by Claudia Dain
“I merely pointed out to him the obvious,” Sophia said lightly, “which is that it would only help his reputation as a man of discerning taste and impeccable breeding to be on cordial terms with Lady Louisa. Which it certainly shall. Or do you disagree?”
“No,” Blakes said sharply, turning from Sophia to stare for a moment at Dutton. Dutton returned his look briefly and then dipped his gaze downward. Louisa still could not fathom why Dutton was in the room. He certainly had no part in this . . . negotiation. Unless he wanted to . . . bid . . . on her as well?
The thought should have given her chills of rapture. Strangely, she was only mildly curious as to what, if anything, he would say. She watched him from her seat, studying him for signs of what could only be called a breakthrough.
He was, as ever, completely silent in regards to her.
Oh, well.
Perhaps there were others who found her of intense and, dare she say it, matrimonial interest?
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Sophia said cheerfully, promptly ignoring Blakesley to turn her attention to the Duke and Duchess of Hyde. “But before we allow this discussion to proceed further, I feel I must mention the Duke of Edenham.”
At that, Amelia gasped.
All eyes, almost in unison, turned to Amelia, who had the grace to pretend to cough lightly and make something of a pretense of trying to catch her breath. But her eyes told it all. Her eyes were aimed right at Louisa and they had the most profound look of betrayal in their soft blue depths.
Well, really, she had done nothing to cause any sort of . . . animation in the Duke of Edenham. She hadn’t even spoken to him!
What would have happened if she had?
The idea was positively delicious.
“Yes?” Molly said, still casting Louisa dark looks over Sophia’s shoulder. “What of Edenham? You can’t mean that he’s taken with the girl. I had no idea she got around so much,” Molly said. It was not at all flattering, not the way she said it.
“Oh, he hasn’t actually been introduced to her yet,” Sophia said blithely. “Or has he? Have you been introduced to the Duke of Edenham, Lady Louisa?”
“No, not that I recall,” Louisa said, trying to sound as casual as possible. She thought she did a good job of it.
“She meets dukes every day, does she?” Dutton muttered to no one in particular.
“Well, I’ve met her and I like her,” Iveston said, which really, considering the situation, was a remarkable bit of good manners. She could have kissed him for that, a chaste and proper kiss, naturally. She had no intention of kissing anyone as she had kissed Blakes ever again. Even Dutton did not tempt her, which in any other circumstance she would have considered remarkable. In the present circumstance, he was, oddly, merely a distraction at best.
“You’re not a duke,” Dutton said, which really was entirely too rude of him.
“And happy to wait it out,” Iveston said, giving his father a very affectionate bow of acknowledgement.
Wasn’t Iveston the most lovely of men? Such a shame that Blakes was nothing at all like him.
Louisa heard Amelia sigh a trifle loudly, turned to see what that was about, and was gifted with the most irritated look on Amelia’s face. She then followed it by a less than subtle jerk of her head.
Apparently, even though she had not yet met him either, Amelia considered Edenham, as dangerous as he was, hers to either reject or accept.
The marriage mart was such a tangled wood on the best of days.
Actually, this might go down as one of the best of days. Certainly, she’d never had even a sliver of this much interest before . . . before visiting Sophia this afternoon.
Perhaps Blakes was correct. Perhaps this was all to do with Sophia and nothing whatsoever to do with her.
The best of days just got a little bit dimmer.
“As I was saying,” Sophia continued, “the Duke of Edenham and I had such a lovely chat just before dinner was announced and Lady Louisa’s name came up. I was given the impression that he came not only to celebrate Lord Iveston’s birth, but to finally have a chance to meet Lady Louisa. He is a very forward-thinking man and would so enjoy marrying again. In any regard, I do feel his name, however lightly, should merit consideration in these deliberations. Perhaps he should be present?”
