Lady Beresford's Lover (13 page)

She glanced at Lord Oliver. He was handsome, sophisticated, charming, and completely false. It had taken her a while to put her finger on exactly what it was that was off about him. He laughed, flirted, and smiled, all without any emotion. She would prefer Nick to Lord Oliver.

Good God, what was she thinking? Nick was the last gentleman she wanted to be with.

The back of her neck itched. As she made the next turn, Silvia glanced around. She should have known. Nick. Lounging against one of the many columns separating the ballroom from the deep alcoves where the older ladies sat. With him was a man she’d never seen before. Nick stared back at her, and she looked away. It wouldn’t do at all for her to allow Nick Beresford to think he had anything other than her disdain.

“You’re staring at her again,” Hawksworth commented.

“I’m just making sure nothing happens to her.” Nick dragged his gaze away from Silvia Corbet. Damned chit. Ever since she had turned sixteen, he had not been able to get her out of his head. They had talked of marriage, yet now he was expected to try to wed Vivian Beresford. Although there probably wasn’t much chance of that happening, she was doing an excellent job avoiding him. What the devil was he supposed to do?

“And what, exactly, do you expect to happen to your young lady on Lady Framingham’s ballroom floor?”

Blast Hawksworth. Nick growled. “She is not
my
young lady.”

“So you say, but whoever she is, what do you think will happen to her?”

His eyes had strayed to Silvia again. “I don’t trust Lord Oliver.”

“Well, you have a point there.” Hawksworth finished off his wine and gave the glass to a footman. “He’s said to be playing deep recently.”

That didn’t bode well for Silvia. “Is he into the money-lenders?”

Hawksworth made a point of inspecting his glove. “I don’t know, but I could find out. If it’s important to you, that is.”

“No one else seems to be watching out for her, so I suppose I’d better do it. Where the hell is her chaperone?” Nick pretended to study the room, but Silvia was the only one who commanded his attention.

“Over in the northeast quadrant of the ballroom speaking with Lady Bellamny.” Hawksworth shuddered.

“Isn’t she your godmother? I wish you would stop acting like a blasted fop.”

“Not a fop, dear one.” Hawksworth flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket. “I have decided to be an Original. I’ll take part in all the sports, but at the same time dress as well as the Dandies. My valet agrees I shall be able to replace Brummell.”

Nick started to scowl, but laughter shot out. “You’re as bored as I am.”

“Much, much more so.” Hawksworth lowered his quizzer. “At least you have your estate to keep you busy, while I’m supposed to pretend to love the Season.”

“I’m surprised the duke isn’t trying to get you married.”

“You really do not have a wonderful grasp of my family.” Hawksworth raised a sardonic brow. “Now that I have proved my ability to lead men, I am supposed to dance to my father’s tune. An heir is the last thing he is concerned about. Did you know he began naming the boys in Latin numbers because there are so many? Aside from that, I have always had the feeling he does not care for me as much as he does for my brothers and sisters.”

“You’ve never said that before. Why?”

“He and my mother didn’t get along well at all. I suppose if I didn’t look so much like her it would be different.”

Silvia caught Nick’s attention again. “Where is he taking her?”

Hawksworth straightened, shoving himself off the pillar. “Outside. It appears as if you were right to be concerned.”

Before he had finished his sentence, Nick had started making his way around the edge of the room, his friend following close behind, just as they had in the army.

Silvia and Lord Oliver were not far from the French windows to the terrace, when Nick heard her say, “This is perfect. There is a slight breeze.”

“It will be much cooler on the terrace itself.”

“I have no doubt, but my shawl is with Lady Telford, and I do not wish to catch a chill.”

He hung back. If she could handle the situation, he would let her. God knew she wouldn’t thank him for interfering.

“Very well then, perhaps another time.” Lord Oliver’s voice was calm, but there was a hint of frustration underlying his drawl. “I’ll escort you back to her ladyship.”

Silvia nodded her head once. “Thank you, my lord.”

Nick started to trail her at a reasonable distance when a gloved hand, adorned with rings, stopped him. “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance, sir.” An older woman with a purple turban complete with large floppy feathers addressed Hawksworth. “Hawksworth, make the introductions, if you would.”

