Tonight or Never (7 page)

John rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, man, will you let me finish what—"

Seated on
Deiter's
lap, Schnapps began baying right on cue, lending atmosphere to his master's words.

John threw his hands up in the air. He turned to Chloe, who had started the whole mess.

She was sitting in her Chippendale chair, looking as innocent as a lamb.
Except for those violet eyes.
They were flashing with deviltry and something akin to satisfaction.

"Feel free to aid me at any time, Chloe," he said dryly.

"Oh no, I think you're doing splendidly, my lord." She gave him a gleeful grin.

Damn, but she is enjoying this
. John rubbed the side of his forehead. Somehow he knew this was only the beginning.

He faced the countess again. "Chloe has asked me—"

"
Chloe has asked you
?" the countess echoed incredulously.

"You see, she feels… she feels…" John wasn't sure how to proceed.

"I feel, John?" Chloe prompted.

He leveled a menacing look at her. He couldn't just tell them about Chloe's proposal and their strange bargain.

Maurice frowned. "Are you saying you have not seduced her, my boy?
Mon
Dieu
! How disappointing are the youth of today!"

"They begin to foam at the mouth…" Dieter pierced John with his eyes, locking him in his sights. Schnapps growled low.

That was it. John stood and shouted to the room at large, instantly rendering everyone silent again. "
We are to be wed and there is the end to it
!"

It was all he intended to offer for an explanation. Let them piece it together in whatever fashion they wished.

Once again it was the marquis who recovered first. "Ah yes, we understand, John; you do not have to explain to us."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Maurice only shook his finger at his nephew and began to hum the same tune again.

John faced Chloe. "What does he mean by that?"

Chloe shrugged her shoulders. John noted she had a very suspicious look on her face.

"When is the wedding to be?"
Grandmere
asked prosaically while returning her hankie to her pocket.

John noted that her eyes were suspiciously dry. It did not pass by the viscount that his uncle and the countess seemed to accept this match all too eagerly. In a moment of honesty, he admitted to himself that they were accepting for his sake, not Chloe's. It was painfully obvious that the chit could have anyone she wanted. Why she chose him—the most notorious rake in
England—must be a puzzle to them all.

Yet they had accepted it.

Such acceptance spoke highly of the nature of the bond between the marquis and the countess. Added to the fact that the countess had always adored John and treated him like family. John's brow furrowed.

But as so often happened when John came upon a facet of emotional revelation, he immediately sought to squelch the troublesome concept.

Shield firmly back in place, he walked over to the Sheraton sideboard and idly poured himself a glass of Hock.

As he brought the drink to his lips, he happened to gaze into the wall mirror facing him. Chloe sat in profile to his view. The firelight reflected off her delicate features, gilding her red hair with highlights. Something about the scene struck him, and he found himself staring at her in the mirror while she was unaware of his perusal.

Who was this self-assured woman?

Oh, she was still his little Chloe, but she was something more now…

Maurice interrupted his reflections. "Well, my boy, we have not heard from you; when is the wedding to be?"

John hesitated. The season was stalling and he supposed it could wait until after that. It wasn't as if he were in any hurry to get married.

His gaze lifted to the mirror again. A spark from the fire illuminated Chloe's bountiful
decolletage
. The rake's sights riveted there. Chloe was beautifully formed, he realized. His hand would just cup…

"As soon as we are able," he found himself saying.

Chloe looked over at him in surprise. She had expected to have to battle him on this issue.

Realizing what he had said, he quickly amended, "That is, after the season, of course."

Chloe pursed her lips.
The reprobate
! If he thought she was going to let him
harry
off to
London for months to do God knew what, well, he had better think that one over again.
Your days of being out and about are over, John.
Over
.

She readied herself for a contest of wills but, surprisingly, Maurice came to her rescue.

He shuddered theatrically. "How well I remember the agony of waiting in my youth." Maurice was ever the Frenchman. And to a Frenchman what could be worse than the horror of delayed desire?

The countess raised her eyebrow. She couldn't recall the marquis in his younger years ever waiting… for anything. He had always been a most impetuous and daring lover. She wondered what the old fox was up to.

It was no secret that he had despaired of John ever marrying. Many times Maurice had mourned the fact that there would be no heir to their family, since he and John were all that was left of the
Chavaneau
line. Technically, John was not a
Chavaneau
, as Maurice's father had married John's grandmother, an English widow who had a little girl. That little girl was John's mother. Maurice was born of their union.

So while Maurice and John shared the same blood, it was not French blood. A fact Maurice had a tendency to ignore. Even though the marquis had English blood as well—indeed, he had inherited his marquis title from his English side—he was French through and through. Consequently, John had become a
Chavaneau
.

The countess also knew that Maurice viewed Chloe as if she were his own granddaughter. It had long been a hope of his that the two children would wed, uniting the families that had always had tremendous affection for each other. In view of Chloe's announcement, Maurice must be dancing on air.

So why was he so contained? She watched him closely.

"The men of my generation have never believed in putting off such things… too much time and the woman may change her mind…" Maurice let his words drift off to indicate that any man would be foolish to take such a risk.

