Falling for the Marquess (American Heiress Trilogy Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

  “I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Clara sighed. “But I begged you to take me there, so don’t blame yourself.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the cool breeze.

  “I just wish,” Sophia said, “that there was a way for you to see the marquess again without risking another appearance at a Cakras Ball.”

  “If only he came out into society.”

  Sophia considered it for a moment. “Well, there’s always the obvious. I could host a party and send him an invitation. He knows I’m your sister. If he’s interested in seeing you again, he’ll come.”

  “He told me he despises the Marriage Mart.”

  “That may be so, but if my eyes were telling me anything last night, it was that he was as taken with you as you were with him. You might be the very thing to bring him out of his shell. Perhaps deep down, he wants to be accepted again and we can help him. The worst thing that could happen is he would simply not attend—in which case we would at least know that he is determined to remain alone.”

  “Or that he is not attracted to me.”

  Sophia urged her horse into a gallop. “Impossible.”

  Clara began to gallop as well.

  “Shall I arrange an assembly then?” Sophia called out to Clara as she came up beside her.

  Clara experienced a delightful thrill of anticipation. “Most definitely.”

  Seger sat down for supper in his dining room with his stepmother, Quintina, at one end of the table and his cousin by marriage, Gillian, to his left. Lobster puffs with hollandaise sauce were served, followed by tarragon chicken with artichokes, at which time Quintina set down her glass of wine and broke the customary silence.

  “I received an invitation today, from the Duke and Duchess of Wentworth.”

  Seger paused, his fork in midair. “You don’t say.”

  “Are you surprised by this?”

  He did not look up from his plate, for there was very little he ever chose to reveal to his stepmother. “Should I be? I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t been following your social calendar.”

  Quintina bristled. “Surely you know that I do not receive invitations from dukes or duchesses, but we won’t go into the reasons why.” She gave a cursory glance at Gillian, as if she didn’t want to soil the girl’s virgin ears with talk of Seger’s personal exploits.

  Instead, she’d cast the blame without actually saying it, which was her way. She blamed Seger for the family’s social descent, all because of what had occurred three years ago with Lord and Lady Edmunston.

  Though if one were analytical, one could go back much further than three years and find another source for blame. The true origin of Seger’s current manner of existence—the reason why he preferred to remain an island.

  “The odd thing about it,” Quintina said, “is that the invitation was addressed to you and me both. Now tell me that you’re not surprised.” She raised a dark, arched eyebrow.

  Seger wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back. “All right, you win. I am surprised.”

  This was, in fact, an understatement. He hadn’t been invited into those upper echelons for years. The duchess couldn’t be playing matchmaker for her sister, could she? He wasn’t exactly a respectable catch, although he did hold a title, and that was the singular purpose behind most of the American heiresses’ shopping excursions to London. Perhaps she or the duchess didn’t care about his reputation. Or didn’t know about it.

  Not that any of it mattered. He was not interested in being bought for cash. He was one of the few English aristocrats who had enough cash of his own to buy three lifetimes of freedom.

  “So, what do you make of it?” he asked.

  “I would call it a gift,” Quintina replied. “Despite the unpleasant fact that the duchess is American, it’s a chance for us to be accepted in the right circles again, which is an opportunity this family desperately needs. An opportunity Gillian needs.” She smiled warmly at her niece. “I promised my sister on her deathbed that I would do everything I could to see her daughter married well. This is Gillian’s first Season and I must seize this opportunity.”

  Seger glanced at Gillian, who kept her eyes lowered and said nothing. She was a quiet little bird at the table most nights. Barely noticeable sometimes. Shy, Seger thought. Though not completely unattractive in a youthful sort of way.

  “You will go, I presume?” he asked Quintina as he leaned forward and reached for his wine.

  “Naturally. But may I request that you decline?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The first decent invitation I’ve received in years, and you want me to decline? What was all that talk about this family finally getting back into the right circles?”

  To be honest, he didn’t care a whit about that, nor was he interested in a stuffy Mayfair assembly where most of the old matrons would likely hiss at him anyway. He would, however, like to see the lovely masked creature who’d kept him up most nights for the past two weeks. He still hadn’t gotten over her departing words—that she’d been unable to stop thinking about him.

  To say he was flattered was an understatement. He hadn’t expected her to say such a thing. He had expected some roundabout answer, perhaps an aloof claim that she was simply looking for adventure, because that’s what most women said to him when flirtations began. They knew by instinct that that was what would lure him into their bedrooms.

  He remembered suddenly that Miss Wilson had initially reminded him of Daphne, and he felt a twinge of discomfort.

  Quintina spoke up and interrupted his thoughts. “I am of the opinion that your presence at the assembly would evoke whispers, and I want to do what is best for Gillian.”

  He glanced at his cousin again. She smiled sheepishly.

  “What would you have me do, Gillian?” he asked.

  Seeming surprised that he had spoken to her directly, she went suddenly pale. “I...I would have you do whatever you please.”

  She certainly was a nervous little thing.

