A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  "No one would believe anything even remotely devilish about you," Laurel said firmly. "Your reputation as an honorable, albeit lusty, gentleman is well established."

  Grinning broadly, Royce patted her on the arms before releasing her. "I leave it entirely up to you to convince the masses otherwise."

  Uncomfortable with the entire idea, Laurel hedged. "I have no wish to ruin your fine name, Royce."

  "Then you should have thought of that before you made my life a living hell," he argued, leaning toward her. "If you don't aid me, I shall be forced to hide in bushes for a very long time." Straightening. Royce tapped one finger against her chin. "It's the least you could do for me."

  Guilt flickered through her. While she'd succeeded in her attempt to make Royce far too busy to pursue her, he was right—she'd also created havoc in his life. "Very well," she said reluctantly. "I'll try to start a few rumors that will hopefully send all of your prospective brides fluttering away." A thought struck her, making Laurel pause. Frowning at Royce, she asked, "But if I accomplish my goal, how will you ever find a suitable bride?"

  His smug smile set off warnings bells inside her. "Don't worry about me, Laurel."

  "Fine, then. And, in return for doing you this favor, I'd appreciate it if you would grant me one as well. Please stop seeking me out at public functions. I've made myself very clear, Royce. I do not desire your attentions," she said finally, clasping her croquet mallet in both hands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of a game."

  Holding up her skirts, Laurel ducked through the narrow opening in the hedgerow.

  As he watched her go, Royce allowed a smile of pure satisfaction to creep upon his face. "You are indeed," he murmured, pleased with how easily she'd agreed to his plan. Little did she realize that as soon as she'd chased away all of the other prospective ladies, he'd play upon her guilt and finagle her into marrying him.

  After a day or so, he'd also put Steven into play and add yet another layer to his strategy. Tucking his hands into his pocket, Royce strolled away, happy with the day's outcome.

  * * *

  "Laurel, where have you been?" Harriet called to her as she approached the other players on the lawn. "It's your turn to hit."

  Still flustered, Laurel tried to concentrate on the croquet game … and found it extremely difficult as thoughts of Royce filled her. How could she keep her promise to him? Everything within her revolted at the idea of publicly denouncing Royce.

  It was one thing to toss him to the title hungry mamas and quite another to speak ill of him. Forcing a smile onto her face, Laurel lined up the ball and hit it straight through the wooden arch.

  "Wonderful shot," remarked Lady Winthrop as she joined them. Patting her gray hair, she continued, "Then again, I well remember your father's astounding ability when it came to matches of skill."

  Squelching her grin, Laurel shot a glance at Harriet before remarking politely to Lady Winthrop, "So true, my lady. My father is quite the competitor."

  Suddenly, her promise to Royce shimmered through her. As Harriet moved away, Laurel knew she'd been presented with the perfect opportunity. Swallowing, Laurel leaned forward, reluctantly planting the first seed of suspicion. "Luckily, my father is most honorable in his wagers … unlike some gentlemen I could name," she finished with a whisper.

  Lady Winthrop's eyes widened, an eager gleam brightening them. "Such as?"

  "It wouldn't be proper to say," Laurel murmured, glancing away.

  "Of course it would, my dear. After all, we ladies must protect one another." Placing a hand on Laurel's arm, she urged, "Do tell."

  "Perhaps you're right."

  "Indeed I am," pronounced Lady Winthrop.

  Nodding her head, Laurel sent another look around, trying to convince Lady Winthrop of her reluctance. "It's been said that the Earl of Tewksbury is far from a gentleman where wagers are concerned."

  A frown creased Lady Winthrop's face. "Pshaw," she muttered. "Van Cleef might be a rake, but he's far from a cad."

  "That is precisely what I thought until I found out about his most recent wager."

  Curiosity shifted into Lady Winthrop's expression. "Wager?"

  Blending truth with deceit, Laurel wove her tale, casting shadows upon Royce's fine name, all the while praying she was doing the right thing. "Apparently Lord Van Cleef made a very public wager at his club, staring that he could 'catch' a wife. In fact, a certain young lady was even named as his prey."

