Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “No,” she told him with no uncertainty. “I am not interested. At least, not in that way. Simply curious, I suppose. Aren’t you?”

  Burnley laughed and signaled for Westing to come over.

  “Miss Blackwood, Miss Ellis, and I are wondering who the newcomer might be. Any ideas, Christopher?”

  Westing glanced toward the man. “The son of a baron, I hear. First time in society. Keeping to himself. Perhaps he’s trying to be a man of mystery to capture the ladies’ attention. Apparently, it’s working,” he finished, looking at Maggie.

  “No, it’s not. Not on me, anyway. He merely seems a little rude. Maybe he doesn’t know any better.”

  She thought no more of it. Especially when two other people offered her congratulations on her engagement to the Earl of Cambrey, and she didn’t gainsay them. Glad the gossip was still at a trickle, she simply accepted their felicitations with what she hoped was a smile rather than a grimace.

  By the time she and Ada had danced their slippers nearly to shreds hours later and were ready to leave, Maggie was surprised to find the stranger suddenly near her again.

  Deciding to grasp the nettle, she was about to wave him over when he approached of his own accord.

  “Miss Blackwood,” he greeted her, his accent betraying him as hailing from the north. “You know who I am?” she asked, realizing it was a ridiculous question even as she asked it.

  “Obviously.”

  He spoke as rudely as he behaved.

  “May I know how?” she asked.

  An unreadable expression crossed his face, which she would consider handsome if he didn’t look so serious. His was the demeanor for a funeral or an execution. Hardly suitable for a London ball.

  “Doesn’t everyone know you?” he asked.

  For a moment she thought he was going to add, “as the Earl of Cambrey’s fiancée.” What other notoriety might she have?

  “No, I don’t believe they do,” she pressed.

  He laughed softly, though she knew it was not from good humor.

  “You are mistaken, Miss Blackwood. You are known as the Earl of Lindsey’s stunning sister-in-law, who had, until recently, taken the Season by storm and then faded for a few months from the social scene. Congratulations to your sister and her husband on their child.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie thought this the oddest conversation, with him having such intimate knowledge of her family and her knowing nothing about him.

  Suddenly, Ada was at her side. “Papa said the carriage is waiting. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said, though the evening had become more interesting in the last few minutes. “I would introduce you, however, I don’t know this gentleman’s name.”

  Ada glanced at her friend’s tall companion who bowed slightly.

  “My name is Philip Carruthers. I won’t keep you ladies from your departure.”

  With another bow, he disappeared into the throng.

  “A little unusual,” Ada said, standing on tiptoe to peer after him. “Rather dashing, though.”

  The next morning as Maggie sipped tea while her mother read the papers, she remembered where she’d heard the name before. At least part of it.

  Robert Carruthers was the man in the other carriage, the one who was killed. Maggie was certain of it. Moreover, Grayson had mentioned a twin brother. She shivered. An unlikely coincidence, though it explained the man’s melancholy manner, which she had mistaken for rudeness. What did the brother want with her?

  Not one to pussyfoot around, she would ask him at her very next opportunity.

  *

  Cam realized this wasn’t going to be easy, not the standing or the walking. Definitely not the dancing, though he was determined to do all three when he next encountered Margaret.

  He had dreamt of her face and could imagine the look upon it when she saw him stride into one of London’s ballrooms, bow to her, and sweep her into a waltz.

  He only hoped his weak leg didn’t slide out from under him on the parquet and leave him sprawled at her feet. Though not the worst place in the world. Plus, the view!

  No, the worst place for Cam was riding in a carriage from Bedfordshire to Town. They had to stop every few hours to let him walk around. The cramping was terrible. After months of sedentary behavior, now he’d started walking again, his muscles demanded activity. Over the previous weeks, he’d walked every foot of Turvey House, including going up and down the stairs a hundred times a day, and then he’d walked around its grounds, too. He’d progressed to skipping like a child to work his muscles even harder, and then put on the clothes he used to wear for an afternoon at one of London’s pugilist clubs, and he’d run around the acreage, looking more than half a fool.

