Learning to Waltz by Kerryn Reid Page B

satisfying her on either count. And whatever else he might be, the man had to be wealthy—rumor said the family’s coffers were empty.
    “We’ve missed you in town, Mr. Haverfield. London is a cesspit in winter. The only thing worse is the country. All the mud! We sank almost up to the axles not two miles from here. And if the weather’s bad, we’ll be stuck inside that horrid, drafty house. But you are in the country, so here I am.”
    Stuck in the house with Blythe? He could think of few worse fates. “True, my lady.”
    She slanted a look at him, up and down, beneath long black lashes. Calculating. He could imagine the questions she asked herself, summing him up. Was he handsome enough? Would he get fat? What tailor did he use? Would he be more susceptible to her beauty, her wit, or her title? Would he be a jealous husband or let her do as she pleased?
    She turned to gaze at the Manor for a moment. “Houses do offer a few interesting possibilities, of course. There must be plenty of rooms to hide away in, and no doubt Miss Latimer has planned some dancing.”
    “There’s to be a ball in the village.”
    “Oh dear. I much prefer an intimate gathering, don’t you, Mr. Haverfield?”
    “It all depends.” Lord. He’d be dodging her at meals, on the hunting field, each evening in the parlor.
    The next two weeks began to sound interminable.
    Evan stopped a safe distance from the pond’s edge.
    Laughing, she let go of his arm. “You men are all the same. You think women are delicate little flowers to be protected from every little thing.” She eyed the ice extending a couple of feet out into the lake and took two more steps. He opened his mouth to warn her. Before he could do so, one dainty foot slipped on the wet grass.
    She emitted a shriek and a cackle of laughter, quite at odds with her speaking voice. He caught one flailing arm and pulled her to safety against his side. He could feel her heart beating frantically.
    “Are you all right, my lady?”
    “Yes indeed. How exciting this is.” She fluttered her eyelashes again.
    Evan disengaged her gloved hands from his coat and settled one of them, very properly, on his arm, “It’s time to head back to the house.”
    She wrinkled up her perfect nose. “Why, Mr. Haverfield.” She hooked the fingers of her other hand into talons and ran them down his chest. “Are you afraid I’ll dig into you with my claws?”
    He’d been thinking of talons and a sharp, hooked beak, but claws came close enough to make him laugh. “No. I’m afraid of missing breakfast.”
    Finally she permitted him to lead her back to the house, hanging heavily on him. Not for a minute did he believe in her renewed fatigue, but her shivers were no doubt sincere. If she were Deborah, or any other woman in the world but Blythe, he would have draped his greatcoat around her shoulders.
    Once back at the Manor, Evan eyed the profusion of breakfast dishes before him with surprise. But then, he had dined with Sudbury before and figured it was the right decision. “It’s a veritable banquet,” he murmured, finding himself next to Amanda at the sideboard. “I trust you did not lose your cook?”
    Amanda chuckled. “She muttered some nasty things under her breath, but no, she did not quit. I don’t know what she’ll find to serve for dinner, though—most of it’s here.”
    Lady Blythe picked like a bird at her baked turbot and ate—Evan counted—exactly two stalks of asparagus. She was too busy, apparently, keeping the company’s attention centered on herself. She regaled them with bright gossip about Lord This and Lady That and tried her best to start an argument about the recent disturbances in Spa Fields.
    The earl put away a healthy serving of ham in addition to the fish and apparently thought the dish of stewed mushrooms was his own individual portion. He washed it all down with copious quantities of the Manor’s own ale, which he proclaimed to be bang-up.
    “But then,” Blythe