She straightened her skirt and lifted her chin. “I’m fine, sir. Thank you for your concern.”
“I’m so sorry, miss. I…” Delton shrugged. He was clearly uncertain what he’d done to cause this particular disaster. Not surprising. He had merely been trying to pass through a doorway. It was unfortunate her bosom was on level with his face, but that was not his doing.
“Please, don’t give it another thought,” Grace said. “It was my fault completely.”
Lord Dawson squeezed her elbow. “Ah, but a lady is never at fault, is she, Delton?”
“No, indeed. I take full responsibility.”
“No, no. I should not have lingered in the doorway.”
David smiled slightly. Was Standen’s daughter going to argue with Delton? He’d best get the girl off the terrace. They were beginning to gather a crowd.
His smile widened. He’d be delighted to take her into the garden and begin his courtship. Very delighted. How fortunate he’d been standing in exactly the right place when the lady had stumbled.
Mmm—very fortunate. Just as he’d expected, she was an entrancing armful. He’d been hard pressed not to steal a kiss in front of Delton and all their interested onlookers. With luck and skill, he might be able to steal one in the foliage. The lady had not been struggling to get out of his arms. No, she’d seemed quite content to remain there.
He stepped back slightly, a little behind the girl and closer to the garden stairs.
He definitely needed to retreat to the leafage—his enthusiasm was becoming a bit too apparent. He grinned. Fortunately, he could hide behind the lady’s skirts.
And he needed to discover her given name. He could not keep thinking of her as Standen’s daughter.
“Well, no harm done,” he said, interrupting the polite, but pointless apologies. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Delton? I believe the lady would benefit from a calming stroll through the garden, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed. Don’t let me delay you a moment longer. Just came out to blow a cloud, don’t you know? I’ll step out of the way then. So sorry for the accident. Do enjoy your walk—the greenery is very soothing.”
“But—”
Surely the girl wasn’t going to keep protesting her fault in the silly contretemps? Delton shot him a pleading look. He agreed. Someone needed to take the young lady in hand, and he was more than happy to be that person. He had his hand on her already. He exerted a slight pressure and directed her toward the garden steps.
“We are attracting a small bit of attention, my dear,” he murmured. “I cannot think you will like that.”
“Oh.” The girl glanced around the terrace.
“A few moments admiring Alvord’s plantings will give you time to compose yourself and give the witnesses to our little—our very minor—scene time to lose whatever interest they have in you and your activities.”
Her brows lowered into a frown. “But isn’t walking in the garden scandalous?”
“Not at all. Do you think the Duke of Alvord would have lanterns hung along his garden paths if walking there were scandalous?” Of course, David did not intend to stay on the paths the entire time, but there was no need to mention that.
“Oh. No, I suppose you are correct.”
Aunt Kate would not approve, Grace thought as she descended the steps on Lord Dawson’s arm. Ha—there was an understatement! She had explicitly told Grace not to go into the garden with the baron. But Aunt Kate was overly nervous, and the baron had a valid point. If strolling amongst the plants was so daring, the duke would not have tempted his guests with lantern-lit walkways.
Grace needed to talk to the man—she’d come out on the terrace with that specific goal. The privacy of such a perambulation would be perfect for getting to the bottom of her father’s strange antipathy and Aunt Kate’s odd nervous attack.
She would behave perfectly respectably, and Lord Dawson wouldn’t offer her anything but conversation. Men never did.
But if he did…
She glanced up at the baron and felt a small frisson, a tiny shiver of excitement.
They turned left at the bottom of the stairs and followed the path toward the main section of the garden, leaving the ball’s light and crowds behind. A slight breeze brushed Grace’s cheek. She could almost believe they were in the country now. Almost, but not quite. This was London after all, and London was never really quiet. The noise of the street—the creak and jingle of harnesses, the rattle of wheels on cobbles, the shouts of the coachmen—blended with the drone of conversation drifting from the open ballroom windows.
They strolled past a rustic bench and paused by a small fountain with a statue of Pan capering in its center. Water cascaded from the god’s pipes and splashed merrily from a multitude of fishes’ mouths.
Lord Dawson wandered over to the far side of the fountain to examine a fish that wasn’t spouting. Grace followed him. The vegetation was especially overgrown here—they were almost in a small bower. If John were present, he’d be giving her a lecture on every leaf and twig. She sincerely hoped Lord Dawson was not a botanist.
“Is that a trout?” A stupid question—it was just a stone decoration. It could be a whale for all she cared.
The baron shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not much interested in fish.” He smiled and turned to face her. Somehow her hand had ended up in his—and his was missing its glove. “But I am very interested in you. Will you gift me with your name? My Uncle Alex didn’t know it, and I cannot keep calling you Standen’s daughter or Lady Oxbury’s niece.” He rubbed his thumb over her palm.
“Oh, ah.” Another, larger shiver of excitement teased her. She cleared her throat. “Grace—my name is Lady Grace.”
He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “And I am David Wilton, Baron Dawson of Riverview.” His voice deepened. “I am very, very glad to meet you, Lady Grace.”
Grace withdrew her hand and gave the man a cautious look. They were secluded here, but not completely hidden. Anyone passing by on the walkway could see them, if they looked. Lord Dawson appeared relaxed and pleasant—not at all predatory.
She was in no danger. It was perfectly safe to take advantage of the moment and ask about her father—and her aunt.
Her hand still tingled from the motion of his thumb on her palm. She rubbed it against her skirt.
And what if something besides information was exchanged?
She moistened her lips. If such an opportunity presented itself…well, she would be daring and enjoy her brief window of freedom.
She was twenty-five; she had never in all those years done anything the least bit scandalous. She was too old and sensible to allow herself to be led into complete ruin. There were hundreds of people nearby; if she became alarmed, she had a sturdy pair of lungs.
David watched thoughts of caution flit over Grace’s face. He should not take advantage of her, she was so innocent. She had followed him so trustingly.
But how could he not take advantage? It was dark, and they were in this sheltered spot. He would not hurt her. His intentions were only honorable.
Hmm. Perhaps it depended on how one defined honorable. He would not take her beyond the point of no return, but he would take her as close to that point as she—and the vertical nature of their encounter—would allow. And he meant marriage, of course. He definitely meant marriage.
A few creative uses for this splendid fountain popped into his imagination, but he suppressed them. Lady Grace was a virgin, and there were hundreds of the haut ton just yards away in the ballroom—as well as