The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

“Well then, Miss Lorelei Lindon, allow me to present my brother, Alastair Tilbury, the Earl of Winbourne.”

  That name left not a shred of doubt in her mind. Holding back a gasp with great difficulty, as she curtseyed. She waited, dreading some answering recognition in his manner, and yet longing for it. She soon discovered that she was to be disappointed on that front.

  “A pleasure, Miss Lindon,” he said with impersonal politeness, and a stiff bow.

  “My lord.” Her voice shook slightly, and her eyes flew desperately to his face, searching for any recognition. But his dark eyes were cold, and perhaps even a little sardonic, and she could spot not a trace of recognition on his face. Something in her chest twisted painfully at the thought, though it had no reason to do so. They were complete strangers, she reminded herself, and she had known all along that an earl was not likely to be charmed by a green girl such as herself, particularly when the room was filled with notable beauties.

  Winbourne casually scanned the girl’s face and figure. She had a slight build and her figure slender with just enough suggestion of voluptuousness to snag the eye. Her face was no prettier than that of any other woman in the room. Her green eyes, which held a promise of liveliness and a direct kind of intelligence, looked nothing so much as startled. This puzzled him and caught his attention. Winbourne looked at the girl carefully.

  A debutante fresh out of the schoolroom, he decided, dismissing her at once. Judging by the flush that had stained her face at their introduction, a girl determined to snag herself a title, however artless and unpolished her manner. He knew that most unattached females were on the hunt for a husband, and he had nothing but resentment for their mercenary schemes. It was not his duty to rescue them from ending up querulous ape-leaders, after all.

  She moved her head slightly then, and her golden ringlets caught a stray ray of sunshine coming through the open French doors. He felt himself freeze as he took another look at the girl, who was biting her lip uneasily and doing her best to answer some question posed by his niece. That hair – he could never forget that hair. But it was impossible that this slip of a girl – no. Impossible. He could not take his eyes away from the ringlets, now aglow with gold.

  Slowly, he produced a delicate ivory and gold snuffbox, flicking it open and taking snuff with an elegant flick of his wrist. Lorelei’s eyes involuntarily caught on the smooth carelessness of the gesture.

  “It seems Honoria wants us all in the garden,” said Lady Gilmont, noticing the strange change in her brother’s demeanour. She was looking from him to the young Miss Lindon, wondering if something about the girl had caught his eye, and if he meant to make her his latest flirtation. Or perhaps Miss Lindon had somehow annoyed him and was about to find herself on the receiving end of one of his dreadful snubs.

  Lady Gilmont did not like her brother’s refusal to choose a wife any more than their elder sister did, though she was neither so vocal nor so persistent as Honoria in voicing her opinion. She knew the reason for his reluctance but she could not help thinking that the lonely bitterness into which he had retreated could not be much of an improvement, no matter what her brother seemed to think of it.

  “Come, Julia. Say hello to Geoffrey. He is quite eager to wish you luck on your first Season, you know. I can see he is at the refreshment table out in the garden, and if you do not hasten, Admiral Horley will surely corner him to talk of hounds again. He has just caught sight of my poor husband,” Lady Gilmont said, expertly cutting through the strange tension.

  Julia looked surprised. “Yes, certainly. Miss –”

  “Alastair will escort Miss Lindon outside, won’t you, brother?”

  “Indeed. Shall we?” He offered Lorelei his arm, which he noticed with some surprise she was reluctant to accept. Of course, if his suspicions were correct, she had to know exactly who he was, which would certainly account for her earlier reaction.

  Lorelei did her best to stare ahead of her as they crossed to the door at the leisurely pace set by the earl. She found she could no longer think of him as her earl. Her earl was a creation in her head, born of adventure novels and a night that had had too much of a resemblance to one of these volumes. This man next to her was as far removed from that romantic hero as it was possible to be. She knew now that she could never, would never dare tell him her secret. She could not bear the mocking derision that was certain to flood his glacial dark eyes at such a revelation.

