The Debutante Is Mine

by Vivienne Lorret

  Aunt Zinnia’s gaze sharpened. “Do you mean to say that you introduced yourself to Miss Appleton?”

  “Yes,” he answered with a chuckle.

  “Jack, that simply is not done in society,” Mrs. Harwick added fondly but with a waggle of her finger.

  “It is fortunate, then, that Miss Appleton and I did not meet in society but in the garden instead.” He turned to Lilah, an unrepentant grin on his lips. “Unless you would consider our first meeting on the street this morning.”

  So he had seen her. The smile, the salute—those had been for her? Something warm inside of her fluttered. For an instant, she nearly forgot how much she disliked him. Nearly.

  “The street!” Aunt Zinnia gripped the edge of her armrests. The subtle nuances in her expression that usually relayed her disapproval were now quite evident. “Marjorie, were you aware of this?”

  “Of course not. Had I known, I would have made the proper introductions. After all, Jack has been Maxwell’s friend since they were in school together.”

  This did not appear to appease Aunt Zinnia. “Lilah, you must think of your reputation. To be seen engaging in conversation with a man to whom you have not been introduced—and in a public square, no less—could endanger your options of finding a suitable match. We cannot afford to make any errors.”

  Lilah knew this all too well. “Aunt Zinnia, there was no ‘exchange’ in the street whatsoever.”

  “I beg to differ,” Jack added, the certainty in his tone drawing far too much attention. “I distinctly recall your smile cast in my direction.”

  All eyes fell upon her. She clasped her hands to make sure she wasn’t holding cymbals after all.

  “No, I was laughing at the man who had the audacity to ride a war horse in the middle of town,” Lilah corrected, forcing that errant fluttering to cease. “You must excuse Mr. Marlowe, for I believe he would like nothing more than to incite riots wherever he roams.”

  Jack’s gaze dipped to her mouth. Absently, she wondered if there was something on her lip, such as an errant piece of fur from the lining of her redingote. Yet when she pressed them together, she felt nothing but her own flesh.

  Juliet issued a short, hollow laugh. “Then he has chosen his friend well.”

  Lilah had to agree with her cousin. In fact, she wished the gentlemen had not come at all. She preferred knowing what to expect, even if it was all doom and calamity, but with Jack, she had not been prepared.

  “What is done is done,” Mrs. Harwick said as she stood and dusted her hands together. “Both with Maxwell and Jack. One cannot turn cheese back into milk, after all.”

  Juliet rose as well. Facing Thayne, she lifted her chin. “However, one can sign over the deed of a house that is not rightly his.”

  “I believe the rightful owner is the one who paid for it,” he said, his hands fisted at his side.

  Mrs. Harwick hurried around the grouping of chairs to stand between the two. “We have ample time to settle this matter. For now, however, we have an issue that is even more pressing. I’m certain you can cast your animosity aside for the sake of—”

  Lilah winced with dread, hoping that Mrs. Harwick was not about to mention her own troubles in the midst of all this. And in front of Jack. The humiliation would be unbearable.

  “Lilah,” Mrs. Harwick said, her hands pressed together in prayer, as if knowing it would take a miracle to find Lilah a husband. “Directly before Maxwell and Jack walked into the room, we were speaking of ways for Lilah to gain Lord Ellery’s attention.”

  Actually, Aunt Zinnia and Mrs. Harwick had been imparting secrets on becoming an Original. Not that such a topic would have been any less embarrassing to discuss in front of Jack. At the moment, Lilah wished that she had worn blue this evening so that she could disappear into the fabric of the settee. “There is no need to continue our discourse. The matter can wait.”

  “We do not have the luxury of waiting a moment longer. Besides, now is the perfect time, my dear, for we have two handsome gentlemen in this very room who can offer their assistance.”

  Oh, the mortification! Lilah did not glance in Jack’s direction but felt his stare all the same. “I’m certain both Lord Thayne and Mr. Marlowe would rather adjourn to the study for an aperitif or even compete in a game of billiards.”

