An Improper Proposal (The Distinguished Rogues Book 6) (20 page)

Louth’s shoulder brushed hers as he leaned close again. “Ignore the walls and concentrate on enjoying yourself. Try not to look up too often. I’ve heard that helps tremendously.”

She smiled brightly and caught the napkin the footman tried to lay in her lap. “I’ll do my best, my lord.”

His lips quirked into a smile and she trembled. She did like Louth but a future with him seemed so far away. She shook her head. She should have explained herself and set him free as soon as she’d had the chance.

Lord Acton cleared his throat a few times before he faced her. “How are you enjoying the season, Miss Hedley?”

“I am enjoying it very much, thank you.”

He sipped his wine and set the glass down carefully. “Have you attended many events?”

“Several.” She had seen him at many, but clearly his mind was elsewhere when they’d met. She didn’t bother to educate him as to the number.

He turned his glass on the spot. “Did you attend the Fairmont masquerade ball, by chance?”

Her mouth grew dry. That had been the first robbery she’d aided Talbot in. “I did but left early with a headache.”

A headache brought on by utter panic and disgust by what she’d done.

His gaze snagged on her face. “Early, you say?”

Riddled with remorse, Iris had later read every word printed about the masquerade and listened to every spec of gossip. She’d been terrified that her name would be linked to the theft of the Fairmont parure, a set of five perfectly matching emerald and diamond pieces. The gems had not been recovered.

“Yes. I don’t recall seeing you.” She swallowed as the fear she’d experienced that night returned. “Esme saw me home and to bed by eleven. She returned to the ball without me once I was settled. I hear it was great fun though, and truly scandalous. Some poor fellow even lost his trousers.”

He surveyed the guests around him and after a long moment spoke quietly to her. “I wonder perhaps if you had returned later.”

She glanced at him in confusion. “No. Why would I do that?”

“I had hoped.” He frowned at his white soup and winced. “I’ve been commissioned to aid the poor fellow who lost his trousers. However it is a difficult topic to broach. Please forgive me if the subject offends you. I don’t mean to be blunt but I have little time left in London.”

Iris sighed as tension left her. There had been wild speculation that whoever had stolen the lord’s trousers had done so on a dare, though what they were doing off the gentleman’s lower portion so they might be stolen boggled the mind. The trousers had never been recovered, and the gentleman not identified save for his white bum fleeing the masquerade on foot into the night.

She glanced at Acton and detected embarrassment. Was he really investigating the matter for a friend or had Lord Acton been the man to lose his trousers? Iris quickly turned her attention to her soup, puzzled by why someone would do that to him of all people. He was handsome, many women admired him. Had he tried to seduce a lady at the masquerade and come off second best?

“Oh,” she whispered as she made the connection. She had wondered what possible reason Whitney had to loath Lord Acton. Was she the one and Acton made a fool? “What happened?”

Acton paled. “Nothing. I believe that was the problem.”

Poor Acton. If he was the trouser-less man at the ball, he must long to learn the woman’s identity and to retrieve his clothing. It was no surprise he appeared so uncertain. He must not know what to make of that evening. “I am certain I did not meet the trouser-less man that night, my lord, or any night, for that matter. I went to sleep, I assure you.”

Lord Louth settled his hand on her spine. “Is there a problem, Acton?”

“A harmless query, nothing more,” Acton smiled but it did not reach his eyes.

Iris agreed too, determined not to add to the man’s discomfort.

“Was that a new horse you were riding in the park the other day?” Louth asked of Acton.

Acton pursed his lips and exhaled slowly. “Not exactly.”

He glanced along the table as Whitney burst out laughing. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I am training the brute for London traffic for a friend.”

Louth nodded. “How is it coming along? Seemed a fine-looking animal.”

“The beast was difficult at first but he’s finally doing what he should as long as I’m firm. Another few weeks and I hope I’ll be able to send the horse back to its owner.” The men continued to talk over her head about the training of horses and when she finished her soup, she sat back in her chair and merely listened. Louth appeared very interested in the topic and comfortable with Lord Acton. Iris wished she could feel the same. She might not be the focus of attention tonight but with every word or movement she made, she felt as if she were being judged.

Louth stroked her leg before leaning away and resuming his meal. Iris struggled to breathe properly. She would miss how his touch made her feel powerful, beautiful and, above all else, wanted. How much, she didn’t want to contemplate.

Across the table, Lady Hallam and Lord Daventry began to whisper, casting the occasional glance in her direction. Iris adjusted her napkin in her lap and pretended not to notice she was being spoken of.

She cast a speculative glance along the length of the table as the meal progressed at her fellow diners. Esme and Lord Windermere were engaged in an animated discussion she could not make out. For a pair that constantly squabbled, they never lacked for topics to discuss and could do so for hours on end. The older man appeared well entertained by Esme’s conversation though, so all seemed well there for the time being.

She caught Whitney watching Acton once. The corner of her mouth turned down and she then turned her attention to charming the duke into laughter.

When half-dozen footmen trouped into the room to clear the last course, Iris regarded their arrival with considerable relief. She couldn’t stay in this room another moment.

The Ettington drawing room was a large space that suited the marchioness so much better than the dining room. Filled with comfortable chairs and hothouse flowers, Iris was instantly at ease. She glided between the guests and took a cup of tea from a waiting servant.

“My dear, I must thank you.”

She turned to find Lady Taverham smiling down upon her. “Oh, how so?”

“You proved me correct, and of late that has been very rare.” She grinned. “I know it’s not been announced and my timing is always terrible, but I just want you to know you’re always welcome to visit.”

“Thank you.”

She linked her arm through Iris’s and guided her to a settee apart from everyone. “I’ve known Martin since before I was married and his obvious happiness makes me very glad he’s finally ready to settle down. Many have tried to capture his attention before.”

