Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord

by Tiffany Clare

  “Am I a mere child in your eyes?” She suddenly felt gauche.

  Perhaps this task wouldn’t be as easy as she had originally thought. Maybe he wasn’t interested in debutantes, but women more experienced with intimacy? Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember a single debutante being tied to his name.

  “Definitely not a child.” There was an assurance in his words that settled her flagging nerves. “But I am curious to know what secrets you harbor, my lady.”

  “If we ladies weren’t mysterious, men might grow bored with us.”

  “That’s simply not possible.”

  The marquess turned her suddenly, his leg going between hers as they neared the edge of the dance floor and approached her cousin. The position was intimate and telling, but his direction baffling. If he wanted to act daring and shock her with bold behavior, why not whisk her out of the room altogether?

  She tightened her hold on his hand and pressed the front of her body against his before they parted on another turn. She would not give him the opportunity to think her inexperienced. She must be brazen, and she could not waver in the path she’d decided on for even a moment. The simple truth was: the Marquess of Castleigh would play his part. And she’d find a way to endear him before she could change her mind and before he could think better of his actions.

  She needed to act quickly because she had only two choices and each would lead her down very different paths. She could face ruination with the marquess or marry a man she loathed.

  Chapter 2

  Is there a man more wicked than the Marquess of C____? There’s not a scandal that goes by during the season without his name mentioned as the cause. His lordship has a tendency to find trouble wherever he goes but always manages to avoid condemnation for his acts. Perhaps it is his charm and fine form that so easily trick society into seeing an angel where the devil really stands.

  —The Mayfair Chronicles, May 1846

  Since when did a debutante seek him out two months into the season? There was trickery at play here, and Tristan didn’t like to be made a fool. He hated to admit it, but Lady Charlotte’s boldness did far more than simply unsettle him.

  It might be better to cut his losses, find his friends, leave this debutante party far behind him, and pretend he’d never introduced himself to the formidable young lady in his arms. But if he did that, she’d seek out another, and that was unacceptable to him even though he didn’t quite know what game she played.

  Tristan looked over the crush of guests in search of the friends he’d arrived with. Leo stood conversing with a plainly attired woman on the other side of the dance floor. Tristan did not recognize her. His friend Jezebel, who also happened to be the woman responsible for his attendance at the duchess’s ball tonight, was nowhere in sight. She was probably in the gaming room gambling away the last bit of her pin money, with Hayden not far behind trying to preserve what little of Jez’s reputation remained intact.

  They’d come with one purpose in mind: to win the favor of the Ponsley chit and stop her marriage to Mr. Warren. Warren was in line to obtain Jez’s fortune now that her husband was dead, and Jez assured them that the successor to the Fallon title was no kinder than her late husband had been—a cruel man and an abuser of women and those less fortunate.

  Revenge was fine and dandy, but Tristan had a very personal reason to involve himself in Jez’s charade. It just so happened that he had a vendetta against Warren, one that was older than the Fallon fortune feud.

  This was his opportunity for retribution.

  Yet, since Lady Charlotte had approached him, the business at hand seemed suddenly … unfavorable. Especially since the young lady had sought him out the moment he’d entered the ballroom. So what was her game? He was torn about what decision was the right one to make. Stay and find out her next move or leave well enough alone and forget the whole Warren business? The latter was unlikely to happen, so he needed to figure out what he was going to do with the chit on his arm whether she unsettled him or not.

  When the next dance started, he didn’t stop twirling her around the floor to seek out her family, as most gentlemen would inevitably do. Though many might argue whether he was a gentleman. He was known among the ladies as the biggest player society had produced of late, and rightly so since he filled that particular role with relish, liking that he could sample new fare as he pleased.

  Focused on Lady Charlotte, he took in her youthful appearance. Having had plenty of experience with the fairer sex, he guessed her to be less than twenty and far too knowledgeable about the male sex for someone of her age.

  Her complexion was fair, and he detected a hint of maquillage dusted over her cheekbones. Her eyes shone the darkest blue of the Adriatic Sea, and were highlighted by bountiful dark lashes and finely shaped brows in her oval-shaped face. Tight ringlets fell on either side of her temples, the color a rich chestnut with a strong hint of red that suggested she spent a great deal of time outdoors. Her complexion was nicely set off against the emerald gown that swept off her shoulders front and back. Her wealth was displayed in the extravagant necklace about her throat; the acorn-sized emerald fell enticingly between her breasts.

  She was taller than most ladies of his acquaintance and slender in form. A pretty woman to be sure, and if handsome looks were enough to attract him to someone, he’d steal her out of the ballroom right this instant.

  Rubbing along with someone required a deeper, nonaesthetic connection, no matter how enjoyable rubbing along might be. Besides, a successful seduction took time and he was a very patient man. And by all accounts, it appeared that Lady Charlotte wanted and expected to be seduced by him. And while he preferred women to be direct, her boldness almost worried him.

  “Your cousin looks positively irate,” he mused aloud.

  Lady Charlotte’s relation stood on the edge of the dance floor, staring at Leo with her hands clenched at her sides. She was of average height, wore her dark hair in a simple bun, and dressed like the matrons in the room who were thirty years her senior, a pristine image of virtue.

