by Golden Angel
Sitting next to him, with no conversation, she could not help noticing how much of the seat he took up, his thigh pressing against the side of hers, his elbow moving against her arm as he handled the reins. Every part of her body felt extra sensitive in his presence, little prickles moving over her skin, especially where they touched.
She needed some kind of conversation to distract herself from her body’s unnerving reaction.
“What is your club called?” She tilted her head toward him, watching his profile. One edge of his lip quirked, but that was his only reaction.
“Which club?”
“You know which club.” The words came out almost accusingly, and he chuckled.
“You mean the club you are not supposed to know about?”
“I mean the club you will have to tell me about if you want me to believe you have any true interest in courting me.” Mary turned her nose up, facing forward again, her temper stirred. He could not truly expect to marry a woman and keep such a large part of his life separate from her, could he? Well, she supposed he could. There were many among the ton who lived separate lives, but Mary did not think she wanted that. For some reason, she did not think he did, either. “I will not marry a man known to run a secret club without knowing more about it. I do not like to blindly walk into situations.”
“Fair enough.” He paused for a moment, steering the horses around a cart on the side of the street and likely giving himself a moment to think. “We call it the Society of Sin, or more often, the Society.”
“And are you all sinners?” she quipped, half-serious. She did not know how much of the group’s activities she had actually witnessed. Could there be more?
“To one degree or another,” he answered affably, one shoulder lifting in an insouciant shrug. “There are many things Society considers sinful, but which harm no one. Whereas many are harmed by the very same people sitting in judgment of others. The Society is for those of us who do not care to be bound by Society’s strictures or sometimes, its laws.” There was a strange tightness to his voice, almost of anger, which drew Mary’s attention.
“You do not care much for the ton?” She was truly curious, as his attitude was highly unusual for someone who was ranked so highly within it. There were certain benefits that came with his title, allowing him to move through Society, no matter how scandalous his behavior became. While some of those among the lower echelons grumbled, those solidly entrenched in the top tiers seemed to take their privileges for granted.
Hartford snorted with disgust.
“Society is a pit of vipers, always watching and waiting for someone to fall, and very often, their reprobation falls on the wrong person. They do not care, so long as they have a carcass to pick over.” He turned the curricle toward the park entrance. “There are exceptions, of course, but as a rule… ah, and here we go. Not just a pit of vipers, but all of them neatly lined up for us, waiting to sink their teeth into the juicy gossip that the Marquess of Hartford is courting Miss Mary Wilson.”
“If they even know my name,” Mary said, bemused enough to be bluntly honest with him without thinking about it. He was right. Several carriages had come to a grinding halt the moment they entered Hyde Park, various monocles and spectacles rising to noses to see just who was accompanying the notorious Marquess of Hartford.
If a misstep occurred between them, it would be Mary’s reputation that would suffer. There might be a few who blamed Hartford for any scandal, but really, most of them would say, what could she have expected, becoming involved with him?
Sighing, she sat up straighter, noticing several approving nods from the ladies examining her appearance. Thanks to Aunt Elizabeth and Arabella, none of them could ridicule her presentation, even if they did not know who she was.
“Rotten Row, first,” Hartford said. “We should let the grande dames inspect us, lest they feel affronted at not being the first in-the-know.”
For one who disdained Society, he understood it very well. Mary nodded her agreement.
Rex
Miss Wilson turned out to have a rather wicked, if quiet, sense of humor. Freed from the social constraints of polite conversation by their odd beginnings and his frank confessions about his views of Society, she apparently felt free to make all sorts of observations sotto voce as he drove through the park. More than once, Rex found himself stifling a laugh, doing his best to keep his expression properly somber. She wasn’t cruel in her witticisms, but like him, she clearly had no patience for hypocrisy or duplicity, both of which were rife among the ton.
A familiar rider approached on a large bay horse, fixing Rex with a dark frown as he came closer. It took Rex a few minutes to place the Earl of Durham. It had been years since they had seen each other at school. They had not been friends, but not enemies, either. He could not understand why the man was frowning at him until he felt Miss Wilson perk up beside him. The earl’s gaze shifted and softened. Ah, they were acquainted, enough so, Durham felt protective.
Exasperation threaded through Rex’s emotions. First the Hood brothers, now Durham. Did they really think he would abscond with a debutante, ravish her, and go on his merry way? Miss Wilson’s family he could almost understand. She was in their care, and Thomas Hood did not know him personally. Durham should know better, though.
“Elijah!” Miss Wilson beamed, and Durham’s expression turned to a fond smile. A little trickle of jealousy pricked Rex, but he ignored it. There was nothing in Miss Wilson’s demeanor to indicate there was an understanding of any kind between them, even if she knew him well enough to call him by his Christian name. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same,” Durham said amiably, although his blue eyes were icy when he turned them on Rex, a sharp contrast to his brown hair. “Hartford.”
“Durham.” Rex let a touch of reproof color his tone. Seriously, he wasn’t going to tarnish Miss Wilson’s reputation just by taking her for a drive—far from it. Everyone knew he was searching for a wife. Miss Wilson frowned, looking back and forth between them, clearly sensing the growing undercurrent of tension.
