Regency 09 - Redemption (9 page)

“I sincerely mean your
daughter no harm, Lord Denbigh,” replied Dare wearily. “We are
friends, nothing more. It seems I am the only man in Society with
whom she can be herself. I am pleased to be able to give her that
reassurance. I apologize for causing you or your family any
unnecessary worry.” He frowned. “I am not so simple that I do not
realize she can do much better than me for a husband.”

The duke pulled up before
Brooks’s Gentleman’s Club. As Dare made to climb down, Denbigh
said, “Remember those words, Darius Prestwich, every time you see
Jenny. She deserves better.”

At first, the duke’s
comments did not bother Dare. But as he contemplated them, he
became more and more angry. So he had made one very stupid,
careless mistake in his youth. Why must everyone hold it against
him and make him feel as though he was not worth the dirt under
their boots?

Dare was in an
unpredictable mood by the time he returned home later that evening.
He walked in the door to be informed that he was expected to escort
Bri and Aurora by himself as Miles had come down suddenly with a
cold. He nearly swore but something hard inside him made him tell
Bri he would, of course, be delighted to escort her and her
friend.

Bri actually shivered at
the expression on his face when he said it.

When he reached his room,
Dare stood before his mirror and stared at his reflection. Perhaps
he should cut his hair, he thought dispassionately. He had had
enough derogatory comments about it and he was about fed up with
them. But he liked his hair. Perhaps he would give it some more
thought before he did anything so drastic.

He spun away and marched
across the room, entering his dressing room to change. Just as he
shrugged out of his tight-fitting jacket and loose shirt, he heard
a quiet scratching on his bedchamber door. With no thought for his
half-naked state, he marched back across and threw the door
open.

“What?” he barked, the
unpredictability in his mood making itself known. He was never rude
to servants.

Adam’s butler, West, gave
Dare a blank look and said solemnly, “This was delivered for you
earlier, sir. I was informed to deliver it to you
personally.”

He handed over a small
square of paper with no outstanding markings anywhere on it to
indicate from whom it may have come. The seal was plain wax and of
a color anyone could have. There were no smells attached to it and
nothing written on it.

Dare took it with a curious
look and asked, “Who delivered it?”

“A young boy, sir,” replied
the butler woodenly.

Dare stared at it a second
longer, then, recalling the butler’s presence, muttered, “Thank
you, West,” and shut the door in the man’s face.

He took the note over to
the window and sat down at the table situated there. Cracking the
seal, he opened it and started to read. An incredulous expression
settled on his countenance when he’d finished. He looked up and
stared straight ahead for a few moments, not quite sure what to do.
His dark blue eyes flashed back down at the feminine
handwriting.

This was a coil, to be
sure. Lady Genevieve could not have thought this through. What she
was asking went against everything he believed and practiced as a
gentleman.

He was positive she had
told no one of her letter or intent, even her sister. He was also
sure she would not. He wondered what drove the girl. Was she
actually attracted to him or was she just after the proverbial
forbidden fruit? If her family was diligent enough to warn him away
from her, he knew they would warn her about him. Perhaps they’d
even gone so far as to…

And why wouldn’t they? Dare
gave himself a shake. Of course, that was what the important thing
was that she wanted to speak to him about. Her family must have
told her about Belinda Markwell.

He stood up and stretched
his arms far up over his head. He would have had to tell her at
some point, he thought in resignation. He just hoped she’d
listen.

Two hours later Dare was
bathed and fully dressed in dark jacket, tight silver breeches,
silver waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, starched cravat tied
just so with a black pearl stuck—in the usual haphazard
fashion—through the folds, pristine white linen, and shiny black
dancing shoes with silver buckles. He assessed his appearance
critically in the long mirror and decided he would have to do. His
hair was tied securely at his nape with a silver silk ribbon. He
grinned suddenly, feeling an unusual tremor of excitement as he
left the room.

“Dare! It’s about time, you
clunch,” admonished Bri with a mock glare as soon as he entered the
drawing room. “Well, at least you are ready at last.” She grinned
suddenly. “You look very well.”

“As do you, Bri, as
always,” he returned, his eyes glowing with appreciation at the
seductive appearance that she made in her clinging sapphire silk.
“Adam is a very lucky man.”

She thanked him, hurrying
them out the door.

They were fashionably late
for Lady Riesley’s ball. Her daughter, Mirabel, was making her
comeout and no expense had been spared. It was one of the premier
events of the Season.