  “She’s also my chaperone.” Charlotte looked over his shoulder to better see them. “Is she conversing with Lord Barrington?”

  “You know us so well,” he said drolly. It shouldn’t surprise him that she knew of Leo since she had already singled Tristan out in a room half filled with men far more eligible and less likely to cause a scandal.

  He didn’t miss the spark of mischief that lit her eyes when she focused on his face again. “Everyone knows him, my lord.”

  While women often threw themselves in his direction for an enjoyable affair—and he had no qualms about that—debutantes either shied away from him, or were cloistered by overprotective mamas. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the reversal in their roles, but he felt she should be better shielded from men like him, hence his reason for not leaving her side; he’d not leave her open for the advances of another rogue.

  While he might have promised Jez that he would sway Lady Charlotte away from an alliance with Mr. Warren, he questioned the chit’s odd willingness to throw so much caution to the wind. True, she was only making his task easier, but it made him pause for the first time in his life and question his role in this. It was oddly disconcerting to be held accountable for his own actions.

  Twirling her about in the next set—a couple’s dance instead of a group dance—he rested his hand just above the bow at the base of her back and held her firmly against his body. He told himself the daring position was to test her courage in whatever game she played and not to draw her attention away from Barrington.

  Where was his calm equilibrium when he needed it most? One thing he was certain of: Lady Charlotte would never look upon Leo as though he could be her salvation; in fact, he’d ensure she never again spared his friend another thought. He’d found her first and had no intention of relinquishing her to any other gentleman in the room.

  * * *

  The one thing Charlotte hadn’t clearly
thought out in this scheme was how she would actually stage her ruin. And though she was unsure of what exactly complete ruin entailed on her part, she knew she needed the marquess to succeed. The worse the reputation of her partner in crime, the harder she would fall. She did not want to be redeemed by a hasty marriage with Mr. Warren.

  One had to wonder how many young ladies had contemplated their own ruin because of an undesirable match set up by their father or mother. A small pang of regret for what she was doing made her falter. The marquess tightened his hold as he steadied her.

  “Has someone flavored the punch with alcohol?” he asked.

  She gave a weak laugh. Had it been, she was sure her resolve wouldn’t waver in the slightest. “How embarrassing to have to admit this, but I’m feeling a little overexerted.”

  She glanced down as though shocked she’d admitted such a thing. A lady should never reveal such weakness when partnered with a man like the marquess. Would he realize why she’d mentioned fatigue?

  Conveniently, a breeze filtered through the doors that opened to the garden, bringing with it the intoxicating scent of peonies and lilacs. The marquess spun her away from the dark balcony and toward the punch table.

  “Let’s get you freshened up, shall we?”

  “I—I…” She scrambled for an excuse; something to draw him toward the darkness just beyond the French doors that were so close. “I have already partaken of that bland concoction they call refreshment. Perhaps the evening air will do me good.”

  “And bring our acquaintance to such an abrupt conclusion?”

  “It’s only a little air,” she shot back, more than miffed that her plan was slowly unraveling. Did he not understand her intent or was he simply avoiding putting her in a compromising position?

  And then he laughed as though he understood the precise reason for her annoyance. “Introduce me to this cousin of yours. She seems to be having a heated conversation with Barrington that I fully intend to interrupt.”

  He wanted to meet her cousin? Did he have designs on her? Yes, Genny was pretty, but she always dressed like a spinster who had no hope of ever finding a husband. Genny was like a chameleon, always blending into the background. And though Charlotte had offered to lend her dresses—they could easily hem them for the evening—her cousin had refused, preferring her plain clothes so she could remain unnoticed.

  “Ah,” the marquess said, looking over Charlotte’s shoulder, “it seems she’s found a dance partner in Barrington.”

  Charlotte whipped her head around, searching for Genny. Dancing? Her cousin did not dance. Not once since the season started had she done so; not even when Charlotte’s dance instructor came to the house did Genny indicate she could or even liked to dance.

  As the marquess led Charlotte off the dance floor, Lord Barrington boldly took Genny’s hand and pushed her into a fast-paced mazurka. Charlotte stood on the edge, her mouth slightly ajar. She barely noticed that the marquess’s arm threaded through hers to guide her in another direction.

  “Hmm,” Lord Castleigh said. “What is your cousin’s name?”

  “Genevieve Camden.” She pushed a curl back from her temple in frustration. She wasn’t sure how she felt to see that all eyes were on Genny now and not on her while she was on the arm of the Marquess of Castleigh. How could she get the gossipmongers whispering about her if they paid her no mind? The evening was turning into a disaster.

  “I never forget a face, so I’m not sure how it is I’m not recalling this magnificent woman who’s caught Leo’s eye.”

  “I doubt they know each other.”

  And what made Genny so magnificent? Lord Castleigh was supposed to be enamored with her, not her cousin. Charlotte should not be envious because her cousin seemed to attract the attention of two roués, both of whom were handsome and titled … and perfect for carrying out Charlotte’s plan. Actually, she should be jealous. If her cousin attracted rakes so easily, there would be no one left on Charlotte’s list—which admittedly had been shortened considerably, with names crossed off for one reason or another, leaving only four potentials.

