Page 7 of A Touch for All Time (For All Time #3)
G ray stood in front of his Baroque wall mirror while his personal butler Jonathan tied a lavish bow made of expensive cream-colored lace at Gray’s nape. The loops were small and the tails long, pulling the back of his shirt down. Jonathan never questioned Gray’s fashion statements, trusting that his lord would always look his best. And he did, even with his hair powdered gray and slicked back with two thin tendrils waxed with pomade, one curled against his forehead in the shape of an S and one down his temple. He wore a dark turquoise coat with cream edging and strips hanging down his arms. A matching shirt with lace ruffles at his cuffs and down his chest and beige breeches with polished boots.
“My lord,” Jonathan said, stepping back to examine his work, “may I say you will have every tongue wagging at the ball tonight.”
Gray shifted his gaze, made all the more colorful by his suit, all the slyer by the chiseled cut of his shaved jaw and sleek hair.
“I heard that the Duke of Hamilton and his daughter will be in attendance.”
“Yes, my lord. He has accepted his invitation.”
Gray nodded and returned his hard gaze to his reflection. Gray had been told that Duke Hamilton had suggested to Gray’s father that he should consider sending Gray back to the battlefield instead of constantly letting his son bring shame upon them.
He felt like he might smile for the first time in days, but it wouldn’t form on his lips. He looked away and refused the cup of wine offered to him by Clifford, one of the servants.
He went to the door and opened it. Music wafted up the stairs, drawing him out of his rooms. Harper would be downstairs. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in two days. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to speak to her again. He didn’t want to hear any more about Thoren Ashmore, the Blagdens, time-travelers, trust, or anything else. He wouldn’t send Harper away or stop her from marrying, but her duty to him was over.
Miss Darling wouldn’t be there. Good. That was how he wanted it. He didn’t want her to see him dance. Especially not the ones he’d practiced for the last pair of days. For the most part, he had put her out of his mind while he practiced—which was day and night. There were a few times he was tempted to ride around the perimeter of the Gable holding and watch out for her. Spirited, saucy, hell witch.
“My lord, are you feeling unwell?” Jonathan said, keeping pace beside him and gaping at Gray’s flushed cheeks.
“Go away,” Gray warned quietly. “Go find Mae in the kitchen and take her out to look at the stars.”
“My thanks, my lord,” Jonathan hurried on ahead without argument and raced down the stairs. Gray watched Jonathan leap down the last four steps and run toward the kitchen.
Without pausing to smile, Gray’s gaze warmed on the servants and guests as he kept going. As he approached the main ballroom, his icy expression returned. He hated facing his father and the disappointment and anger in the duke’s eyes. But it didn’t hurt anymore that his father found his replacement. Now, while his father lived in Dartmouth, Gray would bring him more “shame”. Gray didn’t expect his father to find pride in his son’s dancing and interpretation skills. The Duke of Devonshire had not been a father to him. Gray felt little or no loyalty toward him or his new family.
But he did like making an entrance and watching everyone’s gaze turn in unison to his father.
Now, he descended the stairs and strode toward the open doors and the people dancing on the other side.
“My lord.”
Gray turned before he entered the ballroom to the woman coming toward him. He tried to remember her name, then gave up.
“I was hoping to see you tonight.” She reached him and gave him her most radiant smile.
“Why is that?” he asked, slipping his gaze to the people dancing just beyond the doors.
“You are an interesting man, unlike the others here. You do what you like and to hell with what the rest of us think.”
He paused another moment to look at her. “This is a trait you appreciate?”
“Yes, of course!”
He curled one side of his lips. “Then you’ll understand when I request that you wait here while I enter the ballroom before you.”
She looked surprised and then ashamed when she nodded and stepped back.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my lady. I’m simply saving your reputation.”
