The Devil In Disguise (3 page)

Will had just enough time to enter the room and prop himself against the cream damask wall before the footman returned. He drank the brandy in one swallow and returned the glass to the tray with a decisive click.

“Thank you, my good man.”

The liveried servant bowed and departed.

Savoring the slow burn as the brandy snaked its way to his belly, Will forced himself up the stairs and reached the receiving line.

Lord Mansfield, a portly man whose circumference nearly matched his height, smiled broadly and offered his hand. “Clairemont, welcome. It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of lightening your pockets at Brooks,” he said with a wink.

“If memory serves, Mansfield,” Will drawled, “I believe I won the last time we played a hand.”

“Indeed,” Mansfield chuckled wryly.

“Your Grace,” Lady Mansfield interrupted, nearly elbowing her husband aside as she inserted herself into the conversation. “You honor us with your presence,” she gushed.

“Lady Mansfield.” Will inclined his head in an appropriate ducal acknowledgment. “Thank you for your gracious invitation.”

“Oh, but no, Your Grace, it is we who are honored that you have joined us this evening,” she answered, offering her hand and curtsying to Will before shooting a look of elated satisfaction at the nearby members of the ton.

“Clairemont, my wife, Lady Mansfield.” Lord Mansfield met Will’s gaze in silent apology. “Priscilla,” he muttered, turning to the woman while carefully avoiding the exuberant lavender plumage protruding somewhat her purple turban. “Do behave.”

Will tamped down his initial urge, which was to silence her with a cold stare. He thought better of it—for both Mansfield’s sake and his own. If ever there was a moment to establish himself as a changed man, this was it.

He took Lady Mansfield’s plump, bejeweled fingers in his hand and bowed perfunctorily. “My pleasure, I assure you. In truth, I’ve been absent far too long from an assembly such as—”

She gripped his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, yes, far too long, my dear boy. Why, only last month I happened upon Her Grace while in Bath. She is such a dear woman, your mother. And when I asked after you in passing, I must say that she hastily skirted the subject, offering very little information.” She paused for effect, raising an eyebrow at Will and leaning in to murmur conspiratorially. “It was clear she worries after you.”

Will froze, hating that he had to remind himself he was playing a part. Hell, hating that he
was
playing a part.

The woman interrupts you when speaking, calls you “dear boy” as though she were your doting aunt from Aberdeen, and has the audacity to assume she knows the private thoughts of your mother. Dear God
, he thought,
she’s a walking trial by fire. Live through this introduction and the remainder of the evening will be a breeze
.

What was it Carmichael was constantly prattling on about, he wondered? Ah, yes, counting. Count to ten and breathe. Will began his slow ascent to the double digits, his chest expanding and contracting in time.

“Yes, well,” he said, finding his equilibrium somewhere around thirteen. Smoothly, he extricated his hand from her clutching fingers. “My mother is an exemplary parent.” Will’s voice held only a hint of sarcasm as he nodded and stepped back, determined to extricate himself from Lady Mansfield’s too sympathetic clutches and make his way into the ballroom.

Laying a restraining hand on his arm, Lady Mansfield began, “Oh, my dear boy, you can be assured that I’ll convey your words to her upon our very next meeting and I’m certain …”

“My dear, let the poor man go.” Lord Mansfield pulled his wife to his side, removing her hand from Will’s sleeve and clearing his way to escape. “Save me a spot at the hazard table, will you?” he asked Will.

Will gave Mansfield a look of thanks and nodded. “A glutton for punishment, I see. Just as well,” he continued, smoothly stepping out of Lady Mansfield’s reach. “I always enjoy a sound thrashing at the card table—not mine, of course.”

He heard Mansfield chuckle behind him as the crowd cleared a path for him. He moved toward the ballroom, the din growing louder as he neared, then paused in the doorway.

The noise hit him first, exaggerated and grating, bits of laughter and feigned interest, colorful gossip and tart reproaches all competing against one another.

