“I lost sight of them,” Thorn shouted over the orchestra. “Lady Arabella is supposed to be in attendance with her mother.”
St. Lyon blinked at the news. “Lady Norgrave, eh? Do you know if the Blackberns will be attending the ball?”
“I do not know.”
The strained civility between the Blackberns and the Norgraves was often discussed by the gossips. Wagers had been placed in the betting books on whether Chance and Tempest’s marriage would put an end to the old feud once and for all or would simply open old wounds. Much to the frustration of the ton, neither family seemed willing to publicly air their grievances for the bloodthirsty lot.
For Chance and Tempest’s sake, Thorn hoped that the two families could find some way to live with their old secrets.
“I expected to see Gideon and the rest of your family here,” St. Lyon continued. “The countess must have invited half of London to draw this crowd.”
Thorn shook his head. “I never bothered to ask the marchioness her plans for the evening.” He had been too distracted by Miss Lydall.
“And Gideon?”
He tipped his head closer. “He had other commitments,” he replied vaguely, still aggrieved that he was as in the dark about his twin’s evening as the viscount was.
St. Lyons’ casual stance straightened as something in the distance caught his attention. “There may be a few seconds for you to slip into the garden.”
“Why would I do that?” Thorn asked, peering in the same direction as his friend. “Who is—”
To his right, the crowd parted for Lady Millicent Atson. The twenty-four-year-old dark-haired beauty wore a short-sleeve blue satin dress with a stomacher decorated with diamonds and small pearls. She wore small white flowers in her hair and a transparent veil arranged like the hood of a cloak.
“Thorn,” Lady Millicent said, her light brown eyes alight with pleasure as she admired him from head to toe before switching to his friend. “And Lord Bastrell.” She dipped low and curtsied, offering both gentlemen a glimpse of her low bodice. “When a friend of mine told me that Thorn, St. Lyons, and Rainbault had arrived without an invitation, I called the lady a liar. Now I owe her an apology.”
“When we learned of Lady Purles’ ball, we immediately altered our evening plans,” St. Lyons said, always eager to engage in a little flirtation.
“I am overjoyed that you did,” Lady Millicent said, adjusting her veil, a subtle gesture to draw the gentlemen’s gazes to the soft swells of her breasts.
Her attributes were considerable and worthy of tribute.
His mother had warned him before they had departed for London that the latest on-dit was that the young lady was eager to find a husband this Season after the gentleman she was engaged to had cried off and then eloped with his mistress before the banns could be posted. Her family was furious. According to the marchioness, very few people were privy to the details of the gentleman’s true fate. Lady Millicent was telling everyone that her betrothed was obliged to leave the country because he had fought a duel in her honor to garner sympathy.
Lady Felstead also had predicted that Lady Millicent would look to add Thorn to her list of potential husbands. It explained why she had been so happy to encounter him at Malster Park.
Although he could barely recall speaking to the chit. Miss Lydall and their accidental swim in the lake with Gideon had been in the forefront of his mind that day.
“I heard congratulations are in order, my lady,” St. Lyon said, amused by the young woman’s artful wiles. The viscount considered himself something of an expert when it came to seduction and had often stated that true beauty required little adornment or trickery to draw a gentleman’s eye.
Of course, St. Lyon rarely resisted the feminine nets cast to capture his heart. The rewards were too pleasurable to deny himself and the lady. As far as Thorn could tell, there had not been a silken lure fashioned that his friend couldn’t wriggle and escape from if he desired.
“Someone told me that you are betrothed.”
Thorn tried to quell St. Lyons with a look.
Lady Millicent’s light brown eyes flared and a hint of vulnerability seeped into her expression. “It is an old rumor and decidedly false.” Her attention switched to Thorn. “Though I do have high hopes for this Season.”
“I have no doubt of your success,” the viscount said, noting her undisguised interest in his friend. “What man can resist such an enchanting creature as you? At this late hour, I suppose all of your dances have been claimed.”
