by Tarah Scott
Chastity blinked. “For-forgive my lack of faith in you?” She couldn’t believe his audacity. “How kind of you.”
“It is.” His smile broadened.
“You allow my sister to go off with that rake, then handle me roughly and force me into the privacy of the gardens with you.”
She heaved with anger, and he couldn’t help but notice the color in her cheeks. He also didn’t miss the agitated rise and fall of her breasts. She was beautiful when she was angry.
“Would you rather have this discussion inside, where everyone can eavesdrop?”
His mild tone infuriated her. “I wouldn’t be angry if you hadn’t allowed that ruffian to go off with my sister.”
“Ruffian, is it now?” He laughed. “Quinn is young and, like many of us when young—both men and women—he can be a little wild. But a ruffian? Nae.”
“A little wild?” Her voice rose. “Two weeks ago, he attended the opera with a courtesan—and they were caught in his box in an unseemly position.”
“Come, Chastity, you are an intelligent woman.” He paused as a rabbit bolted across the path. “You know that not everything in print is true.”
“You deny that he was caught with that woman in a compromising situation?” she demanded.
“Compromising?” he said. “A woman would have to be an innocent to be compromised. What is the harm in a man who isn’t married seeking the company of a woman who isn’t married?”
“It is one thing to fraternize with a woman like that. Quite another to make love to her in public. He is young and reckless.”
Stirling could imagine what she would think of the two Spanish actresses he and Quinn had met last month. Thankfully, such shenanigans weren’t newsworthy enough for travel from Spain to Scotland.
“Quinn is young,” Stirling said. “Reckless? Nae. He runs his estate quite well. He can provide comfortably for Lucy.”
Chastity stared. “You truly are mad.”
He regarded her and, to her horror, her face began to heat.
“Who would you have chosen for her?” he asked in an indulgent voice. “Someone like Lord Hathaway?”
She gave an impatient shake of her head. “Of course not.”
There,” he said soothingly. “You agree. Quinn is young, strong, intelligent and well heeled. He will suit your sister well.”
The man was impossible. “I will not agree to the match.”
“Does that mean you will not be attending the wedding?”
“Are you insane? There will be no wedding.”
“Your father thinks otherwise. That is why he obtained a special license.”
Chapter Five
Q uinn led Lucy back into the ballroom.
“I must find Chastity. She will be worried.”
“Of course,” Quinn replied. The mama lioness would tear him limb from limb if he didn’t deliver the cub back intact. It seemed the guests had doubled in number while he and Lucy sat at refreshments. Finding Lady Chastity would take some time.
“There you are, Lucy.” A stout woman in her late fifties hurried toward them.
“Lady Crawford,” Lucy greeted their hostess when she reached them.
“I am so glad I found you, my dear.” The older woman smiled at him. “It is good to see you, Ramsey.”
“And you, my lady.” He bowed, took her hand, and pressing his lips to her gloved fingers.
“You rogue, I am no longer young,” she said with an irrepressible twinkle, “so, you need not waste your charms on me.”
He straightened, still grasping her hand. “What ill luck for me,” he murmured.
Lucy hid a smile. The man simply couldn’t help himself.
He released Lady Crawford and she gave his arm a teasing swat. “There is a reason I buried two husbands, my boy. Give thanks I am too old for you.”
The baron burst out laughing. “My lady, you are a pleasure.”
“I am,” she agreed. “But enough of that.” She lifted her left hand and held out a dance card. “Lucy, this is your dance card. Sir Stirling told me that Baron Delny would claim your first dance—which I see he did.” She bent close and said in a loud whisper clearly meant to be overheard, “Sir Stirling wanted Ramsey to have the next two dances, but I told him that would not do.” She looked at the baron. “You may claim Lady Lucy’s fifth dance, sir.”
“Fifth dance?” he blurted.
Lady Crawford gave him a knowing look. “Do not worry, young sir, your name is written on the fifth placement of the card. But no more than that, for you know to dance more than two dances with a lady is all but a declaration of marriage—and you wouldn’t want to tarnish a lady’s reputation while at my party.”