  He didn’t care. He was free to move at last.

  Doctor Adams, who’d made the trip to Bedfordshire to remove the cast, had proclaimed his bones to be healed. His leg muscles, of course, had succumbed to mild atrophy, which Cam had worked like the devil to remedy.

  Before the cast had come off, Cam spent hours lifting flour sacks while sitting on the veranda, exactly as Margaret had suggested. He’d even prepared for his freedom by exercising his good leg as much as possible.

  After weeks of strengthening his limbs, Cam and his mother sped toward London. Thank God he hadn’t wasted time going north to Sheffield seeking Margaret at Belton Manor. After a letter to Simon addressed to the manor had been routed by Lord Lindsey’s staff to Town, Cam had received a reply from his best friend—all the Deveres and the Blackwoods were once again in England’s fair capital.

  Cam was ready—and now able—to go down on bended knee to the woman he loved. However, since it was after dinner when they reached London, the proposal would have to wait. Besides, he planned to have a ring this time. He’d had plenty of opportunity to think about it, and he envisioned presenting her with something dazzling enough to match her beauty.

  “I don’t know why you can’t give her my mother’s ring,” Lady Cambrey said the next morning when they were on their way to Hatton Garden, where the best jewelers plied their trade.

  “Because Grandmother’s ring is ugly,” Cam said. And that was that. He wanted to see Margaret’s face light up with pleasure, not polite acceptance.

  An hour later, after strolling the street filled with goldsmiths and diamond merchants, Cam found what he was looking for at Mayer and Sons. In the well-lit store, where everything glittered to the point of nearly giving him a headache, he didn’t go for a snake ring such as Victoria and Albert had made popular. Too trite for his Margaret.

  Then he saw it, a cobalt-blue sapphire encircled with tiny pearls and sparkling diamonds. It was magnificent. As they were leaving, he spied a serpentine bracelet with sapphire eyes and purchased it as well, knowing how the ladies of his acquaintance admired this symbol of eternal love. If all went well, he would have many other occasions on which to present it to Margaret.

  Pleased with his choice, he simply had to plan the big event, glad he had his mother with whom to discuss ideas. They’d already decided not to rush over to Portman Square and surprise the love of his life. He wanted something grander.

  “Do you think she will like my second proposal taking place in public?”

  Lady Cambrey smiled. “I think there is not a woman alive who doesn’t wish to have her gentleman declare openly for her and make her the center of attention. Especially tonight at the Duchess of Sutherland’s ball. Everyone will be there. Everyone!”

  His mother seemed almost as excited as he felt. Thank goodness she held no grudge against Margaret for breaking the engagement the first time. He wanted the two ladies in his life to get along well.

  *

  Maggie let the maid work on her for hours as soon as the sun went down. For this night was not a humdrum event. This was a ball at Stafford House, the premiere townhouse in London, situated next to St. James Palace. Even Simon and Jenny were deigning to go out in society and leave little Lionel at home with Anne Blackwood. Fo
r the first time, she would see the grand, bifurcated staircase and the three-story ceiling in the foyer, the magnificent Corinthian columns, and more marble than she might ever see again.

  Moreover, the queen, who was special friends with the Duchess of Sutherland, might make an appearance. Everyone loved to see Victoria, and any ball she attended became instantly successful and, of course, utterly majestic.

  Maggie wore a blue gown, all satin and lace and seed pearls, thanking the heavens for having a wealthy brother-in-law, allowing her to own such a creation. More pearls and a single blue feather adorned her hair, which was up in a braided, swirling bun, with enough ringlets to soften her appearance.

  “I am escorting two exquisite jewels,” Simon announced as they entered the Sutherland mansion and looked up to the grand, double staircase that funneled the multitude upward both to the left and to the right. “An emerald and a sapphire.”

