Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Was it his appearance? Naturally, she thought him a fine-looking man. His hair, the color of rich coffee, and his hazel eyes were appealing, as well as his infectious grin. She liked the height and breadth of him, too. Beyond all that, his turn of phrase, his oft-unique thoughts, and his delightfully wicked laugh were utterly charming.

  Oh dear, was she mooning over the man?

  Blushing slightly, Maggie realized they were all moving as a group of four, claiming a cloth-covered table on the outskirts of the dance floor. Like soldiers setting up camp, they draped their shawls over the chairs and lay their reticules upon the table, knowing here, inside the sanctioned private ballroom, there was little fear of thieves.

  The musicians were still warming up for the long evening ahead. Excitement rippled through the room, or maybe Maggie simply imagined everyone was feeling the way she was. Except Jenny.

  Soon enough, Maggie was claimed by the first man on her card, Lord Whitely, a viscount’s son whose nose was pointy but whose eyelashes were long, fanning over intelligent eyes. And the waltz began.

  *

  Cam found it easy to converse with his best friend’s wife, especially when they spoke about either her husband, Simon, who was away doing God knew what on the Continent, or her charming sister.

  While chatting amiably with Jenny, he kept an eye on Margaret who had positively boundless energy, starting near the lead of the Grand March and not sitting out even a single quadrille. As long as she kept up her lively movements, he wasn’t too worried about her or her dance partners. After all, it was not the easiest thing to do—to carry on a conversation while not missing a step. Thus, the dancers mostly danced with little more interaction than a smile or a grimace if they trod on each other’s toes.

  Stop it, he ordered himself. It wasn’t his place to consider whether she was engaging in one of her delightful dialogues with a dance partner. He had no claim to her. Yet.

  Eventually, after about forty minutes, the musicians needed a break, and everyone surged toward the refreshment tables.

  Having already secured drinks for Jenny and her mother, Cam was free to wander into the crowd and see if he could assist Margaret.

  He found her easily since he’d never truly taken his attention from her, stunning as she was in the palest shade of blue, which seemed to make her glow like an angel. Luckily, instead of a preening buck with whom he’d have to make inane chatter, she was with another young miss, looking equally excited to be a part of the event.

  Sighing at how old they made him feel, Cam approached and nodded to each.

  “May I assist you ladies in getting some lemonade?”

  “How kind of you,” Margaret answered at once. “Dancing does make one thirsty. Lord Cambrey, do you know Miss Ada Ellis?”

  He bowed to the flaxen-haired miss, who to him, looked washed out beside Margaret’s honey-brown hair and warm eyes.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. If you both will stay somewhere close, I will procure you each a glass of refreshingly tart nectar.”

  Ada giggled behind her fan, and Margaret rolled her eyes at his over-the-top chivalry.

  Bowing slightly, he left them, pushing his way through the crowd before being stopped by a wall of black and gray-clad jackets in front of the refreshment tables. Servants were filling glasses as quickly as they could, and still, there was a delay.

  Minutes later, he returned to the spot where he’d left the ladies, swearing silently only once when someone jostled him, causing him to spill lemonade on his sleeve.

  However, when he reached the place where the ladies had been, there was no lovely Margaret. Scowling, he scanned the room. To his annoyance, he saw her a few yards away. Still in her friend’s company, though now chatting with two men. Most likely flirting. And they all four held a glass of the cursed lemonade.

  “The deuce take them!” Cam said loudly enough for a passing couple to hear. When they paused with their raised eyebrows, he merely bowed politely.

  “May I offer you these refreshments?” he asked.

  Their expressions changed to relief, and they took the glasses from him with gratitude.

  No doubt he’d made friends for life, saving them from having to wait in the blasted line.

  Stalking back to the table, he sat down heavily in the chair next to Jenny, back to the wall, with a good view of the proceedings.

  “Don’t you have an obligation, my lord?” Simon’s wife asked.

  Dragging his gaze from the crowd, he smiled at her. “Pardon?”

  “To dance. Isn’t that why a single man comes to a ball during the Season?”

