Three Weddings And A Kiss (29 page)

“Edgar and I are nothing alike, thank God. He’s burdened with the proprieties and standards I never bothered living up to.”

“You would do well to imitate him,” she said frostily, and continued past him toward the stairs.

“Would I?” Garrett asked, and laughed nastily while she hurried away from him.
“The east wing, madam.
Don’t forget.”

3

E
ric tapped a restless rhythm on the inside wall of his carriage. Suddenly his fingertips stilled on the embossed leather, and his hand clenched into a tight fist. He was exasperated with himself for not being able to stop thinking about Lidian Acland. Perhaps it was because she had shown such determined indifference to him—he had never been able to resist a challenge. The memory of the kiss at the Willoughbys’ ball still haunted him. Her mouth had been so soft beneath his, yielding sweetly to his urgent pressure. He wanted more, had wanted it every minute since that night three weeks ago.

After considering various plans to see Lidian again, he had asked his mother to invite the Aclands for an extended visit. She had complied without hesitation and had written to him that the Aclands were now comfortably settled at De Gray House.
Such a lovely girl
, his mother had written in her elegant script.
Lidian is shy but very sweet. I am tempted to offer her some of my gowns, or Dollie’s, as it appears that she and Elizabeth have brought painfully few clothes and possessions with them. However, they are both proud, and I wouldn’t dare risk offending either of them. Call on us soon, my dear
…

Eric intended to. He wanted to find out if the attraction between him and Lidian was as strong as he remembered. And if so…there was the problem of cutting through the illusions that made her cling so stubbornly to her past love. No man worthy of her would have left her, had there been any choice. To find out more about Spencer, Eric had decided to pay a visit to Craven’s, the gambling club on St. James Street.

As a member of the club, Eric occasionally enjoyed trying his hand at the gaming tables and socializing with friends…but that wasn’t his purpose tonight. Craven’s was the best place he knew of to obtain information. The proprietor, Derek Craven, was acquainted with everyone of significance in England and Europe, no mean accomplishment for a cockney who had been born in the gutter. Craven had established the finest gambling club in the world, and he knew exactly how to supply what his patrons wanted. It was rumored that he had every man of means in London investigated, so that he knew all about their inheritances, bank accounts, and property holdings.

Eric’s carriage stopped in front of the building, a marble structure fronted with massive columns and pediments. It was part Grecian temple, part bawdy house. There were several forms of entertainment offered at Craven’s, including exquisite French cuisine, fine wine and liquor, billiards and cigars, lively music and beautiful house wenches. All of this was intended to stimulate the appetite of the patrons for one thing: gambling. Unimaginable amounts of money were spent nightly at the hazard tables and in the card rooms.

Ascending the wide steps and nodding to the butler, Eric entered the club. Foreign diplomats, aristocrats, politicians, and businessmen all mingled in the famed central gaming room, lined in gilded columns and swaths of dark blue velvet. The room was octagonally shaped and topped with a domed ceiling. Seeing Derek Craven’s slim, dark form at the central hazard table, Eric went to join him. Craven greeted him with a friendliness reserved for his wealthy patrons and motioned for an employee to bring Eric a drink.

“Good evening, milord,” Craven said in his cockney-accented English. He was a dark-haired man with a hard face and cold green eyes. His white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile a snarling quality. “In for a bit o’ play this evening?”

“Perhaps,” Eric replied, watching the roll of dice across the green felt of the hazard table. He accepted the snifter of brandy a waiter brought him, and warmed the glass in his hands. “Craven,” he said abruptly, “there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

Craven’s black brows rose in silent inquiry.

Eric spoke quietly, not wanting the other men around the table to overhear. “I’m interested in finding out what you know about a certain Lord Chauncey Spencer. He’s touring the Continent right now, but I expect he’ll return soon.”

Craven gave him an assessing glance.
“May I ask what your interest is, milord?
Owes you some money, does he?”

Eric shook his head and took a sip of brandy. “It involves a woman.”

