A Season for Sin (9 page)

“Perhaps a gentleman in London will sweep you off your feet,” Lady Atherton said with a sly smile.

Laura shook her head. “I’m far too practical for that.”

“Come with me,” Lady Atherton said. “I wish to introduce you to the Duchess of Shelbourne. You’ll like her. She’s quite witty, and not so very long ago, she was a bona fide matchmaker.”

“Oh dear,” Laura said. “Should I be afraid?”

“She gave up matchmaking for motherhood a few years ago. For now, let me tell you the arresting tale of how she became the duke’s matchmaker and eventually his bride.”

B
ell spoke briefly with his former mistress, and then he saw the beautiful blond lady walking away with Lady Atherton. He followed at a discreet distance, because he couldn’t get her out of his head. But then Lady Atherton led her over to the Duchess of Shelbourne, and Bell made himself turn away.

He recalled his feeling earlier that someone was watching him, and then he’d met
her
gaze. He’d been taken aback by her pretty eyes and had expected her to blush. Instead, she’d stood there with her plump lips slightly parted, as if mesmerized. Then he’d given in to the wicked urge to survey the rest of her. He accounted himself a connoisseur of shapely women, and she was perfectly proportioned. Sanity returned as he’d realized that others might remark upon his visual inspection of her, and so he’d winked to break the spell.

He should keep his distance. Lady Atherton was a well-known high stickler and would have put a flea in his ear if she’d seen him mentally undressing the younger woman. He told himself the petite blond was not for him, but she was the kind of woman a man didn’t easily forget.

With a sigh, he joined some of his political acquaintances in one of the drawing rooms. A few minutes later several other men, including Harry and Colin, invaded the room. Bell stood with his arms folded over his chest as Harry exaggerated Bell’s heroism two nights ago. A number of grinning gentlemen gathered around. Harry greatly embellished the tale by adding a fight with the waterman and snakes in the river. Bell figured that even reptiles couldn’t survive the foul Thames, but he said nothing.

Judging from the men’s expressions, everyone was accustomed to Harry’s tall tales. When he finished the story, the other gentlemen chuckled and disbursed. Bell followed his new friends back to the ballroom and found himself looking for the lovely blond, even though he’d sworn to stay away from her.

A few minutes later, he walked with Harry and Colin over to the punch bowl. Colin looked out at the crowd and frowned. “Excuse me,” he said.

Harry poured a cup of punch, sipped it, and grimaced.

“Is it too strong?” Bell asked.

“Lord, no. It’s completely devoid of spirits.” Harry set the cup aside. “Where is the brandy decanter?”

Lady Atherton walked over to him. “Harry, you rogue, I’ll not have you spiking the punch bowl again. Lady Renwick is still mortified over her drunken state on the dance floor last year.”

Harry wagged his brows. “Literally on the dance floor, with her skirts up to her knees.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it,” Bell said, laughing.

Lady Atherton rolled her eyes. “Men. No matter how old you grow, there’s a twelve-year-old scamp inside all of you.” She made a shooing motion. “Both of you find dance partners and stay out of the brandy.”

Bell’s shoulders shook after she left. “I haven’t had a trimming like that in years.”

Harry looked out at the dance floor and stiffened. “Dash it all. I hope they don’t kill each other.”

“Who?” Bell said.

“Colin and his nemesis Lady Angeline,” Harry said.

“Lady Angeline?” Bell said.

“The Duke of Wycoff’s eldest daughter,” Harry said. “She and Colin were born only one week apart, and their mothers promised them to each other in the cradle. Naturally, they hate each other. I hope Angie doesn’t plant him a facer.”

Bell saw Colin and a young woman glaring at each other on the dance floor. “She’s a hoyden, I take it.”

“Only around Colin,” Harry said. “She can’t stand it when he bests her and vice versa.” He paused and added, “Did you meet the new widow yet?”

“No, but then I don’t know her name or what she looks like.”

