Julia London (69 page)

He folded the bank notes and stuffed them into his breast coat pocket as Davis entered the room. “Count Bergen,” he announced, then with some flourish pivoted and made his exit. Paul grimaced to himself; he did not particularly care for the German, much less the prospect of Lauren living in Bavaria. Magnus entered carrying a massive bouquet of lilies.

“Good morning, Count Bergen,” Paul sighed. “Are those for me?”

Magnus did not so much as smile. “Is Lauren about? I would like a word with her.”

“Unfortunately, she is asleep. We arrived home quite late last evening.”

“Yes, I know,” Magnus said absently.

Paul regarded Lauren’s suitor impatiently. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps she does not care to be so closely watched?”

“Yes,” he said simply, and glanced about the room. His
gaze landed on a table near the front windows, where a cluster of gardenias rested next to an arrangement of roses.

Paul followed his gaze and smirked. “As you can see, you are not the only man who vies for her attentions.”

“Perhaps not, but your uncle is agreeable to my terms,” he responded gruffly.

“Yes, but is Lauren?”

The German’s eyes narrowed menacingly. He abruptly moved toward the table, dropped his bouquet on top of the gardenias, and turned on his heel, walking out of the room without a word. Paul glanced at the window, smiling quietly as he watched Magnus emerge from the house and bound down the steps, walking briskly in the direction of Covent Garden. “Apparently, she is not,” he answered himself, and still smiling, returned to his books.

   She had absolutely
nothing
to wear, and moreover, Lauren was in no mood to attend the supper party at Lady Paddington’s. It was
his
fault—since the Harris ball she had not been able to get Alex off her mind. Unwilling to admit that he attracted her like no other man, and absolutely frantic that he did, she anxiously tore through her measly wardrobe. Why on earth should she feel any attraction for him? He was
betrothed
for Chrissakes! She angrily yanked a gown from her wardrobe and examined it with a critical eye before tossing it on the bed with the others.

She was being ridiculous! She had absolutely no business even
thinking
of him. She was in London for one purpose, and that purpose did not include making moon eyes at a duke. He probably thought of her as little more than another conquest, anyway—if he thought of her at all, that was, and she was quite certain he did not. This was absurd; she could not possibly care less
what
he thought of her!

Sighing with frustration, she planted her hands on her waist and surveyed the gowns strewn about her small room, settling without enthusiasm on a demure gown of midnight
blue obtained from a so-called affordable seamstress. She told herself it hardly mattered what she wore. There would be no one in attendance who would spark even the slightest interest for her. There never was. The only man who came even remotely close to interesting her was—

“
Stop
it!” she angrily chided herself. She picked up a glass pendant and donned it, then strolled to a full-length mirror and gazed pensively at her reflection. As much as she despised her reason for being in London, she actually enjoyed the parties, the glittering lights, and the fabulous costumes. But it was all an illusion. Her place was at Rosewood with the children, and it was to Rosewood she would soon return. With or without a suitable match.

Yes, and what, exactly, constituted a suitable match? She hoped she might at least meet a man whom she could learn to
like.
Having been exposed to the best London had to offer it seemed less and less likely that love would enter into it. Actually, she had given up that ridiculous ideal the moment Ethan had seriously considered Lord van der Mill’s offer. Now, she only hoped she could
respect
her future husband.

Her gaze traveled to the vanity and the bouquets of wilting flowers. The roses were from Lord van der Mill, whom Ethan kept on the end of taut string, ready to yank at the first sign the old man might see his way to outbid Magnus for her hand. Magnus had sent the others, as he did every day. He was trying very hard, and for some reason, had sent her
two
bouquets after the ball.

One corner of Lauren’s mouth tipped upward. For some extraordinary reason, Count Bergen had changed his mind about her and was now rather determined in his pursuit of her. He had taken a town house on fashionable Bedford Square, he said, to be nearby if she should change her mind. And when she had told him she resented his constant surveillance, he had responded very matter-of-factly that it was necessary, because she would not allow him to see her any other way.

One had to respect such dedication to a cause. And she did respect him, but she could never
love
Magnus. Oh, she was fond of him in a friendly sort of way, had always been, even when he had suspected her of cheating his uncle and had wanted to haul her off to the Bavarian authorities. But she simply could not summon more than a feeling of friendship for him.

