To Wed a Wild Lord (5 page)

Then there was her beautiful hair, glossy black and swept up into some arrangement of feathers and plaid ribbons and dangling ringlets that made a man itch to take it down. And her face, too—all pert and pretty, from her saucy chin to her high, aristocratic brow. Not to mention her eyes. A man could wander for days in the depths of those cool lake eyes.

Lyons drained his wine glass and placed it on the tray of a passing footman. “Her hatred of you will be a serious obstacle to winning her. Especially since you’re not good with women.”

“What? Of course I’m good with women.”

“I don’t mean the doxies and merry widows who pursue you because you’re the Angel of Death. You don’t have to do anything to get
them
to like you—they just want to see if you’re as dangerous in bed as you are on the race course.” Lyons glanced back at Miss Waverly. “But she is a respectable woman, and they require finesse. You have to be able to do more than bed them. You have to be able to talk to them.”

Gabe snorted. “I can talk to women perfectly well.”

“About anything other than horses? Or how lovely they look naked?”

“I know how to turn a woman up sweet.” The dance ended, and Gabe saw Devonmont leading Miss Waverly from the floor. When the orchestra struck up a waltz, Gabe arched an eyebrow at Lyons. “Ten pounds says I can get her to dance the waltz with me.”

“Make it twenty, and you’re on.”

With a grin, Gabe sauntered off toward Miss Waverly. Devonmont was headed for the punch table. Good. That should make things easier.

As he approached her another man also did so, but Gabe took care of that with one warning glance. The man paled, then headed in the other direction.

There were definite advantages to being the Angel of Death.

She seemed oblivious to what had just happened. Tapping her foot to the music, she stared bright-eyed at the couples taking the floor. Clearly she was eager to dance again. This shouldn’t be too hard.

Gabe made a wide circuit so he could come up behind her. “Good evening, Miss Waverly.”

She stiffened, refusing to look at him. “I’m surprised to see you at such a dull diversion, Lord Gabriel.
My late brother
always said you disliked balls. Not enough danger, I suppose, and few opportunities to create mayhem.”

He ignored her emphasis. “Every man needs the occasional break from mayhem. And although I dislike the insipid punch, insincere smiles, and inevitable gossip, I enjoy the dancing. I’d be pleased if you gave me the honor of the next one.”

A sharp breath escaped her, and she finally turned to fix him with a cold gaze. “I would rather immerse myself in a vat of leeches.”

The vivid image made him bite back a smile.

“Thank God.” When she blinked at him, he added, “I was worried you might accept, and then we’d have to discuss that racing nonsense.”

He turned as if to walk away, and she said, “Wait!”

Ah, he had the fish on the line. He faced her again. “Yes?”

“Why can’t we discuss it right here?”

He cast a meaningful glance at the people straining to overhear the conversation between the notorious Angel of Death and the notorious female rumored to have challenged him to a race. “I’d have thought you’d prefer the privacy of a waltz for that, to prevent any chance of your grandfather finding out what you’re contemplating, but if you don’t care—”

“Oh.” She glanced nervously about. “You do have a point.”

“It’s your decision,” he said casually. “You would probably just as soon forget the whole thing, in which case—”

“No, indeed.” She lifted her chin and said in a carrying voice, “I’d be happy to dance with you, Lord Gabriel.”

“Very well.” With a cordial smile, he took her to the floor, casting a triumphant glance back at Lyons. When the duke lifted his eyes heavenward, Gabe grinned.

Not good with women, hah! What did Lyons know about it?

True, he rarely had dealings with respectable females, but he could get a woman to marry him. He was eligible enough, despite the scandal that surrounded his family, and he was generally accounted to be handsome. And he should soon inherit a tidy fortune.

Granted, Miss Waverly had a certain bias against him, but her current situation was very precarious. All he need do was show her his good side, soften her up a bit, and then point out the practical advantages to a marriage between them.

How hard could it be?

