by Darcy Burke
This sent them all into a burst of laughter until Lavinia’s eye caught a swirl of dark pink skirt nearby. She lifted her gaze and squinted at Lady Fairwell strolling past with another woman, their heads bent together in conversation.
As Lavinia watched them, she realized she hadn’t told Sarah—and now Fanny—about her encounter with Northam. They’d simply been talking about other things, she told herself. She could mention it now.
His words came back to her as well as her response that she didn’t like gossip. She’d never considered sharing information with her confidantes to be gossip, but Northam had expressed his desire that she not say anything. And she was a woman of honor. Or at least she tried to be.
Besides, there really wasn’t anything to tell. She’d watched him extricate himself from Lady Fairwell’s embrace. Then Lavinia had traded barbs with him. More accurately, she’d tossed barbs and he’d flirted. And he’d caught her in his arms. He’d also kissed her neck. A flush crept over her skin as she recalled the touch of his lips upon her flesh. She’d been kissed by the alluring Marquess of Northam. And she wasn’t going to tell a soul.
“What sort of man would write poems about young women?” Sarah was asking as Lavinia sought to reenter the conversation after falling down a rabbit hole in her mind. It was, unfortunately, a rather common hazard, and one she’d become good at compensating for.
“It should have been a scandal,” Lavinia said, as if she hadn’t just gathered enough wool to outfit an entire regiment.
Sarah nodded in agreement, a dark curl brushing her temple. “And yet it wasn’t.”
“I daresay because his words were so lovely.”
“And while they are clearly specific to his subject, he doesn’t seem to be an intimate,” Sarah said. “All the women he’s written of have indicated they don’t know who he is either. And clearly, he didn’t want them for himself; otherwise, he would have made himself known.”
He appeared to want to cast a glow on those who’d been relegated to the shelf, or almost anyway. Lavinia had met Miss Berwick, his first subject. And while they weren’t close friends, Lavinia knew she was twenty-six years old and that her parents had decided not to press her on the Marriage Mart this Season. Miss Berwick was not a great beauty, and she was bookish and quiet. She seemed destined to be a governess. Until the Duke of Seduction had made her the most popular woman in London last fall. While Lavinia and Sarah had been at a house party, Miss Berwick had vaulted into the realm of the Untouchables. In January, she’d wed a widowed earl and become an instant mother to his two small children. She was, as evidenced by the thank-you letter she’d addressed to the Duke of Seduction and had published in the Morning Chronicle, ecstatically happy.
And now Lavinia had gathered enough wool to clothe a second regiment. She forced herself back to the conversation.
“Well, he must be a kind-hearted soul, if nothing else,” Fanny said. “What do you think he is, Lavinia?”
“Do you mean who?”
Sarah let out a short laugh. “I’m afraid she drifted off, Fanny. She does that sometimes.” She turned to Lavinia. “We were pondering what sort of man he must be. Is he married? We decided that was doubtful, and yet he seems to have experienced love. We suspect a widower. And perhaps older. I would guess forty at least. He seems to have a wisdom younger bucks don’t.”
“Your deduction is sound,” Lavinia said. “If he’s a widower who’s loved before, one might think he’d try to find love again. Why not court one of these young women he’s singled out?”
Fanny tapped her finger against her chin. “An excellent question. Perhaps he doesn’t think he can find love a second time.”
“Or perhaps he’s still so in love with his deceased wife that he simply can’t love another.” Sarah looked between them with a glazed expression.
“The excessively romantic tone of his poems certainly supports that,” Lavinia said.
Fanny’s lips tipped into a smile. “Perhaps he’ll write a poem about one of you.”
Sarah laughed, but Lavinia cringed inwardly. “I think that level of scrutiny might be rather unsettling.” If she were to garner the focus of Society, she’d rather it be about something worthwhile, such as a geologic discovery, rather than whom she might or might not marry. “It’s not going to happen, in any case. No, I think we’re on our own, Sarah.”
“Probably,” she agreed with a sigh. “By Season’s end, we’ll be wed—or on our way to the altar—or we’ll officially be spinsters.”
Right now, Lavinia wasn’t sure which she preferred.
* * *
William Beckett, Marquess of Northam, stared at the closed door for a moment before turning to survey the library in the hope that Lord Evenrude kept a bottle of whisky. Seeing none, Beck’s gaze fell on the book the mystery woman had discarded on the settee.
Circling around the piece of furniture, he plucked it up and read the spine. The Geologic History of Cornwall. What sort of young woman read such a thing?
He thumbed through the tome for a moment and shook his head before looking for where it might have been on the shelf. Finding a space, he tucked it between two other books.
Geology. She’d stolen into a viscount’s library to read about geology. He was suddenly embarrassed about his assignation, which was odd since he’d never been before. But then he’d never been up against a haughty young woman who had sought to use a library for its intended purpose, whereas he’d planned to sully it. Yes, embarrassment fit the moment.
A haughty young woman with spectacular chocolate eyes and hair the color of cinnamon. Good Lord, was he hungry? Or was it that she’d just been pretty enough to eat? No, not pretty. That wasn’t the right description. She was attractive, but her chin was perhaps a trifle too strong and her cheeks too severe. She was captivating, in possession of some unidentifiable quality that made you want to know more about her in the hope of naming it.