Nick wanted to bark a laugh as his friend paled.

Hawksworth bowed. “My lady, allow me to introduce the Earl of Beresford. My lord, Lady Bellamny, my godmother.”

Ah, the dragon of the
ton
. Only Almack’s patroness had as much influence. “My lady, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, you’re one of the few young men who think so.”

He choked, quickly turning it into a cough.

“I’ll leave you now before you have apoplexy.” She patted his arm. “Miss Corbet is safely back with Lady Telford. If you wish to court her, here is your chance.”

It was apparently Hawksworth’s turn to change a laugh into a cough.

“You misunderstand,” Nick said firmly. “I have no interest in the lady, nor does she have any in me.”

“Indeed.” Lady Bellamny leaned toward him a bit. “In that case, the two of you should not spend so much time watching one another.”

Before Nick could think of a reply, she left to accost another innocent guest.

“Better you than me,” his friend muttered. “Thank you for absolutely nothing.”

Hawksworth shrugged. “When it comes to Lady Bellamny, it’s each man for himself. The woman scares me to death when she’s in Town, and I have known her all my life. However, if you wish to marry she will do all she is able to assist you into the parson’s mousetrap.”

Nick scanned the ballroom. Silvia was being led out to dance with a man of middling height who looked to be several years older than he. “Who is she with now?”

“Lady Bellamny?”

“No, Miss Corbet.”

Hawksworth fixed his quizzing glass on the dance floor. “Bumfield. He is a widower with several children. Perfectly harmless.” Nick must have done something, for the next thing out of his friend’s mouth was, “Why the devil don’t you just ask her to stand up with you?”

“She won’t do it,” he answered, hoping his tone wasn’t as petulant as he felt.

“Oh, I think she will. As long as there is a space left on her card. After all, if she turns you down, she can’t dance for the rest of the evening.”

Nick had forgotten that small nicety. She would probably annihilate him later, but it might be worth it. “Do you know Lady Telford?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’ll have to introduce me. I plan to do a bit of reconnaissance before springing the trap.”

Hawksworth shook his head. “You were in the army for far too long.”

“Be that as it may.” Nick grabbed his friend’s arm. “I need an introduction, and you will need to perform it. And I was in only a year longer than you.”

A few minutes later, Nick bowed and Hawksworth did his duty.

“It is a pleasure, my lord.” Lady Telford glanced from Hawksworth to Nick.

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to ask Miss Corbet to stand up with me.”

The older lady languidly waved her fan. “Then ask her.”

His cravat tightened. “I wanted to know if she had any sets left this evening. She is quite popular.”

Her ladyship’s lips curved in a catlike smile. “She is indeed, and your luck is not in this evening, my lord. However, I believe she still has a few dances open to-morrow for the Torrington ball.”

As luck would have it, he had accepted an invitation to the event. “Thank you.” He moved to the side a bit and watched Silvia gracefully perform her part of the cotillion. It might be a good idea to ask her with her ladyship close at hand.

He waited until Silvia’s partner returned her to Lady Telford and bowed. “Miss Corbet.”

Her fine dark brows drew together. “My lord?”

“I wish to ask you to dance with me at the Torrington ball.”

She opened her mouth and shut it again. “I—I don’t know what I have available. My dance card for that entertainment is at home.”

“Come, my dear.” Lady Telford seemed to purr. “I remember you had a country dance and the supper dance. Though I believe Lord Oliver intends to request the supper dance. It is a waltz.”

Lord Oliver be damned
. “I’d like the supper dance.” Hawksworth poked Nick in his back. “If you would be so kind.”

Her ladyship nodded approvingly, while Silvia’s glare shot darts at him. But his friend was right. He had trapped her. She couldn’t do anything but accept.

With a smile he knew he’d pay for later, she responded, “Thank you, my lord. It would be my pleasure.”

At least she hadn’t gritted her teeth.

“I look forward to to-morrow.” He bowed to both the ladies before making his escape. If he remained too long, she was sure to think of a way out of standing up with him. “That didn’t go badly at all.”