Chapter Two

A
s Lord Gabriel took her to the floor, Virginia’s mind wandered to a fantasy of race day. Unlike her brother,
she
wouldn’t be too drunk to win. She would reach the finish line ahead of Lord Gabriel, having cut him off before he reached the boulders. Crowds of people would cheer, saying, “Those Waverlys certainly have pluck.” His friends would jeer at him for losing to a woman.

She’d show him
she
wasn’t intimidated by his black phaeton and clothes and reputation. She would end his posturing as the Angel of Death, so Roger could finally rest in peace. And she could stop feeling as if Lord Gabriel tromped all over her brother’s grave every time he ran another reckless race.

“You’re looking very lovely tonight,” Lord Gabriel said.

His remark took her off guard. “What has that got to do with anything?” They were supposed to be talking about the race.

He blinked. “I was just saying that you look nice in that gown.”

She stared at him. “Do you think I don’t realize my gown is three years out of date? I know the sleeves look ridiculous, but I did my best with remaking it, and—”

“Miss Waverly! I’m
trying
to pay you a compliment.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “Oh.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because that’s what a gentleman does when dancing with a lady,” he said irritably.

“Not when he’s only got the space of one waltz to discuss a matter of great importance,” she countered. “We’re supposed to be talking about when to have our race. And we don’t have much time.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered under his breath.

“Did you think that if you flattered me, I’d forget the whole thing?”

His eyes looked a brighter green under the candles—less like a forest and more like an ocean. “No. I was hoping to remind you of your place in the world.”

“Which is?”

“As a respectable member of society. One who attends balls and is sought for dances.” His voice deepened. “
Not
one who is ostracized for engaging in a scandalous race.”

Perish the man, he was as bad as Pierce. “Racing you isn’t scandalous,” she said tartly. “People do it all the time.”

“The rules are different for men than for women, especially unmarried ones, as you well know. Racing me will instantly reduce your prospects for marriage.”

Why did he care? “You assume that if I
don’t
race you, lords and rich merchants will drop at my feet like beggars at a feast.”

His eyes became carefully blank. “Is that what you want? For a lord to beg to marry you?”

“No, indeed,” she said as he led her expertly in the turns. No great surprise that he was a good dancer. He was probably good at anything that involved manhandling women. “I want to stay at home and take care of my grandfather until he dies. No lord would allow that. Even if I could find one who begged.”

“I see. And what does your grandfather think of that plan?”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “That is none of your concern.”

“Ah, but it is.” He drew a deep breath. “Because of Roger’s death, you’ll lose your home when the general dies. Waverly Farm is entailed upon your cousin.”

A chill ran down her spine. “How did you know that?”

“I hired a Bow Street runner to look into your situation after you challenged me to that race.”

She gaped at him. “You . . . you . . .
what
?”

“He tells me that things have been difficult. Your grandfather had planned on Roger’s inheriting the stud farm and helping him run it. Then Roger died. And when you turned sixteen, the general was thrown from a horse and incurred serious injuries, so it has taken him some time to—”

“How
dare
you!” she hissed. He’d dug into her family’s private affairs? How mortifying! “Poppy is fine.
We
are fine, you . . . you presumptuous wretch.”

She tried to break free of him right there, but he gripped her hand and waist so tightly that she’d have to make a scene to get him to release her. And she wasn’t about to humiliate herself before him and his lofty friends, who were probably laughing about it this very minute.

He bent close, his expression oddly resolute. “The stud farm is struggling, and he can’t afford to give you a season or a sufficient dowry. So don’t pretend that your refusal to marry is a choice. The truth is, your situation makes it difficult for you to find a husband. You’re just making the best of the bad hand dealt to you.”

She wanted to sink into the floor. No, she wanted to
slap
him for his unemotional recitation of their problems.

“This ball tonight is the first you’ve ever attended,” he went on. “And you’re only here because I persuaded the duke to invite you and your family.”

She fantasized driving a stake through his heart. “I should have known. You want to humiliate me before your friends, as revenge for my making you a laughingstock with my challenge.”