St. Lyons, the scoundrel, stepped closer, until the lady had no choice but to pay attention to him. He clasped her hand lightly and brought it to his lips.
There was a slight hitch to her breath as she held the viscount’s gaze. There was an unspoken invitation. Would the lady accept?
“I regret all of my dances have been claimed, St. Lyons,” Lady Millicent sighed. “Dare I hope you will ask me again?”
St. Lyons lowered their clasped hands, his gloved fingers caressing hers before he released her hand. “It is my personal motto to never disappoint a lady.”
Thorn covered his mouth with his clenched fist to cover his laughter. His friend’s double entendre was squandered on Lady Millicent, but she appeared to be pleased that she and St. Lyons would be partners in the near future.
Knowing his friend well, he would claim more than a dance from the lady.
This was a good time to come up with an excuse to leave the couple to their discussion. Before he could speak, Lady Millicent slid her light brown gaze from St. Lyons to Thorn.
“My lord, would you honor me with a turn around the ballroom?” she asked, and then turned to his friend. “Forgive me, St. Lyons. It is of a personal nature.”
“Of course.” St. Lyon bowed. “I will take my leave and look for Chance and his lovely wife.”
He maneuvered his way carefully so as to avoid colliding with the elbows of the guests surrounding them. Over Lady Millicent’s shoulder, St. Lyons sent a silent apology to Thorn, revealing his flirtation with the lady had been a ruse to distract her from her original target.
Him.
Thorn inclined his head to acknowledge his message. “We will speak later.”
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia could not recall when she had not enjoyed herself more at a ball.
For a solid hour, she and Lady Arabella had moved about the ballroom as they amused themselves with the games they had invented. In spite of Lady Purles’ attempts to open more windows and doors, the ballroom was too stifling to dance. The guests had taken refuge outdoors or had sought less-stifling rooms throughout the house.
When four ladies had collapsed from the heat in front of her and Lady Arabella, her companion declared the countess’s ball a huge success. Everyone would be talking about it at the breakfast table.
Lady Arabella had introduced Olivia to her family’s friends and acquaintances, and Olivia wished she could have returned the kindness. She recognized several of the guests from last Season, but she had either forgotten their names or felt it would be too rude to claim familiarity.
Things will be different next spring, Olivia silently vowed.
She was already changing. Gone was the little girl who used to dance barefoot in the woodlands. She hadn’t even recognized her own reflection when she had admired the new dress that had been delivered from the dressmaker’s shop.
It must have been Lord Kempthorn’s doing. Even after she had ordered him from her residence, he must have returned to the dress shop to ensure her purchases would be finished.
He had kept his promise.
Olivia shrugged, content not to dwell too much on the earl. For some reason, he likely would not approve of her attending Lady Purles’ ball with Lady Arabella and her mother, so she had no intention of telling him.
Her enthusiasm had waned slightly when she and Lady Arabella had searched in earnest for her sister and it was apparent that Lady Fairlamb was not in the ballroom. Aft
er one of the footmen had confirmed the marchioness and her husband were present, the two ladies had gone upstairs to check the open gallery that encircled the grand staircase and led to various rooms.
“Tempest might have been overwhelmed by the heat too,” Lady Arabella had reasoned and Olivia had agreed.
It wasn’t until the two ladies had approached Lady Purles’ informal parlor and overheard a man and woman arguing that Olivia regretted their decision. When she recognized Lord Fairlamb’s angry voice, she touched her companion on the arm to restrain her.
“You cannot intrude,” Olivia whispered.
From within the parlor, they heard the young marchioness’s soft sobs.
“Tempest needs me,” Lady Arabella said, her beautiful face in torment. “I sensed something was wrong when we went shopping, but she denied it.”
“How long did you plan to keep this from me?” Lord Fairlamb’s muffled fury made both ladies on the other side of the closed door flinch.
“I was not trying to deceive you, Chance,” his wife tearfully replied. “At first, I was not certain—”
“And later? Christ, woman, you have known for at least two months and you kept it a secret from your own husband!”