“Do you two know each other?”
“We went to school together,” Durham said. “We had some common interests. Things that most leave behind after their youth.”
Rex rolled his eyes. For whatever reason, Durham had turned into a stuffy prig over the years. Otherwise, Rex might have invited him to join the Society, but when he had once broached the subject, Durham had scolded him for not outgrowing his ‘youthful endeavors.’ If Durham wanted to deny that side of himself, that was his problem.
“Like what?” Miss Wilson asked, so artlessly and innocently, Rex almost choked on a laugh. The little minx. She knew exactly what and clearly enjoyed the way her question made Durham color up and squirm in his saddle.
“Never mind, ’tis not important.” Durham gave her another nod, then met Rex’s gaze. “I happened to see you and wanted to say hello.”
He was ensuring Rex knew Miss Wilson had allies. That was what he wanted. Rex barely managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes again.
“Well, hello, then,” Miss Wilson said cheerily, easily breaking the tension between the two men and nearly causing Rex to snort again. “It was lovely to see you. Will you be at the Farthingale’s ball this evening?”
“I just might.” Durham nodded again sharply before turning his horse off onto another path, looking over his shoulder as he went.
“Do you think he expects you to ravish me here on the carriage seat?” Miss Wilson murmured.
This time, Rex did not bother to stifle his reaction—grinning widely, he caused a small stir among the barouches where Ladies Jersey and Cowper were watching them intently. The gossip would be flying this afternoon.
“Well, you are wearing a very fetching dress,” he riposted. Miss Wilson preened. Rex shifted in his seat, trying not to think too hard about how much fun it would be to ravish her in the middle of Hyde Park. He diverted his attention ba
ck to the horses before he proved Durham’s suspicions correct.
Chapter 10
Mary
The Farthingale’s ball was a mad crush, and Mary was its belle.
The unsettling experience was made only slightly easier by the gown she had allowed her Aunt Elizabeth and Arabella to choose for her. Shimmering blue material dipped low over her breasts, and the puff sleeves sat like little clouds on her arms as the swishing silk of the skirts moving against her legs. Her hair was coiffed to perfection, gold curls spilling down the back of her neck. Blue topaz winked at her throat, ears, and wrist, adding a touch of sparkle to the ensemble.
Anyone who had not been at Hyde Park that afternoon had already heard the gossip before they arrived at the ball, and she was swamped by those suddenly desiring an introduction to her. Not just the dames and gossips, but also a surprising number of gentlemen, a slightly quizzical look upon their faces as if they were trying to figure out why they had never noticed her before. Mary smiled at them, but her reaction to all those gentlemen was very reserved.
No matter what Aunt Elizabeth and Arabella had said, she still wanted a man whose reason for noticing her wasn’t because a different man had noticed her first. While she realized she had never gone out of her way to draw attention, the very opposite, in fact. She was still piqued how many gentlemen now found her worthy of their consideration. Perhaps one of them would prove to be worthwhile, but in the meantime, her appraisal of their characters was not flattering.
“There you are!” Josie elbowed her way past Lord Shrove, shooting him a winning smile in apology. Apparently dazzled, the young gentleman smiled back, flummoxed by the beauty’s attention. He certainly was not going to make Mary’s list. Lily followed behind Josie, quieter but just as determined. “We have been looking everywhere for you.”
Her eyes flashed, and Mary suppressed a sigh. Knowing her friends would hear the gossip, she had managed to dash off a quick note of warning after returning home from the park, but she knew they would not be satisfied with that.
“Please excuse me,” Mary said prettily to the group of gentlemen thronged around her. “I need to speak with my friends.”
“We will not keep her long,” Josie lied, hooking her arm through Mary’s, already tugging her away. Raising her fan, Mary managed to catch her aunt’s eye, who was speaking with the Marchioness of Dunbury, likely about Felix and Gabrielle’s growing brood. The Marchioness was Gabrielle’s stepmother, though only a few years separated them in age, and their relationship was strained but slowly repairing. Normally, Mary would have hovered around her aunt, listening to the conversation, but tonight, that had been impossible. Seeing Josie and Lily by Mary’s side, her aunt waved her hand in understanding.
Just in time. Josie was practically dragging her through the Farthingale’s ballroom, Lily hot on her heels. There were little alcoves tucked away along the sides, likely meant for socially acceptable semi-private moments between courting couples or for the grande dames to sit and gossip, but also suitable for their needs.
“You must tell us everything,” Josie said vehemently, throwing herself onto the couch and pulling Mary down with her. Lily plopped down on Mary’s other side, sandwiching her in between.
“He is courting you?” Lily whispered, sounding worried.
“I… think so.” Mary rubbed her skirts nervously, eyes darting back and forth, but no one seemed inclined to follow them into the alcove. They were curious but would see what anyone would expect—a gaggle of young women, looking for a quick word of gossip between friends. Interrupting them would be rude, although Mary fully expected to be pounced on as soon as they left the alcove. That was how her entire evening had proceeded.
“He drove her in Hyde Park in full view of the ton. Of course, he is.” Unlike Lily, Josie’s tones were somewhere between scandalized and gleeful. “He has not driven any other woman since when he was courting Lady Arabella.”