“Ah.” Craven’s smile appeared again. “She must be a fine bit o’ fluff, to please a gentleman
so
particular as you. Does she belong to Viscount Spencer?”

“In a way.”

“I know a little somefing about ’im,” Craven admitted. “For almost a month, ’e’s come to the club almost ewery night.”

“He’s back in England?” Eric asked with a touch of surprise.

Craven nodded, his face turning hard. “Spencer plays deep and doesn’t pay ’is bills. At this rate, I’ll refuse credit to him soon. E’s no better than flash-gentry, in spite ow ’is fancy title. Family’s well-heeled but not rich. They won’t leave much for ’im to inherit.”

“Is Spencer here tonight?” Eric asked.

“’E’s in one o’ the card rooms right now. Would you like me to show you, milord?”

At Eric’s nod, Craven casually disengaged himself from the hazard table and motioned for him to follow. Eric swallowed the remainder of his brandy and gave the glass to a passing waiter. Together he and Craven walked through the octagonal room, past the dining and buffet areas, and approached the long row of card rooms. “The lady you want…” Craven remarked idly, “
is
she Spencer’s mistress?”

“No. She believes herself to be in love with him.”

“A pretty wench, is she?” Craven asked, seeming to be interested despite
himself
.

Eric gave him a speaking glance. “Beautiful. With black hair and skin the color of new milk.”

Craven made an admiring sound. “Rum goods, it sounds like. I would wish you luck, De Gray, but I don’t believe in luck. Only the kind a man makes for ’imself.”

“An interesting statement, coming from the proprietor of a gambling club.”

Craven smiled and gestured to their opulent surroundings. “’T’isn’t luck what brought me
all this,
milord.”

They stopped at one of the card rooms, where blue velvet drapes were parted to reveal a small group of men seated at a round table piled with gambling chips, cards, and refreshments. One of the players boasted loudly as he gathered in an armful of chips. Eric had no doubt that the man was Chance Spencer.

“This is nothing compared to the streak of luck I had on the Continent,” Spencer was saying, his cheeks flushed with excitement and strong drink. He was a handsome man with slick black hair and a dark, sculptured face. “Everything I touched turned to gold. There were crowds of women around me, watching each turn of the card…they find it very erotic, you know, watching a man gamble—” He stopped as he saw Craven standing at the doorway, and a smug expression settled on his face. “Craven,” he said heartily. “I see you’ve come to witness my success.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Craven murmured, his gaze sweeping the room. “Shall I send fresh cards to the table? More wine, per’aps?”

The five men at the table assured him of their comfort. Eric exchanged greetings with them, recognizing them from the club or from recent society events. One of them stood respectfully to shake his hand. “Lord De Gray,” he murmured with a smile, “please
convey
my regards to your lovely sister.”

“I will indeed,” Eric replied.

Taking notice of Eric, Spencer stared at him intently. “We haven’t met before.”

Craven introduced them, and Spencer favored Eric with a charismatic smile. “Would you care to join us, De Gray? I’ve emptied the pockets of everyone else here.”

Eric shook his head. “I’m on my way to the dining room.”

“Afraid of losing your money?”
Spencer taunted.

Derek Craven grinned at the question and gestured toward Eric.
“Our Lord De Gray ’as money to burn.
But what ’e wants, ’e can’t buy.”

“Everything worth having can be bought,” Spencer countered.
“Even people.”

“Except for a few,” Eric replied, finding it difficult to believe that this was the man Lidian Acland had given her heart to. Spencer’s sort existed everywhere—self-important parasites who survived on the merest fringe of respectability. With a polite nod, Eric made his departure from the card room, wondering grimly why he was so fascinated with a woman who was in love with the likes of Spencer.

Derek Craven followed Eric casually. “Well, now you’ve met Lord Spencer. No woman in ’er right mind would choose a crowing bantam like Spencer over a gentleman such as yourself.”

“Women,” Eric said darkly. “Who can understand how they think?”

Craven snorted with amusement.
“True, milord.
But thank God for ’em, all the same.”

