Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess

by Renee Ann Miller

  Stepping away from Lady Pendleton, Grandmother crossed the room toward him. The matriarch was plotting something. Hanover was a widower, leaving the dinner guest numbers uneven and the party short one female guest. He presumed a couple would arrive shortly, accompanied by their eligible daughter, who most likely would be touted as having a superb voice and asked to sing, or perhaps regale them with her skill at the piano. Grandmother would be irate when she learned he’d invited his own dinner companion.

  “Huntington, you must visit me at my country house for fishing,” Alstead said, interrupting James’s thoughts.

  “Yes, I shall be honored.” Though the idea of fishing held little appeal, he smiled at Lady Alstead. The old bat would have a fit having him reside under her roof for several days.

  The woman turned white as a sheet. Either Lord Alstead was unaware of his wife’s discomfort or he didn’t give a damn. “Excuse me, my grandmother wishes to speak with me.”

  “By all means,” Alstead replied.

  He met his grandmother in the center of the large room, away from prying ears.

  “It’s going well,” she whispered.

  “Yes. I forgot to mention, I added a guest to the list for this evening.”

  Anger flashed in her gray eyes and she scowled before masking her true feelings with a weak smile. “Who?”

  At that moment, Leticia walked into the drawing room.

  Grandmother mumbled an invective that would have made most men blush. She turned her steely gaze on him. “Huntington, what is she doing here?”

  “Do you mean Lady Randall?”

  “Yes, of course, I mean her.” Grandmother’s nostrils flared.

  “You didn’t think I’d allow you to saddle me with some silly little debutante who’s either fascinated by my supposed soiled past or terrified of me?”

  The skin about Grandmother’s lips grew tight. If they’d been alone, James didn’t doubt she might have cracked her cane over his head or started throwing things. She narrowed her eyes. “The guests will not be of an even number. And the staff has not set the table to accommodate that woman.”

  “I informed the butler to set two additional places.”

  “Two? Do not tell me you’ve invited one of those rascals you played cards with the other night.”

  He motioned at the door as Anthony stepped into the room. “Ah, as you see, I have asked my brother to join us.”

  “You shall regret this,” she hissed.

  “Doubtful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I wish to greet Leticia.”

  His grandmother’s thin fingers latched onto his sleeve, halting his movement. “You need to marry again and produce an heir. Lady Randall was married for five years and didn’t bear a child. Keep her as your lover, if you must, but don’t be foolish enough to wed her.”

  James gritted his teeth. “You picked my last wife. You will not have the opportunity to do so again. And I don’t wish to remarry. I already have an heir. Anthony.”

  “Your brother is a buffoon.”

  The muscles in James’s body tensed. “Anthony is the heir apparent, and as such, madam, you will show him due respect. Do I make myself clear?”

  Without responding she walked away, her cane thumping firmly against the carpeted floor.

  “James, darling.”

  He turned to find Leticia standing next to him.

  “It appears your grandmother is not overjoyed to see me.”

  “It doesn’t matter how she feels. I’m overjoyed to see you. Your help in deterring my grandmother’s machination, along with your friendship, is appreciated.”

  “I’m always willing to offer a helping hand, though I should be vexed with you for not staying later at my ball.” Leticia slipped her arm through his and smiled.

  A movement near the open double doors caught James’s attention. Newcomers stood at the threshold. Caroline’s cousins Charles Wallace and his wife, Anne. His shoulder muscles grew taut. What the hell were they doing here? Wallace shifted to the side, revealing a third member of their party.

  Caroline.

  His mouth grew dry. Her long, shimmering hair, pulled back to her crown, cascaded down in loose curls, accentuating the regal lines of her neck, while the iridescent pearl-colored gown she wore hung off her shoulders, exposing too much luscious skin, including the swell of her tightly corseted breasts. He fought the urge to remove his coat, rush forward, and toss it over Caroline’s shoulders.

  Bloody hell. What was her cousin thinking, letting her wear that? Anthony was already rushing toward Caroline as if she were a sugary confection he intended to lick.

