The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (5 page)

Even though he would be shooting himself in
the foot.

"Lord Seymour has left the receiving line,"
Lord Wycliff said. Though it was difficult to be heard over the
sounds of laughter and conversation as well as the strains of the
orchestra, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Come, let us
speak to our host. Lord Seymour has rather a penchant for pretty
young things. You are quite the loveliest woman here."

"Pray, my lord, do you see me as young?"

"You
are
young. I must be ten years older
than you."

"How old are you, if I might ask?"

"Three and thirty."

The beastly man was right. She was gravely
disappointed to learn Lord Seymour could possibly prey on young
women. Men! Worthless the whole lot of them.

Of course, Lord
Wycliff
had
said
she was the loveliest woman here. Her heart went to fluttering –
despite that she had never before wanted to be the object of men's
desires.

And she hated herself for such
shallowness.

When his hand rested at her back as he led
her to Lord Seymour, she experienced an odd feeling of pride. She
had been acutely aware that her escort was the recipient of
seductive gazes and gushing flirtations from half the women
present.

Their host was a distinguished looking man
in his fifties. Though slight of build, his voice was commanding,
as was his presence. He had obviously grown a swooping mustache as
a younger man to add maturity to his slim person. Now it was his
trademark, making him easily identifiable in political
cartoons.

Louisa detected a glint in his green eyes
when she approached with Lord Wycliff.

"I see, Wycliff, you have brought your
charming companion." Lord Seymour turned his gaze to Louisa. "Mrs.
Phillips, is it not?"

"It is," Louisa answered timidly. She knew
she would have to gain firmer control of her voice if she hoped to
merit this notable Whig's favor.

"Mrs. Phillips desires to speak with you on
matters of reform," Harry said.

Seymour's brows elevated. "I am always happy
to discuss reform, my dear Mrs. Phillips."

She moved closer to the notable Whig and
favored him with what she hoped was her best smile just as the
orchestra quit playing the set. The relative silence that ensued
greatly pleased her. Now Lord Seymour could hear her much better.
"I particularly desire to impart to you the importance of extending
the franchise."

"What? No plea to regulate child labor? Or
to reform the penal system?"

Now her convictions overtook any timidness.
She was on firm ground expressing her beliefs. "While I am
seriously troubled over the exploitation of children and the
unfairness of our penal system, I believe the most serious problems
will be solved if the vote does not rest with a privileged few to
the exclusion of those most affected by our country's laws. If
votes could be cast by those whose loved ones are transported for
the most minor infractions, we could be assured the severe
penalties of today's laws would be lessened."

"Well spoken, my dear," Seymour said, his
eyes twinkling. "You must be influenced by Philip Lewis, a man I
greatly admire."

An intoxicating feeling of
pride bubbled within Louisa, and she had to fight the desire to
shout
I am Philip Lewis!
Instead, she bowed humbly and said, "I, too,
admire him." She fairly gagged on the necessity of calling her
alter ego
him
.

Just then Lord Seymour's
excited niece came scurrying up to her uncle and placed a
possessive hand on his forearm. "Uncle!
He
is here. Won't you come meet
him?"

Lord Seymour excused himself and left in a
flurry on his niece's dainty heels.

After he had gone, Louisa turned to Lord
Wycliff. "I am most grateful for the opportunity you afforded me of
speaking with Lord Seymour, my lord."

He looked down upon her from his
considerable height. There was a distinctly admiring look on his
face when he spoke to her. "Then I beg you to repay me by waltzing
with me."

There it went again. That ridiculous
fluttering in her chest as he took her hand within his strong grasp
and led her to the dance floor. He had not even allowed her to
protest. And when he actually took her in his arms, she feared she
would swoon. Unaccountably, he had not seemed a real man until now.
He was a nobleman. An inanimate object to be scorned.

But the man whose hands clasped hers so
firmly was very real. And very appealing: tall and solid and ripe
with masculinity. She blushed as she fleetingly thought of his
sexual appetites. She supposed he was a most practiced lover. He
had probably had his way with many women in this very room, judging
from the jealous stares she now drew.

