The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (40 page)

“
Moira Kirkwood,” the Dowager Countess Hearne screeched. “You must stop accosting gentlemen in the parlor.”

Gideon chuckled and broke away from the kiss. Moira looked up, her face a lovely shade of rose, and moved away from him. Gideon sat up. “It is quite all right, madam. Moira can accost me any time she chooses.”

The woman gasped, hand to her throat. “Nyle, do something.”

Moira’s brother stepped further into the room, chuckling. “It appears Moira has succeeded in compromising a gentleman, and she must do the honorable thing.”

Gideon would have stood, but he didn’t wish to have himself on display, or his physical reaction to Moira’s heated embrace that could be noticed by anyone. Instead, he remained where he was. “Hearne, might I have the pleasure of your sister’s hand in marriage?”

“
Call on me this evening and we will work out the details.” He turned to his mother. “Come along.”

“
But...” She tried to pull her elbow from Hearne’s grasp.

“
They are to be married, and possibly by special license. Leaving them alone will harm nothing.”

“
Oh, no,” her mother objected, trying to pull her arm from Hearne’s. “Moira will have an announcement, reading of the banns, a respectable wedding at St. George’s, and an elaborate wedding breakfast.”

Hearne ignored his mother, but kept a firm hold of her arm and looked back at Moira. “Congratulations on finding a Scot.”

Moira gasped. “You knew?”

Hearne shook his head and chuckled. “Expect my wife and me to be frequent visitors.”

“
Scot?” Her mother halted and peered over at Moira. “No daughter of mine is going to live in Scotland.”

“
It is too late, Mother.” Nyle tugged on his mother’s arm to pull her from the room. “Moira has compromised the poor gentleman and must do the proper thing by him.” His laughter echoed and the door clicked, leaving Gideon alone with Moira.

“
Do you really love me?” she asked, biting her lower lip.

“
Aye.” He rose from the floor to sit beside her.

“
And I love you.” Her lips met his again, and Gideon knew he would be facing pure torture until he could finally make her his.

For Ava, Catherine and Jane…

Thank you for forcing me to do things I don't want to do, and for making me rewrite things I don't want to rewrite. I don't know what I'd do without you.

~ Jerrica

Rowan Findley bets Lord Swaffham 200 guineas that he cannot bed Miss Patience Findley without finding himself leg-shackled to her within the month…

Miss Patience Findley was starting to realize that she was anything
but
patient, as her name would indicate. As a matter of fact, she probably should have been named
Im
patience, though she realized it wasn’t nearly as nice of a name as simply Patience. Either way, her current mood did not reflect her given name.

She’d been waiting all night for someone to approach her and ask for a dance. No. Not just someone. A man. Any man would have been fine, but several hours into the ball not a single man had come to rescue her from the edge of the ballroom or, as she liked to think of it,
Hell
. Her cousin Rowan had stopped by a few times to check on her, but he was more interested in dancing with loose widows than with his debutante cousin.

Blast her father. If it wasn’t for him, she’d have had plenty of dances tonight. But thanks to the scandal he’d caused upon his return from India, Patience was left to sit alone all night at her very first ball. And it was the Heathfield Ball, nonetheless. Lady Heathfield clearly knew what she was doing when it came to hosting one of these things, not that Patience had anything to compare it to. But it was beautiful and romantic and such a waste of a romantic setting to spend it holding up the damask walls.

“
Stop sulking, Patience,” came a gruff voice from behind her.

Without turning around, Patience answered, “I’m not sulking, Father. Just waiting to be noticed is all.”

Her father came up beside her but kept his focus on the dancers in the middle of the floor. “I know you’re still upset about your mother, but there’s not much to be done about it.”

“
Yes, I’m aware that death is rather permanent. Clearly, love isn’t, though.”

“
Don’t start that again, Patience. I loved your mother.”

“
Deeply
, it would seem.” She didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. She knew her father would scold her for her disrespect, but she didn’t care anymore. His disrespect ran deeper than hers ever could.

He sighed heavily as if he didn’t know what on earth he was going to do with his daughter. “You might learn a thing or two from your new step-mother. For instance, how to hold your tongue.”

Patience grasped mentally for a biting comeback but none would come. It didn’t matter anyway—they’d had this argument a thousand times since her father had returned from India, having left her mother’s corpse behind and arriving with a new, pregnant wife in her place.

“
There now, that’s better,” her father said. “Now, why don’t you try smiling a bit, and maybe then someone will ask you to dance.”

Not bloody likely,
she wanted to say, but he had already left her side, no doubt to go and find his new wife.

Patience sighed and slumped against the wall. She knew she shouldn’t have—how unladylike she must look—but she didn’t really think it mattered anymore. She was destined to die a spinster, she just knew it. So what was the point in trying?

The only thing she had to recommend her was a sizeable dowry, but it came from trade, so not everyone was interested in pursuing the connection. It didn’t help that she wasn’t terribly attractive. She had hair every bit as black as her Indian stepmother, only she didn’t have the coffee-colored skin to complement it. No, she was as white as the dress she wore this evening. She imagined it looked as if an inky black cat was floating about the room atop a ghostly apparition.

At least she wasn’t suffering the fate her dear friend Moira was. Patience stood up straighter to try to acertain why her friend was being dragged from the ballroom so soon, but she was too far away to hear anything. Poor Moira. Her mother was overbearing, to say the least. It could have been worse, though…she could have had no mother at all.

Her cousin approached, looking dapper as ever. He was quite a fop, but Patience couldn’t deny he’d be a nice catch for a young woman. At the very least, he’d keep her well outfitted.

“
All your friends are leaving, it would seem,” he said in his lazy drawl. “Maybe you could be next?”

Patience snorted. “Wouldn’t that be lucky for you if I did? No, I think I’ll stay, cousin. I’m waiting for someone to ask me to dance.”

Rowan sighed. “Fine. Patience, would you care to dance with me?”

Patience swatted her cousin on the arm with her dance card. “I didn’t mean you.”

“
Thank God.”

“
Any other man of eligible age would do, though it seems they’re all taking rather wide berths around me.”

“
Well,” Rowan said with a shrug, “let me know when you leave. I don’t care to linger at these events, you know?”

“
Yes, I heard that somewhere,” Patience laughed, recalling the hundred times he’d mentioned that very thing to her in the last week. “My father and Rangana are here, however, so I think you’re free to go whenever you please.”

“
Not so.” Rowan turned to look at her. “Your father informed me that they were departing shortly and charged me with making sure you got home all right.”

Patience nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I promise not to keep you too long. I’m sure you have many women to charm in less respectable parts of Town.”

Rowan put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “You’re a darling.”

He disappeared into the crowd, and Patience returned to her sulking. She wasn’t usually one to dwell on her misery, but what a horrible way to start out her first Season. No friends about to keep her company, no suitors. Yes, this Season was off to a rather bleak start.

The next morning, Patience woke feeling rather well rested. After spending another hour or so holding up the marble wall at the Heathfield Ball, she had found her cousin again and begged him to take her home early. It was no hardship on Rowan, of course, and he’d blessedly put her out of her misery.

Today was another day, however. A day full, as a matter of fact, of social obligations, starting with a morning ride down Rotten Row with her cousin. At least that bit would be enjoyable. Atop her chocolate mare named Fae, and wearing her most fashionable green riding habit, Patience prayed today would be a better day than yesterday.