Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Jenny’s questioning eyebrows made Maggie stop talking and pick up a plate. Then she added, “I, for one, am going to eat oysters on toast.”

  *

  Groaning the next morning, Cam nearly didn’t rise at his accustomed early hour for a ride in the park. He had been up late, with the last stragglers leaving in the wee hours, long after the Blackwoods had left, thus long after he gave a damn about being at the party. He’d wanted everyone gone as soon as he’d seen Margaret letting Burnley kiss her.

  Or had Margaret been kissing Burnley?

  Either way, it made him irate and jealous, two feelings he didn’t normally associate with his thoughts of women.

  Somehow, despite Margaret’s disappointing display, he’d had a passingly entertaining conversation with Lady Chatley, who clearly perused more than the fashion section of the daily rags. Moreover, she’d surprised him with her understanding of current affairs. They’d eaten together, standing in a corner, and then danced a few more dances.

  Unfortunately, he’d spent too much time craning his neck to see with whom Margaret was partnered, ruining his enjoyment of dancing.

  In fact, all enjoyment had been sucked from the night when he saw Burnley’s mouth trespassing where his had been a mere few minutes earlier. It made no sense how he could have misjudged the lady so badly in two regards. One, she seemed nothing like her loyal sister who was unwavering in her devotion to Simon Devere, no matter the length of his absence.

  And two, Cam had imagined Margaret found their kiss to be as exceptional as he had. He assumed he’d had more experience—dammit, he hoped such was the case, or he’d misjudged her thrice. Even for him, who’d kissed his share of the fairer sex, the kiss had left him feeling intoxicated.

  And wanting more.

  In no way could he imagine laying claim to another lady’s lips a half hour later, so full were his thoughts of Margaret the-deuce-take-her Blackwood!

  Cam had retired to his private room as the butler closed the doors on the last guests, and then he had drunk more than he ought, all the while knowing his head was going to ache in the morning. Better his head, he supposed, than his heart.

  That organ was now utterly barred from being affected by the sparkling-eyed, fickle vixen.

  Heaving himself out of bed, Cam ordered his horse saddled and made his way to Hyde Park. There, he gave the spirited gelding its head to run. As he whipped along the mostly empty bridal paths for a few minutes, he began to feel better.

  After all, he was yet a virile man in possession of his health, living in London, the wealthiest, loveliest city in the world. He was an earl, though he would have preferred his father lived still and let Cam remain a viscount a few years longer.

  However, fate was as it was, and as such, many doors were open to him. He had invested wisely and had good friends. He wanted for nothing except a wife, and he should count himself lucky there were many lovely ladies in Town. Furthermore, while still unmarried, he had many opportunities to visit the demimonde and have relations with a gorgeous and skilled Cyprian or two.

  Yes, life was good.

  And then he came upon Margaret Blackwood, riding with Burnley. Oh, and joy of joys, Westing, too, was astride a fine horse, along with another debutante and a maid as their companion.

  As if the maid could do aught if those young bucks wanted to take advantage of the ladies!

  As he passed, offering a nod of greeting, he saw Margaret’s face pale, no doubt realizing how incredibly capricious she appeared. Briefly, Cam wondered which lady had been asked by which gentleman? Was Margaret there at the behest of her favorite dance partner, Westing, or was she accompanying the man she’d kissed in Cam’s own garden, Burnley?

  Then he galloped past, and it mattered not to him. After all, Miss Blackwood was only doing as all ladies did during a Season. So why did it seem almost shocking to him?

  Instead of going home, he went to meet with a man who imported madeira. They had a productive conversation about diversity and investments, and how Cam might stand to make a good deal of money if he put some of his own into this man’s burgeoning business.

  When he arrived home, he saw two things on the table in his hallway, a letter from Simon Devere, posted from the German Empire, and a calling card from Miss Margaret Blackwood.

  How unexpected. What could she possibly want?

  Chapter Five

  “Lord Cambrey to see you, my lady.”

