Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  Brynn snorted. “Analogy? What does that mean?”

  Melissa’s eyes opened and she gave Brynn a look. “Ah, so now you pretend ignorance. Convenient isn’t it?”

  * * *

  Thalia Alford, Lady Greyfield, tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her daughters to join her for a light meal before the ball. Her husband had been scheduled to join them but he had sent a note that he was delayed at Whitehall.

  He had been summoned for an impromptu meeting. Closeness to the crown had its advantages, but His Grace was forever at the beck and call of the Prince. It irked Thalia to no end.

  Her firstborn, Rose, entered the room and Thalia smiled with approval. Rose was already dressed for the ball in blue and silver, a perfect foil for her sister’s gold and green. If only Melissa would comport herself like a lady for one night, they might just end up having the premiere ball of the year; one which Thalia could boast about for a while.

  “You look well, Rose.”

  Her daughter curtsied prettily. “Why thank you, Mother. That’s kind of you to say.”

  While her silver necklace had not been designed specifically for this night, unlike Melissa’s, Rose’s was garnished with blue diamonds that shone against her alabaster skin. She and Melissa were night and day in every way; Thalia could not fathom how she had birthed two people who were so different.

  Even as she thought it, Melissa came rushing into the room, a flyaway curl in her face, walking too fast, breathing too hard. Thalia felt a familiar bolt of irritation streak through her and she frowned.

  “Slow down Melissa. That is no way for a lady to move.”

  Melissa’s mouth twisted, further irritating Thalia. Nobody liked a bad-tempered girl.

  “Yes, mother,” she replied biting off the ‘s’ as if it were Thalia’s finger. Lady Greyfield stiffened in her seat and opened her mouth to snap at her daughter but stopped as she spotted the butler enter the room.

  “Your Grace,” he said with a bow, “your mother has arrived.”

  Thalia sighed, rolling her eyes. Of course, her mother was early. For some reason, the dowager Lady Belford had a soft spot for Melissa. Thalia could not imagine why.

  “Send her in, Biggs. And bring in some refreshment for the girls and me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Biggs backed out of the room and not a moment later, Thalia’s mother was bustling in, kissing her grandchildren and generally making a nuisance of herself. Thalia looked away from her mother and focused on her breathing. Tonight, was a big night and anyone who was anyone in the realm was invited.

  Thalia’s heart sank as she thought of two men she was not looking forward to seeing. One had blackmailed his way onto the guest list, the other was a close friend of the Prince as well and could not be left out. She feared that the evening might prove too much for her what with having to deal with her daughter’s peccadillos already. She was exhausted and the ball had not even begun.

  * * *

  Melissa opened the dance on her father’s arm. He twirled her across the room, a proud smile on his face, while the assembled audience watched. The ladies whispered behind their fans as they simpered at the gentlemen. Melissa spotted Brynn and the other servants walking about with trays laden with champagne, sherry, and strawberry cordial. Brynn winked when she spotted Melissa’s eyes on her and Melissa almost grinned before remembering herself.

  She turned to her father, a smile on her face.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, father. Everything is lovely.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You have your mother to thank for that, you know?”

  Melissa exhaled sharply, “Oh, father, do stop.”

  Her father was forever trying to reconcile Melissa and her mother. She did not know why he had not realized by now, that it was a waste of energy. Her mother hated her, for reasons unknown to Melissa–and she had long since stopped trying to change Lady Greyfield’s mind.

  “Hope springs eternal,” Lord Greyfield hummed as he swept her across the room.

  “Perhaps I shall find a husband tonight and then she shall not have to deal with me for much longer,” Melissa grumbled.

  Her father laughed. “Well, unless you plan to find a husband for your sister as well, your hopes might not come to fruition as fast as you might wish.”

  Melissa harrumphed, “Rose would be married by now if she would only accept one of the many offers she has received.”

  “Our Rose is very particular, as are you.” Lord Greyfield raised both eyebrows at her in challenge.

  “Yes, well.” Melissa looked away because she could not dispute his words. As daughters of the most powerful Duke in the land, the offers of marriage had poured in from the first day of both their coming-out balls. Her father was indulgent of them and let them decide which to accept. So far, both girls had not found a fitting suitor amongst the many.

  “Never fear my dear, you have plenty of time. Now, this is your night, so turn that frown upside down and smile for me, my dear daughter.”

  Melissa did as she was bid. Her father was right. This was her night and she would enjoy it to the maximum. All she had to do was avoid her mother for the rest of the evening.

  * * *

  Patrick stepped into Greyfield House behind his father and straightened his tailcoat compulsively as they were announced. He accepted a glass from a passing serving girl before stepping into the ballroom proper. He looked around; eyebrows raised at the ostentation. Patrick knew the occasion was more about business than pleasure since his father had neglected to bring his new wife with him.

  Everything was draped in gold and green; from the floor-length curtains framing the windows to the sashes draped around the servers who were also dressed in green, their white gloves gleaming in the light from the gold chandelier above. The marble floor of the ballroom was crisscrossed with gold-leaf inlays, now filled with dancing couples.

