Miss Hillary Schools a Scoundrel (2 page)

Lana needed no further encouragement to run from the scoundrel, or her utterly humiliating reaction. His touch made her tingle all over. It was shameful.

She flattened herself against the rough exterior of the house and tried to calm her accelerated heart. The rogue had placed his hands on her bottom, for heaven’s sake, and he’d kissed her. Lana’s body heated as a trill of excitement shot to her belly and swirled around inside.

Stop
it. No, no, no.
Hadn’t she just promised never to do anything foolish again? Thrilling or not, his touch had been scandalous. Men like her rescuer were the reason chaperones warned innocents away from darkened gardens. Lesson learned. She’d practice better judgment in the future, though the man
had
saved her life. Perhaps she should seek him out in the ballroom. He at least deserved proper thanks, whoever he might be. With the torchlight behind him, shadows had obliterated his features.

“With whom were you speaking, Drew?”

Drew?
Lana knew no one named Drew.

“I heard a lady.” Lana tried to place the voice but was unsuccessful.

“It was no one, angel. Must have been the wind you heard.”

Lana rolled her eyes. Only a simpleton would believe such rubbish.

“I know I heard a woman.” The angel’s voice trembled. “Is she hiding in the bushes?”

“Hell’s teeth.” Drew’s audible sigh expressed his exasperation. “I came outside to escape the crush. Nothing more.”

“But there
are
other women, aren’t there?”

Lana held her breath. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, but perhaps the couple should choose a more secluded spot before engaging in an intimate tête-à-tête. Quietly, she inched away from them.

“I never lied to you,” Drew said, his tone as calm as if he discussed the weather. “I made my intentions clear from the beginning. If you seek a commitment, you should search out another gentleman.”

Gentleman.
Lana clamped her lips together to keep from laughing aloud. He was no
gentleman.
This Drew character, with his wandering hands and callous discarding of ladies, was a rakehell just like her deplorable former fiancé. He and Lord Paddock could go hang.

Gentleman
indeed.

Lana stole around the side of the house, berating herself for her earlier inclination to seek the gentleman out in the ballroom. She needed to focus her attentions on finding a respectable husband and banish fanciful ideas about rakes and kisses. And good heavens above! Entertaining thoughts of kissing that particular rake was unacceptable.

Slipping back inside through a servants’ door, she paused to determine which way she should go. Two identical wigged footmen gaped at her, but neither said a word.

She smoothed her skirts and lifted her head with as much dignity as she could muster, which, given her disheveled appearance, wasn’t a lot. “Is there an alternate route to the retiring room? I’ve lost my way.”

They pointed in unison toward a doorway.

“The back staircase will take you to the hallway, miss,” one of the twins said. “’Tis the first door on your left.”

“Thank you.” She maintained decorum until she was out of sight then dashed up the stairs.

The retiring room attendant’s eyes bulged when she took in Lana’s rumpled appearance, but she mended the torn hem without a word before securing Lana’s hair with pins. With her appearance set back to rights, Lana returned to the ballroom. The palms of her gloves were worse for the experience, but not noticeable enough to warrant leaving the ball.

She took a deep breath before she stepped into the brightly lit great hall, squinting against the glare. Jake would be furious with her for disappearing. Before she could ponder what excuse to offer her brother or even to gather her wits, a gentleman spoke at her ear.

“Miss Hillary, how splendid.”

Lana squealed in fright and whipped around to discover Lord Gilford, her friend Charlotte’s brother.

His brows pulled together in concern. “Are you all right? You appear peaked.”

Her hand rested over her pounding heart, but she forced a giggle. “You really know how to flatter a lady, Gil.”

“Where’s your brother?” He frowned as he searched the area. “Well, come dance with me so we may speak without stirring up gossip.”

Fixing a polite smile on her face, Lana accepted his arm, ignoring the prick of hurt. Of course Gil wouldn’t want others to think him enamored of
her.
She had no desire to be linked with him either, but it would be nice if a decent gentleman considered her a desirable candidate for a wife.

The string quartet played a lively quadrille, not a dance conducive to conversation. After the requisite hops and heeltaps, she and Gil linked hands to travel in a circle.

“Did you speak to her?” he asked, but they joined arms with another couple before she could answer.

A few more steps brought them back together and twirling around the polished floor. “You should call on Miss Mitchell soon, my lord. She mentioned Lord Bagley brought her white roses yesterday and took her on a reckless drive down Rotten Row.”

Lord Gilford’s face fell as they parted for yet another round of hops, but when they came back together, Lana quickly relieved his anxiety. “Miss Mitchell prefers orchids and strolls along the Serpentine. And she finds your nose to be a much better fit for your face.”