  Quintina cleared her throat. “There is a more critical reason why you should not attend, Seger.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I suspect the motive behind our invitation concerns the duchess’s younger sister—that garish girl we read about in the paper. The duchess is holding this assembly to gather all the unmarried peers into one room, so that they may be sized up like merchandise. Surely, you would prefer to avoid such a vulgar affair.”

  Seger slowly blinked. “Ah. You don’t want me to meet the American. Afraid I’ll become infatuated with someone inappropriate?”

  Her voice was cool and subdued. “It’s not as if you haven’t made that mistake before.”

  Like a venomous snake, tension curled around the table. Seger made a fist on his lap. “You are correct, Quintina, and there were disastrous consequences.”

  His stepmother’s cheeks flushed with fury. “Seger, for eight years you have refused to take a respectable wife and produce an heir. Don’t you think you have punished this family enough for those consequences that no one could have predicted?”

  Seger tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and stood. “I believe I am finished. If you will excuse me.” He bowed politely to Gillian, left the dining room, and went upstairs to reply to the Wentworths’ invitation. He would let the duchess know that he would be most pleased to accept.

  Chapter 6

  Dear Adele,

  That splendid gentleman I told you about? I hope to see him again tonight....

  Clara

  By nightfall, the anticipation of being in the same room with the marquess had reached a fevered pitch. Would he even come? Clara wondered as she moved about the crowded drawing room. He had accepted Sophia’s invitation to the assembly, but it was getting late and he had not yet arrived. Perhaps he had reconsidered, changed his mind. It was
n’t every day, after all, that a man re-entered a society that had rejected and expelled him.

  A gentleman stepped up to the door. The majordomo announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Guysborough.”

  James and Sophia greeted him, then invited Clara to join them. The duke bowed elegantly. He was one of the peers under consideration as a potential husband, at least by Sophia and Mrs. Gunther, and this made Clara pay attention.

  He was, she supposed, a handsome man. With dark hair and mustache, he possessed a certain impressive maturity. There was something about him, however, that made her feel ill at ease, as if she would always have to sit up straight while in his presence.

  As soon as he moved on to mingle about the room, Clara glanced at Mrs. Gunther who was sitting forward in a chair, watching Clara’s every move. She sat back, however, after the duke turned away.

  “It’s getting late,” Clara whispered to Sophia when there was a free moment. “Do you think he changed his mind?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  At that moment, an older woman approached the door with a younger lady at her side. The woman was of medium height and proud looking. The girl appeared shy and nervous.

  The majordomo announced: “Lady Rawdon and Miss Gillian Flint.”

  Clara’s stomach went whoosh. It was Seger’s stepmother.

  Sophia greeted her warmly. “Lady Rawdon, welcome.”

  “Your Grace. May I present my niece from Wales, Gillian Flint.” She gestured toward the girl behind her, who curtsied.

  Sophia smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned toward Clara. “This is my sister, Clara Wilson.”

  They exchanged light pleasantries, but when Lady Rawdon moved on, she scrutinized Clara’s extravagant gown from top to bottom and gave her a cool glare. The younger Miss Flint admired Clara’s jewels enviously then followed with her head down.

  Pulse pounding, wondering if the marquess would arrive next, Clara watched the top of the stairs, but a group of ladies ascended. No wild-looking, wavy-haired gentlemen in sight.

  Another half hour went by and the frequency of arrivals began to diminish. Clara’s feet were getting sore. He’s not coming, she thought. He changed his mind.

  The disappointment was difficult to keep at bay, though she did her best not to show it. She glanced at Lady Rawdon across the room, speaking with a group of older women. At that moment, Sophia nudged her. Hard.

  Knocked slightly off balance, Clara stepped to the side, then turned to the door just as the majordomo announced, “The Marquess of Rawdon.”

  The world seemed to stop turning. All Clara heard was the noisy, thunderous rush of her blood in her ears.

  He was here. At last.

  Her gaze went first to his eyes, for she’d never seen them without the mask. They were deep green, large and expressive. She had known before that he was handsome, but this was mind-altering. He was everything she had imagined, and more, with the divine presence of a Greek god. Her body pulsed with sizzling, nervous excitement, and her stomach whirled with butterflies.

  It wasn’t until a few seconds later, as the marquess was shaking James’s hand and saying something that made James laugh, that Clara noticed he had cut his hair. Though it was by no means short, it was not wild about his shoulders any longer.

  Had he trimmed it because of this single assembly? Had he gone out and changed himself just for her? Or would he have done it for any other invitation?

  Either way, the sight of it made her feel joyful inside. He had come out of hiding.

  Clara watched him greet Sophia. “Duchess, it is an honor.”

  “The honor is mine,” Sophia replied, turning casually toward Clara. “May I present my sister, Clara Wilson of New York. This is Clara’s first Season in London, Lord Rawdon.”

  He moved to stand before her. He was so tall, grand and sophisticated that she almost forgot to breathe. “At last,” he said, bowing his head to her.

