The Marriage Lesson

by Victoria Alexander

  The thought pulled him up short. What was the matter with him? When had he discarded the philosophy that any man, so long as he breathed regularly and walked upright, for appropriate? If this was what the fathers of girls went through, Thomas vowed never to sire anything but sons.

  He reached the first floor and glanced around. Footmen in full livery were already stationed beside the front entry below him in the grand foyer as well as at the foot of the stairs. Two more flanked the doors leading into the ballroom. The floors sparkled, the marble gleamed, the chandeliers glittered. Effington House was as perfectly turned out as he was.

  “Good evening, my lord.” Lady Dragon descended the stairs to the first-floor gallery.

  “My lady.” Thomas caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are looking exceptionally lovely tonight.”

  “Don’t bam me, boy,” she said sharply, but she was obviously pleased by the compliment.

  “I never lie to beautiful women,” he lied, although in truth the older woman did look surprisingly handsome.

  She’d discarded the overly proper and rather drab clothes she habitually wore for a fashionably styled gown in a deep claret color. A matching turban of silk and feathers was wrapped around her head. With a start he realized she was probably no older than his mother, and no one had ever accused the Duchess of Roxborough of being dowdy or plain. Perhaps the title of Lady Dragon should be retired.

  He leaned closer and spoke softly into her ear. “You should take care, my lady, or you will quite outshine your charges.”

  “And you should take care, my lord, or I will be forced to smile, and I have done so once this year already.” The twinkle in her eye belied her words. “We would not want the earth to shake on such a festive night.”

  She withdrew her hand and her gaze shifted to a point behind him. Something that might indeed have been a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Good evening, my dears.”

  Thomas turned and tried not to gape.

  If he’d thought Jocelyn and Becky were lovely before, they were radiant now.

  Jocelyn was an angel from the heavens. An inviting confection in a filmy white gown dusted with gold that floated around her. White and gold ribbons threaded through her honey-colored hair.

  Becky, beside her, was an earthbound temptress in a pale green concoction that deepened the emerald of her eyes and complemented the mahogany hue of her hair. And molded a figure he’d never realized was so enticing.

  “Ladies.” He bowed. “I am overwhelmed.”

  The sisters exchanged satisfied smiles.

  “Good evening, Aunt Louella,” Jocelyn said and extended her hand. “Lord Helmsley.”

  “My lady. You are ravishing this evening.” He bent over her hand and at once noticed the low cut of her bodice. The extremely low cut of her bodice. Fashionable or not, how could her aunt have allowed such a thing?

  He forced a smile to his face, straightened and turned to Becky, noting her bodice was no higher than her sister’s. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, trying to keep his gaze at eye level. “And you, my dear, are exquisite.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said with a grin.

  “Where is your sister?” Lady Louella frowned and glanced up the stairs. “I don’t believe I’ve seen her all day. I do hope she’s not going to be late.”

  “She’s still in her room,” Jocelyn said absently, arranging the folds of her skirt.

  “Perhaps I should go—” Lady Louella started for the stairway.

  “I’m certain she’ll be down shortly,” Becky said quickly. “Why don’t you and I and Jocelyn go into the ballroom?” She took her aunt’s arm and led her toward the wide open doors. “The guests will be arriving at any minute and no doubt you’ll want to make sure everything here is in order.”

  “You don’t mind waiting for Marianne, do you?” Jocelyn smiled up at him with an innocence that would have melted any shred of resistance in another man but immediately put him on guard. The last time the girls had asked him if he minded something, he’d ended up leading horses through the park.

  “Not at all,” he said wryly.

  Thomas watched the trio enter the ballroom, then turned and strolled to the balustrade. He rested his forearms on the marble, clasped his hands and leaned forward, surveying the scene with a sense of pride and satisfaction in total disregard of the knowledge that he’d had nothing to do with it all.

  “Damn fine job,” he said under his breath.

  Aside from his responsibility for the Shelton sisters, it wasn’t all that dreadful to be the temporary head of the family. He would be eventually, anyway. Not that he wished his father ill. Unlike some of his friends, he liked his father. They got on well together and Thomas would miss the duke’s guidance and counsel and, most of all, friendship when the time came.

  The duke had ignored Thomas’s escapades through the years, while gradually increasing his son’s responsibilities in regard to the estates and family fortune. He’d encouraged Thomas’s own interests, including his occasional investments, most of them successful, and dabbling in real estate. Thomas was the owner of several business properties in the city that turned a tidy profit, and while he did have a man to attend to such things, Thomas put forth every effort to be a fair and conscientious landlord.

  He resisted the urge to check on the hour and glanced at the stairway. His breath caught. Time itself seemed to stop.

  Once again a vision held him entranced.

  Marianne made her way carefully down the steps, holding her dress up just enough to reveal a pair of nicely turned ankles. Her dress was the color of fine champagne. Her blonde curls, as independent as the girl herself, had been caught up on top of her head in a wild cascade of gold and light. How could he ever have thought Jocelyn the prettiest of the lot?

  He stared, stunned.

  Marianne reached the landing and looked up. “Good evening, Thomas.”

