by Stacy Reid
“I am aware,” the marquess said blandly, flicking a fly away with his long, tapered fingers.
“Then why in damnation are we here?” Tobias growled.
Westfall smiled, the scars roping the left side of his face twisting. “I’m a bit partial to Jenny’s Inn. The people here are more trustworthy than those at White’s. Here, I know they all want to fleece me, stick a knife between my ribs, and take my boots, watch, and anything else of value. I am comfortable because I know what to expect. There is no hypocrisy in the slums.”
Hell.
“I heard tell that you are soon to be engaged.”
“For a man disinclined to scandal and gossip, you are well-informed.”
Tobias smiled. “My mother delights in gossiping, especially when the subjects concerned are my friends.”
Westfall grunted.
“Are you intending to marry a society miss?”
“Perhaps.”
Tobias was stunned. Westfall despised society and those who belonged to it, and he made no effort to conceal his distaste to the ton. He refused to conform and they labeled him a degenerate for it. His exploits were bandied about Town with relish and Westfall only associated with ladies of questionable morals, which was why Tobias was surprised to hear he’d formed an attachment with a young society miss, one Lady Honoria. He remembered her as being very excitable and had personally seen the young lady faint at least three times. What was Westfall thinking?
“I can see you are itching to dissuade me from the idea of matrimony. I’ve decided, so it makes no sense to waste your energy on arguments, Blade.”
Tobias had nothing to say to that. “Are those the plans?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the rolls of papers.
“Yes. There are hundreds of children that need me…us. Many lost their fathers in the war. Some are abandoned in poor houses and baby farms.”
He nodded and dived into the detailed building plans, discussing monies required to be invested and the time scale each would take to construct, the difficulties they might face to wheedle further funds from wealthy patrons, and what they were willing to do themselves. Hours passed, and the entire time he conversed with Westfall, in the back of Tobias’s mind, his thoughts were filled with Olivia.
After she had placed the slugs between his sheets, he had spent the rest of the night in the library, writing, trying to drain the lust pounding through his veins with words. He’d been surprised when he’d returned to his chamber in the morning, after a hard ride across the lanes, to find her bent over his bed, her delicious posterior in the air, gently collecting her slimy conspirators and putting them in a bucket. She had actually helped clean up her mess. He had been eternally grateful that a chambermaid had been present or he was sure he would have done something like push her gown up and bite her on her delightfully shaped behind.
He chuckled darkly. Westfall glanced up from the architectural drawings.
“Do you care to share what has you amused?”
“It’s not amusement, it’s anticipation,” he said, shocking himself.
The marquess arched a brow and slouched more insolently than before. “Ah…you are hunting a particular woman. Another Cyprian? Rumors report that your current chère amie has been complaining to her bosom friends. She feared you were getting restless.”
Tobias froze, then scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was he even talking about? “I misspoke. I do not want her…yet she intrigues me. A decidedly complicated situation, for I have no intention of ever acting on my desires.”
Westfall considered him, then a smile twisted his lips. “If she is a doxy, bed her, pleasure her well, and move on. If she is a lady of quality, do the same. Both types of women are not to be trusted and your instincts are already warning you. Heed them.” After administering his cynical sage advice, he went back to studying the plans and making notes in exquisite flowing script.
Tobias leaned back in his chair. What was he to do about Lady Olivia? He desired her. It was now an inescapable fact. She was a damn distraction, and though she was everything he did not desire in a woman to be his wife, he was drawn to the breathtaking hoyden.
Since he did not want to take her to be his wife…his mistress? God’s blood. She was the daughter of a baron. She was a lady and he was coldly plotting to debauch her when it was possible she might secure a suitor and a life of respectability. Tobias stared off vacantly into the distance, trying to settle the thorny problem of his lust for Lady Olivia. The best thing to do was to stay away from his country estate until she traveled to Town for the Season. But tomorrow was the ball in which his mother would formally introduce her to their neighbors and the select few she had invited down to stay for her house party. He wanted to be there, if only to provide a distraction and allow Olivia to turn her wayward tongue his way. That was all he would provide, a buffer, and as soon as she was received by the guests reasonably well, he could hide himself off in Scotland until she was wed. Maybe then he would be able to banish her alluring face and far-too-tempting body.
If only he believed such a thing possible…
Chapter Six
The laughter and hum of conversation faded into a distant buzz. Tobias had known Olivia was beautiful, but watching her descend the stairs drove the air from his lungs. She was exquisite, bewitching, and also a complete sham. She looked nothing like the hellion who had ridden Arius across muddy lanes or the scandalizing minx who had swam in his lake.
The young lady before him now was composed, elegant, and ravishing in a high-waisted, white-spangled gauze overdress with the palest green satin underskirt. Her silver satin dancing slippers sparkled under the candlelight. Her dark red locks were wrapped around her head in a plaited coronet, with a few artful tendrils caressing her shoulders. Tobias allowed his eyes to dwell on every swell and dip of her body, and he gritted his teeth when his body stirred. Only a dead man wouldn’t react to such mouthwateringly succulent sensuality.