“I hope she doesn’t carry knives,” Hawksworth remarked.

“No, not metal ones at any rate.” Though her tongue could flay the flesh off a man.

T
he following morning, Vivian was donning her gloves when Lord Stanstead was announced. She attempted to tamp down the increasing sense of pleasure being in his company gave her. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

She took one last look in the mirror. Her cherry-colored carriage gown was dramatically different than the shades of light blue she normally wore. The color brought out the pink of her cheeks, and it was time for a change. No longer would she allow her life to be ruled by men to whom she was nothing but a method to gain what they wanted, without concern for her.

One more day, that was all she would allow herself to have with Lord Stanstead, then she would start finding reasons she should avoid him.

Taking a breath, she blinked back the tears threatening to form. Now she was being silly. After all, one must live with oneself as God made one.

As Vivian made her way down the stairs, Lord Stanstead turned and gazed up at her. “My lady, forgive my being forward, but you look even lovelier than when last I saw you.”

A thrill of happiness caused her heart to flutter like the wings of a small bird. “Thank you. A lady always likes to be appreciated.”

“Shall we be off?” He held out his arm. “We should be able to avoid most of the crowds.”

It
was
much earlier than the fashionable were usually abroad. Even Silvia had not yet come down. Vivian tried not to give in to her disappointment that he did not wish to be seen with her. Dancing was one thing, but this . . . “Yes, let’s.”

His phaeton was waiting with a small boy in livery holding the horses. Once he had helped her up and taken his place, he gave the order to release the pair. The tiger hopped onto the back of the carriage. She’d heard of tigers, but was dubious about allowing young children to be in charge of blood cattle. “Is it safe to let a young lad take care of your horses?”

“I know there are those who think they should not be allowed to do so, but quite frankly, Stuie will get into trouble if not gainfully employed. I require him to attend classes with the other servants’ children. He is extremely bright, but inevitably finishes before the rest and requires occupation. As he loves horses, this seemed to be the best place for him. This pair is as gentle as they come. Now, I would not allow him near my grays.”

She felt like an idiot. Lord Stanstead was nothing if not thorough, a fact she should not forget. “Forgive me—”

“There is no need.” He waved one hand, keeping ahold of the reins with the other. “It’s a valid concern.” He flashed another of his smiles that made her catch her breath. “Especially from one who worries so much about the well-being of others.”

Her cheeks warmed and she knew she was blushing. “Thank you.”

“Were you able to speak with Phoebe?”

“I was. She and Anna have several projects that I am interested in.” Endeavors Vivian would have liked to institute at Beresford, had she been allowed to do so.

“Do you enjoy gardening?”

“Very much. My mother has a lovely old garden that she refused to allow to be destroyed for a lawn.”

“When I went on my Grand Tour, I brought back dozens of plants . . .” Lord Stanstead regaled her with stories of his old gardener, who appropriated the flowers and vegetables he took to his estate. “Now he acts as if they belong exclusively to him.” He slowed his horses. “Here we are.”

The drive to the museum was much shorter than she’d thought it would be. “Already?”

“Yes, normally it takes much longer.” He set the brake, threw the ribbons to his tiger, then came around to her. Rather than pull down the steps, Lord Stanstead lifted her as if she were as light as a feather. Having both of his hands around her waist sent pleasurable tingles through her torso and did nothing at all for her composure. This was not good. She’d never been breathless with a gentleman before. Perhaps now was the time to begin putting distance between them.

He set her carefully on her feet, placing her hand on his arm. “I think you’ll like the Elgin Marbles. They are all everyone has been talking about.”

“So I have heard. One is made to appear provincial if one has not visited them at least once.” She rested her fingers lightly on his arm, even though she would have preferred to hold on with both hands.

He paid the small fee at the entrance before guiding her unerringly to the famous artifacts. “I never thought there were so many!”

“Yes, it’s as if Lord Elgin shipped back most of the artifacts in Europe. The Greeks are already asking that those belonging to their country be returned.”

Vivian studied the sculptures and other pieces that clearly came off buildings. “Do you think they will be sent back?”

