by Gill, Tamara
Would he be different from all the other gentlemen who kept mistresses on the side? That was yet to be determined. Willow inwardly cringed when Ava started toward her, Lord Herbert at her side.
“Willow, let me formally introduce you to Lord Herbert. Lord Herbert, this is my friend, Miss Willow Perry.”
She dipped into a curtsy, and he bowed. “Miss Perry, lovely to make your acquaintance once again.”
His voice was smooth, pleasant, safe. “It’s good of you to come. I hear that you’re neighbors to the duke and duchess here in Hampton.”
“I am.” He grinned, and Willow had to admit that he was charming, at least at the moment. Ava excused herself and he turned to her. “I understand you went to school with the duchess.”
“I did.” She smiled at the reminder of their school years, the antics and sneaking out that they tried whenever the possibility presented itself. Of how they all dreamed of their futures and what they entailed. To be where she was now, an heiress was not what she ever thought would happen. “She is one of the best people I know.”
Lord Herbert glanced in the direction Ava had gone. “I agree. The duke and duchess are honorable.”
“Have you known them long?” she asked.
“Since Cambridge with the duke. I’ve not known you for long, however, but I’d like to change that.”
She glanced at him, surprised at his boldness. “You do?” She narrowed her eyes on him, debating if he were worth the effort. He raised his brow, his blue eyes dancing with amusement.
“I do if you’re willing, of course.” He glanced at the dancing couples. “Will you dance with me, Miss Perry?”
Without thought, she placed her hand on his arm, nodding. “Thank you, yes.” He pulled her onto the floor, and she laughed as he twirled her into his arms. Perhaps this man was worth a little trouble. She was looking for love, for someone who would be faithful to her. Maybe Lord Herbert was that man. Lord Ryley certainly was not. That fiend hadn’t even bothered to turn up yet.
Chapter 8
Abe had ridden hard from London with the need to return to the duke and duchess’s new estate, especially after he’d received a summons not to miss their dance they’d decided to host. He’d needed to return to town and check on the Hell’s Gate. Tonight they were hosting a gambling event that had card players not only from England but abroad. He’d put up a large winning to those who registered, and the interest had been extensive.
That his oldest friend and his wife had decided to host a dance on the same night was bothersome but would not impact him too much. He had a team of people who were more than capable of handling the night. He could spend the evening with his friends.
He jumped off his horse at the front of the house, handing his mount to a waiting stable boy. He shucked out of his greatcoat, hat, and gloves, handing them over to the footman in the foyer, not bothering to go upstairs to change. All day, a nagging feeling of impending doom had crawled over his skin. Something was amiss.
What was amiss was evident the moment he stepped into the ballroom. His lip curled. He should have expected to see what he now saw. Lord Perfect—or known within their society as Lord Herbert. A friend of the duke since before Abe started at Eton.
Lord Herbert was always eager to please during his school years. Willing to tell on anyone should he think they were doing wrong or he could get ahead by such information. As a grown man, he wasn’t much different. Always sickly sweet to the opposite sex, keen to tell them what they wanted to hear and rumor had it, he was after a wife.
Miss Perry fitted his lordship’s requirements perfectly. She was looking for a husband, was rich enough to satisfy the family, and for them to overlook her common heritage.
If she were to marry Lord Perfect, his revenge on the Vances would impact the Herberts also. A satisfying idea since it was Lady Herbert, Lord Perfect’s mother, who had helped Viscountess Vance ruin his mama.
His conscience pricked at the thought of hurting Willow. Depending on how much he could persuade her to invest would depend on how much she fell from grace. A large sum could mean the loss of her Hanover Square home. Minimal staff and possibly having to find employment as a companion or lady’s maid.
He stepped into the room, heading toward the Duchess of Whitstone and his friend Viscount Duncannon. He threw appreciative glances toward the women who looked his way, winking at Lady Sussex, who blushed and giggled like a young girl in her presenting year.
