His Lordship's Chaperone (2 page)

“I imagine that’s not the half of it. I am not
so
desperate for female companionship as to dally with the
hostess of the party I’m attending.”

“You know how to put an end to it all.”

“Stop right there.” Haverton held up his hand. “Not
another word.”

“You know what Mother thinks …” Simon shrugged.

“Speaking of Mother, where is she?” Haverton
glanced about the room. He was sure he had seen her here earlier. Or was that
at last night’s soiree?

“Mother?” Simon pivoted, glancing about the room.
“I think she’s over there.” He pointed to a corner. “Do you see her standing
with Lady Clare?”

Haverton looked over the crowd. “Ah, yes.”

“Why the devil do you want to see Mother? You’re
usually trying to avoid her.”

“I am in need of her social contacts.” Exactly how
he would explain that he needed a chaperone for himself was another matter.

“It’s not to meet a certain lady is it?”

“You are precisely right—it is to meet a woman.”

“You know she won’t help you set up any
questionable associations. Much rather you were seeing to an heir.”

“It’s not what you think.” Haverton smiled. “I need
a particular sort of woman.” He had until tomorrow to come up with the proper
phrasing.

“You’re asking for trouble.” Simon shook his head.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of females?”

“I’ve always maintained that I’ve had the lion’s
share—” Haverton stopped abruptly when Miss Emma Dunstead slowed to stroll by
at an amazingly slow pace. He made eye contact and returned her tempting smile.
“I have no objection to the ladies’ attentions, as it were …”

Miss Dunstead had blossomed from a slightly awkward
young lady into the fine woman standing before him. Her delightful blue eyes,
exquisitely dainty nose, and most perfect rosebud lips added to her newfound
beauty. A wisp of dark hair feathered across her forehead and framed her
heart-shaped face.

“I do, however, take exception to their impulsive
rush to the altar,” Haverton concluded.

Simon shifted his attention from his brother to
Miss Dunstead. “It’s the way you look at them. What a talent! You make them
fall in love with you just by looking at them.”

“In love with me?” Glancing back again at the young
lady, Haverton noted Miss Dunstead still looked his way and never seemed to
notice Simon’s presence. “Nothing is further from my mind. I cannot prevent
them reading something in my eyes that is not there.”

She was far too young and far too dangerous for a
chance meeting. Miss Dunstead was exactly the type that should be avoided.

“It may not be intentional on your part, but you
certainly do pay the consequences for their misinterpretations.”

“You may be right but I shall not be paying much
longer.” Haverton smiled wide and fully satisfied. “I believe I have found the
answer to my problems.”

Why do I bother attending these functions? The
Duchess of Waverly summed up the evening as fairly uneventful. That was until
she spotted her eldest son Robert coming her way.

He edged around the dance floor and skirted around
the groups of guests lost in conversation. The ladies, she noticed, were not so
involved and with the exception of two or three, glanced at him with longing as
he made his way past.

“Good evening to you, ladies … Lady Stratton.” The
Duchess watched Robert gaze into Lady Stratton’s eyes, bent over her proffered
gloved hand.

“Lord Haverton,” Lady Stratton returned. “Charmed,
I assure you.”

Why does he waste his glorious charm on these old
bats?
the
Duchess silently chided. He was far from
needing the practice.

“Lady Clare.” Robert took his time to pay her the
same attention as he had Lady Stratton.

“Lord Haverton, I am so very delighted.”

Of course you are, you twit. The Duchess of Waverly
popped open her fan.

“And, of course, Mrs. Baldwin.” Robert turned to
the last lady, smiled and bent over her hand.

“Your lordship,” she said and curtsied.

Encroaching mushroom. The Duchess of Waverly fanned
herself vigorously.

Robert straightened and his eyes twinkled, making
Mrs. Baldwin’s blush deepen.

It was enough to make one ill. The Duchess of
Waverly closed her fan with a snap.

“Here now, Haverton, come see your mama.” The
Duchess waved the closed fan at her son, beckoning him near.

“If you will excuse me, ladies.” He bowed to them
and retreated.

“Disgusting performance,” the Duchess greeted her
son.

“But no other woman could hold the place in my
heart as you do.” He took her hand to do the pretty.

She pulled her hand from him. “Of course not, I am
your mother.”

“And correct, as usual.” A smile sailed across his
face.

Something was going on with him. She could feel it.
“What is it you want, dear?”

“I would like permission to call tomorrow.”

“Naturally. So good of you to ask,” she responded,
dryly.

“Shall we say,” he thought for a moment, “two?”

“I’m not sure I can wait until then. Come for
breakfast. Let’s say nine. I’ll be expecting you.”

“I shall be there.” Robert bowed to his mother and
left.

The Duchess of Waverly dropped her fan open, waved
it slowly, and watched him walk away. What could he possibly be up to now?

