Her brother’s unrepentant grin revealed everything she had deduced. The scoundrel had been up to no good. “I had my hands full with several distractions, dear sister,” he drawled, likely slipping a double entendre into his explanation. “I have already apologized. How long do you intend to be vexed with me?”
“Don’t let my annoyance trouble you, Brother,” Tempest said briskly. “Once we part ways at the Oxtons’, you will not have to concern yourself with my feelings.”
Oliver groaned. “You can be a heartless creature, Tempest.”
“I have learned from the master, Brother,” she replied, her spiteful comment startling everyone in the coach. Including her, though she preferred to bite off her tongue rather than apologize for her cutting remark.
No one felt inclined to speak again until they had reached Lord and Lady Oxton’s town house.
* * *
“Tell me again why we have delayed joining St. Lyon and Rainbault,” Thorn asked after they had paid their respects to the Earl of Oxton and his countess.
“This stop will be brief,” Mathias promised as he stepped into the ballroom. “And you are not missing anything. Did you see the look on Rainbault’s face? He will insist on escorting the lady home, and we shall likely be waiting at the club for him to join us. As for St. Lyon, it will take some time for him to untangle himself from his family obligations.”
Thorn stood to Mathias’s left, and he inclined his head as he recognized an elderly couple. “St. Lyon barely glanced at the chit. Who was she?”
“I have no idea. I missed the formal introductions, and our friend was determined not to offer the shy lady any encouragement,” Mathias said. A slight frown thinned his lips, as he could not find the lady who had brought him to the Oxtons’.
“It seemed out of character for St. Lyon to behave himself. Some nights he is worse than Rainbault.”
“Not when the lady’s parents are close friends of his.” He had noticed the lady seated beside their friend discreetly observed the viscount when he was not paying attention to her. It was the same expression every female had stamped on her face when St. Lyon was around. One that was wistful and adoring. Most of them were half in love with the gentleman within minutes of an introduction. “His family would like to see him married off this season, but they are bound to be disappointed.”
“How so?”
He motioned for his friend to walk with him. “I love the man like a brother, however, St. Lyon would make any respectable lady a dreadful husband.”
“On what grounds?”
“Fidelity,” Mathias said absently. “He has been incapable of being faithful to a single mistress. Since our arrival in town, I have seen him in the company of at least four females.”
Thorn chuckled. “So he likes variety.”
“I agree.” He flashed a quick smile, knowing the same accusation could be leveled at all of them. “Nevertheless, a wife tends to disapprove of that kind of behavior.”
“St. Lyon’s family will not give up easily,” the earl predicted.
“Neither will St. Lyon. Or he will do something outrageous to discourage them.”
“Which should be highly entertaining,” Thorn replied, likely contemplating how he might profit from the viscount’s impending antics. “Although I cannot decide if his family is eager for him to settle down or hope a good marriage will put an end to the speculation that he might be Lord Norgrave’s natural son.”
Mathias’s brows came together. It was rare for any of them to mention the old gossip. “You are lucky St. Lyon isn’t here. The last man who brought up the subject was reward with a broken nose for his efforts.”
“Have you not considered it, or does your father’s hatred for Norgrave and his family prevent you from considering the possibilities because that would make St. Lyon your enemy as well?”
“Don’t be an arse,” Mathias snapped. “St. Lyon could be related to you and your brother, and I would still call him my friend.”
“Very amusing,” Thorn drawled as he leaned against the wall. “If it isn’t for St. Lyon, then do you want to explain why we have ventured into enemy territory?”
“You have become very jaded about the ton if you view a ballroom as a hostile place,” Mathias teased.
“Then it is mere coincidence that Lady Norgrave is present?”
“Is she?” he asked, trying to sound innocent. “For obvious reasons, I have been deprived of a formal introduction. Which lady is she?”
Thorn was not fooled. “Look for a lady in her forties. Blond hair. To your right, about halfway across the room. She is wearing a dark copper dress with a matching turban. The lady next to her is wearing blue.”
