The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

by Julia Justiss

  ‘You’ll do me the honour?’ he asked.

  Temper gave him a tiny nod and laid her hand on his arm. Armoured against her as Gifford was trying to be, he still felt the sizzle of contact right through his sleeve. Looking down, he noted her surprise—ah, yes, she felt it, too!—and wariness in her expression. But then she smiled, the delight shining in those magnificent blue eyes warming him down to his toes.

  ‘How pleasant, to open the ball with a friend, a man who will be neither scheming how best to manoeuvre me into the garden or calculating the size of my fortune,’ she said as he walked her towards the other couples forming the set. ‘Though I do apologise for Lady Sayleford corralling you. As it’s hardly likely I’ll be attacked in the middle of the ballroom with my chaperon looking on, after this dance you can escape to the card room.’

  ‘Oh, no, standing guard is standing guard,’ he said, meaning it—and no longer resenting the task quite so much. ‘My godmother and Mrs Moorsby expect it.’

  ‘I have to admit, I feel...easier, knowing you’re nearby.’

  That statement lit a little glow of satisfaction in his chest, offsetting some of the other, more disturbing emotions. Like fierce protectiveness, an unwarranted sense of possession—and lust.

  The numerous patterns of the dance didn’t allow for much conversation, other than a mutual exchange of compliments over the excellence of their partner. Easily mastering the movements, Giff was glad his mama had insisted he learn to acquit himself respectably on the dance floor.

  The patterns also allowed him to forget about conversing and simply enjoy what a lovely picture Temper made, gracefully going through the movements.

  After the music ended, he offered his arm, bracing himself for the now-anticipated shock when she laid her hand on it.

  ‘We’ll see how many desert me, now that my champion has departed,’ she murmured as he led her off the floor.

  ‘I doubt many of the gentlemen will. Lady Sayleford gave you a very public seal of approval.’

  Which meant he would have more than a few men to fend off, he realised, surprised again at the strength of his irritation at the idea of other men courting her, no matter how honourable their intentions.

  Indeed, he could already see a fair number waiting beside Mrs Moorsby. And not just gentlemen—a few of the matrons to whom they had been introduced waited, too, their daughters in tow.

  Hangers-on, positioning their girls where they might entice one of the throng of gentlemen sure to surround Temper? Giff speculated.

  For the first time, Giff felt relieved that Temper espoused the ridiculous notion not to marry. She must, of course, eventually. But hopefully she wouldn’t resign herself to that truth any time in the immediate future, which would make his task of fending off fortune hunters and the disreputable easier.

  ‘And as you can see,’ he continued, ‘it’s not just gentleman awaiting you. A few of the chaperons and their daughters want to further the acquaintance, too.’

  She looked towards Mrs Moorsby, a surprised expression on her face. ‘Perhaps there are some young ladies brave enough to risk my acquaintance after all.’ She chuckled. ‘I shall have to determine if any of them might make you a good wife.’

  He looked down to utter a disparaging remark—and found her smiling up at him. ‘Teasing me again, I see. You know I have no interest in being caught in the parson’s mousetrap.’

  ‘We shall just have to watch out for each other, then, won’t we? Shall we brave the gauntlet?’

  At his nod, she tightened her grip on his arm and looked up—giving him a smile and a conspiratorial wink, as if it were just the two of them setting off against the world.

  Impossible not to smile back, beguiled by a wholly unexpected feeling of...camaraderie.

  Once again, she’d surprised him. Not only had she shown him the little hoyden he’d known was now able to hold her tongue when necessary, she’d apparently risen to Lady Sayleford’s challenge that she view the Season forced on her as an adventure. One she was inviting him to share. No longer as watchdog and innocent...but as allies.

  Dismissing the contradictory emotions swirling in him, he told himself to simply enjoy the clever loveliness that was Temperance Lattimar walking beside him, her hand on his arm. No longer just his friend’s little sister to protect, but...a comrade.

  He resisted the rogue notion that he could become quite attached to such a partnership.

