Earl of Woodcliffe: Wicked Earls’ Christmas

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Earl of Woodcliffe: Wicked Earls’ Christmas Page 2

by Aileen Fish


  “That’s the point,” Mattie said. “You’ll try that much harder to win.”

  “I’ll put in my peacock shawl. Are we all in agreement?” Mercy asked. She looked from one girl to the next.

  “Yes,” they answered almost in unison.

  “Excellent! We’ll begin at Almack’s on Wednesday next week. I can’t wait!”

  Chapter 3

  The assembly room at Almack’s wasn’t as crowded as Mercy expected, but it was still early in the Season. Mama insisted she remain at her side until her friends arrived, but all she wanted was to visit the gambling rooms to look for Lord Woodcliffe. While she waited, she kept her eye on the doors just in case he ventured into the ballroom.

  Mattie was the first of her friends to arrive. She was easy to pick out because of her red peacock feather in her hair dancing through the crowd. It was the only part of Mattie she could see, like a quail’s topknot bobbin above the grass.

  “Mama, there’s Matilda. May I go to her?”

  Her mother held up her lorgnette and searched in the direction Mercy pointed. “Yes, but don’t go too far. You’re to dance the first dance with Mr. Hailey.”

  Mercy sighed at hearing the reminder. Mr. Hailey was a kind enough man, but that’s all he was. He represented the reason she’d grown so weary of the Season. She felt no spark at the sight of him, no tingle in her belly when he said her name. Luckily, he had no title nor was he heir to one, so her parents didn’t push her to encourage his affection. He was a fine dancer, though, allowing her to display herself for the other gentlemen to see. Of course, that assumed she wanted the other men to think of her as a future bride, which she had no intention to do, but it made Mama happy and when Mama was happy, Mercy was free to do as she would.

  When Mattie was close, Mercy took her elbow and led her far enough away that Mama couldn’t overhear them. “Have you seen the others?”

  “Not yet. Have you seen Lord Woodcliffe?” Mattie’s rose silk gown brightened the delicate shade of her complexion. She was likely the prettiest of the four friends. Leaning close, Mattie said, “We should stop this foolishness before anything untoward happens.”

  “What’s so untoward about a little kiss? You’ve been kissed before and the patronesses having barred you from Almack’s.” Mercy stood on her toes to see over the heads of the people crushed around her. She stomped her foot, a move made pointless with the flimsy weight of her silk dancing slippers. “We could be three feet away from someone and never know it.”

  “I don’t see many men here. Let’s look in the card rooms,” Mattie suggested.

  Moving through the crowd was an undertaking all its own. When they finally managed to escape the ballroom, Mercy took a deep breath and let poise mask her excitement. This new challenge was just what she’d needed to enjoy the evening. Clutching Mattie’s elbow, she lifted her chin. “Look bored. All the patronesses do, you know.”

  Giving off such an air gave them a cloak of mystery while they strolled the card rooms, she hoped. No one would know their real intent. From the lack of gentlemen who took notice of them, no one cared what the girls’ intent was, real or imagined. The ladies glanced up from their cards with varying expressions of jealousy or derision, but Mercy was used to that. Such was the life of the daughter of a duke. Everyone felt she was either scandalous, like her brother, or spoiled. If only they knew what was expected of a young lady in her position, they might see her differently.

  A duke’s daughter must be perfect. All other young ladies were allowed the occasional foible or faux pas, but the elite daughters must always be seen in a favorable light. The restrictions were all so dull.

  Skimming over the faces of the gentlemen in the room, Mercy was prepared to give up hope for the evening until they reached the third room. “Look, there’s Nobby. At least you have a chance to win tonight. It’s not fair, though. We should have included a rule that all the gentlemen be present at the same time.”

  “Don’t let anyone hear you call him that,” Mattie reprimanded her.

  “Nobby? Why not? It’s what Markham has called him for as long as I recall. Very well, Lord Noblegreen. Better?”

  Mattie squeezed her arm, laughing softly. “I wish the matrons of the ton could see you as I do. They’d be so shocked and appalled.”

