by Gill, Tamara
She chuckled, deep and teasing and the sound warmed his blood. He shouldn’t like her this much or her company. He’d certainly never had this reaction to anyone else before. “Then it is lucky that I’m not appropriate. You only need to ask my family just how inappropriate I can be at times. I’m certainly a little too rough about the edges for most people. As well you’ve found out.”
“I like your rough edges.” Dale shut his mouth with a snap. What was he saying! She was his best friend’s sister. And from the looks that Peter had thrown at him the other night at dinner he did not want Dale going anywhere near her. Not to mention Lady Mary’s family expecting her to make a fine match next Season. He hoped she would not consider him in her pursuit of marriage. He would make a terrible husband for her. With both their independent natures, their life would never be calm and sedate, and she did not possess the biddable nature he’d always wanted in a bride and marriage.
God knows Dale would never tolerate being managed by a bluestocking.
“I daresay we shall be friends, your grace?”
Her statement pulled him from his musings and he nodded. “Of course. I would like to think so.”
She leaned forward and poured two cups of tea. “Sugar? Milk?”
“Both please,” he replied, having always had a sweet tooth, even when it came to his hot beverages.
Lady Mary passed him the cup, a small delicate saucer beneath the fine china and Dale took the opportunity to touch her gloveless fingers. They were warm, soft and did odd things to his stomach.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a well-needed sip.
“If we’re to be friends, may I call you by your given name. I would like you to call me Mary.”
A little warning voice in his mind told him this familiarity was wrong. That he shouldn’t be so lax in manners with such a woman, let alone on a first-name basis, but ignoring his own counsel, he found himself saying, “I would like that. You in turn may call me Dale, or Carlton.”
Pleased with herself, she settled back onto her seat, once again tucking her legs beneath her on the chair. “Good, because now that we’re familiar friends and you’re worldly, I’d like some more advice.”
Oh damn it. What had he got himself into now? “It depends on what you ask,” he said, caution shadowing his tone.
“I’d like some advice on Lord Weston. I’ve known him, you see, most of my life, he’s our neighbor after all, and since he spends so much time in Town, if I were to marry him, I’d be free to stay here in Derbyshire, close to home and all my favorite places in the world to explore.”
A cold hard rock lodged in his gut at the thought of Mary marrying Lord Popinjay who was, in Dale’s estimation, worse than himself when it came to his philandering about town. Unlike Dale, Lord Weston did not care what happened to his conquests after he’d had his way. He simply turned his back and moved on. That gentleman loved the chase, loved being the center of attention, and Dale knew right down to his core that he’d never be faithful to Mary.
“On further reflection, I do not believe Lord Weston is suitable after all.” He took a sip of his tea, not missing the flash of annoyance in Mary’s eyes. “He’s not looking for a wife. He told Peter and myself that only days ago. You should look to Lord Fairchild. He is better suited to your nature.”
“Even so,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “I’m sure that if I managed to kiss his lordship, he would see that we would suit. And that I’d be no trouble in the marriage.”
Dale only just stopped himself from cursing. To marry Lord Weston would mean a marriage possibly worse than his parents’ had been. Mary would demand loyalty, respect and freedom. All of those things would be lacking if she married Lord Weston. It would only be a matter of time before she’d realize her mistake that unfortunately she’d have to live with for years to come.
“You will not be kissing Lord Weston or marrying him. He’s not for you.”
She raised her brow, peering at him with interest. “He’s the best situated. His estate is right across the fields, for heaven’s sake. And you’re wrong also. I will kiss his lordship, if I want. No matter if you think I cannot claim one.”
Dale placed his cup of tea on the table before them, leaning forward. “I think he would be a fool if he kissed you. It would give you false hope. If his lordship did kiss you it would only be for his own selfish reasons to dally with you.”
She stood, an indignant huff escaping her mouth. “You don’t think I’m kissable.”
Oh hell no, that was not what he was thinking, especially now that she was all fire and brimstone. If only she knew right at this moment, he wanted to claim her mouth. Kiss her hard and deep, pull her close and have her for himself. “Of course not, but young women such as yourself, an innocent—”
“Oh please, spare me the lecture,” she said, cutting him off. “I will prove it to you. Before this house party is over I shall kiss Lord Weston properly and I’m going to tell you all about it, and then you will know what you can do with your thoughts on my age and innocence.”
Before he could reply, she flounced out of the lodge, slamming the door behind her. “Bloody hell,” he swore. Now he’d gone and pricked her pride. And now he would have to watch her like a hawk so she didn’t make a fool of herself with Lord Weston. Who, just like a cat, played with its victim before consuming them. And he was determined Lady Mary would not be anyone’s feast.
Chapter 7
Mary kept away from the Duke over the next couple of days, even though his gaze was on her every second of every day. He was shadowing her, she was sure, ensuring she didn’t follow through on her threat to kiss Lord Weston. Not that she’d had a chance to even get close to his lordship since her mama’s friend, Lady Hectorville had taken a liking to the young viscount.
Tonight, her Mama had set up a card night for all her guests to enjoy. Mary sat beside Louise at the whist table, and contemplated her cards, all the while aware of the scowling duke who sat beside her. But unlike herself, he was scowling at her not the cards he held in his hand.