The heat was next. The combination of hundreds of candles and even more swirling and animated bodies left little fresh air beneath the glittering chandeliers. The sights were as he had remembered from every other ball he’d attended as a younger man, newly on the town. Jewel-toned dresses interspersed throughout the milder tones of pinks, yellows, and blues. Blondes and brunettes, milky-skinned misses and eager young bucks, aged dowagers and graying lords, some dancing, others conversing, while the wallflowers lined the periphery, valiantly trying not to look desperate.

It was all a gigantic waste of time, as far as he was concerned; too loud to converse on anything of meaning, too hot to do more than wish your clothes were off, and too polite. Far too polite. These people knew nothing of real fun. Wild, free, unadulterated fun was more to Will’s liking and often included far more fights and much more drinking. Thank God he’d had the foresight to stop the footman earlier.

“You’re glowering.”

Years of training meant Will was not caught off guard by the whispered statement just to the left and behind him. “And how would you know, Northrop, considering your inability at the moment to view anything but my posterior?”

John Fitzharding, the Earl of Northrop, came round to stand by Will’s side. “I don’t need to see your face. It’s written all over theirs.” He motioned to the crowd beyond, many of whom, judging from their looks of anxious surprise, had taken note of Will’s unexpected presence.

“It’s your fault, you know. I couldn’t possibly come off as anything but terrifying standing next to you.” Will raked his friend with an assessing stare. The difference between the two was stark. Will knew his tall, broad frame was all hard angles and rugged features with coal black hair and deep hazel eyes. He was the dark Devil to Northrop’s leaner body, angelic golden hair, blue eyes, and gentlemanly appearance.

They’d joined the Young Corinthians around the same time, becoming fast friends despite being different in practically every way. Northrop’s calm-and-collected nature complimented Will’s wilder tendencies—a fact that had saved Will on more than one occasion in those early years.

“It’s more than your muscles and famously short temper that fascinates them,” Northrop said, just a hint of amused sarcasm accompanying his smile. “They don’t know why you’re here. And not to know something is unacceptable to this set. Knowledge is power, after all.”

Will met Northrop’s half grin with his own. “Bloody hell, can’t a man go looking for a bit of entertainment without the entire world wondering what he’s up to?”

“Is that it, then?” Northrop asked, one eyebrow lifting in patent disbelief. “You’re here for a bit of entertainment?”

Corinthian law forbade discussing a case with fellow members who weren’t directly involved. It kept things less complicated. And while Northrop might hint at his suspicions over the reason for Will’s appearance, Will could not, would not, reveal his true purpose.

“More than simply entertainment, I suppose,” he began. “If you must know,” he said, adopting the role of liar as easily as he would throw back his brandy, “my mother has finally succeeded in making me consider the future. It’s time I found a wife.”

Will watched Northrop take the information in, knowing full well he’d not be able to tell if his friend believed him. As one of the most valuable members of the Corinthians, Northrop would, of course, expertly mask his true thoughts.

The man merely adjusted a cuff. “Well, it’s about bloody time we made a gentleman out of you.”

Did Northrop believe him? Will couldn’t let the thought linger. Besides, it didn’t matter much either way. Northrop would help when Will asked, without questions. Slipping a finger between his cravat and neck, Will feigned discomfort. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, the a lady. Any suggestions?”

The two looked about the room, Will with one particular woman in mind. He immediately spotted Lady Northrop, John’s wife and reputedly Lady Lucinda’s inseparable companion. A circle of men, surrounded Lady Northrop, who stood next to another woman, partially hidden from Will’s view by the group. The men appeared to be enthralled by the lady’s every word, Will noticed with some cynicism.

“Let’s see. There’s Madeline Haywood,” Northrop began. “Her intellect rivals that of a sack of potatoes, but she’s fairly attractive.”

The group around Lady Northrop shifted, allowing Will a clearer view of the woman at the center.

Bloody hell
. Lady Lucinda Grey was beautiful. Not just pleasing. Not just pretty. Beautiful.

Will felt heat rising from his belly to his chest. A mass of honeyed yellow curls artfully framed her face—and
that face
. The bluest eyes Will had ever seen shone like, well, he wasn’t quite sure, not being poetically inclined, but even from his distant vantage point the brilliancy of them could not be denied. Her lips, slightly pink, delicately shifted from question to statement and back again, surely hypnotizing the lot of fools around her.

Don’t look down, man. Whatever you do, do not look any farther
.

