“Oh, stop it. Don’t get all sentimental on me or I’ll begin to cry.” Charlie gave a mock frown. Although Sophie rather thought her friend’s brown eyes shone suspiciously. “And if I have a red nose and eyes, I’ll have no hope of attracting anyone.”
They both sipped their champagne in companionable silence for a short while as they continued to watch the dancing—or at least pretended to; anticipation swirled through Sophie as she surreptitiously scanned the room for Lord Claremont, and she suspected Charlie was looking out for Lord Edgerton too.
It wasn’t until Charlie responded to something her aunt said that Sophie noticed the whispering, sideways glances, and smirks directed their way. A group of three other debutantes who stood nearby were clearly gossiping about her and Charlie.
To Sophie’s dismay, she also recognized one of them: Lady Penelope Purcell. Attired in an exquisite gown of rose-pink silk with pearls at her throat, at her ears, and laced through her pale blond hair, Lady Penelope was indeed the epitome of elegant perfection. Except for one thing: her disdainful gaze, which was directed straight at Sophie. When she caught Sophie looking at her, she arched a brow before murmuring something to her companions, which set them tittering.
It was obvious they knew of Charlie’s notoriety and thus suspected she, Sophie Brightwell, was cut from the same scandalous cloth. Would they never be forgiven?
When one of the other debutante’s eyes met Sophie’s, the young woman all but sneered and turned her nose up in the air as if she had smelled something offensive—perhaps a sack of potatoes on the turn, or a barrel of rotting fish. She whispered something behind her fan to her friends, and then they all laughed again.
Even though there was noise all around, the derisive tone was so clear, it cut Sophie to the bone.
Blinking away a rush of stinging tears, she dropped her gaze to her champagne glass and watched the bubbles rise to the top. She didn’t want to mention the cruelty of the other women to Charlie if she hadn’t noticed the exchange. She also wondered why on earth Lord Westhampton would think Lady Penelope a suitable match for his son. Did he not know the young woman was such a judgmental and spiteful creature?
“I wouldn’t worry about them if I were you,” murmured Lord Malverne. His shoulder gently brushed against hers. “Apart from Lady Penelope, most of those girls are from ne’er-do-well families trying to snare a rich husband with a title bigger than their papas’.”
Sophie tried to smile. “They sound a lot like me then.”
“They’re nothing like you.”
Sophie’s gaze whipped up to Lord Malverne’s, and the emotion she saw in his rich brown eyes made her heart stop. Made her breath quicken.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said in a voice that was noticeably husky. “My stepfather doesn’t even have a title.”
Lord Malverne’s eyes grew darker, his gaze more intense. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Malverne. Good God, man. It’s been an age since I’ve seen you at a society ball. Decided to enter the marriage mart, have you, eh what?”
Lord Malverne’s mouth curved into a smile that seemed a little pained as he turned to the rotund, gray-haired gentleman standing by his other shoulder. “Lord Whitmore, it has been an age. But to answer your question, no. To my father’s great disappointment, I’m not really in the market for a wife. I’m just fulfilling brotherly duties.” He indicated Charlie, who was chatting with Lady Chelmsford, with a nod of his head.
“Pity,” said Lord Whitmore. “My daughter, Emily, is here somewhere with my wife.” He glanced about the room before his gaze returned to Lord Malverne. “You recall Emily, don’t you? Tall gel. Strong bones. Good teeth?”
Lord Malverne shook his head, his expression even more pained. “I’m afraid not. I’ve not had the pleasure of an introduction.”
Lord Whitmore slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, if she’s anything like her mother, she’s destined to be an excellent breeder. She could do with a decent chap like you for a husband. Good stock is what it’s all about, after all. I’ll tell my wife to keep you in mind for Emily.” He raised his glass of brandy in a salute. “Tallyho then. Please pass on my regards to your father.”
Sophie bit her lip to suppress a wave of laughter.
“What?” asked Lord Malverne. His expression was severe but his voice was threaded with mirth. “Are you laughing at me, Miss Brightwell?”