A pity there was no such thing as a
trust-worthy man.

* * *

Dancing with Mrs. Phillips filled Harry with
an odd sense of pride. Though not dressed nearly so grandly as most
of the woman here tonight, she still outshone the others with her
simple beauty. Her crepe dress flowed softly from beneath her
rounded bosom, clinging to her smooth curves. He found himself
wondering what she would look like with her hair long and draping
over her smooth bare shoulders.

Putting her beauty aside, he had to admire
her. She had not wavered from her purpose in her brief meeting with
Parliament's leading Whig. Her knowledge and vast capacity for
compassion far exceeded that of all the other matrons here added
together.

He looked down at the top of her fair head
where candlelight cast a silvery glow over her smooth tresses.
"Thank you," he murmured.

She looked up at him. It was difficult for
him to get his thoughts straight while gazing into the porcelain
perfection of her face. "For what?" she

"For directing me. I spent all of last night
with Mr. Bentham's writings." God, but he was an insincere
lout!

"You found them enlightening?"

"Not only enlightening, but I've discovered
that my whole life has been misdirected."

She smiled, and he thought perhaps her
slender hand pressed his own a little more firmly.

* * *

Later that evening Louisa was overjoyed to
find herself seated to the right of her host. Had Lord Wycliff
interceded in her behalf? Or did Lord Seymour himself desire to
further the acquaintance?

Throughout dinner Lord Seymour directed a
great many comments toward her. "Mrs. Phillips is possessed of a
deep concern for equality," he told the guests at the head of the
table. "She has expounded with authority on empowering the
citizenry with the franchise."

"I declare," Mrs. Aker-Jones said, glaring
across the table at Louisa, "is the unfortunate woman mad? The
ignorant masses would likely throw open all the prisons, and utter
chaos would result."

"I am not an unfortunate
woman, nor am I mad," Louisa retorted. "Though
you
must be possessed of inferior
intellect if you imagine such a scenario."

"Well, I..."

"Please ladies," Lord Seymour interjected.
"I had no idea my remarks would stir such controversy."

"I am used to being surrounded by
controversy," Louisa said. "If I have offended you, Lord Seymour, I
am deeply sorry, but I cannot help but speak my mind. As you know,
I am most single minded in my pursuit of justice."

Lord Seymour placed his thin white hand over
hers. "A noble pursuit, to be sure, but may I add that life is most
unjust, my dear, a fact you will come to understand when you are my
age."

As if she knew nothing of injustice! "I hope
I shall never be so cynical that I do not desire to help those
trodden-upon individuals who have no voice."

Lord Seymour surprised her by squeezing her
hand.

"I hope so, too," he said.

* * *

Harry sat across from Mrs. Phillips at
dinner. He was unable to remove his gaze from her and strained to
hear her smooth voice, which was no easy task since Mrs. Aker-Jones
seemed bent on engaging him in conversation and in telling him the
merits of her daughter, whom he considered rather a beanstalk. As
he observed Mrs. Phillips's confidence when speaking to the
powerful lord about her causes, Harry unexpectedly swelled with
pride.

He admired her more than he agreed with
her.

Though she should have been like a fish out
of water, surprisingly, she was not. She bespoke eloquence with her
speech and with the elegance of her appearance. She was also the
loveliest woman here.

One matter did concern Harry. Lord Seymour.
Though the man held enormous respect in the House of Lords, his
private dalliances with beautiful women was less than admirable. As
Harry watched the man paw at Louisa, he vowed he would never allow
Seymour to initiate the intimacy with Mrs. Phillips that the Whig
so obviously desired.

Oddly, Harry felt unexpectedly protective
toward her. Her bravura, he knew instinctively, only masked her
innocence.

When he deposited her at Wycliff House a few
hours later, she said, "Tomorrow, I shall direct you to the
solicitor."