“You are not guiltless, my lord. You knew and yet you did not confirm your suspicions,” Lady Fairlamb shouted back. “You remained silent.”
There was a thud, as if someone had knocked something over. “Aye, I suspected. How could I not? However, it was your right as my wife to tell me that you are anticipating our child.” There was an ominous silence. “Unless you taking steps to rid yourself of it. Is this why you have been visiting your mother?”
“You go too far, Fairlamb,” the marchioness thundered.
Lady Arabella looked as thunderstruck as Olivia felt.
“I have to find my mother,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “She will know what to do.”
“Wait,” Olivia hurried after her friend. “What we overheard was private, between a husband and his wife.” She caught up to Lady Arabella and caught her firmly by the arm. “You cannot interfere. Neither your sister nor Lord Fairlamb will thank you for telling your mother. Besides, I do not understand why your sister is concealing the news of her condition. This is good news for the families.”
Lady Arabella’s expression was bleak. “For some, perhaps. Not all.”
“I do not understand.”
“This is family business,” her friend said coolly. Olivia felt as if she had been slapped. “If Tempest and Chance are fighting, my mother will want to know.”
“I will come with you—” Olivia began.
“No.” Lady Arabella pulled her arm from Olivia’s grasp. “Remain here and watch the door.”
“I will not!” Olivia said, stepping away from her friend. “What if I am caught? If your sister and brother-in-law see me, they will know I was eavesdropping.”
Her friend grimaced as she stomped her foot in frustration. “Then be discreet about it. If Chance leaves my sister alone, I want you to watch over her. If she tries to leave, tell her that Mother and I are on our way to her.”
“I am not comfortable with this.” Olivia felt awful for disappointing a friend. “This is meddling.”
“Very well, then don’t help me.” Lady Arabella turned away and marched down the passageway.
With guilt suffocating her, Olivia trailed after her friend until she reached the open gallery. She bit her lower lip as she watched Lady Arabella descend the staircase.
“This is wrong,” she muttered to herself. “If the Fairlambs catch me spying on them, I will never live down the gossip. Lady Felstead will ban me from ever visiting Malster Park again. Thorn and Gideon will never speak to me again, and my father will likely send me back to Treversham House for the rest of the season.”
Lost in thought, she did not realize she was standing alone until she suddenly became aware of three gentlemen surrounding her.
One of the men nudged his closest companion with his elbow. “I told you that not all of the amusements were downstairs.”
* * *
Lady Millicent had coyly suggested they could admire the countess’s gardens instead of remaining in the crowded ballroom. In their youth, Thorn recalled a time or two when he and the lady walking beside him had slipped away into her family’s gardens and shared a few stolen kisses. Curiosity and the excitement of indulging in something new and forbidden had spurred him more than genuine attraction. Not long afterward, he had left for boarding school, and those innocent kisses had been forgotten.
“I recommend we explore Lady Purles’ open gallery. I have heard her art collection is quite extensive,” he said as he steered her toward the main entrance of the ballroom. He knew very little about the countess’s art collection, but Rainbault had told him and St. Lyon that she had recently renovated the upper gallery in time for her ball.
“Are you worried about my reputation, Thorn?” Lady Millicent lightly mocked.
“Mine is the one likely to be questioned,” he replied with sincerity. “I was certain that your father had discouraged you to avoid the Netherwood twins a long time ago.”
“It was the one bit of advice that I choose to ignore.”
Thorn and Lady Millicent slowly threaded their way through the main hall. Several of the young lady’s acquaintances smiled and nodded as they strolled by, making him acutely aware that they were on display. His mother would be pestering him with questions in the days to come when she learned of it.
“What is this family business that you wished to discuss privately with me?” he asked.
The lady hesitated. “We will speak upstairs.”
Thorn was willing to indulge her for the sake of the families, but there were limits to his patience. “My friends will be expecting me to return to them soon. We have other plans for the evening.”