Thankfully he had a mistress, and his days of having to seduce married or widowed women were behind him unless they were unwilling to take no for an answer.
He never liked to leave anyone unsatisfied.
Abe glanced over to where he’d seen Miss Perry last and caught sight of her stepping onto the dancefloor with Lord Perfect. He procured a glass of wine from a passing footman and continued, dodging the guests as he went.
“Duchess. Duncannon,” he said, coming up to them and taking a fortifying sip of his drink. “What is Lord Perfect doing here? I would not think a sojourn into the country was his pleasure when there was more to be had flattering the ladies in London.”
Duncannon chuckled, throwing him an amused look. The duchess whacked his chest with her fan. “Behave, Ryley. You know as well as I there is nothing wrong with Lord Herbert.” She smiled at the gentleman as he pulled Miss Perry into a waltz.
Willow’s laughter carried over to him, and he watched them. Her ease within the man’s arms made his skin crawl.
“That is your opinion, and you are welcome to it, Your Grace.” As for his opinion, he wanted to pummel the man into a pulp. His gaze narrowed in on Lord Perfect’s hand. A hand that was far too low on Miss Perry’s back.
“Miss Perry looks beautiful this evening. Her newfound independence suits her.” Duncannon smiled at Ava and met Abe’s eyes over the duchess’s head, laughter lurking in his blue orbs. Abe did not appreciate the mocking.
“She does, doesn’t she? I’m so glad her aunt thought of her and her security after her death. And did you hear, Duncannon that the wonderful Lord Ryley is going to help her with some investments? Are you not, my lord?”
Abe nodded, guilt creeping up his spine at the duchess’s faith in him. “I have supplied her with suggestions. The choice as to what she invests in is up to her.” Not that he’d given her high odds in earning back her investment. In fact, all the options he’d told her to consider were likely to fail and take down any investors who were foolish enough to put money into them.
He drank down the last of his wine. Revenge was never pretty, and his mother deserved the respect that was denied her. He would take down the family that ruined her name in London and push aside the fact that Miss Perry had not been part of that plot. Not physically, but she was a blood relative, and the only one left. He would make them all pay.
That his mother had fled England, leaving him behind to face their taunts at school, Lord Perfect was kind to the boys he deemed his equal, but not Ryley. He had English and Spanish blood in his veins and was a lesser person in his lordship’s eyes. The child had learned well from his sires, but Ryley was no longer the boy who had to fend off such insults. No longer in need of anyone’s approval. He was wealthy beyond his means, women flocked to him, and men wanted to be in his inner circle.
The Lord Perfects of the world could go hang and their trouble-making parents along with them.
The duchess moved away, and Duncannon studied him a moment. “I’ve seen that look before. You have the visage of a man about to commit murder.”
Abe took a calming breath, knowing the fact that Miss Perry danced with a man he loathed was not Duncannon’s fault. His friend didn’t deserve a sharp retort. “I don’t understand why Lord Perfect would be invited in all honesty. We’ve never been friends, and the duke knows that. Perhaps he ought not to have invited me.”
“No,” Duncannon said, frowning. “Whitstone is loyal to you. I believe they invited him because he is their neighbor here in Hampton. Although,
between you and me, I do believe they’re trying to source a husband for Miss Perry.”
“And they think Lord Perfect would do admirably. He’s a popinjay and an ass. Two characteristics I wouldn’t think are sought after in a gentleman.”
Duncannon chuckled. “It is good then that you’re not seeking a husband.”
Abe refused to comment on such a statement. The situation was not at all amusing.
“Come now, Ryley. Even you must admit that he would suit Miss Perry. He’s wealthy himself, so we know he is not hunting her fortune. He’s merely ready to settle.”
The word settle rankled. Abe watched as Miss Perry floated about the floor, seemingly enjoying her waltz with a man who made Abe seethe. The thought of Miss Perry settling with anyone didn’t sit well either. Why, however, he could not say or certainly would not venture to understand. He was simply addled of mind after their two kisses. The memory of which made him burn and seethe in equal measure.