And Dare, with a thrum of
excitement snaking through his veins, wished desperately that he
were anywhere else.

He entered with his party,
unobtrusively scanning the crowded ballroom for Lady Genevieve
Northwicke. He spotted her on the dance floor, waltzing with some
nonentity of a man.

An unaccountable stab of
what felt suspiciously like jealousy speared him through the gut.
It was all he could do to stay where he was and not go charging
across the floor, intent on bodily harm.

Firmly restraining the
impulse, he smiled a greeting to their hostess, who still stood in
the receiving line although it was quite past time for her to join
her guests. Her daughter had long since made her way into the
ballroom on her father’s arm, to open the dancing. He spotted the
pretty young woman on the other side of the room, talking with
great animation to the court of gentlemen surrounding
her.

He responded vaguely to
some comment made by Lady Riesley, offering a charming smile. She
looked a little startled, as if he’d done something completely
unexpected. He glanced at his brother, whose mouth was set in grim
lines.

Presently, they made their
way into the crowd, exchanging greetings here and there, flirting
gently and spreading yet more gossip on Lady Derringer’s
behalf.

Dare did it all without
thinking. His mind was wholly taken up with trying not to look at
Lady Genevieve and striving not to feel that insane jealousy again.
She could dance with whomever she liked. He had no right to say
otherwise.

Smiling pleasantly at a
young lady he was sure he’d met but couldn’t remember, he moved off
to the edge of the room. He needed a moment alone with Jenny. He
had to ask her what her aim was in writing him such a request as
she had.

He stood where he knew she
would end up when the dance ended. He ignored his brother, who had
given him a puzzled look when Dare moved away from him. But then
the appearance of Lady Guinevere snagged Miles’s attention and he
had no more time to wonder about his twin’s actions.

The waltz duly ended, the
gentlemen bowing, ladies curtsying. Jenny smiled charmingly at her
handsome partner, whispering something Dare would have given his
right arm to hear. Then, surprisingly, they made their way in his
direction.

He straightened from his
relaxed position from the column against which he leaned. He tried
to gauge the mood of the lady but was stymied by the odd glint in
her cornflower blue eyes.

“Mr. Prestwich,” she said
with a smile, her eyes lighting perceptibly.

Her companion favored Dare
with an expression of distinct hostility. Dare grinned
irrepressibly, ignored the man, and turned back to
Jenny.

“Lady Genevieve, how
enchanting you look this evening,” he murmured, taking her hand. He
leaned forward to kiss her hand, pausing and meeting her eyes just
before he deftly turned it, pressing his lips to her gloved
palm.

A delicious shiver snaked
through her body and his smile grew decidedly wicked.

The gentleman at her side
glared awfully at Dare, protesting, “Lady Genevieve, I must warn
you against this fellow. Did you but know—”

“I know all I need to, my
lord, and have had quite enough of warnings this eve.” She smiled
up at him, her eyes daring him to argue with a lady. “Thank you for
your escort. I have promised this dance to Mr. Prestwich and I
assure you, I am quite safe in his…capable…hands.”

Dare almost snorted. He
wondered if his bloody lordship had caught the slight hesitation in
her words. If she had even an inkling of the kinds of thoughts he
was currently entertaining about her, she’d run for cover…he
hoped.

He allowed his gaze to
wander over her generous curves again, pausing at the creamy
expanse of bosom made visible by her low décolletage. The things he
imagined doing to this particular young woman made his breath catch
painfully in his throat.

Pale pink muslin twisted
and flared, briefly revealing the curve of her hip. It was all Dare
could do to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to touch her, fill
his senses with her, devour her.

Damn. He had to get his
thoughts under control.

“Mr. Prestwich?”

Dare started, making the
mistake of meeting her gaze. Jenny’s widened at what he assumed was
untrammeled lust coloring his eyes. He saw a flaring of something
similar in hers, an expression that shocked him. He felt an
uncomfortable tightening in his groin and swiftly reined in his
unruly reflections lest someone notice and start unwelcome
talk.

And then Jenny giggled and
Dare could hear the underlying hysteria. He realized she didn’t
really understand even a modicum of what she was
feeling.

Oh, to be the man to teach
her all about it. What an impossible dream, he mused in
defeat.

“Lady Genevieve, your
pardon. I was…woolgathering.”

“Show a little respect,
man,” snapped the lord who, unaccountably, was still with
them.