  Pausing, Laurel waited expectantly. At Lady Winthrop's silence, she emphasized her point. "He made the wager without any regard to the poor woman's feelings. And as you well understand, any young lady who honors her reputation would not appreciate being the subject of such speculation."

  "No, no, of course not," agreed Lady Winthrop, enjoying every word Laurel fed her. "It's most distressing that he would bandy about a young lady's name in such a public forum. I must say I'm shocked to learn what a cad the young man has turned out to be—quite unsuitable for polite society, I'm sure." Tsking as she shook her head, the older woman expressed her displeasure at Royce's actions.

  The muscles in Laurel's stomach tightened as she watched Lady Winthrop feast upon the latest gossip. "Now you can understand my concerns toward Lord Van Cleef. He has proved himself to be no gentleman."

  "Indeed," Lady Winthrop agreed automatically, before asking, "Tell me, Laurel, who is the lady?"

  "That's just it," Laurel began in a confidential tone, "No one seems willing to say. It could be any one of the ladies present today."

  Drawing herself up, Lady Winthrop sniffed loudly. "Well, then, I see nothing left to do but to make it my personal mission to inform each and every one of them about the Earl's plans."

  "It might be for the best," Laurel said slowly, holding back a shudder.

  "Excuse me, Laurel, while I attend to this matter immediately."

  Watching her stride away, Laurel prayed she'd done the right thing.

  "What was that all about?" Harriet asked, as she approached. Placing a hand upon Laurel's arm, Harriet pointed out, "You're looking a bit peaked."

  "Is that all?" If she looked even half as good as "peaked," then she'd disguised her feelings quite well … for she felt positively "sickened." Now that she'd accomplished her half of the bargain, what if Royce kept up his end?

  What had she done?

  * * *

  The hunt had suddenly intensified … yet not in his favor. Royce couldn't quite understand how the tables had been turned, but he knew with certainty who had turned them.

  Laurel.

  Hiding in the Hathaways' alcove, Royce couldn't tear his gaze away from Laurel. In a frothy gown of sea foam green lace, Laurel floated around the room in the Viscount of Hathaway's arms like an ocean goddess risen from the depths of the sea.

  Shaking his head, Royce thrust away the fanciful thought, disturbed far more than he cared to admit by how often his thoughts returned to Laurel. Royce narrowed his gaze upon her as she spun past him. He wondered if she'd be able to tear herself away from the dance floor long enough to do as he'd asked.

  "So this is where you disappeared to, my lord."

  Wondering if he'd ever again find a moment's peace from inquisitive females, Royce slowly turned to face Miriam St. John, yet another mother intent on introducing him to her daughter.

  "When I saw you earlier this evening, I knew I simply must introduce you to my darling Margaret."

  Knowing there would be no escape, Royce smiled at Lady St. John before glancing at her daughter. "I welcome the opportunity," he murmured politely, wishing he had chosen a better hiding spot.

  A triumphant expression flitted across Lady St. John's lace. "Wonderful," she gushed before drawing herself up to her less than formidable height. "Lord Van Cleef, it is my honor to present my daughter, Lady Margaret."

  Automatically, Royce accepted the proffered hand and bowed low over it. "It is a pleasure," he said smoothly, taking in the delicate blond beauty of Margaret.


  Offering him an insipid little smile, Margaret dipped into a curtsey, flashing him a view of her generous bosom. "The pleasure is all mine, my lord."

  Royce strained to pick up the breathy words. Glancing back at the dance floor, he wished Margaret and her mother would hie themselves off from whence they came. It was difficult to keep an eye on Laurel and her latest dance partner while carrying on a conversation.

  Stepping forward, Margaret fluttered her lashes at him. "Pardon my boldness, my lord, but I must tell you that I do admire the fine cut of your jacket."

  "Thank you," be replied, before giving her a pat response. "Might I return the compliment by telling you that your gown is quite stunning."

  "Oh, Lord Van Cleef," Margaret said with a giggle, pressing a hand to her cheek. "Your charm overwhelms me."

  Holding back a sigh, Royce forced a smile onto his face. "My apologies, Lady Margaret, for I fear I shall find it impossible to ignore such beauty as you possess." For some reason, the once familiar words of flirtatious pleasantries seemed trite and tired. If he even tried to impress Laurel with such useless phrases and compliments, he was confident that she would, quite simply, laugh in his face.