  Seeing one of those matrons peering through her lorgnette at the girls, Mercy relaxed her features into the mask Mama had taught her so many years ago, then smiled and nodded in greeting to those matrons. “They’d be no such thing. They’d be delighted to see their gossip had been correct all along. Come, we’ll speak to Nobby and see what he knows of Markham’s other friends.”

  Standing in the doorway of a card room at Almack’s, Woodcliffe watched Lady Mercy make a beeline to the table he’d hoped to join. Suspicion crawled up his spine like a spider. Had Markham resorted to using his sister to lure out Woodcliffe?

  He should never have come. He should never have wagered so much beyond his means last week, but that was nothing new, because he always won eventually. Father shouldn’t have cut him off. That was where the problem lay. That, and the fact Grainger had stolen Woodcliffe’s entire back account.

  Lady Mercy walked among the close-set tables as if she were hostess and all these people were her friends. Most wished they were, he was certain, because of the cachet that connection carried with it. He knew her a little, mostly from Markham’s complaints when they were all young, and the one thing he knew about her was her loyalty. Once one became a friend, she’d never allow a harsh word to be spoken of you.

  The person she was most loyal to was her brother, and due to that, Woodcliffe seriously considered leaving Almack’s and finding another assembly. Yet this was his best chance at finding card partners who were unaware of the seriousness of his lack of funds. He would simply outwait Lady Mercy, then join Nobby’s table and hope Markham hadn’t mentioned his gambling losses.

  Staying close to the walls, while still close enough to the tables that he could quickly bend to greet someone if he needed to hide his face, Woodcliffe followed Lady Mercy and Lady Matilda. Markham’s sister was much too pretty to have remained unmarried this long, and he knew her well enough to know it wasn’t her manner that put off any beaux. She must prefer to remain single, which likely gave her father much duress.

  Her income was more than enough to solve all of Woodcliffe’s problems, but even though Father suspected him of one day doing so, he would never consider marrying for money. The thought of paying Markham with his own father’s money made him chuckle. Another man wouldn’t hesitate to seek such a rich bride by whatever means necessary, but not Woodcliffe.

  Twenty minutes later when Lady Mercy finally left the room, he joined his friend’s table, and he was making a small dent in his debt when Markham strode into the room with all the pomp a marquess could muster. Woodcliffe’s heart jumped. He downed the last of his port and stood. “Gentlemen, it’s been pleasant. Enjoy your evening.”

  Pocketing the few coins he’d earned, he ducked behind a cluster of tall potted plants while he searched for another exit. There were only two—the one Markham had entered through, and one at the opposite end of the room from where Woodcliffe stood. The marquess stood midway between the two, his hawkish gaze studying the room.

  Had someone notified him that Woodcliffe was there?

  He chided himself. He was much less important than that to the marquess, surely.

  Unable to gather any confidence from that logic, he skirted back the way he came, hoping to get past Markham without notice. He almost made it, too, when he was halted by a friend of his father’s. “Woodcliffe, son, how fares your father?”

  Flinching at being discovered, he stole a glance at Markham, who didn’t appear to have heard. “He’s well, thank you. The country air this past winter was good for him.”

  The old man ran through every pleasantry known to man before letting Woodcliffe make his escape. Once in the hallway, he darted for the servants’ stairs to le
ave unseen.

  He plowed directly into a soft, sweet obstruction that smelled of jasmine. He caught her shoulders before realizing who she was. “Lady Mercy, what a pleasure. If you’re looking for you brother, I’ve just left him.”

  “Why, no.” Her long black lashes fluttered and Woodcliffe tensed. There were few stronger warning signs a single man feared. “I sought you.”

  Blast! The marquess was using her to entrap Woodcliffe. “And why is that?” He glanced toward the card room, certain he’d see Markham bearing down on them.

  “Why—I, er, wished to dance with you, my lord. It’s been so long since we’ve stood up together.”

