by Sophia Nash
Phoebe Talmadge nearly swooned in panic.
Perfect. “Back in a trace.”
Nothing could have made Rory happier than to tap the shoulder of the gentleman who had stolen his rightful space on Verity’s dance card, dangling from her slender wrist.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, her nose rising in the air.
“No, I must beg yours,” he retorted dryly. “You’re needed in the salon. Or your smelling salts are needed.”
“Oh.” Her mouth made a small round O. “In that case, Mr. Findley, would you be offended if we resume our conversation between the—” She examined the card on her wrist. “Hmmm, shall we say between the third and the fourth set?”
“It would be an honor, Lady Fitzroy. And by the by, the answers to your questions are that I am neither a gambler nor a rake, and no, I am not in love with another female at this moment.”
What in hell? He nearly dragged Verity out of the ballroom, amid much whispers all around. She wrenched away from him a few feet from the double doors leading out of the ballroom. He glared at her, before he realized she was merely fetching her reticule, which was as ugly as her singularly unappealing trio of ostrich feathers in a turban that made her appear twice as old as she was. Why did petite ladies mistakenly think that hideous, sneeze-inducing bird plumage would make them appear taller?
Beyond the doors, he pulled her into a private alcove, with two palms in front of it.
“What in hell are you doing?” The back of his neck itched and he scratched it.
“I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“Why were you asking that buffoon those provoking questions?”
“He didn’t seem to find the questions provoking at all. In fact, he immediately agreed that my method of discerning a gentleman’s true character was a capital idea.” She tilted her head. “I find docility in a man quite novel and charming.”
“And what method is this?”
“A series of questions designed to learn if a man would be an ideal candidate for a husband or not.”
“This was Mary Haverty’s idea, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps,” she said airily. “But, actually, I found the original questions a bit mild. The ones I added are far more interesting.”
“Let me see the list.”
She blinked. “I left it at Boxwood.”
“Liar.”
“Bully.”
He reached for her reticule and before she could stop him he extracted a card and held it over his head as she reached for it. “Stop. The footman will think there are wild animals in here if you disturb the palm fronds any further. On second thought—” He withdrew her smelling salts and emerged from the alcove with his firm grip on her arm while he motioned to the liveried footman. “You there, young man. Deliver these salts to Lady Haverty in the salon across from the ballroom.”
Rory then quickly led Verity through the main hall and past the gilded entrance toward the stand of birch trees threaded with lanterns on the side of the elegant stone mansion. “Now, then.” He finally looked at her list of questions.
She pulled her arm from his grasp and snorted in frustration. “Go ahead. Read it. Why should I care a whit what you think?”
In the lantern light, he scanned the card and immediately almost choked. “You will be the laughingstock.” He began to read the list aloud. “ ‘Do you like children? How many children would you propose to have? What do you do with your time? Are you opposed to ladies riding astride? What do you suppose servants call you behind your back? Are you in love with anyone? Any mistress? Gambler? Rake? Which of your relations live with you? Do you love your mother? Have you ever tortured or killed small animals for pleasure? Do you believe in the superiority of the female mind?’ And lastly—Oh, dear God,” he paused to regain his breath. “Tell me you did not ask any gentleman this question.”
“Which one?”
“The one that says: ‘Would you be opposed to allowing me full control of my dowry with the understanding that your pin money would be at least five thousand a year?’ ”
“Of course. So far all the gentlemen I’ve queried thought the sum more than adequate.”
“How do you know they’re not all lying through their teeth?”
“Why, they’re so shocked when I begin the rapid-fire questions that any fool could discern if they were lying. It’s amazing how strong the male urge is to be polite toward a lady. You being the exception, of course.”
He refrained from responding if only to prove her wrong. “And just how many gentlemen have you asked these questions of?”
“Hmmm, five or six I believe.”
“But the ball only just started.”
“You were late. Don’t worry, rakes are always late. Then again, it means nothing to me as rakes are off my list, as you can see. But we can still be great friends, if you are feeling up to the challenge of friendship finally.”
“This is not how the daughter and sister of a duke is supposed to behave.”
“You would know given the number of these sorts of ladies you’ve seduced.”
“Absolutely. Wait, how would you know anything about . . . Damnation, this is beyond idiotic. I am far more eligible than any of these country bumpkins.”
“I don’t know. The Earl of Lambton’s heir is very nice. I happen to like nearsighted, balding gentlemen whose responses are within reason and whose only flaw appears to be an overbearing mother who refuses to live in a dowager cottage.” She widened her knowing eyes for a moment. “And the vicar would have me. He is the best choice actually. With my dowry, I think we would do very well, don’t you?”
He ground his molars. “Do be serious. It’s settled. I have already offered and you must accept.” Where was his famous wit and charm when he most needed it? For some blasted reason he could not seem to muzzle the prehistoric dominant male in him. It was probably the part of him that was beginning to be attracted to her molting hat.
She studied him beneath her eyelashes. And for the first time, Rory really noticed the elegant heart-shaped physiognomy of her face, and the plump nature of her lips. It was only too bad they were combined with her stubborn set jaw and intelligent high forehead.
