The Rake and the Wallflower (16 page)

Heat exploded, melting her knees until she had to cling to keep from falling. If she had known what kisses were like, she might have sympathized more with Laura. Or was this reaction unusual? Perhaps Gray’s rakish experiences had taught him how to produce effects unknown to others. Certainly the conversations she had overheard about marriage duties had never mentioned this.

She moaned as he pulled her against him, scrambling her wits until she could barely think. His hands cupped her bottom to lift her closer yet. She hardly realized that he’d moved until he collapsed on a couch with her in his lap.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured huskily, trailing kisses along her jaw until he reached her ear. Drawing the lobe into his mouth, he nipped it.

“Mmmm.” She touched his cheek, surprised to find rough nubs sprinkled along the jawline. Hairs. Yet the hair on his head was as soft as hers, so why did this feel coarse? She slid her hand back and forth to test the different textures, but was distracted when the tip of her breast brushed his arm, exploding into more new sensations. She moaned again, then froze.

Dear Lord! She was no better than Laura, flinging herself at a near stranger as wantonly as if she yearned to consummate their union here and now. How could he feel anything but disgust for her after this?

This was not the time or place for lovemaking. There had been enough scandal for one night. Courting more could ruin them both.

“We had best return to the ballroom, Gray,” she said, surprised that her voice was husky. “Not that I object to your kisses — they are quite remarkable. But people will be watching for us.”

He sighed. “You are right, as usual. Very well, my dear. We must do our duty.” He frowned. “Is your sister likely to be there?”

“No. Blake will send her home. He was furious enough that he might send her back to Seabrook. That was one of his threats this afternoon.”

“He would be better off keeping her here where she can suffer the consequences of her actions. She might learn more.”

“And embarrass us all.”

“She can no longer harm us, Mary. Any attempt to retaliate will redound on her. By morning, there won’t be a soul in London who believes a word she says. Rockhurst’s support will prevent anyone from blaming us. But we can discuss that later. There is one more piece of business before we face the world.” His arm tightened.

“What is that?” Her hand slid beneath his coat, stroking his shoulder. As his manhood twitched, she stilled.

“No need to stop,” he said, kissing her lightly on the nose. “I enjoy your touch. But we must set a wedding date.”

“That is hardly usual this early in a betrothal.”

“Rockhurst cloaked us in propriety, but there is no denying this situation is irregular. We needn’t wed instantly, but I would like to do so before the Season ends. Unfortunately, I have no town house. Albany does not permit ladies, and I have no wish to share a roof with your sister, even for a week, so we will have to live at Shellcroft in the beginning. But I’ve business matters to conclude first, and we need time to quell any gossip. Three weeks should suffice.”

“That sounds perfect.” She had feared he would suggest waiting until summer. She didn’t want to share a roof with Laura, either. After tonight’s fiasco, she never wanted to see Laura again. But she could tolerate three more weeks. And an early wedding should prevent speculation that he meant to cry off once the Season ended.

“To the future,” he murmured, kissing her again.

* * * *

Only snatches of the ball remained in Mary’s mind afterward. The moment she and Gray appeared at the top of the stairs, the music ceased, drawing every eye to the door. A hush settled over the room, broken only by Lord Harding’s querulous voice demanding to know what was happening.

Blake was waiting in the doorway, having sent Laura home with a footman. When Gray nodded, he made the announcement. Catherine rushed to Mary’s side, the concern in her eyes belying her smile.

“Wonderful news, Mary. I am so happy for you. And you are perfect for each other, as I noted the first time I saw you together.” Leaning close to kiss her cheek, she murmured, “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” Mary answered. Aloud she said, “I could not be happier. Lord Grayson shares so many of my interests. It was a dream come true to learn he returned my affections.” It seemed best to claim a love match. Nothing else would explain their story.

Half an hour later, she was ready to collapse. People she barely knew crowded around to offer felicitations. Some seemed sincere, but too many voices held pity or disbelief. Gray would need more than Blake’s support to overcome so many years of distrust. She longed to escape, yet when relief arrived, it made her even more nervous.

