The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (44 page)

“
My lord, this is my mother, Mrs. Banfield. I was just telling her how…
accommodating
you were at the Simpson’s dinner last week.”

Dear God. What had she told her mother? Enough that should he admit to any of it, he’d find himself leg shackled to the foolish girl, he guessed.

“
Oh, I don’t know,” he said nonchalantly. “I was just acting as a gentleman should in a social setting.”

Both women giggled and exchanged what he perceived to be devious looks.

“
Lord Swaffham, might we have the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow for tea?” Mrs. Banfield gave him a smile that sent a chill up his spine. She was certainly a plotter, that one. If he had known that, he never would have dallied with her daughter.

“
I’m afraid that won’t be possible, though I thank you for the invitation just the same.” He nodded his head and began to walk past them. “A pleasant evening to you both.”

“
You don’t mean to compromise my daughter and then just walk away, do you, my lord?”

Tristan stopped in his tracks and then took a moment to collect himself before turning around to face the women once again. “I don’t know what your daughter told you, but I can see she must have an active imagination.”

He could see the hurt in the girl’s dark eyes. Clearly, she thought their tryst had meant something more. Didn’t she know him at all? Hadn’t his reputation preceded him? Nevertheless, something sliced through his gut. Or was it his heart? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like the feeling. He thought it might be something akin to guilt, and Tristan Wallford had never felt guilty for anything in his life.

“
You can’t be serious,” Miss Banfield finally said, her voice slightly choked. “I thought…I mean…”

Her mother put a staying hand on her arm to stop her from saying something inappropriate. “That’s enough, darling. And don’t worry…” She flashed a piercing glare at Tristan. “The evil shall see their day of reckoning.”

Mrs. Banfield took hold of her daughter’s arm and brushed past him back into the ballroom.

“
That may be true,” he said to no one in particular, “but today is not that day, thank the good Lord.”

Patience was trying to be cold and standoffish as she’d been instructed to be for the sake of the bet, but she was finding it rather difficult in the face of the dashing Lord Swaffham. Perhaps he was more devil than god, for his touch was searing and there was most certainly fire behind his eyes. She could see why so many women fell prey to him, and it was up to her to pretend to do the same. It wouldn’t be hard, to be completely honest. The hard part would be holding out so that he wouldn’t suspect she was in on the bet her cousin had made with him.

“
Has anyone ever told you that you have the most lovely eyes?” he said to her as his hand pressed firmly against her back.

Patience found this amusing, since she didn’t have very interesting eyes at all. Small and unremarkably blue, they could hardly compare to the bright emerald eyes, lined with thick, black lashes that stared back at her.

She gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Ah, no. I can’t say that anyone ever has.” There. That wasn’t so hard. It was easy to be cold in the face of mere flattery. Sincerity would be another matter altogether, but Patience didn’t expect to get any of that from the reprobate.

“
Well, it’s a shame that no one ever has.” He pierced her with what might have been a sincere gaze, but Patience was starting to lose her sense of reality in all the spinning. “They truly are quite lovely.”

Before Patience lost her resolve altogether, she pasted on her most haughty expression and said, “Flattery will get you nowhere, my lord.”

Swaffham smiled. “Ah, my reputation precedes me, I see. You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the gossip sheets, Miss Findley. I’m not all bad, you know.”

“
No, but you’re certainly not all good, and therefore, I feel our association should end with the conclusion of this waltz.”

He sucked in his breath and wore a pained expression. “You cut me deep, Miss Findley. And here I had hoped to call on you tomorrow afternoon. I’ve a new phaeton I wish to try out, and I thought to invite you to join me for a drive in Hyde Park.”

“
Where would my chaperone sit?”

“
So you agree, then?”

“
I didn’t say that. It was a hypothetical question. I won’t go driving with you without a chaperone.”

Swaffham nodded thoughtfully. “Of course not, Miss Findley,” he said as he bowed with the end of the music. “Then I shall bring the landau instead so there’s plenty of room.”

And with that, he dipped his head and disappeared into the crowd. Patience stood at the edge of the dance floor slightly dumbfounded. Goodness, he was clever.

“
Did I overhear you correctly?” Rowan’s voice came from somewhere behind her and she whirled around to face him.

“
That depends on what you heard,” she replied.

“
A drive in the park tomorrow? You move quickly, cousin.”

She took Rowan’s proffered arm and began walking with him towards the connecting room where the refreshments were set out. “Yes, well…I haven’t much time. I detest living under my father’s roof, especially now that Mother’s gone.” Speaking of her mother twisted her gut, but she went on. “It’s just too painful.”