  Cam supposed she was right. What’s more, he’d been beyond rude to her.

  “Would you care to dance, Lady Lindsey? It would be my honor.”

  “Absolutely not,” Jenny declared. “In any case, you’re not supposed to waste your bachelorhood by dancing with a married woman. That practically goes against the rules. I am utterly superfluous here. You, however, are not.”

  He watched her survey the room, and he did the same. Except for Margaret’s card, he hadn’t bothered to set his name down elsewhere, for he didn’t really think he was going to suddenly fall in love and find a wife during an exuberant mazurka.

  “I see more than one miss with a downturned mouth who would, I’m sure, be extremely grateful if you asked them. That one there, for instance.” Jenny nodded behind his shoulder.

  Turning, Cam saw Lady Adelia Smythe tapping her toe and watching the dancers from beside a large fern. He had actually danced with her at a different ball and thought her agreeable enough, though she had a laugh which grated on his ears, braying like a stubborn mule in the hot sun.

  Sighing loudly at his own unkind thoughts, he stood up, deciding to ask the lady and fervently hoping someone would do the same for his cousin Beryl when it was her turn to come out into society.

  “Bravo, my lord,” Jenny said, causing Cam to produce a sheepish smile. He wasn’t a war hero like her husband. He was merely going to dance with a wallflower. What’s more, he wasn’t even doing it very graciously. For in his heart, he acknowledged he would rather be dancing with Margaret and was keeping track of the dances until it was his turn.

  If he hadn’t miscounted, then he would claim her after three more dances for a polka.

  Meanwhile, a simple galop, if Lady Smythe wasn’t otherwise occupied, would at least get him onto the floor and within smiling range of Margaret.

  *

  Maggie was getting winded. However, the musicians were extremely adept, their notes bright and clear, and the dances were so enjoyable, alternating between formations and couples, she didn’t want to stop. One dance later, though, her partner twisted his knee doing an improvisational movement, and they had to leave the floor.

  As she approached her family’s table, her mother was berating her older sister for frowning. Poor Jenny, it was her normal expression now, and Maggie wished with all her heart her brother-in-law would return soon from his business trip to claim his melancholy wife.

  “I wish you would dance,” she told Jenny. Certainly, no one could frown while dancing.

  Instead of agreeing, her sister asked her, “Where is Lord Cambrey?”

  Maggie supposed it wasn’t such an odd thing for Jenny to ask. Indeed, the earl had spent quite a bit of time at each event hovering nearby. Sometimes she wondered if he did so only out of the duty he felt to watch over his best friend’s wife or whether, perhaps, there was another more personal reason. Maggie hoped she had not misinterpreted his glances and his smiles.

  In any case, it wouldn’t do to appear as if they had already formed an attachment, which they had not. Though she did feel somewhat attached to the man.

  “We cannot dance more than two dances in a night without someone crying out the banns,” Maggie declared. “We have a dance coming up soon enough.”

  She nearly blushed when she said it. Truthfully, the idea of her and John Angsley linked together and having thei
r marriage banns publicly proclaimed was not displeasing. It was, in fact, thrilling.

  “Who is next on your card?” her mother asked.

  Maggie angled the square paper dangling from her wrist by a satin ribbon.

  “Oh!” She glanced again at Jenny. “I nearly forgot. Your former fiancé sketched in his name before I even realized who he was, but I will not do him the honor, I assure you.”

  “Why would Lord Alder seek to dance with you?” Lady Blackwood did not sound pleased. “He can be certain I would never allow an association between him and you, not after his shoddy treatment of our Jenny. I’m sure other parents feel the same way. Why, I can’t even imagine why he is here!” she finished vehemently, scanning the room as if she thought she’d stop him with the ferocity of her gaze alone.

  Maggie was glad her mother’s ire wasn’t directed at her. What’s more, she hoped the fickle viscount, if he knew what was good for him and didn’t want to create a scene, stayed far from their table. Though he had treated Jenny poorly after her family’s financial ruin, it was no worse than many of the bachelors of the ton would do.

