The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown

by Julia Quinn

  Shaking his head at his own folly, Royce pulled his collar up about his ears and walked down the street, trying hard not to watch Liza’s carriage as it rumbled out of sight.

  Chapter 4

  Sir Royce Pemberley. Ah, now there is a man that This Author can write about for weeks without ever repeating a word.

  No, no, that is not quite accurate. Rake, dashing, rogue, wicked, and devilish would surely worm their way into the columns over and over again.

  But while the words might be repeated, the actual stories would not. Sir Royce’s exploits are legendary, and yet he always manages to evade any actual censure due to his almost lethally charming personality.

  Truly, the only woman who seems immune to his smile (aside, of course, from his sister) is Miss Liza Pritchard, about whom This Author could also write for weeks without ever repeating a word.

  Quite the couple they make, and certainly an exemplary example to those who insist that the males and females of our species cannot be friends. Indeed they were spied together, shopping near Bond Street on Saturday afternoon.

  And then again, that night at Drury Lane, although Miss Pritchard had been officially escorted by Lord Durham.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 31 JANUARY 1814

  The Theatre Royal was a-hum with excitement as appreciative theatergoers, seeking amusement for the long cold winter nights, filled the boxes and packed the pits. Everyone was dressed in his or her finest finery, and the house buzzed with excited voices, most of them talking right over the opening farce.

  “I vow, but I cannot wait to see this Edmund Kean!” Meg said. “Lady Bancroft says he is a genius.” She cast her eyes toward the box that bordered theirs, then said in a low, excited voice to Liza, who sat directly behind her, “Did you hear the Earl of Renminster speak to me a moment ago? He promised to attend my ball!”

  Liza glanced to where Meg’s cousin, Miss Susannah Ballister, spoke quietly to the earl. Though Liza had had the opportunity to see Miss Ballister on occasion and thought her quite a handsome girl, Susannah looked particularly pretty this evening. Liza grinned. “I daresay Renminster will be sure to come to your ball if you invite Miss Ballister.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. “Do you think—oh no! He couldn’t possibly—not after, well, you know what happened.”

  “Yes, but that was a while ago. And she is certainly a well-behaved young lady. And lovely to boot.”

  Meg’s chin bobbed up and down in agreement. “Indeed, she is. She’s such a wonderful—” Her attention suddenly riveted on a box across the theater. “Oh my! There’s Lady Anne Bishop sitting with Lord Howard. Do you think they will make a match of it?”

  Liza nodded absently and set her fan on the empty seat beside her. Usually she enjoyed a good gossip, but tonight she found her attention wandering. What she wanted was to ask Lord Durham if he enjoyed the theater and what were some of his favorite plays. Perhaps that was an area they might have in common. For some reason, it had become imperative that she find as many commonalities as she could.

  But it was quite impossible to speak to Durham, for he was deep in conversation with Lord Shelbourne over the merits of a farm taxation bill due before the House of Lords. She cast a morose glance his way. Must every topic always focus on his blasted cows? She was going to have to learn to like bovines. It was a depressing thought.

  Sighing, Liza looked down at where her new red slippers peeked from beneath the edge of her green silk gown. The slippers were embroidered with gold thread and sparkled as shamelessly as the rubies encircling her throat and dangling from her wrists. Most women wouldn’t have worn green silk with rubies, but Liza liked the contrast. It reminded her of Christmas, and that could never be a bad thing.

  “You look far too serious. Looking forward to Kean’s performance?”

  Liza looked up, startled to find Royce leaning so close. His eyes seemed a darker blue than usual, his gaze so direct that a skittering of heat flashed through her. She sent a self-conscious glance past him to Durham, but now Meg was monopolizing the young lord’s attention. Reluctantly, Liza pulled her attention back to Royce. “I wasn’t thinking of the play; I was admiring my bracelet.” She held it up. “It glimmers quite loudly in this light.”

  His gaze slowly slid from her eyes, down to her chin, lingering a halting moment on her mouth. “That’s a lovely bracelet,” he said, his voice unaccountably low and husky. The sound dripped over her and rippled across her, leaving a trail of delicious goose bumps.

