More or Less a Marchioness

by Anna Bradley

  He seemed angry, as if she’d done something inexcusable.

  Iris darted a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was focused straight ahead, as if he’d forgotten she was there at all. When they neared the house, he paused. “You’re quiet, Miss Somerset. I’m afraid you’re fatigued, after all.”

  Iris looked up into his handsome face. He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and she could see he only waited for the moment when he could escape her company. “Yes, I—I believe I am.”

  “Come, then. I’ll escort you to the terrace.”

  “No, thank you, my lord.” She withdrew her arm from his and took a step away from him. The sun was warm, but Iris rubbed her hands over her arms to chase away a sudden chill. “That is, I’ll come after I fetch my wrap from the house.”

  “I’ll fetch it for you. Where is it?”

  Her shoulders moved in a listless shrug. “I don’t remember. The drawing room, perhaps, or—”

  “Never mind. I’ll find it.” He hesitated, then to Iris’s surprise he reached forward and slid his warm fingers under her elbow, cupping it briefly. “I’ll join you on the terrace in a moment.”

  He bowed and turned toward the house.

  A large party of young people were arranged on the terrace, where Lady Fairchild was serving tea, and Violet and Lady Honora looked up hopefully when Iris joined them, but the moment they saw her expression, both their faces fell.

  “There you are, Miss Somerset.” Honora’s mother, Lady Fairchild, gave her a gracious smile. “Tea?”

  “Yes, thank you, my lady.” Iris accepted the teacup, but her hands shook, and the teacup rattled in its saucer. She took care not to look at Violet or Honora, but she could feel their sympathetic gazes, and her face burned with shame.

  “What’s become of the rest of the party, I wonder?” Lady Fairchild set her teacup aside. “Lord Wrexley’s been gone for an age. Have you seen your cousin, Honora?”

  Iris glanced toward the door that led out onto the terrace, and panic made her throat close. Lord Huntington would be back at any moment, and she’d have to sit here and pretend he hadn’t just dashed her every hope—

  “No, Mama, but I suppose he’s in the garden somewhere, with the rest of the gentlemen.”

  “Well, bother. We won’t wait for them, will we? How did you all do with the scavenger hunt? Come, let’s see what you’ve brought back for me.”

  Iris lurched to her feet with a jerk that made her tea slosh over the rim of her cup. “Oh, dear. I’ve lost my rosebuds, and I forgot the red petals. I’ll just run back to the garden and fetch them, shall I, Lady Fairchild?”

  “Yes, all right, dear. Do hurry back.”

  “Yes, I will, my lady.”

  Iris stumbled toward the garden, half-afraid she’d run into Lord Huntington on her way, but she made it to the rose arbor without encountering a soul and sank onto the bench. She’d just gather herself together before she had to face Lord Huntington again. She’d only stay a few moments, just long enough for her knees to stop shaking, then she’d paste a pleasant smile on her face and do her best to keep it there until this wretched afternoon was over, and—

  “Good afternoon, my lady. What are you doing here?”

  For a single moment Iris thought she’d imagined his voice, but only one gentleman had such a low, slightly mocking drawl. What was Lord Huntington doing in the garden? She’d seen him walk into the house not ten minutes ago.

  “Oh, Huntington!”

  Iris froze. The second voice was high, feminine, and ringing with despair.

  Lord Huntington wasn’t in the house anymore. He was here, in the garden, on the other side of the arbor, and he wasn’t alone.

  Iris staggered to her feet. Every instinct urged her to flee before she heard anything more, but she was already moving, her slippers silent on the gravel pathway. There was a gap between the thick, thorny rose branches, just large enough for her to peer through. She pressed her face to it, and glimpsed the folds of a dark red gown fluttering in the breeze, and long, black curls resting against delicate white shoulders.

  Lady Beaumont.

  Iris knew her at once, and her heart shifted in her chest, but not in the pleasant way it always had before whenever she looked at Lord Huntington’s lips.

  No, this was a shift into panic.

  Where in the world had Lady Beaumont come from, and what was Lord Huntington doing alone in the garden with her?