  In any case, Maggie thought Lord Alder hadn’t meant to pencil his name on her particular card at all. They’d actually nearly collided by the refreshments, and likely, he thought it his duty to offer her a dance. His eyes had widened when he’d truly looked at her face and realized she was Jenny’s sister, right about the same moment Maggie realized who he was, as well.

  “Mummy, I am more than pleased to miss this next quadrille,” Maggie stated. “Probably, Lord Alder was simply being polite.” She was sorry to have mentioned him. “Why, I doubt he will even show up to claim his dance?”

  Relief washed over her when instead of Lord Alder, Lord Westing appeared. He’d kissed her hand tenderly before Christmas at Lady Atwood’s grand holiday celebration. As the only son of the Duke of Westing, with dashing good looks to boot, the marquess was considered the catch of the Season.

  After bowing to each of the ladies beginning with Lady Blackwood, Lord Westing turned his attention to Maggie.

  “You are not dancing, Miss Blackwood, which robs the room of much enjoyment. It is too late to begin this dance, yet perchance, I may have the next?”

  Maggie couldn’t help drinking in the sight of him. He was definitely easy on the eyes. A strong jaw, cornflower-blue eyes, and curly nut-brown hair, he cut as fine a figure as Lord Cambrey.

  Why must she compare each man to John Angsley? she scolded herself. John was an exceedingly nice man, but they definitely had no particular understanding. In fact, a few minutes earlier, he’d been dancing with Adelia Smythe and even now, was paired for the quadrille with Jane Chatley, the daughter of a duke.

  That shouldn’t irk her except Lady Jane was positively perfect in face, figure, and fortune. What’s more, John seemed utterly entranced with her.

  Maggie offered Lord Westing the smile she practiced before her looking glass, knowing it was neither too big, nor too small. It didn’t show off too many teeth, nor her gums. It didn’t pull her mouth too wide, either. It looked genuine and pleasing but not like a grinning fool. In short, it was very becoming without an ounce of coyness.

  Then she added a flutter of her eyelashes, like the smallest dash of spicy pepper on an already perfect cut of meat. She watched the man’s pupils dilate.

  “Why, I believe my next dance is free,” she told him, not bothering to consult her card.

  She heard her sister sigh and knew what she was thinking—it wasn’t done to stand up someone whose name was on your card. Nonetheless, Alder had done it to her, and Maggie was none the worse for it.

  Lord Westing glanced toward the crowded dance floor.

  “We can go together to the refreshment table before our dance begins. It is less crowded there at present.”

  “A splendid idea.” With that, Maggie let her new admirer take her arm in his.

  After he bowed once more to her mother and to her older sister, Lord Westing led her away. She couldn’t resist a sideways glance to determine John’s whereabouts.

  To her astonishment, though in mid-dance with Jane, he happened to be looking directly at her, his eyes blazing as they locked gazes. And then it happened, the strange, tantalizing sizzle raced through her.

  What would it feel like to be kissed by the Earl of Cambrey? She had the fanciful notion she would combust upon contact with his lips.

  Firmly of the opinion it would be well worth it, Maggie decided to test out her theory at the earliest opportunity.

  Chapter Two

  Cam settled his dance partner back from whence she came and, with undeniable eagerness, headed toward the ladies Blackwood. When he arrived at their table, only Jenny stood there.

  Trying not to frown as he scanned the area for Margaret, yet he knew if they weren’t on the floor as the music started, they couldn’t join the dance at all.

  “Both your mother and sister have vanished.” Hoping he didn’t sound as peeved as he felt at Margaret’s failure to honor their dance commitment, he offered a small smile. Even then, the lively polka started and his chance to hold her in his arms vanished. Damn it all!

  Jenny nodded at him, looking as if there was something on her mind.

  “My lord, will you take a stroll along the gallery?”

  Tamping down his surprise at her invitation, he felt curiosity slice through him, blended with hesitation. After all, this was his best friend’s wife, and the ton could be brutal with rumors and innuendo. However, he’d promised Simon he would protect her. If Lady Lindsey wanted to stroll, better with him than some rogue.