  * * *

  A moment later they reached Mrs Moorsby, her eyes merry as she indicated the small crowd surrounding her. ‘A number of other gentlemen have asked that I present them to you. They were all,’ she added in a tone whose irony would be lost on any but Temper and Giff, ‘prevented by...other obligations from begging that honour of Lady Sayleford before she departed.’

  ‘Unwilling to face the scrutiny of the dragon,’ Giff murmured to Temper.

  ‘Before I do so,’ Mrs Moorsby continued, ‘you’ll remember these ladies and their daughters? They would like you young people to become better acquainted. Lady Arnold with her nieces, Miss Avery and Miss Mary Avery, the Countess of Mannerling and her daughter, Lady Constance?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Temper said as the women once again exchanged curtsies. ‘I should love to become better acquainted. Shall we do so between sets? Now, I believe we should accept the invitations of these kind gentlemen and dance!’

  After murmurs of agreement, Mrs Moorsby introduced the waiting gentleman to all the ladies, after which the young people paired up, the rakish Lord Theo outmanoeuvring the other men to claim Temper’s hand.

  Ignoring a blatantly appealing look from Miss Avery, Giff said, ‘As it’s impossible to make a choice among so much beauty, I’ll cede my place to you other gentlemen and keep Mrs Moorsby company.’

  The young ladies and their escorts followed Temper and Lord Theo on to the floor, while several others remained beside Mrs Moorsby, chatting politely while they awaited their chance to squire the Beauty.

  Depending on the other men waiting beside her to make polite conversation with Mrs Moorsby, Giff turned his attention to the dancers.

  Watching another man claim Temper was even more distasteful than he’d expected, he thought, frowning as Lord Theo pulled her rather closer than the movements of the dance required. Despite knowing she wasn’t interested in marrying, she was too alluring, too beguiling—and, despite her upbringing, too innocent—to be trusted to rakes like Lord Theo. He wouldn’t want her to be taken in by a dashing charmer—or compromised.

  Fortunately, the dance wasn’t a waltz. If Lord Theo had tried to hold her as scandalously close as that dance allowed, Giff might have found it necessary to intervene.

  Just how had he let himself blunder into this aggravating situation?

  At least there was one gentleman who had ceased to plague him over it, he thought, thanking Heaven for small favours.

  As he’d awaited Temper in the hall of Vraux House tonight, he’d encountered Gregory departing to his evening entertainment at an exclusive establishment where the wine would be excellent, the play deep and the enjoyment afterward far more erotic than the delights available at a respectable society ball. A fact about which his friend had initially bedevilled him unmercifully.

  At Giff’s irritated response that Gregory ought to be grateful to him for going above and beyond to get his troublesome sister off his hands, his friend sobered.

  ‘I do appreciate it, more than you can imagine,’ he responded. ‘Had Lady Sayleford not roped you into watching over her, I would have felt compelled to do so myself. I value not just your kindness in stepping in to secure her sponsorship, but also the concern for Temper’s safety that prompted you to forgo your own interests to protect her.’

  Performing a brother’s office, taking care of my baby sister, was the unspoken message.

  Recalling it now, Giff sighed. He didn’t r
egret—too much—giving up evenings accompanying Gregory in pursuit of easy, uncomplicated pleasure. He did wish his best friend’s ‘baby sister’ weren’t such a beautiful, alluring woman.

  It wasn’t just blackguards and bounders Giff had to ward off. As Lady Sayleford’s trick with the carriage seating tonight had demonstrated with stark clarity, he needed to keep a tight grip over his own behaviour as well. Should Giff succumb to the desire Temper aroused, Gregory would consider it a betrayal of his trust.

  He blew out a breath, relieved to be watching her from half a dance floor away, far from the temptation of her soft skin and sinful-thought-inducing scent.

  He’d make sure he wasn’t tortured by being seated beside her in the coach again. Even so, it was going to be a long Season.