“A little,” she admitted, her own voice bubbling with amusement too. “But heavens. I also feel rather sorry for poor Emily. Her father is quite a character, isn’t he?”
“He’s an old family friend of my father’s. We’ve chatted at White’s a few times.”
“Ah, the old family friend story. So . . .” Sophie paused to sip her champagne. “How are you going to help me find a husband, my lord?”
Lord Malverne cocked an eyebrow. “I thought I made it clear when we promenaded in Hyde Park, Miss Brightwell. We are going to flirt, and then all the men will come running.”
“Because they think I am a juicy bone and would like a bite?”
The corner of Lord Malverne’s mouth twitched. “Your words, not mine, Miss Brightwell.”
“I suppose formulating poetic turns of phrase is not a strong point of mine.”
“Nor mine. Or most men, I expect.”
This time, Sophie arched a brow. “So I shouldn’t expect my suitors to be dreaming up odes praising my aspect and my eyes, like Lord Byron?”
“I’m afraid not. The truth is, Miss Brightwell, most gentlemen, especially rakes, are quite base creatures beneath their well-cut clothes and easy smiles.” He leaned closer in a conspiratorial fashion and murmured, “Would you like me to be frank?”
“Yes, please do. I believe these are things I must learn about the male of the species if I am to succeed in finding a mate.”
“Well, to be perfectly frank, most of the time they are probably thinking about what treasures you conceal beneath your gown, Miss Brightwell. And how your lips might taste.”
Oh, my goodness. Sophie swallowed and resisted the urge to lick those very same lips, because that’s where the focus of Lord Malverne’s gaze seemed to be right at this moment.
Was he foxed again? Because that would explain his daring behavior and his wicked words. But he hadn’t a drink in his hand, and the soft, warm breath that fanned across her lips didn’t smell like brandy or wine at all. She closed her eyes for a moment at an unbidden memory of how Lord Malverne’s breath and his firm lips felt upon her skin. The other wicked words he’d spoken to her in the velvet darkness. Hot desire surged and made her pulse race and her head spin. Made her giddier than the champagne she’d been sipping ever could.
Perhaps it was the champagne that made her whisper when she opened her eyes, “Aside from flirting, that’s another thing I don’t know how to do.”
Lord Malverne’s mouth tilted into a half smile. “Kissing? Have you never been kissed on the mouth before?”
“No. No, I haven’t.” She dragged her gaze away from Lord Malverne’s mouth and up to his eyes. “Is that a skill a rakehell would consider when choosing a prospective wife? Whether she can kiss well or not?” Heavens, when did I become so brazen?
Even though Lord Malverne wore a snowy white cravat, Sophie watched his throat move in a visible swallow. “Miss Brightwell, you seem to have mastered the art of flirting in a flash.” A soft, husky note had entered his voice. “I don’t doubt that you would also master kissing in an instant as well.”
“Ahem . . .”
Oh no! Her face flaming, Sophie took a step away from Lord Malverne and turned to face Charlie. And then released a startled gasp when she discovered that Lord Claremont was standing right beside her friend. He cast her a small, apologetic smile before politely greeting her and Lord Malverne.
Charlie’s expression, on the other hand, was as
stern as a schoolmarm’s. She clearly wasn’t pleased to discover her brother overtly flirting with her best friend in the middle of a ballroom. “Nate, I don’t fancy being a wallflower all night. Why don’t you play the part of dutiful brother and ask me to dance? I believe another set is about to start at any moment.”
“Of course.” Lord Malverne offered his arm to his sister. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Brightwell,” he said smoothly, as though they’d only been discussing something as innocuous as the weather, not kissing. His tone was flinty as he muttered, “Claremont,” through gritted teeth, as though the other viscount was an annoying afterthought.
How odd. It seemed Lord Malverne was well on the way to fulfilling his part of their secret bargain, so why was he so disgruntled about it?
Smoothing the frown from her brow, Sophie turned back to Lord Claremont, who smiled warmly at her. “Miss Brightwell, I was hoping I might find you here tonight,” he murmured in that lovely deep voice of his.