“Good God, man,” a voice whispered to his left. “Have you ever seen a young lady so becoming?”
Never. But to admit it to Grayson was akin to speaking blasphemy.
“I wonder who she is?” his brother asked, moving to stand beside him. Grayson was a man of fashion and he was dressed in crème-colored breeches with a matching waistcoat and a dark blue jacket.
“You saw her a few weeks ago at the lake,” Tobias said drily.
“You jest. Lady Olivia? I would not have recognized her had you not named her.”
Tobias had nothing to say to that announcement. They watched in silence as his mother introduced her to several well-connected ladies, smoothly steering her charge to the few women of power who were present. Olivia smiled, nodded, and performed to the best of her abilities, but even from where he stood, Tobias could see the strain in her smile. A languid feeling coursed through his veins. He liked watching her. Unusual indeed.
“She’s a stunning creature, isn’t she?” Grayson murmured, sipping from a glass of champagne.
“I don’t find her all that admirable,” Tobias said icily. “She is too…” What the hell was she? Too desirable? Too decisive? Too opinionated? He was disturbed to find that he was not as disinclined to her character as he had been.
In fact, he had been modeling a character in his book after the vexing beauty and had written several pages last night. With her fieriness and vivacity, she would fit easily into his world of danger and espionage where the women were bold, daring, and even at times lethal assassins themselves. Oh yes, a woman like her would make a perfect mistress for his hero, Wrotham. He’d named his hero’s lover Lady O. His new diabolical villainess, a perfect match for Wrotham’s cunning. Who would credit he found such inspiration from Olivia?
“Are you aware you cannot remove your eyes from her?” Amusement colored his brother’s tone.
“I am but observing her reception.”
Grayson’s chuckle was suggestive, and Tobias stiffened.
“Lady Olivia is my gu
est and tonight is her first ball in years. Mother asked me to be in attendance tonight and, of course, I must dance with the hoyden,” he remarked ruefully.
“You…dance?”
Tobias grunted.
“All of London will be atwitter with such news. The Earl of Blade deigning to lower himself to dance with mere mortals.”
“You are being insufferable. And we are in the country…I doubt me dancing with Lady Olivia will cause such a stir.”
Except it just might. Tobias gritted his teeth in annoyance. He did not have time to suffer the fickleness of society. He had estates to repair and a well-protected safe house to build for desperate women and children. The last place he truly wanted to be was here…staring at a woman he would never allow himself to have. One he was undeniably lusting after and whom he must dance with, though he had not taken such a pleasure with any lady of society for about three years. He had grown weary of the theatrics of the Season and the overly dramatic nature of each crop of debutantes. The tears, the swooning fits, the plots to trap him into marriage.
The gossipers of society attending this country ball at his estate would indeed start wagging their tongues at his unprecedented interest. Though they were in Derbyshire, the scandal sheets would report he had only danced with Lady Olivia and then the speculations, the unceasing watching and reporting of his every move would begin again.
God’s Blood.
He would have to swallow his tongue and ire and dance with at least one other young lady before taking into his arms the woman he truly wanted to avoid more than anything else. Then Tobias would have to ensure he stayed away from her, once and for all.
…
Her first ball in nearly four years and Livvie was not huddling in a corner, bleeding from a multitude of cuts as she had always imagined. The countess of Blade was very popular, and invitations to her country parties, which were held before the opening of the little Season, were well sought after. Tonight’s ball was a crush. The gentlemen and ladies were dressed in the height of fashion, and the ballroom buzzed with laughter and inconsequential conversation.
Livvie’s mouth ached from keeping her smile bright. Everyone was pleasant, but she could see the questions and the recognition in their eyes. She was the girl whose father had killed himself. No lips uttered the damning truth but it was glaring that almost an hour had passed and no gentleman had asked for her hand to dance. The disgrace was never to be forgotten.
The countess had melted away with a shoo for Livvie to mingle, and she had found herself lingering on the edge of the ballroom with a glass of champagne in her hand, dearly wishing she was snuggled in her bed, reading In the Service of the Crown. She had left it at a particular rousing chapter, where Wrotham was seducing the Princess of France for highly classified secrets. Livvie had never read a seduction before and her nerves were quite titillated by the pages.
“The Duke and Duchess of Wolverton!” the butler’s booming voice announced.
There was a ripple of excitement from the throng as the duke entered with his beautiful duchess. They mingled and smiled, and Livvie wondered if she had ever seen a more beautiful and well-matched couple. The duke looked besotted, and he and his duchess fairly glowed.
“It’s the mad duke,” Francie whispered behind her.
“Francie!” Olivia smiled, relieved to see a familiar face. “Where were you?”
A blush heated her friend’s face, and Olivia noted her lips were a bit swollen. “Francie?”
She looped her hands through Livvie’s. “It’s the truth. That is what the ton calls him, you know.”
“You are disassembling. I have it on the highest authority that well-kissed lips do appear a bit swollen, as yours are at this moment.” Of course she would not admit the authority on kisses she referred to came from a fictional character in a book. “Unless a bee stung you?”