  With her delicate features, blond hair, clear blue eyes, and sweet demeanor, Margaret was precisely the type of lady he'd once sought out for companionship. Unfortunately, she was also exactly the sort of lady who now bored him to tears with inane conversation and lack of wit.

  Taking another glance at the dance floor, Royce searched for Laurel, but, try as he might, he couldn't spy her. Without conscious thought, he turned toward the center of the room, twisting away from Lady Margaret and her mother. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of green disappear into the garden.

  He excused himself with barely a glance at his companions before making his way toward the veranda. Courtesies be damned; he had a vixen he needed to run to ground.

  * * *

  The instant Royce strode from the alcove, Margaret allowed the sweet expression she'd perfected in front of countless mirrors to slip away.

  "Oh, dear," fluttered Lady St. John, patting her hand against her chest. "Lord Van Cleef certainly took himself off in a most impolite manner."

  "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Mother," Margaret snapped, shooting a glare at her mother.

  Placing a hand upon her arm, Lady St. John tried to pacify her daughter. "Now, Margaret, don't let his actions upset you."

  "I thought you told me he was searching for a wife," Margaret said petulantly.

  "It's true," Lady St. John swore. "According to the rumor, the Earl has already chosen his bride."

  "Apparently, it isn't me." Margaret crossed her arms with a harrumph. "That doesn't please me, Mother."

  Waving her hand, Lady St. John begged, "Please, Margaret, don't fret."

  "I'm not fretting, Mother," she replied through gritted teeth. "Indeed not." Turning toward the room once more, Margaret watched Royce slip out into the garden. "I'm simply making my plans."

  "Plans?"

  Rolling her eyes at her mother's inability to keep up with the conversation, Margaret didn't bother to hide the scorn in her voice. "Yes, Mother. Do try to follow … my plans are quite simple, really," she said, ignoring the wounded expression on her mother's face. "I want him … and I'm going to get him."

  "How?"

  Margaret's cheeks flushed with heat. "What do you mean 'how'? Do you doubt my abilities to ensnare Lord Van Cleef?"

  "Of course not," rushed Lady St. John, a nervous smile wavering on her lips. "You've always managed to get everything you've ever desired."

  Her mother's reassurance calmed Margaret and she took a deep breath, pressing her hands against her middle. "You're most correct, Mother." Gifting her mother with a smile, Margaret tossed back her head. "I've always managed to get what I desire … and I've decided I desire the Earl."

  * * *

  "The nerve of the chit!" gasped Elizabeth. "The Simmons girl has been spreading nasty rumors about my son?"

  "Shocking ones." Lady Herold shifted closer. "Not that I'm a gossip, mind you, but apparently the girl said that your son mishandled a reputable lady."

  "No, no, no; you've got it all wrong," chided Lady Worth, flicking her fan impatiently. "The Simmons girl said that our dear Royce was a philanderer with no sense of honor or duty."

  Pursing her lips, Elizabeth searched the ballroom for the lying little miss. Suddenly, she saw Laurel disappear through the glass doors … with her only child in pursuit. Disgraceful, she thought with a sniff, that the Earl of Tewksbury should be chasing after that brazen girl with flapping lips.

  Elizabeth vowed to find a way to dissuade her son from his foolish pursuit of such an unsuitable bride. Go ahead, Royce, and chase your precious Laurel, Elizabeth thought as she watched him disappear outside.

  In a few days, Lady Laurel Simmons would no longer be a problem. Getting rid of impudent females was an easy matter … if one knew the angle from which to approach the problem.

  Satisfied, Elizabeth sat back and fed upon the gossip.

  * * *

  Lord Simmons watched Royce trail after his daughter and wondered what the man was up to. He'd heard the rumors flying about in the billiard room while he'd enjoyed his cigar, and though he'd never been a man to put stock in gossip, he suspected this particular tidbit was true; and he knew just who the unsuspecting lady in question was as well.