With a soft sigh, she walked to the window and parted the pale green drapes. Looking out onto Russell Square, she contemplated that perhaps she was not quite ready to give up on love. Unfortunately, she did not have the luxury of time to wait for it—she had to marry if she wanted to save Rosewood. She had to settle soon, and no handsome, arrogant duke was going to stop her.

No matter how badly she wanted him to.

   Lady Paddington, with an ostrich feather bobbing precariously from her coif, appeared in the foyer to greet Lauren upon her arrival. “Oh,
Countess
! I am so pleased you could attend my little gathering!” she crowed with genuine delight. “Ah, but you look so lovely this evening! I daresay you and Lady Marlaine are the loveliest of women,” she rushed on before Lauren could get a word in. “You shall become instant friends tonight, I am certain of it.”

Oh, wasn’t life
grand
! She could spend the entire evening listening to Lady Marlaine gush about her blasted fiancé!

“Come and let me introduce you to her and her mother, Lady Whitcomb. Lord and Lady Pritchit and their daughter Charlotte are also here. I rather think my nephew Lord Westfall might be interested in dear Charlotte,” she whispered conspiratorially. Lauren swallowed her bitter surprise as Lady Paddington chatted on. Lady Pritchit grew increasingly hostile to her, particularly after she had made the unforgivable sin of dancing with Sutherland. As if she had been given a choice. “… and of course, Mrs. Clark,” Lady Paddington finished.

Lauren missed the names of the other guests, but she had heard enough to know that this would be a tedious evening. She forced a gracious smile and followed Lady Paddington into the gold salon, her attention immediately drawn to a woman on her right. She had seen her at the Harris ball with Alex. Close up, she was even prettier than she had realized, with a head of silver blond ringlets that complimented her gown of pale blue. Pastels were obviously all the rage, and she did not have, in her vast wardrobe of eight evening gowns, a single pastel.

“Countess Bergen, may I introduce Lady Whitcomb, and her daughter, Lady Marlaine?” Lady Paddington asked with great formality.

Lady Marlaine curtsied politely, and reflexively, so did Lauren. She felt completely inadequate in her dark gown as she gazed at the perfectly put together Lady Marlaine. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Whitcomb,” she murmured, aware that her face flushed, “and yours, Lady Marlaine.”

“The pleasure is undoubtedly mine, Countess Bergen,” the younger woman responded smoothly. “We have heard so much about you.”

Lauren smiled as Lady Paddington tugged on her sleeve. “And here, of course, are Lord and Lady Pritchit!” Lauren offered a polite greeting for the sake of propriety, noting that the countenance of Lord Pritchit was a stark contrast to his wife’s ever-reproachful look. Next to them stood a very uncomfortable Charlotte, who spoke so timidly that Lauren could barely hear her. “… and my nephew, Lord David Westfall.”

Lauren smiled at the handsome young man. “It is my distinct honor to make your acquaintance. Countess Bergen,” he said with an appreciative smile, and with a grand flourish, bowed over her hand.

“Of course, you know Mrs. Clark,” Lady Paddington continued, and Lauren turned away from the charming Lord
Westfall to greet the widow of a Royal Navy captain who never seemed to be very far from Lady Paddington’s side. “And last but certainly not least, my nephews, his grace, the Duke of Sutherland, and Lord Christian.”

Lauren’s stomach twisted. It was
inconceivable
! He could not
possibly
be the same duke or nephew associated with Lady Paddington! Gritting her teem, she glanced to her left.

It was not, apparently, so wholly inconceivable.

Smiling quietly, the duke was clearly enjoying her discomfiture for the third time. His brother, who bore a great resemblance to him, was grinning unabashedly. Lauren glanced demurely at the floor for a brief moment, striving to regain her composure before anyone noticed she had lost it. Naturally,
he
already had. “Madam, it is truly a delight to meet you again,” the cretin intoned.

Reluctantly, she offered her hand. His laughing eyes caught her gaze as he brought her hand to his lips—she felt herself color and silently cursed him for it. “Your grace, I was hardly expecting to see you again,” she muttered.

He grinned and leaned dangerously close, quietly startling her. “No, I daresay you were not,” he murmured, and then, “allow me to introduce my brother Arthur. The Countess Bergen of Bavaria.”