“Indeed?” Lord Gilford’s chest puffed up and a wide smile stretched his lips. The music ended and he escorted Lana from the dance floor.

The soft-spoken debutante had two admirers vying for her attention at that moment, neither gentleman as amiable as Gil. “Miss Mitchell is especially fond of the minuet.”

Gil squeezed Lana’s hand. “Thank you, Miss Hillary,” he whispered. “I would kiss you if it were proper.”

Memories of her improper near-kiss in the garden caused her insides to quiver. “Go win her heart, Gil. You are a perfect match.”

Her dance partner offered a generous smile before dashing off to woo the lady of his dreams.

A deep chuckle sounded behind her, and she spun around to face her brother Jake.

“Lana Hillary, are you here to play matchmaker or find a husband?”

She huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “
Where
have you been?”

“Retrieving punch. I’ve circled the ballroom several times. I take it you’ve been gathering information from Miss Mitchell in the retiring room.”

Lana accepted the glass of Negus he offered and sipped it rather than tell him a lie. The spicy drink seemed too heavy for the spring evening, but she enjoyed the tingle on her tongue all the same.

Jake grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you expect Mother will be pleased when she hears of your successful matchmaking endeavors this season? Let’s see. There was Lord Busick and Lady Eleanor. Then the Walter brothers’ engagements to Misses Oliver and Collier.”

Lana didn’t expect their mother would be pleased by much anything she did, nor did she expect her understanding.

“Oh, yes,” Jake added with a smirk. “We cannot forget Mr. Turner’s betrothal to Miss Johnston. You’ve been busy this season.”

Lana tapped her toes in time with the music. “Surely, you don’t envy the couples their happiness.”

Jake chuckled. “Of course not, and I’m touched by your concern for their states of bliss. Nevertheless, if I didn’t know better, I might think your charitable work served as a means of deflecting marriage proposals aimed in your direction.”

She rolled her eyes. Their proposals had hardly been aimed in her direction given each gentleman had already set his sights on a different match. Lana wanted a man who desired her and only her, not one who wished to form a union with her dowry, and certainly not a gentleman who pined for another lady. In Lana’s way of thinking, if the gentleman was not for her, why shouldn’t she offer her assistance?

“Were you not listening to Mama this evening? I must secure a husband this season.” The moment their mother had returned from Sussex last week she had pointed out with great conviction the necessity of Lana catching the eye of a respectable gentleman and bringing him up to scratch at once. Her mother’s harping amplified Lana’s humiliation. She truly was trying to catch the eye of a desirable bachelor, but none of them looked her direction.

Jake lowered his voice, no longer smiling. “I’m sorry for teasing. I dismissed Mother’s irritable mood as a symptom of her lingering illness, but I see it bothers you. Mother is disappointed in
life
, dear sister, not you. You cannot take it personally.”

Lana blinked back tears. Jake could always read her too easily.

He bumped against her shoulder affectionately. “And Mother is wrong about Nicholas. He’ll provide for you if you remain unmarried, and if he won’t, I will.”

Her heart overflowed with affection for her brothers. It was because of her love for her family that she couldn’t bear to fail them. She feigned a happy smile. “Just what I need, lifelong protection from one of you addle-pates. Now do your part and assist me in my search. Do you see any new faces?” Lana hoped her inquiry sounded casual enough. Despite her resolve to forget the scoundrel in the garden, her curiosity demanded satisfaction. One glimpse would do.

“Just the usual dullards are in attendance.”

“Well, put your height to use and look again. After all, time is of the essence. As Mama says, no decent man will court me if another season passes without an offer.”

Jake’s sharp bark of laughter gave her a start. “Wild boar will take to the air the day gentlemen stop pursuing you, my dear.”

Or her dowry, more to the point.

She flashed a toothy grin and batted her lashes, grateful to be distracted from grim reality by her older brother. “Oh, look. You’re sprouting wings. I see the day has arrived.”

He snorted, making her laugh. What would she do without Jake? Five years her senior, and yet he was her dearest friend.

She caught a glimpse of Lord Carrington hovering nearby and stepped closer to Jake. “Isn’t it your job as chaperone to make certain the gentlemen
aren’t
chasing me?”

“I only make certain they don’t catch you without a proper marriage proposal. Nevertheless, if you have need, I’ll be happy to discourage any gentleman’s suit.”

Lana nodded in Carrington’s direction. “I have need.”

Jake glanced at the foppish gentleman. “At your service, dear sister. Will you hold my glass?”

Her brother drew himself up to full height, glared at Viscount Carrington, and took a threatening step forward.

