“It is the simple truth.”
“I do not understand.”
“Because I never intended you to understand,” her father admitted with a harsh sigh. “With your beauty and position, I simply assumed that when you chose your husband you would have the good sense to select one with a large fortune. It is after all what most maidens do.”
Her brows snapped together. Most maidens were not the daughter of a duke, she thought with a tingle of panic. For God’s sake, she had never devoted a moment to considering something so tedious as wealth.
“But what of my dowry?” she demanded.
“What do you think has funded your very expensive Seasons for the past four years?”
For perhaps the first time in her young life, Bianca’s swift wits deserted her. Her brain froze and she was forced to open and close her mouth several times before she at last managed to speak.
“Are you telling me that we have no money?”
There was a moment of silence before her father turned to stroll toward the large bay window. He kept his back turned as he at last cleared his throat.
“Being a duke is an expensive business, my dear. I have estates that need constant upkeep, a near battalion of servants to keep paid and pensioned, tenants to keep housed, your brothers schooled, and of course you and your mother properly clothed and bejeweled.”
“But what of your rents and investments?”
His gaze remained trained upon the Mayfair street below him. “They would be adequate as a rule, but while London has devoted itself to pleasure, war has ravaged the world. Trade has all but disappeared, and not nearly enough able-bodied men remain to tend to the lands.” He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “These are troubled times for all landowners. Would you have me stand aside and watch my tenants starve?”
Well, for goodness’ sake. Of course she would not wish for anyone to starve.
Still, she found it difficult to accept that matters had come to such a desperate quagmire. Surely being a duke must count for something?
“But the war has ended,” she lamely pointed out.
“That does not bring young men back from the grave to plant my fields, nor fill empty pantries. Such devastation will take years to repair.”
“Why have you not said something before?” she rasped.
Slowly he turned to regard her with a somber expression. “As I said, I simply assumed that when you chose to wed, it would be to a gentleman of means.”
The sickness in the pit of her stomach became outright nausea. The glorious future she had dreamed of for months was crumbling into dust.
“My God…this is horrible.”
“Not so horrible.” Her father moved to gently pat her shoulder. “There are any number of suitable gentlemen who will be eager to wed the daughter of a duke. Especially one who happens to be as lovely as an angel.”
She abruptly pulled away from his comforting touch, her eyes glittering with suppressed tears.
“Do you have no feelings at all? I love Stephen. I do not want any other gentleman.” Her expression became one of deepest scorn. “Especially not one who only wishes to wed me because I happen to be your daughter.”
With an insulting lack of sympathy for her wounded heart, her father gave a vague shrug. “Then approach Lord Aldron and tell him that you wish to wed without dowry or a prospect for an allowance from me. Let us see precisely how quickly he leaps at the opportunity to have you for his wife.”
Bianca did not even consider the notion of approaching Stephen. Not because she feared he would slither away the moment he discovered she was penniless, she hastily reassured herself. But simply because she would never wish for him to sacrifice himself in such a manner.
No matter how much it might hurt.
Knowing she could not hold back her tears for much longer, she glared at the gentleman who had managed to ruin her life in a few short minutes. Unwittingly, her hand lifted to clutch the silver locket that lay against her pounding heart. The necklace had been a gift from Stephen and held his precious portrait.
“I will never forget Stephen. Never,” she announced in dramatic tones. Then, turning on her heel, she flounced from the room and headed for her private chambers to cry out her misery.
CHAPTER TWO
The seeking female fingers crawled over Edward’s thigh with all the subtlety of a charging bull.
Nearly choking on the delectable morsel of game hen that he had just placed in his mouth, Edward shot a covert glance at the woman seated next to him.
Hell’s teeth.
As hostess of the vast London townhouse, Lady Beauvaille was no doubt a beauty, he grudgingly conceded. Though she was past the first bloom of youth, there was a lush sensuality to her full curves and a smoldering hunger in her dark eyes.
And yet, while he enjoyed being groped beneath the table as much as the next gentleman, he preferred that the woman seducing him did not possess a husband who was renowned for his marksmanship. Or one who just happened to be sitting across the table.
Sedately sipping her wine while pretending an interest in the elderly general at her side, the woman boldly continued her exploration of his lap. The nimble fingers squeezed and stroked with undeniable expertise. Then, shockingly, they began honing in with ruthless intent.
Edward hastily swallowed the piece of game hen lodged in his throat as he shifted from the determined attack.
Was the woman demented? Biddles had not warned him that the wealthy matron was in any way out of her wits, but then perhaps it was simply the way of London society. Perhaps all hostesses made a habit of fondling their dinner guests.
Denied of her quest, Lady Beauvaille swiftly turned to regard him with a faint pout.
“Why, my dear Lord Harrington, is there anything amiss?”
Carefully wiping his fingers upon a linen napkin, Edward swiftly considered his options. He did not desire to cause an unpleasant scene. Not when it was bound to create a scandal. On the other hand, he did not wish her to believe he had any interest in a more…intimate relationship.
