Going Rogue (11 page)

Ophelia stood, her face a vibrant shade of pink. “What a surprise.” She inclined her head toward Meredith. “You remember Miss Castle, from the opera?”

Derek sauntered over, the attention of the room focused entirely on him. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Marshall. I wanted to make certain the flowers I sent you were to your liking.”

“Roses are my favorite.” Ophelia smiled timidly as she looked over at an obscenely large floral arrangement sitting atop the piano. “They’re quite beautiful. Thank you.”

Meredith gasped. It was gorgeous—a flagrant display of pink, orange, and red roses, with heads the size of her fist. The modest bouquet she’d received from Mr. Marshall looked to be little more than a nosegay in comparison to the veritable garden Derek had sent Ophelia. She could only imagine the small fortune he’d spent.

“And what about you, Miss Castle? Do you approve?” he asked, one cocky eyebrow challenging her to answer.

She was temporarily blindsided by the memory of Derek giving her a handful of posies he’d stolen from his mother’s garden when they were twelve. She quickly shook it off. “I suppose.”

Ophelia looked over at her, and swallowed noticeably. She looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen her before. And that was saying a lot.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Sutherland?” Garrett interrupted, gesturing toward the empty chair next to her own.

She stiffened. Even from across the room, Derek’s presence was overwhelming. His face, his size, his smell—it battered her senses. It took every ounce of self-control not to gawk, wondering just how he’d become that way. Had he always been like that and she’d missed it somehow? Exactly how does one learn to be all-consuming?

No sooner than Derek had sat down, Ophelia stood up, her face beet-red. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find some refreshments.” She scurried out of the room, leaving the three alone.

Meredith felt a surge of pity toward the poor girl. Derek’s close proximity made her feel skittish—she could only imagine the sheer terror that Ophelia was experiencing.

“Brandy, Sutherland?” Garrett walked to a cabinet, various sized crystal decanters decorating the top of it.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Derek replied, crossing one ankle over his knee.

Meredith noticed the polished Hessian. His boots were immaculate and quite expensive—a far cry from the times he’d made due with thin soles and worn leather.

Garrett picked up an empty decanter. “It looks like we’re all out. I’ll go find another.”

He strode out of the room, inadvertently leaving the two alone together.

Derek looked around. There were a few footmen stationed about, but for the most part, he was free to speak candidly with his old friend. An opportunity five years in the making.

Sitting rigidly in her chair, Meredith didn’t bother to look at him. But he stared at her—comparing the woman before him to the girl he used to know. Her skin still had that youthful, sun-kissed glow and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose hadn’t faded away completely. She never could seem to remember her bonnet. Her hair was still the color of corn silk. She’d filled-out; her breasts and hips fuller than he remembered. Probably from all the lounging around. In Middlebury, she’d walked everywhere—her figure almost
too
thin. She displayed her curves to her advantage though, wearing a clingy purple dress with flounces all about the bosom. It really was a silly gown, but no different from what the other women he’d seen promenading through Mayfair wore.

He sighed. What he’d give to see her in a plain muslin gown, with her hair left hanging down her back.

That was when she was most beautiful.

Derek scolded himself, ashamed for having allowed the memory to creep back in. That girl was gone and he’d be wise to remember it.

She was still facing forward, undoubtedly aware of the precarious position their hosts had left them in. He grinned—his prey was waiting.

“Miss Castle, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s just fine, Mr. Weston.” Her fine porcelain features were expressionless, and she looked very much like the marble busts that decorated the space.

“It’s Lord Sutherland,” he corrected. He was rewarded by an almost imperceptible twitch of her jaw.

“Of course,
Lord
Sutherland,” she repeated. “How foolish of me to have forgotten.”

He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You don’t seem to be overly thrilled at my arrival in London.”

“I’m simply surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

He could have sworn the chill in her voice lowered the temperature of the room several degrees. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

“Well, you’re certainly full of something.” Finally, she turned to him, smiling politely as ever.