  The only time he’d partnered with her was in the nursery of her father’s estate, when they were all the target of a stern-voiced dance tutor. Her comment made him even more certain why she was there. “I’d be delighted to under normal circumstances, but you find me on my way to another assembly. I’m expected there,” he lied. No one cared one way or another whether he accepted invitations to their events. They only invited him to make certain there were enough single gentlemen on hand. Apparently, there was some magic ratio of desirable to undesirable men that would improve their daughters’ chances of making an excellent match. Woodcliffe helped flesh out the undesirable numbers.

  And he was more than happy to remain in that group of men.

  “Surely you have time for one set. It’s early still. They haven’t even served dinner yet.” Lady Mercy was too comfortable in her pleading stance, too practiced. How often did her wheedling work?

  Her soft blue eyes studied him with no uncertainty. She was dangerous, and she had him trapped in full sight of the card room door. Taking her hand and tucking it to his side, he led her toward the ballroom. “As tempting as the offer is, I must let this one pass. You’ll give me another opportunity at a later date?”

  Her lips pressed tightly together, and her nostrils flared. “No, it must be tonight.”

  Seeing a dark alcove, he drew her into the shadows. “Lady Mercy, I know your brother has enlisted your aid in forcing me to repay my debt. However, I don’t have the funds with me tonight. I cannot remain here any longer.”

  She peered into the lighted space outside the alcove. “You’re mistaken. If my brother saw me here, he’d punch you and drag me home. I’m not permitted to converse with his friends.”

  The girl made no sense. “Why would he allow you to dance with me but not talk?” Woodcliffe asked.

  Leaning closer brought her jasmine scent to him again and he longed to inhale more of it. She whispered conspiratorially. “He mustn’t know. In truth, I have no desire to dance. I only want a kiss.”

  Woodcliffe nearly jumped back as if she were an ember shooting from the fireplace. “A kiss? If you can’t talk to me without angering Markham, you see the flaw in your thinking, don’t you?”

  “He can’t know if it, of course. No one can, except Lady Matilda, Lady Selena, and Lady Clara.” She growled softly in frustration. “Now I’ve said too much, I might as well explain the entire matter. You can appreciate a good wager, I know.”

  She had him there. He folded his arms across his chest if for no other reason than it gave him a barrier from the temptation of her full lips. “I’m waiting…”

  “Yes. You see, my friends and I drew names and I got yours. I have to kiss you to win.”

  Torn between flattery and astonishment, it took him a few moments to find his voice. “I thought only men made such foolish wagers.”

  “You have no sisters, my lord.” She fluttered those thick lashes again and he held back a groan.

  “How are you capable of flirting like that without destroying your reputation?” He held up his hands. “Never mind. I cannot kiss you. Now, allow me to escort you back to the ballroom and I’ll take my leave.”

  “Wait!” Her small gloved hand rested on his sleeve.

  He scanned the hallway for Markham, but for the moment he was safe.

  “Please. I never lose a bet.”

  “Find another target for your games, Lady Mercy. I prefer not to face a pistol at dawn.” He again tried to lead her away.

  Just before they cleared the shadows, she stepped in front of him and rose on her toes, placing the most delicate peck on his lips. As she pulled away, her eyes were wide. Woodcliffe would love to consider his skill was the reason for her surprise, but it was over so quickly he hadn’t had the chance to even pucker.

  “Drat!” She pressed her fingertips to her lips.

  “Come now, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “I forgot the most important part. The kiss has to be seen.”

  Chapter 4

  Drat, double drat, and triple drat! How could Mercy have forgotten the most important requirement of the kiss? Mattie and the others were nowhere in sight. Tucked away in the alcove as she and the viscount were, no one could have seen them. There was nothing else to be done. “We have to kiss again. Please wait while I call Mattie from the card room.”

  “Why, so Markham will see? I have no desire to be dead, and you can’t wish to trap me into marriage, so what’s the point? I’ll pay whatever you’ve wagered so you’ll have your winnings.”

  She must find a way to convince him. Batting her lashes hadn’t worked so far, so she ducked her head and offered him her sweetest smile. “Is it so difficult to believe I want to kiss you, my lord? You’re very handsome, you know. Many of the ladies think so.”