  “No, indeed,” Jack said casually, moving deeper into the room. “Thayne has been too surly of late. I’ve no wish to spend any more time alone with him. The discussion and the company in this room are far more to my liking.”

  “Jack, you flatter us,” Mrs. Harwick crooned, squeezing Jack’s forearm as he passed by her. Then, she pointed at her son. “Maxwell, you should take his example and butter our bread instead of toasting it.”

  Thayne took the scolding well and bent down to buss his mother’s cheek. “Then by all means, I am here to offer my assistance. Marlowe, what say you?”

  All the while, Lilah had a sense of Jack’s closing in on her. Moreover, she was all too aware of the lyre-backed chair nearest her, as if a beacon had been lit upon the empty seat.

  “If Miss Appleton requires my assistance, then who am I to deny her?” Jack settled his hand atop the curve of that very chair. Taking the opportunity Thayne had provided, he sat down. Lilah had a feeling, however, that Jack would have done whatever he wanted to do, no matter what. Situating his muscular form, he flipped the tails of his coat out of the way. The process brought his thigh perilously close to her knee.

  She shifted out of the path of danger—though why she assumed a mere brush of a limb would be dangerous, she did not know. There was no point in speculating, as it would never happen. “I do not require your assistance, Mr. Marlowe.”

  “Quite right, Lilah,” Aunt Zinnia agreed with a nod before looking to Mrs. Harwick. “Mr. Marlowe does not exist in our circle and therefore can have little knowledge of our topic.”

  Lilah winced at the unmistakable censure. Even though she was not overly acquainted with Jack or fond of him in the least, she felt the need to soften her aunt’s castigation. “It is somewhat of a private nature.”

  “Nonsense. Jack is a gentleman like any other. He can just as easily offer his opinion,” Mrs. Harwick said absently, as she moved toward a footman waiting at the parlor door.

  By the pursing of Aunt Zinnia’s mouth, it was clear that she was not pleased by this. Jack, however, looked entirely too pleased—and smug.

  A gentleman like any other? Hardly, Lilah mused. A gentleman at all? Unlikely.

  “Zinnia,” Mrs. Harwick called from the hall. “Might I bother you for your opinion on our seating arrangements for dinner?”

  Aunt Zinnia hesitated, casting her disapproval over the group at large. “Of course.”

  As always, she took her time, perfectly poised in every movement as she rose and sauntered out of the room.

  Thayne milled about, seemingly restless, picking up random figurines from tables as if to examine them. Yet his gaze often strayed to Juliet, a muscle ticking along his jaw each time. “The ways are innumerable to gain a gentleman’s attention,” he said absently to the room in general. “A glance. A laugh.”

  “A smile,” Jack added, his voice low enough that only Lilah could hear.

  The low hum vibrated through her once again. It was such a foreign, enthralling sensation that she didn’t know whether to hate him for causing it or beg him to do it again.

  “Women have dropped their handkerchiefs at my feet,” Thayne continued, almost in a taunt. All the while, Juliet gave a good impression of ignoring him while she resumed her seat. “Or pretended to stumble into me.”

  Unknowingly, he’d confirmed what Jack had said earlier in the garden.

  Arrogant as ever, Jack arched his brow at her.

  “But there is only one sure way to guarantee notice,” Juliet said. Gracefully perched on the edge of her cushion, she rested her clasped hands in her lap. “And that is by becoming this Season’s Original.”

  Thayne laughed, the sound hol
low and mocking. “I seem to recall that was a title you coveted at one time, Lady Granworth.”

  “I’m not certain I understand. What is an Original?” Jack asked, shifting to direct his question to Lilah, as if she were the only one in the room. “Another bit of nonsense for the highborn?”

  She stiffened as he draped one arm over the back of his chair. He sat in a sprawled manner that seemed to take up every inch of space in front of her. There was no way to look anywhere but at him. His thigh swept near hers again, but she held her ground. This time, his eyes appeared darker, as if his pupils were made of treacle that slowly seeped into the golden brown. Along his jaw, she noted the shadow of whiskers that hinted at a darker shade than his blonde mane. And his mouth—even that arrogant tilt at one corner—was beginning to intrigue her.