  Cam waited politely until he heard Jenny’s voice telling the butler to show him in.

  When he strode into the room a moment later, he couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face, knowing he was going to bring this sweet lady some good news for a change. Their friendship had grown over the weeks and months. He’d felt badly being the one to tell her of her husband’s disappearance onto the Continent, seeking treatment for some personal ailment.

  He’d tried to make up for it, though, by watching over her at various social events, when he could tear his gaze from Margaret. He’d even rescued Jenny from an encounter with Viscount Alder, the cad who had broken their verbal marriage agreement. Now, he considered this woman his friend.

  Nevertheless, Cam had to acknowledge he didn’t want to encounter her sister. There would be an element of awkwardness, and for some reason, he thought he might feel the entirely foreign sensation of humiliation. To have his kiss topped by another’s so quickly seemed an insult.

  Jenny rose to her feet at his entrance, and he could see tears already glistening in her intelligent eyes.

  “You’ve heard from Simon!”

  “Yes, I have.” Pulling his best friend’s missive from his pocket, he handed it to her without preamble. Indeed, he was a little ashamed Simon had written to him and not to her. What was his friend thinking?

  “May I?” she asked, even as she already reached her hand out, and he could see she was trembling. “It is not too personal?”

  Dammit, Simon, what a mess you’re making of your new marriage!

  “He’s your husband, and since it is all about you, no, there is nothing too personal. Though he might have my hide for boots if he knew I was showing it to you rather than summarizing the message.”

  After giving him her sweet smile, she read the letter. All the while, he stood silently, hoping Margaret was not going to pop into the room at any moment.

  When Jenny gasped, he knew she’d read the ending.

  “He’s coming back!”

  They shared a happy look.

  “And greatly improved.” At least, that’s what Cam took the letter to mean.

  She waved the piece of paper around as if to scatter his words.

  “He was perfectly fine as he was.” As her tears began to flow, he whisked out one of his handkerchiefs from his pocket and offered it to her. Then he gave her a moment to collect herself.

  After she dabbed at her eyes, she told him, “I needed no improved Simon. However, if he is happier, then everything we have gone through has been worth it.”

  “You truly are a rare gem, Lady Lindsey.”

  A lovely ruddy bloom appeared on her cheeks. Then she surprised him with her next words. “As is my sister.”

  He felt the pleasant expression freeze on his face. Refusing to comment on Margaret, he concentrated on his friend’s return.

  “It appears we can expect the wayward Simon within weeks. And the ton that has declared him lost, demented, even a fugitive from the reality of the present, they can eat their words with a large helping of crow.”

  Her countenance went through a myriad of emotions.

  “Why are you rolling your eyes and looking suddenly so exasperated?” he asked.

  “I am merely impatient to lay eyes on him. And I want to shake him for leaving without telling me anything.”

  “Understandable.”

  “My manners have failed me. I should have offered you something when you arrived. Will you stay? Maggie should be home any moment. She went riding with Eleanor.”

&n
bsp; Perfect. If he hurried, he could avoid an encounter with the mercurial Margaret altogether.

  “My apologies, but I must be off. Thank you for your offer. Give my regards to your mother.”

  Faster than he’d moved since outrunning a vicious dog when trespassing in an orchard as a student at Eton, Cam hightailed it from the townhouse on Portman Square.

  No, he was not a coward, he assured himself. But the Miss Blackwood had the power to twist his insides if he let her, and he didn’t intend to let her.

  *

  Maggie tried to swallow the nervousness that kept exhibiting itself as a large, uncomfortable lump in her throat and distracted herself by staring out of the carriage window.

  She needn’t be nervous, she told herself. She hadn’t done anything wrong really. In fact, by kissing Lord Burnley, she’d made such a lovely discovery about how truly special John’s kiss had been, he should actually be grateful she’d done what she’d done.