  “Good evening.” He could barely choke out the words. How could he have missed what was right under his nose? He prided himself on the recognition and appreciation of beauty whether it be in horseflesh or poetry or women. Had his resentment of her intrusion into his life completely blinded him? Oh certainly, he’d considered her attractive, very attractive, before, but tonight she was more than any man could ever want.

  “Is anything amiss?” Marianne glanced down at her dress. The fabric caressed her form like a lover’s hand. The color emphasized the creamy glow of her skin. “Will I do, do you think?”

  “It’s rather daring, isn’t it?” he blurted without thinking. He hadn’t wanted to say that at all. He’d wanted to tell her she was dazzling. A goddess. A dream come true.

  Her bodice dipped perilously low, revealing the delectable swell of her breasts. Altogether too delectable. He drew his brows together. “I shouldn’t think your aunt would permit you to appear in public in something so scandalous.”

  “Nonsense.” She glanced down at her gown. “It’s simply the fashion today and perfectly respectable. You needn’t be so—”

  “I am not stuffy,” he said sharply.

  “I wasn’t going to say stuffy.” She smiled sweetly. “I was going to say stiff.”

  “The difference escapes me.”

  “They are remarkably similar and both are apt descriptions.” She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you would not find my bodice as bothersome if you would cease staring at it.”

  A hot flush swept up his face. “I was not . . . I am not . . . ”

  “You’re sputtering, Thomas.” She studied him with an amused gleam in her eye. “I noticed it the other night. Do you sputter often?”

  “I don’t sputter.”

  “Oh, but I’m certain—”

  “Or rather, I had never in my life sputtered,” he caught her hand and drew it to his lips, “until I met you.” His gaze never left hers. “You make me sputter.”

  His words hung in the air between them. For a long moment, they stared at one another. De
sire so fierce it stole his breath swept through him.

  “Do I?” Her eyes were wide with . . . what?

  “You do indeed.” He forced a lighthearted note to his voice and released her hand. “And I am certain that dress will make any number of men here tonight sputter.

  “I shall make a bargain with you.” She laid her hand on his sleeve. “If you would be so kind as to escort me into the ballroom, I shall do my best not to draw attention to my bodice.”

  “How thoughtful of you.” He covered her hand with his own and started toward the doors. With Marianne at his side, here in his own home, he had the oddest sensation of all being right with the world.

  “It’s rather endearing, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The way you sputter.”

  “I don’t sputter,” he said firmly. At least not with anyone but her. She made him sputter and forget what he wanted to say and no doubt his own name as well. Who knew what else she had in store for him?

  He was right when he’d told Banks it was going to be an interesting evening. He smiled in spite of himself.

  A very interesting evening.

  Chapter 7

  . . . for I am to attend a ball! It shall be my first and I am quite beside myself with anticipation.

  Lord W has seen to it that I have acquired a number of new gowns. They are the first stare of fashion and made of the finest fabrics I have ever encountered. They are also exceedingly daring. When I first ventured to try one on I thought I should die of embarrassment. The Frenchwoman who made them assured me they are chaste compared with those worn by others. It is most immodest of me to admit that I am not displeased by my appearance.

  I wonder if Lord W will notice. . . .

  The Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  The evening was as perfect as anything she’d ever read about in a book.

  The ballroom was a fantasy of light and color. Marianne would not have been surprised to see fairies flitting about, their movements in time with the orchestra’s music. Huge flower-filled urns sat in every available nook and niche. Swags of silk festooned doorways and windows and balconies. Broad ribbons fluttered from columns and sconces. And all was done in a riot of spring colors: pinks and greens, yellows and pale blues.

  But the ballroom paled in comparison to its occupants. Lovely ladies in jewels and feathers and silks flirted with gentleman clad in deep colors and wearing intricately tied cravats. The room was a kaleidoscope of colors and movement, sights and sound. Laughter vied with music in an effort to be heard.

  Marianne wished she could write it all down here and now. It would prove most useful for her country miss.

  “My lady, I was hoping you would honor me with this dance.” A young gentleman no taller than she, and quite a bit rounder, stood before her. A pleasant-enough man, she supposed, and one of those Thomas had made a point to introduce her to.

  She cast him with a regretful smile. “I fear I shall have to decline for the moment. I have danced every dance thus far and I am in dire need of a respite.”

  “Then may I fetch you a refreshment?” he said eagerly, his face aglow at the thought of currying her favor.

  “That would be most appreciated.”

  He bowed, then disappeared into the crush of guests. Marianne brushed aside a twinge of guilt and headed toward the open doors leading to the terrace. She did hate to deceive the poor man, but it was exceedingly warm. She wanted nothing more at the moment than fresh air and a chance to catch her breath.

  The terrace was decked with ribbons and flowers and lit by elaborate candelabra. Here and there groups of twos or threes laughed and flirted.

  Marianne stayed in the shadows, unwilling now to engage in even the easiest conversation. She wanted a few minutes to reflect on the night’s events.

  She made her way to the far end of the terrace, where the candlelight failed to reach and the only illumination was provided by the stars in the heavens.

