Master of Love (16 page)

There would be more such people at Lady Yarborough's musicale.

Callista couldn't decide if Dominick's flirtation and teasing made things better or worse. He kept her so constantly off balance—uncertain what he was up to, unsure how to reply, terrified it meant nothing . . . terrified he'd stop.

She pulled her hands away. “I'll recommend to my great-aunt we accept Lady Yarborough's kind invitation. And I'll try not to embarrass you and your sister at her entertainment, with my eccentricities and ill repute.” She aimed for a tone as light and sophisticated as his own, but her laugh sounded hollow even to her own ears and she had to bite the inside of her lip when it began to tremble.

Dominick's expression sobered as well and he pulled her into a hug. “All will be well, Callista—I promise.”

His embrace was so very, very tempting, near intoxicating. It offered comfort and security—as well as mysterious hard male passion. The heat of his body, his spicy scent, his deep rumbly purr filling her senses . . . she felt herself waver.

But she'd given up on promises long ago, and being in his arms was terribly inappropriate. She had to draw deep for the strength to step back, but she managed to push away from the heady seductive pleasure of his promise and his arms.

“Of course, my lord”—she smiled tightly—“no need to worry. I am fine.”

Dom went over early to Belgrave Square to help his sister with the preparations for the afternoon's musical entertainment. To his surprise, he was nervous.

His sister seemed rather stressed as well. She snapped uncharacteristically at a footman who tripped while carrying a large arrangement of pink roses into the music room. Servants bustled about setting up the chamber for the soprano and pianist who were to perform.

“Is there a problem, Jane?” Dom asked.

“Oh, not a problem in the world”—she threw her hands up in the air—“just your sorry affairs to manage, Gideon informing me we're hosting the prime minister for dinner next week, Uncle George in for a visit, and Mama arriving back in town as well.” She paused to draw a breath. “At least she has her own town house,” she muttered, shuddering dramatically.

Dom walked over and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Settle down, sister,” he said, smiling fondly. “You're the consummate hostess; you can handle it in your sleep.”

She snorted at him and went to efficiently rearrange the pink blooms in a Chinese cloisonné vase. “Some new gossip did reach me last night,” she said, warning him, over her shoulder. “Gideon has us out or entertaining so much, I vow there's little I don't hear. I understand that unpleasant American Mr. Harris is cutting short his tour and taking Lord Overton with him back to Boston.”

“Is that so?” Dealing with those two bastards had been one of the pleasures of his week. An intimidating chat, a visit to a banker friend with control over Harris's line of credit, and a few words with Overton's father, who sat on Dom's parliamentary subcommittee, were all that was needed to send the jackanapes packing.

“It won't help the rumor mill, you know. People are saying the Master of Love must be losing his touch if he feels so threatened he has to boot those pups out of the country. I heard stories you started a brawl on the steps of the British Museum after they tried to carry off Miss Higginbotham. It's widely assumed your response confirms she's your mistress.”

“Those brutes needed to leave. It was either America or a bullet through their hearts.”

Jane blanched. “I see. It's come to that, has it?” His sister paused, caressing a pink rose petal. “Are you developing deep feelings for this young woman, Dom?”

He hadn't a damn clue what to make of the tangle of fixation and annoyance he felt around Callista—although clear as hellfire was the blast of lust consuming him in now-nightly dreams. All he knew was that first, he'd fix the damage to her reputation and business prospects caused by the false rumor of their affair.

And then, he very much feared he'd start up an affair.

A stupid, ridiculous mess, he knew, and one that proved him even more of an idiot than he'd thought. But Callista was lonely enough, and innocent enough, that she wouldn't much resist were he to push their attraction to its conclusion. She hadn't the experience to either understand or fight the desire sparking like wildfire between them. The dark knowledge that it would take so little to bring them together dangled before him, the most delicious and tempting of forbidden fruit. He wanted her. Badly. And he read the need budding in her as well, the yearning that confused and frightened her. It intoxicated him as nothing else had for a very long time.