“But is it a real courtship? Mary cannot marry him if he turns out to be a traitor.”
“He is not a traitor,” Mary interjected. She had no proof, but she could not believe it of him. The man’s sense of honor and morality was too ingrained. He was a rake who was determined to court her properly and preserve her reputation, even though he could have her as his bride without lifting a finger of effort if he wanted. While the morals of his Society of Sin might not match the laws of England, they were not the least bit harmful. There was absolutely no possibility of him being a traitor.
Both Josie and Lily turned back to her, ready to pounce.
“Then, it is a real courtship?” Josie was definitely more gleeful than scandalized.
“Does he know you are investigating him?” That was pragmatic Lily. “Does Evie know he is courting you?”
“Yes, no, no, and I will have to tell her tomorrow.” Mary sighed. Keeping her voice hushed, she told them everything.
Rex
As expected, the ton was aflutter with speculation and expectation by the time he arrived at the Farthingales’ ball. He had spent a fruitless evening railing at Lucas, but he didn’t know if his words had had any effect. Lucas had still been suffering from indulging too deeply the night before and had waved off Rex’s worries.
Perhaps the time was coming when he really should let his friend reap some of the natural consequences of his actions. He could protect Barnes, at least, so he still wouldn’t be affected by Lucas’ lack of funds. He would have to think about it on the morrow.
Tonight, he wanted to cement his place at Miss Wilson’s side.
Descending the staircase into the ballroom, he ignored the twittering and whispers of the ton. Miss Wilson was not where he expected her to be—truthfully, he thought it likely she would be knee-deep in new suitors—but the many glances cast to the edge of the ballroom led him to his quarry. She was seated in one of the privacy alcoves with her two friends from the at-home.
Seeing an opportunity to ingratiate himself to her companions, Rex grinned widely and strode forward. All three of them sat upright when they saw him coming, conversation ceasing and eyes widening. Clearly, they had been speaking of him, guilty expressions flashing across all their faces.
“My Lord!” Miss Wilson jumped to her feet, hastily curtsying, the other two following her only a moment behind.
“Miss Wilson.” He bowed and smiled his most charming smile. Miss Pennyworth beamed back at him while Miss Davis tilted her head, her dark eyes studying him intently. She was already gaining a reputation as an outspoken bluestocking and Miss Pennyworth that of an Original and a bit of a hoyden. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your friends.”
Meeting his gaze, Miss Wilson pursed her lips, appearing a touch exasperated, although she covered it well.
“My Lord, this is Miss Josephine Pennyworth and Miss Lillian Davis. Josie, Lily, the Marquess of Hartford.”
“Ladies.” He swept another, deeper bow. “Please call me Rex.” The request was directed at Miss Wilson, although he included the other two.
“Rex. Latin for The King?” Miss Davis’ voice lilted upward, turning it from a statement to a question—she was not asking for confirmation of her translation, but whether or not he thought of himself in such lofty terms. Rex’s practiced social smile turned into a true grin.
“Some in Society might consider me so.” A little joke. It was the Society which had first given him the moniker, which should have gone over two of the young ladies’ heads, yet all three expressions blanked. Hmm… he might need to have a word with Miss Wilson about discretion. A tendril of disappointment uncurled inside of him. He had not thought it would be necessary.
“Miss Wilson? I believe they are about to play the waltz.”
The first notes of music drifted through the air as he spoke, and he held out his hand. Looking more reluctant to leave her friends than excited to see him—rather lowering, that—she placed her hand in his.
“You may call me Mary,” she murmured, allowing him to pull
her to his side. Tilting her head, she cast a sardonic glance his way. “Even though Rex is not your first name.”
“It is the name I am known by.” He shrugged, unapologetic. Leading her onto the floor, they took their place among the couples just in time for the music. Stepping forward, he spun her about in silence for a few moments, letting her feel the power of their movement and his strength as he whirled her across the floor. “I did not expect I would need to ask you to keep my secrets quiet.”
A tiny pink blush bloomed on her cheeks.
“They already knew.” She wrinkled her nose. “Surely, you realize you and your club are the centers of a great deal of gossip.”
“Yet you did not know the name of it until I told you.” Sternly, he looked down at her, his voice deepening. “Tell them nothing else. Everything about the Society is to be kept a secret, without exception. It is the only way we have been able to continue safely for all these years. You will not like the consequences if you disobey.”
Her cheeks went from pink to hot red, and Rex’s cock twitched. He would not mind turning her bottom cheeks that color again. Unfortunately, he could hardly whisk her away to administer discipline. Too many eyes were on them—and would be on them while he was courting.
As long as they were within the ton’s arena, he had to play by the ton’s rules. If she trespassed onto his territory again, he would be able to deal with her transgressions more directly.
Which he truly needed to stop contemplating as it only added to his amorous torment.
Mary
Dancing with Hartford—Rex—Mary was surprised her body did not go up in flames, especially when he threatened her with another spanking. He said she would not like the consequences, but the moment he mentioned them, a hot flash of arousal stirred between her thighs. Her body had decided it liked the consequences and wanted more of them.