After taking the first steps toward finding a chaperone,
Haverton stood with his brother. “It’s all settled. I’ll speak to her tomorrow
morning at nine.”

“I’ll be dashing off to White’s to wager that
she’ll not like
your
coming to her for a woman.” One
side of Simon’s mouth quirked up into a half smile.

“I believe everything will work out quite
satisfactorily.” Haverton clapped his brother on the back and headed for the
garden.

He stepped outside and took a deep breath of cool
night air. Was the air really fresher? Did it smell sweeter? Or was it because
his future looked brighter? Haverton had every confidence his mother would know
exactly what to do and whom to employ. She always had, from his butler to the
upstairs maid.

The sound of the water trickling from the fountain
added to the serenity of the setting. The shuffling of feet and a muffled
protest, a female protest, from the shadows beyond the fountain, interrupted
his tranquility.

“Stop it!” a woman’s voice called out while
struggling. “Let go of me!”

Haverton came around the corner and saw the struggling
couple. “Yes,” he concurred, and ordered, “Let go of that young woman at once!”

Miss Emma Dunstead ran from the shadows into the
sanctuary of Haverton’s arms. The over-amorous suitor ran off in the opposite
direction. Torn between pursuing the knave and comforting the shaken Miss
Dunstead, Haverton found her warmth and feminine curves difficult to resist and
impossible to abandon.

Her wide blue eyes gazed up at him. “Lord Haverton,
is it not?”

“We had the pleasure of an introduction last Season,”
he reminded her. Miss Dunstead shivered in his arms. Clearly she was not over
her ordeal.

“A moment, if you please.” She pushed him away and
stood alone, bathed in the silvery moonlight next to the over-sized garden
fountain. Haverton admired the outline of her figure—it could not have been
more perfect.

“I thank you for coming to my aid, sir.” Miss
Dunstead had a voice of an angel.

“The pleasure is all mine.” The soothing sound of
the running water gave him the same serene, tranquil feeling he had experienced
earlier, before the commotion of Miss Dunstead’s unpleasant incident.

She moved toward the far side of the fountain,
placed her palm to her forehead, and gave a soft, quiet sigh.

If one stood directly behind the fountain, Haverton
noted, one could be hidden from the view of the onlookers in the drawing room.
While he knew under normal circumstances he would not place himself in this
kind of situation, he felt responsible, if only temporarily, for her
well-being.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Ignoring his instincts,
he approached her. “Shall I fetch—
”

“My lord,” she crooned, and reached out her arm to
him. “Haverton?” she said in a sigh. “May I call you Haverton?”

“If you would like.” Although he thought it far too
familiar.

“Yes, I would like very much.” She leaned against
him for support in her weakened condition, gazed up at him, once again leaving
him to stare into her amazing blue eyes.

“Could it really be true that I paid you no notice
last Season?” He studied her remarkable features once again.

“I’m afraid that is so,” she admitted. “Not that I
had many suitors to turn down—it would have hurt me to say no to you.”

Miss Dunstead’s lips pursed in the most adorable
way when she said no.

“Mama thought I should wait until this Season to
marry.” She glanced up at him again and smiled. “I’m so glad I did.” Miss
Dunstead fingered the folds of his cravat. “I had heard some rather curious
things about you.”

“Wild gossip, no doubt.”

“Is none of it true?” She sounded disappointed.

“You cannot believe everything you hear. Some
gossip is meant to cause harm, some is to further the wild tale for enjoyment
sake, and some is talk from those who are merely jealous.”

“And which category would I fall under?”

“You? I should hope you would not kiss and tell.”

“But I have not yet been kissed,” she announced,
almost as a challenge.

“No, not as of yet.” Haverton tilted her chin with
his finger, she was so cooperative and willing to allow him to do as he wished.
He had no doubt that she was definitely the kiss-and-tell type.

What on earth was he doing here anyway? If he were
caught alone with her …

As discreetly as he could manage, the Marquess
surveyed the courtyard. It was surrounded by ground floor buildings. One set of
French doors led into the ballroom. Opposite the ballroom entrance was a
darkened path which, at present, echoed approaching footsteps. Miss Dunstead
grabbed hold of his jacket sleeves, preventing his retreat.

“What’s the matter?” she cried, as if he hadn’t
noticed what was about to happen.

It was another trap.

He glanced about him. The fountain was the only
structure around. Her head turned in one direction then the other, glancing
over each shoulder, looking, waiting for them …

He managed to pull free from her grasp but there
was no place for the Marquess to hide—only the fountain. The fountain …
Haverton stepped into the cold, cold water and stifled a gasp. With amazing
speed he got down on his hands and knees. He took a large gulp of air, held his
breath and laid spread-eagle in the pond.

He could barely hear muffled voices over the
cascading water of the fountain. They wondered where he had gone off to, no
doubt. Whoever they were. Haverton wished they’d go inside to display their
amazement at his disappearing act.