“It is a great honor, Countess Bergen,” Lord Christian said smoothly. “I have heard many compliments about you and see they were genuinely spoken.”

She deliberately gave him as enchanting a smile as she could muster. He looked a little stunned; no doubt he thought she was as bold as a tavern wench, but she did not care. As long as the Duke of Swineland saw that she would gladly smile at anyone but him, she had accomplished her little goal. She flicked a smug gaze to the duke. Not only was he not in the least perturbed; his green eyes were dancing gaily.

Lady Paddington wasted no time in ushering her into a
seat directly across from Lady Marlaine and her mother while she loudly commanded Dillon to bring her a sherry. Lauren smiled brightly at Lady Marlaine, her pulse racing madly as Dillon handed her a small crystal glass.

“Lady Paddington is quite beside herself. She so rarely entertains,” Lady Marlaine said apologetically as the rotund woman bustled off.

“Oh?” Lauren asked innocently.

“Years ago, she delighted in entertaining. But then again, the boys were always in residence—they preferred this side of the park to Audley Street.”

“The boys?” Lauren asked politely, and glanced up momentarily from her study of the brown liquid in her glass.

“The Christian brothers,” Lady Whitcomb stiffly informed her. Lady Marlaine added wistfully, “and Anthony, of course.”

Lauren nodded politely and looked at her sherry again. Anthony. Had she met an Anthony? “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, madam. I do not believe I have met an Anthony.”

Lady Whitcomb’s brown eyes widened with surprise, but her daughter kept a polite expression. “Anthony was the former duke, Alex’s brother. He was taken from us five years ago.”

Alex, she called him Alex. And his brother had died, had been taken from
us.
She took a fortifying sip of the vile sherry.

“May we join you, ladies?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the sherry or the deep timbre of his voice that caused the strange little shiver to run up her spine. The rogue did not want an answer; he had already settled onto the settee next to Lady Marlaine. And he was staring at her. Good God, he was
maddening.
Lauren dropped her gaze to the carpet as Lady Marlaine made polite conversation with Lord Christian about a new mare Alex had obviously given her as a gift. The Duke of Swineland
interjected from time to time, but Lauren was acutely aware that he watched her—she could feel it. She, on the other hand, watched one of his polished shoes swing comfortably next to the other, and kept staring at that foot until Lord Westfall joined them. Grateful for the distraction, Lauren smiled charmingly.

Alex thought he was going to have to throw some cold water on his cousin. But then again, that blasted little angel had a way of smiling at a man that left him prepared to grovel at her feet. Damn it all, in that modest gown of midnight blue, she was the epitome of elegance; even Marlaine’s renowned beauty seemed to pale in comparison. Lauren Hill or Countess Bergen, whoever she was tonight—was enchanting.

Dangerously so.

“The countess was telling me last evening that she enjoys the country,” he remarked casually to David, and received a quelling frown for it from the angel. He raised his brows in feigned innocence as David quipped, “Which one?”

She turned an alluring smile to David and laughed softly. “I am from Rosewood—perhaps you have heard of it? It is near Pemberheath.”

“Rosewood?” Lady Whitcomb coolly interjected, pronouncing the word as if it left a terrible taste in her mouth. “I have not heard of it. It is your home, then?”

“Yes,” Lauren beamed. “You may think me biased, but I do believe it is the most beautiful place in the world.” She proceeded to rattle off the attributes of that run-down estate as a hint of rose crept into her porcelain cheeks. No wonder he had mistaken her for an angel.

Alex realized she was telling a story about Rupert, and noticed that while Arthur and David enjoyed it immensely, Marlaine wore an oddly stoic expression. Lady Whitcomb looked horrified. “Oh no!” Lauren laughed at David’s question. “Rupert is
quite
big. Nevertheless, there he was,
bouncing around atop that bleating calf like an Indian rubber ball, his eyes as big as balloons! Leonard and I chased him nearly to the village and back,” she said with a giggle.

“Who is Leonard?” Marlaine asked politely.

“Oh, he is my ward. I have five altogether.” She said it with an unaffected smile, her pride evident. Marlaine exchanged a look with her mother that left Alex with the distinct impression she was embarrassed for Lauren.