  She soon had her answer.

  Iris watched through the gap in the branches as Lady Beaumont threw herself at Lord Huntington, and his arms closed around her.

  Chapter Two

  Half an hour earlier

  “What’s the matter, Derrick? Couldn’t find a rosebud?”

  Lord Derrick was striding across Lady Fairchild’s lawn toward Finn, a grim look on his face. “You have a problem, Huntington.”

  Finn yawned. “I can’t think what, unless you mean my poor showing in the scavenger hunt. Not a rosebud to be had, but if I can bear the shame of it, surely you can.”

  Lord Derrick wasn’t amused. “On the contrary, your humiliation for the day has just begun.”

  “Well, what is it? Do the ladies require my assistance?” There were few things Finn loathed more than a scavenger hunt. He would have done the gentlemanly thing and escorted Miss Somerset into the garden despite his aversion, but she’d hurried off with her sister and Lady Honora without a backward glance at him.

  “No, Huntington. It’s Lady Beaumont. She’s in the garden.”

  Finn blinked. Lady Beaumont? What the devil would his former mistress be doing in Lady Fairchild’s garden? “I think the sun has addled your brain, Derrick. That’s impossible.”

  “One would think so, but she’s there. I saw her with my own eyes behind the beds of red roses, and she looks as if she’s ready to claw the petals off every one of them. I’ve never known a woman with a nastier temper. You did say she didn’t take it well when you broke with her, didn’t you?”

  “She cracked my carriage window with her riding crop, Derrick. I think we can both agree she didn’t take it well. But how would she get into the garden? There’s no chance a high stickler like Lady Fairchild would invite a woman of Lady Beaumont’s reputation to her scavenger hunt.”

  “No doubt she bribed one the servants to let her in.”

  “Jesus. Do you think she’d go that far?”

  “I think she has gone that far. Do you suppose a lady who’d crack a window with her riding crop would hesitate to bribe a servant? And she’s here, isn’t she?”

  “Damned clever plan.” Ugly, but clever. He should have expected something like this from her. She never did anything by accident, or by halves. Whatever her reasons for being here today, she’d do a thorough job of it.

  “Clever enough to work. I’d advise you to go into the garden and fetch Miss Somerset at once, while I escort Lady Beaumont off the property.”

  “No, Derrick. Fetch Miss Somerset for me, will you? Say her sister wants her, and escort her back to the terrace where she’s out of the way. Lady Beaumont will refuse to stir a step out of the garden until she sees me and says whatever it is she’s come to say. Christ, what a bloody mess.”

  Finn dragged a hand down his face. Lady Beaumont might very well snatch the petals off every rose in the garden, but they weren’t her primary target. If she managed to get her claws into Miss Somerset, she’d rip her to shreds.

  “Yes, all right. Go, Huntington, before she catches up to Miss Somerset, and it’s too late.”

  But Finn was already gone, rose petals drifting to the ground in his wake as he ran through the garden. Short of stuffing her into a burlap sack, he hadn’t any bloody idea how he’d get Lady Beaumont out of here without anyone seeing her, but he’d have to find a way—

  “Lord Huntin
gton?”

  Finn froze, his eyes squeezing shut.

  Not Miss Somerset. Not now, and not here—

  But of course it was her, because one way or another your sins always caught up to you, and now his latest sin was about to catch up with Miss Somerset, as well.

  Finn sent up a quick plea for mercy, turned to his betrothed, and offered her his arm. “I’m sure you must be fatigued, after so long a time in the sun. Allow me to escort you back to the terrace.”

  But Miss Somerset wasn’t fatigued, and she wasn’t of a mind to leave the garden. No, she was in the mood for a romantic stroll among the roses. His betrothed, who’d never been anything other than politely accommodating, had chosen this moment to assert herself. That flash of willfulness he’d glimpsed in her dark blue eyes had come back to haunt him.

  She resisted his every attempt to escort her back to the terrace. First she wanted red rose petals, and then she wanted to admire the light, and sniff the roses, and rest on a bench, and then…

  Then, dear God, she wanted to kiss him.

