AFTER LITERALLY PUSHING himself free of the clinging debutantes, Stephen strode across the ballroom, scanning the guests for his cousin amongst the crowd. In doing so, he saw a some vaguely familiar faces. He merely inclined his head toward the few who managed to catch his eye and moved onward. Where the hell was Flavion? Having just arrived from the Continent, Stephen had first presented himself at his uncle’s townhouse, Flave’s now. The servants had told him that the earl and the countess — surely not Flave’s mother? – were out for the evening attending one of the Season’s more elaborate balls. Rather than cool his heels at Nottinghouse, Stephen felt compelled to clean up, don his eveningwear, and seek out his cousin to discover what the devil he’d been up to. It had been nearly two days since he’d had any sleep, however, and his temper frayed.
Stepping onto the terrace, he immediately spied his cousin, only partially hidden by ornamental shrubs, in a passionate embrace with a dark-haired, sweet little English rose. Stephen ought to have guessed. Ever since the age of twelve, Flavion had single-mindedly developed this particular skill with unusual persistence.
“Flave!” he said firmly.
The younger man took his time looking up, but once his eyes lighted upon Stephen, he pushed the young woman aside and rushed over with both hands outstretched.
“Cuz!” he exclaimed before pulling Stephen into a tight hug. “Where have you been? Oh, it’s good to see you! I’ve been trying to track you down for years. Did you not receive my letters?”
“Not until recently.” He shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the lady Flavion had abandoned so casually.
Flavion laughed heartily, oblivious to his slight. “Well, the joke’s on you! I have taken care of matters myself and married an heiress! Largest dowry of them all.” His cousin’s blue eyes twinkled as he toggled his eyebrows.
At this point, Stephen turned and made a slight bow to the lady who held herself back, arms crossed in front of her. “Felicitations, my lady. Won’t you introduce me to your wife then, Flavion?”
At his words, a hard glint appeared in the lady’s eyes, and she tittered into her hand. Her giggles caused the curls about her head to bounce somewhat comically.
Flavion ducked his face before grinning back up at Stephen. “Ah, well, about that… We’ll have to go back inside the ballroom to find her.” Tilting his head with a shrug, he added, “A man must do what a man must do.”
Stephen squeezed the bridge of his nose to ward off what he was sure would become a massive headache. Somehow, he’d known the matter of Flavion getting married would not be a simple one. “Exactly when did this wedding take place?” His imagination conjured up all sorts of women who would have happily purchased the title of countess… incomparables, widows, antidotes, conniving bitches. In almost all of the scenarios, Stephen knew there would be complications.
There were always complications when a woman was concerned.
Flavion furrowed his brow and appeared to be counting back mentally. “A few weeks now, what does it matter? My pockets are flush again!”
“Perhaps I ought to escort your, er… friend, back inside to her chaperone, and then you may introduce me to your fortuitous bride,” Stephen suggested, already fearful that Flavion had walked into a disaster of his own making.
“Not necessary. Is it, sweetums?” Flavion said, looking back at the lady he’d been thoroughly absorbed with only a few moments before.
Sending him a worshipful look, she shook her head and gazed back at him. Flavion placed a quick kiss on her lips before turning her, patting her bum, and shooing her away. She did just as he asked without any protest whatsoever.
Ah, nothing had changed.
After she’d disappeared, Flavion looked over at Stephen. “Er, yes, I suppose you ought to meet the old ball and chain.” Then he paused. “But Stephen?” He shuffled his feet, looking at the ground like an overgrown schoolboy who knew he’d misbehaved.
Stephen feared Flave’s next words. “Yes?”
“She’s rather out of sorts with me at the moment. A temporary matter, I am sure, but I am currently not one of her favorite people.”
“A lover’s quarrel?” Stephen asked already knowing it could not be that simple.
“Well, rather more than that, I’m afraid. You see, she didn’t take it very well when I told her that I married her for the money.”
“You did what?”
“Well, after I had, ah, finalized our contract, so to speak, I couldn’t really have her hanging off me and whatnot. You know, expecting me to carry on with all of the doting and fawning. Daphne wouldn’t like that at all.”
