Then at dinner, for once Wulf was seated close enough to Lily to hear her. Huntley still had the place of honor at her elbow, which made Wulf’s heart burn, but he refused to let it show.
He’d chosen this path; he would see it through. He’d spent another morning in the man’s company and had garnered some tidbits that might assist Lily in securing the earl’s interest. It would be like drinking poison of his own making, but he would pass this information on to her as he’d promised. She must pick me of her own volition. She must.
Wulf toyed with his food, absently answering the queries of the lady who’d been placed to his left. Time was slipping through his fingers like sand. He needed more time alone with Lily, to make his case one last time. But how? She’d been clear that she had no desire to make their parting more difficult.
Perhaps he could use the information he’d collected about Huntley to lure her into a meeting. That might work. After dinner was over and the guests had repaired to the small ballroom for dancing, he installed Tata on a settee with the other dowagers. By the time he reached the dance floor, Lily had already joined the set. “Damn it,” he muttered.
Left with nothing to do, he caught sight of Huntley standing by the refreshment table. I can gather yet more information to tempt her to spend time with me.
He made his way to the earl’s side. “Good evening.”
Huntley, who’d been much warmer to Wulf since he’d given Emma a ride to the manor house after their journey to the folly, smiled in greeting. “Wulfinski, how are you this evening?”
“Wishing there was some vodka to be had.”
Huntley grimaced. “Nasty business, that. I had it only once and it made me sick for days.”
Wulf grinned. “Your stomach is weak.”
“Or just too civilized for the disgusting stuff.”
“Like milk? I can ask for some to be sent, if you’d like.”
Huntley chuckled. “No, thank you, but if you happen to know where I could get some good scotch, I’d be forever in your debt.”
Wulf caught the attention of a footman and sent the man looking for a glass.
“Thank you.” Huntley looked at Wulf curiously. “That was quite kind of you.”
Wulf shrugged. “I dislike seeing a fellow man go without.” He moved a bit so that he could see the dance floor. Lily was dancing with Lord Stewart, an older man who was so tightly laced into his waistcoat that it looked as if it might pop open at any moment. Wulf shook his head. “I do not like these country dances of yours.”
Huntley sent him a surprised look. “You don’t dance these in Oxenburg?”
“No. We have our own country dances, but nothing so boring.” Wulf shrugged. “We do not do this endless circling and barely touching of the hands. I like a dance where you can hold a woman, feel her.”
Huntley’s lips twitched. “I suppose the waltz did come from your area of the world.”
“That is a dance worth dancing. You can hold your partner in your arms, and not just wave at her from the other side of a line.”
Huntley crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a smug expression on his face. “I suppose if you cannot think of another way to get your, er, partner in your arms, then a waltz is good enough.”
Wulf frowned. “You think I cannot get a ‘partner’ in my arms? I assure you that I can.”
“That rather depends upon the partner, doesn’t it?” Huntley’s gaze was on the dance floor, no doubt following Lily as she went down the set with her wheezing partner. “Some partners are more worth the effort than others.”
Wulf glowered. He didn’t like the way this man watched Lily, as if he alone had the right to enjoy her company.
Remember your purpose. Wulf eyed the earl with a sour gaze. “The duchess says you have been married before.”
The earl shot him a hard look. “Though it is no concern of yours, my wife died.”
“Ah. That is very bad.” Wulf watched Huntley’s expression. “You loved her, this wife. It shows in your face.”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“In Oxenburg, when men ride together, they are as brothers. We have shared much this week.”
“We are not so open here in Scotland.”
“So I’ve noticed. It is silly how men here do not speak of anything but horses and drink. I said so to Miss Emma just this morning.”
Huntley looked at Wulf. “And what did she say?”
Wulf shrugged. “Like you, she is held by conventions.”
“Conventions are a good thing.”
“They are a prison.”
Huntley laughed softly. “Only to those who don’t appreciate their value . . . and know when to set them aside.”
Aha. This might be of use. “You sometimes set your conventions aside? This I do not believe.”
The earl continued to look amused. “Oh, I do. But only for a very, very good reason.”
Like a beauty with hair of red-gold and eyes the silver of a lake? Wulf fought the urge to grab the earl by his overstarched cravat and pummel him. Damn it, Moya, the things I do for you.
Scowling, Wulf turned to watch the dancers and realized that Emma was also in the set. “When did Miss Gordon join? I did not see her before.”
“She’s been there all along. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”
When Lily was in the room, Wulf’s attention went always with her. “I was too busy wondering if Miss Balfour’s partner might pop out of his stays.”
Huntley grinned. “He’s getting very red in the face. He’ll have an apoplexy if he doesn’t take care.”
Wulf grunted his agreement. What things will Moya wish to know about this man? Perhaps just the normal things a woman always wanted to know: what sort of woman did Huntley prefer, rounded or thin, brunette or blond, and such. Better to ask the important question and get it out of the way. “So, you intend to remarry soon?”
Huntley stiffened. “That’s a very personal comment.”