  As if aware of how he’d affected her, he smiled then—a tantalizingly lopsided smile, his white teeth briefly appearing between his firm lips. “You look lovely tonight, too. Every bit as lovely as your bracelet.”

  Liza could only stare at him. Good God, was this how he spoke to the women he pursued? No wonder so many of them fell beneath his spell. The thought sharpened the edges of her already frayed nerves. “Stop that.”

  He lifted his brows. “Stop what?”

  “You know what—trying to make me feel—” Pretty. She couldn’t say that. Anything but that. “You’re trying to discomfort me.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I was, however, going to tell you that I’ve made arrangements for Prinny. I will send a groom to your house tomorrow to fetch him out to my estate.”

  Liza knew she should feel grateful, and indeed she was. Very grateful, in fact. But mixed in with the grateful feeling was something else. Something larger and infinitely more confusing.

  She tried not to look down at her shoulder where it grazed Royce’s. Heat slithered up her arm and down her collarbone, sparking an excited thump from her heart. She realized with dismay that somehow in the last few weeks, she’d lost her immunity to Royce.

  Not that she’d ever really been immune to him—who could be? But she’d prided herself on not reacting to him at every turn. Now she couldn’t even look at him without some sort of tremulous tingle disrupting her thoughts. She moved her shoulder impatiently. “Must you sit so close?”

  His gaze darkened. “Liza, what’s wrong?”

  “You are crowding me and I don’t like it. Please move away.” She knew she was being unreasonable. The chairs were closely set and Royce couldn’t have kept from brushing against her even if he tried. But somehow that didn’t matter. She just wanted him gone. Now.

  He leaned toward her just a tiny bit more. “Perhaps I like sitting this close.”

  Liza refused to budge. Life had shoved her about enough this week, and she wasn’t about to let Royce do it, too. Instead of moving away, she leaned forward, exerting her own pressure against his shoulder. “Move.”

  A flicker of something lit his eyes, something more than anger. A strange mixture of humor and interest. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

  Considering the thousands of women Royce knew, that was hardly a compliment. Thinking of those thousands of women set her teeth even more on edge, and she pressed harder.

  He laughed and shifted in his chair, matching her efforts without hesitation. For several moments, neither spoke, both intent on their silent battle.

  Liza suddenly realized that if Royce moved, she’d probably shoot right past him and land headfirst in Durham’s lap. What would she do then? But she couldn’t quit. For one brief shining moment, she just wanted to win. At something.

  She balled her hands into fists and made sure her fake smile stayed on her lips in case anyone happened to glance their way. “I hope this isn’t the way you treat your amoratas,” she said through her clenched teeth.

  He choked. “Amor—damn, Liza! What will you say next?” Slowly, he relaxed. “You have no idea how I treat anyone, much less my amoratas.”

  Liza realized that he was no longer pressing against her. She’d won, by God! Her spirits lifted momentarily.

  But before she could crow her victory, Royce said in a low voice, “This is how I treat a woman I want.” He reached in front of her, his arm brushing against the lace front of her gown as he picked up her disc
arded fan from where it sat on the seat beside her. He moved slowly, his arm rubbing intimately against her, making her breasts peak beneath her silk gown, her skin burn as if the sun kissed it.

  Liza gripped the arms of her chair, her breath suspended as Royce leaned back in his seat. It seemed a slow, delicious, and thoroughly agonizing hour passed before he finally removed his arm. In reality, it had been but a moment. Still, her body clung to the feeling, lingered over it, savoring every second.

  Royce held the fan before her startled gaze and swung it back and forth, then dropped it into her lap.

  She looked down at the fan and tried to find her breath. Her entire body quivered with a strange heat. “Why—who—I—” Her cheeks were so hot that she was certain she’d explode into flames at any moment. “You are impossible!” she managed to hiss. “What if someone saw?”

  “No one did,” he said, his voice a bit rough. There was a look in his eyes she’d never seen before. Something dangerous and thrilling at the same time.

