Her Secret Fantasy (13 page)

Well, then,
she thought, steadying herself with a lift of her chin until she had forced the bewildering threat of tears into retreat.
That’s that, then.

Good riddance.

At least she had got what she came for.

I have never been so insulted in my life.

Derek was still seething when he walked into his apartment at the Althorpe and slammed the door behind him.

Gabriel looked over in surprise. “What’s the matter with you?” he panted, hard at work on his punishing regimen to rebuild his strength.

Derek merely growled in answer as he threw his coat at the coat tree.

Gabriel put down his iron dumbbells and dabbed the sweat off his face. He frowned as he watched Derek pace to the window and back again, restless in silent tumult and obvious fury.

“Damn her!” Derek burst out with sudden vehemence. He would have punched the wall but stopped himself, not wanting to pay for the repairs he’d have been charged for it. He was not rich, after all.

“Damn who?” Gabriel asked in a quizzical tone.

Derek looked at him, paced some more, then turned when he reached the fireplace. “Lily Balfour, that’s who. Only the most infuriating woman I have ever met.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“She,” he ground out, “insulted my honor.”

“Oh, I see. Are you going to challenge her to a duel?”

If his brother were not injured, Derek would have charged him for that remark as if they were still schoolboys on the rugby field. He narrowed his eyes.

Gabriel laughed at him; Derek glowered at his brother and kicked the ottoman out of his way as he left the room, stomping off to his own chamber to try to bring his fury under control.

Ungrateful wench!

He spotted a farewell note from Lady Amherst on his pillow but did not give a damn about reading it just now. At the moment, he wanted nothing to do with any one of their species.

He planted his hands on the edge of the dressing table and glared fiercely into the mirror.

It was one thing to be so disrespected by the politicians that they would steal funds earmarked for the troops. But this was more painful, more personal. She was not just anyone to him, devil take her. She had gotten under his skin, and her words had just negated all he held most dear.

She had made him feel like he was nothing, he and all his men, useless cannon fodder, as if all their sacrifice were meaningless.

Well, he thought after a long moment, what did it matter to him whom she married? Lundy would probably beat her, but that was not
his
problem, was it? She seemed hell-bent on making her miserable bed, so let her lie in it. It wasn’t as though he had any desire to offer for the little fortune hunter himself. Not that she or any of her kind would have accepted an offer from a mere younger son.

Gabriel, now,
he
might have had a chance with the fine and frosty Lily Balfour, but for his part, Derek knew the score. He’d been dealing with this all his life—and his brother wondered why he was ambitious! Ah, it was the same old story, the age-old quandary of the younger son.

He had learned the way of the world at his mother’s knee. As firstborn, Gabriel could afford to lounge on his arse if he wanted, but there would be no such luxury for Derek. No one was going to help him, and since, by necessity, a younger son would always seem the lesser choice, he had been brought up shrewdly doubtful that any woman was ever going to love him unless he could give her several very good reasons to choose him, advantages like fortune and glory to make up for his lower status by birth.

In truth, there was a time when he would have done much more than that for true love, a figment in which his foolish heart had insisted on believing. Even as a boy, Derek could imagine no worse fate than never being loved by some wonderful girl. He had always been completely fascinated by girls, even when other lads his age had scoffed at them. He’d had no trouble talking to the magical creatures when other boys had stuttered, thrown rocks, and run away, and the only thing better in his youthful view than riding a very fast horse had been making a pretty girl laugh. Oh, yes, he intended to be loved one day—well and often. It was the very motive that, years ago, had set him on the path of his present career.

If he had to risk life and limb to gain the riches that would bring love to him, if he had to face death undertaking magnificent deeds to get himself hailed as a hero, he had told himself it would be worth it.

Otherwise, he might just as well be invisible.

Well, the job was habit now, and as for his faith in true love, it had long been fading. It dissolved a little further with each married woman he seduced.