Without waiting for her reply, he stepped inside the ballroom. The musicians stopped playing. People stopped dancing. He barely noticed them as he turned to his father and bowed. His father and his stepmother were staring at him when he straightened. They wouldn’t say a word to him here, but their eyes lingered on his hair and the lacy bow hanging down his back.
Was that the slightest hint of a warm smile on his father’s face?
Of course not, Gray thought. His father never smiled at him.
Granting it no further attention, he turned to his father’s guest. Gray knew where Duke Hamilton stood. He’d spotted the oversized duke the moment he’d entered the ballroom. When his eyes met the duke’s, he thought he should have powdered his hair red. Red for war. But silver gray was the next best thing. He didn’t care enough to go to war. Well, maybe a bit of a fight. Gray grinned and winked at the duke with cold eyes.
He turned his gaze to the musicians and gave them a silent warning to play the music brought to them or risk disobeying the duke of Devon’s son, and lord of this castle.
The violin picked up and drew Gray’s attention to the musician. It was a man. He blew out a breath. That was the end of Harper harping on his thoughts.
He tapped his foot on the freshly polished floor when the other musicians blended their sound together. He liked this new composer Ludwig van Beethoven’s music. He let the music seep into him. He didn’t need a special score to dance the way he did. He just needed to feel. And when he danced, he did.
The moment he stepped onto the dance floor, the other guests made way for him until he stood alone in the center of the floor.
Though they all heard the same music in their ears, Gray moved to it differently. He thought it silly that folks thought he could speak with animals. No, it was music that spoke to him. He was able to isolate his movements so that they moved exactly as the sound directed. He made eye-contact with everyone as he turned his knees outward and then bent them low. He came back up rolling his chest and shoulders, smiling and drawing in his bottom lip. He watched wives and daughters swoon on their feet but none of them held his attention for longer than a breath.
He hung his lifeless arms down for a moment of impact. He moved around the floor on quick, light feet, stretching his arms and legs as the music freed him.
When he stopped, he stood before Duke Hamilton. Gray’s slight grin was more intimidating than the most fearsome scowl. He shook his head and his finger at the man whose jowls trembled. Fascinating how pale a man could become.
“Your Grace,” Gray said over the music. Almost immediately after, it stopped. “We all heard what your son Reginald did to the women who were left alive when their small town in Anjou was attacked by Reginald’s regiment. Does it not shame you?”
The duke looked around nervously at the people listening. Gray knew if he denied it—or that it shamed him, the other nobles would look down on him. “My son was already brought before the king and has paid a hefty fine.”
“That was not what I asked you. Let me ask again. Does it not shame you that your son attacked women after he killed their husbands, and they had no one to defend them?”
The duke looked pleadingly toward Gray’s father, then lowered his gaze.
“Poor duke, you should see your miscreant son sent to the front lines. Better that he die than shame your family any further, hmm? I’ll write to the king on your behalf about reinstating him to his regiment.”
While the duke stammered and shook in his chair, Gray made his way back to the center of the floor and bent his knees apart and outward again, but this time accompanied by his arms lifted at his sides with his forearms hanging limp. He danced, letting the strips hanging from his coat insinuate that he was being moved. But then, in a burst of fury clearly played out on his face, he spun like a destructive whirlwind. His thoughts of knocking some of the guests into Harper’s future made him want to laugh. Cavendish, Gable, Hamilton—
Gable? Not Harry, but William. The younger Gable never came to the castle. For an instant Gray flicked his murderous gaze to his stepmother. She constantly invited the Gables to her balls.
He returned his gaze to Will—and then did his best not to respond when he saw Miss Darling standing close by in the crowd, watching him.
Not skipping a beat, Gray performed six pirouettes and finished with a graceful penché.
He left the dance floor, swearing in his head. He strode directly to Miss Darling.
Damnation, but her eyes were deep oceans of fathomless blue. If one wasn’t careful, one could drown in them.
“I thought we agreed that you weren’t coming.”