  On her way to John’s home, with one of the Devere maids as her companion, Maggie was determined to explain her actions to him satisfactorily so they could return to the familiar footing they’d enjoyed before he’d encountered her in his garden.

  And from there, they could move on to a deeper relationship, which she found herself thinking about daily. An association with John Angsley. Perhaps receiving an offer from him by the end of the Season. Being engaged to John. Becoming Mrs. John Angsley. Lady Cambrey. Countess of Cambrey. They all sounded quite splendid!

  What had she expected by leaving a calling card? She’d hoped to catch him at home after he’d seen her riding with Westing and Burnley at Hyde Park. Goodness, what must he have thought? She’d felt the need to explain how she had to honor her commitments, if only so her friend Ada wouldn’t have to cancel the ride. For certainly, Ada couldn’t have gone without her, not with two gentlemen! Moreover, Ada had been the one paired with Burnley for the entire excursion.

  However, John hadn’t been at home that morning, nor had he responded by way of a note. What’s more, Jenny had told her he’d visited their townhouse the very next day with news of her sister’s husband. Margaret had missed seeing him by only a few minutes, and for that, she was sorely disappointed.

  His lack of response, unfortunately, meant she had to trek over to his home, once again uninvited. A tad humiliating, too. Luckily, last time, his mother and Beryl had also been out, thus no one had witnessed her coming and going from Cavendish Square.

  Lifting the large brass door knocker, she let it fall. Maggie repeated this once more, then waited, glancing at her maid who stood dutifully at her side.

  In mere seconds, the Cambrey butler opened the door and, upon seeing who was on the step, drew it wide, stepped back, and let them enter.

  “Miss Blackwood,” he said in his low voice, bowing.

  “Is Lord Cambrey at home?”

  She had repeated the same scene just days earlier. This time, though, the answer was far more satisfactory.

  “Yes, miss. Is his lordship expecting you?”

  Maggie twisted her mouth. The butler would know he was not, for that was his job, to know his master’s schedule among other things. She could not lie.

  “No. I was passing by and hoped to speak with him.”

  “Yes, miss. If you will wait in the parlor.” He gestured toward the first open door, a room Maggie was all too familiar with. “I shall inform his lordship you are here.”

  With that, the gray-haired man walked sedately down the hallway, past the stairs under which she had shared such a wonderful kiss with his master.

  And it had been exactly that, truly wonderful.

  Wandering into the parlor, which now looked very different from the night of the party, Maggie found herself a bit too anxious to sit down. When her maid went discreetly to stand a few feet away, she decided to use the time to gather her thoughts. Also, she ought to put herself in the best light for when he entered. Glancing at the large bay windows, the drapes pulled open, she decided to stand in front of the unlit fireplace, sideways to the sunlight, and thus neither entirely backlit nor entirely cast in shadow.

  Then she waited. It seemed as if many minutes had passed, more than would reasonably be expected for the butler to tell John she was there and for him to leave whatever he was doing and come to her.

  A few more minutes went by, and Maggie found herself shifting her weight from foot to foot. Maybe she should sit after all. Was it too late to change her position, find the best seat in the right light, and artfully arrange her skirts in a pleasing manner? She didn’t want to appear too comfortable, as if she was taking it for granted this might be her home someday. However, the longer she stood, the less she wanted to appear as if she were there like a beggar, hat in hand, hoping for his attention.

  Another minute and her nerves had calmed. Instead, her anger had begun to boil.

  The Earl of Cambrey was being purposefully rude. There could be no other explanation.

  By the time Maggie heard footsteps, she was in high dudgeon. She let John enter the room before she stood slowly, deciding to appear as relaxed as possible when she felt like thumping him. Moreover, she knew instantly by his demeanor he had simply kept her waiting on purpose.

  Should she take him to task for his rudeness? There was no question she must.

  He sketched her a bow. “Miss Blackwood, I understand you want to see me.” And then he folded his arms.

  Offering him the barest of curtsies, she took steps toward him, only stopping when she’d invaded the space society would deem polite.