The mere thought was enough to send a shudder through his body. He happened to be extremely fastidious when it came to his mistresses. And besides which, he possessed a healthy dose of self-preservation. Banal sex with a woman who had no doubt spread her legs for any number of gentlemen was hardly worthy of a lead ball through the heart.
Hoping to soften any sting of his rejection, he conjured a polite smile. “What could possibly be amiss, Lady Beauvaille?” he murmured. “The rumors of your extraordinary skills as a hostess have not been exaggerated.”
The dark eyes restlessly studied his carefully bland expression. They lingered upon the rich hazel of his eyes and the chestnut locks. Then deliberately they moved down to take a slow and shockingly thorough inventory of his broad shoulders and flat waist.
For the first time in his twenty-eight years of life, Edward comprehended what a woman must feel like to be mentally stripped bare.
Oddly, it was not nearly as pleasant as he had assumed it to be.
“I hope, my dear Lord Harrington, that it was more than my skills as a hostess that attracted you to my small gathering?” she said in a throaty voice.
Edward resisted the urge to tug at the cravat that was suddenly choking him. If he were a hare, he would be bolting for the nearest hole.
“Well…yes, certainly.”
She licked her full lips in a predatory gesture. “It seems that we are of the same mind. Perhaps we should discuss our common interests later in the conservatory? After the dancing begins?”
There was a muffled noise from across the table, and Edward shifted to glare at the suspiciously innocent expression of Biddles. Damn the sneaking rat, he silently seethed. His friend had been perfectly aware of Lady Beauvaille’s penchant for accosting her gentlemen guests and had done nothing to warn him. Indeed, he was clearly taking inordinate pleasure from his discomfort.
Never one to allow such a fine jest to go unrewarded, Edward leaned to
grab his wine glass and at the same moment gave a sharp kick to Biddles’s shin. He had the satisfaction of a muffled grunt but no ready escape from the woman regarding him as if he were a tasty morsel.
“I must admit that it is a tempting offer, my lady. However…”
Like a blessing from above, the awkward moment was interrupted as Lord Beauvaille loudly cleared his throat to indicate it was time for the women to depart the table.
With a last, shameless squeeze of Edward’s leg, Lady Beauvaille rose grandly to her feet and led the handful of ladies from the dining room to the nearby salon. Reprieved for the moment, Edward heaved a silent sigh of relief.
Gads. He had imagined any number of pitfalls when he had traveled to London. Embarrassing gaffs, naïve blunders, and disapproval from the overabundance of puffed-up prigs. But…being accosted by a randy lady of the realm at her own table? Never. And now the bold hussy would be expecting him to join her in the conservatory.
With a pang of longing for the simple, quiet existence that he had left behind, Edward sipped his port and dutifully laughed at the bawdy jokes that were tossed about the table. He even indulged in a small cigar without coughing upon the vile smoke. Any hope for an intelligent discussion of the current laws being argued in the House of Lords or discovering the latest news from the Continent had long before been crushed. It was obvious that nothing but the most frivolous conversations were allowed at such events.
They lingered until the sound of arriving guests marked the beginning of the ball. Hoping his impatience was not noticeable, Edward followed the gathering herd up the stairs to the ballroom. Once within the depressingly opulent gold and ivory room, he stepped to one side and waited.
It took several moments, but at last the slender, brilliantly attired gentleman entered through the door and paused to peer about the crowd with his quizzing glass. Edward did not hesitate. Reaching out, he grasped the nefarious rat by the scruff of his neck and plucked him into the shadows at his side.
“Going somewhere, Biddles?” he murmured with a glitter in his eyes.
Smoothing his hand over his peacock blue coat, Biddles smiled with a guilelessness that was at utter odds with the sly amusement in his pale eyes.
“Oh, here you are, Edward. I feared you might have bolted.”
Edward planted his fists upon his hips in a decided threat. “Believe me, the notion has crossed my mind more than once this evening. Unfortunately, my desire to throttle you overcame my sensible urge to return to my home and pack my bags.”
Biddles produced a lacy handkerchief to dab at his nose with a wounded air. “Really, Edward, there is no cause to be in such a twit. Granted the game hen was shockingly overcooked and the vegetables as limp as Lord Beauvaille’s manhood is rumored to be, but even you must admit that the pastries were divine.”
Edward rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent plea for patience. This was not at all what he had agreed to.
“Quite amusing, my friend. However, you are well aware my annoyance has nothing to do with Lady Beauvaille’s chef.”
“No?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed in an ominous manner. “Why did you not warn me?”
“Warn you of what?”
“Biddles.”
The thin lips twitched, but at last, conceding he had pressed the larger man’s temper as far as he dared, Biddles offered a small sigh.
“Oh, very well.” He met Edward’s glittering gaze squarely. “I did not warn you because I knew you would flinch like a terrified virgin the moment Lady Beauvaille approached you.”
Terrified virgin? Edward stiffened in outrage. He had been called many names, but that was certainly not among them.
No doubt because most gentlemen preferred not to be thrashed within an inch of their life.
“Ridiculous,” he growled.
“Now, now.” Biddles held up a slender hand. “Do not be angry. ’Tis not my fault that, for all your fine qualities, deception is not among them. Your every thought is written upon your countenance.”