“You make a lovely couple,” said Lady Jersey, smiling. “And as long as she avoids cream cakes, she will do you proud, Grayson. Partner her. This set is perfect for a betrothal dance.”

“Thank you, my lady,” murmured Mary as the musicians began a waltz. But inside she cringed. This would be the last straw for Laura’s temper. She would never be granted permission to waltz now.

“I’ve had very little practice on this step,” she warned Gray as he swung her into the first turn.

“Relax. You will be fine.” He held her eyes, pulling her an inch closer than propriety allowed.

“What about you? Only yesterday you were weak as a kitten. And that limp is not completely gone.” She’d noticed it as he dashed into the antechamber.

“Ankle sprain, but I’ll manage.” He twirled her through a complicated turn that she hadn’t known she could do, then grinned, flashing his dimple. “What did she mean about cream cakes?”

“One of my less stellar moments.” It was hard to keep a smile on her face while revealing what a bad bargain she really was. “I tripped on the edge of a carpet and crashed into a footman, who dropped a plate of cream cakes on Lady Jersey’s head. I was sure she would cancel my voucher on the spot, but she merely glared at me, then turned her ire on two girls who giggled.”

“I would love to have seen it. But since you have a voucher, I will accompany you to Almack’s tomorrow.”

“Will they let you in?”

“Certainly. Lady Jersey just confirmed my standing by presenting me as a suitable partner for the waltz. They never actually revoked my voucher, though they would have done so had I attempted to use it. I wonder why she decided to accept me now."

“To punish Laura. Since she granted our vouchers, she cannot like such public evidence of poor judgment.”

“Perhaps.” He pulled her another inch closer. “I won’t object.”

Mary’s knees again melted, though she knew he sought only to convince society that they were in love. To deflect her mind so she wouldn’t disgust him by revealing feelings he didn’t want, she concentrated on the crowd. Faces spun past, frozen as if in a painting.

Lady Marchgate, smiling indulgently. Even that rigidly proper matron enjoyed a betrothal waltz, particularly when it provided a slap in the face to a girl she disliked.

Lady Beatrice, delivering some pronouncement to Lady Debenham.

Lord Whitehaven, nodding approval. That boded well.

A young sprig in the towering cravat of the fop, glaring. Mary shivered at the hatred in those eyes.

“Who is the dandy next to Lady Wilkins? Green jacket, flowered waistcoat, chin shoved upward by his cravat.”

On the next turn, Gray spotted him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just down from school, I expect. He can’t be above eighteen.”

“He has the oddest look on his face, as if our betrothal were the final insult to a life already made intolerable.”

“I doubt it.” He squeezed her hand. “He’s probably bilious from too much punch. Not everyone is concerned about us, my dear. Most of society has resumed its dissection of Griffin’s arrest, Blackthorn’s latest attack on Atwater, or Mannering’s new bride.”

Or Laura, but neither of them mentioned her.

Once the dance ended, Gray escorted her to supper. News of their sudden betrothal was already on the wing, bringing the curious from other gatherings and producing the heaviest crush of the Season. Lady Cunningham’s ball would be remembered for a long time.

But Mary couldn’t forget that malevolent face. She had seen hatred in its purest form before, so the dandy’s thoughts were clear. As were his intentions. As soon as the crowd of well-wishers thinned, she turned to Gray. “Can you take me home?”

“Of course. You must be exhausted.”

She nodded numbly.

“Everything will be fine,” he promised, seating her in his carriage. Rockhurst House was only two streets away.

“I hope so, but I’m too tired to think. How about you? Do your injuries still bother you?”

“Only a trifle.” He dropped into the seat across from her and crossed his arms. “Now suppose you tell me why we are courting new scandal by disappearing alone.”

She dropped her voice so the coachman would not hear. “Miss Ormsby identified that young man – the one I spotted when we were dancing.”

“The cub who drank too much?”

“That’s the one. But he wasn’t foxed. I know hatred when I see it. If looks could kill—”

“But they can’t.”

“Not by themselves. But hatred too often leads to trouble. He is Leonard Turner, Miss Turner’s younger brother. According to Miss Ormsby, his friend had to constrain him from attacking when Blake announced our betrothal. He is enraged that you are happy – which raises the question of whether he is responsible for your accidents.”