  Chapter Seven

  While Gifford Newell remained beside Mrs Moorsby, Temper walked off with Lord Theo Collington, a man whom she hadn’t needed Giff’s warning frown to recognise as a charming rogue. She’d willingly offered Lord Theo her hand, curious to discover whether the Marquess of Childress’s younger son would attempt to lure her into indiscretion, or intended to simply toy with her—and annoy Giff—by his attentions.

  ‘At last, you rescue me from the doldrums of this interminable evening by granting me the hand of the most beautiful lady in the room,’ he bent close to murmur in her ear.

  Sidling away, she replied, ‘If you find the evening is so interminable, I wonder that you have remained. Why not seek out more...entertaining company?’

  ‘There may be company elsewhere more...practised, but none so alluring...or delightfully innocent.’

  She angled a glance up at him. ‘Forgive me for doubting that it is innocence, rather than something more...earthy, that appeals to you.’

  ‘Ah, but it is that mix of innocence with the sensual that is truly compelling.’

  ‘An innocence of which you’d be happy to relieve me?’

  Surprise—and heat—flared in his eyes. ‘You are direct.’

  ‘I have no use for polite subterfuge.’

  ‘Then, yes, I admit I would quite happily tutor your innocence.’

  ‘You being the most expert of instructors?’

  He gave her a little bow. ‘I do my poor best.’

  ‘For as many as possible, I suspect. But alas, I have no desire to shock the company. Tonight, at any rate. So you might as well seek that “more practised” company elsewhere.’

  She turned to walk off the floor, but he stayed her. ‘How can I go, when it is so entertaining to banter words with you?’

  ‘And annoy Mr Newell?’

  That drew a genuine laugh. ‘He does make it appear that, for the least infraction, it would be pistols at dawn.’

  ‘Believe me, Lord Theo, were there to be an...infraction, it would be my hand holding the pistol. And without wishing to boast, I must inform you that my aim is true.’

  ‘Is it, now? Is that something in the nature of a threat?’

  ‘Consider it an...advisory. That I am neither the wanton some whisper the daughter of my mother must be, nor a helpless female dependent upon a male for protection.’

  The caressing tone and flirtatious look gave way to an expression of genuine interest. ‘Beautiful, alluring and ferocious—what a unique combination.’

  ‘You find a dangerous woman alluring?’

  ‘Indeed! What could be more alluring than danger, allied to passion?’

  The heat was back in his gaze, yet for all the suggestiveness of his words, Temper found, surprisingly, that she didn’t feel threatened. Just to make sure her instincts were correct, though, she added, ‘You would not, of course, dream of using coercion to explore that passion.’

  He drew back, a hand going dramatically to his throat. ‘Coercion? Certainly not! A man of address need never resort to something so vulgar!’

  ‘Since ladies generally fall at your feet most willingly?’

  He shrugged. ‘No more than you, would I wish to boast.’

  Temper laughed, fairly sure now that she had nothing to fear from Lord Theo. ‘Perhaps we can continue our association. Both of us secure in talents of which we don’t need to boast.’

  He smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘Perhaps we should. Until one or the other of us needs to demonstrate their talent? Passion persuades, but can sometimes lead to regret.’

  ‘Only if it came with wedding lines attached.’

  He shuddered. ‘That would be a frightful outcome.’

  ‘Then you may rest easy. I find that prospect of wedlock even more frightful than you do.’

  He gave her a speculative look. ‘Indeed? You don’t wish to find a husband who would provide...protection for your explorations?’

  The notion of falling into a life like her mother’s chased away every bit of amusement. ‘Certainly not,’ she said grimly. ‘The last thing I want is to be compelled by an indifferent spouse into “explorations” that lead only to loneliness, disillusionment and notoriety. So as I told you, I have no interest in marriage.’

  He chuckled. ‘A lady who means what she says? That would truly be an amazing creature.’

  ‘No more singular than a gentleman who tells a lady what he truly thinks. Instead of paying compliments to a female he finds unattractive, or whispering words of devotion to a woman he merely wishes to bed.’

