Lady Whistledown Strikes Back

by Julia Quinn

  “You used to sparkle, girl. When you had absolutely nothing to sparkle about. Now that you do have something to be happy about, you’re like a black cloud.”

  Bella was beginning to feel very unattractive, thanks to Lord Waverly’s metaphors.

  “Now then, I’d say you need to brighten up and accept my son’s proposition. And I don’t want any talk of scandals or tarnishing of names. If you’ll make my son happy and give me grandchildren, that’s all I could ever ask of you.”

  Bella did not know what to say.

  “Here he is now,” Lord Waverly said.

  Bella glanced up, and there was Lord Roxbury a short distance away. She stopped, her heart thumping hard in her chest as he strode toward them out of the groups of people that stood at the shore waiting for the Regent’s show to start.

  “Thank you for bringing her to me, Father,” Roxbury said.

  The man just nodded. “I’ll be on my way then. Must let Brooks know you won’t be accompanying him to the show, my dear,” Lord Waverly said to her.

  “Oh dear,” Bella said, suddenly remembering poor Mr. Brooks.

  She moved to catch Lord Waverly, but Lord Roxbury held her firmly. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  Bella looked up into Roxbury’s soft brown eyes. “I can’t say yes,” she said.

  “Yes you can,” he said. “Try it, it’s easy. You just put your tongue at the roof of your mouth and pull your lips back….” He stopped when Bella rolled her eyes.

  “Listen, Bella,” he said. She blinked, as he had never said her name before. She rather liked it coming from his lips. “I need to hire you.”

  “Hire me?”

  “Yes, I need to hire you to plan every single party I shall ever have for the rest of my life. And it just seems like it would be ever so much easier if you lived in my house. Don’t you think?”

  Bella shook her head and laughed.

  “That’s good, laughing is good,” Roxbury said. “Saying no is bad.”

  “But—”

  “Saying but is bad, too. You can’t say but.”

  Bella giggled.

  “That’s good, too,” Roxbury said.

  “Okay, yes, I’ll do all of your parties.”

  “Starting with my wedding party?” he asked. “In which you will be the star attraction as my wife?”

  Bella stopped for a moment and just watched Roxbury’s face. Such a good face. A good man. She had known he was a good man from the first time they had met. “I know why I love you,” she said. “But why do you love me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Bella scowled.

  “But I do love you. I have never felt like this before in my life, Bella. The thought of marriage and a family always seemed deadly dull to me, but now, if you will be my wife, it is an adventure I crave. I adore you, Bella. You make me believe I can be the perfect gentleman.”

  Bella smiled.

  “So?” he asked.

  “So, yes, I’ll marry you,” she said quickly, before she ran away. She was a little bit afraid of this, but she also knew that she could not live as she had this last week, dreading each day and wishing she could go back and live in the past. She might as well just jump into a very scary, but promising future, rather than stay in a sad present.

  Roxbury’s eyes glowed, and then they darkened, and his head bent down toward her. “Come with me,” he said.

  She couldn’t help giggling as Roxbury pulled her along, through crowds of people and then out onto a walkway that wasn’t lit up at all. It was as dark as pitch, actually.

  Bella snuggled closer against Roxbury’s body. The glittering excitement of Vauxhall was left behind them, and suddenly they were in a place where bad things could happen.

  “Roxbury, I don’t like this at all.”

  “Sh,” he said, pulling her deeper into the darkened walkway. And then they were off the path and behind a very large bush.

  Roxbury immediately pulled Bella into his arms. “I couldn’t continue without having you against me like this.”

  “Oh,” Bella said. “Well, I do like this.” She closed her eyes and sank into Roxbury’s tall, hard body.

  “Tell me again, Bella. Tell me that you will marry me.”

  “I will marry you, Anthony.”

  He made a deep rumbling sound in his throat. “Promise me,” he said.

  “I promise. Could I ask a favor?” she said then.

  “Anything.”

  “I have these brand-new sheets I made for my bed. They’re silk. Could we put them on our bed?”

