by Wendy Vella
“I am no more uncivil with him than any of the others. Men are fools over a pretty face, and it merely turns them into besotted idiots.”
“You are quite scathing of my fellow man, cousin. I have never asked why you do not wish to wed, and indeed have been turning away suitors for years. Care to enlighten me?”
Beth’s stomach clenched at Nick’s words. She had said no to every suitor and he had allowed her to do so. No one would ever know why she had no wish to marry, as she would carry that secret with her to the grave.
“I have never found a man worthy of the title husband.” She dismissed his words casually, and hoped he would follow her lead. “To enforce my case against men, I will point to the idiot behavior of your friend when Lady Hyndmarsh broke his heart.”
She felt her cousin’s eyes on the side of her face, but Beth kept hers forward. He had once cared little about her decision not to marry, but now... now he cared about her, and because of that he wanted her happy, and for this she was grateful, but she had no wish to marry, nor tell him the reasons why.
“Leo is, or should I say was, an emotional man. He believed himself deeply in love with that woman. You cannot blame him for being hurt, surely?”
“Blame him for that, no.”
“Then what?”
“It matters not, my point is men do silly things when faced with a pretty woman.”
“Present company excluded, of course,” Nick drawled.
“Of course.”
“Well play nice now, my dearest cousin, as Leo is about to arrive, and seeing Lady Hyndmarsh will do little to improve his mood.”
Why she suddenly felt her heart thud hard inside her chest, Beth had no idea. She and Lord Vereton were—or at least had always been—enemies.
CHAPTER THREE
Beth watched the man prowl toward them. He had a lithe grace that made his movements seem easy as he walked through the crowd. His eyes were moving from left to right; the color of a starless night, they held their usual cynical expression. Tonight he wore a deep blue jacket, tailored to fit his broad shoulders, and an elegantly knotted necktie. His waistcoat was blue also, with a deep burgundy stripe. She’d always thought him handsome, but there was something else to the Marquis of Vereton. Something untamed in his eyes and the way he carried himself. A wild side that had him caring little what people thought of him. He usually said and did as he pleased, and Beth knew he had plenty of women making fools of themselves over him. Which begged the question again as to why he’d allowed a silly one to break him.
“Stop scowling, Leo.”
“I like scowling,” he said to Nick. “It scares people away.”
“And yet here we stand... people.”
The scowl grew darker, his eyes moving over the crowd.
“You’re not people, you’re a friend. Totally different.”
“I’m relieved,” Nick drawled. “However, I’m sure my cousin is people.”
Leo passed his eyes over Beth before returning their focus to the crowd.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Whitlow.”
“And now if you will excuse me, I must speak with Lord Loxton—he has just arrived. I shall return shortly. Be nice to my cousin, Leo, and you be nice to him, Beth.”
“I’m always nice,” they said in unison, then laughed.
Beth hadn’t seen Lord Vereton smile for some time, and the effect was quite something. His face softened from the cynical look he usually wore, making him seem younger, and the lines around his eyes told her he knew how to laugh; he just didn’t do so in her company.
She heard the breath he inhaled and followed his gaze to find Lady Hyndmarsh heading their way.
“The first meeting will be the worst; after that everything will go easier,” she said softly.
“I would rather just go on ignoring her, but I must thank you again for your support. I’m sure in your eyes I seem something of a weak-kneed fool.”
“Not precisely weak-kneed....”
He laughed as she’d wanted him too.
Beth did something impulsive then, and slipped her hand through his arm. He clamped it to his side, and there they stood, together, watching Harriet approach.
She was beautiful, right to the toes of her tiny satin slippers. Dark hair, styled elaborately, skin like porcelain, and lips rose red—although, Beth wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t used some kind of enhancement there. Her dress was cut daringly low, which displayed plenty of her bosom as she slipped into a deep curtsey before them. Her eyes were pools of lilac and appeared soft and beguiling, which was far from the truth. This woman never did anything without calculating the benefits to her. She was cold, callous, and shallow, and Beth had loathed her since they stepped into society together.
“Lord Vereton.” Her voice was a breathy whisper. “You have no idea how delighted I am to see you again.”
He bowed, but did not take the hand she held out to him, which was bad of him, but Beth enjoyed the flicker of surprise on the woman’s face. Which was likely bad of her. Her hand was still pressed to his side, trapped under his arm.
“You’ve met Miss Whitlow, I believe, Lady Hyndmarsh?”
“Of course.” She dragged her gaze from him, and reluctantly settled it on Beth. They both curtsied.
“My fiancée.”
Beth rose slowly. He had not just said what she thought he had, surely?
“Fiancée?” Harriet looked stunned, which quickly turned into displeasure. “I knew nothing of this!”
“I’m not sure why you would,” Lord Vereton drawled as he looked at Beth. He took her limp free hand in his and kissed the back of it. Beth was too stunned to stop him. “After all, she only accepted a few days ago; we have yet to make the announcement public.”
