Yet the alcohol must have numbed his senses for the man only blinked in response. His face slowly twisted in anger as he seized both of her wrists, causing pain to shoot up the length of her forearms. “I’ll damn well teach you to—”
“Wharton,” Edmund said sharply, now stepping into view. “What the devil are you doing?”
Seeing Edmund actually made her weak with relief. His tone alone implied he wasn’t any more pleased than she was.
“Your Grace.” The drunk tightened his hold on her wrists, causing her to wince. “I was merely asking for a dance.”
Edmund drew close and leaned in. So close all three of their bodies were practically touching. “Her dance card is quite full, I assure you.”
Maybelle’s heart jumped at being scrunched between two men who appeared to be out of their minds.
Edmund continued to glare down at the man. “This lady does not deserve your degrading advances. Leave her be.”
“Lady indeed.” The blonde snorted. “You’ve rather lost your mind.”
“Miss Maitenon is officially under my protection,” Edmund seethed through his teeth. “Now release her, Wharton. I’ll not ask again.”
Maybelle blinked in astonishment. Edmund looked almost crazed, his dark features dangerously fixed on the man who continued to hold her wrists. Imagine. The Duke of Rutherford claiming her. Clearly, he’d been serious about marrying her all along.
“You intend to publicly defend a whore?” the bastard scoffed, still not releasing her wrists.
Edmund snatched the man by the collar, yanking him off of her completely and with one full swing smashed his gloved fist upside the man’s head.
Maybelle scrambled back and away. She felt her slippered heel catch on the hem of her skirts, and though she desperately fought to balance herself with her arms, she tipped far backwards and braced herself for the fall.
She would have fallen, too, if it weren’t for a gentleman who had swiftly swooped in from behind. She froze as she was lifted back to her feet. The tantalizing scent of lemon and leather floated around her.
The stranger continued to hold her tightly with muscled arms, pressing her backside firmly against the length of his heated body. She could feel his chest rise and fall. And if she didn’t know any better, his cock was rather hard.
She inwardly cringed. “Thank you,” she whispered, quickly yanking herself away.
She turned and blinked. A tall, good-looking man with striking green eyes and swept-back bronzed hair grinned down at her rather saucily.
He quickly adjusted his evening jacket in an effort to cover his faux pas and drawled, “A pleasure.” He reached out, grabbed her satin-gloved hand, and kissed it before turning and walking away.
Maybelle blinked down at her gloved hand in astonishment. Seems her plan to drum up scandal was working.
She cleared her throat and turned back to Edmund. She paused, realizing that the blond man who’d tried to grope her was now unconscious on the ballroom floor, his legs spread apart and his mouth open wide.
Edmund continued to tower over him, opening and fisting one of his gloved hands, as if making certain the man remained on the floor.
People started gathering around them, their fans flickering, their lips whispering, and their bodies leaning.
This would certainly make the papers.
“His lordship is foxed, is all,” Edmund muttered at those around him.
His lordship?! Oh do save her from the humiliation of it all. Did the man have to be titled?
The duke turned and strode up to Maybelle, curtly commanding, “Madam. I ask that you follow me at once.”
As if she had a choice. He was her rescuer and her host. She followed him off to the side.
He paused and leaned toward her, his dark eyes searching her face. “Did he hurt you?” he whispered.
“No. I am well, thank you.” She nodded, unable to push away the feeling that he was genuinely concerned for her well-being. It touched her, actually. No man had ever publicly stood up for her honor. Ever. And there had been a few occasions in which she could have used such protection.
He lowered his voice. “Allow me to be your protector until you and I can come to some sort of an agreeable conclusion.”
Maybelle didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended. “I prefer to keep our relationship to the standard one night, thank you.”
The orchestra ceased, as if she had cued it to cease with those very words. The supper bell sounded, calling the guests to indulge.
She curtsied, turned, and then hurried away before she altogether changed her mind. For strangely, she was beginning to wonder what it would be like to be under the man’s protection. At all times. Clearly, the man had a disturbing and unsettling effect on her. One that made her want to give up all control and sensibility.
A rude laughter chimed out from a group of women Maybelle had passed. Instead of ignoring it, as would have been the proper thing to do, Maybelle turned and readied herself for another battle.
The tall, dark-haired woman in the center of the group paused, surprised that Maybelle would be so bold. “Do find a better chaperone,” the woman chirped. “For you are making quite a fool of yourself.”
Although the words stung Maybelle’s pride straight to the core of her soul, she bit down on her tongue and turned away before she did something she’d regret. Like wallop the smirk off her face. But she was a representative of her grandmother’s school and, as such, refused to add brawling to her list of credentials. Which is why she simply breezed out of the ballroom and into the refreshment room, determined to hunt her grandmother down.