  Anthony’s body went very still against hers. “First of all, the thought of silk sheets makes it very hard to keep my hands off of you. And second, the way you say ‘our bed’ makes it very hard to keep my hands off of you.”

  Bella pushed a little away from him and tilted her head back. “So don’t keep your hands off of me.”

  “Oh, all right,” he grinned at her. She could see the whiteness of his teeth in the dark, and then she felt him lean toward her, and his teeth were at the lobe of her ear.

  “Oh,” she said on a quick intake of breath, and she arched against him.

  Where her sound had been light, the sound that came from Anthony was dark. It made Bella shiver right down to her toes.

  He trailed his tongue over the lobe of her ear, then just behind it, and Bella felt her legs buckle beneath her. Anthony’s arms tightened around her, his mouth moved to cover hers. She gasped again, taking in Anthony’s smell and taste completely, and suddenly she needed him more than air or food.

  Bella smoothed her hands up Anthony’s chest and linked them around his neck as he kissed her lips softly, tasting her as she tasted him. He moaned as she deepened the kiss, and Bella felt a joy she had never known. She felt safe, and she felt loved, but she also felt wanted and needed and excited as never before. It was heady and thrilling.

  She leaned her head back so that her lover could take her mouth without hindrance, and he plunged his hand into her hair, holding her against him. She pressed against him, wishing she could climb right inside of him. He was hard against her, his thigh pushed between her legs, and she opened. Her most intimate woman’s place pressed against the muscle of Anthony’s leg, and she knew that she had just found a new excitement. She could not help the languorous, but heated, sound that escaped her.

  Anthony’s fingers curled in her hair almost painfully. “God, Bella, I shall come undone,” he said against her mouth.

  She giggled breathlessly. “I am undone, my love,” she said.

  “I could only wish it were so,” Anthony purred, and Bella felt his words in every nerve ending of her body. Instinct told her exactly what was supposed to happen then, and she needed it, wanted it. She wanted to breathe his air, feel his voice instead of hear it. And she needed more. She needed him to be one with her.

  She pushed aside his coat, her palm against his slightly damp shirt. His chest was hard and warm, and she wished she could tear every thread of clothing from his body in that very second and take him into her.

  And then the bushes around them rustled and people were suddenly in their own private area.

  “Oh!” Bella cried.

  “So sorry,” a deep voice said. Bella could just make out a tall man and a slim, blonde woman with him before they ducked away.

  “Was that?…”

  “That was Easterly and his wife,” Anthony said.

  “That’s what I thought. You know, I could swear I saw them digging holes behind a bush in Hyde Park the other day. They seem to be lurking in strange places lately. I had never imagined Lady Easterly to be the sort of woman to lurk.”

  “Yes, but you are also lurking, are you not?”

  Bella giggled.

  “And I don’t think I’d ever imagined you to be the sort of person to lurk.”

  “No, it is completely because of your bad influence, my lord.”

  “I do try, my lady.”

  “Oh my,” Bella said, her bo
dy shaking at the reminder that she was going to be a lady. It was a very scary thing to be, she thought.

  Anthony’s arms tightened around her. “We’re having a moment, Bella, enjoy it.”

  She laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “You have no idea.” He kissed her lips, and she shivered. “Now, where were we?” he asked.

  “Our bed and silk sheets,” she said.

  “Right,” and he took her mouth in a kiss that was even better than the one before it. And Bella just closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment. And she knew with all of her heart that she was not going to have much difficulty enjoying the next few million moments of her life.

  Mia Ryan

  Mia Ryan writes to stay sane. Those around her know that she hasn’t been writing enough when she starts slipping into bouts of inane chatter about painting bathrooms, crocheting blankets, and planting a garden. All of these things she has tried, actually, but with tragic results. Fortunately, she is hard at work right now on her next novel. Her latest book, The Duchess Diaries, hit the shelves December 2003. Visit miaryan.com to learn more about it.

  The Best of Both Worlds

  Suzanne Enoch

  For my uncle, Beal Whitlock,

  whose laugh I will miss.

  And for my aunt, Kathleen,

  to whom I send a basketful

  of hugs and kisses.

