. She felt safe and oddly relaxed. In fact, aside from her career, nothing had ever felt more right than being together with him at that very moment. It both surprised her and terrified her all at once, especially since she very much doubted that the two would ever be able to coexist.
“What are you thinking?” Mr. Summersby asked as he tightened his hold on her waist and led her about in a wide circle. “You look quite serious.”
She sought his eyes and stared back into them, startled once again by their blueness. “I am merely trying to concentrate,” she told him with a slight frown. “I should hate to trip and fall in the middle of the ballroom.”
He grinned. “That is very unlikely to happen, my lady, for I have quite a solid hold on you, and I have no intention of letting you go. Besides, as I have told you before, you dance rather well, particularly given the fact that this is only your second attempt at it.”
“Well, you’re not so bad yourself,” Mary told him with a hint of mischief in her words.
“What a relief,” he replied. “I should hate to think that all those hours spent with that infuriating instructor of mine had gone to waste.”
When the music faded, Mr. Summersby leaned forward to whisper in Mary’s ear, “I need to speak with you in private.” His voice was urgent.
“I’m not entirely sure that that is wise,” Mary replied with an impish grin. “The last time you wished to speak with me in private, you showed a remarkable lack of restraint.”
“Perhaps I may remind you that you did no better.”
“Quite so,” Mary conceded. “And that is precisely why I am a trifle worried about being alone with you once again.”
“In that case, I promise that I shall do my very best to behave,” he teased as he began leading her toward a pair of closed mirrored doors at the far end of the ballroom. “But this is a matter of great importance. It really cannot wait.”
Opening one of the doors just enough for them to slip through, Mr. Summersby guided Mary into the room beyond, closing the door quickly behind them so as not to draw attention. Turning to face him, Mary’s eyes met his, and she instantly knew that her concerns had not been unfounded. He was watching her in precisely the same manner as he’d done in the carriage: a scalding and possessive gaze that made her heart race and her skin tingle. If she didn’t know any better, he was presently contemplating lowering her onto one of the sofa’s the room had to offer and. . .
“Lady Steepleton,” he said, startling her. Good heavens, whatever had she been thinking? “I’m sorry about the way we parted the last time we spoke. I realize that you were hurt and angry by what I told you, but you must believe me when I say that I do consider you to be the most remarkable woman I have ever known.
“I want you to understand that I didn’t offer to marry you out of obligation alone. I realize how absurd this sounds...” He took a deep breath as if to steady himself, while Mary watched with keen interest. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one feeling out of sorts—a pleasing discovery, indeed. “I spoke with my father. You may not be aware of this, but he’s a close friend of Wellington’s and has several other important connections within the military.”
Mary raised an eyebrow, curious as to why it might matter to her whom Lord Moorland’s friends might be. Reaching out, Mr. Summersby took her hand in his. “For a while now I have had a nagging suspicion. I asked my father to make a few inquiries and discovered that I may have been correct in my assumption. Lady Steepleton, it seems as though your father’s death was no accident. The evidence that I’ve managed to piece together strongly suggests that he was murdered.”
Mary stood as if nailed to the floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t speak. But her lips did form a very distinct “no.” This wasn’t possible. She’d seen him when they’d brought him in from the field on a stretcher. He’d been tending to a wounded soldier and had been caught directly in the line of fire—a shot straight to his head. It didn’t make any sense.
“I realize how alarming this must be for you, but from what I gather, another physician who was present at the time, and who examined your father, made a note of his neck having been broken. The shot he sustained was likely delivered at a later time, for the sake of authenticity.”
“Good God!” Mary exclaimed, burying her face in her hands. “I never knew. There was so much chaos, and seeing Papa like that. . .I left as fast as my feet could carry me. I knew that it was wrong of me and that I should have stayed, but I just couldn’t do it. All my life he’s loved me and cared for me, and I couldn’t even stay and see to it that he was properly buried.” She felt her throat close and her heart ache as her eyes began to burn. She didn’t want Mr. Summersby to see her like that, but it was too late, and as she drew a shaky breath, she found herself pulled toward him until his arms were around her in a tight embrace.
