The Rake and the Wallflower (22 page)

“Yes, heat does pose a problem in such cases. Was that before or after Lady Debenham’s ball?”

“The same day. I was surprised that she attended, for she remained quite pale. But perhaps she expected Grayson. Her behavior changed completely after he returned. She had always been content to sit with the chaperons, dancing only an occasional minuet. Afterward, she chattered about him constantly, describing fetes she had attended at Rothmoor and many meetings with Grayson.”

“I doubt Miss Turner or any innocent attended Lord Rothmoor’s gatherings,” said Mary tartly. “Even Grayson avoids them.”

“That bad?” Her eyes sparkled.

“Deplorable.” Thanking Lady Sheffield for her time, Mary headed home.

Lord Roger Duncan. He had to be the villain. It wasn’t his sudden appearance that had sent Constance into a swoon — she’d probably believed for one glorious moment that all would be well. It was the revelation that he was a cad who was already married, an uncaring rake who seduced innocent girls, then abandoned them without a qualm. Had he even remembered her three months later?

In a desperate bid to avoid the consequences of her indiscretion, Constance had thrown herself at the first man to show any interest. Fate presented Rothmoor’s heir, the perfect substitute. So she claimed long acquaintance and secret liaisons. She hadn’t cared that the tales cast doubt on her own virtue. Her reputation would be gone the moment society recognized her condition.

But she’d miscalculated. Gray despised force. And he’d had sufficient credit to resist it — then.

She sighed. Unfortunately Miss Turner’s suicide had destroyed that credit. So he’d been forced into marriage after all.

Squaring her shoulders as the carriage rocked to a halt, she headed for her room. She would do everything in her power to make him happy, starting with exposing Lord Roger. Perhaps one day he would cease regretting their fate.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Gray reached Almack’s on the stroke of eleven, barely nipping through the door before it closed.

He’d meant to sleep after giving Mary the ring. He’d certainly needed it. Weariness had clouded his judgment, as proved when he cut Laura dead on his way out of Rockhurst House. Like it or not, she would be family before long. And she might retaliate against Mary, who must share a roof with her until they wed. But it was too late to undo any possible damage. And he’d been too tired to care.

He also should have driven Mary in the park during the fashionable hour. But he hadn’t offered, unsure whether he could drive on three hours of sleep. In the end, fate kept him from bed, and by the time he’d finished that business, he’d slept so deeply that Jaynes couldn’t wake him for dinner. Then an overturned carriage had blocked King Street, so he’d ended up walking from St. James’s Square, barely reaching Almack’s before the porter locked the door. Mary must be dying by inches. Society’s cruelest tongues would have spent the last three hours regaling her with prophesies of doom.

And that wasn’t his only fear. Despite Lady Jersey’s gesture last evening, he wasn’t sure of his welcome. Three years of censure made assumptions dangerous.

He reached that hurdle at the top of the stairs. Lady Jersey was waiting at the door.

“About time,” she said tartly.

“Snarled traffic.” He lowered his voice to imply shared secrets. “An overturned carriage carrying Mr. Beasley and Lady Gwendolyn Harte, both in greater dishabille than an accident would explain.”

“You don’t say!” Her eyes gleamed.

“I do say. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his cravat gone. Her hair was down, and though she was wrapped in his cloak, her skirts were dragging on one side – an unpinned bodice unless my eye is completely out.”

“Wicked man.” She tapped him with her fan. “How can I ignore you after such a delicious tale?”

“You would welcome me even if I arrived taleless,” he said daringly. “As a favor to my lovely Mary, if nothing else.”

“Perhaps.” She shook her head. “Just don’t betray my trust.”

“Never. It would hurt Mary.” He raised her hand for a courtly kiss.

“Very well. Go rescue your betrothed from Lady Horseley. The woman annoys me. She’s been predicting scandal all evening.”

“Then she will be disappointed.” He spotted Mary across the room with several of society’s naysayers. She was stunning tonight in an emerald gown trimmed with golden flowers. Her ring gleamed.