But his eyes seemed to act of their own accord. His gaze lowered from her pert, ridiculously charming chin, and he found himself in forbidden territory. The creamy, milk white expanse of skin that showed above her pale pink evening attire begged to be caressed. As for what came next, even Will felt embarrassed over his reaction. The lady’s breasts were, in a word, perfection. Nicely rounded and set high, they appeared to be the ideal size for Will’s hands. His palms itched to feel the weight of them.

“If you prefer a touch more intelligence,” Northrop said, clearly unaware of Will’s distraction, “perhaps Honoria Willett. She’s the one in blue, next to her man-of-war-sized and exceptionally opinionated mother, Lady Dandridge.” Northrop paused for just a moment, then added, “Come to think of it, I fear your newly reformed temper may not be ready for Lady Dandridge. What do you think?”

Will couldn’t respond. If anyone had told him before tonight that he’d be dumbstruck at the mere sight of a woman, he would have ridiculed them as lackwits.

“Clairemont?” Northrop said. “Clairemont? Are you quite all right?”

Will pulled his gaze from Lady Lucinda and attempted to focus on his friend. “What was that about ships?”

“Keep up, man.” Northrop frowned, his sharp gaze searching Will’s face. “Your title and wealth aside, the truth is, you scare the hell out of most men, never mind these naïve misses. You’ll need your wits about you to accomplish the task at hand.” He looked to the crowd and back. “Now, back to Madeline—”

“And Lady Lucinda Grey. Do I frighten her?”

Northrop looked into Will’s eyes more sternly. “You can’t be serious. Lady Lucinda Grey? Will, she’s not … that is to say—”

“The richest woman in all of England. Prim, proper, intelligent, and notoriously particular when it comes to men?” Will interrupted, returning Northrop’s look with a seriousness all his own.

“Yes,” Northrop countered, lowering his voice before continuing. “But that’s not the point, Clairemont. She’s a particular friend of Amelia’s and because of this I’ve had the opportunity to further my acquaintance with her. She’s a lovely woman. Yes, she’s prim and proper and quick-witted. But beyond that, she’s loyal and kind and—”

“You sound as though you’re describing a favored dog, Northrop. Come now, why, exactly, are you concerned over my possible interest in this woman?” Will press, growing slightly irritated.

Northrop blew out a breath and broke his gaze, looking instead at his wife, standing next to Lady Lucinda. “Listen. This is a woman who has refused every eligible bachelor in England. I’m only trying to save you a wasted effort.”

“Will you present me or not?” Will asked, his tone and directness telling Northrop what he couldn’t put into words.

Northrop flinched slightly, a sign he had some understanding that this touched on Corinthian business. “All right, then, but Clairemont,” he said, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder, “have a care, won’t you?”

“Have all the rumors about me finally convinced you of my black heart, then?”

“You know I don’t give a deuce about what people say. I trust you. It’s Lady Lucinda I’m concerned for. She’ll not recognize the game you’re playing. You’re too good at it.”

“I need an introduction,” Will said simply.

Northrop closed his eyes for a fraction of a second longer than was normal. “I don’t want to see her come to harm. However dire the consequences of your assignment, in the end she’ll not understand.”

Will’s eyes met his friend’s. “If you do not wish for her to come to harm,” he said softly, “you’ll make the introduction.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to divulging Corinthian business. But Northrop’s concern and obvious affection for his wife’s friend deserved something more from the situation.

Northrop dropped his arm to his side and motioned Will to follow him across the ballroom.

Will felt the eyes of the entire room on him as he walked toward the women.
Am I that monstrous
, he wondered, nearly tempted to curl his lips and growl at the whole lot. As his father before him, and as far back as anyone cared to remember, the Clairemont men had always possessed a remarkable resemblance to one another. Of course, he’d failed to inherit his father’s cold countenance, having been born instead with the McClaine family temper, or so his mother had always told him.

No matter how hard he’d tried to please his father by pretending to be more like him, he always fell short.

Until one day when his father delivered a particularly vile set-down. Will had been only ten, but something in his father’s tone and demeanor made him understand full well that the duke loathed not only his son’s temperament, but everything else about him.