Then last night he had met “Mary Nonesuch,” and for a few hours he had dared to hope she might really be different from the rest. But he saw now he had been deluding himself. She was like all the others, a common schemer with a pretty face. Her kiss had been sublime, but, Derek thought with a snort, no young lady who went around kissing strangers in garden gazebos was marital material for him.

Ah, well. At this late date, he did not really expect to marry for love any more than Lily Balfour or her vulgar nabob Lundy did. There was none of that romantic boy left in him. He was older now, wiser, hardened by life, and he understood better what love meant.

After all, if he still believed in true love, he would have hoped for someone who would love him
now,
when he had only a small fortune and the fuel of large ambitions, large capabilities. Women sometimes claimed to love him, but his mental answer was,
Then bloody prove it.
Let any woman steel herself to share in his burden now, before he was rich. Let her follow the drum and come to the edge of the war, like some officers’ wives would do. That was love.

Let her see for herself the daily hell he knew. Let her help him tend his mangled men and shoot a broken-legged cavalry horse or two to spare it from its agony. Let her watch him behead a few fellows in battle and slash the enemy to bits with his razor-sharp saber, and then they’d see if any lady had the stomach to be wed to a bloodstained killer…just like Lily Balfour had accused him of being.

No, Derek did not even bother trying to find that kind of love. It was never going to happen. He simply did not believe it could exist.

Besides, he would not have asked for such sacrifice from any gentle female. He was too protective to have allowed it. He knew too well that even to see a war was a kind of violation of the soul.

He had learned that it was better on the whole just to let the girls admire the uniform. The uniform was mask enough for him.

Besides, he had already devised a more realistic plan for his future marriage. One day, when he had made his fortune of Indian treasure, why then, he would buy the best bride that he could afford—the haughtiest, the highest born, the purest.

Until then, it was merry widows and other chaps’ wives for him, and if Lily Balfour didn’t like it, she could go to Hades.

Unfortunately, their mutual acquaintance with Edward made it inevitable that they would have to endure each other’s company again before long.

By the night of Lord and Lady Fallow’s musical soiree, Lily had nearly managed to convince herself that she had forgotten all about Major Derek Knight.

This was no small feat, given the fact that he had begun associating with Edward on a regular basis, to say nothing of the frequency with which her chaperone saw fit to mention the blackguard.

While Edward mentioned meeting with him on committee business, Mrs. Clearwell seemed to have decided that Major Derek Knight had hung the moon. And much to Lily’s horror, her chaperone had opined on more than one occasion that that cad, that “stud of the Season,” was the man she ought to chase, snare, and wed.

Over my dead body,
was Lily’s mental reply. But such a vehement response would only have intrigued her shrewd sponsor, so rather than run screaming from the room whenever his name came up, as she would have preferred, Lily merely smiled at her godmother in a superior fashion and made no comment on the topic. Anything she said was certain to incriminate her. Once, however, in a moment’s weakness, she
had
pertly suggested that Mrs. Clearwell chase, snare, and wed the rogue herself. He seemed to fancy rich widows.

But for her part, Lily was done with the man. Having rescued her earring from his evil clutches, she really had no reason ever to think of Derek Knight again, nor did she care to.

Unfortunately, she still did.

She was still stung by his words that day at Hyde Park. Who was he to make her feel ashamed of herself for her plan to marry Edward? He had called her a fortune hunter, a species he seemed to equate with the ranks of soiled doves! If others had seen her in this light since she had arrived in London—an impoverished aristocrat in search of a wealthy husband—Major Knight had been the only one rude enough to say it to her face, and as far as she was concerned, he could go hang.

It was all very easy for him to sit back and judge her. Men had a hundred courses open to them in life. They could go to school, receive an advanced education, or learn a respectable trade, but not women, and certainly not ladies. As her mother had said, there was only one acceptable route open to ladies of quality, and that was the path of an advantageous marriage.

So let Derek Knight mock her, then, if he was cad enough to be so ungallant. He with his countless advantages, his wealthy family and powerful connections, his training, his talents, the whole male-ruled world at his feet. Fortune and glory, indeed.