“I’m not following. Daphne, your wife, wouldn’t want you to remain a doting husband?” Stephen asked, confused.
“Oh, heavens, no. Daphne is not my wife.” Amusement took over his demeanor. “I’m in love with Daphne. My wife is Cecily.” And with a wink he added, “Daphne is that fine bit of muslin I had in my arms a moment ago.”
“And by ‘finalizing the contract’ you mean…?” Could Flavion truly be that stupid? Oh, hell, could he have been that insensitive? Of course he could!
“Well, I couldn’t give her cause to seek an annulment. Her dowry will keep me in blunt for years to come! I couldn’t risk losing that, now could I?”
Feeling as though he had waded into quicksand, Stephen asked, “How much is this dowry?”
Jerking his chin up, Flavion responded, “Over one-hundred-thousand pounds!”
Stephen took a deep breath. “And who, might I ask, is her family?” Any lady with such a large dowry would be from a well-known and successful family.
“She’s middle class, I’m afraid, rather low birth, actually. Her father is a rags-to-riches sort of fellow. Mr. Thomas Findlay. Not even a gentleman, really, let alone nobility.”
At that particular name, Stephen flinched. Findlay Shipping and Manufacturing was one of his own company’s largest competitors. And Thomas Findlay was known to be ruthless. If Flave’s wife took her grievances to her father, Stephen wouldn’t put it past the industrial giant to put a violent end to his cousin’s life. Lucky for Flave, Stephen knew that Thomas Findlay had left for America on business a few weeks ago. He must have left right after the wedding.
“Have you already invested the dowry?” Stephen asked, his mind straightaway working a mile a minute.
“It’s sitting in the bank, Stephen. Well, most of it anyhow. I’ve been celebrating lately, as anyone would do! Not every day a man creates such a grand windfall for himself.”
Flavion’s words reverberated around Stephen’s head. Only a complete and utter idiot would allow that much money to languish in the bank, uninvested. Before he could complete that thought, Stephen wondered exactly how much of it Flavion had already frittered away. “We need to review your marriage contracts, Flave. Meanwhile, why don’t you introduce me to this new wife of yours?” Then, after further thought, he added, “Do make an attempt to be doting, Flavion. Your life may very well depend upon it.”
Flave glanced at him with a surprised look on his face.
Stephen merely grasped Flavion’s arm and said, “Lead the way, cuz.”
CHAPTER TWO
CECILY SMOOTHED DOWN the skirt of her gown, unlike anything she had worn as a debutante. As a married woman, Cecily’s obligation to wear debutante pastels and whites no longer applied. Surprise, surprise! There were benefits, after all, in becoming Lady Kensington. Cecily could thank Rhoda for pointing this fact out. After watching Cecily weep continuously for nearly two whole days, Rhoda had decided that Cecily needed to shop — shop like she’d never shopped before. This splendid wardrobe was the one redeeming asset she had acquired through this fiasco of a union.
Her friends had scheduled Cecily an appointment with Madam Chantal, London’s most expensive dressmaker, and quickly endeavored to commission Cecily an entirely new wardrobe. She had since spent millions of hours in the French woman’s boutique being measured, pinned, dressed, and fussed over. She
’d even shared some of her own design ideas with the modiste, and together she and Madam Chantal were integrating them into her new apparel. In between these lengthy appointments, the young ladies had patronized numerous other shops to purchase all manner of accessory. It was in one particularly pricy jewelry store where Cecily had come across Flavion making the purchase for Miss Cunnington.
He’d not been embarrassed or sheepish at all! In fact, he’d had the gall to ask her opinion of that blasted barrette. Ignoring him, Cecily had narrowed her eyes and deliberately chosen a more expensive piece for herself.
As much as Flavion had spent since their marriage, Cecily presumed she’d most likely spent twice that amount. At the rate they were going, the two of them ought to be broke within the year. It was a rather exhausting undertaking.
At least, Cecily thought bitterly, she would have a terrific collection of gowns to show for it.