“You were in shock,” he whispered against the top of her head. “You mustn’t blame yourself, my lady. As it is, I can’t imagine what your father was thinking, taking you along with him to war. Even if you were at a safe distance from the battlefield, bringing a young woman like yourself, surrounded by so many soldiers and so much carnage, not only is unseemly, but it must have been very traumatic.”
Mary pushed herself away from him, accepting the handkerchief that he offered with a wobbly smile. The tears stung, but she wiped them away with a brisk hand. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked, hoping to address the more important issue at hand, yet knowing that she was using it as an excuse to divert the conversation away from herself. “It seems they went to a lot of trouble.”
“Yes, it appears that whoever planned this followed you and your father to Waterloo with the intention of using the battle as a means by which to cover up his murder.” Mr. Summersby paused. “I hope you understand the significance of this. You mustn’t go anywhere alone. You have already been threatened, and if the person behind this was willing to kill your father, then he won’t hesitate to kill you as well. Promise me that you will be careful.”
Mary nodded in disbelief. Could it possibly be that her father, the man who’d bounced her on his knee when she was a child, had pursued something of so great importance that it had cost him his life? She was suddenly having a very difficult time connecting the man she’d known and loved with this apparent stranger who, it seemed, had kept nothing but secrets from her.
Her eyes met Mr. Summersby’s. “I promise,” she told him. “But in return, you have to give me your word of honor that you will help me find whoever did this and bring him to justice.”
He gave her his word without hesitation. “As I see it, you’ll never be completely safe until this man is found.” He suddenly frowned and looked at her far too intensely for her liking. “I feel that there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?” he asked.
She couldn’t lie to him. “Somebody broke into my house a few nights ago and stole the first volume of my father’s journals,” she told him hesitantly.
Anger sprang to life behind his eyes. “Did you happen to see who it was?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I only caught the glimpse of a fleeting shadow. But it was enough to make me understand that I must not dismiss these threats. It seems that they are quite serious. The fact is that I do not have very many people I can turn to for help, so I went to your sister. I have been staying with her ever since.”
“So that is why you were never able to receive me,” Mr. Summersby muttered. “You were staying with Alex all along.”
“Yes, she has been very kind to me. I have told her everything—more than I have told you, in fact.” Mary took a deep breath. This was it, the moment of truth. “You see, you don’t know me very well at all. I have done some things that I am quite sure that you would never approve of. I believe not only will you be terribly shocked, but it may alter your opinion of me forever.”
Mr. Summersby stared at her quizzically. “Whatever it is, my lady, I am certain that it is not as bad as you think. These things never are, and I assure you, there is nothing you can possibly tell me that might alter my opinion of you.” As if to prove his point, he pulled her closer, wrapped her in a tight embrace, and kissed her with enough passion and desperation to make her whole body melt with pleasure.
As it happened, it was at this precise moment that Lady Glendale ordered her footmen to open the doors to the game room, the exact same room where Mr. Summersby had taken Mary for their private chat. Needless to say, an immediate hush fell over the entire ballroom at the sight of him standing there kissing the Marchioness of Steepleton in full view of the entire ton.
Turning her head, Mary gasped, horrified by all the shocked faces that were presently staring back at her in disbelief. What to do? They couldn’t very well deny what had happened; that would be absurd.
One thing was for certain: she wanted to run from the room as fast as her feet could carry her and never, ever look back. This was precisely the sort of thing that would make the headlines in every gossip column. Oh, she could see it now, all the people whispering about her disgraceful behavior every time she stepped out in public. It was without question the most mortifying experience of her life.
She looked to Mr. Summersby, who suddenly appeared rather determined, as if he were planning either to flee or to face full-on battle. A scandal of monumental proportions was about to erupt, so if there was even the slightest chance of them leaving the Glendale ball that evening with their reputations intact, she hoped he’d come up with a way to make it happen—soon. He looked at her for one brief second and squeezed her hand. “Have courage,” he whispered. “And follow my lead, wherever it takes us.”