“I’ve already given you my answer. And if you were a gentleman and possessed half a brain, you would thank me. But I fear that recent brush with absinthe has left you compromised in the upper stories, and so I suppose I shall have to explain it to you.” She sighed. “I shall consider marriage if the gossip leaks from Carleton House. But I would marry someone other than you. So you can go on your merry way—with the added enticement that my brother won’t have to kill you. But don’t look so annoyed. It’s highly doubtful I’d have the nerve to go through with it. I’d prefer life as a recluse in the Lake District if I can manage it without damaging my family’s reputation.”
He took a step closer toward her and she took a step backward, only to find herself backed into one of the white-barked trees.
He shook his head in exasperation.
“It’s true and you know it. My brother only wanted me to have the protection of your name, but I think you know he certainly wasn’t going to allow conjugal rights with his sister.”
He went still at the thought of sexual congress with Lady V. He recovered only after a beat. “Especially his favorite sister.”
“Precisely.” Her gaze moved to some unseen object beyond his shoulder. “Look at it this way, Your Grace—”
“So we’re back to formalities, are we?”
“I think it best since I might very well be on the verge of becoming engaged to someone else.”
“You were saying?”
“Look at it this way. I’m saving your life.” She sighed. “With very little effort on your part, I might add. The least you could do is thank me.”
He was going to have to see the tooth drawer if he didn’t stop grinding his back teeth. “Lady V?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Stop that. I prefer you use m
y given name. You never used my title as a child. Why should you use it now?”
She paused. “All right, Rory. I admit there is something that grates when I’m forced to kowtow to you.”
“Good. And if you don’t want me to compromise your reputation for a second time, then I suggest we continue this conversation somewhere else. I’ve something of importance to relay to you. Tomorrow, say four o’clock, at the north end of the lake on your property?”
“But, there’s no reason to—”
“Yes there is. And if you do not acquiesce with grace I will kiss you senseless right here and now in front of that footman who is now just exiting the front door.”
“You would never—”
He ignored her and took her hand and tucked it under his arm to guide her toward the mansion. “And by the by, Findley was telling you the absolute truth. I can confirm he is neither a gambler nor a rake and he is not in love with another lady. However, you might want to rephrase the question in future, as Findley is indeed in love, but my last thread of decency prevents me from explaining the matter any further.”
She suddenly halted and he almost stumbled. His agility was clearly going in his old age.
Verity’s innocent face looked up at him in the moonlight. “I cannot imagine what you mean, but I’m certain I trust a gentleman whose passions in life include gardening and painting embroidery canvases instead of the practiced charm of an established rake.”
He urged her to continue walking. “Of course you do. And that is further proof that this method of yours and Mary’s is sheer madness.”
“Actually, I had thought you would approve of my method. It would leave you the chance to wiggle off the hook.”
“Perhaps I’ve chosen to accept the hook,” he whispered in her ear.
“No one chooses the pain of the hook, Rory, if it can be avoided,” she insisted softly.
He pulled his head back to examine her face. A pattern of the branches from the oak near the door reflected on her face in the night air. She had the most translucent complexion. And her eyes were . . . extraordinarily guarded yet lovely. “What will it take for you to stop interviewing the gentlemen of Derbyshire?”
She smiled. “Nothing.”
What was her game?
“I began to see the flaws of Mary’s and my plan when one of the old goats began to question me!”
He grinned. “Even I know you don’t like to answer to anyone, V.”
“And that is why I have always desired your friendship, Rory.”
Chapter 6
She was going to be late. Verity urged her mare harder. Lord, and after she had chastised him so for being tardy last evening for the Talmadges’ ball. If there was one thing Verity despised, it was a hypocrite. And she might have to revise her stance on timeliness.
It was just that Timmy had needed an extra ten minutes to complete the set of arithmetic problems she had given him. And there had been the essays to correct from the three boys soon to go to Eton.
She approached the gap in the trees and made a sharp turn to the right, hoping he would be waiting for her at the north end instead of near the site of her formerly beloved tree. The last decade, she had refused to avoid the pine that had been the scene of her disillusionment, but that did not mean she had to torture herself by lingering. Thankfully, she spied Rory’s beautiful dark gray horse a furlong away and sped to the prettiest vantage point of the lake.
She was tired. Last night after the ball she’d been unable to settle into her usual lovely deep sleep. Thoughts of Rory in all his splendid elegance whirled in her mind. Every lady, marriageable or not, had had their eyes glued on the long-lost prodigal son of Derbyshire. And she was the only one, aside from Mary, who had not one design on him.
She slowed to a sedate trot the last few feet before pulling to a halt and dismounting.
“You should walk your horse after a gallop like that,” he suggested.
She rolled her eyes. “Have you always taken me for a fool?” She gathered her mare’s reins and led her in a wide circle. Rory shadowed her other side. Out of the corner of her eye she spied him blatantly extracting his fob and examining his gold pocket watch.