  Jenny, dressed in a rich shade of green, responded by smacking his shoulder with her fan. “We are not objects for men to admire.”

  “Speak for yourself, dear sister,” Maggie said. “You are a countess while I am in danger of being shelved. If men wish to admire me and call me a jewel, they are welcome to do so.”

  Along with Jenny, she dispensed with her cloak and street shoes. Adorned in her satin dancing slippers, she was ready to enjoy the evening.

  Climbing the enormous staircase to the second-floor ballroom, Maggie wondered how she would ever find her friend in the mass of hundreds. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, she gave up skirting the throng and dove into the middle.

  Familiar friendly faces, acquaintances, and strangers, all blended. At one end of the cavernous ballroom, musicians were already playing, and Maggie knew there was a clear space for dancing, if she could only reach it. Also, somewhere, there would be a dais where the Duchess of Sutherland and her handsome husband, Duke George as his wife called him, would be in all their finery.

  It was also where Queen Victoria would sit when she arrived, with or without Prince Albert. One never knew if the prince consort would make an appearance, but it didn’t matter. People wanted to see their queen.

  An hour later, Maggie was breathless, having danced three dances with strangers, and still no sign of—

  “Ada,” she called out as her blonde friend appeared for a moment and then disappeared again between two couples.

  “Drat!” Maggie exclaimed and set off after her at an unladylike trot. However, as she pushed between the wall of well-dressed partygoers and scanned the people before her, she sighed. Where had Ada got to?

  “Miss Blackwood,” said a voice at her elbow.

  It was him. In all of these people, Philip Carruthers was beside her.

  “What a coincidence!” she intoned.

  “Hardly that.” His expression was a little less severe this evening. Once again, he was dressed impeccably.

  Yes, she noted, he was a dashing man, exactly as Ada had remarked.

  Taking her hand, he bent over it as any gentleman would, but then he brushed his lips over her gloved knuckles, and she could feel his warm breath through the satin.

  Staring, Maggie slowly drew her hand back.

  “How so, not a coincidence? I’ve been searching for my friend for ages and have not yet managed to find her. In fact, I was on her trail when you appeared.”

  “I did not intend to spend the evening looking for you. I waited by the front door until you arrived and have kept my eyes on you ever since.”

  “Oh.” How expedient of him. Jenny would approve of such a practical method. Absolutely more effective than what she had accomplished.

  “Why have you been keeping watch over me?”

  “Besides the obvious reason of you being the most beautiful lady here?”

  “I don’t take kindly to empty flattery, sir.” Maggie tried to sound stern. Then she gave him her practiced smile, adding a dash of coyness. “Indisputably, there is at least one here who might best me.”

  To her amazement, she managed to wipe away his stern countenance. He laughed, and when he did, he looked a different man altogether. In that instant, he reminded her of John.

  John! Was he even then languishing in Bedfordshire? Would he still think her a terrible nag if he could see her dancing and chatting with … oh dear, the brother of the dead man! She must focus, despite the champagne, the glowing lights, and everyone’s contagious gaiety.

  “Are you titled? I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to address you.”

  Rather than telling her his status, he said, “You may call me Philip.”

  “Fine, but you may not call me Margaret.”

  “Understood. I suppose you are curious as to why I keep popping up.”

  She must be frank with him. “I know who you are.”

  Instead of appearing surprised, he simply nodded, though she noticed his jaw had clenched.

  “And yes, I am curious,” Maggie admitted. “What can you possibly want from me?”

  Snagging two glasses off a passing tray, he handed one to her, tapped the rim with his own, and drank down the champagne in two gulps. Then he looked at her, a slight frown on his face.

  “Honestly?”

  Sipping from her own glass, she looked him directly in the eyes, startled to realize they were practically black. “Of course.”