But—if he
dared
utter one uncivil word to her again, Lily vowed, she would give him a tongue-lashing he would never forget, and she didn’t care who heard.

With that, she banished Derek Knight from her mind and focused her efforts on Edward.

She was quite impressed with her beau so far tonight. Edward was on his best behavior since their host of the evening was Lord Fallow, his longtime patron.

Edward was looking smart in a luxurious plum tailcoat and cream-colored breeches. He was as elegant as Lily had ever seen him. He fidgeted uncomfortably—perhaps his valet had put too much starch in his cravat—but all in all, Lily was pleased and could not help patting herself on the back for the visible improvement in his demeanor. Clearly, she had been a good influence on him.

A courting couple, they promenaded through the statuary hall, where the checkerboard marble floor stretched on for miles beneath the soaring arches above the white colonnade. The architectural lines of the grand hall were crisp and clean, the walls a soft gray-blue, a quiet background for the dark, heroic bronzes that posed dramatically among the guests while ancient alabaster busts of Greek philosophers peered out from their niches in the walls.

The statuary hall opened onto the formal garden in a large, square courtyard around which the house was built. Knee-high parterres were sculpted into intricate designs with abundant flowers and topiaries. Twilight had come, but delicate lanterns strung across the garden illuminated the place where the pianist and his accompanists would soon perform beneath the stars. The grand pianoforte had been stationed in the center of the garden, the paper lanterns reflecting on its shiny angled top.

For now, a harpist played in the statuary hall, creating a serene and elegant mood for the evening. The guests mingled quietly, taking wine and light refreshments ahead of the private concert.

Lily pulled Edward aside to admire a mosaic table by the wall. Under glass, the tabletop was inlaid with the fading but still colorful fragments of ancient Roman tiles. Lily gasped when Edward started to set his wineglass on it, but he stopped and looked at her with a twinkle in his hazel eyes that confessed he was only teasing.

“Don’t scare me like that!” she whispered with a chiding smile, pressing her hand to her heart.

He turned away with a chuckle. “Ah, finally, there’s someone I know!” he said, squinting toward the ballroom’s distant entrance.

Lily followed his glance, but when she saw the person Edward was referring to, her whole body tensed.

It was Derek Knight…with yet another woman.

He was not in uniform, but had donned sleek finery of formal black and white. She stared at his wild, black mane, which he had worn unbound tonight, all at odds with his evening attire, a clash of elegance and savagery.

His long hair, shiny and thick, spilled to his massive shoulders. It made him look completely uncivilized, and for the life of her, Lily could not tear her gaze off the man.

Oblivious to her agitation, Edward waved the handsome scoundrel over with a hearty laugh.

Lily glanced at Edward in dismay, but she supposed she shouldn’t object too much. Derek Knight was one of the few men connected to London’s best families who seemed genuinely to accept Edward. Their affinity was no doubt based on their common ties to the army in India.

For her part, she could only wonder whether the major would acknowledge her or snub her with a cut after their private tiff at Hyde Park. Then Lily’s gaze wandered to the formidable beauty he escorted this evening, a sultry brunette garbed in deep purple satin trimmed with black lace—half mourning. Another well-heeled widow, it would seem. But, of course. How convenient for him that so many beautiful brides of the ton had been married off to gouty old men.

An elaborate amethyst necklace dripped across her white chest. The lady, too, had loosed her mahogany hair, apparently joining the major in setting this new, uncivilized trend. The beautiful pair seemed to savor their shared rebellion.

Lily looked away, wishing she hadn’t noticed the glow of recent sex in the woman’s cheeks. For all she knew, that beast might have ravished her in the carriage on the way over here.
Humph.
When a twinge of envy struck, she dropped her gaze, cursing all men and Derek Knight and herself most of all, for her distressing failure to remain indifferent to him.

Walking into the earl’s home with his latest companion, Derek saw Ed Lundy wave to him and returned the distant salutation, but he tensed when he spotted Miss Balfour standing by him, trying to look nonchalant.