“Oh, for the love of God—” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Even if you
had
made me a laughingstock, which you haven’t, I have no desire to humiliate you.” He stared her down. “I got you invited so I could make you a proposition. Since I doubted that your grandfather would allow me to call on you, I had to arrange matters myself.”

His gaze on her was intent, serious . . . disturbing. It filled her with a strange feeling of wariness. “A proposition having to do with our race?” she asked, her heart beating violently in her ears.

“Damn it to blazes, no! I’m not interested in racing you.”

“Aha! Now the truth comes out. I hadn’t thought you a coward.”

Something glittered in his eyes. “And I hadn’t thought you stupid.”

The edge in his voice made her shiver, and not entirely with fear.

She hadn’t known Lord Gabriel when he was Roger’s friend. Roger had considered her too young, at thirteen, to hang around with him when he was with his lordly friends. Besides, the men had generally been at school, and when not there, they’d met in London, either at some tavern or at the town house owned by Lord Gabriel’s grandmother, Mrs. Plumtree.

So she’d seen him only once—at Roger’s funeral. Even that had been a mere glimpse, since Poppy had ordered him off the grounds the moment he’d arrived.

Still, that glimpse had been enough to make her hate him for surviving the race that her brother had not. Though perhaps he wasn’t quite what she’d thought.

“All right then, not a coward,” she conceded. “So I don’t understand your reluctance to race me. You seem to race whoever challenges you.”

“Not women.” His gaze burned into her. “Not Roger’s sister.”

“As if that matters,” she scoffed. “You’ve never shown any interest in my family before.”

“That’s because I was unaware that you—No matter what you think of me, Roger was my closest friend. I cared enough about him that I don’t want to see his sister embroiled in a scandal. I’d like to propose something else instead.”

She couldn’t imagine what that might be. “I want to court you,” he finished.

For a moment she thought she’d misunderstood him. Then she noticed the expectant look on his face and realized he was perfectly serious.

“
You
? Court
me
?” She imbued the words with as much contempt as she could muster. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.”

He didn’t look the least bit insulted. “Hear me out,” he said as he whirled her about on the highly polished wood floor. “Thanks to me, you have no one to provide for you. If Roger had lived, he would have inherited Waverly Farm and you would have always had a home, but since he didn’t, you’ll lose it when your grandfather dies.”

“And your solution to that is that I marry you,” she said, still hardly able to believe what he offered.

“It’s the least I can do. I don’t expect you to leap into it willy-nilly, but surely you could consider a courtship.” His eyes gleamed at her beneath the warm glow of the gas lamps. “You might find I’m not so awful once you get to know me.”

“I know enough already to tell me that you’re arrogant, nosy, prone to make assumptions—”

“I spoke the truth about your situation. Admit it.”

“You overstepped your bounds,” she said stoutly. “You had no right.”

He muttered a low curse. “I’m
trying
to help you.”

Humiliation washed over her. The only thing worse than being proposed to by your worst enemy was being pitied by him. “I don’t need your help, sir. And I certainly don’t need—or want—you as a husband.”

The scoundrel didn’t even flinch. “Only because you’ve heard some foolish gossip about me. Give me a chance. I might surprise you.” He flashed her a cocky smile. “Your brother liked me well enough.”

“Yes, and he ended up dead for his pains,” she shot back.

A stricken look crossed his face, and she almost wished she could take back the words. Until that vestige of grief vanished, replaced by a steely determination that frightened her.

“That’s exactly why I’m offering to make amends by marrying you,” he said with a cold lack of emotion. “Because you have a grim future ahead of you if you don’t find a husband.”

What a monstrous thing to say, even if it
was
true. She tipped up her chin. “I’m perfectly content living with my grandfather.”

“He won’t live forever. And when he dies—”

“I’ll find a position as a lady’s companion.”

Lord Gabriel scowled. “And be subject to your patron’s every whim?”

“As your wife, I’d be subject to
your
whims. Why is that better?”

“Because I would have your best interests at heart. Your patron would not.”

“Then I’ll become a governess.”