CHAPTER TEN

Mary invited Gray inside, but he declined. She understood. Their sudden betrothal left him in a daze, and her news about Mr. Turner was the final straw. She’d seen his brain shutting down from the shock.

Her own was little better. Never again could she slip away to hide from society. No matter how crowded she felt or how many mistakes she made, she must stay in the public eye. Everyone would be watching her closely. Laura had already brought disgrace on the family. She could only pray she wouldn’t make it worse.

But upholding the Seabrook name was not her biggest problem. She also must protect Gray’s. He would one day be an earl. Would her country ways and nervous faux pas shame him? He deserved better than a bluestocking bird lover. Why hadn’t she applied herself more firmly to Miss Mott’s lessons in manners, music, and entertaining?

It would reflect poorly on Gray if people thought he had chosen a poor-spirited wife. And hiding would cast doubts on their claim of a love match. Somehow she must convince people that she was worthy of him. He deserved no less.

Sighing, she climbed slowly upstairs. Catherine and Blake would demand a complete explanation in the morning. At least Gray’s flowers would support their claim of a courtship and explain Laura’s supposed jealousy.

She must also write her brothers. William would be furious with Laura, and he would never approve of Gray. William was a prude — there was no other way to describe him. His primary interest was his estate, his voice growing animated only when discussing crop rotation or the benefits of manure. It had taken Catherine a month to persuade him to let Laura and Mary live at Rockburn Abbey, for he had heard that some of Blake’s friends were rakes.

Andrew would accept anything that made her happy, though he, too, would be furious with Laura. His closest friend had been one of her early victims. If only he were here. He had long been her favorite brother. Only he could advise her how to turn this debacle into a workable relationship. Catherine couldn’t help, for her own marriages had been love matches.

Her youngest brother Thomas was still in school, but he would welcome Gray the moment he learned about Gray’s ships. He had recently evinced an interest in sailing, though at sixteen he was a little old for the navy. They preferred to start potential officers as cabin boys.

She also needed to learn more about Gray, starting with his name. Details like that could put the lie to their supposed courtship, and she could not trust gossip to have the facts right.

On the thought, she stopped in Blake’s study to check Debrett’s
Peerage
. It took only moments to find the entry. Viscount Grayson, heir to the fifth Earl of Rothmoor, christened Oliver Leslie Dubonne after his father — that explained why he never used the name. The entry was brief, listing only his date of birth and his London direction. The book had been compiled before he acquired his Sussex estate.

Replacing Debrett’s, she pushed open her bedroom door, then cursed. She should have expected another confrontation.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” hissed Laura from the chair by the fireplace. “You ruined everything.”

“I see you are clinging to your fantasies,” Mary said wearily. “Go to bed, Laura. You brought this on yourself.”

“Me?” Laura surged to her feet, whirling to confront her sister. “You stole the man I wanted. How dare you?”

“I stole nothing!” Mary tossed her reticule on her dressing table, relieved that Laura had not shredded the peonies in her fury.

There was no way to avoid an argument, and that was probably good. It was time to step out of the shadows and stand up for herself. Gray had forced her to recognize how cowed she had become.

“Just because you want someone does not mean he returns your regard. Only an idiot would try to force a stranger into marriage. Yes, a stranger,” she snapped, ignoring Laura’s protest. “You know nothing about him beyond malicious rumor, most of which is false. Didn’t that fiasco with Blake teach you anything?”

“I learn from every encounter.” Laura’s eyes blazed blue in the candlelight. “Blake taught me to be bold. Too much preparation gives others a chance to interfere. Just as Kevin taught me the need for an audience.”

“You will rot in hell for what you did to Kevin. He would never have bought colors if you hadn’t hounded him. I’ve never met a man so unsuited for war. I hope his ghost haunts you forever.”

“Why should it? Sneaking away to the army was his choice. We could have shared a glorious life, following adventure around the world. But no matter. He proved himself unworthy. As did Blake. Imagine preferring an insipid widow burdened with a sniveling brat.”