A smile played about the corners of the countess's lips. Now she knew exactly what the sly boots was about—he was concerned it was
John
who might change his mind. After all, the rake had never been predisposed to marriage before. The marquis wanted his nephew secured as soon as possible. Knowing Lord Sexton as well as she did, she couldn't blame Maurice. John was a lovely boy, but he
was
a scoundrel.

John, however, was too wily for his uncle's machinations. He had claimed he would marry Chloe and he intended to—at his own pace.

"Who said anything about waiting?" His low voice held more than a hint of suggestion.

"John!" The countess gasped in false outrage.

"You promised!" Chloe blurted out before she could stop herself.

All eyes focused on Chloe at this disclosure.

The jade ones looked plainly furious; the others were simply shocked.

Chloe supposed that a Lord of Sex who promised to wait was more than anyone would dare to imagine.

After a telling pause, everyone began speaking at once.

"
He
did?" That was
Grandmere
.

"I don't believe it!" Maurice wasn't sure to be angry or elated. On the one hand, it was Chloe they were speaking of; on the other, there was a certain standard to maintain when one was young and active.

"Tie him to the barn!"
Deiter
didn't really have an opinion, but he was always up for a little blood. That was, when he was up.

John closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and shook his head. Could this get worse?

"Sir Percival Cecil-Basil!" the butler announced in a deep tone right before a flamboyant, bedecked man came bouncing into the room, all cheery smiles and frilly lace.

John groaned.
It just got worse
.

"Hi-ho, everyone!"
The heavy scent of eau de cologne preceded the droll voice.

"Sir Percy!" everyone called out in delight. Everyone, that was, except John.

"I have just seen Lady Hinchey and she remarked that you had taken yourself off to the country in some haste, Sexton. Naturally I had to come see for myself that nothing was amiss." He raised his lorgnette and peered at John, presumably looking for wear and tear.

"Lady Hinchey's?"
Chloe narrowed her eyes. So that was where the rogue had been! She could just imagine what had tired him out. Chloe took a deep breath to still her jealousy, refusing to look at him.

Which was a shame, because if she had she would have noticed that Lord Sexton seemed slightly uncomfortable with the disclosure, although his overall demeanor was, as usual, un-apologetic.

"You needn't have bothered, Percy," John intoned wryly, and he meant it in more ways than one.

"Yes, I see why you have left
London in such a hurry—our Heart has returned!" He bent over Chloe, taking her hand to kiss it. She flushed becomingly, which somehow managed to irritate John.

"Do take a seat, Sir Percy. Would you like some refreshment?"

"Thank you, Countess, I believe I shall. It was a tiring journey." He waved his
beringed
hand in the air, seating himself with aplomb. "But I was overcome with worry for John, you see."

"He's fortunate to have such a friend as you. You will be staying for a visit, I hope?" The countess handed him a cup of warm chocolate.

"John and I look out for each other; we've always been the best of friends." He took a sip of the delectable drink, closing his eyes in appreciation. "I can stay for a while, yes."

John's nostrils flared. He sat fuming silently.

Years ago, out of the blue, the man had proclaimed himself John's best friend and that had been that. It had instantly become an accepted reality throughout the ton.

Why the man fancied himself his friend, John could never quite figure out, but wherever John went, Percy was soon to follow.

It was irritating in the extreme.

What was more, the man seemed to have an uncanny ability to know his whereabouts and dealings. He knew with whom he had slept and when, what scandals he had
caused,
what revelry he was pursuing.

It had been going on for years; John had long since given up trying to make sense of it.

It wouldn't be half so bad if Percy didn't get on his nerves so much!

The man was a self-proclaimed connoisseur of everything. Fashion, the arts, music, cuisine; if it was mentioned, he was the authority. His manner was always balanced on the edge of extreme boredom and provocative innuendo. Latin phrases dripped from his tongue at every opportunity.

He was flamboyant, gossipy, and, well, silly. In short, he was a bird of startling plumage even amongst the flock of peacocks known as the upper crust. In recent years, he seemed to become almost obsessed with fashion and appearances, delving into pursuits deemed frivolous even by John's standards.

Yet both the countess and Chloe adored Sir Percival Cecil-Basil.

All of the
ton adored him. He was welcomed into the best homes and he made it his business to know what was going on
in
those homes. By his decree, his close friends called him Sir Percy or just Percy as the name Cecil-Basil was a tongue twister best reserved, in his words, "for the uninformed and the lesser classes."

"So, when are you coming to town, Countess? We miss you dreadfully." Percy was ever the flatterer. In this case, he was sincere, though.

The countess smiled. "Not for some time, it appears. But we have some exciting news to tell, and you shall be the first to hear it, dear Percy!"

Ah, the two magical ingredients of interest to the fop: gossip and being the first one to hear it
. John smirked as he watched Percy lean forward eagerly in his chair.

"Do tell, sweet lady. I am all ears."

John closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. This was going to be a trying night; he could tell.

"Chloe and John are to be wed!" The countess beamed.

"Oh, that." Percy sat back.

"You don't
seemed
surprised," Maurice said, surprised.

"Why should I be?"

John opened one eye. "Why aren't you?"