Quinn was left no choice but to stare after them as Lady Crawford entwined her arm with Lucy’s and led her away. He hadn’t planned on claiming any more of her dances, but the words, “You may claim Lady Lucy’s fifth dance, sir,” caused frustration to well up. Lucy was to dance three dances with other men? What the devil? Stirling had made it painfully clear that he was to marry the lass. Why let her dance with other men if she was to marry him?
The two women disappeared beyond a group of men. What did he care if she danced with a different man every dance until she was eighty? Maybe Stirling had been bluffing when he swore to tie up Quinn’s money if he didn’t wed the girl. That threat hadn’t moved Quinn as much as the disappointment he’d sensed behind the words. Stirling was one of the finest businessmen in all of Scotland. He knew how to bluff. Would he do that to Quinn? Quinn whirled and headed back to the refreshments room. He needed more champagne.
Three glasses of champagne and two dances later, Quinn found a dance partner whose card wasn’t filled. A woman of twenty-two years, who looked at him with such awe that he wanted to ask her if she’d ever danced before. They joined the cotillion set on the farthest side of the dancefloor, where Lucy and her partner waited in their places. Quinn grasped his partner’s hand, bowed to her as she did him, then they joined their set and began turning in a circle. Earlier, he’d located Lucy on the dancefloor. For her second dance, she’d been paired with a tall, lanky man that Quinn didn’t recognize. His movements were uncoordinated, and Quinn felt certain that she breathed a prayer of gratitude when the dance ended.
Her third partner had no better grace. Her current partner, Viscount Seton, however, was another story. Might the nearly bankrupt viscount set his sights on a duke’s youngest daughter? Quinn had never liked either Seaton or his father.
The couples broke from the circle and switched partners, catching each other’s hands behind the other’s backs. Quinn glimpsed the way Viscount Seaton brushed Lucy’s shoulder with his as he passed to his next partner. That kind of contact was unnecessary in a cotillion. They switched again, until Quinn partnered with Lucy.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, my lady.” He looked down at her.
She smiled with what he was certain was the same smile she’d given Seton. “It is a nice party.”
“One would think that a lady who came to a party to meet her betrothed wouldn’t be so friendly with other men,” Quinn whispered.
Her head snapped up and she blinked, shock on her face. He knew how she felt. He released her and grasped the next woman’s hand and turned with her, then rejoined his original partner. The dance seemed to go on forever, and when he was partnered with Lucy again, she remained silent, as did he. He half wished for another waltz, where he might forget the rest of the dancers and pull her as close as he had their first dance.
He’d liked the firm contours of her waist beneath his fingers. This time, he would twirl her as he had earlier, holding her closer so that her legs would press his. His mind snapped to attention. She was smiling at the viscount again. She had seemed such an innocent, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might have learned how to wield her feminine wiles with such skill. The viscount’s smile broadened. Was the wench flirting with him? She knew she was coming to the ball to meet the man she was supp
osed to marry. Yet she was looking at Seton as if he were the only man on the dancefloor.
***
The cotillion ended and Lucy allowed the viscount to escort her off the floor. She scanned the nearby guests. Where was Chastity? The one time she needed her older sister and she wasn’t in sight. She dared not look back to see if Baron Delny was headed in her direction. He would have to escort his partner to her place among the guests before he could seek her out for their second dance. Maybe he didn’t want to dance with her. What had he meant by his comment on the dancefloor? She had a feeling he didn’t like her dancing with other men. But why?
She and the viscount reached a group of young women and halted.
He bent over Lucy’s hand. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”
She angled her head in thanks and expected him to release her hand. To her horror, he held on for another two heartbeats before letting go. His gaze locked with hers and she startled at the way his eyes darkened. She’d seen men look at Chastity and Olivia that way. Desire. Her stomach soured. She was looking forward to learning about the pleasures of being in a man’s arms, but she found the viscount strangely repellent. Baron Delny stepped up beside her. She groaned inwardly. Why was he here? He clearly didn’t like her.