Her breathless smile faded, leaving a stormy, cold expression in its wake. “I changed my mind.”
Gray shifted his gaze to Will Gable. “And what are you doing here?”
“I came as Miss Darling’s escort,” Will advised him.
Gray glanced at her and caught her studying his hair. He waited an instant until her eyes widened on his when she realized she’d been caught. Gray was displeased with himself for letting her stir something in his belly. He looked away quickly, forgetting what he’d wanted to say.
“Keep her away from Cavendish,” he warned Will Gable instead. “If I see him speaking with her, I’ll hold you responsible.”
He walked off before either of them could say a word. He didn’t feel like dancing anymore. In fact, he felt like tearing something apart. His gaze drifted to Duke Hamilton, still sitting in the seat he’d fallen into at one of Gray’s tables, shoving a spoonful of food into his big mouth, where he had suggested to his father that Grayson be sent to the front lines.
Gray started for him, walking between the guests like a wolf stalking its prey from within the trees. The duke was too busy chewing and laughing at something the duke of Nottingham, sitting on the other side of him, said.
When Gray slipped into the empty chair beside Hamilton, he said nothing for a moment. He boldly took in the sight of him with the hint of a mocking smile on his lips. When Hamilton turned to see him, he stopped chewing.
Good, now that Gray had his attention, he smiled slightly and motioned to his father across the floor. “For wanting me dead, when he dies, you’ll die too.”
He leaned in closer, and closer still until the strength and power in his gaze made the duke whimper. “Depending on what else you tell the duke of Devon…” he paused and set his hungry gaze on the duke’s dimple-cheeked daughter… “you will or won’t go alone.”
Judging by Hamilton choking on his air, he got Gray’s meaning. Good, Gray hated having to explain himself. Before he left the table he turned to Hamilton’s daughter and let his gaze rove over her dark tresses piled in curls over her ears. She smiled slightly and gave her hair a prim pat. Gray knew he had her—and after he’d threatened her father, no less.
“Catherine,” he said, using her familiar name, “I’ll call on you for…tea. I hope you will accept.”
She blushed to her roots and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
His eyes didn’t leave the duke’s, even when he nodded.
He started for Cavendish next, when he saw his stepmother standing over Miss Darling. He cut a path for them and arrived in time to hear his father’s wife flap her tongue.
“There is not much known about you, Miss Darling. Where did you say is the city of your birth? Might we be acquainted with your father?”
“I doubt it, Eloise. Excuse us.” He cupped Miss Darling’s elbow in his palm and led her away, flashing a dark look at Will.
“You did not say anything about the duchess,” Will defended, catching up.
Gray ignored him and kept walking with Miss Darling. When she realized he was escorting her out, she yanked her elbow out of his hand.
“Are you throwing me out?” she demanded.
“Yes!” he said, refusing to be moved by a mere wisp of a woman. “You have no idea—”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving.”
Did she just say—“What? What do you mean? When someone throws you out—”
“I said I’m not going,” she repeated. “The whispers about you are true, I see. You are dim-witted.”
He stood there staring at her, lips parted, caught on a breath and on an oath trapped in his throat. He looked at Will for a moment, but the carpenter gave no answers, though he’d lived with her for days now.
“Fine,” he relented reluctantly. “Stay then. But don’t leave my side.” He took her by the wrist and pulled her toward the tables. Gable followed them and Gray was reminded of the time he had a thistle in his boot while he fought a battle.
“Sit. Eat,” he grumbled when they reached a rectangular table with four couples already sitting and eating while the musicians played.
When Miss Darling looked down at his feet, he followed her gaze with a curious look.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, “just checking to see if your knuckles reached the floor.”
Gable sat on the other side of her and also gave Gray’s boots a curious look. Harper, on the other hand, giggled as she finally showed up in the ballroom and passed their table with a glance Gray’s way.
And then at Miss Darling.
Gray let her pass without stopping her, then turned to Miss Darling. “Do you know her?”