Was he so very mad at her for telling him that she would kiss Lord Weston? Why it bothered him she couldn’t fathom. Probably a brotherly affection he felt honored to have due to his friendship with Peter. She studied him, trying to make him out. He glanced up from his cards, his dark hooded gaze full of determination and something else lurked in his eyes. What though she couldn’t fathom. Her skin prickled with awareness and she glanced back down at the table, feeling unsettled of a sudden.
Louise dealt the last round, and going through the play, luck was on Mary’s side and she won the last trick with an ace of hearts, beating the duke’s king of hearts. Mary laughed, clapping at her good fortune. She smiled at the duke feeling quite the conqueror. His grace leaned back in his chair, throwing his cards on the table
“Well done, Lady Mary. You’ve beaten us all.”
“Of course, I always get what I want, your grace,” she said, wanting him to know she didn’t just mean at a game of cards. She glanced about the room, noting that Lord Weston was no longer present. Where had he gone? He had been watching them play.
“Another game, Mary?” Louise asked, shuffling the deck to the best of her ability.
“Not just at the moment, Louise.” Mary stood. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.”
She started for the door with the plan of saying, should anyone ask, that she was intending to use the retiring room her mama had set up downstairs. Mary came out into the hall and turned toward where the room was located. Her parents’ country house was one of the largest in the county, and as a young girl she’d lost count when trying to tally how many rooms there were.
The hall had multiple sconces lighting her way, along with candelabras, the smell of beeswax permeating the air. The Aubusson runner beneath her feet cushioned her every step and she smiled, greeting a couple of ladies that she passed on her way. Arriving at the retiring room door, she continued on. Lord We
ston had taken a liking to her father’s billiard room and it was possible he was spending some time there.
She came up to the room, and peeked through the door. Candelabras were alight, a well-tended fire burning in the grate, but the room itself was empty. Frowning, she turned about wondering where else he would be. Mary continued on and searched the conservatory, the terrace and all were without a soul.
Maybe he’d returned to the card room. She headed back and taking a short cut, she went through her father’s library, and the small office that he used when in need of peace and privacy. This area had not been lit, but knowing the room well she crossed the space toward the other door that led onto a corridor with little trouble.
That’s when she heard it. A feminine chuckle followed by a male gasp and heavy panting.
Mary stilled, having never heard such a noise before. She looked into the dark recesses of the room, but with her father’s desk sitting paramount in the space, Mary could not see beyond.
Another male gasp. “Yes, just like that. Suck it.”
Mary slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. Why in the world would a man be saying such a thing? And who was he saying it to? With the whispered voices she’d not been able to make out which of her parents’ guests were ensconced behind the desk, but certainly two were.
She tiptoed up to the desk and peered over. Mary stumbled back, knocking the chair over that was behind her and with a loud thump, she landed on her bottom.
A muffling curse came from the other side of the room, but Mary didn’t bother to wait for them to stand and see her there. She bolted for the door into the library, slamming her father’s office door firmly behind her as she ran as fast as she could in silk slippers and a gown that was not made to assist with such physical activity.
Mary left the library, coming into her mama’s private parlor and slammed head long into the duke of Carlton.
Again…
His arms wrapped about her and for a second time, they went down, Mary landing on top of him. The duke made an oomph sound as he took the brunt of the fall.
This time Mary shuffled off him as fast as she could, determined to leave, to get away from everyone and go to her room. Tears stung her eyes at what a silly little dupe she’d been the past few days. Thinking that Lord Weston might actually be a candidate for marriage. To like what he saw in her and be the first and last man to kiss her properly. Shame washed through her at not trusting herself, at not listening to the duke and allowing the little bit of attention he afforded her these past days to give rise to hopes that marriage to a man who suited her character was a possibility.
She was a fool.
“Mary wait,” the duke said, catching up to her and pulling her to a stop. “You’re upset. What has happened.”
At that very moment Lord Weston and Lady Hectorville ran into her father’s library, both Mary and the duke turned to look at them. They were still disheveled but at least dressed. Heat bloomed on Mary’s cheeks, and she turned her back on them. She could hear Lord Weston start toward them, but the duke moved away, slamming the parlor room door closed and cutting them both off. The snip of the lock echoed in the room before a comforting arm came about her shoulder, leading her toward a nearby chair.
“You need not tell me what you saw, I only needed to look at them to know what has happened. Do you wish for me to tell your parents of Lord Weston’s and her ladyship’s actions?”
Mary shook her head, shamed that a part of her, the other part of her that was not affronted or shocked by what she saw, was also a little curious. Jealous even. Were men and women able to do such things to each other? If they were, she’d never known of it.
“No, your grace, that won’t be necessary.” She stood, throwing him a small smile. He continued to sit, glancing up at her and blast it all he was so handsome. With his strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones, he was an English Adonis.
Before her sat one of the most sought-after gentlemen in England, and just like the rest of them, Mary was always the good-natured friend, always to be sidelined as the dependable, intelligent sister to the future Earl of Lancaster. Never a lady to seek out, to court, and possibly steal a kiss or two from. Oh no, she was too much of a wallflower, a bluestocking to be seen as anything else than that. “Thank you for your concern, but I think I shall retire to my room. I do not feel like socializing any longer today.”