Tonight, she wore a dress made of scarlet chiffon, partially draped with expensive silver lace. The bodice was cut daringly low, and the skirt flowed about her legs in a most tantalizing way. She wore her amber tresses up, pinned with her own barrette, filigreed silver entwined around multiple rubies. And, for the record, this barrette cost considerably more than the diamonds her slithering husband had purchased for his mistress.
Cecily looked far better than she ever had as a debutante. Sophia, Emily, and Rhoda bemoaned the fact that Society allowed her to dress freely while they were still forced to wear the pastels and whites their mothers insisted upon. Cecily subdued their complaints by offering to exchange places with any one of them, at any time, happily.
A sobering thought, indeed.
For Cecily was only grudgingly received due to her title and her fortune — now her husband’s. But she would not hide away while Lord Kensington cut a wide swath through town. She would not allow him to pretend, now that he’d laid claim to her dowry, that she no longer existed. She was not a little girl nor a simpering wife. She was a woman of means. She was a countess.
Her confidence wavered, however, when she glanced up and spied Flavion approaching with the man who certainly must be his cousin. Seeing them together, Cecily was jolted by both the similarities of the two men as well as their differences. She shivered inwardly and lifted her chin a notch. The effects of the champagne dulled some of the hurt that persisted despite her anger.
Lord Kensington tugged at his cravat before speaking. “Cecily, may I have the privilege of presenting my cousin, Mr. Stephen Nottingham? Stephen, this is Cecily… er, Lady Kensington.” His discomfort was unusual for him. What was he up to?
Wary of her husband’s changed demeanor, Cecily did not offer Mr. Nottingham her hand. Instead, she kept both occupied by cradling her champagne glass. She trusted neither of them. Flavion smiled, masterfully summoning the device he used only when convenient. Mr. Nottingham appraised her thoroughly, as though he could know her deepest secrets by a thorough examination of her appearance.
She boldly dared to make her own assessment.
This man’s eyes were lighter than Flavion’s, or perhaps they only appeared that way because his skin was darker. And his hair wasn’t really blond at all, rather different shades of light brown. He carried an intensity about him which Flave lacked, making him appear older than her husband. Tiny lines creased the outer edges of his eyes, and his evening dress was not nearly as elegant as Flave’s. Whereas Flave appeared to be angelic, this man seemed… rather earthly.
“Mr. Nottingham,” she replied, trying to sound haughty and sophisticated. As she tipped her head forward in acknowledgement, she wondered if Flave’s cousin had participated in the plan to secure her dowry. Most likely, he’d constructed the plot himself. She knew the cousin was, in fact, older by a few years. She would not be surprised if he’d masterminded the entire charade. He was a Nottingham, after all, and no doubt would wish to poach on some of her exorbitant dowry for himself.
Except she remembered hearing Flavion complain that his cousin had been out of the country for the past several years with a shocking absence of correspondence. Flavion had even wondered once to her if his cousin yet lived.
So why show up now? Had he become aware of Flavion’s windfall and come to implore him for funds? He didn’t look the type, but then Flave hadn’t appeared to her to be an opportunist either.
None of that mattered. He was Flave’s relative, and thereby, not to be trusted. “The long-lost Mr. Nottingham. Have you just recently arrived back in England?” she asked, wanting to satisfy her curiosity.
“Call me Stephen,” he said, barely tilting up the corners of his mouth. One could not quite deem the expression a smile. “We are cousins, now, after all. And yes, I arrived home today.”
Feeling an inexplicable need for reinforcements, Cecily reached behind her and pulled Sophia away from her conversation with Emily and a few of the other wallflowers. “And this is my good friend, Miss Sophia Babineaux. Sophia, meet Mr. Nottingham, Cousin Stephen,” she said mockingly. “He’s just arrived back in England.”
Mr. Nottingham bowed in Sophia’s direction and nudged his cousin.
Surprised for just a moment, Flave faltered and then moved closer to Cecily. He attempted to place her hand on his arm, but she would have nothing of it. Emboldened by the champagne, she brushed his hand away. Seeing him scowl, satisfied that cold place which had formed inside of her.