He realized he hadn't yet answered his sister and that she looked at him strangely. “Jane”—he bestowed upon her his most brilliantly charming smile—“I
have
no deep feelings. We've all known that for ages, haven't we?”

Chapter 10

T
he guests arrived and were milling about in Lady Yarborough's airy music room before the recital. Gathering her courage, Callista left her great-aunt chatting with their hostess and crossed the room to where she'd spotted Sir George fetching punch from the sideboard. She'd met the impish gray-haired gentleman as he'd greeted the guests with his niece Lady Yarborough at the door. The twinkle in his eye had alarmed as much as charmed her. Like his nephew, this man was clearly up to something.

After several minutes of polite chitchat about the progress on the library, she dove in. “If I may be so blunt, Sir George, I'm curious to know why you suggested my name as library organizer to Lord Rexton.”

“My dear young lady, I didn't merely suggest it.” He rocked back on his heels, grinning broadly. “I told Rexton quite directly that the books came with you and he'd need to hire you if he wanted them.”

“But why?” she asked. “I'm deeply grateful, of course, but your past association with my father hardly seems sufficient to warrant such a demand.”

Sir George set down his empty glass and led her by the arm to a quiet corner. “I'm too old to play games with you, my dear. If you want to know, I forced your hire on my nephew for three reasons. The first is I thought you'd be good for the poor devil. I had an inkling you and young Rexton would suit. Jane tells me you get along swimmingly, so it seems I was right, wasn't I?” he said, waggling a finger at her. He leaned in to whisper, “I'm staying in Belgrave to keep out of your way. And did you see how thoroughly I mixed up the books inside the trunks? It'll take you forever to sort them out,” he chortled.

She cleared her throat and fought a blush. “Pray, sir, do continue.”

“Well, frankly, my dear, I heard you were in danger of falling into rather straitened circumstances. I wanted to help, in memory of my great respect for your father. But my main reason, I admit, was my concern for Mildred.”

“Great-Aunt Mildred?” she repeated, feeling more and more adrift in the conversation. “How did you know to be worried about her? And if I may again be so bold, why would you care?”

He reached forward—in fact, almost had to reach up—to tap her on the nose. Something about both the gesture and the rakish tilt of his eyebrow put her powerfully in mind of Dominick. “I hope you will be bold, my dear! Our family very much needs your boldness. I've found pride a poor companion as the years stretch on. Here's the God-honest truth: I care about Mildred because I've loved that woman for forty-two years, ever since she got away from me during her first Season, and I've been too stupid all that time to do anything about it.”

She stared at him, thunderstruck, as he smiled with delight. “I really must thank you, my dear,” he said, continuing. “You see, I needed a way back into Mildred's life, to make right what went wrong so long ago. I've written her over the years, but she always discouraged me with the most noncommittal replies. I finally decided forty-two years was long enough to wait. If you'll excuse me”—he stepped around her with a determined glint in his eye—“now is the time to
act
.”

She watched, still speechless, as Sir George sauntered off to where her great-aunt was seated, bowed over her hand with a flourish worthy of his Master of Love nephew, and took the chair Callista had intended to occupy herself.

Lady Yarborough invited the other guests to take their seats as a familiar voice murmured in her ear. “Told you he's a crafty old badger. So is seducing Lady Mildred what he's up to?”

“That's my great-aunt you're speaking of!” She swatted at Dominick. “I'm sure there is no question of seduction!”

“Care to lay a bet?” He steered her toward a pair of empty chairs near the back of the room. “Look how he's leaning in—goodness, I think he's angling for a better look at her bosom! Is that a Beauvallon creation Lady Mildred has on? Danvers showed me some of the sketches for my mother's new gowns; I'm afraid they'll fall right off her shoulders!”

Within a few minutes, Sir George had Mildred laughing and fluttering her fan coyly—
coyly!
—at the man who was apparently her old suitor. It must have been him, Callista realized, who accounted for those stories of a past flame and broken heart that brought about Lady Mildred's decision never to marry. Her great-aunt, so subdued and distressed this past year, was suddenly blushing and looking twenty years younger! Sir George, for his part, was grinning like a self-satisfied leprechaun.