“No. Why?”
“She comes from your future.”
On the other side of her Gable coughed into his cup. So, she had already told Gable.
“What do you know about my future?” she asked him.
What did he know? Not much. He knew more about the past, at this point. About the Ashmores and the Blagdens…and only about their lines and male heirs. Miss Darling would think him mad if he told her such things. But what if she already knew? He didn’t trust anyone, not even Harper, anymore. Not even Harper…his eyes found her picking up her strings and sitting with the other musicians.
Her betrayal cut like the deepest knife. She’d had fifteen years to tell him things weren’t as they seemed, that he wasn’t mad in the head, and that for some reason his grandmother could travel through time.
Feeling his gaze on her, Harper looked at him. He turned away and looked into Miss Darling’s watchful gaze.
“She seems a bit old for you,” his guest pointed out.
“She raised me,” he corrected without anger. Indeed, he was beginning to feel nothing again. It was how he wanted it. It was his shield against Harper and everyone else.
“She raised you? Did your mother…”
“She disappeared,” Gray told her, then tossed her a careless smile. “Maybe she ran away from me to your 2024? Emma Ashley. Ever hear of her?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Miss Darling told him, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. “But where I come from is much more crowded than it is now.”
“I see.”
“So, you believe her?” Will Gable asked in a hushed voice.
He’d seen her appear out of thin air. If nothing else, there was that. It was no trick of the light. There was no excuse to be made. She wasn’t there and then she was, looking as confused and terrified as anyone who had just traveled through time would.
Gray stared at her long enough to make anyone else twitch. She merely smiled and clearly won the battle when he felt as if he needed to scoop his heart up off the floor and bury it deeper into his chest.
“Do you?” she asked, giving his ruffled sleeve a tug. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes. I do,” he said, ignoring the way her smile deepened. “But don’t tell another soul or they’ll make your life hell. Do you understand?”
She nodded at him.
“Good.” He set his hard gaze on Gable. “Then, if I hear a rumor of this, I’ll know it was you who spread it.”
“You will not hear a word of it from me,” Will let him know with a bit of a bite in his tone.
Did Gable care for her? Gray clenched his cheek. Why did it have to be a Gable who’d come upon her first? A Gable who was likely stealing her heart? Will was handsome, with eyes the color of strong cedars and a deep dimple in his left cheek. He didn’t seem as insufferable as his brother, Harry. Miss Darling likely already cared for him.
“You dance really…um…well.”
He slid his gaze to Miss Darling. Was she mocking him? Really well? Or something else she decided not to say?
“Where did you go to school?”
“I didn’t go to school. I learned here at Dartmouth as a child. I had the best ballet teachers for a while, and then afterward…I taught myself.”
“Really?” she asked, doubting what he told her. “After what?”
He sat back in his chair and looked her over. What were these questions she was asking him? No one had ever asked him before.
“After my father forbade me to dance.”
She blinked and her eyes turned red and bright blue. “You weren’t allowed to dance?”
He shook his head. “But it didn’t stop me.”
“It’s in your blood,” she said quietly.
He heard her. What did she know of what was in his blood? Even though she was correct. Dancing flowed through his veins, and it was pleasant to speak to someone about it.
“You tell a story with your body,” she went on, “and with your heart baring itself on your face.”
He stared at her. “How do you understand these things?” he asked so quietly she moved closer to hear him. The scent of jasmine wafted through his nostrils and went to his head.
“I teach dancing at home,” he heard her silken voice in his ears, his head.
She taught dancing?
“Do you dance?”
She didn’t answer but sipped from her cup of wine. He waited, then finally pinched the sleeve of her white top beneath her pretty saffron colored stays.
“No!” she pulled away with a short laugh. “Don’t even think about dragging me to the dance floor. After the car accident my body doesn’t like to move that way.”