Joining her took several minutes, for he had to accept felicitations, respond to ambivalent greetings, and ignore hesitant cuts — Lady Jersey’s acceptance did not fully restore him to favor; too many were shocked that he’d passed these sacred portals without bringing the roof down.

He avoided questions, smiling graciously to one and all, but he was cursing himself with every stride. Mary’s pale face raised every one of his protective instincts. She had probably been surrounded since the moment she’d arrived, something he could have buffered if he hadn’t overslept. He knew how much she needed solitude.

Only after he drew close enough to meet her eyes did he relax. They lit with pleasure, sending an arrow straight to his groin. She was lovelier than she realized.

“Sorry to be late, my dear,” he said, dropping a kiss on her brow. “I overslept.”

“I feared—” She stopped.

That he had already jilted her? Fury swept him, aimed directly at Lady Horseley and her ilk. “We will dance.”

The next set was a waltz. Probably Lady Jersey’s doing. “Did you really think I might break my vow?” he asked gently as he led her out.

“Never! I feared you dead,” she blurted, then blushed crimson. “Turner might grow desperate now that you know of his plot.”

“Nay.” He pulled her closer, marveling at her softness. The sprinkle of freckles across her shoulders begged to be kissed. But that was for later and might require some gentling first. He’d noticed how she pulled back each time he kissed her. “Turner would not dare attack now, for others also know his dishonor.”

“Perhaps, but horrid images have plagued me all day.”

“Tell me.”

She sighed. “My imagination is often lurid. It conjured visions of you sprawled on the floor with a bullet through your heart or your face black from poison, crumpled in the wreckage of your carriage, bloated and bobbing down the Thames, blackened by fire…”

“My poor Mary,” he said, interrupting the gruesome recital. “I should have told you that I have men watching him — not that I expect further attacks. Already doubts are plaguing him, though he cannot yet admit he is wrong.”

“Sometimes doubts make people lash out to still the voices they do not wish to hear. And people can be quite destructive when thwarted. Consider Laura.”

“I would rather not. Have people warned you against me all evening?”

“Some.”

“I presume Lady Horseley was particularly venal.”

She hesitated, as if fearful of admitting anything unpleasant, but finally nodded miserably.

“That is yet another reason to convince Turner. Promise me something.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Don’t ever lie to me, my dear. Not even by silence. We have both suffered the slings and arrows of vicious gossip, so we know that only truth and trust in each other will do.”

“I do not wish to hurt you, Gray. You have suffered so much already.”

“Truth may not be pleasant, but ignorance leaves us vulnerable.” He waited until she nodded. “So what happened?”

“Lady Horseley, as you surmised. Like others, she warned me to break off this ill-conceived betrothal lest I face Constance’s fate. But she is amazingly insistent, clinging to my side all evening to exhort me with tales of your dishonor. I cannot escape her. And she will not hear a word in your favor.”

“Hardly a surprise. She is cousin to the Turners.”

“What?”

“Cousin. And as tenacious about protecting family as you.”

Her eyes widened.

“I know you better than you think, Mary. Ignore Lady Horseley for now. She will admit the truth eventually.”

“Perhaps.”

Gray sidestepped Miss Cunningham, who had tripped on the uneven floor, pulling Lord Bankhead off balance. “Is anyone else bothering you?”

“No. Other than Lady Horseley, the evening has been quite remarkable. Lady Jersey is being kind, and even the fiercest patronesses smiled. I’ve danced every set. It is truly amazing. I doubt I’ve danced two sets a night all Season until now.”

“There is nothing amazing about it. You merely crept out of the corner so people can see you. That gown is lovely, and your hair is different tonight.” That hint of gold turned out to be sunstreaks — she probably forgot her bonnet when bird-watching. They animated the brown waves framing her face. The style suited her well.

“Thank you, but don’t exaggerate. Most of the attention arises from curiosity about this oddity who wishes to wed you.”

“Never an oddity. You are an original,” he said sharply.

“As you say. But we have more important matters to discuss than my dress and dance partners. I’ve identified Constance’s paramour.”

“You did?” He stumbled. “Amazing. Who is he?”

“Lord Roger Duncan.” In a low voice, she described her inquiries. He pulled her closer so he could hear, then found that her scent distracted him.