“That was my fond hope, too, Lord Claremont,” she replied. “That you would find me. Or that I would find you. Oh, goodness . . . My apologies for blathering on so. I do that sometimes when I’m nervous.” Sophie bit her lip as a blush scorched her cheeks. How was it that she could now flirt with Lord Malverne, but sounded like a henwit around the only other gentleman who’d paid her any interest since her arrival in London?
“I make you nervous?” Lord Claremont’s blue gray eyes twinkled with amusement from beneath a messy wing of dark brown hair.
“A little,” Sophie murmured. If her face grew any hotter, she imagined she’d burst into flames.
“Well, I also have a confession to make, Miss Brightwell. I’m a little nervous around you too.”
Sophie blinked. She made this handsome rake of a viscount nervous? “Surely not.”
“Ah, but it is indeed the case. I’m nervous that you might have changed your mind about permitting me a dance.”
“I would love to dance. If you are asking me, that is.”
“I most certainly am.”
As Lord Claremont led her out into the middle of the polished parquetry dance floor where all the other couples were gathering, Sophie’s eyes found Charlie and Lord Malverne. Their bright chestnut locks were easy to spot in the crowd, and then, of course, Lord Malverne stood half a head taller than most other gentlemen.
Guilt suddenly pinched Sophie’s heart. Was it awful of her to be yearning to dance with Lord Malverne when she was about to dance with Lord Claremont? Lord Malverne could have asked her; she was an acquaintance of the family after all. But then again, perhaps he was keeping his distance so other gentlemen like Lord Claremont would have the opportunity to be her partner. Although, it didn’t feel as if Lord Malverne had been “keeping his distance” when they were flirting. And in a most inappropriate manner.
Yes, all things considered, it was probably better that Lord Malverne didn’t dance with her.
But oh, she so wanted to . . .
As Lord Claremont slid an arm about her waist and caught her right hand in a gentle grip, Sophie realized with a jolt that they were assuming the position for a waltz, the most intimate of dances.
Her alarm must have shown on her face, as Lord Claremont said gently, “By your expression, it appears I should have asked if you waltz, Miss Brightwell. If you would prefer not to . . .”
Sophie met his soft gaze and immediately felt contrite for giving him the impression that she didn’t wish to dance with him. “I’ve had dancing instruction in the past and know how to waltz, my lord. I just never have at such a grand affair as this. This is my first ball. And my first dance.”
The light in his eyes was warm. “Ah, then I am honored to be your first, Miss Brightwell.”
The music swelled, and Lord Claremont began to expertly steer her about the floor. He was a gentleman in every respect. Even though the waltz required him to press her body against his during turns, he kept a respectful distance between them at all other times.
“You dance well, Miss Brightwell.” Lord Claremont smiled down at her after he executed a particularly tight turn and she followed without a misstep.
“It is easy when one’s partner is so skilled.”
Lord Claremont’s gloved hand squeezed hers gently. “Why thank you. I shall count myself a lucky man indeed, if it is the first of many dances.”
“I hope so too.” Again that twinge of guilt in the vicinity of her chest and the uncomfortable feeling that she might be telling an untruth returned. Lord Claremont, for all his handsome looks and smooth charm, didn’t stir her as another particular viscount did.
But then, she’d only just met Lord Claremont and they barely knew anything about each other. They’d met twice, and danced once. And for some reason she couldn’t fathom, he kept singling her out . . .
If he did wish to pursue her, she should at least consider his suit. She’d be foolish not to.
As they turned another corner, Sophie’s gaze slid across the room and snagged on Lord Malverne as he danced with Charlie. When their eyes met, he inclined his head and cast her a smile that made her heart flip in that peculiar way it always did.
It seemed her head and heart were at complete odds, and for the moment, there was nothing she could do about it.
* * *
* * *
Ah, so that’s the beguiling Miss Brightwell who has you so enthralled.”