“I believe I have the next dance, my lady.” His attention shifted to the viscount, and Lucy became aware of a strange tension between the two men. “Seton,” the baron said.
“Delny.” The viscount’s tone sent a chill down Lucy’s arms.
Quinn held out his hand and she placed her palm upon his, then he led her toward the dancefloor.
Out of earshot of the viscount, he said, “Is that the sort of man you want to marry?”
Lucy snapped her head up and met his gaze. “What?”
“You said you weren’t a husband-hunting woman. Yet you smiled at him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “God have mercy upon my soul. I committed the cardinal sin of smiling at a man.”
He frowned, but was prevented from replying for they’d reached the dancefloor and the orchestra began playing a country dance. They joined the dancers, backs facing into the circle. Lucy waited as the woman to her left stepped forward then turned to face her. Lucy stepped to the side in time with the music, then halted in front of the woman and curtsied. They clasped hands and turned. Lucy began dancing lessons at age six, and could perform the steps in her sleep.
She glimpsed Baron Delny taking a turn with a petite red-headed woman. His eyes met Lucy’s and she jerked them away as she separated from her partner. Even the brief look told her he was still angry, though she didn’t understand why smiling at another man should anger him. When they’d left the refreshments room, she had been certain he harbored no interest in marrying her. Now, he behaved as if they were betrothed and she’d cuckolded him.
They twirled and switched partners, and the baron grasped her hands as they danced to the left at the end of the line. They separated, then grasped hands again and danced between the other dancers.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he whispered.
They separated, danced between other dancers, then came together again. “I have no answer for you, sir. Your question is not only ridiculous, it is impertinent.”
“Impertinent?” he repeated, then turned and danced around a woman, before he rejoined Lucy. “Did you not attend this ball with the intention of meeting your betrothed?”
“You do not want to marry me,” she retorted.
Her fingers tightened in his. He jerked his gaze onto their joined hands. She was right—or she had been right. Bloody hell, what had gotten into him? He had no intentions of marrying, despite Stirling’s threats and even his possible disappointment. He couldn’t bear to hurt the man who’d stood by him with more determination and caring than many blood brothers did. Still, Quinn hadn’t intended on marrying the girl. Why, then, did he care who she danced with?
A mental picture flashed of Viscount Seton waltzing with Lucy, holding her close, and Quinn’s jaw tensed. Bloody hell, Lucy couldn’t be more than eighteen—maybe seventeen. He didn’t bed virgins. The women he dallied with were full grown temptresses who knew what they wanted. Some were more beautiful than Lucy. Nae, that was a lie. He’d never known a woman more beautiful.
Quinn danced around another woman and cast a covert glance at Lucy as she made a turn around the Earl of Ellington. The man was nearing forty and looking for a wife. What could he, a wealthy nobleman, want with the fourth daughter of a duke? Quinn knew exactly what the earl would want with an innocent like Lady Lucy. Quinn didn’t seduce virgins—that was something Stirling had impressed upon him. Even his father frowned upon debauching innocents. But most men didn’t hold with such morals
Lucy dipped in a curtsy to the earl and Quinn caught the flick of the man’s eyes to her breasts. Watching her on the dancefloor was driving him mad. He had to get her away where they could speak alone. He shook his head to clear it. What was he thinking? Get her alone? He didn’t want to be alone with her to make love to her—well, that wasn’t true either. He very badly wanted to make love to her. More than that, however, he wanted to remove her from the wolves that were waiting to ravage such a beautiful girl.
Where was her sister, the negligent chaperone?
He and Lucy were paired again. She kept her eyes on his chest. Guilt burrowed deep. He’d hurt her. God help him, he was a fool.
The dance ended and Lucy maintained a stubborn silence as he led her from the dancefloor. He caught sight of Stirling and Lady Chastity near a grouping of potted palms. A small measure of relief eased the tension in his shoulders. They would protect her from the wolves. Then he realized the next wolf was probably the man who had reserved her next dance. His temples began to throb. He would not survive this night.