The copper dress the marchioness was wearing caught Mathias’s eye almost immediately. More startling was that he recognized the blonde, who had to be close to his mother’s age. Not that he had ever been introduced, but on a few occasions when they attended the same ball, he had noticed her cool regard. She would not have been the first older lady who had approached him with the invitation of a casual affair. However, Lady Norgrave had kept her distance, and pursuing a lady with a jealous husband held little appeal for him.
Mathias and Thorn accepted glasses of sparkling wine from a footman. “I did not realize she was Norgrave’s wife,” he murmured, taking a contemplative sip from his glass. He grimaced at its sweetness. “Any chance we can trade this wine for brandy?”
“I expect Lord Oxton would accommodate us,” Thorn replied. “Unless you have seen enough and we can leave.”
“I—”
A young lady in a white muslin dress with shoulder-length curly hair the color of chestnut approached them, but her gaze was locked on Thorn. Her blue eyes were bright with joy. “Gideon, I cannot believe it is you! Why didn’t you tell anyone that you would be in town? In your last letter, you did not mention your return.”
Annoyance flashed across Thorn’s face as his dark green gaze raked the woman. “The simplest answer is because I am not Gideon, Miss Lydall.”
The lady flinched at his friend’s harsh tone, but she was not intimidated by his temper. “My apologies, Lord Kempthorn,” she replied, her initial open friendliness shuttered. “I was under the impression that you detested these affairs, so naturally I mistook you for your twin.”
“An understandable mistake, Miss Lydall,” Mathias said smoothly. Thorn could be blunt, but he was rarely rude to beautiful ladies. The man deserved an elbow in his ribs for the manner in which he was glaring at the young woman. “I have known Thorn and Gideon for years, and I still have trouble discerning the difference.”
“You are too generous, my lord,” Miss Lydall said, her troubled gaze still fixed on the earl.
“Lord Fairlamb.” Mathias bowed. He might as well have been talking to one of the potted plants. Neither the lady nor his friend was paying attention to him.
“I was unaware that you and Gideon corresponded while he’s been away,” Thorn grumbled.
Miss Lydall shrugged. “Your brother is my friend and a gentleman.”
Mathias blinked as Thorn took an intimidating step toward the lady. “What precisely are you implying, Miss Lydall?”
“Why, nothing at all, my lord.” There was a blank politeness masking her face as she curtsied. “Forgive me for interrupting your evening, Lord Fairlamb … Lord Kempthorn.”
“That was certainly unpleasant,” Mathias muttered.
Thorn glared at the departing Miss Lydall. “I wasn’t rude.”
“The devil you weren’t,” he countered. “Who is she?”
“A neighbor of sorts.” Thorn rubbed his jaw as if it ached. “As a child, she was always underfoot, chasing after us. Gideon had a bad habit of encouraging her, so it is no surprise the chit is in love with him.”
Understanding crept into Mathias’s expression. “So she is the reason Gideon left—”
Thorn shook his head. “No, that was another lady, and a long time ago. I fear Miss Lydall might try to get
her sharp tenterhooks into Gideon’s heart when he returns. He always had a soft spot for the girl, though I cannot fathom why.”
“Would that be so terrible?” He hesitated. Thorn could be very prickly about his brother. “Especially with what drove Gideon to—”
“Yes,” his friend said with his usual bluntness. “Miss Lydall is precisely the opposite of what my brother needs. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I need a glass or two of that brandy we discussed. Care to join me?”
There was no reasoning with Thorn when it came to his twin. Miss Lydall had walked away with her feelings hurt, but if she expected an apology from the earl, she would be disappointed. Mathias let the subject drop.
“I suppose I should. Coming here was a mis—” From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Lady Arabella was embracing Lady Norgrave. Several yards behind her, he spotted Lady Tempest as she chatted with two ladies who had delayed her arrival.
“I shall meet you in the library.”