Nate turned his gaze away from the dance floor where Claremont was waltzing with Sophie for the second time this evening and shot Gabriel a sardonic look. The earl’s features were shadowed by a nearby velvet curtain, but he couldn’t mistake the glint of mischief in his friend’s eyes. “Enthralled. I hardly think so.”
Gabriel snorted. “Really? You can’t take your eyes off her.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “I’m supposed to be watching her. I’m unofficially chaperoning her, remember?”
Gabriel’s mouth twitched with a smirk. “Call it what you like, my friend. I know the truth. You’re on your way to being well and truly smitten.”
Nate shifted his gaze back to the dancing couples again, seeking Sophie out. She was smiling up at Claremont in a way he didn’t like, but what could he do? Suddenly, bloody Langdale’s observations rankled more than they should. “I’m making sure Claremont behaves. It is a waltz after all.”
Gabriel shrugged. “He’s not so bad.” They watched in silence for a moment longer before he added, “She is fetching though. All that raven hair and big blue eyes framed by long, lush lashes. What was that poem Byron penned again? ‘She Walks in Beauty’ et cetera? Even though she’s not my type, I’m tempted to ask her to dance.”
Nate shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You keep your dirty hands off her. I know where they’ve been. What are you doing here anyway? This isn’t your sort of party.”
“Lady Astley asked me to attend. I haven’t seen her for a few days, so I thought why not?”
It was Nate’s turn to smirk. “And yet you suggest I’m the one who’s smitten.”
“I assure you this affair is purely carnal.”
Nate dipped his head. “Well, be careful,” he murmured. “Her husband is here tonight. I spied him heading for the billiard room when I was in the supper room a little earlier.”
Gabriel’s smile was pure devilry as he adjusted the cuffs of his black superfine evening jacket, as though he was preparing to head into battle. “What can I say? I like to live dangerously.” He clapped Nate on the shoulder again. “Adieu, my friend. If you’re up for it later on, Max and MacQueen are going to head to the Pandora Club around midnight.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Nate returned his attention to the dancing once more. On the other side of the dance floor, he spied Charlie talking to Lord Edgerton and another young buck he didn’t know.
Now Edgerton was one he needed to watch. Charlie
was wilder than most, and Edgerton had a dangerous edge to him, a bit like Gabriel. She’d be attracted to the dog, and he wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage. Again, he was a lot like Gabriel.
God, he really wished his father would take a bit more of a parenting role in regard to looking out for Charlie. He should be here, sorting the wheat from the chaff.
For all his faults as a parent, Nate couldn’t really blame his father for insisting he take his responsibilities as his son and heir more seriously. He had to grudgingly admit that he’d been lax in his duties as a landowner of late. But no matter how much his father wanted him to surrender to matrimony’s noose sometime in the future, he just didn’t know if he could.
He’d honestly rather charge headlong onto a battlefield than wed.
Guilt cramped his gut as his thoughts turned to Sophie. He’d thoroughly compromised the girl, and if he were an honorable man, he’d be engaged to her right now, not toying with her as he went through the motions of trying to help her find a husband.
You mean Miss Brightwell. He had to stop thinking of her in such familiar terms. Easier said than done when he’d already been familiar with her. Too familiar.
And she clearly couldn’t forget that either. When she’d flirted with him earlier, when she’d suggested she needed tuition in kissing, his balls had tightened. In fact, they still ached now. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t been anywhere near a woman in weeks. Every time he’d been to the Pandora Club, he ended up gaming and drinking. Whoring had little appeal for him at the moment. He didn’t want to believe Gabriel was right—that he was smitten—but perhaps he was.
It was a sobering thought.
Christ, he needed a drink. And a woman. But not Sophie.
Definitely not Sophie.
A sweet-as-strawberries young woman like Sophie deserved better than what a jaded, never-get-anything-right rake like him could ever offer.
The waltz came to an end, and Nate watched Claremont ferry Sophie back to the watchful eye of his aunt. Arming himself with a glass of champagne, he then turned in the other direction. After he’d had a word with Edgerton, he was going to have a little fun.
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Page 14