  Liza cast about for something to say. Something that would show the braggart that she was completely unaffected by his touch. But nothing came. All she could do was look into those damnably gorgeous blue eyes and wish she’d never pushed Royce so far.

  Royce, meanwhile, was trying to figure out how a simple touch had muddled him so badly he couldn’t utter a coherent sentence. He’d been with swarms of women, engaged in flirtations too numerous to count, and generally had whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He’d let Liza’s infernal teasing force him into treating her in a way he never had before. And in that moment, something changed. She’d gone from being a protected, beloved friend to a maddeningly challenging woman. One, he found to his deep dismay, that he wanted badly. So badly he ached with need.

  Bloody hell, I want Liza. A thick fog of desire swirled through him and he had to force himself to breathe. He wanted Liza, his best friend, the one woman who really knew who and what he was. The idea was astounding. Disturbing. And utterly impossible. What the devil was he supposed to do now?

  “Sir Royce, did you enjoy the farce?” Durham beamed down at them. “I thought it was particularly well executed.”

  Royce had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Ah, yes. Yes, the farce was very well done.”

  The bumpkin wasn’t paying Royce the least heed, but was staring at Liza like a lovesick puppy. “And you, Liza? Did you enjoy it?”

  Royce glowered. Since when had Liza allowed Durham use of her Christian name? Royce cut a hard glance at her.

  She lifted her chin in response. “Lord Durham asked if he might address me by my given name and I assured him he could.”

  Royce had quite a bit to say about that, but Meg interrupted. “Liza, come look!” She was sitting on the edge of her chair, trying to look down into the pits without appearing to do so, which would be unaccountably vulgar. “Lord Darington is in the pits. At least, I think it is Lord Darington.”

  Liza jumped up with an alacrity that Royce was certain had more to do with getting away from him than anything else. She made her way to Meg’s side and peered down, leaning way over the balcony. “It can’t be Darington. He hasn’t been to Town in ages.”

  “I know, but I’m almost sure I saw him before he disappeared into the pit.” Meg stretched up, trying to see over the railing without leaving her seat. “Of course, if it is Darington, he wouldn’t be seated down there, would he?”

  “Pardon me,” Lord Durham said, his heavy brows drawn low, “Liza my dear, perhaps you shouldn’t lean over the balcony quite so far.”

  A normal woman would have been pleased at such solicitous concern, but this wasn’t a normal woman. Royce had to hide a grin when Liza sent Durham an exasperated glance.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a flat tone. “I have my foot hooked in a chair.” She turned away then and leaned even further over the railing. “Lud, yes, that’s Darington! I’d recognize him anywhere. I should wave hello.”

  “Liza!” Meg gasped. “Don’t wave. It’s vulgar. People will talk.”

  “I don’t care.” Liza tilted her head to one side. “He looks a bit thinner. I’d heard he’d been ill.”

  Meg stretched up in her seat as far as she could, trying desperately to see over the railing without actually looking over the railing. “Is he still as handsome as ever?”

  “Lord, yes,” Liza returned. “And more so.” She waved to Darington. It wasn’t a petite, delicate wave, but a huge whoosh of her arm. Her bracelet flashed in the lamplight and glittered gaily. Several older women in one of the neighboring boxes appeared scandalized, but Liza ignored them all, turning to Meg to say with a grin, “Look! He bowed in return. I wonder what’s kept him out of Town?”

  Royce’s spirits were buoyed when he noticed Durham still frowning, only more so now. Well! At least Durham would see what he was in for; Liza never followed the dictates of politeness. She made her own rules, and so far, society had allowed her full rein.

  “She’s a bit impulsive,” Royce said, trying not to grin.

  Durham shot him a considering look. “Miss Pritchard needs a man’s influence in her life. Once that has occurred, I’m certain her natural feminine delicacy will return.”

  “I’m not certain Liza has ever possessed ‘natural feminine delicacy.’” Royce met Durham’s disapproving gaze with a shrug. “She has led a very free, unfettered existence. It’s possible she enjoys her freedom and has no wish to exchange it for any other state.”