  She had hoped that they could walk to the garden without having to speak. She would take the first opportunity to flee his company once they had cleared the doors. She ought to have taken Constance’s warnings and never ventured out on her ill-advised adventure!

  Winbourne started her out of her self-recriminations. “You’ll be amused to know I lost my race after all,” he said in his most droll tone of voice, eyes casually sliding over her face.

  His nonchalant words felt like a slap. Lorelei kept her face carefully expressionless – she had always been good at that – a trait she had apparently inherited from her father. She could not prevent a slight stiffening of her hand, which rested delicately on his arm, and Winbourne took careful note of her reaction. He felt a strange flood of satisfaction, mixed with disbelief, that this girl, whom he had taken to be another of the milk-sop Society misses, was his midnight minx.

  She took a breath before answering. “Oh? I was unaware you had been racing, my lord. Chariots or horses?” she asked innocently.

  Unexpected laughter welled up within him and it made his voice shake slightly, “Ah, well done, my dear. I am almost convinced. But it won’t do you any good. You are caught you see, and by such a chance – it’s your hair that gave you away. You have such remarkable hair.” His voice dropped low, in a tone that was far too intimate for this setting. She almost felt as if he were mentally caressing one of the ringlets and could not repress a shiver.

  “I have often been told as much. It is blonde, but there are a number of women with blonde hair just at this party – perhaps it is one of them with whom you have confused me.”

  “They have none of them such honeyed tresses, my siren.” He was teasing her! She knew that if any of the other guests were to hear his words, there would be a terrible fuss and to-do.

  “You are mistaken, Lord Winbourne.” She tried to mimic some of the iciness she had witnessed him assume with such ease. “We have never met before today.”

  “Oh?” Casually reaching into a pocket of his coat, he produced her mother’s moonstone pendant, and twirled it on the delicate silver chain. “Then I suppose this pretty little trinket will hold no meaning for you whatsoever.”

  Her gaze followed the pendant, and he was delighted to see her green eyes flash with recognition. Lorelei was momentarily divided, but she was suddenly sure that she did not wish this cool, condescending man to have such a hold over her. She would have to get the pendant back some other way.

  Meeting his challenging gaze with a defiant one of her own, Lorelei composed herself to speak. “It’s a pendant, my lord. Moonstone, if I am not mistaken. I am not so green as to be unable to recognise a moonstone when I see one.” She was sure a heroine in one of her novels would have done the same, only better. She spoke in a voice full of self-possessed dignity and bravery, neither of which she felt just then. As they emerged into the garden, the moonstone changed colours slightly in the sun.

  “You know, Lord Winbourne, moonstones are supposed to be terrible luck. Perhaps you had better be getting rid of it before it brings you misfortune.”

  “Ah, but my dearest Miss Lindon, I am not the least bit superstitious. Next, you’ll accuse me of believing in ghosts, perhaps? What a delight you are. I wonder how much of your naïveté is just a clever ploy? Bad luck, you say, but I rather think it brought me the opposite.”

  His dark gaze met hers suddenly, blazing with unconcealed desire. She did gasp this time, and would have taken a step away from him, had he not at that moment grasped the hand that had been on his arm and brought it to his li
ps, planting a lingering kiss on the back of it. It was a kiss that set fire to her bones and sent her blood hammering in her ears.

  She did not know what he might do next, but she hoped none of the other guests had noticed the exchange. Her head was still foggy when he nodded over her shoulder. “Lady Hurst seems to desire a word, my siren.”

  “She is my chaperone,” Lorelei managed breathlessly.

  “Then I had much better leave you to attend her.” With a polite bow, his face resumed its cold countenance and he moved away, to join a group of gentlemen talking about a forthcoming hunt.

  “My Lorelei,” said Lady Hurst, when Lorelei had joined her at last, “what were you speaking of so intently with the Earl of Winbourne?” Lorelei noticed that her guardian looked faintly concerned.

  “It was nothing, Lady Hurst. We were just discussing a novel we both had read. It was a ghost story. The ending was very disappointing, you see.” She hoped Lady Hurst would not see through the prevarication. If she did, the lady gave no sign.