He called over a footman, taking two glasses of brandy. “Let him marry her. Maybe if the bastard is leg shackled, he’ll fuck off out of London, and I’ll never have to see him again.” Abe clapped Duncannon on the back, ignoring his friend’s shock at his words. “Now, let’s get drunk.”
Willow snuck outside onto the terrace and away from the impromptu ball a little while after supper. The air was fresh, just the slightest chill that made her skin prickle. She took a deep breath, basking in the tranquil space and the fresh country air that smelled of grass and flowers.
Taking in the terrace, and spying no one outside, she strolled its length, looking out over the grounds, which were lit with burning oil lanterns.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned. A small jab of disappointment marking her when she spied Lord Herbert seeking her out.
“Miss Perry, are you well? I saw you leave, and I was concerned.”
She shook her head. He really was a caring gentleman like Ava had said he was. “Oh no, I’m perfectly well, thank you. I just needed some fresh air. Even though the ball in not large by London standards, the room has grown quite stuffy.”
“I agree,” he said, leaning against the terrace railing. “I have been away from England for some months, having only returned recently. May I say now that we’re alone that I was saddened to hear of your aunt’s passing. She was a close friend of my mother. I believe they had their coming out the same year.”
“Really,” Willow said, having not known that. She studied him anew. If her aunt had been friends with his family, he could not be a rogue or scoundrel looking to ruin her or marry her for her money. Perhaps his interest in her was honorable, and he was looking for a wife. “I did not know that, my lord.”
“Yes.” He smiled, and she had to admit he was very handsome. A lovely, wide smile and eyes that appeared kind and attentive. And yet even with all of these positives, there was nothing. Nothing fluttered in her stomach, nothing yearned or longed within her whenever he looked at her. She may as well have been looking at a brick wall for all the emotions he stirred inside. “Viscountess Vance and her friendship throughout the years have been a comfort to my mother.”
Willow smiled, knowing that her aunt, for all her sometimes opinionated ideals was kind at heart and always meant well. “She is missed to be sure. I’m glad you told me they were friends, perhaps we can be too.”
He reached out, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. She prayed his kiss atop her glove would stir something, anything within her, but it did not. Willow inwardly sighed.
“Here is to our new friendship and possibly more.” He grinned, and Willow smiled, her amusement slipping when she spied another lord coming onto the terrace. Or perhaps, stumbling onto the terrace would be a better term.
She stepped back, and Lord Herbert turned, facing Lord Ryley. The Spanish Scoundrel took in them both, the disgust at finding them together written clearly on his face.
He was drunk, a little less pristine to how he usually dressed, and she swallowed, hating that the mere sight of him made her blood pump fast in her veins. Made her skin prickle in awareness. Would he tell Lord Herbert of their kisses? The memory of which made her stomach twist into delicious knots. She licked her lips, scandalous as it may be, wanting to know what he tasted like when in his cups.
“Lord Ryley. Always a pleasure.” Lord Herbert’s tone seethed with sarcasm and distaste, and Willow took in both gentlemen. They glared at each other, reminding her of two dogs snarling and growling before a fight. Beneath all their finery, there was a core of hatred that was as palatable as the dress she wore this evening.
They hated each other, and it was an old hatred, not because of her, she would guess.
A little part of her was thankful for that. Another part couldn’t help but wish that there were two lords as handsome as these two were who were fighting to win her hand. Her love.
Lord Ryley would scoff at the notion. He was decidedly not looking for love. Lust and sex drove that gentleman, and she would no longer be part of that. Two kisses were quite enough. It was time for her to find a man who would love her, who she could grow to love, and have a happy life. A man like Lord Herbert, for instance.
She pushed away the disappointment that Lord Ryley would never be the man for her. The Spanish Scoundrel was not marriageable material.
“Lord Perfect, I see you weaseled your way into receiving an invitation. How delightful to see you again.”
