The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere

by Anna Bradley

  “You’re a shameless creature, Haslemere, but I’m inclined to look favorably upon you, as you seem to have done the impossible.” Lady Archer nodded at Lady Trowbridge. “I can’t conceive how you managed to get her to the tables. I’ve been trying for an age, with no success.”

  Benedict shrugged. “My masculine wiles, of course.”

  Lady Archer let out a trill of laughter. “If it was anyone other than you, Lord Haslemere, I’d say that was utter nonsense, but you’ve always been far too charming for your own good. Still, I’m not inclined to question my good fortune. Lady Trowbridge has plenty of money to waste, and she’s dreadful at faro.”

  Benedict hesitated. He didn’t like to leave Georgiana, but she was safe enough with Lady Trowbridge, and he wanted to seize his chance to pry information out of Lady Archer while she was pleased with him. “You could return the favor, my lady.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows rose. “Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”

  “A quick word or two in private, nothing more.”

  “Private? You intrigue me. But of course, I’m pleased to indulge you. No lady would ever refuse Lord Haslemere a favor. Will you come to my private sitting room?”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Benedict rested a hand on Georgiana’s shoulder to get her attention, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Stay with Lady Trowbridge, and don’t stir from your seat. I’m off to have a word with Lady Archer. Once I’m finished, I’ll return to fetch you.”

  Georgiana nodded. “Yes, all right.”

  She sounded slightly breathless, and Benedict just had time to wonder if she was as affected by him as he was by her before he was obliged to leave her, and follow Lady Archer.

  “Now, Lord Haslemere.” Lady Archer closed the sitting room door behind her and gestured Benedict to a chair. “How can I help?”

  “I have a few questions about Lord Draven I thought you might be able to answer.” Benedict didn’t mention the rumor he’d heard from Lady Wylde about Draven having been Lady Archer’s lover. Lady Archer was a worldly woman, and would likely understand right away why he’d chosen to come to her.

  “Poor Lord Draven. You did hear about his, ah…accident, did you not?”

  “Are we pretending it was an accident, my lady?”

  Lady Archer sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in that, is there? I won’t insult you by asking if you had a hand in it, though I’ve heard whispers to that end.”

  “Whispers? Is that all? I’ve had accusations hurled directly in my face,” Benedict said, thinking of Mrs. Bury. “London does love their rumors, and the ton must have their gossip, regardless of whether there’s any truth to it.”

  “Indeed. But I’ve known you long enough to know there’s not a morsel of truth in this case. You may be a rake, Haslemere, but you’ve never been a villain.”

  “I thank you for that, my lady.” Benedict paused for a moment over his next words, but there was no delicate way to say it. “I suppose you’ve also heard Draven’s meant to be having an affair with my sister, the Duchess of Kenilworth.”

  “Ah. That rumor is not, I’m afraid, quite as easily brushed aside. The ton has long believed Lord Draven is nursing a desperate passion for the duchess. That rumor has endured these six years or more, and is so entrenched people regard it as fact.”

  “I don’t trouble myself much with what the ton does or doesn’t believe, but I think you, Lady Archer, may have more insight into the business than most.”

  Lady Archer was quiet for a moment, then she crossed the room and took the chair opposite Benedict’s. “I might. What would you like to know?”

  Benedict blew out a breath, relief rushing over him. Lady Archer would have been well within her rights to toss him out onto St. James Street for his impertinence. “That house party—the one hosted by Lord Draven’s father. The trouble seems to have started there.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s right. Unfortunately, I didn’t attend that party, my lord, so anything I tell you about it is merely what I’ve heard secondhand.”

  “I’d be grateful to hear it, just the same.” Lady Archer might know something without realizing she did.

  “Very well. The duchess—well, she was Lady Jane then—attended the previous Lord Draven’s house party, and the current Lord Draven was said to have fallen madly in love with her then. More than one gentleman sighed after Lady Jane, but I don’t need to tell you that, my lord.”