“Am I wrong to ask such a thing? You are here, therefore you are seeking a wife.”
Huntley looked far from pleased, but after a moment he shrugged. “You’re not wrong, but I will ask that you say nothing more about this. I haven’t told anyone yet—well, except for one person, and I already regret that—and I wish it to be a surprise.”
“So you have decided.”
“Yes.”
Wulf rubbed his chest where a weight seemed pressed upon it. “You have not yet asked her, then?”
“Not yet—and she may say no.” Huntley’s brow lowered. “One never knows with women.”
Wulf’s jaw tightened until it ached. “If I wished a woman to marry me, I would not stop asking her until she said yes.”
“Such behavior would be frowned upon here. I will ask her, and I will respect her answer. I hope, of course, that she will say yes, but . . .” Huntley’s eyes shadowed. “She’s so difficult to read, so unlike any other woman I’ve known, always surprising me when I least expect it.”
“The women in my country expect more than a few words. They would demand proof that you wished to marry them.”
“What sort of proof?”
Wulf shrugged. “Gifts of jewelry, furs, and gold. A show of strength is appreciated, too. When my father wooed my mother, he brought her ten stallions and fought her three older brothers for the right to call her his own. He was stabbed seven times, but he did not let it stop him. They wed the very next day.”
Huntley gave a surprised laugh. “You really are a barbarian, aren’t you?”
“At least I’m no silver-laced, soft-stomached Englishman who cannot even drink vodka.”
Huntley’s smile faded. “I’m not English. I’m a Scot.”
I could easily start a fight now; I can see the anger in his eyes. But it would make Lily unhappy, so I will hold my temper. “Which is why I find you bearable. Besides, I’ve seen you ride and I respect how you handle a horse.”
The anger in Huntley’s eyes faded. “
Thank you. You’re quite competent, too.”
They watched the dancers in silence for a long moment. “She is not a very good dancer, is she? Always having to count. Never letting a man lead her as she should.” Wulf shook his head.
“Miss Gordon is a excellent dancer,” Huntley returned, an edge to his voice. “I’ve danced with her numerous times and—”
“No, no. You mistake. I speak of Miss Lily.”
“Ah, her. Yes, she is a bit awkward. She stepped on my feet twice the last time we danced, and she does try to lead. Emma allows her partner to lead, as is proper.”
“Ah! The dance is finished and now they play a waltz. Good evening, Huntley.” Wulf bowed and went to claim Lily. Though another man might already have claimed the dance, Wulf didn’t care.
• • •
Lily lifted her dance card to see who was listed next. She’d promised a dance to Lord Kitteringer, but was it this one or the one after—
A strong arm slipped about her waist and she was propelled toward the dance floor. She knew that powerful arm, knew the spicy, faint scent of the cologne that came from the black coat that filled her sight as she was swept into the dance.
No man so large should be such an excellent dancer. “Wulf, I’m promised to—”
“Nyet. You dance with me. You may dance with whoever else you wish after this.”
“But I—”
“I spoke with Huntley. I have news for you.”
She was silent, savoring the feel of his large hand engulfing hers, the warmth of his other hand where it rested on her waist. If she closed her eyes and leaned forward, her cheek would brush his coat and—
She realized how silly she must look and she pulled away. “You mentioned Huntley?” She hoped Wulf didn’t notice how husky her voice had become.
“You do not need to know anything more about him.”
She tilted her head back so she could see Wulf’s expression. His green eyes burned as if a fire raged behind them; his mouth was set in the grimmest of lines. Her heart fluttered. “Wulf, what—”
“He will ask you to marry him. He has decided.”
Lily stumbled, almost causing them to collide with another couple.
With a curse, Wulf guided her back into the dance, his hand tightening over hers. “You do not dance so well, Moya. Even Huntley spoke of it.”
She stiffened. “I dance perfectly well. I was just surprised.” Which was untrue, for the duchess had already told her as much. But hearing the words from Wulf had sent such a sharp stab of pain through her that it had felt like a nail. The final one in my coffin. She tried to shake the thought, but it returned. After I marry Huntley, it is over. My fate is sealed.
The desire to burrow into Wulf’s broad chest was almost unbearable, and to her chagrin, tears threatened. It took all of her force of mind to be able to say, “Thank you for finding that out for me.”
“Just now, while we watched you dance, he told me he was ready to make a proposal.” Wulf’s gaze locked with hers. Then he whispered, “Moya, are you certain?”
She thought of Dahlia, married to curmudgeonly Lord Kirk, and of her father, how he’d wither and die in gaol, and of her own life, how adrift she’d be without her family and Caith Manor. It took every ounce of her strength, but she managed to say, “Yes.”
A swell of disappointment filled her, bitter and ugly. Her eyes filled up with tears, and suddenly being in Wulf’s arms made her situation all the more unbearable.
Unable to hold her tears at bay another second, she broke from his embrace, gathered her skirts and ran, leaving Wulf standing alone in the middle of the dance floor. Though she felt the looks and heard the whispers rustling through the ballroom, she ignored them as she escaped into the cool evening air, her tears already falling.