Thorn glanced over his shoulder to see who had caught Mathias’s attention. He snorted when he recognized the Brant sisters. “You are courting trouble, my friend.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, anticipation rising in his chest at the sight of Lady Tempest. “It could be mere coincidence that we happen to be attending the same ball.”
It was exactly what he planned to tell his father and mother if they learned of it.
“Not likely,” the earl said, unknowingly ruining what Mathias thought was a reasonable explanation. “Chance, I know you are seeking a way to strike back at Marcroft for seducing Miss King.”
Mathias scowled at the reminder. He still could not fathom why Clara had chosen Marcroft instead of him. “She would have made an admirable mistress.”
Thorn sighed. “So you remarked several times in the coach. Nonetheless, I strongly object to you taking your frustrations out on those ladies.”
His eyebrows pinched together as his frown became more prominent. “Does it count that I am interested in only one of them?”
Thorn rolled his eyes. “If you are hoping to provoke Marcroft into a murderous rage, then seducing one of his sisters will guarantee that you will succeed.”
“I said nothing of seduction,” Mathias mildly protested. “I simply want to test the waters with Lady Tempest.”
He idly wondered if he could lure her away and coax her into kissing him again.
“And Marcroft will drown you in those deep waters if you try. Leave the lady alone. Come have a brandy with me before we depart and join our friends,” Thorn softly entreated.
“Run along,” Mathias said, ignoring his friend’s groan of frustration. “I will not be long. I shall pay my respects to the lady, and then we can leave.”
“I will tell the footman to send for our coach.” Thorn started to walk away. “Just in case Marcroft is in attendance.”
Chapter Ten
“Tempest, what happened to your headdress?”
“Good evening, Mama.” She curtsied, resisting the urge to touch her hair. “Oliver sends his apologies, but he was late for an engagement.”
The marchioness’s hazel eyes chilled at the announcement. “Of course he does,” she said, displeased that her son had done his duty but offered nothing more. “You have yet to explain why you are not wearing the headdress we selected for that dress.”
“It was a small mishap,” Arabella interceded in Tempest’s behalf.
She sent her sister a grateful smile. “The crowd at the theater was … uh, rougher than we had anticipated, Mama. In the crush, the headdress was trampled before I could rescue it. Arabella and Mrs. Sheehan attempted to repair it. However, once we removed the broken plumes, an imbalance was created—so I thought it best to do without it this evening.”
“Did you?”
Tempest hid her wince at her mother’s censorious tone. Her brother’s absence ensured that the marchioness’s ire was focused wholly on her. “There will be other nights to wear the headdress once it is repaired.”
“What do you think of Tempest’s hair, Mama?” her sister asked, quietly distracting their mother by changing the subject. “One of Lady Oxton’s maids was an absolute godsend, and she possessed a genuine talent for the current hair fashions. We shall have to make certain one of us passes our thanks to the countess.”
“Naturally,” the marchioness said to Arabella before she turned her critical eye back to Tempest’s coiffure. “I concur, Daughter. The maid does have an adequate hand, and we do owe Lady Oxton our gratitude. Tempest, you should thank her personally.”
“Of course, Mama,” she said, impulsively glancing about the ballroom in search of their hostess. Her impersonal gaze passed over a gentleman sipping sparkling wine near one of the broad columns and traveled a few feet farther before she abruptly halted her search.
No, it could not be him.
Tempest’s attention returned to the gentleman. Chance silently saluted her with his wineglass.
Good heavens, she could not allow her mother to see him.
She touched her mother on the arm and lightly guided her so that the marchioness’s gaze was directed away from the marquess. “Mama, is that Lady Oxton in the silver dress?”
Lord Fairlamb shook his head, clearly amused by her subterfuge even though he was too far away to overhear their conversation.
Arabella noticed Tempest’s distress, but she could not find the source as she looked around the ballroom.
“No,” her mother said, peering at the woman Tempest had pointed out. “No, that is not her. The countess was wearing an uncomplimentary green dress this evening. I cannot fathom why Sarah allowed the seamstress to talk her into such an unflattering color.”
