Sally MacKenzie Bundle (244 page)

It was going to be a very trying Season if he was doomed to suffer jealous pangs every time another man paid Anne the slightest attention. He could better spend his energy figuring out what was upsetting her.

For example, why hadn’t she waltzed before? It made no sense. She wasn’t some young girl from impoverished circumstances; she was an earl’s daughter. Her father might be eccentric, but he wasn’t so eccentric men would avoid her. They certainly weren’t avoiding Evie—she’d not sat out a dance all night. So why had they avoided Anne at those country assemblies?

True, the hideous dresses she’d favored could not have helped, but they hid only her physical charms. Any man who spoke with her for more than a few minutes would realize she was passionate, strong-willed, and courageous.

Either all the males in Crane House’s environs were idiots or Anne had wanted to be avoided. Why?

He’d wager it all came down to Brentwood. He needed to have a word or two with the blasted marquis. Where the hell was he?

Ah, there. He was lurking by some potted palms and watching Anne, the blackguard. This would be an excellent time to—

“You’ve been ignoring me, darling.”

Oh, damn. “Hullo, Maria.” He straightened and tried to appear not too displeased to see Lady Noughton. “Were you looking for the marquis? He’s hiding in the palms over there.”

“I’m looking for you, Stephen.” She ran her hand up his arm. “I’ve missed you.”

He stepped back out of her reach. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Maria.”

“But it’s been months since I’ve seen you.” She pushed her lower lip out in what he’d once thought was an adorable pout. Now it just looked excessively silly. The woman was almost thirty, far too old to try to play little girl games.

“Two months, and I was painfully clear at the time that our liaison was over.”

“No, I—”

“Maria, there were at least two other men besides me who were enjoying your favors when we parted.” He didn’t mind sharing, but there was a point where it became ridiculous and, frankly, somewhat repulsive. “I can’t imagine Fortingly and Haltington have abandoned you.”

“Well, no, but—”

“And obviously Brentwood has now joined their number.”

“Yes . . .”

“And you are even wearing the diamonds I know you bought with my parting gift.” They were draped around her neck. He thought them rather garish, but Maria had always liked large, flashy jewelry.

“They
are
lovely.” She ran her fingers over them. “But that still doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you. Haven’t you missed me?”

“No.”

She looked rather startled at his bluntness and then laughed. “Perhaps you don’t realize it. I imagine it was frustration that drove you into this sudden betrothal. I mean, kissing a woman on the street?” She shook her head. “If you had those needs, you could have come to me.”

It was difficult to know how to respond to that. “You’ve been listening to rumors, Maria. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Ah, so you aren’t betrothed! I told Wally—”

“Wally?”

“Lord Brentwood. I told him it was all a hum.”

“Actually, you
can
believe that part. Lady Anne and I are indeed betrothed. You may wish me happy.”

Maria looked as if she’d choke to death if she tried. Why the devil did she care? Yes, she’d convinced herself she wished to marry him in February, but now she must have her eye on Brentwood—and
he
had a title.

“Of course I hope you will be happy.” Her tone clearly indicated this was a hope she’d be glad not to have fulfilled.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Her hand shot out to capture his wrist. “A new set is forming. Let’s dance to celebrate your good news.”

“Maria—”

“Oh, Stephen, don’t be so stiff. I’m not asking you to come to my bed, just the ballroom floor.”

At this point, it would look odd if he didn’t dance with her. People were throwing them curious glances; it had never been a secret that he and she had a “connection.” “Very well.”

He glanced over at Anne as he led Maria out. Damn it. She was with Brentwood, and she did not look at all happy about it.

“Don’t worry,” Maria said, tugging him away from the couple. “Your precious betrothed will be fine with Wally. What could happen to her in Lord Kenderly’s ballroom?”

True. Anne should be safe here, and, whatever her history with Brentwood, the marquis was a member of society. He might not be welcome in the homes of the highest sticklers, but he was at many gatherings—invited, or as Stephen suspected tonight, not. In any event, Anne would have to become accustomed to seeing him in public.

“Oh, lovely,” Maria said as the orchestra played the opening notes. “Another waltz.”

“You must have improved with age, my dear, to have captured the King of Hearts’s fancy,” Brentwood said as the music began—another waltz.