Francie’s cheeks bloomed pink. “We will certainly not talk about kisses here,” she said with a surreptitious glance across the ballroom. “However, we can discuss the mad duke, for everyone else is certainly doing so.”
“He looks quite sane to me.”
“And so very handsome. I’ve heard many young ladies cried when he was taken from the marriage mart.”
A very unlikely notion, but Livvie held her tongue. “If he was so desirable, why was he called the mad duke?”
“I have no notion,” her friend said with a giggle.
“Oh, Francie, you are hopeless, listening to such gossips.”
She arched a brow. “Does this mean you are not interested in a very juicy tidbit about the duke and his duchess?”
“No, I am not,” Livvie said firmly.
“Have I found something you insist on being proper about? Be still, my heart.”
She grinned. “Very well. You may tell me, but I shall not repeat a word of it.”
“They married a few months ago because she trapped him by climbing into his bed!”
She gasped. “Scandalous…and wonderful!”
“Indeed,” Francie said smugly.
Livvie watched the couple, admiring the duchess’s daring. Tobias approached, and from the fleeting grin and nod he bestowed on the duke, it was evident they were friends. “She is very beautiful…and from the way the duke touches her, I do not think he minded terribly that she compromised him,” she said softly.
“Oh no, from all accounts, he is love-struck with her, and she with him. Mamma says it is a good match.”
A good match. The very thing her mother and stepfather were depending on her to make, but Livvie was painfully aware no one had asked her to dance, even though she had been presented as the guest of honor. It would crush her mother to realize no gentleman would truly want her with the stain of her father’s weaknesses and her lack of fortune.
“Oh! Tobias is dancing,” Francie said, rousing Livvie from her musings.
She was about to query why such a thing would be unusual when she became aware of how many people were staring at him and his partner and whispering. The young lady fairly glowed, and Livvie could pick out which of the matrons was her mother from the sheer smugness on her features. “Who is his partner?”
“That is Lady Phoebe, the Marquess of Westfall’s sister.”
Livvie frowned. “I am not familiar with him.”
“I should hope not! He is a disgraced lord”—Francie leaned in close—“who has publicly claimed his bastard to the distress of his father, the Duke of Salop.”
Livvie gasped. “Francie! That is a horrible thing to repeat, and how have you become aware of it?”
She sighed. “Mamma is a notorious gossip. She and her friends tend to speak a lot when we make the rounds.”
Livvie nodded, unable to remove her eyes from Tobias and Lady Phoebe. “They are very charming and beautiful together.” And she was the daughter of a duke, well-connected and without blemish. No doubt the type of young lady Lord Blade would take to be his wife.
“They surely are, but do you see the way she is glowing and giggling? If he had any interest in her, he has already lost it.”
Livvie would analyze later why the notion filled her with relief. “He has?”
“Yes, my brother does not appreciate a too-obvious public display of emotion. He has already suffered one broken engagement because of it.”
Livvie’s heart jolted. “Tobias was engaged?”
“Yes, to Lady Sophie, now Viscountess Wimple. Rumor has it, he missed an outing without notifying her. He had been called away on an emergency and was hard-pressed for time to send a note,” she whispered.
Livvie frowned, unwilling to engage in gossiping but wanting to know more about the coldly intriguing earl. “And then?” She contained a wince at her own whisper.
“Lady Sophie threw a tantrum. No doubt she never imagined he would break the engagement. It was the scandal of the Season that year.”
Livvie shook her head in disbelief. “He ruined her reputation because she was angry?”
F
rancie hesitated. “When Mother asked him to reconsider, Tobias said he’d had enough tantrums and hysterics to last him several lifetimes and he would not be persuaded to reconsider Lady Sophie. My brother values modesty, grace, and good sense in a young lady. His words.”
Livvie understood a bit more about Tobias, and she was startled at the ache blooming in her heart. It was not that she wanted the man for herself, but it was finally clear why he did not like her.
“There she is,” Francie whispered. “It was perverse of Mother to send an invitation to her family.”
Livvie glanced in the direction Francie indicated to see a very beautiful young lady staring intently at Tobias. A man stood at her side chattering, gazing at her with something akin to adoration, but her eyes remained firmly on the earl.
A young man walked over then, a smile planted on his face, his eyes glued to Francie’s loveliness. He bowed. “Lady Francie.”
Livvie dipped into a curtsy after swift introductions had been made. The gentleman was revealed to be young Lord Andrew, heir to a viscountcy.
“May I have you as a partner for the next set, Lady Francie?” he asked, all affable charm.
With a quick smile, she agreed, and he flushed, bowed, then scampered away.
“Oh, Livvie, no one has asked you to dance.”
She ignored the pinch in her heart. “Think nothing of it, for I shall not.”
“I shall importune upon Lord Andrew to ask you—”
“Francie, I would never forgive you! I do not require his or your pity.”
“It is not pity. You are more beautiful than most of the young ladies here, and he is the kind of man your mother would want for you to attract. His family connections are considerable.”
“No.”
“Come on, Livvie, there must be someone you find agreeable. Remember you are here to find a husband.”