Iris grimaced.

“There,” Lady Taverham crowed in triumph. “That is how I knew you loved him. It is a horrible sensation, isn’t it?”

Iris stilled. “What is?”

“Loving someone that someone else wishes to have too.” The marchioness accepted a cup of tea from a footman. When he went away, she continued, “I have spent most of my marriage feeling the same way.”

She stared at the woman next to her. “How do you bear it?”

“I didn’t.” She grimaced. “I ran away from the situation, which I now know was a mistake. I can never change the past but I can help you. Don’t doubt him. If Martin has offered, he means it. If you listen to gossip and start to wonder how deep our friendship goes, I promise you our admiration is nothing stronger than that of a brother or sister. He’s fallen for you.”

That was the worst news she’d ever heard. He’d be even more hurt by her betrayal if he loved her. “Oh, my lady.”

“And do call me Miranda when we’re alone. Please. I find my title an encumbrance at times to forming honest friendships at my age.”

“Attempting to avoid the conventions again, Merry?” Lady Ettington joined them with a laugh. She wagged her finger. “As my sister-in-law always warns us—you can never truly belong in society unless you adopt your haughtiest mannerisms with everyone you meet, and heaven forbid any hint of real friendship.”

 
Miranda rolled her eyes in a very unladylike manner and laughed. “You were always an unruly child, Pixie, and it gladdens my heart that Virginia’s nonsense warnings have fallen on deaf ears. Besides, we all need someone to rebel against the conventions with.”

Iris grew uncomfortable as the pair bickered over their natures with mock ferocity. They were friends, and judging by the topics discussed, it seemed they’d forgotten her presence. She set her cup aside and excused herself for the retiring room. She needed a moment alone before she carried out tonight’s plan. When she returned to the drawing room, she would remain on her feet, circulate through the crowd and open the window.

Then tomorrow she’d break with Louth and cry herself hoarse.

She did love him, but that was never part of any plan.

Sixteen

Martin had eaten far too much to be considered good for him but he was so exceedingly happy with the evening and his life that he didn’t care for a change. The women had retired to the drawing room for tea and only the men remained in the dining room, drinking port and smoking cigars. He was confidant Iris was enjoying herself tonight, aside for the shock of their host’s dining room. “Excellent dinner, Ettington. But when are you going to rid yourself of the grim beasts overhead?”

“Never.” He grinned. “My wife is of the opinion they should stay exactly where they are, and for the reason I had them placed on the walls.”

Martin shook his head at the news. “They do also deter women with no designs whatsoever on you aside from thinking well of you.”

The marquess handed out refills and raised his glass. “To my wife.”

“To Pixie!” the gentlemen agreed en masse, laughing with good humor. The marquess’s wife, known as Pixie among intimate acquaintances, had brought many changes to the marquess’s life. Not the least was more frequent parties with friends when they were in London. She made no attempt to hide her contempt for women who thought to flirt with her husband, either.

Lord Acton joined them. “I’ve been meaning to ask, why Pixie?”

Ettington sat forward, rubbing his hands together. “Trouble always seemed to follow my wife when she was younger and the name stuck. I imagine she’s planning to lead Miss Crewe into another of her mad schemes that I’m sure to regret not stopping later.”

Martin tossed back his port. “My cousin doesn’t need help. She can get into trouble all on her own.”

“I am sure you are correct,” Exeter agreed, joining them after refilling his glass. “Quite outspoken for someone so young.”

Martin winced. He’d been watching his cousin at dinner and had tried not to groan every time she’d addressed the duke directly. He’d hoped she’d behaved but perhaps she’d fooled him. “I apologize if she’s given offence, Your Grace.”

The duke waved his hand. “None required. It’s not every day that a young lady is brazen enough to suggest it is high time I stop mucking around and found myself a wife.”

His friends chuckled with varying degrees of mirth at the idea of the duke taking on a wife. The duke was a bachelor, well over fifty, and had been firmly pointed away from matrimony all his life. Martin could not imagine him wed, nor even courting a woman. Was Whitney after the duke for a husband?

He could barely believe she’d consider someone so old but who knew with that girl. He’d have to watch his cousin closely. A scandal involving the duke that did not end in a marriage could ensure he might never get her off his hands.

“I’m cursed,” he murmured to the duke.

Exeter smiled benignly. “There, there. Why so glum when you have the undivided attention of a pretty woman hanging on your every word at dinner?”

He liked the idea that Iris yearned for his attention very much so he tried to keep his smile within reason. “Did she?”

The duke set his port aside. “She did indeed. Her father and I met at school you know, and I recall he spent one summer at my estate because he had nowhere else to go. No other family unfortunately. Pleasant sort. Brilliant at one time. A shame what happened to him.”

Martin glanced around them carefully to see who was nearby. Acton had retreated while they’d spoken of Whitney, and Ettington was pouring refills for their friends. Martin was dying to know what had caused Alexander Hedley’s disappearance from society so thoroughly. He’d begun to fear the man was dead. “What happened to him?”

“Lost the lot. Home. Second wife ran back to her family. A string of bad investments ruined everything.”

Martin nodded. That much he already knew. “So he fled his creditors?”

“My dear sir, Alexander is a man of his word, or was at one time.” The duke declined another port and waited till his nephew had gone away before speaking again. “It is kind that you’ve taken an interest in Alexander’s daughter but remember you are a bachelor of means, and must guard your wealth and reputation. Alexander was particularly obstinate about accepting help when it happened, and I am ashamed to say I took him at his word that he would recover on his own. Their situation slipped my mind until recent events, but a man rarely ventures to such a place to be reminded.”