He offered an impatient snort. “Thankfully deception has never been a much-needed skill in Kent. There a gentleman is judged upon his honesty and integrity.”
“Good gads, what a tedious notion.”
Edward smiled wryly. “I happen to find it quite refreshing.”
“No doubt.” Biddles gave a flutter of his handkerchief. “However, you are in London, not Kent, and here you will discover your refreshing honesty does not serve you well.”
A pang of sharp longing rushed through Edward. Damn. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his shabby home with a good book and a glass of brandy. Now, that was his notion of a perfect evening.
Unfortunately Biddles was correct. He was in London and trapped into playing the ridiculous games of the ton.
“You mean I must endure being groped under the table by an aging jade with a smile upon my lips?” he said dryly.
Biddles did not even blink. “Precisely. Lady Beauvaille is a powerful figure among society. Had you deliberately avoided her advances or revealed your distaste for her peculiar habits, she could have made your introduction to the ton unbearable.”
“Lovely.”
There was a moment’s pause as the humor became more pronounced in the pale eyes. “Besides which, watching you choke upon your game hen was utterly priceless.”
Edward could not halt a strangled laugh. Really, the outrageous rogue was without shame.
“I am happy I could be so entertaining.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Edward snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, while you are enjoying your little jest, perhaps you will be so kind as to reveal how the devil I am to avoid meeting the doxy in her conservatory. She expects me as soon as the orchestra begins.”
“Do you truly wish to avoid the encounter?” Biddles demanded with a speculative glance. “Lady Beauvaille may not be fresh out of the nursery, but her beauty remains, and it is said that she is quite talented.”
Edward did not attempt to conceal his shudder. “She is also wed. Even if I did not find her utterly repellent, I do not dally with other gentlemen’s wives.”
“Honest and principled.” Biddles gave a world-weary sigh. “Gads, you will never survive among the natives, old chap.”
Edward merely arched a dark brow. “It is your duty to ensure that I do.”
Biddles grimaced as he glanced toward the full-blown matron who was even now regarding Edward with a hungry smile.
“Oh, very well. I shall go and attempt to distract Lady Beauvaille. You remain here and try to avoid bewitching any other desperate ladies.”
Unable to resist a measure of revenge for his friend’s taunting, Edward conjured a sweet smile.
“Thank you, Biddles. I shall be certain to tell Anna of Lady Beauvaille and the terrible sacrifices you have been forced to bear for me.”
Not surprisingly, the slender gentleman abruptly froze to regard him with a narrowed gaze. There were few in London who did not realize that the one-time rake and scoundrel was now firmly under the authority of his spirited wife.
“Breathe one word of this to Anna and I will have you trussed up in a corset before you can blink,” he muttered in low tones.
“Only if your sweet wife doesn’t murder you first. My bet is on Anna.”
Biddles cast him a sour glare. “So is mine.”
With a loud sniff, the flamboyant dandy turned on his heel and threaded his way through the growing crowd.
Still smiling, Edward moved deeper into the shadows and leaned his large form against the wall. He did not doubt that Biddles would somehow manage to divert Lady Beauvaille. There were few who could resist his charm. That, however, did not completely ease his discomfort.
His smile faded as his gaze idly roamed toward the dance floor. Despite the vastness of the room, he felt suffocated by the growing crowd and all too aware of the sneering glances cast in his direction.
Gads, the evening had onl
y begun and already he was wishing himself miles away. How the devil was he supposed to endure another three months of such torture?
Absently lifting a hand to tug at the demon-spawned cravat that dug into his throat and tickled his jaw, Edward was counting the hours before he could reasonably offer his excuses to leave when his gaze was abruptly captured by an exotic beauty as she stood in a distant corner.
Good God.
Edward forgot to breathe. He forgot to blink. And even how to swallow.
Hell’s teeth, but she was exquisite.
In the candlelight her hair appeared as dark and glossy as polished ebony. It had been elaborately arranged in curls atop her head, with a handful left to brush the ivory of her cheeks. Her dark eyes were heavily lashed and so large they seemed to dominate the perfect oval of her face, while the curve of her lips was full and a delicate shade of pink.
Slowly his stunned gaze lowered to the slender form currently attired in a shimmering yellow gown. His body instantly heated in awareness, and he clenched his hands at his side.
It was not just that she was a brilliant peacock among the pale doves that caught and held his attention.
It was more the vibrant force that seemed to crackle in the air about her.
This was not a woman who would drift through life. Oh, no. She would blaze her own path and damn anyone in her way.
A startling, near-overwhelming urge to charge across the room and claim her as his own shuddered through him.
Thankfully he had not lost his wits entirely.
Even if he were to toss himself at her dainty feet, it would accomplish no more than to embarrass the poor woman and make a fool of himself.
Edward was painfully aware that he was a source of mocking amusement among society. He was bourgeois, unsophisticated, and lacking the smooth charm that ladies admired.
It would take a great deal more gloss before he could hope to approach a young woman of breeding. For now she was just as likely to take him for a servant as for a nobleman.
Without allowing himself the opportunity to do something ridiculous, Edward pushed from the wall and headed firmly toward the French doors.
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