So maybe he was exaggerating a little. As a boy, he would have rather been playing with wooden swords or riding his horse than sitting indoors with a book. Age had not changed his viewpoint.
“Be daring, Maura,” he coaxed, stroking her palm with his finger. “What harm can be done?”
Maura tried not to smile at his attempt at a harmless appeal. “You cannot fool me, Lord Everod. Your reputation precedes you.”
“And there was a time when you called me by my name and not my title,” he said somberly.
She hesitated. “I—I cannot.”
Everod sensed she was wavering, and he took advantage of it. “Share the museum with me, Maura.”
Chapter Ten
Lady Fayre Brawley abhorred gossips. Before she had married her husband, Maccus, Lord Thatcher Standish and his mistress, Lady Hipgrave, had used the ton’s insatiable curiosity to publicly attack her. It had been a simply intolerable situation, and if not for her beloved husband, the couple might have succeeded in damaging her reputation beyond repair.
And yet, here she stood just outside Lord and Lady Fancutt’s ballroom with Kilby, her dear friend Lady Lyssa, Patience, and one of her closest friends, Callie Mableward, now the happily married Lady Yemant, on the verge of gossiping about one of her brother’s friends, Lord Everod.
Nevertheless, the viscount’s recent behavior and tragic predicament with his family demanded drastic measures. Lord Everod needed the support of his friends, even if he denied it.
“Which one is she?” Kilby asked, tilting her head as she searched the glittering sea of silk and diamonds.
The five ladies had an excellent view of the ballroom’s interior. The overly crowded ballroom had prompted their host, Lord Fancutt, to order the footmen to open all the doors and windows that faced the gardens.
Ramscar’s countess, Patience, pointed with her closed fan. “The blonde in the dark green dress is Lady Worrington. I recognize her from the theater.”
“Near the column to the right,” Patience instructed. “She is chatting with two other ladies. However, I cannot see their faces from this view. Fayre, do you not see Lord Worrington or the young woman?”
Fayre crinkled her nose and shook her head. “No.”
Lady Lyssa Nunnick was the eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wildon. After enduring the humiliation of two failed betrothals in as many years, her parents were desperate for her to marry this season. While Fayre and Kilby had conspired to introduce their friend to many of the eligible bachelors of the ton, Lady Lyssa was equally determined to avoid any entanglement.
“Do you think it is wise to meddle in Lord Everod’s business?” Lady Lyssa wondered aloud. “As one of les savauges nobles, he has never been bothered by gossip or rules. Fayre, you and Kilby know him better than I do. However, I cannot imagine either of your husbands would approve.”
“Oh, pish!” Kilby exclaimed, not overly concerned by her husband’s disapproval. “Fayne is just as worried about Everod as we are. Unfortunately, men live by some silly code that forbids them to interfere until blood has been drawn or they have been formally asked.”
All five ladies sighed in unison. Male reasoning made very little sense to them.
Callie groaned from behind them. Fayre turned and gave her friend a sympathetic pat on her shoulder. She was sitting on one of the stone benches just outside the doors. Rubbing her very swollen belly, her friend would be delivering Lord Yemant’s heir within a month.
“Callie, should I summon your husband?” Fayre asked, frowning in concern.
“No,” her friend replied, twisting her body to ease the strain on her back. Her warm chocolate-colored eyes reflected the discomfort she was struggling to ignore. “He did not want me to attend Lord and Lady Fancutt’s ball this evening because I tire so easily these days. If I ask him to take me home, he will be insufferable to live with.”
Fayre moved away from the doorway and sat down next to Callie. “Maccus was the same. He had an apoplectic fit every time I told him I was leaving the house without him. I swear, the man was always telling me to take a nap. Worse, he had my mother agreeing with him!”
“I see her!” Patience said excitedly.
Fayre assisted Callie onto her feet, and all five ladies watched as the mystery lady who was connected to Everod’s past joined her aunt. Her brother had told her the lady’s name was Maura Keighly.