  It was on the tip of Benedict’s tongue to ask about Clara Beauchamp, but he decided against it. Miss Beauchamp was never introduced in society, and she wasn’t ton, or even aristocracy. Hence, no one in London seemed to know a thing about her.

  “Alas for poor Lord Draven, the Duke of Kenilworth also attended that house party. He and Lord Draven were good friends, you know. But Kenilworth fell in love with Lady Jane as well, and she with him, if the gossips have the right of it. It was a tragic love triangle, I’m afraid.”

  A love triangle, of all absurd things. Benedict would have said Jane was far too sensible to involve herself in such nonsense, but what insight did a brother have into the secret depths of his sister’s heart?

  None, and nor did she wish him to. If nothing else, Jane had made that clear to him this afternoon.

  “You likely know the rest of it, Lord Haslemere. Lord Draven, Kenilworth, and Lady Jane met in London after that doomed house party. Lady Jane came out that season, and Kenilworth immediately began courting her. Well, Lord Draven never really had a chance, did he? Kenilworth inherited an enormous fortune, as you know, and he didn’t hesitate to spend it. He purchased the Grosvenor Street house the previous winter, and every belle in London that season was wild to become mistress of it. By the end of it, Lady Jane was the Duchess of Kenilworth. Poor Draven was out, and has spent the past six years trying to get back in.”

  “And now, according to the gossips, he’s succeeded.”

  Lady Archer shrugged. “Some think so, yes, but no one really knows the truth. Unfortunately for Lady Jane, it’s far more exciting to believe she’s succumbed to a years’ long passion for Lord Draven than otherwise. Fidelity to one’s husband is, alas, a dull business.”

  Every fool in London might believe what they liked. Benedict didn’t give a damn. All that mattered was what the Duke of Kenilworth believed. If he thought he had reason to doubt his duchess, wasn’t it possible he’d taken his wrath out on Lord Draven?

  Benedict rose to his feet and began to pace the small room. “Yet for all those rumors of a rekindled love affair between Lord Draven and Jane, no one seems to think the Duke of Kenilworth had a hand in Lord Draven’s…mishap, though it seems far more likely a husband would be driven to violence over it than a brother would.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Haslemere, but it is not the case that everyone in London believes the Duke of Kenilworth is innocent of the attack on Lord Draven.”

  Benedict froze mid-step and turned a sharp look on Lady Archer. “Is that so?”

  “It is, indeed.”

  He marched back across the room and resumed his seat. “Do you mean to say, Lady Archer, that you don’t believe it?”

  Lady Archer eyed him for a long moment, an expression Benedict couldn’t read on her face. She looked…wary. Fearful, even.

  “I understand Lord Draven and the Duke of Kenilworth were great friends.” Benedict paused, but Lady Archer remained silent. “Perhaps the friendship between them is such that the duke would never suspect—”

  “There was a friendship between them, Lord Haslemere. It ended years ago at that house party, presumably because of the rivalry over Lady Jane. The friendship between the duke and Lord Draven cooled after that.”

  Benedict leaned forward, his gaze rivetted on Lady Archer. “Just how cool did it become?”

  “Cool enough that by the time Kenilworth and Lord Draven returned to
London for the season, they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.”

  “My God.” Rivalry for a lady’s affections did tend to sour a friendship, but this was the first Benedict had heard about such deep animosity between Draven and Kenilworth. “How is it possible there was no gossip in London about their falling out?”

  “There was some gossip, but the ton never became aware of the, ah…extent of their disagreement. I only know of it because Lord Draven and I became…friends of a sort when he came to London that year.” Lady Archer shook her head. “He was in a dreadful state. I’ve never seen a man more devastated. It’s fortunate his father intervened and sent him away to the Continent. I don’t exaggerate, Lord Haslemere, when I say I believe it saved his life.”

  Benedict nodded. Lady Wylde had told him the same thing.

  Lady Archer hesitated, then murmured, “Lord Draven’s and Kenilworth’s falling out was far worse than anyone realizes, Lord Haslemere. After the house party was over and they returned to London for the season, they, ah…they fought a duel.”