They reached Stirling and Lady Chastity, and Lucy said. “I am tired, Chastity. Do you mind if we return home?”
The elder sister frowned. “Are you ill?”
Lucy gave a small smile. “Nae. It is just a lot of excitement. I have danced five dances in a row.”
Lady Chastity nodded. “I will find Papa and our sisters.”
“No need,” Stirling said. “I will find your father and sisters. Quinn will see you two home.”
“There is no need,” Lady Chastity began, but Stirling cut her off.
“Your father entrusted Quinn and I with your safety.”
“You might as well give in, Lady Chastity,” Quinn said. “When Stirling makes a decision, there is no changing his mind.”
“We do not need him to make decisions for us. Our coachman will take us home,” she said.
“What of your sisters?” Stirling asked. “How will they get back to Gledstone? Be sensible, Lady Chastity. Quinn can take you in his carriage. I will make sure your father knows you have gone.” Her mouth thinned and he added, “You will be there to chaperone, my lady. Quinn will be a perfect gentleman—just as he was with Lady Lucy. Right Quinn?”
Quinn resisted an urge to glance at Lucy, who stared at the floor. Some gentleman he’d been. The lass would never speak to him again. A man appeared at Lucy’s side. It took Quinn an instant to recognize the Marquess of Kinlow.
The marquess bowed to Chastity. “Lady Chastity. You are looking fine, as always.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”
The marquess scanned the men. “Stirling, Delny.” He faced Lucy. “My lady, I believe the next dance is mine.”
Quinn started. The Marquess of Kinlow wanted to dance with the fourth daughter of a duke? The orchestra began playing a waltz. A waltz was never played more than once at a soirée. How—
Quinn turned hard eyes onto the marquess. “Interesting that the orchestra is playing another waltz.”
The man frowned. “What?”
“Lady Crawford never allows a waltz to be played more than once at one of her parties.”
Kinlow arched a dark brow. “You must be mistaken.”
Quinn gave him a c
old smile. “I am rarely mistaken.”
The marquess shrugged. “I supposed you will have to take the matter up with Lady Crawford.” He turned to Lucy and offered his arm. “Are you ready, Lady Lucy?”
Quinn’s jaw tensed at the thought of Lucy’s gloved hand touching the marquess. Understanding struck. He was jealous. He’d never been jealous over a woman in his life. She lifted her hand to slip it into the crook of the marquess’s arm.
Quinn grasped her arm and pulled her back a step. “My betrothed does not dance the waltz with anyone other than me.”
***
The clock struck midnight as Quinn stared at the fire in his library, his sherry glass full for the third time in the last half hour. When Stirling sat in this library two days ago and told him he was to marry, Quinn had been positive he could avoid wedlock. Then he’d stepped willing into the marriage noose—with no urging from Stirling. Even now, Lucy’s face clear in his memory, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. He had gone mad.
The door behind him softly opened, then clicked shut and booted feet padded on the carpet toward him.
“Don’t give me that look,” Quinn said when Stirling neared.
Stirling came into view at the sideboard to Quinn’s right. He picked up a sherry glass, then crossed to the chaise beside Quinn and lowered himself onto the cushion.
Quinn drank his sherry in one gulp and set the class on the side table. “You knew full well what you were about when you pushed that girl into my arms.”
Stirling filled his glass from the decanter on the table, then leaned back in the chair. “I told you it was time you married—though I never dreamed your declaration would nearly bring you to blows with the Marquess of Kinlow.”
“I have truly lost my mind.” Quinn shook his head.
Stirling laughed. “Women do that to a man.”
Quinn looked at him. “How did you know?”
Stirling stared at his glass of sherry. “Truth?”
“Aye.”
“Her father showed me miniatures of his daughters. I saw Lucy and thought of you.” Stirling shrugged. “There is nothing more.”