  He looked around for their hosts, intending to pay his respects. He turned to say as much to his father and found that he had crossed the room and was now in deep conversation with The Duchess of Greyfield.

  “Oh, looks like you beat me to it,” he murmured to himself.

  “I beg your pardon?” a light voice asked from his right. He turned to find a young lady, dressed in a blue gown, her neck, and ears adorned with silver and diamonds.

  “Forgive me,” he bowed to her, “I do not think we have been introduced.”

  “Indeed, we have not. However, if you ask me to dance, we would not have broken propriety.”

  Patrick smiled at her forwardness, as well as her cleverness. “You are right.” He held out his hand to her, “Would you do me the honor of this dance, lady?”

  “Greyfield. Rose Greyfield,” she said placing her delicate small hand in his.

  Chapter 3

  Awkward Meetings

  They took their places on the dance floor, smiling politely as strangers do. “Rose Greyfield you said?” Patrick ventured to ask, “Are you a relation of the birthday girl?”

  Rose’s mouth twisted. “I am her sister.”

  She did not seem too pleased about it. Patrick lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Is she younger than you or older?”

  Rose smiled coyly at him, her eyelashes fluttering. “Are you saying I look younger than nineteen years?”

  Patrick had been saying no such thing as he had not actually been aware of the age of the birthday girl. Yet he knew he could not say that so he just murmured noncommittally.

  “She’s my younger sister actually.” Rose was still giving him that pleased smile and Patrick did not know what to do with it.

  They whirled around the dance floor until the song came to an end, and then Patrick dutifully deposited her on a chair. As they had not been formally introduced, he simply took a bow and left in search of his father.

  * * *

  “They do make an excellent couple, don’t they?” Lord Cheshmill whispered in her ear, h
is voice full of glee.

  “I don’t see it.” Thalia looked away from her dear daughter and the man she was dancing with–who was apparently Cheshmill’s son. She had no intention of giving in this time. He could not make her ransom her daughter.

  “Don’t you? Personally, I think they are a perfect match. You should think about it, Lady Greyfield. I’m sure you’ll come to agree with me. And look at how she is regarding him with so much adoration already. I feel quite sure Lady Rose will have no objection to this match.”

  Thalia exhaled a breath sharply from her nose as she flew her colors. There was very little she could do if The Duke insisted on going this route. He had her well and truly backed into a corner and they both knew it.

  “What could you possibly want with Rose?” she hissed.

  “Surely you must have heard those ugly rumors about me that are doing the rounds,” his eyes were scanning the crowd and he barely moved his lips as he spoke.

  “I have no need to listen to gossip,” she snapped.

  He snorted. “Well, you’re missing out. It’s all quite juicy. And the irony is that it’s not even true. However, should it reach certain ears and they believe it, well, my life could become very difficult. But if your family is willing to join with mine then obviously, such talk cannot be true.”

  “Just what is it are you rumored to have done this time, Cheshmill?”

  “Oh, it's too ugly for polite company. And there is no need for you to know any of it. Simply inform your daughter that she has found a groom and let nature take its course.”

  “My daughter will not agree to some arranged marriage.”

  Lord Cheshmill looked out at the crowd where his son was steering Lady Rose around the dance floor with the utmost solicitude. She was looking up at him, eyes shining as he led her in the quadrille. “I do not think she will object too much,” he murmured before stepping away from her and losing himself in the crowd.

  * * *

  Patrick made small talk with Lord Fellowes, who cornered him wanting to know about the import/export business. His Grace, The Duke of Cheshmill was known to dabble, however, it was rather vulgar of Lord Fellowes to bring it up. Patrick had heard that he might be punting on River Tick, and judging by the frayed nature of his duds, that just might be true.

  It would account for his rather forward questions and general air of desperation.

  “I’m sure if you come by my office at Westminster, we can discuss it in further detail,” Patrick said quellingly. He looked around for someone who might rescue him and caught sight of his father milling about. “I see my father,” he murmured. “Must go.”

  With that, he hurried away as fast as he could not wanting to give Fellowes even a moment to come up with a further reason why they should remain in conversation. He cast a look over his shoulder, to make sure he had shaken the man when he bumped into someone.

  “Oh, I’m so…” he began to say before looking forward to seeing the most intense hazel eyes he had ever laid eyes upon. They were so alive and aware, that they stopped Patrick dead in his tracks.

  “Oh,” he said softly, “Good evening.”

  She smiled at him, wide and amused. “I can’t speak to you,” she whispered, “we haven’t been introduced.” Her eyes were dancing with mirth and mischief that he just had to know who she was.

  “In that case, may I have this dance?” he said at once.

  “I would like nothing better. Unfortunately, my dance card is full,” her eyes really did look regretful. Right on cue, a hand took her elbow as Lord Mountbatten appeared at her shoulder.

  “I do believe this is my dance, Lady Melissa,” his smile was pleasant enough as he looked between them, still Patrick found himself suppressing a growl. He had it on good authority that Mountbatten was in the marriage mart this season.