“Not after the price our government paid for them.”

“I have to say, some of my enjoyment in seeing them is lost. It’s as if I’m looking at stolen goods.”

Lord Stanstead leaned closer to her and now her stomach behaved like butterflies had taken up permanent residence. “I agree, but we mustn’t say anything. It would be considered not
the thing
. They are here to be admired, not criticized.”

Vivian swallowed as the warmth of his body sank into her. “I understand. Perhaps we could leave now.”

“If you wish. Or we may visit other parts of the museum. There are some magnificent paintings.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

They spent the next hour or so touring the other collections, and discovered their taste in art was the same. Vivian had rarely enjoyed herself more. Gradually, other visitors began to arrive, most of them children with governesses and tutors, and she understood the reason Lord Stanstead had wanted to arrive early. It was much nicer to have the museum to themselves.

Once they regained the pavement, his horses could be seen being led by the tiger. “He is not driving them.”

“No. He’s only allowed to walk them.”

Lord Stanstead lifted her up into the phaeton. Vivian thought she would be able to ignore his touch if she knew it was coming, yet the anticipation made it much worse. A sense of longing she’d never experienced before invaded her senses. They were half-way back to Mount Street before she had control of herself again.

The instant the carriage slowed, one of her cousin’s footmen let down the steps, but just as Vivian was about to allow the servant to help her, Lord Stanstead lifted her down again.

She couldn’t take much more of that and maintain her composure. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around him. “Thank you for taking me. It was lovely.”

“The pleasure, my lady, was all mine.” His voice was low, warm, and seductive.

Her body prickled with awareness. She did not dare look up, but she knew Lord Stanstead was gazing at her. If only she could allow herself to want him, but it was no use. Once he saw her unclothed, he would not desire her.

“Thank you once more for the lovely outing.” She started to turn, but he took her hand. Oh Lord, what was she going to do if he continued to touch her?

Fighting the urge to peel off Vivian’s gloves and kiss each finger one at a time, Rupert brought her hand to his lips, touching it lightly. Until now, he’d never understood why Robert had felt it necessary to attempt to compromise Serena into marriage, yet his actions were increasingly comprehensible.

 

From Rupert’s perspective, the day had been a disaster. Vivian had been amiable but not willing to be charmed. Her smiles had at times appeared forced, and when he had placed her hand on his arm, her touch was different than before, cooler. What exactly had occurred between last night and this morning, he didn’t know, but he would damn sure find out.

He drove to his house, giving the horses over to his tiger. “Take them to the stables, and tell Harlock I’ll be back before dinner.”

No more than thirty minutes later, he was at Jackson’s Salon, stripping.

“Is there anyone interesting here?” he asked one of the great Jackson’s assistants, hoping to find an opponent he hadn’t fought before.

“Lord Hawksworth brought a friend. Looks like he’ll show to advantage, if I do say so meself.”

“Good. I need a challenge.” Surprising how one recalcitrant lady could bring on the need for violent physical activity.

“I’ll ask the gentleman if he’d like a sparring partner.”

“Thank you.” A short while later Rupert strode out of the changing room into the boxing area, inclined his head to Hawksworth, and stopped.

Next to him was the man whom Vivian had been avoiding. Rupert’s day had just taken a turn for the better. He could vent his spleen on someone who deserved to be pounded into the ground. His soon-to-be challenger was almost equal to him in weight and reach, although Rupert thought he had a slight advantage in height and age. “Hawksworth.”

The other man turned. “Stanstead, here for a round or two?”

“Indeed.”

“Allow me to introduce you to the Earl of Beresford. Beresford, the Earl of Stanstead. I recommend each of you to the other.” Hawksworth moved aside and murmured, “I shall keep track of the betting.”

Rupert and Beresford entered the ring and waited until the attendants had affixed boxing gloves to their hands. Several other gentlemen and some of Jackson’s assistants gathered round. Hawksworth said something, and slips of paper were handed to him. The wagering had begun.

Having taken notice, Jackson himself came over and stood between Rupert and Beresford. “You may begin, my lords.”