  All this while Lady Beaumont was nearby, likely in fits of malicious laughter over Miss Somerset’s awkward attempts at seduction and ready to leap from the bushes like an avenging fury and rain misery down upon Miss Somerset’s head.

  It was the longest ten minutes of Finn’s life.

  He did manage to lead Miss Somerset out of the garden at last, but despite his best intentions, he’d done a damn poor job of it. He’d snapped at her and hurt her feelings. She’d tried to hide it, but there was no way Finn could miss the humiliated flush on her cheeks. She’d lapsed into complete silence after that, and she hadn’t looked at him again.

  By the time he returned to the garden and found Lady Beaumont hidden like a stinging nettle among the red roses he was ready to wring her lovely neck, but if he hoped to end this scene quietly, he had no choice but to play her childish games. “Good afternoon, my lady. What are you doing here?”

  She flew at him in a whirl of red skirts. “Oh, Huntington!”

  Finn forced himself to catch her in his arms, but beneath his icy control, his temper was gathering like a tempest in his chest. He hadn’t intended to see his former mistress again, least of all here, in Lady Fairchild’s garden, where his betrothed could get tangled up in one of her devious intrigues. Before she took her leave today, he’d take care to make Lady Beaumont understand he wouldn’t tolerate any further surprises from her.

  “I’m afraid you’re rather late for tea, my lady.”

  “Tea, with that crowd of simpering misses? No, indeed.” She tore herself from his arms with a dramatic flourish. “I came to tell you I despise you, Huntington!”

  “You didn’t need to sneak into Lady Fairchild’s garden to tell me that.” Finn flicked his eyes over her, already bored with her antics. “You’ve said so many times before.”

  Lady Beaumont spent a good deal of time and energy despising him, but since her deep disgust hadn’t ever prevented her from taking him to her bed, he didn’t trouble himself much about it. Occasional moments of abhorrence were common enough between lovers, and it wasn’t as if he’d gone to her for adoration.

  Her pretty red lips twisted into an ugly scowl. “How can you forsake me in such a cold manner, Huntington, when you know I love you so?”

  “You just told me you despised me. Which is it, then? Love, or loathing?”

  Her lower lip trembled. “It’s ever been love, and you know it well, my lord.”

  “How flattering. I always imagined your affection for me was based on commerce, not emotion.”

  Lady Beaumont let out a howl of rage. “Oh! You dare to doubt my devotion, even as you leave me heartbroken? Your cruelty knows no bounds!”

  She swung her open hand at his face, but Finn turned aside before her palm could connect with his cheek. Her tantrums had grown more extreme of late. He’d seen dishes, crystal vases and mirrors all fall victim to her frenzied rages, but she’d never tried to strike him before.

  It was a mistake to try now.

  He moved quickly, trapping her wrists behind her back before she could swing again. “Let’s not resort to violence, my lady. Now, I’ll let you go if you promise not to do yourself, or me, an injury.”

  A calculating look flashed in her eyes, and she squirmed against him, pressing her body close to his. “Oh, Huntington! Losing you will destroy me. I’m near-crazed with despair, and not myself.”

  “On the contrary. I think you’re very much yourself.”

  Even more so when, predictably, her large dark eyes filled with tears. But then he’d expect no less from her. Lady Beaumont’s first concern was always herself, and she’d be a fool to let him slip through her fingers when a few tears and seductive wiles might lure him back to her bed.

  Their liaison had been an advantageous one for her. He was a generous protector, and perhaps one of only a few lovers who was a match for her insatiability, and…creativity. And if he occasionally had an appetite for the darker side of desire, she’d been an enthusiastic participant.

  Their time together had been amusing enough, but he was weary of her dramatics, and in any case, a man couldn’t indulge his more exotic tastes too often before they ruined him. Neither could a woman, come to that. He’d seen for himself the toll unchecked debauchery could take, and there was nothing uglier.

  “I’ll do myself an injury if you leave me. Indeed, I will!” She wriggled closer to him, pressing her lush breasts against his chest.