Mary left without another word, and just as she expected the duke did not try and stop her. And why would he? He didn’t look at her as anything but a friend. A woman to respect but little else.
It seemed to be the story of her life and she was sick of it.
The eve of the Mistletoe Ball arrived with a deluge of snow, but even with the chill of the outdoors, it could not dampen the excitement from the house guests over the festive ball.
Dale stood at the side of Lord and Lady Lancaster’s ballroom and watched Lord Weston flounce about like the little peacock that he was. The bastard having been caught with Lady Hectorville, his front falls still gaping from being open, left little imagination as to what he’d been doing with her ladyship. Dale didn’t even need to ask Mary what she’d seen.
That the poor girl had harbored feelings toward Lord Weston was unfortunate. The man wouldn’t give the chit a second glance. Too opinionated and if Dale was correct, Mary would be too intelligent for such a prick, and the gentleman was too thick to know it. With his own self-importance, that was one trait Dale knew Lord Weston wouldn’t tolerate in a bride.
Still, Mary didn’t deserve to be taught this lesson in the way that she had been, and he would ensure he sought her out tonight and danced with her.
A little tittering went through the sea of guests and Dale cast his eye across the room, trying to see what everyone was in a little fuss about.
He felt his mouth gape and he closed it with a snap. “Damnation,” he muttered, remembering to breathe. His eyes feasted on Lady Mary as she walked into the room. How had she remained hidden for so long when there was such a beauty under all those atrocious gowns her mother had made her wear? More worrying perhaps, was how on earth he’d missed seeing such a prize.
Tonight Mary sparkled like a rare diamond amongst paste.
Arm in arm with her closest friend Louise, she walked through the guests, welcoming and smiling as was her nature. Dale watched as she passed Lord Weston and Lady Hectorville, pleased to see she refused to be lured into conversation, even though the prig Lord Weston still tried, even after his shameful actions that she had happened upon.
The thought made Dale hate him even more and under no circumstances would he allow his lordship to touch one hair on her dark, pretty head.
The man who won Lady Mary’s heart would be worthy of her affections. As her brother’s best friend, he would ensure that was so, and guarantee that Peter too followed this rule. A rarity such as Mary should not marry anyone who did not deserve her.
Dale narrowed his eyes, the thought of her married to someone else, laughing and enjoying herself as she now was, did not fill him with pleasure. If anything, it soured his mood. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, unsure of why it unsettled him so.
“My sister is a success, it would seem,” Peter said, coming up to Dale and pulling his gaze from her.
He nodded, schooling his features. “It would seem she is. I would warn you to keep her from Lord Weston however. I think his lordship has other ideas when it comes to marriage.”
They glanced toward the gentleman in question and Dale was glad Peter saw Lady Hectorville slide her hand along Lord Weston’s arm, their level of acquaintance obvious to anyone who’d enjoyed such house party games themselves.
“I see,” Peter said. “I will mention my concern to father, but as for Mary, well, she doesn’t seem to know that his lordship is even here.” Peter nodded toward the ballroom floor. “What are your thoughts on Lord Fairchild? He would certainly make a good husband for her. He’s titled, a good sort of fellow who doesn’t partake in anythi
ng notorious, and he has a Scottish hunting lodge even though he hails from Kent. Good game in the highlands.”
Dale turned his attention back to Mary who danced a minuet with Lord Fairchild. Her smile lit up the room and their ease of enjoyment together was clear. Mary’s face as she looked up at his lordship with something akin to enthrallment and his lordship’s was similarly pleased.
A cold knot lodged in his gut. “I know little of him, but I’ve not heard anything that would cause concern either,” Dale said, knowing if he darkened the gentleman’s name Peter would listen and would not allow his sister to be courted by him. But Dale could not act with such dishonor. He made a point of relaxing, unfisting his hands at his side. “He looks rather smitten if I’m honest,” Dale said instead. “Lady Mary may not need another Season after all.”
Peter nodded, then clapped him on the back. “I’m ashamed to say a few days ago I acted atrociously toward you.”
“In what way?” Dale thought over their conversations and couldn’t remember anything offensive.
“I practically warned you off my sister, albeit not directly, but I feel that you may have believed that to be the case. I hope I have not offended you. Blame it on sibling protectiveness, and know that I believe my concern to be an absurd notion.”
Dale glanced at Peter sharply. “Why was it an absurd notion?”
Peter raised his brow, his eyes full of mirth. “Because you would never look at Mary in such a way. She’s not your usual type for a start and well, she may have scrubbed up better than any time before this evening, but by tomorrow she’ll be back to her normal bluestocking, wallflower self and all this will be forgotten.”
Dale turned back to watch the dancers, one in particular whose infectious laughter made his lips twitch. If only that were true. Dale had come to realize that for several days now, even before if he were honest with himself, his attention often lingered on Mary. He was keenly aware whenever she entered a room or when he saw her somewhere in the house, busy with her own pursuits.