Lady Libertine (4 page)

‘Would you like me to get you a glass of lemonade?’

So he
had
heard her. The offhand offer annoyed her, uttered as it was in such an indifferent manner. Did she want him to? No, Lucy decided. She would rather he went and did something interesting with one of the many female guests who were eyeing the earl as if he were a full buffet and they had not eaten all day. ‘I can manage, but thank you. Most kind.’

He looked nonplussed by her refusal and Lucy wondered when was the last time anybody had refused his attentions. Instead of replying, however, he merely bowed a little stiffly and walked away.

Oh dear
, she thought, suddenly amused by the turn of events.
I’ve offended him.
Not that she felt
too
badly about it. To have experienced even a mild rebuff was probably character building for him. And at least he would not trouble her any further that night. She looked around the room consideringly, wondering where the best place was to blend in and look inconspicuous. Already the sound of laughter was increasing, proportionate to the measure of libations taken; Julia Challender certainly did not stint on the wine.

There were interesting arrangements of ferns in several places. Experience had taught Lucy that frisky guests liked greenery, especially if the weather was inclement.

It was, she decided, going to be an interesting night.

Rand was feeling distinctly out of sorts. He had not had a very enjoyable day and, as a man who sailed through life deliberately avoiding any unpleasantness, he didn’t deal with bad ones particularly well.

Unfortunately, things just hadn’t gone his way.

The morning had seen him take himself to the offices of the
London Times
– a day later than he’d intended, but he had been distracted by his female companion for quite some time - where he had an extremely unsatisfying interview with the editor, who had insisted that, not only did he not know the identity of Lady Libertine, but that he had no intention of canceling the column as no names were actually divulged.

‘But it is perfectly obvious who these people are!’

‘Yes,’ Thomas Beaufort had agreed with a slight smile, ‘she does seem to be quite good at character sketches, I must say.’

‘She? It really
is
a woman, then?’

As it turned out, the more Rand pressured the man, the less he did have to say. In the end, the editor’s responses had been practically monosyllabic. Rand had stormed out in high dudgeon. Bastard!

Things had only gone downhill from there.

He had encountered Gatton at White’s and had suffered through an awkward – if mercifully brief - scene. Gatton, a tall, gangly creature with an extraordinarily large adam’s apple, had been full of righteous wrath. After setting eyes on Rand, he had risen to his feet, body quivering, long face tight with anger.

‘You! Hamersley!’

It seemed that all of White’s, or at least the room they were occupying, had grown suddenly quiet. As an old and prestigious club, it had seen its fair share of dust-ups and, if the tone of voice was anything to go by, they had been about to witness another one. Rand had forgotten about Gatton and the fact that he would probably still be angry. The duke had called around the previous day, but fortunately Rand had been out, thereby postponing their meeting. If he had remembered that the duke was probably going to be tetchy, he might have steered clear of the place because frankly, he could have lived without the drama.

But it was not to be so.

Gatton had hurried towards him, pulling up a little too close. The earl had not given ground, but really, the man’s perfume had been singularly unpleasant.

Rand, briefly, had considered giving him one. An unvarnished one about how his fiancé was desirous of something a little more seductive than awkward fumblings and slobbery kisses. Women, all women, wanted a little finesse in their lovemaking, something that a title did not automatically bestow. Under the circumstances, however, it was a tricky subject to broach. Now was not the time.

‘Lady Libertine?’ he’d said instead, ‘Lady
Libertine
? Good God, man! I thought only the ladies gave credence to that rot.’

Gatton had blinked, taken aback. ‘It
said
that you were in the conservatory with my fiancée.’

‘Which conservatory?’

‘At the Scunthorpe ball!’

‘My dear Gatton, there were a great many people in the conservatory at the Scunthorpe ball. Are you suggesting that I was
alone
with Lady Astor in the conservatory?’

Gatton had paused. Clearly, the conversation had not been going as he had imagined it would. Just as clearly, Rand had known he had to get out of there as quickly as possible. The duke was not the brightest spark to illuminate the
ton
, but even he would probably be able to collect his dull-witted thoughts at some stage and it wasn’t a conversation Rand was keen to continue.

He had almost decided not to attend Julia’s ball because he was not in the mood to be nice, but it had been several weeks since he seen her and he wanted to check on her progress.

After White’s, he’d contemplate returning home, packing up a few things and heading directly for his hunting lodge in Shropshire. It would take him a few days to get there, but he fancied some fresh air. As he had discovered on so many occasions before, London could get very dreary after awhile. He’d always found the solitude of the lodge soothing. Sometimes he went there with friends and they actually hunted, but most of the time he went by himself and enjoyed the silence. It was a retreat.

If he retreated for a month or so all that silly business with Gatton would have disappeared. People, he reflected bitterly, could be very tiresome.

‘Rand!’

The breathy whisper brought his head around sharply and he peered through the fronds of a lush philodendron, straight into the angelic blue eyes of Lady Caroline Astor. ‘Oh hello, Caro. What the devil are you doing back there?’

She beckoned him towards her urgently. ‘Gatton, have you seen him?’

He shuddered a little at the memory. ‘Unfortunately, I have.’

‘Oh Rand! You did not
hit
him did you?’

His lordship listened to the mix of horror and delight in her voice with distaste. Women! They always wanted to think themselves the center of some melodrama. Julia was the only female who did not insist on playing ridiculous games, but then, Julia was a Hamersley and had more sense than that.