“The timing is perfect,” she concluded. “She discovered he was married and swooned. I do not believe her condition was responsible, for those early symptoms would have been fading by then. Panicked, she tried to attach a husband.”

He swore, then quickly apologized.

“I feel the same. I hope to speak to her maid tomorrow.”

“No. I doubt the girl would talk. She must have known the truth, but speaking now would endanger her current position. No one wants a dishonorable servant. And seeking her out could endanger you.”

“But my evidence will never convince Turner. He will attribute her swoon to pregnancy, not shock, just as Lady Sheffield did.”

“I know. But now that I have a suspect, I can find out when he visited Yorkshire.”

“Excellent idea.”

They danced in silence for a time. Her eyes glowed green tonight, reflecting her gown, which was more stylish than others she’d worn — perhaps because this was Almack’s, with its many archaic rules. It was the only place besides court where he still had to wear knee breeches. But he hoped she had dressed for him.

He had claimed to know her, yet in many ways she was an enigma. Her unhappiness with this match showed in the way she held back, despite her vows to make the best of it. She had wanted to wed for love — her only remaining dream. Laura had destroyed her other illusions, leaving her pragmatic and more knowing that most ladies her age. Now fate had stripped her of the last one.

Ironically, he wanted her more each time they met. And it wasn’t just lust, though kissing her kept him burning for hours afterward. She was intriguing and already a good friend. They shared many interests. He trusted her even with his weaknesses. Perhaps she could come to love him, provided he didn’t frighten her. But that meant moving slowly — like coaxing a bird to his hand.

She was very protective of family, which hinted at other dreams she had yet to share. Maybe she would respond to having one of those realized. It was worth a try, and there might be time to manage it. He would look into the possibility when he returned home.

“You seem warm,” he said, dancing toward a window. “Shall we step onto the balcony for a moment?”

“I would enjoy that.”

The balcony was small and overlooked the mews. No one else had ventured forth, for the night was cold, with fog beginning to build. Gray led her to a corner out of sight of the door, then pulled her into his arms. Just one kiss, he promised himself. Light and coaxing.

But the moment his lips met hers, he lost control. Her taste exploded in his mouth, triggering needs that ran deeper than enjoyment of a willing woman. She was soft in his arms, with delightful curves and a scent that made him dizzy with desire. He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t help himself.

Drawing her tight against him, he teased his manhood with caresses he couldn’t complete. Only when his hand touched her hair did he pause, groaning, for he could not leave her disheveled.

That moment of sanity made him aware of another problem. She had responded at first, but now stood stiff in his arms.

Fear. It was clear in her eyes. His unexpected assault frightened her.

Cursing, he gentled his touch, pulling the threads of his control taut. “Can you be ready to wed by Tuesday?”

“So soon? I thought you said we needn’t rush.”

Her question chilled him to the bone. Had he frightened her into second thoughts about this match? She was an innocent who knew nothing about the marriage bed.

“I may have been hasty,” he admitted, lightly stroking her back. “Our betrothal is attracting more attention than I expected. The pressure to jilt me before I ruin you will increase, as will the warnings against my wickedness.” The betting book at White’s had contained twenty-three wagers on the match by the time he’d left last night. Their number would swell with each passing day. Too many of those wagerers would press her to reconsider.

“Will haste not prompt even more speculation? People will assume that I am with child.”

He flinched. “Blunt, as usual.” When she tried to protest, he laid a calming finger across her lips, clinging to his conviction that they would deal well together once they got past the initial discomfort. “I would not have you any other way, my dear. I want there to be complete honesty between us. And you are right. Such speculation already exists.” With wagers in place. “It will not cease until nine months pass without a child.”

She blushed. “So we will be a nine-months wonder.”

“To some. I can do nothing about that, but we can reduce the other talk. The only reason for waiting was to remain in town. That problem is now solved. I bought a house after leaving you this afternoon.”

“No wonder you overslept. You must not have reached your bed until after dinner.”

When she laid her head on his shoulder, he relaxed. Perhaps he had not terrified her after all.

Her arms crept around his waist. “How did you find a house so quickly?”