Twenty-six
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe There comes a time in every courtship where expectations must be defined, and we have reached that stage in Miss Balfour’s case. Fortunately Charlotte and I are here to oversee that process, and we are, to be honest, quite good at it.
Lily pressed her forehead to the cool marble and looked up at the clear sky overhead. She’d left the ballroom half an hour ago and had found sanctuary in one of the small courtyard alcoves that held statuary. There, hidden from sight by a plump brace of cupids, she’d wept until she could weep no more.
Her tears had finally subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal. But she could do nothing about her swollen eyes, red nose, and broken heart.
Eventually she’d have to go back inside and face everyone, but for now, she wished to do nothing more than stand with her forehead pressed to the cool marble statue. When the last guest carriage had left and the lights went out in the castle, she’d slip up to her room.
She closed her eyes, tears threatening to well yet again. What a mess I’ve made of everything, falling in love with the wrong man.
And what a fool she’d been, too, to think she could control love. Wulf had warned her, but she hadn’t listened. Oh, Wulf, if only I had understood what you were saying. But I didn’t, and now—
A hand closed about her wrist. Lily gasped and jerked away, only to find herself facing Wulf’s grandmother.
“Are you through with . . .” The old woman drew lines down her face.
“Yes.” Lily found her handkerchief and wiped away her tears, her face afire. “I’m sorry I left your grandson standing on the dance floor.”
“It is no matter. No doubt he deserved it.” The old woman moved closer, her black skirts rustling. “I told everyone who would listen that the turtle soup at dinner did not agree with you.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“It was a poor excuse for soup. There was so little turtle that it could have been water, for all the flavor it had.”
“It was thin. Your grace, thank you for your assistance. It was just— I didn’t mean to—”
“Here.” The old woman grasped Lily’s hand and pressed something into her palm.
Lily opened her hand and found a small pouch tied with an oddly knotted ribbon that held some tiny dried flowers and a little stick figure held together with thread. “What’s this?”
“It’s a . . .” The old woman scowled. “How do you say? It’s not-for-love potion.”
“A . . . I’m sorry, but did you say a ‘not-for-love potion’?”
“Yes, yes. Can you not hear?”
“I’m sorry. I just—” Lily took a deep breath. “How does it work?”
“Simple. I will explain. First, you must know that it can be used only once.”
“Only once.”
“Da, for one person. But who needs more, eh?”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘not-for-love’?”
“It is to forget. To erase the”—the old woman swirled her hand about her head—“so you don’t have to keep thinking.”
“Ah. It erases your memory.”
“Memory, yes. Of one you love. Then, you can continue with your life and not be sad. That is good, nyet?”
Lily looked at the small bag. If she didn’t remember Wulf, she could move into her new life as Huntley’s wife without the weight of a broken heart. But . . . forget Wulf? Could she really?
She closed her hand around the pouch, the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon and pine wafting through her fingers. “It smells like a sachet.”
The old woman bristled with disapproval. “How would you know how a not-for-love potion should smell? Have you seen one before?”
“No, but—”
“Then do not question my magic!”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand. Why are you giving me this?”
“Because you must marry this Huntley, but my foolish grandson has made you fall in love with him.”
“He didn’t—”
“Pah! I have eyes. I see things. I am no fool.”
Lily pressed her hand to her hot cheek. “If you can see it, then so can everyone
else.”
“No one who matters.”
Lily sighed. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“No one ever does. But it will pain you to leave him. Use the pouch to make a tea. Drink it, and you will remember nothing of my grandson.”
“Make a tea? With this?”
The old woman muttered under her breath. “You know how to make tea, foolish girl? Steep the pouch in hot water, the longer, the better.”
“With this stick figure attached?”
“Da, with the figure attached. You are making this difficult!”
“I just want to do it right.” Not that she’d actually use it. She didn’t believe in magic . . . but the pain in her heart was so overwhelming. She looked at the bag. “Once you drink it, the forgetfulness will last forever?”
“Forever. You will remember the person, but feel nothing.”
“You won’t remember the love.”
“You remember, but you will feel nothing, like a distant memory. Good, nyet?”
“Yes.”
“And so it works. But you can cast the spell only once, so use it wisely.” The old woman glanced over her shoulder and then turned back. “I must go now. My grandson will be out soon to get into the carriage, and I do not wish him to see me talking to you. He does not like the old magics, the young fool. Youth never believe in the old.”
“But—”
“There he is. I go.”
Sure enough, Wulf’s large form was framed in the glow from the foyer.
Lily quickly moved so that he couldn’t see her. “Thank you for the potion, your grace.”
“Use it. Make this go away, for my grandson’s sake as well as yours.”
“You worry about him, too.”
The old woman’s expression softened. “His life has been one of privilege and he’s never had to accept a nyet. Now he will have to do so, and in a matter of the heart. It will take a long, long time for him to recover, but that is part of life.”
Lily thought about Emma’s luminous gaze. “Don’t worry. He will meet someone else and forget me soon enough.”