Sophie drew a steadying breath and curved her mouth into a smile she hoped would approach serene if not altogether inviting. “I know. But surely my gown counts for something. As does yours, Charlie. That shade of primrose yellow suits you perfectly.”
Charlie slid her an arch smile. “I’m sure it’s the low cut of my neckline that will sharpen the interest of the gentlemen here, rather than the color.”
Sophie couldn’t argue with that. It was true there was an ample amount of Charlie’s bosom on show this evening, far more than she would feel comfortable displaying. But then, Charlie’s bust was more eye-catching than her own, much smaller one. “Do you think Lord Claremont will put in an appearance?” she asked, scanning the room once more for the sight of the handsome dark-haired viscount.
“He’d be mad not to,” said Charlie, her tone stiff with indignation. “When I next see him, I’ve a mind to scold him for ignoring you for so long.”
“I’m sure he’s had good reason.”
“Be that as it may, he could have sent word, or at the very least flowers—” Charlie broke off and nodded toward the arched doorway leading into the ballroom. “Look, Nate has arrived at long last.” She suddenly grasped Sophie’s arm. “Oh, my word. His friend Gabriel, the Earl of Langdale, is with him.”
Oh, my word was an understatement. Sophie’s eyes widened at the sight of Lord Langdale. She recalled Charlie had once described the earl as magnetic, and she hadn’t been wrong. Indeed, most of the women in the room seemed to have turned their attention toward him and Lord Malverne. Sophie could almost hear the collective gasp and the ripple of feminine awe that followed in the wake of their progress across the room.
Dressed in black save for his white shirt and cravat, with a tumble of black unruly curls framing his face, Lord Langdale reminded Sophie of a beautiful fallen angel as he prowled toward them. Lord Malverne in his perfectly tailored navy blue evening coat and matching breeches looked equally handsome. However, for all the Earl of Langdale’s beauty, it was Lord Malverne who never failed to make her breath catch.
Sophie swore all eyes were on them as Lord Malverne and Lord Langdale stopped before her and Charlie.
Lord Malverne bowed as they both bobbed polite curtsies. “Good evening, sister dearest. You look well. And Miss Brightwell, you are just as lovely as always.” He inclined his head toward the earl and continued, “May I introduce my friend, Lord Langdale?”
“Of course.” Sophie held out her hand, and the charismatic earl bent over it, brushing her gloved knuckles with a gentlemanly kiss.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Brightwell. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His startling green eyes sparkled with mischief. “All good of course.”
Sophie blushed but managed to reply, “I’m pleased to hear it.” Casting Lord Malverne a glance, she noted his shoulders had tightened and his smile had slipped a fraction. He looked as though he wanted to hit Lord Langdale. What had he said about her to his friends? But perhaps Lord Langdale was only teasing her.
“Lord Langdale, it’s been far too long,” declared Charlie.
“Indeed it has, Lady Charlotte.” Lord Langdale bent over her hand as well. “I’m not sure why your brother keeps you hidden away. It is most unfair of him to deprive the world of your fair company.”
“It’s to keep curs like you from sniffing about her, that’s why,” said Lord Malverne with a smile that wasn’t unfriendly.
Lord Langdale placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me, Nate. You know I would never act with dishonor when it comes to your sister. Or indeed, the fair Miss Brightwell.”
Lord Malverne cocked a brow. “Good to hear it.”
The country-dance came to an end, and Lord Langdale smiled at Charlie. “Lady Charlotte, would you care to dance?”
Ignoring her brother’s scowl, Charlie smiled back brightly. “I would love to, my lord.” She passed her champagne flute to her brother and took the earl’s proffered arm.
Lord Malverne tossed back Charlie’s discarded drink. “Would you care to dance, Miss Brightwell?” he asked in a low velvet voice that made her shiver and her toes curl.
Sophie glanced at the other couples. It appeared a waltz was about to start. She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please. I would like that. Very much.”