  “Novel? I did not take the earl for the sort of man to bother much with novels. He is, no doubt, a man of supreme sense – it is plain from the cool distance with which he conducts himself. I had known his mother in my youth – she was a very somnolent woman. But you had much better be careful, my dear.” Her voice dropped significantly at this. “His lordship is of impeccable breeding, of course, and fabulously wealthy, but he is known about town as quite a scoundrel.”

  “If you mean that his intentions might not be entirely honourable then, my dear lady Hurst, you need not worry. Having spoken to his lordship, I do not like him above half.” Lorelei’s earnest summation rather startled Lady Hurst, who was not used to such plain speech from young ladies, especially where eligible gentlemen were concerned.

  “He is a dashing figure,” said the older lady cautiously.

  Lorelei sighed, thinking of the golden man of her imagination, and knowing that the dream had been irrevocably shattered by the reality presented by the Earl of Winbourne. “He is. But there is an iciness about him that makes all the difference. I think that to marry such a man would be akin to marrying a statue.”

  Even as she said these words, filled with ringing finality, a part of Lorelei could not help but wonder what lay behind the unreachable iciness. Nor forget the momentary flame in his eyes – that had been anything but icy.

  She was very certain that his inappropriate familiarity with her stemmed from that same unbreakable ice, no matter how his eyes might have blazed white heat at her. Yet, she had seen the easy way he had spoken with his sister and she was also sure, beyond her ability to justify this confidence, that that part of him had not been a front. There was a mystery there, she felt sure.

  Sternly, Lorelei reminded herself that this was one mystery she would have to leave well enough alone. It would not do to have any further connection with the man. The obvious desire in his eyes and her own inexplicable reaction to it had alarmed her very much. She knew that the best solution would be to keep as far away from him as possible. After all, with her illusions shattered, he was suddenly nothing more than a stranger.

  No, she would not speak to him again. Except for the fact that she still had a pendant to retrieve… Lorelei resolved firmly that, after she somehow recovered her mother’s necklace, she would simply snub him. She could not believe her own carelessness in having lost it.

  Furthermore, her mother had had a great many friends: it was only a matter of time before someone should recognise the trinket as having belonged to the late Lady Ledley!

  It was not until Lorelei was home, waiting for Nell to finish gently unpinning her hair, that she considered the significance of Winbourne carrying the pendant on his person. It brought her short, as if she had suddenly been doused in icy water. What could he possibly mean by it? What interest could he have in such a trinket?

  Chapter 3

  Lorelei did not quite spend the night in an agony of indecision. She did, however, spend a portion of the morning dipping into one of her novels in the hope that she might be inspired to find a way of retrieving her mother’s pendant. Upon further reflection, she found that she was angry at Winbourne for having put her into such a precarious position by stealing the pendant. If not for that, she would have been perfectly content, she told herself firmly, to never set eyes on the insufferable man ever again. It was a relief not to have to be infatuated with him any longer.

  “You’re in the fidgets again,” Con accused, as Lorelei ruffled through the pages of her book. “I can tell, because you do not sit still two moments together.”

  Lorelei looked guiltily up at her sister, but was spared having to reply by Miss Fallon, who had been engaged in selecting a French poem for Constance to memorise.

  “That is quite enough, Constance. I have told you many times that bluntness will never do in a lady of breeding. Do you wish people to say that your address wants delicacy?”

  “But it’s only Lorelei, Miss Fallon,” Constance protested in a wounded voice.

  “That does not matter in the least. Good breeding is not selective except in people of a most vulgar disposition. Now, had you not better return to revising your verbs? I shall test you on them after dinner.”

  With a sigh, Constance subsided. Lorelei was rather grateful that she was no longer under Miss Fallon’s stern rule. No task-master was more exacting. Even now, the governess’s stern gaze made her feel as if there were a lesson she ought to be revising.

  They sat in silence for another half hour before Lady Hurst bustled into the cosy little sitting room.

  “Ah, there you are, dear girls. I trust you have not been giving Miss Fallon any trouble, Constance? Your papa was very particular that you are to mind her.”