  “You know who I am, meaning you know who my brother was. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “After Robert died so carelessly, and out of character for him, if I may say, I wanted to find out everything about the accident. It wasn’t hard to learn what happened to the Earl of Cambrey. I thought to write to him, I suppose to apologize, but words failed me. Besides, I found I couldn’t apologize when my brother lost his life.”

  “I know Lord Cambrey was most unhappy to learn of your family’s dreadful loss. Moreover, I don’t believe he expected an apology. His injuries are temporary, after all.”

  Or at least some were. For all she knew, John was even then taking more opium, suffering from a painful stomach and worse maladies because of it.

  “Be that as it may,” Philip said, “I considered whether to approach you when I realized who you are—”

  “Who am I? To you, I mean?” For he couldn’t know of her love for John or their brief engagement.

  “By chance, I discovered your family and his family were very close through the Lindsey side. I saw you arrive with the Earl and Countess of Lindsey, and I know he is Lord Cambrey’s closest friend. However, you left London at the time of the accident.”

  “Quite by chance,” Maggie told him, thinking of the long and hurried carriage ride to reach Jenny before the baby was born. “I still don’t understand what you want from me.”

  “As it turns out,” he began, then paused. His dark eyes took her in from the blue feather in her coiffure down to the hem of her dress, then back to her face, piercing her with his gaze.

  “As it turns out, Miss Blackwood, I want nothing from you. I was in a bad state at first. Robert was not only my brother, he was my twin. You have siblings and undeniably understand the bond. But he and I were even closer. His death was like losing my arm, or some would say, more like half my brain.”

  “My condolences again.” She wouldn’t mention his brother was ostensibly driving like a madman.

  He nodded, but it was a dismissive gesture. Undoubtedly, her sympathetic words could mean nothing to him, nor touch the pain he felt.

  “I wondered for a while whether some reparation was due.”

  She puzzled at his words. “You mean toward Lord Cambrey for his injuries?”

  “No. Toward me and my family for our loss. As I said, I was in a bad state.” He leaned closer, until she could see her own reflection in his obsidian eyes. “I meant vengeance, Miss Blackwood, for the irrational rage I felt toward the earl.”

  She raised her eyebrows in alarm. “Oh!”

  Then it dawned on her. “You sought your revenge through me?”

/>   “An eye for an eye, or in this case, for the pain of losing someone.”

  Her hand fluttered toward her throat, and looking around, she made sure she was still surrounded by hundreds who could help her.

  “You thought to kill me?” Was he insane?

  His own brows rose. “Dear God, no! My ill-conceived plan was to ruin you after having learned you and the earl had a special friendship.”

  Is that what people had concluded? That she and John had a close friendship, such as the one he had with Jane Chatley?

  “How monstrous!” she proclaimed. “Lord Cambrey has suffered enough, I can assure you.”

  “Understood. Besides, I didn’t really have the heart for it,” Philip admitted. “Even less so after meeting you the other night.”

  Falling silent, he too glanced around at their impressive surroundings.

  “Despite mourning still, I find I would prefer to dance with you than ruin you. Flattery or not, you are truly a beautiful woman, and we are at what might prove to be the event of the Season.”

  Maggie’s head was spinning. He’d had nefarious plans for her, yet confessed them. Now he merely wanted to dance. Could she believe him?

  Would a dance with him be any more satisfying than any of the others she’d had since returning to London? The only partner she desired on or off the dance floor was John, and his were the only hands she wanted touching her.

  John was miles and days away, though, and she was here with a man who was hurting.

  “All right, let us dance.” And Maggie allowed the tall, dark-eyed stranger to lead her onto the polished floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Cam had spent an hour searching when he finally found Simon and Jenny. Both ahead of him and in his wake, the buzz of his return was on everyone’s lips. As people parted before him and he reached the Devere’s table at last, his best friend’s eyes bulged from his head.

  Simon rose to his feet, and Jenny smiled with delight.

  However, dear as these two people were to him, they were not the one he had come there to see.