After The Storm (16 page)

“Enough.” Evan knocked his hands aside sending champagne sloshing over the lip of the flute in Hugh’s left hand. “That’s my
wife
you are denigrating.”

“I was drinking that, you know.” Hugh frowned at the small puddles at his feet. “You married her? What the devil for?”

When he looked up it was to see Evan’s expression had become quite wistful as he said, “Because she’s got those enormous…that is…oh, confound it, Thorpeton, I don’t know why I bother telling you a bloody thing. She’s a lovely lady.” He gestured across the room, to a willowy, bosomy redhead dressed in sedate plum silk. She smiled, lifting a gloved hand to wiggle her fingers at them before she turned back to her conversation.

“And there are precious few of our friends who don’t already know that.” Hugh shook his head, setting his now-empty glass on a nearby tray. “I thought you had your mind set on a…pure…lady?”

“If you could find me one, I’d have gladly taken the plunge with her. But egads, man, the only innocents left are twelve years old!” Evan shook his head and handed Hugh a handkerchief to mop up the remaining champagne on his breeches. “And the more I thought about it, the more I decided I rather prefer a more—ah, experienced lady warming my sheets.”

“I’ll wager your mother was quite pleased for you.” Unable to resist the dig, Hugh knew he found his mark when Evan flinched.

“Yes, well…I think
pleased
might be a bit strong of a word.”

“I can only imagine.” The Dowager Viscountess Ryder was notorious for her fussiness in approving mates for her five sons, and it was well known in their circle that she despaired of ever marrying off the youngest, who was rumored to prefer boots and breeches over slippers and gowns. That her oldest, and the heir to the family fortune, married a fallen woman, must have driven her to near madness.

“What did she say?” Hugh demanded as they made their way out of the ballroom and started down the hallway toward the library.

“Never mind what she said. Suffice it to say my parting shot was, ‘at least my choice was not in possession of the same apparatus as I.’” Evan ran a hand through his windblown dark blonde hair. “Jonathan turned puce, as did Howard, so you can imagine what Mother did, as it became apparent who Jonnie had been carousing with.”

Hugh chuckled. “Christina did not seem so horrid a choice after that.”

“Not at all. But let’s not speak of my brother and his light-footed ways. I feel the need to drink myself silly and relieve you some of the Thorpeton fortune, old man. Are you game? It won’t be long before my bride is harping on me to dance.”

“Need you ask?” Hugh chided, elbowing Evan in the ribs. “Only, I am afraid to disappoint you, but it won’t be
my
coffers drained.”

****

Miranda fought a rising groan as Lady Sally marched toward her, her arm firmly through that of a dark-haired older man. Sally had an unsettling gleam in her eye that made her more than a bit nervous. Beside her, Elyse smiled. “I do believe Sally is getting quite caught up in the matchmaking ritual.”

“Dare I ask who that is?” Miranda muttered.

“Stephen Pemberton, Marquis of Saintsbury, and one of London’s
most
eligible bachelors.” Elyse turned to face her, a knowing smile on her lips. “He is quite the catch, actually. Worth a considerable fortune and quite a bit of property. He is, however, also a notorious rake, and you’d do well not to fall prey to his abundant charm. Many a proper lady has been disgraced after succumbing, for he has a nasty little habit of discarding a lady once he’s taken her to bed. You do not want to allow him liberties until
after
vows are taken.”

After vows were taken? She hadn’t even been formally introduced as yet and Elyse already spoke of marriage. Her discomfort grew and it was all she could do to not roll her eyes. “Isn’t that a bit premature seeing as how I’ve yet to even make his acquaintance?”

“It merely serves as a warning, Randi. He will promise you the moon and stars and anything else to relieve you of your clothes. Then, come morning, he’ll send you on your way with little more than a shiny trinket or two from the family’s collection.” Elyse frowned, tapping a forefinger against her temple. “Though I’d imagine his family has begun pressuring him to put his rakehell ways in the past and think of his future. You know, begetting an heir and all. It’s the same in every family, no matter what the fellow’s rank. Why, even Hugh was a bit pressured, and he was hardly as bad as Pemberton.”

Miranda wanted to press the issue further, but Sally was now within earshot, shoving the marquis in their direction. “Miss MacDonough, I have a gentleman here I wish you to meet.”

A polite, if forced, smile on her lips, she faced Sally and Pemberton. “Is there now, my lady? I must admit, I am flattered.”

“Lord Saintsbury, I’d like to introduce you to Miranda MacDonough. Miss MacDonough, Lord Saintsbury.”

“The honor is all mine.” Pemberton’s voice was like fine brandy, rich and smooth, and his dark eyes were direct as they met Miranda’s and held her gaze. Fringed with thick black lashes, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she felt a jolt as his gaze grew from friendly to downright sensual. It was easy to see how ladies fell under his spell so quickly, judging by the speed with which he moved.

“And mine as well, my lord,” she replied, trying not to notice how warm his fingers felt as they closed about hers and lifted her hand to his lips.

“I’d consider it an honor, if you dance this next waltz with me,” Pemberton intoned, his gaze unwavering. “In fact, I will not take no for an answer.”

She itched to pull her hand free, but her arm refused to see reason. “Yes, my lord,” she replied softly, ignoring Sally’s slight snicker behind her.