  She looked at her dance partner and unwilling abductor—why couldn’t he have whisked her off into complete privacy? Staring at his knowing expression, and his kind eyes, she realized there were no longer four potentials on her list. Just one.

  Her goal felt so close yet so far. But failure was not an option.

  With a sweet smile and her attention solely focused on the marquess, she said, “I think I will partake in a refreshment, my lord.”

  “Excellent.” He turned them toward the banquet table with its assortment of punches and tiered trays of fruit, cheese, bite-sized pastries, and other desserts.

  “The lemonade or the red punch?” he offered.

  “It’s probably best we have the lemonade. The punch tastes like sweetened water.”

  “How about…” The marquess reached toward the back where flutes of champagne were lined up in two neat rows. Procuring the fizzing liquid, he handed her one.

  “I shouldn’t—” she started to say but stopped. Why shouldn’t she? If she was going to go down the path she’d chosen, she might as well enjoy it to the fullest. “Thank you. I’ve never had champagne before.”

  “All the more reason to try it.” He tilted his head with a sly grin playing on his lips and tapped their glasses lightly together.

  “How correct you are.” She mirrored his move, then put the glass to her lips. Papa could not abide drink of any sort. How wicked she felt. And she’d never have dreamed of doing this a few short minutes ago. Perhaps the marquess was a bad influence.

  The aroma of the champagne was pleasant, and she didn’t wait for him to drink before taking her first sip. The flavor that exploded on her tongue was marvelous. Sweet yet dry and bursting with bubbles that tickled all the way down her throat.

  The marquess stared at her as though no one else in the room existed. This was exactly what she wanted—his complete and undivided attention.

  Oddly enough, no one noticed them, not even Lady Hargrove, so she took advantage of the temporary privacy by tipping her glass against her lips and draining the contents of the glass.

  A hiccough came immediately afterward, surprising a giggle out of her—or maybe it was the bubbles that made her giddy. No, she thought, looking at the marquess’s intent gaze; it was the man before her that made her feel so oddly out of sorts.

  “Another, my lady?” The marquess didn’t seem surprised by her gluttonous display.

  She held the glass between two hands and shook her head. “Oh, definitely not.” She wasn’t sure if the drink had made her light-headed or if swallowing it all in one breath had done that.

  She felt rather fantastic.

  “I take it you are no longer parched?” he teased.

  “Not for champagne.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. It might be normal for her to say things others might not, but innuendo was something she was careful with.

  The marquess stepped closer and plucked the glass from her hands to give it to a passing footman. “That I can promise another time.”

  She had to look away from the intensity of his gaze. It would be so easy to fall into those depths and commit to some very dangerous and sultry things. What she needed was a change in topic. “Why haven’t I seen you at any engagements before now, my lord?”

  “Had I known this year wouldn’t be all bland affairs and dull company, I’d have come out sooner.”

  “Will you be at the Carletons’ tomorrow evening?”

  He seemed to think on that for a moment. “It will be a good event to attend if you are among the company.”

  “I will be there. My cousin knows the Carletons well, and they extended an invitation to my whole family.” Her father did not like the Carletons, but he could not outright refuse an invite from people as socially connected as they were. “Though only Genny and I will be attending.”

  “I look forward to another night in your company.” The
marquess paused to look at something over her shoulder, and his smile became devilish. “Your cousin will be joining us momentarily.”

  Charlotte turned, shoulders back, and watched her cousin approach with the earl following closely behind her. Her cousin’s face was slightly pinched, her color high, and she looked far from happy to have engaged in a dance with Lord Barrington.

  Charlotte needed to figure out how to diffuse this situation so she wouldn’t have to say good-bye to the marquess quite yet. Without a doubt, her cousin would object to Charlotte’s escort.

  “We are needed elsewhere.” Genny slid her arm through Charlotte’s. Would her cousin drag her away if she refused to go with her?

  Charlotte stood firm and made it clear that she would not move. “Cousin, you are being discourteous.” Genny seemed stunned that Charlotte had openly reprimanded her. “Let me introduce you to the Marquess of Castleigh.”

  If such a thing were possible, her cousin appeared to become even more irate. Although Charlotte hardly cared that introducing a lord of Castleigh’s rank wasn’t something a debutante, especially one of lower standing, should ever do.

  The marquess bowed to her cousin and took Genny’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of the two most beautiful women at the ball. And to have you both to myself.”

  “I know precisely who the Marquess of Castleigh is.” Genny said this to Charlotte, as though the marquess wasn’t standing before them. “You’ll do well to know, cousin, that his type is better suited to those found in a den of iniquity as opposed to a respectable ball.” She tugged at Charlotte’s arm, quite insistent that she should come with her. “Lady Carleton wanted to discuss the seating arrangements for her upcoming dinner party.”

  “Firmly rebuffed, I daresay,” the marquess said, laughter and amusement thick in his voice despite the rudeness he’d just been subjected to.

  What in the world had come over her cousin?

  “Why should I have any say on her seating plans? You’re being incredibly rude, cousin. Apologize for your brash words at once.”