  He watched Mountbatten lead her to the ballroom floor, an inexplicable burning in his chest. “Melissa.” he murmured softly to himself, watching her smile at Mountbatten, those hazel eyes seemingly focused solely on him. He sighed and then stiffened in remembrance.

  A ball to celebrate the nineteenth birthday of Lady Melissa Greyfield.

  That was what the invitation had stated. Patrick could not believe he had forgotten. He raised his eyes to her again, studying her features. The burnished-gold gown she wore matched well with the décor yet managed to outshine it. The emerald at her throat was surely one of a kind, and Patrick knew his jewels. His father was forever sending him to buy some for his stepmother. She moved with easy grace, her smile lighting up the room.

  “I must find someone to introduce me,” he murmured. Perhaps if he cornered her with Lord Mountbatten after the dance, he could get an introduction that way. Or perhaps he could find his father who evidently knew the girl’s mother.

  Yes.

  That would be much simpler.

  He resumed his search for The Duke and before too long, found him in an adjacent hall, at a game of whist. He stood patiently waiting by his father’s chair for him to be done with the round. His father was aware that he was waiting, yet seemed to slow down his game as a result, as if he meant to test Patrick’s patience.

  Patrick took a deep breath and called on all his reserves of strength so he could wait uncomplainingly until his father was done.

  “What is it, Bergon?” The Duke asked, getting to his feet.

  “Father, I was hoping that you might introduce me to the belle of the ball. Lady Melissa Greyfield.”

  “Mmmph. Her sister is much more your speed,” The Duke said making his way back to the ballroom.

  “Perhaps you can introduce me to them both then,” Patrick said not wanting to argue with his father. He had met Lady Rose and she was indeed lovely. But she lacked the spark her sister exuded so effortlessly. It really was no competition. However, he was willing to make both their acquaintances if it achieved his goal.

  They were just in time for the toasts from The Duke of Greyfield, as well as the Prince Regent. Patrick waited until The Duke had taken the Regent off elsewhere before urging his father forward so that he could introduce Patrick to The Duchess and her daughters.

  Her Grace’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as she set eyes on them but then it cleared and she gave a tight smile. His father gave an elegant leg.

  “Your Grace, may I introduce my son, Patrick Dutton, Marquess of Bergon?”

  Patrick bowed to The Duchess, taking her hand and bestowing a kiss above it in the manners of the French, before turning to her daughters with a smile.

  The Duchess gestured toward them with her fingers. “My daughters, Lady Rose and Lady Melissa Greyfield,” she said in a rather offhand manner.

  Patrick smiled wide, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He made a leg first to Lady Rose and then to Lady Melissa. When his blue eyes met her bright hazel, hers were dream-catching sunbeams and sparkling with merriment.

  He was fascinated.

  * * *

  Melissa was enjoying herself, savoring all the attention she was receiving as well as the good wishes, the camaraderie, even the occasional proposal. She had taken Brynn’s advice and immersed herself in the experience.

  But then she’d been craning her neck wondering where Lord Mountbatten had gone to when someone bumped into her from behind. She had turned around, eyebrows already haughtily raised when she fell into eyes the color of sky crystal, regarding her with the kind of fascination one usually reserved for exotic animals.

  Her eyebrow rose of its own volition and she smiled, taking him all in. She had never seen him before which was strange as the ton was not that large.

  But when she found out who his father was, she was indeed not surprised that she did not know him. They did not run in the same circles. Even though Cheshmill was a Duke, he was hardly top of the trees. He was known to have a hand in commerce and was little better than a mushroom or a nabob.

  Not that Melissa cared about such things, but her mother certainly did. She was quite surprised tha
t The Duke and his family were even invited to her ball. His wife was known to be quite vulgar. It was all a little too finicky for Melissa, given her early morning activities, but whatever the reason they were here, she was glad. The Marquess of Bergon had certainly piqued her interest with his glacial eyes and his blatant stares.

  “It is very nice to–formally–meet you,” Rose said stepping in front of Melissa and blocking her view of the Marquess. Her lips twisted as she took a step to the side so that she could keep him in sight. He looked startled by Rose’s abrupt interruption of the conversation they had been carrying on with their eyes; which Melissa supposed was something.

  Her musings were interrupted by Sir Rogers, who came to claim his dance. Sighing inwardly, she followed him to the ballroom floor, hoping that she would get to exchange a few more words with the Marquess before the night’s end.

  Meanwhile, she meant to continue enjoying herself.

  * * *

  Lady Rose and her mother entreated Patrick to stay a while and socialize with them. He was very flattered by the attention even though something in his chest was hot and tight with annoyance at the evident popularity of Lady Melissa on the ballroom floor. She had not been joking when she said her dance card was full.

  Lady Rose, however, unlike her sister, rebuffed two suitors who came to claim a dance, in favor of speaking with Patrick. Her mother watched them covertly and Patrick could not tell whether she was pleased with her daughter’s interest in him or horrified. Patrick knew well his family’s reputation, knew that men of His Grace of Greyfield’s caliber barely tolerated his father and if it were not for the title, they would likely experience the cut direct.