Lana giggled as Carrington scrambled backwards, tripped on Lady Eloise’s skirts, and nearly careened into a marble pillar. Red infused his face from his forehead down to his neck as he darted from the ballroom.

“How great to have an older brother,” Lana said with a sigh and held out his glass.

“I’ll remember you said so the next time I’ve angered you.” Jake’s smile softened. “She’s here,” he murmured.

Lana searched out the object of his attention, the young widow, Lady Audley. Although the classic beauty was too attractive to be a wallflower, she stood alone by the same potted fern where Lana had sought shelter earlier.

Lana gazed back at her brother.
Good
heavens
above.
Jake’s expression practically shouted of his infatuation with the lady. “Perhaps you should ask for her dance card,” she prodded.

“Perhaps I will,” he answered, but his sudden stormy countenance confused her.

Returning her attention across the room, she saw a gentleman had entered the ballroom from the terrace. Lana nodded toward him. “There is a new face. Who is that gentleman?”

“A gent I won’t allow anywhere near you,” Jake said on a growl.

Lana cringed.
Too
late.

Something in the man’s swagger, and the fact that he had come from the gardens, told her he was her rescuer. And drat it, he was far too handsome by half.

Drew sighted Amelia moments after reentering the ballroom. He didn’t know if it was by design or accident that she hadn’t ventured far from the terrace doors after she stormed from the gardens in a fit of pique. Experience, however, suggested this was no coincidence. Despite his past efforts to spare her discomfort, he could not make her happy this time. It was better to end their association definitively, and allow the lady to progress on to the next interested gent.

Besides, Drew had neglected Phoebe long enough. If his elder brother learned he had ventured from his sister-in-law’s side for even a moment, he was in for a tirade of phenomenal proportions.

He stopped to lean against a pillar and scanned the ballroom for his sister-in-law. There was a risk of Phoebe being cross with him for neglecting her for too long, but at least she wouldn’t demand his constant attention all night.

He glanced around the thick pillar, his gaze snagging on a pair of shrewd brown eyes peering at him above the lacy edge of a fan. Like all the other members of the fairer gender, the robust lady engaged in a flurry of whispers with a companion. Both ladies turned to study him with unabashed interest.

A twitch began at his temple.
Mothers.

Under normal circumstances, his position as third-born son of a duke provided blissful invisibility, especially with two hearty brothers unlikely to meet their maker for years to come. Yet, with his godfather’s bequeathal—an estate that raised his fortune almost on par with his eldest sibling’s—Drew’s bachelor status afforded him notice by those in search of a spouse for their daughters.

The Earl of Overton, the last of his line, had taken a liking to him practically from his birth, but Drew had been surprised by the contents of his godfather’s will. And grateful. Drew’s newfound wealth afforded him a leisurely existence, but his inheritance placed burdens on him as well: an uninhabitable town house in desperate need of repairs, requests for loans, and undesirable attention from ambitious mamas.

He moved on before either lady entertained ideas about him. In theory, he seemed a prize to be captured. In reality, he wanted nothing to do with the institution of marriage.

“Look! It’s Lady Phoebe.” The enthusiastic pronouncement rang through the ballroom and shattered his musings. He craned his neck to find his honey-voiced debutante from the garden, the delectable Miss Hillary. Across the room, she attempted to draw her brother in the other direction, but Hillary wouldn’t budge. His murderous glower landed on Drew, persuading him to look over his shoulder to see if someone disagreeable stood behind him. There was no one.

Drew’s muscles tensed.
Devil
take
it.
Had Miss Hillary told her brother of their encounter in the garden?

He hoped not. His plans did not include rising before noon on the morrow.

When Hillary didn’t surrender to his sister’s wishes, she threw her hands in the air and marched away in a huff. For all that he shouldn’t pay attention to such things, Drew found Miss Hillary refreshingly amusing to watch.

She hurried across the room and captured his sister-in-law’s hand. “Lady Phoebe.”

Pheebs squealed with apparent delight. Neither lady paid notice to the rumble of disapproval over their public display of friendship.

Miss Hillary’s carefree manner eased his guard to some degree. Surely, she would not behave with such cheerful abandon if her brother planned to issue a challenge to defend her honor. Yet, this evening Miss Hillary
had
proven herself unique amongst her contemporaries. Drew didn’t know what to expect from her next, which simply added to his curiosity. How providential that Miss Hillary and Phoebe were on intimate terms. His sister-in-law provided the perfect excuse to further his acquaintance with the lady.

A quick glance at Jake Hillary revealed his frown had not waned, but fate smiled on Drew when the man turned on his heel and stalked off into the crowd. If that wasn’t an invitation to approach Miss Hillary, he didn’t know what was.