Louisa could not help herself. She primped, just slightly, but she did primp. Edenham, for all of his dangerous reputation as a literal lady-killer, was an extremely handsome man. And his estate was supposed to be in the finest condition, requiring no major updates for at least a decade, which had to be considered, naturally, as having a good income that went fully back into the estate was almost like having no money at all.
Blakes, who kept moving about the room like a shark in a bowl, laid a hand, a very firm hand, on her shoulder and said, “There’s no need. This has all been very interesting, Lady Dalby, even amusing, but as I’ve said from the start, I will marry Louisa. I, and no other.”
“But surely, Blakes,” Molly implored—she actually implored; it was something of a miracle that she did not get down on her knees— “if there is interest from other quarters, I know it is not done, not in the usual cases, but this is hardly usual. This woman”—and here she looked daggers at Louisa. Aunt Mary snored on—“this woman has certainly manipulated events, and she kissed you, not the other way round, and, oh, Blakes,” she said, actually managing to squeeze out the odd tear or two, “I did so hope for you to marry well.”
Which, really, was the cap to the entire evening.
Dutton chose that moment to snort in derision.
That was the cap to the entire evening.
Upon which Blakes lifted her chin with his hand, and as he was standing behind her, she was forced to look back and up at him. Muttering what she assumed was an apology, Blakes leaned down rather more swiftly than gently, and kissed her. Hard. On the mouth.
Full on the mouth.
She even felt the slightest sweep of his tongue against her startled lips.
And still, he kept kissing her. Rather more thoroughly than was required to make the point, still, after a moment or two, she almost forget where they were and found herself relaxing deliciously into his kiss.
It wasn’t quite the same with all the candles lit, but it was quite wonderful in a different way altogether. His hand held her chin quite firmly and his other hand came round and caressed her cheek so that she was quite completely encompassed and he was quite clearly in charge of the whole affair of what she would likely call the music room kiss, so there was no possibility of anyone in the room thinking that she had maneuvered Blakes into anything.
It was quite, quite the most extraordinary kiss in the most extraordinary of circumstances.
When Blakes finally lifted his mouth from hers, he kept her face captured in his hands and stared down at her, his eyes more gentle than she would have thought possible. She found herself smiling up at him and really couldn’t think why. He had just ruined her completely and publicly and in so doing, he had saved her reputation.
It was so completely like Blakes.
It was so completely like him and so completely lovely that she took his hand from her cheek and kissed his palm in what was certainly more tenderness than she’d ever shown anyone.
The room was silent, heavily silent, which seemed to suit the moment somehow.
Amelia sighed.
Aunt Mary snored.
Louisa grinned into Blakesley’s sweetly sardonic face.
“There you are,” Blakes said, straightening up to face the room. “I have kissed her without any provocation whatsoever, beyond the obvious provocation of Louisa’s blatant allure. I trust it is now obvious that I am fully capable of ruining a girl without any help.”
At which point, Blakes winked at her almost cheerfully.
“You’ll have to marry her now,” Molly said glumly.
“Yes, I shall,” Blakes said, looking across the room to where Mr. Grey stood.
Mr. G
rey nodded his head once and crossed his arms over his chest in what appeared to be gracious defeat.
And that was the cap to the entire evening.
It should have been, but Dutton, who really did not know when to let things alone, something she had somehow missed in her two years pursuing him through the salons of London and two country house parties, said, “This is all to get back the Melverley pearls, you understand. A wager was made today. It’s on the book at White’s. In order to get her pearls, it must be proved to the Duke of Calbourne that Lady Louisa prefers Blakesley to me. That’s all this is.”
“Absurd,” Hyde said. He had been a general during the revolt in the American colonies so he had quite an efficient way with a phrase. Terse, yes, but very decisive and oddly authoritative, even for a duke. “No girl ruins herself on a wager, not even for pearls.”
“Check the book!” Dutton said. “Ask your son if it’s not so.”
The sons of Hyde looked at their brother and at her, clearly not at all certain whom or what to believe. It was particularly galling as it was apparently no secret to Dutton that she had wanted to marry him for far longer than was flattering to her.