And right now, he didn’t even know her name. He turned and left the library and went in search of his friend Felix, the Earl of Ware. Finding him in the gaming room, he waited until Felix extricated himself from the card game and joined him near the door.
“Ready to go?” Felix asked.
“Not quite. Let’s repair to the ballroom for a bit.” He didn’t wait for Felix to respond before turning and leading him to the door that led to the ballroom.
Felix groaned. “Why? If you’re going to dance, I’m leaving without you.” They’d planned to go to Brooks’s Club as soon as Beck had completed his assignation.
“I’m not going to dance. I’m merely trying to find a woman.”
“Didn’t you just meet a woman?” Felix snorted. “You’re insatiable.”
Beck rolled his eyes. “Our plans were interrupted.”
“I see. How disappointing. Do you need me to create a diversion so you can try again?” Felix was quite adept at causing a disruption, usually for the purpose of general hilarity, but occasionally to allow for Beck or someone else of their acquaintance to accomplish some other act. At Oxford, Felix had been rather notorious for his abilities. Now, he tended to use his skills for organization. No one planned a game or activity better than Felix.
Because of this skill, Felix tended to know people Beck didn’t, though identifying a young miss on the Marriage Mart might be beyond even him. Like Beck, Felix steered fairly clear of those looking for a husband.
“I don’t need a diversion,” Beck said. “I need you to tell me who someone is.”
They stepped into the ballroom, and Beck instantly felt a prick of annoyance. The whole notion of young women putting themselves on display as if they were vegetables at the market disgusted him. Society put far too much stock in how a woman looked and on her standing in their rigid hierarchy.
“Why are we trolling the ballroom?” Felix asked.
“I met a young woman earlier and didn’t get her name. I’m hoping you might know her.”
Felix stopped and stared at him. “A youn
g woman? You detest the Marriage Mart. What the devil are you doing?”
Beck scowled as he tugged Felix’s sleeve. “Don’t stop. People will want to approach us to converse.”
“And we wouldn’t want that,” Felix muttered. “Where is this astounding young woman?”
Continuing his perusal of the ballroom, Beck scoured the far corners. At last he saw her, huddled with two other young women. “Ten o’clock, in the corner. Cinn—red-brown hair. Blue dress. Taller than the other two she’s with.”
“I don’t immediately recognize her, but then I can’t get a good look at her,” Felix said. “I’d suggest we move closer, but I’m guessing you’ll say no.”
“Perhaps a little.” Beck led him closer to the wall.
Felix looked at him sharply. “We’re into the wilds now. Why is this woman so important? And if you met her, why didn’t you learn her name?”
“Never mind any of that. I’m simply curious.”
“I see her now. That’s Lady Lavinia Gillingham. She’s a close friend of Sarah’s. And that’s Sarah to her right.”
Beck turned to Felix and stopped. “Colton?”
Felix nodded. “Anthony’s sister, yes.”
Anthony Colton was one of Felix’s closest friends. They’d grown up together.
“Do you want me to arrange a formal introduction?” Felix asked.
“That won’t be necessary. I was merely curious.” Lady Lavinia…Gillingham. Her father was an earl. And Beck had been closeted alone with her. Hell, he’d kissed her bloody neck. Suddenly feeling overheated, he wanted to beat a hasty retreat from the ballroom.
“I believe she’s Sarah’s bluestocking friend. Anthony says she’s terribly smart and likely would’ve bested him at school.”
That would perhaps explain her interest in geology. What sort of young woman left a ball to read a book? The interesting sort.
“Sarah’s a bit of a wallflower, isn’t she?” Beck asked as they left the ballroom.
“Yes, though I don’t understand why she and her friends aren’t wed,” Felix said. “They’re attractive, and they hail from good families.”
“That isn’t always enough.” Beck kept the darkness from overtaking his tone, but the statement still came out gruff. He couldn’t help it. He knew too well what young women went through and how whether they were accepted or successful could affect them. The familiar tightening of his chest stole his breath for a moment.
“To the club, then?” Felix asked.
“No, I think I’m done for the evening.” Beck’s mood had darkened, and his muse was dancing a merry tune in his head.
An hour later, he leaned back in his chair behind his desk and scrubbed his hand over his face. His cravat hung untied around his neck, and his coat lay on the floor. He unbuttoned his waistcoat as he stared down at the words he’d written. It wasn’t his typical work, but then she wasn’t his typical subject. Lady Lavinia didn’t appear to be flirting with the shelf, but what did he really know?
Not much, and he usually tried to glean as much information as he could before launching a campaign. However, Lady Lavinia was different.
For some reason, he felt bad about his encounter with her earlier. He’d kissed her and flirted with her and generally put her in an uncomfortable situation. None of the other women he’d written about had suffered his abuse. Lady Lavinia had handled the entire affair with aplomb, evidencing an ability to take care of herself. Why, then, did he want to help her?
Because she deserved notice. She was intelligent and beautiful, and she was a wallflower. She ought to have her pick of gentlemen. And Beck would see that she did.