  Lord Simmons now wondered if he'd made a mistake in not aiding Van Cleef in his courtship of Laurel. Perhaps Royce had been correct in urging him to nudge her a bit. From all accounts, Lord Van Cleef was a respected man among men … in spite of, or perhaps because of, his reputation for being a favorite among the ladies as well as a skilled gamester.

  But it was the expression upon the young lord's face as he marched after Laurel that finally convinced Lord Simmons to intercede on the man's behalf. For only a strong man could ever hope to partner his daughter, and if Royce's dogged pursuit was any indication, he was more than up for the challenge.

  Rocking back on his heels, Lord Simmons decided it wouldn't hurt anyone if he gently guided Laurel in the right direction … straight into the arms of the Earl of Tewksbury. After all, what was a father for if not to help his daughter?

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  "Thank you so much for escorting me outside," Laurel said with a smile. "It was overwhelmingly hot on the dance floor and I was convinced that if I didn't get some fresh air, I'd faint in your arms."

  "There are worse fates," Steven returned, grinning down at her.

  Laughing at his quip, Laurel squeezed his arm, grateful to have made such a fine friend. "Then I won't trouble you next time. I'll simply allow myself to breathe in all the heady scents and perfumes until my head spins, then I'll promptly collapse into your arms."

  "Must they be Morris' arms you collapse into, Laurel, or will any old pair do?"

  Holding in a gasp, Laurel turned to see Royce approaching along the garden path. Quickly, she gathered her wits about her. "Well, my lord, I suppose any pair but yours will certainly do."

  "Ah, ah, Laurel." His grin slashed across his face. "Don't be too hasty. You never know what the future holds."

  "Quite true," she retorted. "I don't know what the future holds, but I know what it doesn't hold … and that would be you, my lord."

  "I do so admire a confident lady."

  "Really? Now I find that a surprise, for I would have imagined that you would feel … threatened by such a woman."

  Royce tried valiantly to hold his laughter inside and Laurel couldn't help but smile herself at his effort.

  "Why do I have the feeling that no one even remembers I'm here?" Steven asked dryly.

  "Oh, Steven, I am so…" Laurel began.

  "Please, don't apologize," he said, holding up both hands. "The only thing that could make this any more awkward is an admission that you did indeed forget my existence."

  "Not
your existence—"

  "No, merely your presence," Royce said, interrupting Laurel's protest. "So do be a good fellow and go find another lady to entertain, will you, Steven?"

  Shaking his head, Steven had the good nature to laugh. "It's a lucky thing we're friends, Royce. Otherwise, I'd be forced to take offense at your condescending manner."

  With Laurel looking on, Royce sobered. "Perhaps if you met another lady you found entertaining, we could return to our old selves."

  The seriousness of Steven's response baffled Laurel. "Sorry, old boy, I don't think that's possible."

  "I suspected as much," Royce muttered, a muscle in his cheek beginning to pulsate.

  While she wasn't entirely certain of what she was witnessing, Laurel could feel the tension between them all too easily. Seeking to diffuse the situation, she offered Steven a smile. "It might be best if I speak to Royce alone."

  Drawing his brows together, Steven placed a hand upon her arm. "Are you quite certain?"

  "Quite."

  "Very well then," Steven said after a long hesitation. Bowing slightly to Laurel, he excused himself and exited down the garden path, leaving her alone with Royce.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Laurel returned her attention to the Earl and went on the offensive. "Why have you sought me out after I specifically asked you not to?"

  "Because we had an agreement and you didn't keep your end of it."

  "I most certainly did," she replied, affronted that he would suggest such a thing. "In fact, I accomplished the distasteful task of spreading rumors about you not ten minutes after you made your request."

  Royce reached out to finger the lace on her gown. "Then I must not have made my wishes clear. I'm not certain what you told people, but, if anything, the matrons are even more determined to have me … or rather, my title and monies, for their daughters."

  "How could that be?" The sight of his strong hands sweeping over her fragile lace disturbed her senses, making it difficult to concentrate. Taking a step backward, she broke off the contact and forced her mind back to the matter at hand. "I swear to you, Royce, I did tell a nasty bit of gossip about you. Just as you requested," she added, ensuring her displeasure at being given the task was clear.