  Chapter 1

  …but enough talk of Lady Neeley’s ill-fated fête. As difficult as it is for much of the ton to believe, there are other subjects worthy of gossip…most notably, London’s bluest-eyed earl, Lord Matson.

  Although not intended for the title (his elder brother died tragically last year), Lord Matson does not seem to be having difficulty assuming the mantle of man-about-town. Since arriving in London earlier this Season, he has been seen with a different eligible female on his arm each day.

  And at night, with ladies who would not be considered eligible at all!

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 MAY 1816

  “But we weren’t invited,” Charlotte Birling said.

  Her mother, seated behind the morning room’s oak writing desk, looked up from the new Whistledown column. “That doesn’t signify, because we wouldn’t have attended, anyway. And thank goodness for that. Imagine us standing about chatting, and having Easterly walk in. Infamous.”

  “Sophia didn’t have to imagine it. She was invited.” Charlotte glanced at the mantel clock. Nearly ten. With a quickening heartbeat, she set aside her embroidery. She needed to get to the window without her mother making note of it.

  “Yes. Poor Sophia.” Baroness Birling tsked. “Twelve years of trying to forget that man, and just as her life begins to recover, he reappears. Your cousin must have been mortified.”

  Charlotte wasn’t so sure about that, but she made an assenting sound, anyway. The clock’s ornate minute hand jerked forward. What if the clock was slow? She hadn’t considered that. Or what if he was early? Unable to help it, she bounced to her feet. “Tea, Mama?” she blurted, nearly tripping over her cat. Beethoven rolled out of the way, batting his paws at the hem of her gown.

  “Hm? No, thank you, dear.”

  “Well, I’ll just have some.”

  Her gaze out the front window, she splashed tea into a cup. The street in front of Birling House boasted a few stray leaves, fooled by the cold weather into thinking it still winter, but nothing else moved. Not even a vendor or a carriage on the way to Hyde Park. Above the sound of paper rustling at the writing desk, the clock ticked again. Charlotte took a sip of tea, barely noting both that it was too hot and that she’d forgotten to add sugar.

  And then, she forgot to breathe. Heralded by a jingle of reins, a black horse turned up the lane from High Street. The world, the clock, the clopping of hooves, the beat of her heart seemed to slow as she gazed at the rider.

  Hair the color of rich amber played a little in the soft morning breeze. The dark blue beaver hat shadowed his eyes, but she knew they were a faded cobalt, like a lake on an overcast day. His jacket matched the color of his hat, while his close-fitting dun trousers and his polished Hessian boots said as clearly as any gold-embossed calling card that he was a gentleman. His mouth was set in a straight line, relaxed but somber, and she wondered what he might be thinking.

  “—lotte? Charlotte! What in the world are you gaping at?”

  She jumped, spinning away from the window, but it was already too late. Her mother nudged her sideways, leaning forward to peer through the window at the passing rider.

  “Nothing, Mama,” Charlotte said, taking another swallow of tea and nearly gagging at the bitter flavor. “I was just think—”

  “Lord Matson,” the baroness stated, reaching over to yank the curtains closed. “You were staring at Lord Matson. For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, what if he’d looked over and seen you?”

  Humph. She’d been looking out the window at him for the past five days, and he hadn’t turned his head in her direction once. Xavier, Earl Matson. For all he knew, she didn’t even exist. “I’m permitted to look out my own front window, Mama,” she said, stifling a sigh as the Arabian and its magnificent rider vanished behind green velvet draperies. “If he saw me, I hope he would assume that I was looking out at our fine roses, which I was.”

  “Ah. And you regularly blush at the sight of roses, then?” Baroness Birling resumed her seat at the desk. “Put that scoundrel out of your mind. You have the Hargreaves’ Ball this evening to prepare for.”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning, Mama,” Charlotte protested. “Putting on a gown and pinning up my hair doesn’t take ten hours. It barely takes two.”

  “I don’t mean physical preparations. I’m referring to mental preparations. Don’t forget, you’ll be dancing with Lord Herbert.”