  A shiver of desire tingled across her flesh. “Welcome to Wentworth House, my lord.”

  Locked in his smoldering gaze, Clara melted at the grandeur of his face—the masculine line of his jaw, the discerning intelligence in his eyes. Neither of them spoke, until the moment was broken by Sophia, who cleared her throat. Clara felt wrenched out of a trance.

  The marquess smiled again, more broadly this time, as if he recognized that she was enamored. Not that he hadn’t seemed enamored himself, but perhaps that was just his way. Perhaps he was enamored with all women.

  The divorce scandal of three years ago flitted across her mind. She reminded herself to be wary.

  The marquess’s gaze swept across the crowded drawing room, but before he ventured inside, he faced her one more time. “I would enjoy hearing about America this evening, Miss Wilson, if you would be inclined to describe your home to me.”

  “I will seek you out,” she replied.

  “I look forward to it.”

  He entered the room, and Clara faced the door again to greet two more guests, while struggling to wipe the silly grin off her face and quiet her trembling heart.

  There were very few people whom he could talk to, Seger realized as he moved about the room and felt more than a few disapproving gazes follow him to the buffet table. He had not attended a proper assembly in three years, and consequently did not move in these circles. His acquaintances were of a different breed now—not so strict and straight-laced, less judgmental of others—and his entertainments were less correct, by Society’s standards. Apparently, most of these people knew that.

  Did they think he wanted to be accepted again? He hoped not, for he had never wished to reconcile with them. They had forsaken him, as was their prerogative, and he had accepted that. He was here for quite another reason this evening. To satisfy a lusty curiosity. Quench it if he could, for he was not interested in marriage for profit.

  Yet he could not deny that he was interested in something.

  He noticed his stepmother and Gillian in the far corner but was not inclined to join them. Instead, he reached for a glass of champagne as a footman passed by and downed it in a single gulp.

  Setting the empty glass down on a table, he slowly made his way around the perimeter of the room, feeling very much like an outsider. The only pleasant distraction was Miss Wilson still at the door, teeming with charm as she greeted the last few guests. She had smelled like strawberries again.

  Her sister, the duchess, was also charming. She had welcomed him without a hint of contempt.

  The duke had been cordial as well. Seger wondered if His Grace knew about his wife and sister-in-law attending a Cakras Ball. From what Seger knew about the duke, he was not the sort of man one kept secrets from, nor was he the sort who would remain in the dark for long about any and all events involving members of his household. Regardless, if His Grace had known about his wife’s little adventure, he certainly hadn’t revealed it. Still, he was a man Seger should not underestimate.

  Seger did manage to meet a few gentlemen he knew from his current social circle, gentlemen who had the rare ability through certain connections to cross over from one sphere to the other. They were surprised to see him at the duke’s assembly and made no secret of it as they waved him into their conversation.

  There, he was introduced to a few respectable ladies and gentlemen, and the first crack in the barrier of his expulsion became visible to both himself and others in the room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He had not come there to chisel his way back in.

  A short time later, he was still intensely aware of Miss Wilson’s presence on the opposite side of the room, her gaze locked on his from yards away, her eyes smiling with mischievous anticipation. He turned away from a group of laughing gentlemen to walk toward her.

  They met in the center of the room but did not settle there. Seger led her toward the wall.

&n
bsp; “You wanted to hear about America,” she said cheerfully.

  “That, and whatever else you wish to tell me about. I’ll listen to bible recitations if that would please you.”

  Her whole face beamed. She gazed over her shoulder at the other guests and spoke softly. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

  “I wasn’t sure myself, but I’m glad I did. May I mention that the wig you wore the other night does not do you justice?”

  She sighed. “Still full of flattery, I see. I thought you might be more reserved in a more...normal situation.”

  “You call this normal?” He glanced around. “I’d forgotten how completely abnormal these things could be. No offense to the hosts intended.”

  “I’m sure none would be taken. My sister is American, as you know, and I assure you, all of this was a culture shock to her in the beginning.”

  “And what about you? You’re American as well. What do you make of our English ways?”

  She paused. “I don’t know yet. I’m still trying very hard to fit in. I wish I knew how to act blasé.”

  “I’m glad you don’t.”

  Clara smiled at the compliment. “May I just say that you have given me hope, my lord, that not everyone is as reserved as they pretend to be.”

  He pushed away from the wall. “No, I suppose I am not as reserved as most of the people here tonight, and I can certainly feel the chill. Perhaps we should take a turn about the room. I forgot that lingering in private corners with unmarried ladies is frowned upon.”

  He offered his arm to Miss Wilson and she laughed. “You certainly have been out of circulation if you’d forgotten something as fundamental as that.”

  “I have indeed.”

  They walked through the crowd, nodding politely to people as they passed.

  “I heard about your court scandal three years ago,” she said quietly, when they were out of earshot of other guests.

  Seger felt his eyebrows lift. “My word. Don’t you know how to talk about the weather with gentlemen you’ve only just met?”