Anne tried not to cringe when he touched her. Damn. He obviously remembered every detail of that disastrous time at Baron Gedding’s estate.

She stared down at his cravat. There were snuff stains on the linen, and he smelled of oil and dirt. If he’d looked like this ten years ago, she’d never have given him a second glance let alone gone off into the leafage with him.

“That dress is certainly an improvement over the frocks you wore at the house party.”

“London dressmakers are more au courant than those in the country, I suppose. This woman seemed particularly skilled with her needle.”

He laughed, sending a fetid cloud of garlic and onions into her face. “Yes, Celeste is very talented. I recognize her work—but then, it doesn’t take much discernment to identify the dressmaker. Parker-Roth takes all his women there.”

How dare he insinuate she was one of Mr. Parker-Roth’s “women”? She might not be truly betrothed to the man, but she most certainly wasn’t his mistress. She glared at him. “If you plan to be offensive, it would be best if we end this dance now.” She should have refused to stand up with him, but that would have added to the gossip. She’d already waltzed with Mr. Parker-Roth, so she couldn’t insist she didn’t dance at all.

She could tell by the look in his eyes he was disappointed she hadn’t turned into a shaking blancmange.

“My, my. The kitten has claws.”

“I am hardly a kitten, as you well know.” She shifted her feet to avoid getting trodden on. Dancing with Lord Brentwood was a bit like dancing with a bull—not that she’d ever danced with a bull, of course. But he was large and lumbering.

“No, you’re an old cat, aren’t you? You must be so relieved to have finally caught a husband—and the King of Hearts! How did you manage it? One would think Parker-Roth would be more nimble at escaping parson’s mousetrap.”

Mr. Parker-Roth was certainly more nimble than Brentwood on the dance floor.

She ignored Lord Brentwood’s insulting question and looked around the ballroom. “Lord and Lady Kenderly must be delighted. Their ball is a shocking squeeze.” Blast. Mr. Parker-Roth was dancing with Lady Noughton.

Brentwood had followed her gaze. “You don’t mind your intended waltzing with Maria?”

“Why should I?”

“That’s right, you’re new to Town. Let me enlighten you. Maria—Lady Noughton—is Parker-Roth’s mistress. Some amongst society thought they might wed.” He smiled. How had she never noticed his teeth were crooked and rather stained? “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t. Maria is perfectly good
ton
—her father and her husband were barons—and Parker-Roth is only a commoner, after all. This sudden betrothal was quite a shock for the poor woman.”

Anne didn’t care a farthing about Lady Noughton’s heart—she doubted the woman had one—but she did care about Mr. Parker-Roth’s. She could tell when she’d mentioned the widow earlier there’d been something between them. Was that why he’d been drunk in Hyde Park? Had they had a falling out and he’d been drowning his sorrows? That must have been why he’d kissed her; she certainly wouldn’t normally inspire passion in such a man.

Surely he’d find a way to let Lady Noughton know his betrothal was temporary—

She was letting Brentwood confuse her. If the woman was Mr. Parker-Roth’s mistress, he could tell her whatever he wished in bed.

Damn it, Brentwood’s hand was wandering. It came to rest on her derriere; she stepped on his toes as hard as she could.

“Ow!” He scowled at her, but he removed his roving fingers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I was distracted by something brushing the back of my dress. I do hope it won’t happen again.” She smiled.

He grunted. “As I said, everyone thought Parker-Roth would wed Maria—Maria certainly thought so.”

“But as I’m sure you know, the world is full of disappointments.” She let her elbow swing wide as he started to crowd her side. He dodged.

“Ah, but will Parker-Roth be disappointed?”

What did he mean by that? She wasn’t about to ask. “Mr. Parker-Roth and I understand each other. I assure you, you need not busy yourself in our affairs.”

Brentwood looked thoughtful—or as thoughtful as the idiot could look. “So he knows you’re not a virgin?”

This was plain speaking indeed. Pray God no one could overhear their conversation or wonder why she’d suddenly assumed a hue a shade darker than her dress—damn her coloring. “You are offensive, Lord Brentwood.”

“But does he know? Perhaps you’ve already been in his bed? That’s what some of the gossips say.” He leered at her. “Did you scream his name when you came like you screamed mine in Gedding’s garden?”