“My lord.” Beth found her wits. “What are—”
“I know, darling.” He squeezed her hand so hard, she had to fight not to wince. “We said we would tell no one yet. But my love for you can no longer be hidden. I want everyone to share in our joy.”
He was an excellent actor, Beth would give him that. She would also give him a great deal more when she had him alone.
“Love!” Harriet glared at Beth. “But you once loved me!”
“I thought I loved you,” he corrected gently, and to Beth’s mind, condescendingly, “and then I realized my error. I was young, and that kind of youthful infatuation easily passes. The love I now feel for my fiancée is different... lasting.”
Oh he was good, Beth thought. She almost believed the adoring look he was sending her way. Almost, but of course she knew better. She and Lord Vereton did not like each other at all. What was he thinking, speaking as he had. The repercussions would be horrible for them both.
“Infatuation! B-but you adored me!”
Harriet was not pleased, her words now a shriek. Gone were the perfectly modulated tones. It was funny, Beth thought, looking at the woman’s twisted face, she looked almost ugly now.
“Come now, Lady Hyndmarsh, can we not be friends? I understand this is painful for you, but surely you did not expect me to still be infatuated with you... six years on?”
Beth tried to shake herself out of the shock and say something, but her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leo wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to claim Miss Whitlow as his fiancée. Madness perhaps? An ailment that was addling his wits? Or the simpering look of adoration in the eyes of Lady Hyndmarsh, which he now knew was a lie. Whatever foolish lapse in judgment allowed those words to fall from his mouth, he knew, was about to cost him dearly.
“B-but, I had thought... ”
Leo knew what words Harriet had been about to utter. Knew that her husband had passed away leaving her alone to pursue whatever and whoever she wished, and that he was part of those wishes.
“Yes?” He raised a polite brow. “What did you think, Lady Hyndmarsh?” Leo didn’t dare look at Miss Whitlow, as surely she was breathing fire. For now i
t was enough that she had yet to blow his cover. Her hand was in the crook of his arm, and he wondered if perhaps shock was holding her silent.
“I had hoped....”
“My dear Harriet, are you well? That is the second sentence you have been unable to finish. Can I get you some refreshment, or is there someone I can collect to see to you?”
Leo coughed at the simpering kindness in Miss Whitlow’s words. It seemed her silence was over.
“I need nothing, thank you. Your news is simply something of a shock to me.”
Leo wondered how he’d ever been fooled by this woman. She was calculating and had sold herself to the highest purse three days after he had declared his love for her. Looking into that pretty face now that the shock of her reappearance had subsided, he felt nothing.
“Well then, if we can be of no further assistance, we shall take our leave, as my fiancée and I wish to dance.”
Leo didn’t flinch as Miss Whitlow dug her nails into his arm. He deserved whatever punishment she meted out. He led them to the dance floor and swung her into his arms as a waltz began.
“I don’t d-dance the waltz,” she said, quickly trying to extract herself from his arms.
“And yet you will now, with me, as this is the only place we can speak in whispers and actually hear each other.”
She was stiff, her body twice the distance away from his than was correct. He pulled her in closer.
“Relax, woman, I will not hurt you, for pity’s sake.”
He looked down as she made a choking sound. Her face was pale, breathing suddenly rapid, and she was staring at his necktie.
“Miss Whitlow... Beth, are you well?”
She managed a shaky nod, then closed her eyes.
“I do not like to waltz,” she said again.
“Then we shall stop. Forgive me, I did not realize your words were the truth. I thought perhaps it was just me you had no wish to waltz with.”
She exhaled, her breath brushing the skin of his neck; it was a strangely unsettling sensation.
“No, I will be all right, and you are right, we have much to discuss.”
Leo was relieved to see her color returning, and with it her caustic tongue.
“I have no idea what idiotic notion you took into your head to declare us betrothed, but I wish you to undo it at once.”
He looked down into her blue eyes and saw they were narrowed and as warm as ice.
“I will, of course, but if you will just hear me out.”
“I am all ears as to what madness could possibily have induced that moment of insanity.”
“You are one of the most sarcastic women I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
“Me!” She snapped out the word. “You dare to insult me, when I stood by and let you declare to your ladylove that we are betrothed.”
“She is not my ladylove, and I’m sure you shouldn’t be speaking in such terms.”
“Why should I not? I am twenty-seven, and old enough to speak as I wish. I will not be told by you how to speak.”
“Ah, but as your fiancé surely I have some say in the matter?” Leo heard her teeth snap together so hard he winced. She’d always brought out the devil in him. She then stomped on his foot. “I’m sure that hurt you more than me, Miss Whitlow, but I shall yelp if it makes you feel better.”
“You are a cad.”
“Undoubtedly, and a great deal worse, but if you will desist in firing barbs at me for a minute, I shall explain what it is I have in mind.”
Her lips formed a line and she looked left, focusing on the other couples, which Leo guessed was his cue to speak.
“If you will allow the arrangement to stand for the remainder of the time we are here, I shall have it called off before we return to town for the next season. I will tell everyone you have broken the engagement and that I believe it is for the best, and there are no hard feelings, as we realized we would make a dismal married couple.”