Soon enough, she found her grandmother. At the center of male attention. As always. Maybelle inwardly groaned. Her grandmother was talking quite enthusiastically to Lord Hughes. As if the night had barely commenced.
Glancing around, Maybelle hurried toward them hoping she wouldn’t have to explain before the man why it was time to leave.
Her grandmother must have noticed her approach, for she leaned toward Lord Hughes and uttered something that made him quickly bow and depart. Her grandmother set her chin and then walked toward her, her cane following each elegant movement.
When they were within an arm’s length, her grandmother eagerly eyed her, awaiting the news.
Maybelle flicked open her fan, covering the lower half of her face, then leaned toward her grandmother and hissed, “The duke intends to pay. With banknotes, mind you. And what is worse, only moments ago, he rendered a man senseless on my behalf before all of London. Now I suggest we leave. Immediately.”
“The duke rendered a man senseless on your behalf?” A small smile touched her grandmother’s lips as she glanced around. She then whispered back, “We leave after supper.”
Maybelle’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But—”
“Tut-tut.” Her grandmother held up a gloved hand. “You have a new reputation to uphold. It is not every day the ton publicly fights its own. We must revel in it.”
Maybelle clamped her mouth shut, knowing there was no sense arguing. She supposed this was damn well part of redefining scandal.
Lesson Nine
Do not question the heat involved in passion. Instead, question what more you can do to ignite the flame.—The School of Gallantry
One hundred thousand pounds. His mother was going to have a fit. And rightfully so. But hell, she wanted grandchildren, did she not?
Edmund shook his head and tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves. Here he was trying to publicly clean up Maybelle de Maitenon’s name only to end up muddying his own. By knocking out an earl. Before all of London, no less.
He glanced around. It was time to find the woman again and make certain no other arsy-varsy was trying to mount her. He’d expected a frigid reception, and wanted her to know what the ton was capable of, but didn’t realize it would get this out of hand. God knows what the woman dealt with on a daily basis. The very thought sickened him. It was no
wonder she always seemed ready to battle.
Edmund nodded his pleasantries toward a passing couple and strolled into the formal dining room, searching all of the occupied white linen–covered tables.
He paused at seeing Maybelle.
She was intently exchanging words with her grandmother while seated at one of the tables. The strands of pearls that had been perfectly weaved into her gathered blond curls glistened as she leaned toward her grandmother. Her off-the-shoulder gown tightened around her breasts whenever she moved, the thin outside gauze shifting against the silk beneath as it emphasized the top rounds of her generous breasts.
Maybelle, not to mention her grandmother, momentarily paused from their involved conversation. As if he’d outright called out their names from across the room, they both turned their heads toward his direction and stared.
Edmund offered a gallant nod in their direction.
Madame de Maitenon briskly patted Maybelle’s hand, whispering something into her ear, and stood. Rounding their table, the Frenchwoman slowly made her way toward him with the help of an ivory cane. Her sharp blue eyes were fixed on him the entire time.
This promised to be entertaining.
Soon, Madame de Maitenon stood before him in all her elegant splendor of lilac satin and diamonds. She quirked a silver brow at him and motioned toward the doorway with her cane.
Edmund swept a hand toward the doorway. “After you, Madame.”
She breezed past.
Once outside the dining room, Madame de Maitenon fully turned, her skirts sweeping the marble floor of the corridor. She observed him pensively as if trying to understand something.
Edmund placed his gloved hands behind his back. “Yes?”
A devilish gleam appeared in her blue eyes as she lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “Less thoughts of poom-poom, oui? My granddaughter already gets enough of that.”
Edmund blinked, not knowing what he was supposed to say in response. Poom-poom? Did that mean what the hell he thought it meant?
“Edmund.” The duchess marched on toward them from down the corridor in all her black splendor. “Did you actually assault one of my guests?!”
“This is not the time, Mother,” he said tightly. His eyes went back to Madame de Maitenon. He leaned toward the woman and drawled, “What do you suggest then, Madame? For I am genuinely hoping to make your granddaughter my duchess.”
She lowered her chin slightly. “Are you incapable of understanding that independence is her only lover, Your Grace? Maybelle is not like the women of the ton. She is intelligent. Sophisticated. And has interests that lie in things like Voltaire and Egypt. Everything she could ever want she can easily receive from five others without a single form of commitment. Perhaps it is best you move on, oui? Save your money. You will need it.”
Edmund knew not why, but the woman’s insolent words bothered him. That there were others. And that his money and title were not enough. Because in reality, he had nothing else to offer. Involving more meant involving emotions, and emotions only damn well destroyed everything. Made people do things that they normally wouldn’t think to do. Like commit suicide.
His mother hurried over to him. “Edmund, for heaven’s sake, are you listening? I—” She paused beside them and gawked at Maybelle’s grandmother. And then at him.