“Car… accident?” he asked seemingly confused. “Yes. My leg was broken in four places along with my pelvis, collarbone, six ribs, and my ankle.”
His face drained of color. “How did you live through it?”
“Broken bones are easy to mend though sometimes they can break again. It’s better than what my poor father and brother are suffering.”
Broken. She’d been broken, even worse than he. She knew what it was like not to be able to dance. She also had a father…a poor father and brother who suffered with her. More than her. What a hell she must be a prisoner to. He could barely think of it. “You cannot dance so you teach it instead.”
“Right!” she smiled as though it weren’t the worst punishment in the world.
“Perhaps you could teach me,” he said quietly.
“I really don’t think there’s much I could teach you. You’re better than anyone at my school.”
“Even Jake?”
She laughed and nodded.
“Who’s Jake?” Will Gable asked.
“One of her students,” they both answered together. It made Gray want to smile—so he did. Slightly. His gaze settled on Harper and then away again when she gave him a stunned look.
“Are you going to dance again?” Miss Darling asked him.
“Perhaps,” he teased. “But now I’ll feel as if I’m being judged.”
“By me?” she asked with a playful smile. She laughed when he nodded. “My lord, really, you’re outstanding. You’re Romeo.”
At this he grinned and that broke into a quick, short laugh that felt as if it shook his entire body.
“Then I think I will.” He rose up and with one last look at her, he stepped out onto the dance floor. He danced the minuet alone and with his own special spin that made the onlookers either burst into applause or scandalous gasps that left his father slumped in his chair.
Gray couldn’t care less if he was applauded or reviled. He danced because he enjoyed—no, he loved it. It was in his blood. He swept across the dance floor, spinning and flying in the air in perfect grand jetés. He didn’t know how long he’d been dancing before he looked toward his table. Miss Darling and Will Gable were gone. He looked around, casting his well-practiced smile at Miss Clementine, daughter of the earl of Aimsley, when he met her gaze. He only spared her a brief instant before his eyes searched the ballroom for Miss Darling.
When the dance was over, he walked to his table and looked around again. Harper was also gone. Were they together? He cast his stepbrother and Cavendish’s mother a steely glance. Miss Darling was not with them. He moved through the guests, searching their faces. Miss Darling was no longer in attendance. He strode toward the doors. Would she just leave without a farewell? His belly burned. What did she owe him that he should expect a farewell? He swallowed a short laugh bubbling upward. When had he become such a pathetic creature?
If she left, good riddance, he thought, making his way upstairs to his rooms. He hadn’t wanted her there in the first place. His dances were ugly. That’s how he intended them. Especially tonight’s dances. But she’d shown up. She changed her mind, and that lowly creature Gable had followed her.
She’d called him Romeo. Everyone knew who Romeo Montague was—the male protagonist in William Shakespeare’s masterpiece Romeo & Juliet . Gray smiled to himself, liking the compliment. It was the first he’d received that he believed was sincere.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he heard the muffled speech of a familiar voice. He turned the corner and then leaped back behind the wall.
Peeking around the wall, he watched Miss Darling shove a key into his stepbrother’s door. He almost stepped out, revealing himself. What was she doing? None of the doors were locked. What was Gable doing here with her? Were they trying to rob the place?
When she opened Cavendish’s door and looked inside, while Gable kept an eye out, Gray had had enough.
“What are you two doing?”
At the sound of his voice, Will Gable jumped backward and looked about to fall faint. But Gray barely noticed him. His hooded eyes were fastened on Miss Darling.
“Did you ask me to dance to get rid of me?” If she answered yes, he would have known that he was wrong about her. Her kind words about him being like Romeo weren’t sincere.
“No, and I don’t want you thinking that of me. I would never disrespect talent like yours. I watched until my opportunity almost slipped away.”
“What opportunity?” he asked, stepping closer, without looking away.
She stared at him for a moment before she answered. “To check your seventy-two doors.”
“Check them for what?”
“My home.”