  Anger, dark and nearly unbridled, flowed through him. He scowled at his grandmother.

  Her pale eyes were triumphant. She stepped beside him. “Ah, I see our other guests have arrived, Huntington. I believe you’re acquainted with Miss Lawrence.” She set her hand on his sleeve. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Randall. I wish my grandson to walk me across the room. Though I’ve seen Miss Lawrence at a few social occasions, most recently the theater, we have never been introduced.”

  Leticia smiled at his grandmother, but it held no warmth. “Of course, Lady Huntington, by all means. I shall greet them, as well.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Perched on her toes, Caroline peered over Charles’s shoulder and into the drawing room of Huntington House. Gold silk damask covered the walls, and intricately gilded moldings embellished the ceiling. The expensive details attested to the Trent family’s wealth, while the large Rembrandt above the mantel confirmed it.

  As they stepped over the threshold, Anne clasped Caroline’s gloved hand and pulled her forward. “Dearest, what are you doing lagging behind? You must smile radiantly. All eyes are upon us.”

  Caroline’s breath snagged in her throat. It was true. Nearly everyone in the room seemed to be staring at them, except Lord Huntington and Lady Randall, who were engaged in a tête-à-tête.

  Her palms grew moist at the confirmation Huntington was here. In such an extravagant setting, most of the male occupants, dressed in their black evening attire, were overshadowed by the expensive décor, but Huntington’s broad-shouldered physique and tall stature made him as impressive as his surroundings.

  As if sensing newcomers, he turned toward the entry. His gaze veered past her cousins to land squarely on her. The startled expression on his lordship’s face clearly indicated he’d not issued the invitation. Obviously, he’d not even known she was to attend.

  His chiseled features hardened.

  How foolish of her to believe he’d sent the yellow roses. He didn’t act like a man who wished to be friends. He looked angry.

  She swallowed. Did he know she’d written that hateful article? Her heartbeat elevated. She gave her head a little shake, trying to dislodge her fears and irrational thoughts. He couldn’t know she was C. M. Smith. No one knows. But with his glower, one would think he did. And the expression on Lady Randall’s face was as tightly drawn.

  The Dowager Marchioness of Huntington set a hand on her grandson’s sleeve. Even from this distance, Caroline noted the dark scowl he fixed on the old woman.

  Seeming unaffected, the dowager smiled, and the trio advanced toward Caroline and her cousins.

  The hammering in her chest intensified—a rapid cadence that felt powerful enough to snap a rib in two.

  “Caroline!” a male voice called out. Lord Anthony crossed the room.

  The breath trapped in her lungs eased out.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, taking her gloved hand and brushing his lips against her fingers. “How smashing!”

  The exuberant greeting calmed the thudding of her heart. “Lord Anthony, how delightful to see you again.”

  Grinning, he leaned conspiratorially close. “Had we not agreed you would call me Anthony?”

  She tried not to glare at him.

  His smile broadened. “This evening threatened to be as dull as weathered brass with all these old prigs, but now that you�
��re here, I shall be saved from the tedium.” He stepped back and turned to Anne. “Ah, you’re accompanied by someone as enchanting as yourself.”

  Anne snapped her fan open and giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “Lord Anthony,” Caroline said, “allow me to introduce my cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wallace.”

  Anthony bowed low over Anne’s fingers. “Madam, a great pleasure.” He shook Charles’s hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Wallace.”

  Charles pumped Anthony’s hand. “So good—”

  “It is our honor, sir,” Anne said, cutting her husband off while her lashes flicked up and down in what Caroline presumed was an attempt to bat them.

  Someone standing behind Caroline cleared his throat.

  Huntington. The warmth of his body and the intoxicating, familiar scent of his subtle cologne rippled over Caroline’s senses. She stepped back, widening the circle they conversed in.

  His arm brushed hers.

  The light contact sent a trail of heat through her, while sparks exploded in her stomach.

  His gaze drifted over her face, then dipped to the décol-leté of her gown. He cocked a brow.

