A Scandalous Deception (18 page)

At the moment, Marc would have been quite
happy to punch
Thurlstone
in the jaw for alluding to the
encounter, but opted to cross the room towards his old friend and
the group of men he was with instead. There was no need to start a
row as soon as he entered the club, not when a nice, strong warning
would do just as well, at least not yet.

Thurlstone lifted up a glass of whisky in
welcome as Marc approached the small gathering of men. “No bruising
at all, that I can see.” The reprobate
smirked
.

Marc balled his hand into a fist. “One more
word, Simon, and you won’t recognize yourself in the mirror
tomorrow.”

Thurlstone laughed, as he’d always been the
jovial sort and said, “Oh, it’s all in good fun.” Then he gestured
to an open spot across from him. “Come now, Marc. Stop scowling and
join us, will you?”

Marc glanced at Thurlstone’s companions and
immediately recognized the American from the other night as well as
some fellow he’d never met before. As the pair were fairly
unfamiliar, odds were neither of them would mention Carraway or
Lord Rotherby’s ballroom.

“Good to see you again,” Mr. Heaton
remarked.

“And you,” Marc grumbled as he dropped into
the overstuffed chair Thurlstone had indicated a moment before.
Then he nodded in the stranger’s direction. “Haversham,” he said in
greeting.

“Aaron Pierce,” the man returned. Another
American from his accent. What was it with Thurlstone and his
sudden affinity for Americans? Very odd, that. The earl hadn’t even
traveled as far north as Yorkshire, at least not to Marc’s
knowledge anyway.

“I had no idea there were so many Americans
in Town this Season.”

Heaton chuckled. “Just here on business.”

Business. How very tedious and boring. Marc
somehow managed to keep from yawning in response.

“Aye,” Thurlstone added, his chest puffed out
a bit proudly. “You are looking at Heaton, Pierce and
Masters
Shipping. Feel free to find yourself in awe.”

That answered it. Though why Thurlston had
joined a shipping company didn’t make a ton of sense. “Entering
trade, are you?” Marc lifted one brow in amusement. “How very
bourgeois.”

“Hardly,” Thurlstone replied, not appearing
insulted in the least. “It’ll be a grand adventure, I think.
America, the Caribbean, India, China.”

A grand adventure for a man who hadn’t even
made it to Scotland. Marc snorted. “A wonder you’re not calling it
Heaton, Pierce and Thurlstone.”

At that, the earl tossed back his head and
laughed once more. “Oh, for God’s sake, my father would roll over
in his grave.”

“With good reason,” Marc muttered under his
breath, but his old friend heard him just the same.

The earl shook his head and said to the
Americans, “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s been in a rotten mood
ever since Lord Carraway crashed his fist into his jaw in the
middle of a ballroom the other night.”

Marc narrowed his eyes on the loose-lipped
earl. “Next time I’ll do more than just dance with Felicity Pierce
and see how the fool likes that.”

Both Americans sucked in surprised breaths,
then the two exchanged a pair of rather worrisome expressions.
“Honestly, Aaron,” Heaton began, “I could have sworn I saw her the
other afternoon. But I thought—” his frown deepened “—Well, I
thought
she was just a figment of my imagination.”

“You
saw
her?” Pierce’s face took on a
quite frightening visage. “
Lissy
?”

“I do feel like I’m missing something of a
sudden,” Thurlstone said, sliding to the edge of his seat.

Aaron
Pierce
, Felicity
Pierce
.
It wasn’t a terribly uncommon name, but clearly there was some
connection. Who was the fellow? Some relative of Lady Felicity’s
late-husband or something? “Am I to take it you know the lady in
question?” Marc asked. “I understand she did live in Boston for a
time.”

“How the Hell…” Pierce’s voice trailed off,
though he refocused on his friend. “You saw her with your own
eyes?”

Heaton shrugged. “I thought perhaps she was a
sister or cousin of some sort. Felicity did have family here, after
all.”

“Felicity Pierce?” Thurlstone seemed to
finally catch on. “The Duke of Prestwick’s youngest daughter?”

The two Americans shared another fairly
disconcerting look. “She’s alive?” Heaton breathed out as though he
truly didn’t even believe his own words. “How could she be?”

Aaron Pierce’s hand balled into a much more
frightening fist than Marc’s had been. “My wife is
alive
?”
he asked incredulously, his gaze flicking to Thurlstone. “You know
her?”

The earl shrugged a bit. “The Felicity Pierce
I know is a widow, though I don’t know her all that well. Clearly,
Haversham knows her better than I do.”

Suddenly, all three men’s eyes were on Marc.
“Widowed three years,” he said because he had to say something.

“And just how well do you
know
her?”
Pierce demanded.

“Her sister is married to friend of mine,”
Marc replied evenly, hoping to diffuse the situation just a bit as
he certainly didn’t like the look in Pierce’s eye. The man appeared
quite fearsome, to be honest. Probably any man would be upset if he
found out his dead wife was alive, which was what had clearly
happened just a moment before. God knew Marc would hole himself up
inside his study and wish himself dead with a full decanter of
whisky if
his
wife suddenly emerged from the grave. But Marc
doubted he’d look as murderous as Pierce did just now. A bit of
dread settled in his belly. Something was most definitely
wrong.

“Friend?” Pierce barked.

“Lucas Beckford,” Thurlstone supplied. “He’s
an all right sort. Is she really your wife?”

“She really will be my late-wife when I get
my hands on her.” Pierce rose from his seat, paced a few steps away
and then turned back, spearing Heaton with a dangerous look. “Where
the Hell is she?”