  “Certainly, my lady.” Offering her his arm, they exited through the double doors at the front of the room.

  As soon as they were alone at one end of the long promenade, lined with paintings and statues, she stopped.

  “I will be brief. I simply wish to know if you’ve heard from Simon.”

  He hated to disappoint her. “I’m sorry. I have heard nothing from him. It is as if Simon has disappeared into the heart of the savage nations of Europe.”

  Hearing her heavy-hearted sigh, he wished he could console her with some promise of his friend’s speedy return. All he really had were empty words.

  “I would ask you to trust him and not to worry. Why, he was practically singing Lady Greensleeves in your honor the first time he told me about you.”

  Then he thought of Simon’s other duties besides those to his wife.

  “In any case, he must return soon.”

  “Why do you say that, my lord?”

  “Parliament officially opens in a few weeks, and he had best be there.”

  They both knew the ramifications for an absentee representative in the House of Lords were not good, including a possible loss of Simon’s privilege.

  However, Cam doubted Jenny would see her husband for Christmas. The best he could do in his friend’s stead was to invite her and her family to attend functions with his family at their London home.

  It would be no hardship as his widowed mother was a gracious hostess. He was confident she would enjoy Jenny and her mother’s company. What’s more, his cousin Beryl was staying at the Cambrey townhouse, on hand to entertain Eleanor, the youngest Blackwood sister. Then, of course, there was Margaret. Entertaining her would be no hardship at all.

  Except, she had not even wanted to dance with him.

  As they reappeared in the ballroom, he quickly spied Margaret on the dance floor with Westing. The greenest of green devils danced in Cam’s head. How dare she! True, they didn’t have any kind of understanding, but one didn’t publicly cut one partner in favor of another, unless the other had already declared for her. Could such have happened in the short space of time between an earlier event and this one?

  “Your sister is dancing with Lord Westing,” Cam commented to Jenny, immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. His notice and remark most likely spoke volumes about his interest. But, as long as no one else had read Margaret’s dan
ce card, then Cam was not actually in peril of public humiliation.

  Jenny’s next words unfortunately made him fear otherwise.

  “Oh, I am sorry, my lord. I feared it was you she was using so terribly.”

  Using terribly! What a way to express it. “Whatever can you mean?”

  “She shouldn’t have dashed off with Lord Westing when she knew she had an upcoming dance with you. That was very wrong of her, and I shall reprimand her most—”

  “No.” His tone was too sharp, but he had his pride. “Dear Lady Lindsey, your sister is enjoying her Season. I signed her card simply because I saw a gap on it. Only for that reason. As long as Miss Margaret is dancing, nothing else matters.”

  Though if Westing tripped and fell flat on his too handsome face, Cam would not be bothered at all.

  “If everyone did as my sister, then these events would dissolve into chaos. From a practical standpoint, she ought to honor her promise.”

  Cam admired Jenny Blackwood Devere, Countess of Lindsey, very much and knew from Simon she was a most practical female. However, at that moment, she seemed like a dog with a bone she couldn’t set down when he simply wanted her to forget all about his missed dance with Margaret. He didn’t want to listen to any more talk of how the entire fabric of society, and balls in particular, would dissolve into absolute mayhem because her sister hadn’t danced with him.

  “Please, my lady, let it rest. There was no harm done.”

  She paused in her rambling and gave him a sideways look. “Of course, my lord. I’ll say nothing further on the matter.”

  Why did he now think she was going to have a long talk with Margaret about it later? He wished he’d never come to the blasted ball.

  *

  “Very glad you could come to our home,” Lord Cambrey’s mother intoned, greeting Lady Blackwood and her daughters in the front hall of the Angsley’s townhouse on Cavendish Square.

  Cambrey’s gaze went right to Margaret, looking exquisite in a green silk gown with gold trim, seeming to bring the Christmas season to life. He stepped forward to welcome each of them, starting with the mother and working his way down to Eleanor. Then his cousin Beryl offered a tour of the townhouse, which only Eleanor agreed to. The girls scampered off like young colts, while the rest of them entered the drawing room.