‘We both survived the encounter. I sold him some flummery so perhaps it would be best to just play innocent when he sees you again. It shouldn’t be too hard,’ he added cynically, ‘just sit on his lap and tell him he’s the new Adonis. The man is a fool. He would believe anything.’

‘So you managed to convince him that there was nothing in it?’ Caroline’s lovely face lit up and she clapped her hands together. ‘Oh Rand, how
clever
of you!’

‘It isn’t entirely up to me, you know. You have to turn on the honey, convince him that he is the love of your life.’

‘Of course. I understand completely.’ Parting the leaves of the philodendron, she bent forward, allowing him an excellent view of her ample breasts. The Season’s gowns were cut rather low across the bosom, allowing plenty of creamy white flesh to show. She gave him a smile, pregnant with promise. ‘So I think you should come over here and let me show you how grateful I am.’

Grateful, hmm? Rand liked the sound of that, but he was not completely idiotic. He’d already been stung once. Caroline had waylaid him from an alcove, which, as was the custom with alcoves, was quite poorly lit. Behind him through the double doors the dancing had commenced, couples taking to the floor as the music started up. There were a few people about, groups of them standing about talking. He even saw several couples starting the festivities early, slipping away to pursue their flirtations in private.

But nobody seemed in the least bit interested in him…

He smiled at Caroline, a wolfish smile, the kind that made mothers gather up their daughters and keep them close. ‘Ah well then. If you insist. A gentleman must not disappoint a lady, after all.’

Caroline’s slender white arms were reaching for him eagerly, pulling him close. ‘If there is one thing I can be sure of, my lord,’ she whispered against his warm lips, ‘is that you would
never
disappoint a lady!’

Seriously
? Lucy, sitting on a small divan against the wall, fanned herself gently while watching the antics of the Earl of Hamersley – those that she
could
watch without blushing – with a sense of incredulity.
He is seriously going to do that again?

She had written a particularly revealing piece about Lady Caroline and Hamersley on Tuesday. He had been so incensed that he had gone to see Thomas about the author. And yet here he was, doing exactly the same thing with exactly the same woman.

He must be mad.

Not that it was entirely his fault, Lucy allowed. Lady Astor was certainly not the most discreet female she had ever encountered. In fact, the opposite was true. Lady Caroline was, to be just a
little
bit vulgar, ripe for the picking and she obviously wanted the earl to pick her.

Lucy had met the Duke of Gatton and could understand that, but still…

She had selected her seat well, for already couples were pairing off, very few of them with the people they had arrived with. Was this really what marriage was all about? An arrangement entered into and then abandoned when the children arrived to seal the bargain? It gave one pause to think, although speculation on the subject couldn’t help but make Lucy a little sad.

She looked towards the ballroom and caught a glimpse of Julia Challender whirling around the floor in her husband’s arms and felt her lips curving into a smile at the sight of so much happiness. Now
there
was a love match. Each was clearly besotted with the other and her spirits lifted a little. Not everybody bartered their way into a marriage bed. Some arrived by far more pleasant means.

Lucy’s eyes wandered back to the alcove and reflected that that kind of love – or indeed any kind at all - was hardly unlikely to trouble her. Once, quite a few years ago, she might have dreamed of it, but now… Well, now she would be more than content with her cottage in Cornwall and her quiet life.

Not everybody could expect fireworks and rainbows and romance as they travelled through life, however. She was proof enough of that. Sometimes one simply had to settle for a nice cup of tea and a life ordered to ones choosing. Of course, thoughts like that were a lot easier when a girl did not catch the occasional glimpse of a fine looking man intent on giving a willing woman what she most craved.

Lady Caroline clearly craved Hamersley.

In her head, Lucy began to go over the various things that would be contributing to her column this week. She knew she would do better if she reported on everyone equally, but Lucy had a very difficult time inferring unpleasant things about people she liked. Instead, she tended to dwell on other things about them, but commenting on an unfortunate choice of gown did not make for riveting reading. Well, it did the way
she
phrased it, but she knew what the
ton
really wished for was scandal; affairs, liaisons, and indiscretions, the more salacious the better. Not their
own
, of course; that would be most unpleasant. But other peoples fascinated them.

This week she had had plenty to satisfy their interest, thanks to the antics of Lord Bisley and Lady Fenshaw at Mr. Burbank’s masquerade ball (there is no point in wearing a mask when one has a penchant for purple lustering and a laugh like a hog caller), while the goings on of Mr. Brentwood with no less than
three
different women…

One thing was certain; with such carryings on,
On Dit
would never be without suitable morsels to feed its readers.

Rising to her feet, Lucy drifted back towards the dancing. It would not do to disappear completely, not when Mrs. Challender had specifically invited her. She found a chair on the edge of the dance floor and, as was often the case, was asked to dance several times. Really, good manners were a dreadful imposition when all one wanted to do was watch, but a dutiful guest knew her duty.

She had just been released (there was no other word for it) from dancing hell with Mr. Belfort - who was so old it was a wonder he could put one foot in front of the other - and was making a speedy retreat to the retiring room for some well deserved quiet time, when she met the Earl of Hamersley again. By met, it was more like collided with, for as she rounded the corner, he came hurriedly from the other direction and cannoned into her.

‘Oh!’ Lucy gasped. The impact upended the contents of the glass he was carrying down her dress.

Not a little of the glass.
All
of it.

There was a small pause, both of them staring down at the red liquid that was soaking into her. It had spilled everywhere, from bodice to hem.