“My female cousins said she’s Lady Chesfield, but I think they’re leading me on a merry chase.”

“Probably,” Bell said.

Harry looked toward the dance floor. “I’m to dance the next set with Miss Martindale. I’d better find her.”

As Bell made his way through the crowd, he noticed that Lady Atherton was strolling with the petite blond again. Ah well, she was a friend of Lady Atherton, which meant she was too respectable to be any man’s mistress. For all he knew, she was some man’s wife.

Bell decided to walk out to the gardens and smoke a cheroot. He strode toward the back of the house, and though he wasn’t familiar with the layout, he managed to find his way to the door leading outside. There were lanterns in the trees, though he detected no one about. The wind was a bit chilly as it whipped the tails of his coat, but he welcomed the cold as he lit a cheroot from one of the lanterns. The wind riffled the leaves in the tall trees. He inhaled the smoke from the cheroot and enjoyed the relative silence, though London was never really quiet.

He exhaled and recalled his aggressiveness while fencing. The best cure for his hot-blooded nature was a toss in the sheets. He wondered about the best way to secure a new mistress. The Cyprians were giving another entertainment next week, and that was probably his best bet.

Too bad about the fictitious widow, he thought with a slight grin. Lord only knew where or how these rumors got started, but he thought a widow might suit him, provided she understood that marriage was not part of the bargain. It would be a tricky business, trying to figure out whether the widow was amenable to an intimate relationship or not. If he made a mistake, he would cause a grievous insult. His lips curved a bit. Since when had he ever missed an opportunity to persuade a lady to loosen her morals?

He ground out the cheroot and lit up another. Next week, he would attend Fordham’s wedding. He’d just never thought Fordham was the marrying kind, but he supposed most men took the step, because of the expectations of family and friends.

No one had expectations of him, and that suited him well enough.

The low rumble of masculine laughter made Bell frown. Patches of misty fog made it difficult to see, but three young men emerged on the other side of the path. He squinted and sure enough, one of them was the young man with wheat-colored hair. His friend halted and passed something around. Bell wagered it was a flask.

He inhaled as the trio disappeared from his sight. Shrugging, he figured they were at least safe from thieves and pickpockets in the garden. How they would fare guzzling whatever liquor was in the flask was another matter altogether, but they would pay for it with the bottle ache on the morrow.

A few minutes later, he ground out his cheroot. He thought of returning to the house, but he decided to indulge in one more cheroot first.

“Look, it is Lord Pembroke,” Lady Atherton said, leaning closer to Laura. “He is a widower in his early forties and has thirty thousand a year. The bald spot is unfortunate, but he is considered a good catch.”

“Thank you, but I’m not fishing,” Laura said.

Lady Atherton waved and then motioned him over.

Oh dear. Laura feared Lady Atherton was bent on a matchmaking scheme. “Lady Atherton, I am not ready for courtship. I doubt I ever will be again.”

“Of course, you will,” Lady Atherton said. “Ah, Lord Pembroke,” she said enthusiastically. “May I introduce you to my friend, Lady Chesfield. She is new to town.”

Pembroke bowed over Laura’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Laura curtsied. “And you as well, my lord.”

“Well, Pembroke,” Lady Atherton said, “you will be glad to hear that Lady Chesfield is not spoken for in the next dance.”

A hot flush spread to Laura’s face.

“Indeed, I am delighted,” he said. “Lady Chesfield, would you do me the honor?”

“Yes, of course.” Laura was mortified, but she could not refuse his request without giving insult.

When he offered his arm, she took it and strolled along with him. “I fear you may have felt coerced to dance with me,” she said.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’m delighted to dance with you, but perhaps you’re the one who isn’t happy about it.”

“Oh, not at all,” she hurriedly assured him. “I just didn’t want you to feel obliged.”

“Then I declare that both of us are happy to dance together.”