Probably at the most fashionable event that
evening, wherever it happened to be. But if Aaron Pierce went in
search of the lady in his present condition, it wouldn’t bode well
for anyone. “She could be anywhere this evening,” Marc said
quickly, though he wasn’t certain why he was interfering in
something that was none of his concern. “Truly, anywhere. Probably
best to call on the lady in the morning at her home, I would
think.” Which would allow time for the man cool off just a bit,
though that was probably wishful thinking on Marc’s part.

“I can take you there in the morning,”
Thurlstone offered. “I’m certain there’s a reasonable
explanation.”

Then the earl was the only one of the
assembled men who thought so, but Marc didn’t say as much out loud.
Felicity Pierce had never been one to think her actions through
clearly, but this…whatever this was, was something of a most
grandiose nature. And with as angry as Aaron Pierce seemed to be,
it was probably in the lady’s best interest to find out her husband
was in Town before the man found her. A little warning was most
definitely in order.

Marc would rather not have Pierce know of his
plans, however, so he ordered a glass of whisky from a passing
footman and tried to appear as nonchalant as he possibly could. He
kicked his feet out in front of him and teased Thurlstone
mercilessly for a time about being in trade, even though the two
Americans paid very little attention to anything other than a few
hushed words between the pair of them. After a bit of time had
passed, Marc declared himself off to Madam Palmer’s for a quick
tumble and then said his leave.

As he retrieved his beaver hat from the
footman at the door, Marc asked quietly, “Do you happen to know
which is the most fashionable event this evening, my good man?”

The footman thought for a second and then
said, “I’ve heard several men discussing Lady Carteret’s soiree, my
lord.”

Carteret House. Felicity Pierce might very
well be there as it was someplace Marc would not be greeted warmly.
Lord Carteret was, after all, one of Lord Staveley’s oldest
friends. He might not even be allowed over the threshold. Best to
try Prestwick House first and see if the lady’s butler could be
persuaded to divulge his mistress’ destination for the evening.

Derbyshire. Of all the damned places Felicity
Pierce could have gone…Well, that wasn’t such a bad place, all
things considered, as it was a few days drive away. Still, it
wouldn’t be terribly easy to get word to her at her family seat
either. But Caroline Staveley could, at least that was what Marc
told himself as he stepped over the threshold of Lady Carteret’s
ballroom.

The truth, however, was that as soon as her
name had popped to his mind, Marc needed to see her again. Even if
she railed at him, even if she cursed his existence, even if she
looked at him as though he was the scourge of the Earth, at least
she would be looking at him.

He spotted her instantly through the crush,
but he always spotted her instantly. Such was his curse for falling
in love with another man’s wife. Laughing with a tall blonde who
was of no consequence, Caroline stood at the far end of the room,
the chandeliers above head making her dark curls look a bit reddish
under their glow. Marc’s mouth went dry at the sight of her.
Charming, delectable, utterly gorgeous. She was most definitely
wasted on that oaf Staveley. Life was the furthest thing from
fair.

She must have felt his eyes on her because
she glanced across the room and met his gaze. A second later, her
jaw took on a most stubborn jut and she averted her eyes quickly
from him. But it was no matter. She’d see him tonight. She’d talk
to him. With a little luck, he’d get more than that from her.

Marc pushed his way through the crowd,
ignoring the whispers in his wake. Whether they were discussing
Carraway’s infamous punch or the fact that Marc made a direct path
to society’s darling, Caroline Staveley, made no difference at all
to him, not with her this close and him having a reason that she
would finally speak to him.

He stopped right before her, ignoring the
woman to her side. “My lady,” he said, noting the gravely tone in
his own voice. “A dance, if you please.”

Caroline heaved a rather unhappy sigh as she
lifted her gaze to his once more. “I think I’ve made myself rather
clear, Lord Haversham. But in case you weren’t paying attention,
what would please me immensely is to never lay eyes on
you
for the rest of my days. Please do go bother someone else.”

He’d hardly let that deter him. Marc nodded
once. “You have made that quite clear, my dear, but I fear that a
mutual friend of ours is in a bit of trouble and needs your
help.”

That ought to be enigmatic enough to spark
her curiosity. If there was one thing Caroline Staveley was, it was
curious. And meddlesome. Both were qualities he admired in her, and
they’d be her undoing in the end.

Caroline’s pretty brow furrowed and she
seemed to assess his face for signs of deception. Then she glanced
to her left and said, “Hannah, I’m just going to take in a bit of
air on the veranda, in case anyone needs me.” Then she turned on
her heel and started towards the pair of large glass doors at the
end of the ballroom without even a glance back over her
shoulder.

There was, of course, no need to worry that
he wouldn’t follow her. Marc would follow her to the ends of the
Earth as long as there was breath in his lungs. He stepped out
through the doors and the cool wind on the veranda whipped about
his hair, but he wasn’t chilly in the least, not with Caroline
within an arm’s reach.

She turned around to face him, her arms
folded across her chest, which only served to lift those tempting
mounds of hers a bit higher for his gaze. Damn it all, what he
wouldn’t give just to touch one of them…

“I do hope you’re not lying to me,” she said
rather waspishly. “My husband is just inside Carteret’s study.”

As though Staveley’s presence meant anything
to him. Unfortunately, the oaf’s presence meant something to her.
Marc shook his head. “I don’t believe I have ever lied to you,
Caroline.”

She narrowed her eyes on him at the use of
her Christian name. “I’m not about to argue that fact, my lord. So
simply tell me, what do you want?”

You
, he wanted to say; but that was
not why he’d come, not really. “I think Felicity Pierce is in
trouble.”

“Lissy?” She scoffed. “The only trouble she
has is you chasing after her skirts.”

“Jealous?” he asked before he could stop
himself.

She pursed her lips, which only made him want
to taste them again. Then she said, “That is the last time I listen
to you and your tales of friends in trouble, Lord Haversham,” as
she started to brush past him.