She pretended to gaze at the vast beauty of the lake. Pine, poplar, and mountain ash skirted the water’s edge, where wagtails and dippers swooped in to feed on the underwater mayfly and alderfly nymphs.
He returned his watch to his pocket and extracted a very formal-looking letter. She was determined not to ask what it was and so she bit her tongue yet again. At this rate she doubted she would be able to eat anything but mush in the near future.
“When you were a child I often thought that you fancied me in a fashion. And so now I am left to wonder if I have done something—apart from mistaking your bedchamber for mine, of course—to make you form such a violent dislike of me.”
She finally darted a glance at his devastatingly handsome profile. “I can’t possibly grasp what you mean.”
“By the by, there is something powdery, almost chalk-like in your hair.”
Her hands flew to her head. “Well, if you must know, I can’t abide you because you’re insufferable. And most notably toward me for some indefinable reason.”
He laughed long and loud. “Of course I’m insufferable. But you should take it as a compliment, V. I’m only insufferable with people I like.” He scratched his jaw. “And here I thought that becoming a duke would, at the very least, prevent anyone from pointing out my flaws to my face.”
“Yet another reason we shall not marry, since dukes have never intimidated me.”
The corners of his mouth rose, and the sun reflected off his beautiful smile.
“You know, V, your brother often remarked that one of his sisters required a new governess each season of the year. He wasn’t talking about you, was he?”
“I can’t imagine James ever suggesting I was unbear—”
He interrupted. “I find that when a person suggests someone has a flaw, it is actually a flaw they possess themselves. Do you agree?”
There were times that Verity wished she was a beautiful, sleek, and very lethal lioness. This was one of those times. “Do tell me if that note you so obviously withdrew from your pocket is a new list of questions for me to use in my pursuit to save your arse.”
Amusement filled his eyes. “Are we agreed that your horse is cool now? Perhaps she would like to join mine?” He nodded toward his gray. “What is her name, by the by?”
“Captio.”
“Hmmm. Latin for fallacy. Why would you give such a lovely creature a name like that?”
“I rather think it works perfectly. It is the opposite of my name.”
“How so?”
“First, while she is lovely and dainty, unlike me, she also has far more stamina, grit, and ability than any of the other magnificent creatures my brother has stabled at Boxwood.”
He did not utter any ridiculous false flattery, which deep inside she rather liked. She couldn’t stand it when people lied and suggested she was anything more than what she was: unoriginal and plain.
He disengaged the reins from her hands. She immediately dropped her fingers when they grazed his. He saw to her mare and then returned to Verity.
“You still haven’t explained the chalk in your hair.”
“And you still haven’t explained the note.”
He looked at her with an unreadable smile, waiting.
She gazed at the wild cloudberries dotting the defined pastures beyond the sparkling lake. Newly shorn ewes and lambs grazed near their folds. She wasn’t sure why she was embarrassed to tell him. It was just that she didn’t want him to mock her. “It’s from teaching the children in the village while our teacher, Miss Woods, is away, tending her ill sister. It’s only for a fortnight or so, I am certain.”
He smiled down his approval but said not a word as they walked along the water’s edge. She was glad he didn’t make light of her efforts. It would have been so easy to do. Wavelets
danced on the surface of the lake, where a flock of geese had settled for the warm season.
He finally stopped and she followed suit. “I received this express from a trusted acquaintance at Carleton House yesterday.”
She glanced at the note in his gloved hand.
“There is much talk belowstairs in the royal residence. Of you and of me. My source warns that it is only a matter of time before Prinny and others catch wind of the gossip. And it will spread to the rest of London via the ruthlessly efficient network of the serving class.”
The blood in her veins raced.
“And given the public’s rabid reaction to the night of infamy, in addition to the Morning Post’s incessant installments from a mysterious diary kept by a raving lunatic member of the ton, well, it will not be surprising if Prinny insists we marry. By summer’s end. He has already arranged the marriages of one if not two dukes already.”
The hair on her arms prickled. A mysterious diary? Kept by a raving lunatic of the ton? For the first time she could remember, she did not reach for her smelling salts. She was far too shocked to do anything but keep walking. In fact, she wanted to run like the wind, all the way to the exotic jungles of Africa and never return. Oh, it was ridiculous. She could not be that unlucky. Every pompous blowhard in London kept a diary. She refused to add another worry to her long list.
“And so, despite your efforts to save me from my own stupidity that night the devil ruled, I must beg you quite sincerely, V, to honor me with your hand in marriage.”
Still in a dreamlike fog of shock over the mention of a diary, she watched in silence as the man with whom she had once been besotted before life had taken a turn, awkwardly got down on one knee and offered his hand.
She refused to take it. “Don’t.” She looked away. “Don’t do this. Do get up. The letter makes no difference.”
He didn’t move. She turned in time to see a muscle in his jaw clench. It took every ounce of moral strength in her not to reach out and sooth it.
“Of course it makes no difference. I knew we would have to marry the moment I opened my bleary eyes and saw your adorable white lace sleeping bonnet and your brother, just beyond, with murder in his heart.”