  Finn watched her performance with detached interest. She wept so prettily. Her plump lower lip quivered, and sparkling drops hung from her feathery lashes. It was an affecting scene, and he didn’t doubt her manipulative tears had been used to great effect with her former lovers.

  Fools, every last one of them.

  He took hold of her shoulders and held her away from him. “There now, sweetheart. Are you quite finished?”

  She caught the last of her tears on dainty fingertips. “Yes, I—I’m sorry. Forgive me, my lord.”

  “Of course I forgive you.” He stroked a careless hand over her silky dark hair, even as his muscles tensed with the effort it took not to drag her from the garden, bundle her into her carriage, and send her on her way. The drama would only encourage her, and he didn’t have any more patience for her tears and theatrics. He’d left Miss Somerset pale and shaken, visibly reeling from his harsh words to her in the garden, and he needed to set it right again.

  Betrothed, not married. You’re aware there’s a difference?

  Finn cringed as he recalled the look on her face when he’d said it. She’d flinched away from him as if he’d dealt her a blow. As soon as he rid himself of Lady Beaumont he’d return to her at once, and beg her pardon, preferably before she realized he’d abandoned her to sneak off into the bushes with his mistress.

  Former mistress.

  He sighed. For a former mistress, Lady Beaumont was troublesome, indeed. “Now, suppose you tell me what this is all about, my dear.”

  He already knew, of course. She’d been in a jealous frenzy over his courtship of Miss Somerset for weeks now. He’d expected an explosion when he broke with her the day after Miss Somerset accepted his suit, but Lady Beaumont had held back in favor of making her sentiments known today.

  Here.

  In the middle of Lady Fairchild’s garden, during a scavenger hunt, with the ton lurking behind every rose bush.

  How like her. She’d always had a flair for the dramatic, and now she was ready to perform her closing act.

  “Miss Somerset is quite lovely, isn’t she?” Despite her sweet tone, Lady Beaumont’s dark eyes glittered with malice, and her plump lips curved in a satisfied smile. She knew Finn’s tastes didn’t run toward innocent young maidens, and she couldn’t resist reminding him of it.

  It was true enough Miss Somerset didn’t send him into a p
anting froth of lust, but he preferred it that way, and besides, the girl was well enough. Even if she hadn’t been, he had no intention of discussing her shortcomings with Lady Beaumont.

  “She won’t be able to satisfy you. You know that, don’t you, Huntington?” Lady Beaumont moved closer, her clever hands slipping inside his coat to stroke his chest. “You may think you can resist your darker nature, but you’re not the kind of man who can ignore your desires. Oh, you might do so for a little while, but your insipid blue-eyed bride won’t interest you for long.”

  Miss Somerset didn’t interest him now, and he doubted it would change once they were wed, but he was a gentleman, and he’d never disparage his future wife to his former mistress. He looked down at Lady Beaumont, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, but my bride is none of your concern, and neither I am. Not anymore.”

  “But you will be my concern again, I think, and soon, Huntington. Your sweet little bride may amuse you for a time, but once the novelty of innocence wears off and she starts to bore you, you’ll come back to me.”

  Finn took her hands in his, removed them from his chest, and lowered them to her sides. “No, I won’t, and you’ll only be disappointed if you expect otherwise.”

  She didn’t touch him again, but a feline smile drifted across her lips, one that said she knew him better than he knew himself. “I don’t think so, my lord. You see, I’ve known men like you—men with the same dark needs you have. Those needs don’t go away if you deny them, they simply grow stronger, squirming under your skin until you go mad from it. Once that happens, you’ll come back, Huntington.”

  He gave her an amused smile. “Men like me? I beg your pardon, but there are no men like me. I may have spent the past few months dallying in your bed, but that doesn’t mean you know me, my dear.”

  She knew only one side of him—the wicked side—but the rest of London knew him as the perfect English gentleman, and he took care to keep it that way. Whatever debaucheries he and Lady Beaumont might have shared, he left them behind as soon as he walked out of her bedchamber, and now he was walking away for good.