She couldn’t help but look to Blakes, to see his reaction, to gauge whether he was amused, enraged, or ashamed. She would kill him if he were ashamed for it would reflect so badly on her and on their imminent marriage. And they were getting married, no matter what Dutton said. She was ruined. He had ruined her. And she liked kissing him.
That was all there was to it.
“But, darling,” Sophia said to Dutton, clearly amused and at Dutton’s expense. It did much to calm Louisa, which was a frightening thought in and of itself. “Calbourne isn’t in this room, nor was he in the yellow drawing room. By your own definition of this wager, Calbourne must be present to make a determination. And he is not. Clearly, this delightful conflagration of two hearts finally meeting is the result of pure desire and nothing less. Certainly whatever wager has been struck regarding the Melverley pearls is an altogether different situation and has nothing to do with this.”
“No,” Dutton said, pushing his hair back with a single hand, a gesture Louisa had always found dashing until this moment. “No, it’s all about those pearls. Ask Blakesley.”
At which point, Mr. Grey left his quiet corner without anyone noticing him, crossed like a shadow to Lord Dutton, and, before anyone, most especially Lord Dutton, knew what was happening, Mr. Grey hit Lord Dutton square on the jaw and then again in the vicinity of his eye.
Lord Dutton went down with a gush of expelled air.
Mr. Grey turned to Louisa, who stood with Blakes at her side, his arm about her in the most gloriously possessive gesture, and said, “My wedding gift.”
And that was the cap to the entire evening.
Truly.
Sixteen
THE only thing left to do, besides the actual marriage, was to tell Melverley. Everyone, it seemed, was very eager to do so. Everyone except Louisa.
She didn’t like having anything to do with her father, for any reason, on any occasion. This occasion, the occasion of her ruination and hasty marriage, was not one to promote any eagerness on her part.
Sophia, naturally, took the complete opposite view. She almost insisted on being present, even though there was no logical reason for her to be there and, strangely, for that very reason, Louisa could think of no reason to exclude her. Sophia was a force on the subject and Louisa, who was responsible for excluding her, could find no energy to do so.
She was to marry Blakesley.
Looking at him now, his hair gleaming in the light of music room candles, his blues eyes looking at her with a very clever twinkle, she could not quite believe it. What was more, she couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t more upset about it. In point of fact, she wasn’t upset at all.
She should so like to get him alone again and return that kiss he’d taken off of her, in front of his mother, no less. She’d pay him back for that. Somehow. She wasn’t at all certain how a woman used her body as revenge against a man, but she knew someone who did know.
Louisa’s gaze went to Sophia, talking softly with Molly, likely talking Molly into accepting her into the family.
Small chance of that.
But looking at Blakes, who was talking to his father and brothers, a circle of men who, by their look, were not at all displeased by his sudden fall into matrimony, she could not spare a thought for Molly. Blakes, she was suddenly certain, would manage everything.
“You look content,” Amelia said softly. They were sitting on a pair of small chairs behind the harp. Mary was fully asleep on the settee, almost sprawled across it; no one thought it necessary to wake her as the situation had been settled, and quite well, without her. “I confess to being somewhat surprised.”
“Because of the scandal?”
“No,” Amelia said on a breathy chuckle. “I’m well aware that you have no fear of scandal, but because of Dutton, of course. You don’t seem at all brokenhearted, and should you not be? He is the one you said you loved and wanted above all others.”
“Yes, I said that, felt that,” Louisa said, her gaze still on Blakesley.
Dutton had left the room after being helped up off the floor by Mr. Grey, of all people, and then, pushing credulity to the limits, Mr. Grey and Lord Dutton had left the music room together. It was, perhaps, not at all impossible that Mr. Grey was acting as a sort of guard against future misconduct on the part of Lord Dutton. Lord Dutton seemed to warrant that sort of special attention.