Willow glanced at Lord Ryley, his tone just as sarcastic and lacking emotion as Lord Herbert’s. And who was Lord Perfect? She cleared her throat, bringing Lord Ryley’s attention to her. There was something about the way Lord Ryley was looking at Lord Herbert that gave her pause. If she were a betting man, she would say that he wanted to throttle his lordship. Whatever had happened between them to cause such hatred?
“I could say the same for you. Why are you not in your gambling den with the rest of the uncouth?” Lord Herbert stepped back, coming to stand at her side, watching Lord Ryley.
Lord Ryley took them in, his gaze landing on Willow and not shifting. She shivered under his inspection, the emotions that she hadn’t felt earlier with Lord Herbert pumping through her like blood. Her body trembled and clenched, her stomach twisting pleasantly.
None of it would do. Lord Ryley would dally with her and leave her to rot after he’d taken his fill. She could not allow herself to fall under his wicked spell no matter how tempting the thought of it was. No matter how attractive the memory of his mouth moving over hers, his tongue sliding and invading her mouth was.
“Jealous you’ve never been there.” Lord Ryley chuckled, the sound menacing. “I wouldn’t think a gambling hell was a place Lord Perfect hankered to call upon.”
“I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that,” Lord Herbert said just before Willow was about to ask who Lord Ryley meant.
“Gentlemen, please. I think name-calling is a little juvenile, don’t you agree?”
“I never insulted the Spanish Scoundrel.”
Lord Ryley raised his brow. “Have you not? I recall it differently.”
They stared at each other, and Willow looked between them. Two bulls facing off from each other before they charged. “Shall we return indoors?”
Lord Ryley relented first, surprising Willow. He moved aside, gesturing for them to pass. Willow started toward the house, Lord Herbert by her side.
“Miss Perry, may I have a word before you return indoors?” Lord Ryley asked. His lordship glowered at Lord Herbert. “In private.”
“It isn’t proper for Miss Perry to be out here with you,” Lord Herbert threw down, glaring at Lord Ryley.
Willow patted his lordship on the arm, gaining his attention. “I was safe with you, my lord. I shall be just as safe with Lord Ryley. I will return indoors directly.”
He didn’t move for a moment, and Willow wondered if he’d protest, but then on a sigh, he nodded and stepped back through the terrace doors, leaving her decidedly alone with Lord Ryle
y.
“What is it you wished to speak to me about?” she asked.
He leaned on the terrace railing, studying her with a quietness that left her discombobulated. How was it that a simple look was enough to make her nerves sizzle? How was it that a man she hardly knew could affect her so? It was disturbing and delicious all at the same time.
“Nothing at all. I merely wanted to separate you from Lord Perfect. I always get what I want, Miss Perry. Even at the expense of others at times.”
She huffed out a disgruntled breath, fisting her hands at her sides. “You’re impossible.” She started over to him, stopping a mere breath from his face. “I’m not your toy, and you playing with me before others is not acceptable. I was enjoying my time with Lord Herbert and you put a stop to that simply because you dislike the gentleman?”
He nodded once. “I did. I don’t merely dislike him. I loathe him and his kind. Just like his mother, he’s a nasty, conniving, gossiping prick.”
Willow gasped, having never heard a man speak about another in such a crude way before. The hatred was old, and if she understood anything about Lord Ryley, which wasn’t a lot, it was that a wound festered and rotted his core.
“Whatever you feel for Lord Herbert I can see it eats at you. Simply by the way you speak. You need to move on from whatever it was that he offended you with, or one day you’ll look up, and no one will be around you who cares.”
His lip curled in a snarl, and she took a step back. “Ah, but that’s just it, my sweet Miss Perry. I do not care if no one is around to console me and my festering wound. If they walk from my life, they were never friends to begin with. And a word of advice, my dear. Do not talk to me as if you know anything about why I hate Lord Herbert. The wound is deep, but I shall have my revenge, you should heed my warning and take care.”