As soon as the great man stepped aside, Beresford lunged, feinting as though he meant to attack from the left, but Rupert was wise to that trick and landed a hard strike to the other man’s jaw.

Beresford shook it off and advanced again. “You’re good.”

“So are you,” Rupert replied, refusing to be distracted.

They danced around for a bit, sizing each other up, before he managed a punch to Beresford’s gut. A whoosh of air burst out of him, and he charged, catching Rupert on the shoulder as he once more attempted a flush hit to the other man’s jaw.

“I hear,” Beresford panted, “that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Lady Beresford.”

Rupert leapt out of reach. “What does it matter to you?”

“I asked her to marry me.” Beresford closed the distance between them.

“I plan to do the same.”

Beresford stopped, and his brows came together in a puzzled expression. “Do you care for her?”

“
That
is really none of your business.” Rupert swung, knocking Beresford off balance. “But if you must know, yes, I do, a great deal. Do you?”

“No. I did it for duty.”

God damn the cur.
Vivian deserved to be loved, not seen as a burden. Anger surged through Rupert, but that wouldn’t help him win this fight. Suddenly the bout became all about Vivian, protecting her and making her his. This match was for her. Doubling up on his punches, he aimed for his opponent’s head and stomach.

No more than thirty seconds later Beresford collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. “She says she’ll never wed again.”

The reason for that was what Rupert wanted to know. The attendant took off one of Rupert’s gloves and Rupert held out his hand, grasping Beresford’s. “I know a pub where the ale is the best you’ll find in London.”

Beresford climbed to his feet and nodded. “Excellent idea. You’re bloody good, by the way. I’ve never been taken down before.”

“It’s all in the technique and concentration.” Two things Beresford lacked. “I never allow myself to be distracted from the task at hand.” Nor would Rupert now. Winning Vivian was his main focus, and if he could convince Beresford he need not wed Vivian, the man might be the key to accomplishing Rupert’s nuptials to the lady.

Less than a quarter hour later, they strode out of the boxing saloon, down Bond Street, through the labyrinth of small streets making up Soho, to the Dog and Duck. Rupert kept the conversation to a minimum until they entered the pub, found a table in the back, and called the bar-maid over.

A girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen swung her hips provocatively as she greeted them. “What you hav’n, me lord?”

“Two pints, if you would, Meg.”

She speared a young man behind the bar with a look. “I just loves the guv’nor. He’s a real gent.”

“Ah, Meggie, give a chap a break.” The young man screwed his face up. “We can’t all be like his lordship here.”

“Harrumph.” Tossing her head, she flounced off.

Rupert glanced over to her father, who rolled his eyes as the man watched Meg drive her betrothed mad.

Once the ale was served, Rupert took a long drink, wanting to carefully form his questions. What he learned about Vivian’s prior life might be crucial to convincing her to marry him.

As before, Beresford jumped in. “Look, call me Nick, if you like, or Beresford if you don’t want to be so informal. I can see you don’t like that I proposed to Vivian, er, Lady Beresford. If you think you can give her a better life, I’ll stand aside.”

That was unexpected, but fitted into Rupert’s plan. “You said she would never wed again. Why is that?”

“She was married to my cousin Edgar. The union was less than desirable for both of them. Although Vivian tried to be a good wife. My cousin had been and was until he died, in love with another woman. She was the exact opposite of Vivian in every way, from birth to appearance.”

Rupert leaned back against his seat and listened.

Beresford took a long draw of his ale. “Edgar and Vivian’s marriage was arranged by their fathers. I honestly think Edgar did his best for the week or so after the ceremony. I do know that Vivian fancied herself in love with him, but that didn’t last long. Their honeymoon was cut short by my uncle’s death, and Edgar was furious that he was stuck with Vivian. He became involved with his mistress, Mrs. Raeford, again, and convinced himself that if he’d waited, he would have been able to find a way to marry her. Which was rubbish. The earl had her married off to an older gentleman farmer as soon as he saw which way the wind was blowing. The old man didn’t mind Edgar keeping her on the side, and paid her husband to turn his head, but he’d be damned if he let his son wed the chit.”