She was not embarrassed now, she was furious. She should not continue this conversation, but the anger and hurt and, yes, hatred, that had been festering in her for ten years—and perhaps even the weight of this false betrothal ring—made her reckless. “Your memory is faulty. I don’t know—or care to know—your Christian name, Lord Brentwood. If I screamed on that cursed day, it was from pain and shock.”

She stopped and tried to jerk her hands out of his hold. He wouldn’t release her. Another couple collided with them.

“Our apologies,” Brentwood said, starting to waltz again. She was forced to move with him.

“My, my, such venom.” His nasty little eyes studied her; she forced herself not to look away. “You
are
much more . . . interesting than you were in your youth. You know, from the rumors flying through the
ton
, I was certain you’d already warmed Parker-Roth’s bed, but now . . . I think not.”

He nodded, his smile turning even more unpleasant. “He does think you’re a virgin, doesn’t he? I wonder if he would withdraw his offer if he learned he’s getting damaged goods.”

She was certain silence was the best response. She hoped so, since she couldn’t manage to speak.

“Men can be odd about the women they choose to wed, my dear. Parker-Roth may not have a title and he may be only a second son, but I’ll wager he still has the silly notion he should marry a virgin. He’ll be sadly disappointed on his wedding night, won’t he, when there’s no blood on the sheets?”

Oh, God. Dread spiraled in her stomach.

But, no, she needn’t worry. They weren’t actually going to marry—there would be no wedding night.

The thought didn’t make her happy.

Brentwood leaned closer, choking her with another blast of garlic and onions. “Lady Anne, I believe it’s my duty as a fellow male to alert poor Parker-Roth.” He nodded, his little, rat-like eyes never leaving her face. “Indeed, I should drop a word of warning in any man’s ear who might be so led astray.”

He smiled in a very nasty manner. “But then Parker-Roth would be caught on the horns of a dilemma, wouldn’t he? Call off the wedding and risk society’s condemnation or go through with the ceremony and wed you.” He gave a gusty, false sigh. “No, I think it best if I just spread the word of your infamy, don’t you? It could so easily be accomplished. You’ve already set the stage with that scandalous public kiss. Just a word here and there, and you wouldn’t find a single door in Mayfair open to you—or your lovely sister. Too bad her Season would be ended before it truly has begun.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, but I would, Lady Anne. I most certainly would.” He smiled again and her stomach knotted. “I might even be tempted to whisper the truth in your little sister’s ear. I could take her on a garden stroll and . . . enlighten her. She’s far more beautiful than you were when you were her age.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Anne tried to swallow her horror. She knew he
would
dare.

Brentwood laughed. “Oh, my dear, of course I would, and I’d enjoy every moment of it. However, I might be persuaded to hold my tongue—and other organ—if we came to an agreement, you and I.”

“An agreement?” The words were forced out of her. She couldn’t let Evie be hurt if she could prevent it.

“An agreement, yes. A night in my bed for my silence. That’s not so much to ask, is it? I’ll even give you a little time to accustom yourself to the thought—or to grow wet and eager with anticipation, hmm?”

The only thing that was going to grow wet was Brentwood’s waistcoat and breeches when she vomited all over them here in Lord Kenderly’s ballroom.

“A week from tonight, shall we say? Yes. A week from tonight we’ll be waltzing again, but in my bed.” He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Trust me—you will enjoy it.”

Thank God the music finally ended.

Chapter 12

“Take the carriage home, Albert,” Stephen said as he followed the ladies up to Crane House’s front door. “I’ll be a while—I shall walk home.”

“But, sir—”

“That will be all, Albert.” Stephen was not in a mood to bandy words with his coachman.

Albert set the horses in motion.

Clorinda paused and frowned at him as Hobbes opened the door. “What do you mean you’ll be a while, sir? It’s late; you are not invited in.”

“I’m inviting myself in, madam. Lady Anne and I have things to discuss.” Evie was frowning at him, too. He glanced at Anne; she was studying her gloves.

It had been an extremely strained carriage ride from Damian’s town house, so different from the trip there. The tension between him and Anne had killed even Evie’s excited discussion of her first London ball. He was sorry for it, but he could not turn his thoughts from the spectacle of Anne waltzing with Brentwood.