With her brother’s blessing and an eager grin, Drew started toward the ladies, but came up short when Lord Hollister stepped into his path.

“Lord Andrew, what a surprise. Tell me, how are the duke’s hounds?”

Just what his evening had lacked, a conversation with a canine-obsessed popinjay.

***

Lana held Phoebe at arm’s length. “I had no idea you were back from the continent. Oh, how I have missed you.”

Phoebe laughed, her glow originating from someplace inside of her. Lana had never seen her friend look so radiant. Apparently, travel agreed with her. “And I have missed you, Miss Hillary. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Lana might be the same, but something was different about Phoebe, though she couldn’t for the life of her say what the difference was. “When did you arrive in London?”

“Yesterday. I apologize for not calling on you. Our Stephan has been ill, and then Richard came down with a chill this afternoon.”

“I hope it is nothing serious.”

Phoebe squeezed her hand. “It is a cold, but the doctor assured me they are hearty and will recover. Still, I didn’t want to leave either one, but Richard insisted I attend Lady Eldridge’s ball. He knows another minute away from your company would have been intolerable.”

“Don’t tell me
you
are the cause of my misery this evening,” an amused voice piped up from behind Lana.

A shiver ran up her spine, her body recognizing the baritone voice before her mind did. She spun around to face the ne’er-do-well from the garden, her breath catching when he bestowed a slow, sinful smile on her.

Double
drat.
He was so very dashing up close.

Lana pulled herself up to her full height, which was impressive for a lady, and tossed an icy glance in his direction before ignoring him completely. Perhaps his handsome looks made other women swoon, but Lana refused to turn into a ninny at the sight of his perfect white teeth and evenly proportioned lips.

She had been dancing with dashing gentlemen for the last two seasons, and never once had she swooned. Of course, those gentlemen simply sought her assistance with their courtships of other ladies while her rescuer desired something different, something that caused a fluttering in her chest and made her knees weak. Nevertheless, she
never
swooned and wouldn’t start at this juncture, even if her head did feel a little fuzzy.

Phoebe tapped the scoundrel’s arm with her fan in a familiar gesture as he sidled up to her. “
There
you are. I had come to believe you had deserted me.”

Lana balked. Surely, Lady Phoebe wasn’t one of his
other
women. Why, she had a perfectly lovely husband at home.

“Desert you, Pheebs? Never.” The rogue flashed his dratted smile again as his gaze settled on Lana. “Have I earned the privilege of an introduction?”

Phoebe placed a hand on his arm. “Please, forgive my lapse in manners, Drew. Miss Hillary, may I present my brother-in-law, Lord Andrew Forest?”

Egads. Drew was Phoebe’s relation? Perhaps Lana would faint after all.

She curtsied. “My lord.”

Drew—
Lord
Andrew
—gathered her hand in his and placed a kiss on her gloved knuckles. Amusement sparked in his blue eyes, the same shade as forget-me-nots. “Pardon me, Miss Hillary, but I believe we
have
met.”

Lana swallowed wrong and launched into a coughing jag.

Phoebe stepped forward and patted her back. “Good heavens, Lana. Are you all right?”

Lana drew in a shaky breath. “We… we’ve met?” Her voice squeaked. “I believe you are mistaken, my lord.”

“No, I’m certain we’ve met. Let me think. Where did we make our first acquaintance?” More dimples. The scoundrel was enjoying himself. He snapped his fingers. “I recall now. Last season your parents hosted a dinner party, one of those rare occasions when I was not otherwise engaged.”

Lana almost collapsed with relief. “Of course. Yes, lovely to see you again.”

She searched her mind to place Lord Andrew before their run-in tonight. Honestly, how could she ever forget the gentleman? He was quite gorgeous in his black formal dress, although he knew he cut a pleasing figure if his smug smile was any indication.

Lana returned his smile with a weak one. “I apologize, my lord, but what were you saying a moment ago?”

Phoebe gazed toward her brother-in-law with fondness. “Drew has been complaining all evening about escorting me to the ball.”

Lord Andrew shrugged shyly, a complete act on his part. There had been nothing shy about his wandering hands in the garden.

“Do you oppose dancing, my lord?” Lana feigned naïveté, suspecting his reluctance had more to do with jilted lovers ambushing him in the gardens.

“If I may be frank, Miss Hillary, I oppose the marriage market. I try to avoid it at all costs.”

“But Richard insisted I have an escort to the ball,” Phoebe added. “Drew kindly agreed to accompany me, but these affairs are not part of his usual repertoire.”