Miss Keighly was just the sort of lady that would catch the viscount’s regard. She was elegantly tall, and moved with an enviable grace. The dress she wore this evening was the height of fashion. Her long dark brown hair was swept up high and a waterfall of curls gleamed as she stood beneath one of the large chandeliers. It was difficult to judge from a distance if she was pretty. However, knowing Everod’s taste, Fayre was positive Miss Keighly was stunning.
“She is so slender,” Callie sighed, mourning her formerly thin figure.
“And beautiful,” Kilby added.
Her brother had been discreetly gathering information about the young lady since Everod was perplexingly sparse on details about her. “Fayne tells me that she is likely brilliant. Her parents are Lord and Lady Courtwill.”
Fayre straightened as she noticed her husband and Cadd were sauntering toward Miss Keighly. Lady Fancutt immediately beckoned the gentlemen to come closer while she introduced Lady Worrington and her niece. She ground her teeth as she observed her husband bow gallantly over each lady’s extended hand. Did he forget he was married? How dare he flirt with the women!
“Should we despise her on principle?” Patience murmured, sending Fayre a commiserating glance.
“Well, well, what do we have here,” Teague Pethum, Viscount Darknell, said, coming up from behind and startling them. “I see five pretty cats who seem to have their claws out this evening. Who is the rat?”
Though Fayre had encountered Lord Darknell at countless functions over the years, the viscount was a close friend of Kilby’s. Her brother, on first meeting him, had taken an instant dislike to the gentleman. Fayre had thought the handsome viscount, with his sinfully dark eyes and the hint of silver at his temples, well mannered and rather charming. Fayne, on the other hand, disliked the man because Lord Darknell had once been in love with Kilby. Blood would have likely been spilled, if her sister-in-law had not been wholly in love with Fayne.
“Miss Keighly could hardly be described as a rat,” Kilby said, her affection for the gentleman apparent.
“Miss Keighly? Maura Keighly?” Lord Darknell said, peering between Kilby and Lady Lyssa to see the lady.
“Do you know her?” Fayre asked curiously.
The viscount nodded. “In passing. I was introduced to her last evening at the theater.”
Lady Lyssa laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”
Kilby made a disappointed sound. “You rogue! You attended last evening, and did not stop by our box?”
Lord Darknell smiled apologetically at the duchess. “I was distracted.”
“I am very cross with you!” Kilby said, dismissing him with the haughty tilt of her chin.
“Nunn,” he entreated, calling Lady Lyssa the nickname he had given her as a child. “Assist me, if you will.”
Lady Lyssa shifted, and aligned herself with her friend. “Honestly, Darknell, do you actually expect me to defend you, when you were likely dallying with your new mistress in some dark corridor?” She sniffed in disdain. “No.”
The viscount growled in frustration. The trio had been friends for many years. The manner in which they provoked each other was reminiscent of how she fought with her older brother. However, when Darknell stared at Lady Lyssa, there was nothing remotely brotherly in his expression. Fayre wondered if the young lady was aware of his interest.
“We are plotting how to save Lord Everod from Miss Keighly,” Callie explained to the viscount before he could be further distracted by Kilby and Lady Lyssa.
Lord Darknell raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Good intentions or not, i
f you ladies want my opinion, I do not think Everod wishes to be rescued.”
In unison, six pairs of eyes peered into the ballroom. Everod was standing between Cadd and Miss Keighly. His gaze was fixed keenly on the lady’s face. Beside her, Lady Worrington fumed. Unless something was done, the ton would be discussing the incident at breakfast.
Oblivious that his friends’ wives were avidly observing him, Everod gave Maura a hard look. “You were warned.” He was speaking to Cadd, but an appealing blush crept into the young lady’s fair complexion.
“I was not aware that certain people were forbidden to me,” Maura said, her facial features tight with anger or embarrassment. “Perhaps you could create a list, so these unfortunate mishaps will not occur in the future.”