She had been so certain of what she had felt for Dutton. So very certain. For two years, she had wanted no one else, thought of no one else . . . and yet, she had kissed Blakes, and with that kiss, that first touch of his mouth to hers, she had all but forgotten Dutton.
Was it possible? Could she be . . . lecherous?
She’d seen it all her life, naturally. With Melverley for a father, how could she not? A lovely face, a plump wrist, a ripe . . . well, there was little point in cataloging the various attributes that could and did and would again lure her father into someone else’s bed. She’d thought him shallow and flighty and led by passion when reason should rule. Yet now, with Blakesley’s kiss still tingling on her lips, she had forsaken Dutton without a qualm and jumped, quite literally, into Blakesley’s bed.
It was just possible that she was a wanton.
Did Blakes know?
And if he did not, should she tell him?
“I, for one, am delighted that you have finally seen him for what he is,” Amelia continued, forcing Louisa to momentarily abandon her thoughts about her own, possibly, flagrant lechery, which, as everyone knew, soon led into blatant debauchery. “He is a rake, Louisa, and was never worthy of you.”
But perhaps that was why she had been attracted to him, one rake to another?
What did one call a female rake? A rakess? Rakeine?
“I suppose not,” Louisa said, studying the various sons of Hyde. Did she find any of them compelling, any besides Blakes, that is? Was she destined to cuckold Blakes with his own brothers?
It did not escape her notice, particularly as she was concentrating so fully on herself, that before today, she would never have considered cuckolding anyone for the simple reason that she could not have imagined that any man would want to . . . well, would want her in that way. But today had been a revelation of the most unbiblical variety. Today, she thought that perhaps it was highly likely that any number of men would want her in the most carnal terms imaginable, and that, strangely, she might be entirely capable of choosing from among many.
Aside from thinking of herself as lecherous, it was the most original thought she had ever entertained about herself.
Might she be . . . beguiling?
The events of the day certainly encouraged that conclusion.
Being beguiling was completely acceptable. Being a wanton was not.
The real question was if it were possible to be one and not the other. S
he certainly had seen no sign of it in her months in Town. One need only look across the room at Sophia Dalby for proof of the obvious fact that women who beguiled men were, in fact, rather wanton as a result.
Was there any help for it?
Certainly Sophia would be unable to answer her as she was both beguiling and wanton. It was most unfortunate that she could think of no one else to ask. Louisa cast a speculative glance to Amelia, who was quietly chatting on about how undeserving Dutton had been and how surprising the evening had been, all the while staring with demure charm at Lord Iveston. Amelia, to her credit, never wasted a moment in seeking to attain her goal of marrying a duke. Louisa had nothing but respect for a woman so supremely focused on a well-defined goal. Although Amelia was as innocent as she, though perhaps it was better said that Amelia was as innocent as she had been an hour ago, Louisa could not but wonder if Amelia, because of her clearheadedness and stark good sense, might know or be able to speculate on whether wantonness was an avoidable trait.
Louisa had nothing to lose by asking, and certainly Amelia had to know more about abstaining from certain appetites than Sophia. Though, as a married woman, perhaps it was not so much abstaining and refraining. All she had to do, really, was to keep her passions within the confines of the marital bed.
How difficult could that be?
Never mind that the ton was simply awash with people who couldn’t seem to manage it. She was quite certain, because she was quite desperate, that she could do it. No matter that Melverley was her father. Or rather, in spite of it.
Oh, dear. The more she thought about it, the more hopeless it all seemed.
What if, dear God, Blakes could not satisfy her? What if her lusts were insatiable, as Melverley’s clearly were?
“Louisa?” Amelia asked her, touching her arm to gain her attention.
“Yes?” Louisa said, dragging her gaze away from Blakes, who, she suddenly realized, was staring back at her. Who knew what he was thinking? Perhaps he could read her increasingly wanton thoughts all over her face.
The sad bit was that she had been thinking wanton thoughts, and in the midst of her trying very hard to think of how to save herself from wantonness. She was clearly a hopeless case.