  “I wanted to see you, but that was many minutes hence. Now, I’m not sure.”

  His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, the mouth that could give such delightful pleasure, which now she wanted to smack.

  “Pray tell, Lord Cambrey, what has kept you from attending to your company so long I nearly left?”

  By his expression, he hadn’t thought she would blatantly question him. It simply wasn’t done, and was considered terrible manners to make one’s host feel uneasy. Maggie didn’t give a damn.

  Before he could say anything, she added, “I came to tell you something I thought you might find of interest, but now, I am unsure if you will find it of any interest.”

  He uncrossed his arms. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. It was rude of me. Will you accept my apology?”

  She hesitated, precisely long enough for him to doubt whether she would.

  “I will.” After all, she knew he was still annoyed at having found her kissing Lord Burnley and then riding with two gentlemen the next day. She would allow him a little pique, but nothing more.

  “Will you sit?” he asked, sounding much more like himself. He gestured for her to once more take a place on his pale blue sofa.

  Without answer, she did.

  “Is your mother or cousin at home?” she asked, suddenly realizing all three Angsleys may have shunned her.

  “No. I assure you, if one of the fairer members of the family had been around, they would have come to you at once. Would you like tea?”

  “No, thank you. I understand you had a letter from my brother-in-law. That was kind of you to bring it right over.”

  “Yes. I—”

  “However, you failed to leave a calling card or a message back for me. Did you not receive my card?”

  Again, he looked surprised at her bluntness. She didn’t care if she shocked him with her disregard of the usual polite pretense that one was not offended. For she definitely was offended.

  “I believe, Miss Blackwood, one’s actions oft beget a response in kind.”

  Maggie nearly frowned but, remembering how she might create wrinkles in her forehead, refrained from doing so.

  “I do not take your meaning, my lord.”

  John hesitated, and in that hesitation, she realized something unpleasant was about to be said to her. Bracing herself, she blinked at him.

  “In truth,” he said, “I am adjusting my notion of you, a
nd while thus doing, I am afraid I am behaving poorly.”

  It was her turn to widen her eyes.

  “You see,” he continued, “I believed we had an understanding, though indubitably, a very slight one. And I also had a misconception of you, which I am now correcting. Neither of these issues is your fault, though, and therefore, I confess my treatment of you is unkind. While you have the excuse of youth and a general frivolity of nature, I am older and should have known better than to act as I have.”

  Then he stopped talking. Maggie was flummoxed. She had no idea what to say though she was certain she had been insulted, called the equivalent of immature and shallow.

  “I see.” She rose to her feet.

  John did the same.

  Realizing she hadn’t said what she’d intended, Maggie sat again.

  Frowning, he sat, too.

  However, she’d been insulted. Standing once more, she fully planned to walk out.

  Lord Cambrey quickly stood again, as well.

  Still she hesitated.

  “Miss Blackwood, would you care to tell me why you wished to speak with me?”

  Staring hard at him, at his soft hazel eyes, her stomach twinged. Her stomach never did that when she was with any of the other men she knew. Sighing, she sat once more.

  As soon as he had done the same, she began. “I felt badly at how you came upon me, or rather, us, in your garden, and I wanted to tell you so.”

  John held up a hand. “Please, Miss Blackwood, you are ill-advised to speak of a transgression, even with someone who witnessed it.”

  Maggie nearly laughed. Was he actually pursing his lips, this man who had held her close a mere few feet from a roomful of partygoers?

  “You sound like a prude, Lord Cambrey, though I know firsthand you are not one.”

  “A prude?” His expression showed he was not pleased.

  “Indeed,” she told him. “Moreover, I know a little about your reputation. You like to spend time at White’s, but you do not frequent the terrible gaming hells, nor are you in danger of losing your family’s fortune. I have never seen you in your cups, nor have any in my acquaintance, and therefore, I assume you are not a drunkard.”