Everod had intended to stay away from Maura this evening. During the hours they had shared together while they explored each room in the museum, a tentative truce had formed. For a brief time, he had forgotten that he did not trust her, and she had pretended that she did not have a good reason to fear him.
That was, until he saw Cadd hovering at her elbow like a lovesick puppy. Before Solitea and Ramscar could stop him, he had crossed the expanse of the ballroom and separated the chatting couple with his body.
“Everod,” Cadd began, recognizing the danger of provoking his friend.
His expression enigmatic, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Very well, Miss Keighly. You may place Lord Byrchmore at the top of the list.”
Although Everod had not spared Lady Worrington a single glance, he could feel her sharp beady gaze on him. Neither her husband nor Rowan was nearby to protect them, and she was surely aware that they were being observed by most of the occupants in the ballroom. What was his clever stepmother planning? Would she cry for help? Or had it just occurred to her as she approached him that his influence with the ton might be stronger than his father’s? For the first time in her selfish life, Georgette was likely bogged down in a mental quandary of indecisiveness.
“Maura, step away from him,” Georgette said in a low voice that he was certain dutiful Maura always heeded. “Mr. Brawley … Lord Byrchmore … Your friend is clearly foxed. It might be prudent to escort Lord Everod back to the card room before he upsets my niece.”
He smirked at Lady Worrington’s tearful plea. The lady did not give a damn about her niece. She was worried what might happen if Everod turned his attention to her.
Brawley touched him on the arm. “Are you foxed, Everod?”
“No.” He had just arrived at the Fancutts’ residence, and had gone straight to the card room to greet his friends. If Cadd had not insisted on being introduced to Maura, Everod would have been content to remain there all evening. “Have I upset you, Miss Keighly?” he asked with insincere courtesy.
Maura gave her aunt a side glance. “Alas, no, my lord. This hasn’t been one of your better efforts. However, I have complete faith that you will rally with the proper incentive.”
Both Brawley and Cadd gawked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted another head. They had expected the lady to cower in his presence; not tweak his nose. Everod’s respect for Maura increased as he grinned at her. He liked a lady with mettle.
“Lady Worrington,” Maccus Brawley said gently. “It appears your concerns are unfounded. If you do not mind my saying so, your coloring is sallow. If you will permit me, I would be happy to get you something to drink.”
The countess blanched at Brawley’s insult. “What I want,” she said, struggling not to lose her temper in front of so many witnesses. “Is my husband. Maura—”
“Has consented to dance with me,” Everod smoothly interjected. “Go find your husband, Lady Worrington. See if he has the courage you lack to stop me from taking Maura.”
Georgette glared at all of them. Afraid of looking like a fool, she marched off toward the card room in search of her husband.
As Everod moved toward Maura, Cadd stalled him by bumping him with his shoulder. “Are you trying to get Worrington to challenge you?” the marquess demanded, agitated by what he had witnessed. “What will it take to satisfy you?
“For now,” Everod said recklessly. “Just a dance with Miss Keighly.” He bent his head so his breath teased her ear. “I could be persuaded to do something utterly wicked if you fancy something more daring.”
He presented his arm to Maura.
Begrudgingly, she placed her hand on his forearm. “Lord Everod?”
“Yes, Miss Keighly.”
She exhaled noisily. “You have succeeded in upsetting me.”
Maura avoided meeting anyone’s speculative gaze as she and Lord Everod joined the other dancers. She had been simply mad to accept his invitation. But what was she to do?
The gentleman she had explored the British Museum with had vanished. Earlier this afternoon, she had glimpsed the fifteen-year-old young man he had been as they strolled from room to room. She had enjoyed the museum immensely.
There had been much to admire from artifacts brought to England by Captain Cook and Captain Byron to several mummies, and Cooper’s celebrated portrait of Oliver Cromwell. There were ancient idols from faraway lands, stuffed birds and reptiles, shells, mineral collections, and weapons of the ancient Britons, which Everod had boasted paled when compared to the collection his friend Lord Ramscar had amassed. She had marveled at the banqueting room that displayed a portrait of George II, and a unique table made from different specimens of lava.