Instead of commenting on his obvious ploy to disentangle himself from her clutches, her gait slowed as they ascended the staircase. “Your brother did not attend the ball this evening?”
“No.”
“Isn’t it strange,” she mused out loud. “When I conjure a mental image of you and your twin, he is always at your side.”
“Not always.” Not for a long time.
“That is the way of life, I suppose,” Lady Millicent said wistfully. “As we grow older, we spend less time with those we love.”
The casual observation put him on edge, as did most conversations that involved Gideon.
“It is the nature of things.”
Once they reached the top of the staircase, Thorn surveyed the area. Lady Purles’ guests had found their way upstairs and the gallery was filled with small groups admiring the paintings, marble statues, ancient weaponry, and tapestries that covered the walls and filled the alcoves. The circular gallery was connected to at least three other corridors and a large rectangular saloon.
Lady Millicent looked displeased by the number of guests who had assembled in the area, but she had selected their destination. “Shall we go left or right, my lord?”
The lady was stalling. “It hardly matters since we will eventually return to this exact spot.”
She gestured away from the large saloon. “I prefer the right.”
“Very well.”
After a few steps, he and Lady Millicent halted in front of a painting that captured the moment when Castor and Pollux rescued their sister from the King of Attica. She stood beside him, and for a few minutes he wondered if she had forgotten him as she studied it.
She sighed and walked on. “It was kind of you not to correct me when I told St. Lyons the news of my betrothal was false.” She sent a wry glance in his direction. “Oh, do not bother denying it. Your expression gave you away. How long have you known?”
“Since Lady Felstead’s fete at Malster Park,” Thorn admitted. “Rest assured, I have no interest in spreading gossip. It is your private business and it will remain as such.”
“I do not mind speaking
of it with you, my lord. After all, you were the first boy who was brave enough to steal a kiss, and thus I credit you for the beginning of my perilous journey of meeting gentlemen of questionable character.”
“You honor me”—Thorn paused and then threw back his head and laughed—“and insult me in the same breath. Well done, my lady.”
Lady Millicent was two years younger than Thorn, and though he could not recall if she was the first girl he had kissed, she had been his second or third. He had kissed many girls that summer.
“When I was introduced to Mr. Howard two and a half years ago, my family declared he was perfect for me. We shared similar interests, or so he led me to believe. It was later that I learned of his affection for actresses and Hazard.” Lady Millicent walked ahead of him and stopped in front of a Venus reclining for eternity in marble. “A magnificent piece, do you not agree? Look closer and inspect the small details.”
Thorn dutifully obliged and bent down to study the marble lady. One of Venus’s hands partially covered her left breast as if to shield her nakedness. The sculptor had tangled her legs with a sheet, giving him a glimpse of the shadowed hollow at the apex of her thighs. It was a provocative piece that invited the observer to caress the marble flesh.
Thorn was beginning to notice a dedicated theme to Lady Purles’ art collection, forcing him to reevaluate his opinion about the elderly countess. Lady Millicent moved closer, but he sensed she was staring at him instead of Venus. Her proximity made him want to loosen the knot at his throat. He stared at the statue, deliberately keeping his hands at his sides. “Exquisite.”
“I agree.”
At five foot two, Lady Millicent was shorter than Miss Lydall and was not burdened with the shyness that seemed to tongue-tie the other lady. With their heads so close together, she placed her hand on the nape of his neck, pulled his mouth to hers, and kissed him.
* * *
“Good evening, my lords,” Olivia said genially as the three gentleman positioned themselves around her to block a quick escape. “Have you lost your way in this grand old house?”
Their faces were youthful, so she assumed they were a few years younger than her. One had flaxen-colored hair that curled around his ears. The other two were dark haired. The fellow to her right wore his hair tied at the nape of his neck and had light blue eyes, and the other wore his hair loose and his eyes were dark brown. All three were handsome in their own way, but she could smell the alcohol on their breaths.
Waiting for an Earl Like You Page 17