He coughed into his hand and sat up. “Miss Castle? Is it only my imagination or do you not like me very much?”

Meredith tilted her head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?”

She knew full well what he meant. “This frostiness of yours is completely unwarranted, not to mention completely irrational. I mean, I can’t for the life of me think of what
I’ve
done to earn your wrath. If memory serves me correctly, which I’m sure it does, then I know I am not the offending party here.”

She stared at him for a moment, narrowing her gaze just before answering. “I suppose I just don’t care much for you,
Lord
Sutherland.”

“And why is that exactly? What possible reason could you have not to like me?”

“Because this isn’t really you.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “But it is.
This
is who I am, now.”

Meredith shook her head. “It’s not at all who you are. You seem to have forgotten that I knew you long before you adopted this . . .” She waved a hand over the length of him. “. . . ridiculous persona.”

He felt a pang in his chest, which only served to irk him further. “I’ll have you know that I’ve worked quite hard to become the man I am today, to cultivate this persona. And I object to you calling it ridiculous.”

“Well, it is.” She folded her arms across her chest and arched a pretty brow. “You’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

“How exactly am I pretending?”

“This whole Earl business . . .”

“But I am an Earl.”

“It’s all of it—your clothes and the way you carry yourself.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes? It costs a fortune to look like this.”

“Exactly!” Finally, she was beginning to show a little pep. “When have you ever cared about such things?”

Derek formed a steeple with his hands, bringing the points up to his mouth. “So let me get this straight. You don’t like me because I’ve
bettered
myself?”

“Bettered?” She snorted. “Your words, not mine.”

He could hardly believe the little hypocrite was faulting him for the very qualities she’d once deemed to be all-important. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“You’ve changed, Derek.” She spit the words as if they were the worst insult she could muster.

He shrugged. “And why do you care? You didn’t like me before.”

“That’s not true,” she proclaimed without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

She’d spoken too loudly. The two of them looked at each other, the silence of unspoken truths hanging heavy between them.

Clatter coming from the doorway startled them both from their stare. “I’m so sorry!” Ophelia walked in with her brother. “I had no idea Garrett left you two alone. You’ll have to forgive him, he’s socially backward.”

“What’s the harm? I was only gone for a few minutes.” Garrett laughed, suddenly stopping after he’d seen the two of them. “Did I miss something?” He looked from Derek to Meredith, then back to Derek again.

Meredith relaxed a bit, smiling prettily at Mr. Marshall. “Lord Sutherland and I were just reminiscing a bit. We both come from the same village.”

It was an artful smile, well-practiced. He knew how women like her worked now. Beauty was her armor, and her smile was the shield.

Ophelia clasped her hands together. “What a coincidence!”

“And you’ve never met before?” Garrett queried, still not looking too happy.

“Actually, we have.” Derek spoke before Meredith had a chance to answer. She stared him down, her eyes warning him not to reveal just how well they really did know each other.

“But it was a long time ago,” she interjected, her eyes daring him to contradict her.

He didn’t.

The explanation appeared to satisfy everyone, and the two siblings joined them for tea. Every so often Garrett would look up from his cup and eye the two of them, but kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. Miss Marshall remained relatively quiet, content with letting Meredith lead the conversation.

Dear, sweet, Miss Marshall. He’d been intrigued by the young girl upon meeting her in Brussels. She was beautiful, a petite brunette with a face like a doll. She was smarter than any man he’d ever spoken with before and refreshingly genuine, unlike most women he knew.

That’s why a life of travel worked so well for him. He had no expectations of the women he encountered, and vice versa. They knew exactly what their role in his life was to be—a way to pass the time, nothing more.

But he was an Earl now. And with such an exalted title, came equally towering expectations. He needed to find someone to run his household while he was away. And there was that whole business about providing an heir that he couldn’t very well do alone. All things considered, Miss Ophelia Marshall seemed to fit the bill quite nicely.