Lord Andrew raised a brow, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Lady Phoebe insinuates I don’t enjoy an evening with a beautiful lady.” A toffee-colored lock of hair fell forward on his forehead, adding to his annoyingly boyish charm. He brushed it away with his fingertips. “Nothing could be further from the truth, Miss Hillary.”

As she well knew.

Jake joined their group, taking up sentry over her as if he protected the crown jewels. “I doubt anyone would accuse you of disliking the company of ladies, Forest,” he said.

Lana might have frowned upon his insult of Lord Andrew’s character if she didn’t know it to be an accurate account.

“Jake Hillary, long time,” Lord Andrew greeted with a magnanimous smile. “Was it Oxford? No, it couldn’t have been that long ago.”

“It was last evening at Rendell’s.” The unspoken word “jackass” seemed on the tip of her brother’s tongue, but he censored his language in polite company.

Lord Andrew laughed. “How could I have forgotten? Seems you lost all but your waistcoat and boots.”

Jake’s fist tightened as if he would relish thrashing the gentleman.

Phoebe linked arms with Lana and attempted to direct her away from the men. “Let’s allow your brother and Drew to catch up, shall we?”

Lana dragged her feet, curious to overhear what they might say to one another, and a bit hopeful her brother might challenge the rake to fisticuffs after his deplorable treatment of Lady Audley. Lord Andrew had been horrible to her, had he not? He’d lied to the lovely woman, at least about Lana’s presence in the garden. And he’d obviously taken advantage of Lady Audley’s affections. Oh, why must Lana remind herself of Lord Andrew’s faults? He was a rascal, no questions about it.

Lord Andrew’s voice carried faster than Phoebe could lead her away. “Still in a temper over the barmaid, Hillary? She
was
more my type.”

“Did she have a pulse then?” Jake practically growled.

“Hmm, hot-blooded chit.”

“Heavens.” Phoebe, cheeks blazing with color, put more force behind pulling Lana toward the refreshment table. Once out of earshot, she cleared her throat. “Yes, well. What was I saying?” She clicked open her ivory fan and waved it in front of her face. “Oh, right. We’re returning to the country in the next day or two, as soon as my gentlemen can travel.”

Love lit Phoebe’s countenance when she spoke of her family. It almost made Lana queasy, except it was Phoebe, her guileless and darling friend.

Longing tugged at Lana’s heart. She had never hoped for a loving marriage herself. What her friend had with Lord Richard was a miracle, because no one else married for love. If a couple was fortunate, they might be equally suited for parlor games. Perhaps they may even find each other amiable, or tolerable, or at the very least, neither induced nausea in the other.

“Richard must see to the tenants for his father before we travel north for hunting season,” Phoebe said. “To be honest, Miss Hillary, I sought you out tonight to extend an invitation to visit Shafer Hall. I thought I might be more successful in persuading you in person. Of course your family is welcome as well.”

Lana eyed Phoebe. Something was amiss. “You know I don’t condone the stalking of defenseless animals. And
you
have never shied away from riding in the hunt. What’s behind this invitation, my lady?”

The pink blooming in Phoebe’s cheeks painted a fetching portrait. She almost glowed as she leaned toward Lana. “Riding isn’t recommended for women in my condition,” she whispered.

Lana matched her volume to Phoebe’s whispers. “You’re with child?”

“Stephan is to be a big brother,” she confirmed, clutching her hands over her heart.

Lana gathered her friend in another enveloping hug. “Congratulations, Phoebe. What a blessing.”

“Richard’s father believes Shafer Hall is better suited for lying in wait. Less noise and more privacy. I should be grateful for the offer of his property, but I fear I will be bored to tears.” She retrieved two glasses of punch and handed one to Lana. “The duchess has planned a grand house party at Irvine Castle to alleviate the tedium. Richard has promised I may enjoy some of the activities, but I would appreciate the company of a dear friend. Please say you’ll come north.”

“I would be more than honored to come for an extended visit.” She glanced toward Lord Andrew, who was engaged in conversation with Lord Hollister a few paces away. “Will
he
—Lord Andrew—be in residence at Irvine Castle?”

Phoebe chuckled. “Drew holds no interest in hunting or travel. You are as likely to see an elephant on the grounds as to cross paths with my husband’s brother.”

The tension in Lana’s shoulders melted away. With a lighter heart, she tossed her hands into the air. “Splendid suggestion, traveling north. But why wait until autumn? My trunks could be packed within the hour, anything to escape the dullness of being marketed like horseflesh.”

Lord Andrew ambled up to the women in time to overhear Lana’s last comment. “I thought ladies liked shopping. I hear husbands are quite in fashion.”