  “A duel? Was it…were they fighting over—”

  “Lady Jane?” Lady Archer gave him a pitying look. “Lord Draven never said, but I imagine it must have been.”

  Benedict was hardly able to believe what he was hearing. No one had ever whispered even a breath about a duel before. This thing grew worse with every word out of Lady Archer’s mouth.

  But Lady Archer wasn’t finished. “There is one other thing, Lord Haslemere.”

  Something in her voice made Benedict’s blood run cold.

  “I…forgive me, but Lady Jane and Lord Draven were in London together that season, and there are some who say Lord Draven was still pursuing her, even after Kenilworth started courting her. I’ll leave you to make of that what you will, but it did occur to me it might be the sort of thing that would lead to a duel.”

  Benedict stared at her. No, it was impossible. Jane would never encourage one man’s affections while accepting the courtship of another.

  “There’s only one thing that doesn’t make sense.” Lady Archer frowned. “If the duel was over Draven’s continued attentions to Lady Jane, one would think it would be Kenilworth who challenged Lord Draven. It was the other way around. It was Lord Draven who challenged Kenilworth.”

  “Draven may have challenged Kenilworth for stealing away the lady he loved.” Benedict might have done the same, had he been in Draven’s position.

  “Perhaps, though that seems a drastic measure for Lord Draven to take. It wasn’t as if a duel would change anything. By then he’d already lost Lady Jane’s heart to Kenilworth.” Lady Archer shook her head. “Lord Draven may have been madly in love with Lady Jane, but he’s never been a fool.”

  “Every man in love is a fool, my lady.”

  “Perhaps.” Lady Archer’s rose from her chair with a sigh. “Or perhaps there’s a great deal more to this business between Lord Draven, Lady Jane, and the Duke of Kenilworth than anyone suspects.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Well, Miss Georgiana, as delightful as your company is, I believe I’ve had enough faro for one evening.” Lady Trowbridge placed spotted hands heavy with jewels flat on the baize, and heaved herself up from her chair. “I’m not in luck tonight, and I do so hate to lose.”

  Georgiana glanced uneasily toward the drawing room door. Benedict had disappeared with Lady Archer some time ago. She’d expected him back by now, but there wasn’t a sign of him yet.

  “Oh, but you can’t leave me alone, my lady!” Georgiana grasped Lady Trowbridge’s hand to stop her. “Faro is dreadfully confusing, and I don’t like to lose all of Lord Haslemere’s money.”

  “My dear girl, I doubt you’ve ever been confused about anything in your life.” Lady Trowbridge nodded at the tall pile of chips in front of Georgiana. “As for Haslemere, I daresay he wouldn’t bat an eye if you emptied every blessed coin from his coffers. Anyone can see he’s besotted with you.”

  Besotted? It was the last thing Georgiana expected Lady Trowbridge to say, and she couldn’t think of a single word to say in reply until she recalled the way Benedict had looked at Lady Wylde this morning. Anyone who’d seen him then would have thought he was besotted with her. He was, above all, a consummate performer. He could make anyone believe whatever he wished them to believe.

  “But it can’t be proper for me to sit here alone…” Georgiana trailed off, biting her lip. Not many mistresses worried about propriety, did they?

  Lady Trowbridge blinked in surprise, but then she offered Georgiana a kind smile. “You, Miss Georgiana, are quite a breath of fresh air. I do hope I have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

  She patted Georgiana’s hand, and then she hobbled off, feathers waving and her bright green silk skirts trailing behind her. Georgiana was half-tempted to follow Lady Trowbridge, but Benedict had asked her to wait here, and in any case, she didn’t like to attract attention to herself by leaving the room.

  So, there she sat, the skin of her neck prickling with self-consciousness, feeling as if every eye in the room was upon her. They weren’t, of course—no one paid her any attention—yet the longer she waited, the more uncomfortable she became.

  What in the world was keeping Benedict? He’d been gone for ages. Georgiana reached for her flute of champagne and downed the contents in one swallow before reaching for Lady Trowbridge’s glass, and with a shrug, finishing it as well.