He recovered quickly, however. “Stephen will, of course, be staying at Nottinghouse with us, my dear, while in London,” he informed her as though she were a child. And then again turning toward his cousin, asked, “How long do you plan on staying, Stephen? Indefinitely, I hope.”
FLAVE WAS NOT in favor with his wife, even a fool could see it. She spurned his touch and bristled at his words. Yes, Lady Kensington hated her new husband.
And, in all honesty, Stephen could not blame her. In order to revile her husband now, she must have loved him once…
Flave had been heartless. Nobody deserved to be used and discarded as his cousin had done with this young woman. The entire situation was disturbing. If only he’d arrived back in England one month earlier, Stephen could have stopped Flavion from making such a stupid error of judgment — or several of them. He needed to get Flave out of this pickle.
He turned to his cousin’s wife and bowed. He would bestow respect, as a countess was due. “My lady, I hope it is not an imposition?”
Although her face was young and innocent, a hard glint in her eyes warned him to proceed cautiously. It reminded him of a wounded tiger he’d come across several years ago while in India — and nearly not lived to tell the tale. Her gaze flickered over him. Stephen could see that she didn’t trust him. She must presume that, as a Nottingham, he’d been in on Flavion’s betrayal.
An arctic smile formed on her lips. “It’s Flavion’s house. Why should I mind? If my weasel of a husband wants you to stay, I expect you can stay. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to ignore all of the cooing and coddling we engage in. We are newly married, you see, and our love cannot help but overflow onto those around us.”
At this, Stephen couldn’t help but grin. Flavion was an idiot. He’d married an attractive and wealthy woman and then created a hornet’s nest for himself. Stephen hoped Miss Daphne Cunnington was worth it.
It was not unheard of for a ranking gentleman of the ton to marry beneath himself for money these days. And many of them discreetly engaged in affairs despite their married state.
But they did it quietly, slowly.
Not Flave. No, Flave had taken the lady’s money, her dreams and her virginity and then kicked her in the teeth. Stephen empathized with Lady Kensington. “I appreciate your hospitality, my lady. And I believe the, er, weasel, would be happy for my company.”
“I’m right here,” Flave interjected.
Miss Sophia Babineaux giggled quietly into her hand. At least the lady had a friend.
Lady Kensington’s shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly upon Stephen’s jab at
Flave.
She tipped her chin down in as regal a nod as Stephen would expect from a queen. “Very well, it’s settled then. We’re certainly not lacking in rooms. Stay as long as you like.”
As couples moved toward the dance floor to take up the next set, Lady Nottingham’s friend, Miss Babineaux, let out a wistful sigh. Flave obviously took this as his cue for escape.
“My dear Miss Babineaux,” Flave said, bowing in the chit’s direction, “I’d wager such a sorrowful sigh is indicative that no gentleman has yet claimed your hand for this dance? May I have the honor? And, Stephen, you may partner Cecily.” Then, looking at Miss Babineaux again, he added, “I beg your pardon. That is, if you are not already promised for this set?” Even though the young woman was the countess’ friend, Stephen watched as Flavion’s charm bowled her over.
She blushed slightly and placed her hand on Flave’s arm. Flavion had always been able to get exactly what he wanted from women. This was nothing new. But as Stephen turned toward the countess, he caught sight of her rolling her eyes heavenward. She did not appear to be disappointed in her friend; rather, exasperated at Flavion’s unwavering charisma. She’d most likely experienced it herself, only to be treacherously disappointed.
Stephen took a step closer to the countess and spoke near her ear. “My lady?” Would she dance with him? He was caught unawares by the heightened awareness he suddenly had of her as a woman, as a very feminine creature that he might hold in his arms.
An almost unnoticeable tremor shook her at his words.
Lady Kensington regarded him warily. It would be the height of rudeness for her to reject him. He looked back at her innocently, daring her to make an excuse. He stood considerably taller than she, and his proximity made it necessary for her to tilt her head back in order to look him in the eyes.
“We are not a happily married couple, you know,” she said. She seemed to struggle with her words.
Stephen wondered if the champagne she’d consumed had caused this, or the notion itself.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 2