  “Oh, bother. The only preparation I’ll need for that is a nap.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until the baroness swept to her feet again. “Obviously, daughter, you have forgotten the efforts to which your father went in seeking out Lord Herbert Beetly and ascertaining his interest in finding a wife.”

  “Mama, I didn’t—”

  “If you require a nap in order to behave in an appropriate manner, then go take one at once.” Scowling, the baroness crumpled the Whistledown column. “And have a care with that tongue of yours, lest you end up in here as well.”

  “I never do anything, so I don’t see how that could possibly happen.”

  “Ha. Sophia’s only error was in marrying Easterly twelve years ago. And even after not seeing him in all that time, even after living an impeccable life for over a decade, the moment he reappears, her name becomes associated with scandal again. Whatever you may think of Lord Herbert, he will not cause a scandal. You can hardly say the same for that man you were gawking at. Lord Matson has been in Town for less than three weeks, and he’s managed to be noticed by Whistledown.”

  “I wasn’t gawk—” Charlotte snapped her mouth closed. At nineteen, she knew all the steps and turns of her mother’s tirades. Interfering now would only make things worse. “I’ll be in my room, then, napping,” she said stiffly, and left.

  Besides, in all honesty, she had been gawking at Lord Matson. She didn’t see the harm in it. The earl was exceedingly handsome, and gaping at him through a window or passing by him on the way to the refreshment table was the closest she was likely to get. Dashing, unmarried war heroes certainly weren’t allowed on the Birling premises. Heavens, one might wink at her and cause a scandal.

  It wasn’t as if she wanted or expected to marry him, or something. Even without her parents’ obsession with respectability and propriety, she knew better than that. The handsome, daring men were for dancing and flirting. Marrying a man who always had an eye toward his next conquest—that seemed a sure path to misery.

  But he hadn’t flirted with her or asked her to dance. Charlotte sighed as she reached her bedchamber, Beethoven on her heels. It would never happen. She coul
d tell herself that her parents would warn off any male with a single blot on his reputation, and so they would, but she wasn’t likely to attract any such man’s notice, anyway.

  Considering she’d only risen two hours earlier, napping didn’t hold much appeal, though Beethoven had already curled up on her pillow and was snoring softly. Instead she retrieved the book she’d been reading and sank into the comfortable chair beneath the window. Ordinarily she would have pushed open the glass, but since summer refused to appear and the sky had already begun throwing down yet another drizzle, she pulled a knitted throw over her legs and settled in.

  This was how she prepared for her encounters with Lord Herbert Beetly—by pretending to be somewhere else. In her favorite novels princes and knights thrived, and even third sons of minor marquises were either heroic or villainous. And no one in the faerie realms could be said to be dull.

  Charlotte lifted her head, gazing at her faint reflection in the rain-streaked window. Heavens, what if that described her, as well? Was she dull? Was that why her father had chosen Lord Herbert as her perfect match? Narrowing her eyes, she intensified her scrutiny.

  She wasn’t a ravishing beauty, of course; even without the occasional muttered commentary disparaging her height and her less than bountiful bosom, she’d seen herself often enough in the dressing mirror to know. She did like her smile, and her brunette hair with its tint of red. Brown eyes, but she did have two of them, and they were set at the appropriate distance from her nose. No, it wasn’t her appearance. It was the way she always felt like a duck, quacking among elegant swans.

  So she enjoyed gawking at Xavier, Lord Matson while he rode to his daily boxing appointment at Gentleman Jackson’s. And in all fairness she wasn’t the only one who liked to look at him—and at least she didn’t doodle his name linked with hers at parties, as she’d seen other girls do. She knew better. But it was still nice to daydream, once in a while.

  As the hall clock signaled nine in the evening, Xavier, Earl Matson shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed the sopping wet thing over to the care of one of the Hargreaves’ footmen. He took his place in the line of nobility awaiting introduction into the main ballroom, welcoming the rush of warm, if highly perfumed, air coming from inside, which didn’t quite cover the faint musty smell. He imagined that in a very short time he would find it stifling. The event itself closed off his breathing, made him want to yank off his cravat and flee back into the cool, dark evening.