  Constance looked momentarily guilty, but Lorelei doubted that their father had written Lady Hurst any such thing. He always had great trouble remembering Miss Fallon’s name.

  “Have you had a new letter from papa?” Con asked their benefactress.

  A concerned expression fluttered across the woman’s face as she took a seat next to Lorelei.

  “I have not. I wonder that he does not write any of us.”

  Shutting her book, Lorelei laid a comforting hand on Lady Hurst’s arm. “I beg that you don’t worry yourself, ma’am. Papa has always been neglectful in writing, especially when he is on campaign. But I am certain he will remember us quite soon.”

  Lorelei observed the persistent concern in the older woman’s eyes with curiosity. She was beginning to suspect that Lady Hurst had developed a bit of a tendre for Baron Ledley.

  “Well, I hope you are right, my love. But I cannot help but worry.” Lady Hurst looked Lorelei over carefully. “You look quite lively this morning, Lorelei. It is yesterday’s party that has you in such excellent colour, I expect. I have it from Mrs Montgomery that you were much admired and, of course, I saw that you were solicited to dance almost every set.”

  “It was very good of Lady Bassincourt to have dancing,” agreed Lorelei, who had enjoyed herself – apart from that single incident that refused to leave her mind.

  “And I understand you made a new friend in Lady Julia. She is a good sort of girl – a very kind creature.”

  “Oh, yes, she is a sweet girl. And she was quite as uneasy as I in such exalted and numerous company.”

  “You will soon grow accustomed, my dear, don’t fret. As will your friend. Lady Bassincourt hardly ever brought her up to London. I believe she did not wish to expose her to city life, which is quite hazardous to a girl’s health and character, or so Honoria Kinsey believes. I own I could not bear to live always in the country. It is a very dull place. The preference for country life is rather a peculiarity of Lord and Lady Bassincourt. Honoria has always had her flights of fancy: fancy rather runs in the family, one might say.”

  Lorelei thought of the earl. He certainly seemed to prefer town life. Lady Hurst continued, as though she had read Lorelei’s mind, “Lord Winbourne is known as somethin
g of a rake, of course, but the ladies of that family are entirely without scandal, if somewhat eccentric. Certainly, you need not worry over being seen in their company.”

  Lorelei was pleased that Lady Hurst approved of her new friendship, and her mood was further improved when a card arrived with vouchers and an invitation to a masquerade ball to be held at Almack’s. It would be the first masquerade of the Season in that fine establishment. Lorelei was greatly relieved to have been approved by the committee of patronesses, and Lady Hurst wasted no time in paying ten guineas each for their membership.

  It was to be the very ball at which Lorelei was launched into Society and she felt a little nervous. Even being presented to the queen would not be as overwhelming as her debut at Almack’s, though the masquerade could not compare with having been interviewed by no less than three of the patronesses in order to be deemed worthy of such a launch.

  Lorelei had never been anywhere so marvellous as Almack’s, but she knew the masquerade would be a very dashing event. There was a lot of romance in all the masks and mystery. It might even be just the thing to help her get back the pendant.

  She examined one of the tickets which would be her passport to the exclusive gathering. Seeing her name written on the card in expensive black ink, Lorelei felt her heart swell with gratitude.

  “Oh, thank you, Lady Hurst!” she exclaimed, knowing that it was largely because of Lady Hurst’s old friendship with Lady Castlereagh that she had received a card to such a select gathering.

  Her benefactress laughed. “You ought to thank your father just as much, for he is a particular friend of Lady Castlereagh, from the days of his youth.”

  “I cannot imagine Papa as a young man dancing at Assemblies,” Constance said, looking up from her verb tables once more.

  “But that is just where he was first introduced to your mama!” said Lady Hurst, retrieving a discarded fan from the side table next to her and beginning to fan herself. “She was very much the thing, you know, Marie de Villette – very charming, particularly with the lilting way she spoke English. You have seen her portrait at Ledley, I daresay – such fine chocolate locks she had, and an elegant turn of the ankle also. Ledley was quite swept away. You bear a very striking resemblance to her, Constance.”