Lord Malverne took her champagne and handed it and Charlie’s empty glass to a nearby footman before tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
I’m going to waltz with Lord Malverne. Nate. Even though her heart had begun dancing, Sophie nevertheless tried to affect a calm demeanor as Lord Malverne placed one large hand at her back and then, clasping her right hand, gathered her closer. Much closer than Lord Claremont had.
How could it be that only this man’s touch set her pulse racing and her skin tingling with delicious sensation? His hands seemed to sear her, even through her clothes. When she looked up at his face, his gaze was so hot, she thought she might melt. “Are you ready, Miss Brightwell?” he murmured.
She swallowed and licked her lips, not altogether certain his question pertained to the waltz. “Yes.”
His smile made her breath catch. “Good.”
The orchestra began to play and Lord Malverne swept her into the dance. For such a large man, his movements were light and graceful, and Sophie found she didn’t have to concentrate on the steps at all. He made waltzing seem effortless.
After they’d covered half the floor, when she’d started to become slightly accustomed to the novel sensation of having Lord Malverne’s lean hips pressed against hers, she ventured a comment. “You’ve been busy, my lord. I’ve barely seen you these past few days. But I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“So am I,” he said, his dark eyes caressing her face in a way that made her already flushed cheeks heat all the more. “I’ve been remiss in my chaperoning duties. It’s time to whet the appetites of the other gentlemen here so they’ll come flocking.”
Sophie glanced away, confused. His eyes said one thing, but his words made it clear that he still wasn’t interested in her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
She forced herself to smile and met his gaze. Just flirt. Keep the tone light. Don’t let him see how you really feel. “Nothing at all, my lord. It would appear that you’re the dog and I’m the juicy bone again. Is that right?”
He must have believed she wasn’t upset as his smile relaxed and his gaze grew warmer. “Perhaps this time I’m the cat and you’re the mouse.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re going to pounce on me?”
Mischief sparked in his eyes. “Either way, I have a mind to devour you. You look particularly delicious tonight.”
Sophie affected a pout, even as heat scorched her cheeks. “For shame, you put me to the blush with your wicked banter.”
He laughed, a wonderful, deep chuckle that curled around her. Through her. “I do love that about you, Miss Brightwell. That you are so easy to tease stirs me no end.”
“You are cruel indeed, my lord.”
“Unfortunately, I am.”
They danced for a little while more in silence. Sophie decided to just enjoy the moment, to memorize the details of this encounter so she could take them out and treasure them later when she was alone: the way Lord Malverne’s leg scandalously slid between hers during a particularly tight turn, the flex and ripple of his hard upper arm and shoulder muscles beneath her hand, the spicy musk of his cologne and the man himself. It was bittersweet dancing with him thus. He was everything she wanted, but any interest or desire he demonstrated was clearly all for show.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for arranging invitations to Lord and Lady Astley’s ball, my lord,” Sophie said as they waltzed past a laughing Charlie and Lord Langdale. The invitations to such events had been few and far between, and Sophie wondered if both she and Charlie
were still deemed as unsuitable by most arbiters of the ton’s ballrooms. It wouldn’t surprise her if that were indeed the case.
Lord Malverne shrugged a wide shoulder, his eyes on his sister and his friend. No doubt he was double-checking that the earl was behaving himself as he’d promised. “It’s Lord Langdale you should really be thanking. He was the one who arranged it after I called in a favor.”
“Charlie tells me he’s a good friend. That you both served in Wellington’s army together.”
“Yes. We did.”
Oh dear. Such a clipped reply. The lines bracketing Lord Malverne’s chiseled mouth had grown deeper, and the warmth in his eyes faded as he looked past her again. Sophie’s heart plummeted. “My apologies, my lord. I shouldn’t have said anything,” she murmured. “You must think me dreadful to fish so. About your time in the military.”
His gaze returned to her face, and the smile that curved his mouth was tinged with melancholy. “No. It’s all right. It’s true Lord Langdale and I served together. Along with two other very good friends. We won the war, but not all of our friends were so lucky to be there at the end. It was both the best and worst of times. But when all is said and done, it was an honor to serve.”