Tempest signaled for the marquess to leave.
The scoundrel had the audacity to grin at her.
“Daughter, are you unwell?” She stiffed in surprise when her mother touched her cheek. “There is too much color in your face.”
“Too much rouge,” she confessed, clasping her mother’s hand and drawing it away. “How clumsy of me.”
Arabella looked baffled. “You are not wearing—eee!” she exclaimed when Tempest pinched her just above the elbow. She rubbed her arm and glared at her sister.
Lady Norgrave stared at her daughters. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“No,” Tempest hastily replied. She nudged her younger sister. “Is that not so?”
Why was Chance here? Had he followed their coach? She raised her hand to motion Lord Fairlamb away, but she quickly changed directions and touched her hair when her sister noticed her gesture.
“Arabella?” her mother pressed.
Her sister had no idea why Tempest was behaving so strangely, but she was loyal. No doubt, she would have questions when they were alone. “Nothing, Mama. We are so happy to join you at the ball. Is Papa here, too?”
The marchioness’s lips pursed in irritation at the mention of her husband. “No, like your brother, your father had other plans for the evening.”
* * *
Amused, Mathias observed from afar as Lady Tempest distracted her mother and sister from his presence.
Intriguing.
Why was she protecting him? He did not require her assistance, but it was endearingly sweet of her not to cause a minor uproar by telling her mother that she was being pursued by one of those loathsome Rookes.
And he was definitely stalking her.
How had he not noticed her last spring? Even without her jeweled headdress, she was not the kind of lady who blended into the scenery. It was not simply her beauty that appealed. There were many lovely ladies in the ballroom who drew a man’s eye, including her younger sister. Something about Lady Tempest called to him. He had yet to figure out what it was about her, but he was content to ponder the puzzle at his leisure.
The lady herself had seen to it that he was left unmolested by her kinsmen.
And where was her devoted brother?
Knowing Marcroft’s selfis
h nature, he likely abandoned his sisters at the Oxtons’ front door so he could return to Miss King. Lingering resentment toward the man burrowed under Mathias’s skin like an intrusive vine. He was still annoyed that the earl had snatched Clara away from him. There was nothing preventing him from returning the favor. The little jade was unaware that he had observed her tryst with Marcroft. He could leave Lady Tempest alone and renew his pursuit of Miss King. She would enjoy having two gentlemen fight over her.
Mathias had no intention of telling her that she was little more than a means to take a poke at the earl. Her greed had reduced her to such a lowly state. She deserved his ire more than the lady who was casting wary glances in his direction did.
“So it is true. I did not credit it when Thorn told me you were in the ballroom chasing after some chit,” said a familiar male voice.
Mathias turned his back on Lady Tempest to address the gentleman to prove that the accusation was warrantless. “Vanewright, this is the last place I would expect you to be.”
Christopher Avery Courtland, Earl of Vanewright, inclined his head in acknowledgment. He was as tall as Mathias, with intelligent blue green eyes and straight black hair that had been recently trimmed. The two men had crossed paths at school, but that was not where their friendship originated. It was at the House of Lords, where they had stood on opposing sides of several vigorous debates in which they had managed to find some common ground.
“My mother was unwell this evening, so she asked me to escort my sister in her stead. Have I introduced you to Lady Ellen?”
“Is Lady Netherley conspiring to marry the chit off this season?” At Courtland’s knowing grin, Mathias shook his head. “Do not be offended if I politely decline your generous offer. My mother is already lamenting that I spend too much time in my clubs. If she learns that I was speaking with your sister, she might get the mistaken impression that I am seeking a wife.”
“I can sympathize, my friend,” the earl said. “My mother will not be happy until she sees all her children married off. Unfortunately, my sister is rather stubborn and claims to be content with her life. God willing, Ellen will provide enough of a distraction this season that my mother will be too busy to worry about finding me a bride.”
You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want Page 10