  She rested her hands on the stone balustrade and gazed out over the Effington gardens. The garden paths were lit by lanterns that danced in the slight breeze like moments of pure magic. She closed her eyes and reveled in the fresh, cool air.

  It had indeed been a magical evening so far. As expected, Jocelyn was the undisputed queen of the ball. Still, Marianne and Becky had closely rivaled their sister in terms of the attention bestowed upon them. It was a heady feeling to be sought after by all manner of gentlemen. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she needed a reprieve from the festivities.

  “I daresay it can be somewhat overwhelming.” A familiar chuckle sounded in the deeper shadows to her left.

  “But certainly you are used to such revelry,” she said lightly, paying no heed to the rush of pleasure brought by his presence.

  Thomas stepped into sight, a dim figure in shades of gray. “I must admit, I rarely stay at a ball for its entire duration.”

  She laughed. “Then this must be quite a challenge for you.”

  “That it is. I make it a rule never to attend a function of this nature for more than an hour or two. By this point in the evening I am usually on my way to a club or occasionally a gaming hell.”

  “You gamble?” She kept her voice as level as possible but a cold fear touched her.

  He swore under his breath. “I am sorry, Marianne, I should not have mentioned it.”

  “It’s of no consequence,” she said lightly. It wasn’t really. Just because her father had gambled away the family’s fortune and honor and left his daughters destitute was no reason to paint Thomas with the same brush. Still, she couldn’t help a twinge of dismay.

  “Of course it is, and I should have realized it.” He blew a long breath. “I want you to know, I see gaming for precisely what it is: an enjoyable way to while away a few hours. I have never lost more than I can afford and, win or lose, I know precisely when to walk away.”

  “You needn’t explain. It’s really none of my business. After all, we are merely guests here. When the season ends, we shall be on our way.” A faint twinge of sadness touched her at the thought of leaving Effington House and its inhabitants.

  Thomas hesitated as if choosing his words. “I believe I shall miss you.” He cleared his throat. “All of you, that is.”

  “Piffle,” she said, ignoring a touch of disappointment at his last comment. “You want nothing more than to have us gone as soon as possible. You would marry us off tomorrow if the opportunity presented itself.”

  “Oh, not tomorrow.” His words were solemn, but she could hear the grin in his voice. “The day after, perhaps.”

  “Well, you’ll never succeed if you insist on limiting your prospects to the caliber of gentleman you foisted on us tonight.”

  “What was wrong with them?” he asked cautiously.

  “Come, now, Thomas, you know perfectly well what was wrong with them.” She blew a frustrated breath. “They were very pleasant, quite well mannered and eminently respectable. However, to a man they also were dull and tedious and not nearly as interesting as someone like Pennington or Berkley.”

  “I noted you showed no hesitation in dancing with Pennington and Berkley.” His voice was grim.

  “Absolutely not. They are both extremely charming and I quite enjoy their company. Not like those you have so eagerly introduced me to. They are one and all stiff and stuffy.” She poked him in the chest. “Exactly like you.”

  He grabbed her hand. “I will tell you once again, I am not stuffy.” He pulled her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss in her gloved palm. A delighted shiver ran through her. “I am, in fact, nearly as disreputable as Pennington and Berkley.

  “I am generally considered to be as much a rake as my friends, although I have redeeming qualities.” His eyes glittered in the starlight and fear, or perhaps anticipation, raced through her. He stepped back into the deeper shadows and drew her into his arms. “I do not shirk my responsibilities. I live by my word. The mothers of marriageable daughters view me as ripe fo
r reforming.”

  “Thomas, I—”

  “It is not easy to maintain the image of a respectable rake.” He nuzzled the side of her jaw and she forgot to breathe. Dear Lord, what was he doing? “I have always walked a fine line between that which society will forgive and scandal. It’s a matter of control.”

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. “Control, my dear.”

  “Thomas, I—”

  “I have a reputation I have worked long and hard to acquire and I am rather pleased with it.” His head dipped lower and his lips caressed her throat. Heat spread from his touch and pooled in her stomach. She closed her eyes, conscious only of his voice and his touch. “I have honed skills even your books fail to mention.”

  His mouth traveled lower. His hand cupped her breast and his thumb rubbed back and forth over her fabric-covered nipple. She gasped with surprise and pleasure.

  “I know how to worship a woman, Marianne.”

  Her breath came faster and her chest heaved. Dear Lord, don’t let him stop. He slipped her bodice down to reveal her breasts. Cool air teased overly sensitive flesh.

  “To make her feel sensations she has never felt.”

  His mouth covered her breast and heat flamed within her. She gripped his shoulders to keep from crying out. With teeth and tongue, he tasted and teased until her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

  “To make her desire what she has never known.”

  His mouth trailed to the valley between her breasts and he whispered against her skin, “And leave her wanting more.”

  Without warning, he straightened. “And that, my dear, is a lesson in the behavior of rakes like Pennington and Berkley and myself.”

  She struggled to catch her breath against a sharp stab of frustration and a strange sense of loss.

  He adjusted her bodice, his voice cool, his manner collected. “And precisely why I do not consider them suitable for you.”