“Wonderful.” Pemberton drew her out onto the dance floor, clamped one hand on her hip, and caught her hand with his free one.

As the musicians started the waltz, she found herself holding her breath, which in turn made her lightheaded.
That
made her forget to count her steps and she promptly stumbled. He caught her easily, and a seductive smile played at his lips as he murmured, “Lady Sally tells me you are in the market for a husband?”

“And do you search for a wife?” His steady gaze and slow smile unnerved her and she spoke without thinking.

The marquis’ smile grew wider. “I am. Shall I offer up my criteria?”

Her belly leaped as he pressed her closer still. He held her uncomfortably close, as if trying to impress her with what lay beneath the defined cut of his snug breeches. “Criteria?”

“Absolutely. She will be beautiful, no doubt. And love to laugh. Nothing is more melodious than the sound of a woman’s laughter.” He never blinked, never averted his heavy, suggestive stare. “And she will know her way around a man’s bed. I love an adventurous sort, Miss MacDonough. Are you that sort?”

The urge to shudder crawled over her skin and her stomach pitched as heat crept into her face. She swallowed hard, but managed an airy, “I am afraid I cannot possibly answer, my lord. A lady ought have an air of mystery about her, don’t you think?”

“I do. A lady ought be placed upon a pedestal.
After
her clothes have been strewn about my chambers, and she has reveled in the afterglow of my touch.” His smile became downright wolfish. “And I do know how to touch a lady to make her purr, love. You will not be disappointed.”

“And this will be on the wedding night, am I right?”

“Dear God, no!” He looked aghast at the suggestion. “No man wishes a virgin in his wedding bed. Whatever made you think otherwise? My wife will
know
what she is doing if I have to spend the months leading up to the wedding instructing every little nuance. Tell me, lady, do you…” He leaned forward to whisper silkily into her ear.

The heat of his appraisal became a chunk of solid ice as she gasped and jerked free to crack her palm against his smooth cheek. “I do believe this dance is over, my lord,” she snapped and whipped about to march away from him. Embarrassed heat filled her as everyone else halted to stare, and the heat only grew as the marquis’ throaty laughter boomed across the floor.

“Icy wench!”

Shame stung her cheeks, but she did not halt. Rather, she stormed past a smirking Lady Sally and a sympathetic Elyse, to march right out of the ballroom.

“Miss MacDonough, is something the matter?”

She did not so much as pause as Gerard called to her. He’d just been entering and must have missed the spectacle. Ignoring him did little good, though, as his long-legged stride cleaved the distance between them and he fell into step beside her. “What is it? What happened?”

“Men are peacocks!” she sputtered, refusing to slow her pace.

“What happened?” When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her by the arm to stop her as they passed the music room. “Come with me.”

He offered her no chance to protest, but dragged her into the room. Fortunately, it was empty. She’d suffered enough humiliation for one evening, and had no desire to burst into a room filled with more people gawking at her. To have Gerard pull her into a room suggested only one thing, and
that
sort of gossip always ran rampant.

Tears stung her eyes, which only made her angrier, as she abhorred crying. Gerard crouched to meet her eye-level. “Miranda? What happened?”

His voice was low, heavy with concern, and without thinking, she sank into him. Wrapping his arms about her, he held her close as she sobbed silently against his chest. “Let it out, and then tell me what happened,” he murmured.

Falling silent, she sniffed and disentangled herself from his arms. His was a comforting embrace, but she did not wish to play him false, not when he’d offered such genuine friendship. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

Unperturbed, he withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and held it out for her. “Why? What happened to upset you so?”

“I ought have expected it. A lady. Bah! I am not a lady, but merely an amusement, aren’t I?” She swiped at her eyes with the lacy handkerchief and swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. The silly tears refused to abate, but spilled over her lower lids despite her best efforts to hold them back. “And I canna believe I waste tears over it.”

Gerard’s brow knit in confusion and frustration. “Randi, for God’s sake, what happened?”

“It matters not. I made quite the spectacle in there, I’m afraid. I canna possibly return.”

“Why the devil not? After all, you did promise me a dance. And didn’t Hugh claim one as well?”

Bloody hell. She’d forgotten all about those blasted dance slots. How the deuce could she return to that pit of vipers after having put on such a display? Certainly tongues were wagging about her behavior, and Aunt Arabella was most likely upset with her as well. The last thing she wanted was to set foot back in that blasted ballroom

“I care not. You must have seen it. Heard it at least. I made quite the fool of myself and I canna go back.”

Gerard smiled. “Well, if the fiery Scot is here to stay, you’ve no possible alternative. You
are
going back, Randi. You will be on my arm and every eligible gent in the room will stew in his own envy.”

She managed a weak smile. Perhaps he
was
a rake, but he was also becoming quite a good friend. How unfortunate she couldn’t simplify matters and make herself want him the way she wanted Hugh.

A weak laugh rose to her lips. “You are a devil, my lord. You know that.”

“It is part of my charm. Now, we’d best go back. If someone happened upon us, I shudder to think what the vultures would have us doing. I can assure you it’d be far more colorful than simply talking.”

A heavy sigh rose in her throat, but she held it back. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible. At the very least, she’d not have to walk back into the ballroom alone. “Very well. Shall we?”

“That’s the spirit. Buck up, Miss MacDonough. Perhaps I will do something utterly scandalous, such as ask to court you.”