“
Life with someone like Swaffham won’t be a picnic, Patience.”

“
Yes, I know.” Though Patience dreamed of a romantic and fanciful marriage, she knew that wasn’t realistic. At least she’d have an attractive husband, if nothing else. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Was that Lady Habersham I saw signaling at you earlier with her fan?”

“
Just because they signal doesn’t mean I oblige.”

Patience smirked. “Oh, really? So you’re not going home with Lady Habersham this evening?”

Rowan shrugged. “I didn’t say that, either. But her husband
is
away on business—”

“
You are the worst kind of rogue there is,” Patience said with a laugh. “At any rate, I need for you to arrange for us to be caught in a compromising position—”

“
Ho, there!” Rowan held up a hand to quiet her. “I can’t be the one to do that, Patience. How will that look? He’ll know I’ve manipulated the bet.”

Patience hadn’t thought about that. “All right then…I’ll figure something else out, I suppose. It shouldn’t be all that hard.”

“
You underestimate your prey.”

“
Yes, I’m sure I do.”

“
Look.” Rowan pointed to the other side of the room. “Aren’t those your school friends?”

“
Yes, there they are.”

“
Lady Philipa is quite a beauty.”

Patience turned on her cousin. “Don’t even think about it, Rowan. She is a good and kind person, and I won’t have you attempting to debauch her.”

Rowan gave a snort. “I think she’s done a fine job of that on her own.”

“
Of course you would know about her recent
situation,
but I don’t think it’s at all her fault.” Patience leveled her cousin with a final glare. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

Tristan arrived on Miss Findley’s doorstep at exactly four o’clock the next afternoon. It was blessedly sunny out—perfect for a ride through the park. But first, Tristan hoped to be invited in for tea. He’d heard plenty of rumors of the exotic beauty Mr. Findley had brought back from India, and his curiosity was starting to get the better of him.

The butler received him within mere moments and ushered him into the front parlor. Tristan looked about. Heiress indeed. If the finely-appointed home was any indication, Miss Findley probably came with a rather hefty dowry. She would probably have an apoplexy if she ever saw Hamlin Abbey, with its ancient décor and sad state of disrepair. Thankfully he didn’t have to worry about that, though.

“
Lord Swaffham.”

Tristan turned from the mirror where he’d been straightening his cravat to find Miss Findley standing in the doorway. She looked quite different from last night when her hair had been coiled intricately and she’d worn a gown of bold, shiny jonquil. Today, however, she wore a simple dress of pale blue that matched her eyes, and her thick, black hair hung loosely around her face. Tristan marveled at the fact that he preferred the daytime version of Miss Findley to the nighttime version, since he rarely preferred the daytime anything.

He bowed to her and softly uttered her name. He’d learned that women quite liked it when a man spoke their names with a touch of reverence, almost as if it were a prayer. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant day thus far?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you. Shall we go?”

“
Go? But I’ve only just arrived.”

She stepped back slightly to glance down the corridor, then turned back to him. “I thought you meant to take me for a ride, my lord.”

“
I do, but it’s still early yet. There won’t be anyone to see, or be seen by, for another hour or so. Not to mention, I’m awfully parched.”

Clearly, this was not what Miss Findley wanted to hear. She seemed a bit flustered at the idea of having tea, but Tristan would not back down. He wanted to meet the woman known as
Flower.
The one who was causing such a scandal for poor Miss Findley.

“
Certainly,” she said at last, smoothing her skirts with what Tristan assumed were sweaty hands. “I’ll just ring for tea then.”

“
I hope it’s not too much trouble.” Tristan gave her a winning smile.

“
Of course not,” she said, though clearly it was a great deal of trouble.

She walked to the bell pull and gave it a little tug. Tristan liked the way her lithe muscles flexed in her arm as she did so. Quite attractive, that. Almost as attractive as her ample breasts that rounded above the bodice of her dress.

A maid appeared almost instantly and bobbed a curtsey.

“
Cora, will you bring tea up, please? And tell Marcie to come down at once.”

Cora disappeared again, and Tristan took a seat in the chair opposite Miss Findley. “Marcie is your chaperone, I take it?”

“
She is. I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t think it’s proper, us having tea alone and all.”

“
Of course not. What about your stepmother? Will she join us too?”

Miss Findley’s head shot up. Obviously, he’d struck a nerve.