“You are a brave and good man, Lord Malverne.”
The viscount’s eyes glinted with an emotion Sophie didn’t dare to name. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking most of the time, Miss Brightwell.”
The waltz came to an end with a great orchestral flourish, and Lord Malverne escorted her back to the edge of the dance floor.
“Thank you again for the waltz, my lord,” Sophie murmured as he began to relinquish his hold on her.
He squeezed her fingers gently before he let go. “It was my pleasure, Sophie.”
Oh. What did that mean? He’d used her first name. Just as he’d done the other day when he tried to make amends for teasing her about her salacious reading habits. Just as he’d done when she thought he was going to kiss her . . .
“Sophie. Wasn’t that wonderful?” Charlie’s eyes glowed and her cheeks were flushed as she returned to Sophie’s side. “It’s such a shame Nate has forbidden Lord Langdale to court either of us, don’t you think? I swear that man is too divine.”
“Yes. It is a shame,” Sophie agreed as she watched Lord Langdale head toward Lord Malverne, who was now waiting by the billiard room door. “He’s very handsome.”
Charlie had forbidden her brother to court her too. But what if Lord Malverne was beginning to change his mind? He’d flirted with her shamelessly after all. He liked teasing her. He’d almost kissed her on the lips . . .
As she watched him disappear into the billiard room, Charlie gently tugged at her arm. “Come. Let’s go and sit near Aunt Tabitha to see if any men of her acquaintance would like an introduction or, indeed, a dance.”
Sophie had the sinking feeling it wouldn’t matter how many gentlemen she danced with tonight, she would only be thinking of one and how much she wanted him.
But the wanting isn’t one-sided . . . More than ever, she was certain of it.
She suddenly had an idea, an idea so mad and bold, it made her stomach flutter and her fingers tremble. Dare she carry out her plan?
On the way back to Aunt Tabitha, she helped herself to another glass of champagne to bolster her courage. And if she needed it, she’d have another.
The time had come for her to take charge.
* * *
* * *
Nate lounged against the door leading to the billiard room, champagne in hand, watching a laughing Sophie being swept around the dance floor by Timothy, Lord Edgerton. Cheeky bastard. Trust him to have asked her for a waltz. And unlike Claremont, he was holding her much too close.
Claremont. The man’s apparent lack of follow-through with Sophie confused him. He’d appeared keen enough, especially after their private conversation in Hyde Park. He wondered if Sophie’s feelings were hurt by the man’s obvious snub. Like most young women, she’d have been right to assume the viscount’s attention last week meant something. While he felt bad for her, the other, ungracious part of him was also relieved that Claremont had turned out to be a bit of a bounder after all.
But then, remember he asked you to pass on his regards to Sophie. But you didn’t.
Guilt pinched and he took a swig of champagne. Claremont could go to hell. If the viscount were serious, the least he could have done was send Sophie flowers or even a note if he hadn’t time to make a call or turn up anywhere else.
He was heartily sick of all this business, watching his sister and Sophie being wooed and courted by a pack of ne’er-do-wells or, worse, rakes that were so dissolute, they could only ever be described as blackguards. He’d already had to chase Rollo Kingsley, Baron Rochfort, away from Charlie and Sophie. From what Nate knew of the man, his tastes were dark, and a violent temper lurked beneath his smooth facade.
He wondered if there weren’t more scoundrels here tonight than usual simply because Lady Astley would have sent out most of the invitations.
Egad, the woman was brazen. But then, so was Gabriel. While they’d played a game of billiards, Lady Astley had made come-hither eyes at his friend from across the room. And now Gabriel had disappeared . . .
Considering the woman’s husband was here tonight, Gabriel was going to get himself killed if he wasn’t careful. Nate couldn’t imagine the Earl of Astley would take kindly to being cuckolded beneath his own roof during a ball he and his wife were hosting.