  Surprise once again widened his eyes. ‘You are most astonishingly frank.’

  ‘You may rest easy. The dance will soon end, relieving you of my odd company.’

  ‘On the contrary! I would have more of your “odd” company.’

  ‘Another pretty speech, Lord Theo?’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Lattimar. In this instance, I am following your lead and saying exactly what I mean.’

  She turned an assessing gaze on him, which he met steadily. Unable to find a trace of deception in it, she gave a reluctant smile. ‘Perhaps you are being honest. And if you intend neither to compromise me nor marry me, we might be friends after all.’

  ‘I’ll start with “friends”.’ As he twirled her under his arm in the dance’s final figure, he added in a murmur, ‘Until a desire for intimacy becomes mutual.’

  Another tease—or a challenge for her to try to resist him? Amused, she shook her head at him as she took his arm to return to her chaperon. ‘Alas, fond hopes are so often disappointed.’

  Lord Theo returned her to Mrs Moorsby, where an earnest young man immediately stepped forward. ‘Your chaperon has promised you will grant me the next dance.’

  A bit taken aback by his insistence, she raised her brows at Mrs Moorsby, who said, ‘Temperance, allow me to present Lord Solsworth, who was most persuasive that I recommend him as an agreeable partner for the next dance.’

  Ignoring the glowering looks of the other gentlemen waiting around them, Lord Solsworth held out his arm. ‘You will honour me, Miss Lattimar?’

  With a little shrug to the others, Temper said, ‘With such a recommendation, what can I do but agree?’

  Giving her new partner a rapid inspection as he led her to the floor, Temper decided he was handsome, determined—and perhaps even younger than she was. Indifferent about the success of her Season, unlike most young ladies about to debut, she hadn’t bothered to discover the names and titles of all the eligible bachelors, but given the deference shown him by the other gentleman, her partner must be highly born. ‘Are you still at university, Lord Solsworth?’ she asked after they’d taken their places.

  ‘Yes, but I get to town often,’ he said. ‘I assist my father in the Lords and hope to stand for a seat in Parliament myself soon. To gain some experience, against the day I must eventually step into his shoes.’

  The heir then, probably with his own courtesy title, who would take over a place in the Lords after he inherited. ‘Is your father a reformer?’

  ‘Lu
d, no!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Almost reactionary! He don’t know it yet, but if I get that seat in the House, we shall probably cancel each other out. I very much approve of the goals of the reformers, especially Ashley-Cooper’s to restrict the working hours of children in the mills. But here I am, prosing on about politics, when what I wish to say is that you are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld! It’s a wonder beyond describing to have the privilege of escorting you.’

  Indeed, the ardent gaze he fixed on her as she moved away from him, performing the next figure of the dance, supported his claim of dazzled admiration.

  ‘Thank you for your kind words,’ she said when she returned to him, ‘but any beauty of form I possess owes nothing to me. It is a gift of nature.’

  ‘Such beauty of form could not help but be allied to beauty of character.’

  She laughed shortly. ‘I think you will find many here to dispute that claim.’

  ‘Because of your mother? I think it monstrously unjust that you be judged based on her actions!’

  ‘You would be my champion against the malicious?’ she asked, thinking him surprisingly naive, but also touched by his gallantry. ‘Even knowing nothing of my character? You might find me unworthy of such defence.’

  ‘That, I could never believe.’

  Temper ought to say something outrageous to deflect his obvious infatuation, but she found herself reluctant to hurt him—and malign her own character—by uttering some cutting rejoinder. He was obviously the highly eligible son of some peer and, if he was at this gathering, must be at least marginally interested in marriage.

  Which made him exactly the sort of gentleman of whom Vraux would approve and therefore one she should discourage, if she meant to end the Season unwed. But how to disillusion him without being cruel?

  ‘I doubt I could live up to the high expectations you seem to have of me,’ she said, hoping candour might produce the same result as cruelty. ‘It’s probably better that we part before I disappoint you.’