He led her to the dance floor, and she smiled as she stood across from him. But as they waited for the set to form, her thoughts raced. He really was a very nice gentleman, but Lady Atherton apparently had not taken Laura seriously about her lack of interest in remarrying. Laura knew she must make it clear to her friend that she did not welcome any matchmaking efforts. The last thing she wanted was to spend the entire season dodging eligible bachelors.

At long last, the dance started. While turning with another couple, she continued to stew over Lady Atherton’s maneuvering. Oh, why did others always think they knew what was best for one? Laura knew Lady Atherton had good intentions, but of course, she wouldn’t have thought past the marriage contracts. Laura couldn’t even imagine Justin’s reaction if she were to remarry, but she suspected he would find it embarrassing and perhaps even think he’d become a third wheel, which was foolish. He came first in her life.

What man would wish to wed a woman who would put her stepson before him?

Then there was the issue of Justin’s uncle. While she tried to reassure herself that Montclief had taken no interest in his guardianship to date, she had no idea how Justin’s uncle would react if she remarried. She was Justin’s stepmother, and if she were to remarry, Montclief might conclude his nephew was better off with blood relatives.

No, she could not risk remarrying until Justin reached his majority, even if she wanted to, which she did not. It would feel wrong to her, even though Phillip had passed four years ago. That might seem like many years to others, but to her, it was too soon to even think of it.

Or was she simply making excuses, because she was afraid of the changes that would occur in the next few years when Justin reached his majority?

When the dance ended, Lord Pembroke gave her an enigmatic look. “You seem quite lost in your thoughts.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said. “I fear it’s a bad habit of mine. Do forgive me.”

“No apology is necessary,” he said. “Will you join me at the midnight supper?”

“Oh, well, I’m unsure where my stepson is,” she said. “Perhaps I should locate him.”

Lord Pembroke regarded her with an indulgent smile. “I find your concern for him so refreshing, even though he is almost grown.”

Physically, he was grown, but mentally, he’d gotten rather rebellious, but that was not something she would discuss with Lord Pembroke.

“I won’t keep you overly long,” Lord Pembroke said. “At any rate, I suspect your stepson is in the dining room at this instant, wolfing down some of Lady Atherton’s famous delicacies.”

“Perhaps you’re correct,” she said.

“I’m sure I am. Young men always have healthy appetites,” Lord Pembroke said, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd sounds that had increased in volume as everyone headed toward the door.

She let Pembroke escort her and told herself it was foolish to keep worrying about her stepson. Undoubtedly, she would find him downstairs with everyone else. At the moment, the guests were converging toward the ballroom doors, and the crowd was moving at the proverbial snail’s pace. She tried craning her head in an effort to spot Justin, but it was useless in this packed room. Laura reminded herself that he was seventeen not seven, and that he was far less likely to find trouble at a ball than on the public streets of London.

Perhaps it was time to loosen the invisible leading strings that she’d symbolically attached to Justin. Yes, he’d made a mistake the night before last when he’d clearly imbibed spirits, but she mustn’t get in the habit of suspecting him of some transgression all of the time. That road would only lead to constant disagreements and bickering, something she hoped to avoid. At the same time, however, he needed to demonstrate good judgment and prove he was trustworthy.

Eventually, they descended the last of the steps and made their slow way to the dining room. Laura began to think ton balls were more of a nuisance than a pleasure, with so many people gathered in one house. Lady Atherton had told her that a huge crowd at a ball was considered a smashing success. Perhaps for the hostess, Laura thought, but not necessarily for the guests.

“Ah, here we go,” Lord Pembroke said. “The dining room doors are wide open now.”

Once they entered, she drank a cup of punch with Lord Pembroke and nibbled at a slice of cake. She kept watching the doorway, hoping Justin would appear, but twenty minutes later, she concluded that he was not coming to the dining room.

“Lord Pembroke, please excuse me,” Laura said. “I believe my stepson is still upstairs.”