Luckily, the music started and spared her further conversation about her great-aunt's seduction. They were well into the soprano's second aria when Dominick's fingers slipped discreetly under the pooled folds of her Paisley shawl and wrapped around her hand. Her heart beat erratically as his thumb rubbed tantalizing circles into her palm.

But she didn't pull away.

A quick glance at his profile—glorious as a Roman emperor on his coin—showed a man to all appearances intent on naught but the music swirling around them. Did he play such games with besotted and weak-minded women at every concert he attended? Then she noticed a nick just below his eyebrow and the stubby ends of his lashes—goodness, the ridiculous man had trimmed his eyelashes!

Once intermission arrived, Dominick made her a very correct bow—and, when no one was looking, a naughty wink—before he strolled away to mingle with his sister's other guests. Glancing around, Callista's eyes widened as she recognized a latecomer at the very back of the music room. After Sir George's revelations, she wasn't sure she could handle more surprises, but here was Lady Beatrice DeBray, her old childhood friend, coming toward her squealing with hands outstretched!

“Callista—it's you, isn't it? I thought you were still on the Continent! My word, it's been years! I'm so delighted to see you!”

Lady Beatrice was a rather short and well-rounded young woman, with bouncing blond sausage curls and equally lively blue eyes. Her pretty features were remarkable more for their animation than for great beauty, and she looked exactly how Callista remembered her. She smiled with delight and pulled Callista into a tight embrace.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Beatrice.” Callista bobbed an awkward curtsy, unsure of her reception with this young woman, orphaned like herself, but left England's richest heiress by the carriage accident that killed her parents, the Earl and Countess of Rockfort, two years earlier.

“Oh, please don't call me that, Callie—I'm still just Bea, like when we were little. Don't treat me any differently, or I swear I'll burst into tears,” the young woman entreated with a huge grin.

Despite herself, Callista laughed. “Still ordering everyone around, are you, Bea?”

“Exactly,” the girl replied, linking her arm with Callista's, “except I miss my bosom friends and co-conspirators! Everyone deserted me for adventures on the Continent! First you, and then Lenora went off to Germany to her betrothed's castle and Genevieve to France on some mysterious adventure.”

Despite Callista's embarrassment, Beatrice soon erased all awkwardness. To her shy delight, her old friend had her laughing over memories of the horrible practical jokes the four girls had played on Genevieve's older cousin, the handsome heir to a dukedom on whom they'd all had schoolgirl crushes.

As they caught up, the blonde gave her the warmest hug on learning of her father's death. “Oh, Callie, I'm so sorry; I had no idea! I've been rusticating up in Scotland for two years getting my mother's estate back on its feet. I heard almost no town news. Now that we're both back, we mustn't drift out of touch again.”

When the guests took their seats for the recital's second half, Beatrice pulled Callista down beside her. “You're also coming to the Society of Love Ball next month,” she whispered. “It's really the only reason I came back to town. I need your help to finish the planning.”

“Oh, I couldn't, Bea—I don't go to such events anymore.”

“Callie, please, you must—I need you!” her friend begged. “I'm not an organizer!” Years ago, when their mothers had founded the Christian Ladies' Charitable and Reform Society of Love, they'd needed a fund-raiser to support their health clinics and their public-schooling and housing-reform projects for London's poor. Led by Beatrice's mother, the Countess of Rockfort, they'd hosted a wildly popular annual Society of Love subscription ball. “Remember how my mother always had all the details planned out by Easter? Everyone expects me to follow in her footsteps, but I'm hopeless at that sort of thing! Lenora's mama, the Duchess of Sherbrooke, hosted the ball the last two years, when I was in mourning and up in Scotland, but this year they pressured me horribly to return the event to DeBray Hall. Apparently moving the ball elsewhere has cut their profits in half.”

“DeBray Hall wasn't entailed, then?” asked Callista, stalling for time and curious about how her friend, without brothers like herself, had managed to keep the earl's residence when the title passed out of her immediate family. Everyone knew DeBray Hall in Mayfair boasted the largest and grandest ballroom in all London. The splendor of the surroundings and the legendary lavish hospitality of the Countess of Rockfort had made the Society of Love Ball the highlight of the season.