Staying at De Gray house promised to be more enjoyable than Lidian had expected. She had never slept in such beautiful surroundings: a bedroom decorated in pale pink damask and delicate scrollwork panels, with satinwood furniture polished to a high gloss. The rest of the house was just as lovely, its elegant rooms kept spotlessly clean and bright.

Although Lidian never forgot her concern with the Acland estate affairs, she found herself putting it to the back of her mind as she and her mother spent a great deal of time with Julia and Dollie. Together they went on shopping trips in London and carriage drives in the park, while at home they made plans and pored over invitations for upcoming society events.

In the past few years there had been no time for Lidian to cultivate friendships with other young women, and she found herself liking Dollie very much. The girl was intelligent and kindhearted, possessing the disarming ability to laugh at her own faults. “I’m too romantic and impulsive for my own good,” Dollie laughingly admitted to Lidian. “I seem to fall in love with a new gentleman every week.”

“And what becomes of all these infatuations?” Lidian asked with a smile.

“They fade quickly. I haven’t yet found the man I’m destined for.”

“How will you know when you’ve found him?”

Dollie chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I’ll know when I look into his eyes or when he kisses me. It will be pure magic! Do you feel like that with the man you love, Lidian?”

Lidian hesitated for a long moment. Whatever magic she had felt with Chance had faded long ago. A year of waiting and wondering had taken its toll on her emotions. There was so much that was still unresolved between her and Chance. “I think I did,” she said quietly. “But being in love is not all magic, Dollie. And it’s not something I’d care to experience again.”

Dollie looked intrigued and sympathetic. “Uncle Garrett says the same thing. Now that his wife is gone, there’s not enough of his heart left to give to anyone.”

“Your poor uncle,” Lidian murmured sincerely. Although he could be surly and short-tempered at times, she rather liked the man. There was
a softness
beneath his gruff facade that she had discovered a few days ago, when he had accidentally intruded on her while she was reading by herself in the library. Embarrassed to be caught with a novel entitled
Love Lost Forever
, she had jumped slightly and set the book aside.

Usually Garrett was indifferent to her, but there was an amused gleam in his dark eyes, and the lines on his face had relaxed a little. “What are you reading, child?”

Lidian had flushed guiltily. “A romantic novel,” she had confessed. It was one of her favorites—she had read it many times and brought it with her from Acland Hall. “You must think I’m very silly, my lord, indulging in idle fancies.”

“No,” he had interrupted quietly. “Such fancies can make life very pleasant.” He went to pour himself a drink. “Continue with your reading, child. I’ll be gone in a moment.”

“Lord De Gray…you won’t tell anyone, will you?” She couldn’t bear it if anyone else found out that she had been reading love stories, and teased her about it. She could only imagine how Eric De Gray would mock her.

“Certainly not.”
He had actually smiled. “If you prefer, you may call me Uncle Garrett, as Dollie does.”

Since she already referred to the earl and countess as Uncle Edgar and Aunt Julia, Lidian had nodded in agreement. “Thank you. However…I’m not certain my mother would approve.” It was clear to everyone that Elizabeth did not hold Garrett in the same high regard she had for the other De Grays. Elizabeth frequently directed small barbs at him, criticizing his drinking, his smoking and gambling, and his habit of coming and going at all hours.

“Yes,” Garrett had said dryly, “your mother and I don’t seem to be on the best of terms.”

“I think that is a pity.”

“Oh?”

Lidian chose her words carefully, knowing that Garrett had never seen the side of her mother that was
loving
, charming, and vulnerable. All he had seen was the reserved, disapproving facade that Elizabeth adopted whenever he was near. “I know my mother seems to be prim and proper, and rather critical…but underneath she is a warm and delightful person. She misses my father terribly, and she’s had so much responsibility since he died. If only you…” Lidian stopped, having said more than she had intended.

Garrett’s expression had been unfathomable, but for a moment there had been a curious look in his eyes. “If only?” he prompted.