  “No woman likes being completely independent, no matter what she says,” Durham replied with a self-satisfied smile that made Royce’s humor evaporate. “Sir Royce, shall we fetch some lemonade for the ladies? There is just enough time before the play begins.”

  Perhaps it would be wise to move this conversation out of the box, Royce decided. There were things he’d like to say, none of which could be freely aired with Liza sitting only a few feet away. “Of course. Let us go.”

  No one seemed to notice them leaving. Meg was chattering loudly to Liza, while Shelbourne settled into his seat as if planning a nice snooze. Susannah, meanwhile, was engaged in speaking to Renminster over the partition.

  Royce held the curtain and allowed Durham to pass through.

  Liza’s beau was dressed like a country squire. From his plain, functional boots to the faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip, he looked uncomfortable and out of place. Quite the opposite of Liza, who, in her unmatched clothing and sparkling jewelry, always seemed to fit, no matter where she was or what she wore.

  What was Liza thinking? The man was little better than a farmer. He would drag her to the country and bury her there, a fate worse than death for someone like Liza, who thrived in the excitement and elegance of London.

  As they made their way to the routunda, Durham cleared his throat. “Sir Royce, I wanted to speak to you about a matter of great importance.”

  Royce found a table filled with champagne glasses. He offered one to Durham who refused with a brief shake of his head. Royce chose one for himself and took a sip. “I’m not sure why you’d have anything of importance to say to me, but by all means, speak away.”

  Durham pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I must apologize for seeming a little nervous, but I…Sir Royce, I wanted to talk to you about Miss Pritchard. She sees you as part of her family. Almost as a father—”

  Royce choked, champagne going down his throat and up his nose at the same time.

  Durham gave a muffled curse, then pounded Royce on the back, causing more damage than the champagne.

  Royce held up a hand in an effort to stop the onslaught. “I think I can breathe now. I was just—Liza does not see me as a father.”

  “An older brother, then,” Durham said easily. “Ever since I first met Liza…well, you know what she is. She’s unique. Strong willed. And has a delightful turn for business, which could be handy if I wish to expand my farm. She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for in a wife.”

  Ro
yce’s chest began to burn with something other than champagne gone wrong. The man was looking for a wife. And he’d settled on Liza. Damn the man for his impertinence. Royce barely managed to keep his tone civil. “Durham, have you said anything to Liza about this?”

  “Not yet. The time hasn’t been right.” A smug smile curved the farmer’s mouth. “I believe I am fairly safe in saying that Liza does not view my suit with indifference. Sir Royce, you see Liza every day, so you are immune to her, but for me…she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s wonderful.”

  The man appeared completely besotted. Royce finished his champagne in one swallow and set the glass on the table, then grabbed another. He tossed it back without tasting a drop.

  Durham watched, shifting from one foot to the other. “Sir Royce, are you well?”

  The champagne was working its magic, and slowly, Royce’s chest and throat loosened. “I’m fine. Just answer one question, Durham.”

  “Anything. I’m at your disposal.”

  “What do you have in common with Liza?”

  “In common? Well, we—” The man clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the ornate ceiling, his thick brows lowered. “She, ah…hm. In common. I hadn’t really—in common, eh?”

  Royce waited for the man to realize the dismal truth; the only thing he and Liza had in common was…nothing. Not a damned thing.

  Durham’s gaze suddenly focused. “Liza loves animals and I have a farm with over a thousand cows.”

  Cows? Royce shook his head. “Liza loves horses and monkeys. Actually, to be more precise, she likes horses and one particular monkey.”

  “I have horses, too,” Durham said hurriedly. “Several, in fact.”

  Plow horses, every one. Royce would wager money on it.

  “But my cows…Sir Royce, do you know much about cattle?” Durham’s eyes positively glowed. “My cows are specially bred. My father began to develop a slightly larger breed before I was born and I have carried on his work.” A faint color touched Durham’s face. “This may sound silly, but my cows are heirlooms in a way. They are my most prized possessions.”