  “I know my reputation. I’ve even encouraged most of the gossip, but I won’t despoil you or any other young lady. What is this all about? Why would you wager on kisses, when any one of you merely has to look at a man to make him desire you?”

  Her stomach fluttered and she grew suddenly warm. He desired her? As one of her brother’s closest friends, he’d always been in that small group of men she could never think about marrying. That hadn’t stopped her from dreaming of him, though. Of all Markham’s friends, she was drawn most to him because of his sense of humor, and the grace with which he danced. But Woodcliffe’s chestnut locks and sparkling, expressive hazel eyes appeared quite often in her dreams.

  He’d been quick to make her laugh when she was young and was the only one of her brother’s friends to pay any attention to her, if one overlooked the pulling of her pigtails by the others.

  And now she stood before him begging for a kiss. What had happened to her? When had desperation entered her person? The idea that he didn’t desire another kiss made her feel like she was undesirable, something she’d never considered given all the attention other men paid her. Were they all after only one thing…her status as the daughter of a duke?

  “I’m not asking for a scandalous seduction, my lord. Nor a passionate embrace. All I need is for one of my friends to see us kiss, and then I win my bet.”

  His right eyebrow lifted only enough to almost go unnoticed. “And what do I get?”

  That question was unexpected. She blinked and considered the thought, but the answer was obvious. “Why, you get to kiss me.”

  He stepped so close her gown brushed against his waistcoat, and her heart raced. “As you’ve said, it’s merely a kiss without passion or scandal. I could have that from many women. I repeat, what do I get for helping you win?”

  Lord Woodcliffe had no understanding of the female sex, clearly. The prize wasn’t the point of the challenge, winning was. She pursed her lips in a wry smile. “We’ve pooled a hat, a pair of half-boots, a reticule, and a silk shawl. Which would you prefer?”

  Chuckling, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. The familiarity of the touch gave her shivers. He studied her a moment and she would have given up all her winnings to know what he was thinking. “While my dance slippers are growing thin, I don’t believe your half-boots would fit.”

  Had he always been so good-natured? By the time she was old enough to notice him, he’d stopped visiting. Maybe trickery wasn’t the way to gain his assistance. She tried a different tack. “You’d have my eternal grat
itude.”

  Woodcliffe lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “As delightful as that sounds, even your gratitude wouldn’t save me from Markham’s wrath, and I’ve stirred that enough of late to last a lifetime. I fear I must pass on your invitation.”

  Unable to bear the idea she would lose, she stomped her foot again. “Lord Woodcliffe, no one says no to me!”

  He squeezed the fingers he still held. “Perhaps someone should, lest you find yourself in a situation you cannot control.” His voice was low, sultry, seductive. It made her tremble, her knees weaken as if to swoon.

  There must be something she could do to convince him to kiss her, and she had to find out what it was before he escaped. She chose the direct route. “What do you want for kissing me?”

  His grin widened and he shook his head. “Mercy, this isn’t a game. Your brother will wish me dead soon enough, if he doesn’t already.”

  That was clear enough. “Ah, gambling debts. I see.”

  Woodcliffe had the decency to look chagrined. “Exactly. Now, let me take you to the ballroom. Your mother must have noticed your absence by now.”

  It was Mercy’s turn to chuckle. “In all honesty, Mama is so desperate to see me married, she’s probably praying I’m caught in a scandal.”

  Without comment, he held out his arm and they stepped from the shadows.

  Directly in Markham’s path.

  “Woodcliffe!” Fire burned in her brother’s eyes. He yanked his friend’s arm and dragged him down the hall. “What are you up to?”

  Mercy rushed to keep up. “Markham, let him go. It’s not what you think.”

  “Go find Mother. Now. I’ll deal with you later.” Markham pushed Woodcliffe against a wall near the servants’ stairwell, not even glancing her way.

  “Do as he says, Mercy.” Woodcliffe was suddenly more demanding than her brother.

  Perspiration trickled down one side of her face, her embarrassment and guilt causing waves of heat to course over her skin. “I won’t, not until he understands you aren’t to blame for any of this mess.”

 

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