  Obviously, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was irritated, she reminded herself.

  Taking the example of the women in her family, she attempted to gather her composure on a breath, and then she cleared her throat. “An Original is a person who possesses qualities that make her or him stand above all the rest. An anonymous committee of the ton’s elite selects this person at the conclusion of the Season’s first month.”

  “If they are anonymous, then how can you be certain they are members on high and not some footman having a laugh?”

  “The editor of the Season Standard would know. After all, the naming of the Original has been happening for decades.” Lilah huffed. “The point of the matter is that everyone takes notice. But most important, the Original would have a choice of whom she marries.”

  “As long as he has a title,” Jack said, revealing that he’d been listening to her earlier.

  Bothersome or not, it meant something to her that he remembered her name and their conversation. This was all new to Lilah. It felt so . . . intimate. She wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  “In my case, yes.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, his expression turning thoughtful. No smirk in sight. His eyebrows lowered, his gaze intent, as if he truly were contemplating ways to help her. “And you believe that this is your only avenue toward marriage.”

  Lilah considered ignoring his question. After all, the answer could very well gain nothing more than his ridicule. And she’d had enough of that already. Yet for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she wanted him to understand that this wasn’t nonsense to her. This was her life, and there was a great deal at stake, should she fail.

  Therefore, she decided to risk humiliation by being completely forthcoming. “Thus far, all other attempts have been wholly unsuccessful. You see, my father’s barony has been entailed to my cousin, Lord Haggerty. Many women in such circumstances would lose their homes and depend upon the generosity of their relations to see to their welfare. Yet because of a codicil in my father’s will, my mother and I have been allowed to remain in our home—but only until the end of this Season.”

  “By which time, you’ll have secured your nobleman,” Jack said with more confidence than Lilah had ever felt.

  “Yes. Either of my own choosing or . . . my father’s.” And this was the most terrifying aspect of all. “The codicil also states that should I fail to marry a titled gentleman, then he has consented that I should marry my cousin.”

  Jack frowned. “You cannot be forced to marry your cousin if you do not wish it.”

  Unfortunately, her wishes had never been taken into account. “I have not reached my majority. My mother is depending on me to restore our family’s honor. If I were to go against my father’s last wishes, she would disown me. In disowning me, I would cause a rift in the family, splitting apart my mother from her sister, because my aunt has offered for me to remain with her. Believe me, I have thought of every possibility.”

  Jack’s expression hardened.

  “Yet as the Original, Lilah could choose the man she desires,” Juliet interjected, before Jack could make further comment.

  Thayne finally settled into a chair. However, it just happened to be the one Aunt Zinnia had vacated. The one directly beside Juliet. Although he appeared not to notice and faced Lilah across the table. “A surer path would be to enlist the Duke of Vale’s assistance. With his Marriage Formula, you will be assured a true match.”

  Lilah glanced at Jack, recalling what he’d said about Vale’s favor and how he’d wondered if it had something to do with the formula. Lilah was certain that hadn’t been the reason the duke had asked Jack to bring her flowers. After all, the husband of her dearest friend would know about the codicil in Father’s will.

  Yet a measure of doubt crept into her mind. Could Vale have come to the conclusion that Jack and Lilah were suited?

  No, she assured herself, all but shaking her head at Jack in the process. “With the Duke and Duchess of Vale away on their honeymoon, it would be impossible to calculate the formula.”

  “Besides, Lilah does not need to rely on an equation. That is something a cold and unfeeling man would want to do,” Juliet said to Thayne, her gaze brimming with contempt. Then, as if she’d realized what she said, she looked over to Lilah. “Of course, I meant no offense to your friend or her husband.”

  Lilah reassured her with a smile. “None taken. Formula aside, Ivy is very much in love. I believe the duke is fond of her as well.”