The waltz came to an end, and Nate spent a moment deciding whether he wanted something stronger to drink like brandy or another dance with Sophie.
He really should stick with the brandy. It was far less addictive.
Turning toward the billiard room again—earlier on he’d spied a footman lurking in a corner with a tray of brandy-filled glasses—his attention was caught by the sound of a violent commotion; the orchestra screeched to a halt as an angry male voice rent the merry atmosphere of the ball to shreds.
“You filthy bastard!”
Hell, bloody hell. Gabriel had been caught. He just knew it.
Several women screamed and another man shouted as Nate swung around just in time to see Lord Astley plant a punch in Gabriel’s face. His friend reeled backward and hit the floor.
Shit. Dropping his champagne glass, Nate darted around clusters of gaping guests until he reached the dance floor. Gabriel was already climbing to his feet.
Skidding to a halt on the parquetry tiles, Nate put his hands up in a placatory gesture. “Astley. Let’s take this outside. Your guests don’t need—”
“Don’t you tell me what to do in my own home,” the earl shot back, shoulders heaving. His gaze darted past Nate to his wife, Lady Astley, who stood white-faced and shaking a few feet away, and then back to Gabriel. His eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s you, isn’t it, Langdale? Don’t deny it. I should call you out.”
Gabriel straightened and, with barely a grimace, used his sleeve to wipe away the blood dripping from his split lip. “Yes. I’m afraid so, old chap,” he said in a tone as dry as ashes.
Astley’s face turned crimson. His eyes bulged. “Why you—” He launched himself toward Gabriel, but Nate, anticipating his attack, stepped between them. Catching the enraged earl by the shoulders, he used his weight to stop the forward momentum of the charge.
“Not here, Astley. Not here,” he gritted out, struggling to contain the earl. “There are better ways to handle this.” Turning his head slightly, he called out to Gabriel. “Go. Now.”
Gabriel didn’t need to be told twice. With a toss of his black curls, the Earl of Langdale stalked across the floor into the nearby drawing room, and then out through a set of French doors leading onto the back terrace.
“I’m going to kill him,” growled Astley as Nate released him. The earl flexed the bleeding knuckles of his
hand.
“That’s your business entirely.” Nate made a small gesture, indicating the guests around them. Whispers behind hands and fans had started up. “Shall we call it a night?”
The earl shook his head. “No need for that. I’ll be stuck with too much champagne and lobster.” He tugged at the lapels and the cuffs of his evening jacket, lifted his chin, and then strode over to his trembling wife.
“Madam.” He offered Lady Astley his arm, and after a moment in which she studied his face with suspiciously bright eyes, she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. To the room in general he called, “Carry on.”
Once the earl and countess had left the ballroom, it seemed the assembled guests all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
Nate did too. Christ, he really needed that brandy. But first he needed to check on his aunt, Charlie, and Sophie.
And then on Gabriel.
Five minutes later, he found Gabriel in the darkest corner of the deserted, rain-washed garden, smoking a cheroot by an ivy-clad wall and a dripping oak tree.
“I know I’m bloody mad,” he said in a low voice as Nate approached.
“We’re all a bit mad, my friend.”
Gabriel tipped his head back and blew smoke into the damp, cool night air. “True. Although some of us might be a bit more mad than others.”
“Do you love her?”
Gabriel ran a hand down his face. “This is going to sound bad, but no. No, I don’t.”
“Astley wants to gut and castrate you. I’m not sure in which order.”
“I know. The problem is, you and I both know that if he calls me out, he’s the one who’ll end up dead.”
Gabriel wasn’t boasting. It was true. He’d been one of the surest shots in Wellington’s army. He wouldn’t miss.
He drew on his cigar again and continued, “Call me a coward, call me lazy, call me callous, or simply a man with no honor, but I don’t fancy being arrested and hauled in front of the courts for killing a man in a duel. Especially when I feel nothing for his wife. I just couldn’t be bothered.”
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Page 17