As if the conversation weren’t awkward enough. “Mother. I need a few moments to finish this conversation.”
Dark eyes pinned him with a crushing stare. “Perhaps you need a few moments to tend to Lord Wharton. You promised to keep things respectable.” The duchess turned and smiled genuinely at Madame de Maitenon, then turned back and glared at him. “I will talk to Madame de Maitenon. Perhaps we women can come to a better understanding. Yes?”
Edmund stared at his mother in disbelief. She was going to converse with Madame de Maitenon? In public? Seemed her intent to marry him off was officially out of hand.
Madame de Maitenon tapped the side of his lacquered shoe with the end of her ivory cane. “My granddaughter sits alone, Your Grace. Inform her that I shall be joining her shortly, oui?”
“Of course.” He bowed to both women, not wanting to even think about the conversation he was about to leave behind, then turned and strode into the dining hall.
He glanced to where he’d last seen Maybelle and froze. A dark-haired gentleman leaned toward her, a viscount of some sort, and was saying something that looked rather involved. Maybelle, in turn, smiled up at the man from her seat and simply listened.
In that very moment, a jealousy he damn well had never felt seized not only his brain but his entire body. He balled his fists. He didn’t like seeing her with other men. Mostly because he knew what it was they wanted. The same thing he did. But at least he was trying to make something respectable of her. A wife.
Edmund set his jaw and headed toward her just as the viscount bowed and moved on. Yes. Keep walking, bastard. Keep walking.
Edmund didn’t pause in his stride until he was at Maybelle’s side. “Good evening. Again. Might I join you?”
She turned, clearly startled, and looked up at him from where she was sitting. And quickly looked away. The napkin she clutched fell into her lap, which gave him a detailed view of her cleavage set just below her diamond necklace.
He sucked in a quick breath at seeing the soft dip between those full, smooth breasts and cursed himself for being a man.
She must have noticed where his eyes had drifted for she immediately snatched up her napkin and firmly pressed it against her bosom. “I think it unwise that we be seen together anymore tonight.” She leaned toward the empty chair beside her and with her other hand rudely pulled it in, dragging it toward herself. “Furthermore, this seat belongs to my grandmother.”
Now how was he to be a gentleman after a retort like that? He took hold of the chair, forcefully prying it away from her hand, and sat. “Thank you for the chair,” he said dryly. “Now. Perhaps you’d best be aware that there is something rather serious going on out in that corridor.”
The napkin Maybelle had been covering her bosom with slipped to her lap. She glanced toward the entryway, then back at him, and lowered her voice. “Whatever do you mean?”
Oh, yes. Let her think that she was outnumbered and that he had others working for his cause. That there was no escaping her fate. “Your grandmother and my mother are chatting away. Very much like old friends. What do you make of it?”
She stared at him. “Taradiddle, you say.”
“’Tis true. And although I have no idea how your grandmother feels about the matter, I do know that my mother is still very intent on having us married. Something to do with grandchildren.”
“God forbid they should fall upon the subject of grandchildren.” Maybelle smacked her napkin onto the table and snatched up her gloves from beside her plate. She yanked them on rather violently, then scrambled up out of her chair, but in her haste stumbled and lost her balance. She tipped far forward against the small table.
Although Edmund jumped up and caught her arm to keep her from altogether falling, her body and full skirts still managed to send the table, and everything on it, crashing forward to the floor.
Edmund froze, as did Maybelle, realizing that everyone was gawking at them. Bloody hell.
On cue, three male servants swarmed in. One stomped on the end of the tablecloth that had caught fire from the burning candle. Another promptly picked up pieces of crystal and china, while another collected the flowers that had decorated the table.
Whispers rumbled around them as couples stood to leave. It was time to officially escort her out of the room and out of the public’s eye.
“Come,” he muttered, grabbing her hand and quickly leading them toward the doorway.
“What do you think is worse?” she hissed, trying to keep up with him. “Overturning a table? Or an earl?”
Edmund bit back a laugh, despite everything. The woman’s tongue truly knew n
o bounds and together, there was no scandal they couldn’t conquer.
When they arrived out in the corridor, he released her arm and paused, surprised to find that neither his mother nor Maybelle’s grandmother was in sight. It was as if they had both up and disappeared. They were no doubt plotting in private, out of the eye of the ton.
Good. At least they knew how to be discreet.
Edmund looked over at Maybelle and was about to say something with regards to the matter but froze at realizing the entire front of her emerald and gauze gown had been splattered and streaked with wine. “Uh…” He gestured toward her gown.
She looked down at herself, let out a small laugh, and commenced brushing at the stains. She shook her blond head. “Why is it, Your Grace, that my gown is forever being soiled whenever it comes into your presence?”
Mistress of Pleasure Page 9