  Her cheeks heated. She fought the urge to pull her silk shawl up and tighter about her shoulders. Was he silently chastising her? How dare he? The gown was the height of fashion, and Lady Randall’s neckline was a good two inches lower. A gentle tug on the woman’s bodice would expose her nipples.

  Lord Anthony’s regard shifted from Caroline to his brother. As if privy to a private joke, Anthony grinned. “Ah, here to meet our new arrivals, are you? James, Grandmother, Lady Randall, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wallace.” He turned to Caroline. “And you all know Miss Lawrence.”

  When Anthony introduced her by her correct last name, Huntington blinked. Obviously, Anthony hadn’t informed his brother that he’d seen Caroline in London and knew her true identity.

  Huntington greeted her cousins in a most congenial tone before he turned to her. He clasped her fingers in his. As he inclined his head, his gaze never left her face.

  “Miss Lawrence.” His deep voice sent awareness trickling through her. He released her hand.

  Lady Randall narrowed her eyes.

  Caroline didn’t trust the woman. She prayed Huntington hadn’t told her ladyship about Caroline’s visit to the suffragist rally.

  The dowager, a thin, frail-boned woman, thumped her cane on the carpet, betraying she wasn’t the meek matriarch her exterior would have one believe. “I’ve not been introduced to Miss Lawrence before, Anthony,” she said sharply. “Present me.”

  As if immune to the woman’s curt tone, Anthony’s agreeable expression never faltered. “Really? Forgive me. Miss Lawrence, my grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Huntington.”

  Caroline gave a formal, low curtsey. The woman with her regal bearing acted as if she expected such etiquette.

  Lady Huntington nodded as though Caroline had passed a test and met with approval. “I know your father, dear. He is away in Paris, is he not?”

  “Yes, Lady Huntington.”

  The older woman’s thin lips momentarily softened. Yet her shrewd gray eyes, which seemed capable of reading more than what one said, never blinked. Under the intense perusal, Caroline’s pulse picked up speed again.

  The dowager curled her gnarled fingers about Caroline’s arm, the grip surprisingly firm. “Come, Miss Lawrence, I wish to take a walk around the room with you.”

  What did the elderly woman want? Obviously, the invitation to dine here was her doing. Caroline peered at the enigmatic gentleman beside her. Huntington looked as tightly wound as a mechanical toy with an over-coiled spring.

  “Grandmother,” he said, his voice edged with an unmistakable warning in its low tone.

  The stoic butler entered the room. In a monotone, the man announced dinner, forestalling their promenade.

  Anthony offered his right arm. One corner of his mouth turned up as they made their way to the dining room.

  “What’s going on?” Caroline asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  She leaned close. “I’m at a loss. I feel as if I’ve stepped on stage without a script.”

  He chuckled. “Am I to presume it was not James who extended this invitation, but my grandmother?”

  At present, she couldn’t see Huntington’s face, but his glower upon seeing her was still burned into her memory. Self-consciously, she pulled her shawl tighter about herself. “I think if he had, he wouldn’t look so angry.”

  His eyes widened. “Is that what you think? That he looks angry?”

  “Indeed, like Lucifer forced to attend a society tea with a gaggle of old matrons.”

  A burst of laughter erupted from Anthony.

  Huntington, who led the procession into the dining room, peered over his shoulder and shot Anthony a dark scowl.

  Anthony laughed again. “Oh, this is too delectable.”

  Caroline frowned. “I’m glad you’re finding humor in this. Care to share the jest?”

  “Are you to attend the Burrows’ ball tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I shall tell you there . . . after you waltz with me.”

  Caroline opened her mouth to protest. “Anthony—”

  “Ah, ah, remember we had a bargain. My silence about you attending the suffragist meeting, for a dance.”

  She darted a glance at those near them, fearful others might have overheard, but they were engrossed in their own conversations. “Bargain, my foot, sir,” she hissed. “More like blackmail.”

  “Tsk, tsk, I thought we agreed not to use such an ugly word.”

  “You agreed. I had no choice. Just as I have no choice now. After we dance, you will tell me what’s going on?”