“Which will go terribly easy for you, but poor, maidenly Miss Whitlow will be pitied from afar... and not so far. And what of Nick, and my aunt, what will you say to them?”
“I will explain all to Nick, and as your aunt is deaf, and spends most of her time sleeping rather than chaperoning you as she ought, I do not think she will be a problem. There is no other close family in London as I understand it, so the problems are limited. Mine are also thankfully out of town, so word will not reach them for some time.”
She tensed, and he wondered if he’d hurt her in some way with the mention of family.
“You may be Nick’s oldest friend, my lord, but I am his blood relative; he will not let this go easy on you. And I would thank you to never again speak in disparaging tones about my aunt.”
“Forgive me, I should not have spoken about her that way. On the matter of your cousin, I have incurred his wrath too many times to count. I am sure he will forgive me... eventually.”
“Which I’m sure you deserved.”
“Do you always have the last word?”
“Usually.”
“Excellent.”
“Thank you.”
Leo snorted. Damned if the woman wasn’t full of fire and backbone. He’d never taken the time to speak to her, other than that disastrous event he had relegated to the back of his mind.
“You are welcome.”
“Wonderful,” Beth added.
She looked up at him, blue eyes now limpid and adoring.
“What are you doing?” Leo had to swallow, as the look had his throat suddenly dry.
“Practicing. Because if this charade is to continue, then I had best play my part, and like anything I do, I must do it to the best of my ability.”
“You, Miss Whitlow, are a terrifying woman.”
“I’m wondering if this could actually be just the thing for me now my anger has cooled.”
“How so?” Leo looked down past her chin to the soft, pale swell of her breasts, and felt his pulse quicken. He’d never thought her anything but annoying, but suddenly he was noticing things about her, like her breasts. Decidedly odd.
“Most evenings I am forced to converse with silly people or trip over foolish men declaring themselves enamored with me. I smile until my face hurts, when the reality is most are after my dowry, and have no concern for me at all.”
“Surely not all the men who converse with you are after your dowry?”
“Three quarters at least.”
“I’m sure some are simply enamored with your beauty.”
“Is that sarcasm, my lord?”
“Yes. Now, if you were a marquis with a sizeable fortune and tolerable looks, you would have reason to complain. I am a hunted species, Miss Whitlow.”
She made a little mewling noise that he didn’t think held any sympathy.
“How perfectly horrible for you, my lord. To have women throwing themselves at your large feet.”
“But is it not the same for you? Didn’t you just tell me men throw themselves at your large feet constantly?”
“My feet are not large, and it is not the same at all.” Her eyes were narrowed as she glared up at him. “Men can be old and unwed, women cannot. Therefore, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven years, I should be firmly on the shelf. Frustratingly, I am not.”
“Frustratingly?”
“I have no wish to wed and have a man control me, and I want to be on the shelf. My dowry is the stumbling block to achieving that blissful state. It is extremely vexing.”
He laughed, quite simply because he could not stop himself. Had he known what a delight she was to converse with before now, he’d have taken the steps to apologize sooner. She was not the type to back down, instead meeting him head-on.
“And that is the last time I speak of anything personal with you.”
Leo sobered instantly. “No, please forgive me. It is just so ridiculous that someone as beautiful and intelligent as you could even consider themselves on the shelf.”
She looked up at him. �
�I have agreed to this, my lord, there is no need to speak falsehoods to achieve my consent.”
“Falsehoods? You think I would lie about something as important as beauty?”
She snorted.
“You are beautiful, Elizabeth, but as that makes you uncomfortable I shall move on to, why have you not married one of the many suitors you have undoubtedly had? Surely not all of them were offensive to you?”
She stiffened again; it was only brief, but Leo felt it. Her sigh was small, and brushed his neck again. He was not affected by that at all. He’d just shivered because a cool breeze had swept through the ballroom.
“Because every man who has approached Nick is a fool, and because I made the decision many years ago not to wed.”
“You cannot honestly expect me to believe that?” Leo felt it necessary to defend his fellow man, and doubt her words. “Why would you choose not to marry at a young age?”
And just like that she shut herself away from him. Gone was the fire, and in its place was the emotionless Miss Whitlow.
“That is my decision, and one I have no wish to discuss further.”
Leo knew she regretted mentioning it.
“The dance is finished, and quite soon it will be everywhere that we are to wed, and that it must be so because I have just danced my first waltz ever with you.”
“Why do you not waltz?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Mine.”
That was frustrating, Leo thought. He did not like mysteries. Most young ladies loved to waltz. He had a feeling there was a great deal behind Miss Whitlow’s reasoning, but as she was unlikely to tell him, he did not pursue the matter.
“As the dance has finished I think it may be time to face my cousin, who is standing at the edge of the floor looking like a large avenging angel.”
Leo threw his friend a look, and wondered if they would still be close after the conversation they were about to share.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You did what?”