Unguarded for once, Everod had offered outrageous opinions on some of the museum’s unusual treasures, and to her horror, her laughter echoed at inopportune times. When their stolen hours together had ended, Maura had been melancholy at their parting.
The flirtatious, relaxed manner Everod had exhibited at the museum was gone. In its place was the cynical, mocking Everod she had come to expect. No one had been safe from his grim amusement, not even his friends, Lord Byrchmore and Mr. Brawley. Their offense? They had politely asked their hostess for an introduction. Maura had not immediately recognized the two gentlemen as Everod’s friends, until the viscount stepped between her and the men. It had hurt her feelings that she was unworthy of a simple introduction to his friends.
“Smile, Miss Keighly,” Everod ordered, bowing to her as the music commenced. “Your admirers are wondering if I have insulted you.”
“I have no admirers, my lord,” Maura said, rising from her curtsy. “Or friends here. This is your world. Your friends are concerned for you.”
She skipped forward and took his hand.
“Are they?” he murmured, clasping her hand as she circled around him.
When they were face to face, she said, “Mr. Brawley and Lord Byrchmore must be wondering why you are dancing with a lady you have purported to despise. Loyal to you, they worry that you are taunting your father into a public confrontation.”
They danced away from each other and came together with another couple. Holding hands, the foursome circled once and separated. Maura changed places with the other lady in her set, and then returned to Lord Everod.
“Your logic has several flaws,” he said, as he captured her hand and they moved forward.
She curtsied as he bowed. “How so?”
“I do not despise you, Miss Keighly.”
Maura almost stumbled at his declaration. They backed away from each other, and she skipped forward to close the gap between them.
“So you have forgiven me for past offenses?” Maura said, breathless from her exertions. She tried not to be disappointed when he winced at her question. “I thought not.”
Everod seized her hand. Maura gasped because it was not part of the dance. “Our situation is more complex than a simple yes or no,” he muttered defensively.
From the corner of her eye, Maura saw Lord and Lady Worrington. She did not need to look closely to see that they were furious. Rowan came up to his father and whispered in the earl’s ear. The trio watched them as if they expected Lord Everod to toss her over his shoulder and carry h
er into the dark gardens.
“Hate usually is, Lord Everod.”
Chapter Eleven
Hours later, after the Worringtons had departed the ball, the earl stormed into his countess’s bedchamber. “You must have ice for blood to sit there so calmly while Everod plots the ruination of our niece!” the earl said from the threshold of his wife’s bedchamber.
The cordial he had been imbibing in the library before he had sought her out was slanting dangerously close to the edge of the fine glass. Georgette studied her husband’s reflection through the mirror as she calmly brushed her hair. Everod had upset the family again. She viewed his mischief as inconvenient but manageable.
“I will admit, I was initially upset when Everod cornered us in the ballroom,” she said, peering sadly at her husband. “However, there is little he can do to us. Once he understands that we will not be intimidated by his presence, he will lose interest in taunting us about the past.”
Beneath her serene demeanor, Georgette privately waged a battle with her temper. Everod was determined to spoil her stay in London. Even she had been momentarily stunned by his brazen approach. As he swaggered toward them, there was a possessiveness in her stepson’s manner when he stared at Maura that she did not like. By itself, his boorish behavior had not troubled her.
However, Maura was being uncharacteristically difficult these days. And secretive. Georgette had devoted years to building Maura’s fear of Everod. As long as she possessed her niece’s loyalty, the truth about her liaison with Everod would never be questioned, never be disclosed. Although their discourse with Everod had been brief, Georgette had noted the curiosity in Maura’s gaze when she looked at the viscount.
Oh, she could not condemn her niece for being attracted to Everod. Years ago, she herself had been attracted to the then fifteen-year-old young man. Georgette had been ten years older, and a lifetime more cunning. Worrington’s heir had effortlessly succumbed to her charms while she indulged her secret fantasies and worshiped his beautiful, perfect body.
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