“All the other residences went to the new earl”—Beatrice wrinkled her small nose in distaste—“but Papa built DeBray Hall as a wedding present for Mama. It was to be her dower estate, and both it and the Highland castle she brought to the marriage came to me. I'm quite the heiress”—she rolled her eyes—“another reason I avoid town. Officially my aunt and uncle, as my guardians, are supposed to be hosting this ball, but they're even more hopeless than I, the poor dears.”

“They still hunt for
dinosauria
fossils, don't they? I saw a notice for a lecture your uncle delivered at the Royal Geological Society last winter.”

“Yes, this new fad for fossil lizard bones is all they care about, so you can imagine how they do with ball planning! I'm about to tear out my hair over it! So stop stalling, and say you'll help me! You wouldn't abandon me to shame the tradition, would you?”

With the music starting up again and Beatrice clutching expectantly at her arm, Callista saw herself well and truly manipulated. “You always knew how to get your way, didn't you, Bea?” She smiled fondly at her old friend, suddenly realizing how very much she'd missed the energetic and good-natured schemer. “I suppose I could help out a bit.”

Beatrice released her grip to pat Callista. “Of course you will.” She smiled in return, only a little smugly. “I never doubted it.”

Later, at the conclusion of the concert, Lady Yarborough's butler ushered the guests into the adjoining salon toward a bountiful refreshment buffet.

Beatrice linked arms with Callista and led her around to meet some of the other young unmarried women sipping lemonade and nibbling biscuits. Quite a few of the ladies—and in particular their mamas—nodded coolly to Callista and kept their conversation to a bare minimum, although none went so far as to cut her. When Beatrice cast Callista a discreet questioning glance, Callista's shame flooded back. Her friend clearly hadn't heard the gossip darkening her name.

Just as Callista started to plot her escape, their hostess came by to share stories with the assemblage about how often she'd been at Rexton House recently, watching “our dear Miss Higginbotham” bring order to her brother's massive new library collection. Callista appreciated Lady Yarborough's efforts to lend her consequence to the restoration of Callista's reputation. She doubted, however, that the effort would suffice and was loath for the lady to taint herself in the process.

Callista planned to tell Lady Yarborough as much when her hostess made an excuse to pull Callista into a window bay. “We only have a minute, and I want to have a private word with you,” said the lady.

Callista held up a hand. “I understand perfectly you need me to leave, my lady. I am on my way out.”

“You'll do nothing of the sort”—Lady Yarborough frowned fiercely—“as a departure would be tantamount to admitting wrongdoing. Never show weakness, Callista! All you need do is remain above the fray; leave the rest to me. I hadn't realized you and Lady Beatrice were friends—that will aid matters considerably.” She tapped a finger against her lips in reflection before shaking herself back to attention. “But that's not at all what I wanted to talk with you about.”

“What then, ma'am?” Callista asked, bewildered.

“It's about my brother.” For the first time, Lady Yarborough hesitated. “I wanted to explain some of his . . . eccentricities. He can seem a difficult man, but you should know the role he plays in society is false, or”—she faltered again, somewhat uncertainly—“at least mostly false.”

Callista shifted her weight and tried to back away. “Lady Yarborough, how your brother conducts his life is no concern of mine.”

But the lady would have none of it. “It is your concern,” she said, laying a hand on Callista's arm. “You're good for him, in ways he doesn't even understand. But I can see it. And I see how he pushes you away as well.” She leaned in closer. “You see, my brother is afraid his looks mean he can never aspire to be more than a ladies' man. But what you must understand is that our father drummed that shame into Dom from childhood. He thought it ludicrous for a boy to look so handsome.”

Lady Yarborough had just opened her mouth to continue when an older woman, apparently hard of hearing and talking too loudly, pointed her cane at Callista. “Isn't that young gel the hussy that Rexton's made his latest mistress?”

Callista felt the blood drain out of her face. This party was rapidly going from bad to worse.