  Lovely stuff, champagne, so pleasantly refreshing and…bubbly? Yes, that was a good word for it. Georgiana had only ever had it once before, but as the cool liquid flowed down her parched throat, she couldn’t think why.

  “More champagne, Miss Georgiana?”

  Georgiana had been watching the doorway of the drawing room, trying to conjure Benedict through the sheer force of her will. She didn’t notice someone had approached until he spoke.

  Georgiana turned. “Oh, no thank you. I—” She broke off, gooseflesh prickling her skin.

  The Duke of Kenilworth was standing beside her chair.

  He placed the flute of champagne in his hand on the table before her, as if she hadn’t just refused it, then, without an invitation, seated himself in Lady Trowbridge’s vacant chair. “I insist. This room is very warm, and you appear flushed.”

  His voice was deep and smooth, his address flawlessly polite, but his eyes…

  Gray, narrowed, and pure ice.

  Georgiana drew back, instinctively putting more space between them. “H-have we been introduced, Your Grace?”

  “Not formally, no. I am the Duke of Kenilworth.” The duke smiled, baring a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. “And you are Miss Georgiana, friend of my brother-in-law, Lord Haslemere. I don’t believe I was told your surname.”

  Georgiana hesitated. It wasn’t at all likely the duke would recognize her surname. She shunned social engagements, and rarely ventured past the bounds of the Clifford School. She was a no one in London, even to those who were familiar with Lady Clifford. She was certainly far beneath the Duke of Kenilworth’s notice.

  Still, Benedict had made a point of withholding her full name, and now she thought of it, why should the duke be interested in knowing it? As far as Kenilworth knew, she was simply Benedict’s latest mistress. Her name should be of no consequence to him.

  So, she acted as if she didn’t understand his hint, and instead offered him a vacant smile. “Do you play faro, Your Grace?”

  “Not much, no. Certainly not as well as you do.”

  He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, but Georgiana could see by the slight tightening of his lips he’d noticed she’d dodged his question, and he didn’t like it.

  The Duke of Kenilworth was, not surprisingly, accustomed to having his way.

  “Won’t you drink your champagne?” He slid the crystal flute closer to her hand. “As I said before, you look flushed. Haslemere will
be angry if I allow you to become overheated.”

  “It’s kind of you to be so concerned for me, Your Grace.” Any more champagne, and Georgiana’s wits would be well and truly addled, and she couldn’t help wondering if that was what the duke intended. Still, she didn’t think it wise to refuse him a second time, so she clasped the thin crystal stem in her fingers, lifted the flute to her lips, and took the smallest sip imaginable. “Very refreshing, indeed.”

  The duke plucked up one of her chips and turned it lazily between his fingers, his intent gaze focused on her face. “Now I think of it, where has Haslemere gone? It’s bad form for him to leave you here all alone, at the mercy of whatever blackguard chooses to accost you. Perhaps you don’t know it, Miss Georgiana, but every coxcomb and villain in London attends Lady Archer’s faro parties.”

  Georgiana watched the chip moving between his gloved fingers and a tremor darted up her spine. Again, his manner was courteous, solicitous even, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d just threatened her.

  She swallowed. “Lord Haslemere stepped out for a moment only to bid Lady Archer a pleasant evening. He should return at any moment, Your Grace.”

  “Not quite any moment, Miss Georgiana. He’s been gone for half an hour already.”

  Georgiana blinked. Had he been watching her, and waiting until she was alone before he approached?

  “Where did you and Haslemere happen to meet, Miss Georgiana? It’s curious, the way you appeared in London seemingly out of nowhere.”

  “Not nowhere, Your Grace.” Georgiana let out a gay laugh, but even she could hear the brittle note in it, and the duke’s eyes narrowed. “Lord Haslemere and I were introduced at…that is, we met at—”

  “I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting, my dear,” a deep voice said, just as a warm hand landed in the middle of Georgiana’s back. “Good evening, Kenilworth. What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I’ve never known you to frequent Lady Archer’s faro parties before.”