This was what he'd been wanting for. He
should be elated.

Instead, he felt like a traitor.

"I declare, Louisa, you are looking ever so
much prettier than when I arrived," Ellie said. "I suppose it's the
wearing of color." The young woman's eyes rounded, and her
flattened hand flew against her mouth. "Though really, Louisa, you
should be wearing black. It's not at all proper not to mourn one's
own husband. Even if you didn't love him. Think of propriety!"

How different she and Ellie were, Louisa
thought. Despite Ellie's claims to emulate her sister's unorthodox
beliefs, at heart, Ellie's tastes were catholic. Louisa wondered if
her own tastes might have conformed to the norm if her life had
been more normal.

Louisa hastily finished pinning up her hair.
She was guilty of spending unaccustomed time on her toilet these
past several days. For the first time in years she actually wanted
to look pretty.

And for that she felt excessively
guilty.

But she felt absolutely no guilt over not
wearing mourning for the husband she had never been able to love.
"To mourn someone I abhorred would be the embodiment of dishonesty,
and you know I have no tolerance for liars."

"To be sure," Ellie said. "If you will not
wear mourning, I am most happy you have cast aside your dislike of
femininity, and I daresay Lord Wycliff approves, too. I believe the
earl has romantic feelings for you."

Louisa had little patience with her sister's
foolish romantic notions. The very idea of a nobleman having
amorous feelings toward her was absurd. "I assure you Lord Wycliff
tolerates me solely in order to improve his mind -- and to learn
who owns his former house." She whirled away from the looking
glass. "Even if he were in some way attracted to me -- which I
assure you he is not -- a match between a nobleman and me is quite
unacceptable to both of us."

Before leaving the room, Louisa took one
last look at the glass, rather pleased at the way her
saffron-colored dress hung. She thought it made her look somewhat
taller -- which was a very good thing. Then she fastened on her
gold earrings, angry at herself for this newfound desire to look
pretty when a visit from his lordship was pending.

As they walked downstairs
she continued to think of what Ellie had said.
I believe the earl has romantic feelings for
you
. Louisa could not deny that Lord
Wycliff had held her a little closer than necessary during the
waltz at Lord Seymour's, and his lingering gaze that swept over her
last night had made her feel completely undressed. His flirtatious
ways had not stopped there. She thought of the way he held her hand
a bit longer than necessary when handing her into his carriage, and
the way he always sat next to her in the carriage, his powerful
thigh brushing against hers ever so slightly.

Such behavior, no doubt, was exhibited by
all noblemen, especially one who was as young and virile and
available as Lord Wycliff. She was sure these men cared for nothing
save their own gratification. Wastrels the whole lot of them!

Then she neared the bottom of the stairs to
find him standing there. She had not even known he'd arrived, and
here he stood, his boots planted sturdily on the marble floor as he
gazed up at her, looking at her with a somber, unfathomable look.
She did likewise, running her eyes from the dark hair he wore
uncovered to his well-cut coat that hugged his broad shoulders and
tapered down to his trim waist. She could understand how
empty-headed women could be enamored of a man such as Lord
Wycliff.

Thank goodness she was not an empty-headed
female.

Once again, Lord Wycliff's warm brown eyes
flickered along the length of her. She could not have felt more
undressed had he removed her clothing. Had Godwin looked at her in
such a way, she would have become nauseated and wished she had
never been born. Lord Wycliff's longing gaze, on the other hand,
brought a quiver to her insides and a not unpleasant stirring deep
and low. She felt unaccountably feminine and, oddly, desirable and
beautiful.

And infuriated with herself for feeling
so.

She offered him her hand -- a gesture she
would not have done two weeks earlier -- and gritted her teeth at
her own ease in accepting him.

"Ah, Mrs. Phillips, how lovely you look
today," he said pressing her hand to his lips. Then he hastily
glanced at Ellie, who was a step behind her sister. To her, he
merely nodded. "Good day, Miss Sinclair."