Chapter 2
Sweetly loving is she, and chaste,
A glory to her sex, with grace.
A tribute of bone, blood, and pride,
Her heart is center in the sky.
* * *
-From An Ode to Miss Rose Stewart
by The Duke of Seduction
* * *
Lavinia nibbled her roll as she perused the Botanical Magazine. Breakfasts with her parents were always spent reading newspapers and magazines and generally ignoring each other. Her father sat to her right, and her mother, as was the norm, was late to the table.
The countess swept into the sitting room where they took breakfast overlooking the patio and small garden. She dropped into her seat at the small round table with a murmured “Good morning,” which was met with a response of similar brevity and volume.
A few minutes later as Lavinia finished her roll and was intently reading about violets, her mother’s shriek filled the air. Lavinia snapped her head up.
“What the devil is wrong with you?” her father asked with alarm.
“He’s written a poem to Lavinia.” Mother thrust the paper toward her husband as she turned an ecstatic grin to Lavinia. “An Ode to Lady Lavinia Gillingham.”
“Who?” her father asked gruffly, taking the newspaper and eyeing the text.
“The Duke of Seduction.” Her mother’s tone carried pride and enthusiasm.
Lavinia suddenly wanted to toss up the roll she’d just eaten. She didn’t want his stupid poem or the attention it would bring.
Father looked at Lavinia over the newspaper, his eyes narrowing. “What nonsense is this? Has someone been courting you without speaking to me? What manner of blackguard behaves in such a manner?”
Her mother let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that. The Duke of Seduction writes poems about young women who need a nudge on the Marriage Mart. He’s already written about four young women, and two have become either wed or betrothed.”
Father blew out an impatient breath. “That doesn’t mean I want him writing about my daughter.”
“Not even if it will see her married by Season’s end? She’ll be instantly popular, just as the other young ladies have been.”
Father set the paper down, and his expression went from irritated to interested. “By Season’s end, you say?”
Lavinia fought the urge to jump to her feet and run from the room—or from the house entirely. “Or not. This could have no impact.” She could only hope.
“Nonsense,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “You’re pretty enough, your father’s an earl, and you’ve a dowry. You’ll just need to keep your mouth closed more often than not and stop prattling on about rocks. I’m confident you can do that.” The pleading light in her brown-eyed gaze proved she wasn’t as confident as she said.
“She’d better,” Father said. “It’s past time you’re wed. We’ve allowed you to search for a gentleman you want, but perhaps your expectations are too high.” He set the newspaper down next to Mother.
Ah yes, shared interest, mutual respect, love… Those were ridiculous to hope for.
“Most definitely,” Mother agreed. “But now she’ll have a wider range of gentlemen to choose from. Perhaps one will stand out and suffice.”
Suffice. “Do either of you care that I’d rather not be the latest on-dit?”
Mother blinked. “Of course I care. But I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to be the most popular girl in London, if only for a short time?”
It wasn’t the popularity but the reason for it. If she could be renowned for some sort of scientific discovery, she’d gladly accept the attention. But to carry the burden of others’ curiosity and intrusiveness wasn’t something she desired. And she had the bloody Duke of Seduction to blame for it. She wondered how his other subjects felt about the notoriety. Apparently, they didn’t mind, since two—and likely three—of them were now betrothed. Who was the fourth? Perhaps Lavinia would seek her out…
The countess picked up the paper and handed it to Lavinia. “Don’t you want to read your poem?”
“Not particularly.” If it was like the others, it would be a mosaic of lovely words and charming phrases. It would be beautiful and complimentary without any hint of intimacy. She thought of the gentlemen she knew and tried to imagine which one could be th
is presumptuous duke. So presumptuous that he’d even given himself his own ducal nickname.
She and her friends had been silly to think of him as kindhearted. The man was a menace, and Lavinia meant to unmask him to put a stop to this madness.
Mother pouted. “It’s a very nice poem. His finest yet, I think. He even extolls your intellect. Clearly, he knows you.”
Lavinia tried to resist reading the poem, but if the man had written of her intelligence, she was curious. Without picking up the newspaper, she arched her neck to read the words. It wasn’t terribly long, but then none of them were, if she recalled. Three or four stanzas. Hers was four.
“Perhaps there will be a second poem.” Her mother’s hopeful tone drew Lavinia to look up from the paper.
“I should hope not.” Though Lavinia was fairly certain he’d written more than one poem about each of his subjects. Except, perhaps, his last one—Miss Jane Pemberton.
Father gave her a pointed stare, his dark brown eyes boring into hers. “This could be a boon for you, and you’ll treat it as such. I’m weary of funding Seasons,” he grumbled.
“Yes, do look at it as a boon,” her mother cajoled. “We’ll get to the park a bit early today and see what happens.” She rose from the table. “We must select your finest walking ensemble! Come, let us prepare.” She turned and started from the breakfast room.
Lavinia could feel what little freedom she possessed slipping away.
“Get up, then,” her father said loudly, but not yelling.
Burying her frustration, Lavinia stood and followed her mother from the room. She cursed the Duke of Seduction with every step.
* * *