  “Indeed. I shall find great pleasure enlightening you.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a scoundrel, sir.”

  “I am,” he replied with no remorse.

  They entered the stately dining room. Red silk paper above creamy wainscoting decorated the space, and gold-framed landscapes, as tall as her, hung on the upper portions of the walls. A massive chandelier with teardrop crystals captured the rich color, sending prisms of light over the occupants and the intricate white Brussels lace that edged the linen tablecloth.

  Caroline found herself seated next to Anthony and across from Anne. Huntington sat at the head of the table and Lady Randall to his left. The widow’s head was bent close to him, her fair tresses a stark contrast to his raven hair, which reflected the light from above.

  The sight of them together caused Caroline’s chest to tighten. She averted her eyes, not wishing to examine the intimate scene or her reaction to it.

  During the first several courses, Lord Alstead dominated the conversation, regaling everyone with tales of his recent trip to India. “I rode an elephant. Thing was larger than my barouche.”

  “I hear they can be trained to stand on their hind legs and bow,” Lord Pendleton said.

  “Yes, if one can get past the smell, they’re amazing animals,” Alstead replied.

  “Did you ride a camel, my lord?” Anthony asked as a footman cleared away the turbot in lobster sauce.

  “Yes. Nasty beasts. Always chewing their cud. One tried to gnaw my hat.”

  “Really?” Lady Pendleton asked.

  “By Jove, yes. And it was still on my head!”

  Several people laughed. Caroline picked up her glass of wine and peered over the edge at Huntington. He was smiling at Alstead.

  As if he sensed her regard, he gazed up the table. Their eyes locked. His expression sobered.

  Look away, a voice in her head urged, yet the effort to do so seemed impossible.

  “James,” Lady Randall said, setting a possessive hand on his sleeve, shattering the magnetic spell that held Caroline enthralled.

  Huntington turned to the blond-haired woman.

 
; The widow smiled brightly at him.

  By the time they finished dessert, Caroline had imbibed more wine than food over the course of the dinner. Who wouldn’t have? With Huntington’s dark glares and Lady Randall staring as if Caroline wore her corset above her dress, she’d lost her appetite. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, the dowager had also repeatedly cast her steely gray eyes in Caroline’s direction.

  If she tried to decipher the dowager’s expression, she’d say the elder woman was weighing Caroline’s worth. Was the matriarch playing matchmaker? Had the dowager invited her here hoping to spark a romance between Caroline and Anthony? It would explain the invitation and the woman’s assessing eyes. If so, no wonder Huntington continued to scowl at her. He didn’t wish for a union between her and Anthony either. Not after the intimacy she and Huntington had shared. It would be awkward at best, being in-laws.

  Anthony grinned. Did he think this a joke? Didn’t he realize women like his grandmother and men like Caroline’s father thought nothing of setting up such political and financial alliances?

  Several footmen set fresh fruit, cheese, and Madeira on the table. Perhaps if the dowager believed her a lush, the matriarch would forget this harebrained notion. Caroline snatched up the glass of wine and downed half of it in one gulp. The liquor filled her mouth, more acrid than she’d expected. She stifled a cough as it slid down her throat.

  Anthony leaned close. “Your cousin might swoon if you take another gulp such as that one.”

  Indeed, Anne’s complexion had turned rather pale. Her cousin gave a nearly undiscernible shake of her head. A motion which clearly said, you’ve had enough.

  Ignoring her, Caroline brought the crystal to her lips and drained it dry. If need be, she’d play the role of a sot to the hilt, if it would dissuade the old woman from believing a match between Caroline and Anthony favorable. She didn’t wish to marry Anthony or any other man, especially one at this table. She wished to focus on her writing. She waved her hand in the air and motioned the footman to refill her glass.

  Anne’s mouth fell open.

  Caroline turned to the dowager and took another long draw. “My compliments on the wine, Lady Huntington. I do so love Madeira.” She forced a foolish-sounding giggle. “Well, in truth, I love all wine. Sweet, tart, dry.”