  “See?” Thayne’s hand swung out in a gesture of cocksureness. “Neither cold nor unfeeling. Simply precise. In a contest, I’d wager in favor of the Marriage Formula’s results against your notion of creating the Season’s Original. After all, anyone can become an Original.”

  “Is that so?” Juliet’s chin inched higher. Knowing that she had not been named an Original, Lilah knew this wounded her.

  “Take Marlowe, for instance—”

  “Not if you value your teeth,” Jack interrupted Thayne smoothly.

  Spoken like a true warrior. She could easily imagine his lithe body rising from the chair, shedding his coat, and issuing a challenge without saying a word. A man like him wouldn’t need to do. A man like him likely never had cause to raise his voice either. In fact, Jack cared so little about propriety that he would be more likely to laugh than to berate his children for making a mistake. More likely to scoop his little girl in his arms after she’d fallen than to scold her . . .

  Lilah shook her head, freeing herself of these errant thoughts. Why was she thinking about Jack’s nonexistent children?

  It must be because she was hungry. When her maid had brought up a tea tray earlier, Lilah hadn’t wanted to eat anything for fear of spilling something on her dress. Now, she realized the hazards of being near Jack Marlowe on an empty stomach. She could not let this happen again.

  “All right then, take the Earl of Wolford,” Thayne continued. “Is there any man alive who spends more time in the gossip pages? Even with his fortune and title, matchmakers throughout the ton stay far afield of him. Yet it would take little effort to turn those scandals around and create one of the most sought-after gentlemen in society.”

  Juliet laughed. “Are you saying that you can turn Wolford into this Season’s Original?”

  “In my sleep.”

  “Be careful, Thayne,” Jack warned. “You might have to prove it.”

  The marquess narrowed his eyes at Juliet. “Are you challenging me, Lady Granworth?”

  Lilah had had enough of Thayne’s overt intimidation tactics. It reminded her far too much of the verbal cruelty her father had unleashed. She stood and squared her shoulders in solidarity. “She is, my lord. In fact, she is going to transform me.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Lilah wanted to shove them back in, chew them up, and swallow, pretending that she’d never spoken. But she had. And now the words seemed like a dozen Destriers in the room, too intimidating to take back in one bite and too large to ignore.

  Juliet’s gaze darted to hers and held. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Irrefutably.” To her own credit, Lilah’s voice barely trembled.

  Juliet stood
in front of her chair and extended her gloved hand toward Thayne. “The winner claims the house.”

  “The winner will keep his house,” Thayne said, standing as well. “The loser must leave town and find another home.”

  “Agreed.”

  Lilah watched the two of them shake hands and wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What the devil are you doing here, Marlowe?” Thayne asked as the butler escorted him into Wolford’s bric-a-brac-crowded study. As of yet, Liam Cavanaugh, the Earl of Wolford, had yet to make an appearance.

  Jack stood near the bay window that overlooked the street. Even before he’d spotted the carriage, he’d known Thayne would want to begin straight away. Apparently, however, they had both arrived too early for their friend to be awake. “I wanted to be present when you explained to Wolford that you were going to turn him into an Original.”

  “Of course I’m not going to tell him,” Thayne replied with a dark scowl. “And I demand that you do not either.”

  Demand? Jack lifted his brows.

  “All right then”—Thayne cleared his throat—“I’m asking you not to say anything.”

  After a moment of consideration, Jack inclined his head and walked past the mahogany desk, sidestepping a pair of Egyptian urns. “If Wolford doesn’t know that he’s to reform, then how will you accomplish it?”

  Thayne paused in his study of an Oriental scroll under glass. “Since when have behaviors of those in society held your interest?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. The actions of your people are filled with such inane purpose that I find it tirelessly amusing.” Yet honestly, Jack had been wondering the same thing. Why had he made a point of rescheduling his appointments so that he could be at Wolford’s this morning? Curiosity, perhaps?

  “My people?” Thayne mocked, shaking his head. “I’m not biting on your hook this time. The next thing I know, we would be in a brawl—”