He watched as she took a dainty nibble from the side of her biscuit.

And then there was Meredith, who was eagerly devouring a piece of lemon cake. She always did have the appetite of a farmhand. The two couldn’t be more different.

“Miss Marshall, do you have any plans for the evening?” Derek asked, making the customary small talk that he hated, but knew was required.

Ophelia set down her biscuit, her face flushing. She was such a timid creature. He felt as if he needed to approach her as one would an injured animal, with a quiet voice and slow movements so not to frighten her.

“Not tonight. And you, Lord Sutherland?”

“My cousin, Lord MacCalistair, was going to introduce me around White’s.”

“
You’re
joining White’s?” Garrett asked.

Garrett was glaring at him again. It wasn’t the first time Derek had found himself on the receiving end of a peer’s obvious disdain. Even though his title and fortune was a worthy enough invitation into their world, his lack of formal education and proper rearing would always make him an intruder in the closed Society he’d unwittingly become a part of.

“It would appear so,” he declared, gleefully basking in the man’s contempt. “Brayan thought it would benefit me to establish a membership at one of the clubs here in Town.”

“So, you’ve finally decided to stay in London long-term?” Garrett sneered.

What he wouldn’t give to remove that silver spoon from Garrett’s mouth and shove it elsewhere. “I’m not quite certain where the wind will take me, Mr. Marshall. But I do like to make the most of whatever situation I’m in. Apparently, White’s is the place to be.”

“You do know you have to have a current member sponsor you—to vouch for your character?”

Derek swirled his brandy around his glass. “Fortunately, I met a man who’ll do just that. He’s a duke, I believe.”

“You don’t even know his name?” Meredith chimed in. “And he was willing to risk his own membership in support of you?”

He shrugged. “He knew mine well enough, and that’s all that mattered. It turns out he’d already heard quite a bit about me and was so impressed that he was willing to take the risk.”

Garrett was seething now, and Meredith looked equally perturbed.

It would appear as if his job here was done.

Chapter 14

Meredith sat at her vanity, rereading the letter she’d received that morning from her mother.

She wanted a ridiculous sum of money this time. Some of her step-father’s old debts had surfaced and if she didn’t pay them, she’d lose the house in Middlebury.

She’d approached Aunt Cynthia, asking if perhaps she could give her mother a small loan, just enough to get her through this month’s crisis. As usual, Cynthia refused, mentioning something about her limited funds.

When Meredith had received the first of her mother’s many requests, she’d gone to her aunt for assistance. Cynthia told her not to consider lending her mother a single pound, explaining that it wasn’t acceptable for a young lady to deal with money. She’d always thought the explanation selfish, and resented her for not making more of an effort to help her poor mother.

She’d done what she could, sending her pin money, and selling off her jewelry. It had been enough . . . until now.

Here she was on the verge of turning four and twenty, at the cusp of losing her ribbon, without a single prospect in mind.

She’d sacrificed everything, and for what?

Seeing Derek again, the pain, the sadness—it had all come flooding back to her. All her efforts had been in vain. And here he was, back in her life, practically gloating about the success he’d become.

And she was a failure.

“Are you ready for your gown?” Lizzie asked, holding up a white dress resembling a toga.

The party—somehow she’d almost forgotten. The invitation indicated the theme would be
A Night in Athens
, whatever that meant. The Duke of Glastonbury didn’t throw
parties
, he held
events
that usually required a costume, fitting whatever outlandish theme he’d chosen. Attendance by the Ribbons wasn’t just encouraged, it was practically required.

“Miss, the dress?”

“Just give me a minute, Lizzie,” she bit back. “I’m not certain I want to go tonight.”

“But the carriage—”

“One minute, please.”

“But your Aunt insists you go—”

“Enough!” Meredith yelled. The look in her maid’s eyes instantly made her regret the outburst. But it had been building, piling on, becoming too much for her.