by Gill, Tamara
Chapter 9
Over the next few days Dale fought to keep his distance from Lady Mary, but everywhere he turned she seemed to be there. Her newfound popularity ensured a bevy of gentlemen guests always surrounded her. Her smile and intelligent conversations about politics, horses or fishing, had kept them coming back for more, and there was little doubt in his mind that come next Season she would be snatched off the marriage mart merry-go-round that so many got stuck on.
He sat on a chaise longue, reading the latest news from London. The snow was falling heavily and it was Christmas Eve meaning everyone was indoors, keeping themselves occupied with cards or music. Earlier that day Dale had played a game of billiards with Peter, but the arrival of Lord Weston, his nose still bruised from the other evening, soon meant he’d excused himself.
The little popinjay had not taken his warning to heart and continued to seek out Lady Mary at any opportunity. No doubt just to vex Dale, and vexing him, it most certainly was.
Dale looked over the top of his paper and watched Lord Weston enter the front parlor. Mary was busy reading a book in a nearby chair. It was only the two of them, and she’d tucked her legs beneath her gown like she had done in the hunting lodge. A relaxed pose that he would assume a married couple might have if relaxed within each other’s company.
Lord Weston sat across from her, and Dale watched as she settled herself in a more appropriate fashion, talking politely to his lordship, but if Dale was any judge of character, he would guess her interest had cooled toward his lordship.
She glanced at him and his suspicions were confirmed. The heat and determination he read in her eyes were all for him, and not the dandy sprouting on about waistcoats before her.
If Lord Weston noticed her inattention he didn’t seem to say, just continued to speak as if he had a captive audience.
Dale’s lips twitched. How wrong he was.
Not for anything could he tear his gaze away. The more he looked, the more he wanted to see of her, not just across the room, but elsewhere too. Someplace quiet, private and alone. Asleep on his bed would also do very well.
Peter stood before him, cutting off his view. Dale started and looked up, schooling his features. His friend stared down at him with something akin to annoyance and Dale gritted his teeth. “Morning Peter,” he said, folding his paper and setting it on his lap.
“We need to talk.”
His friend’s concerned tone made him frown. “Sit and tell me what is troubling you.”
Peter did as Dale asked and he gave his friend his full attention. “Lord Weston has asked Father if he may court Mary.”
Dale sat up, fury spiking through him at the audacity of the man after he’d told him to stay the hell away from her.
“I have not forgotten your warning about him, and I told my parents of your concern, but they’re adamant that Lord Weston is genuine and whatever you saw his lordship and Lady Hectorville doing was wholly innocent.”
Dale swore. “Peter, your sister caught them in a compromising position, not I. I merely was the messenger. She cannot marry him; he’ll never be faithful to her and she deserves so much more than that.”
Peter’s mouth pulled into a thin, disapproving line. “I agree. We must help her find a gentleman who is suitable.” His friend turned to him. “Do you have any ideas?”
Dale pulled at his cravat, the warmth of the room making him sweat. “No-one present. I think she needs to have her Season next year and see if there are any more suitable gentlemen who pay court to her.” He paused, glancing at her. Lord Weston had shuffled closer to her person. If he moved any closer, he’d be sitting on Mary’s lap.
“If your parents will not listen, we’ll have to ensure Lord Weston gets the message loud and clear to stay away. He’ll end up giving her a disease.”
Peter’s eyes flew wide and he gasped. “Surely you jest.”
Dale shrugged, partly wondering why he was so set on Lady Mary not being married to such a bastard. What was it to him whom she married? So long as she was happy with her choice, he really didn’t have much say in the matter. But to think of her married to another, to share her bed, to have her bestow delectable kisses to anyone but him… He glared at Lord Weston, not appreciating the thought.
“I do not. With the amount of bed-fellows he’s had, it’ll only be matter of time before she has the pox.”
Peter stood, and Dale watched as Mary’s brother marched up to Lord Weston asking him to a game of billiards. Dale picked up his newspaper, feigning reading as he listened to the conversation. That Peter had surmised that if he kept Lord Weston away from Mary that would ensure the chap would not court her.
It was basic in concept, but could work, especially if Dale helped him with that endeavor. He smiled knowing he’d enjoy hindering Lord Popinjay from being able to pay court to Mary.
A lone finger pulled his paper down and Dale looked up to see Mary standing before him. Her gown had a pretty light green floral pattern over it. It was summery in appearance, but with the long sleeves and green shawl it was suitable for the cold time of year.
“Lady Mary,” he drawled, his body alerting to the fact that she was so close to him. Her hand picked up his paper and tossed it on the seat beside him. She leaned down, placing her hands on either side of his head, pushing him back into the cushion.
“What are you and my brother up to? Lord Weston was trying to court me and you should know I was enjoying it very much.”
“As if you could marry such a man.”
She raised one brow, a small grin on her lips. “No, of course not, but I was enjoying watching you dislike his courting. That, your grace, was worth the few minutes in his presence.”
Dale reached out, running a finger down the small hollow at the front of her throat, tracing it down between her breasts, which at this angle, spilled a little over the front of her gown. He bit back a groan, itching to spread his hand over her soft silken skin, tease the sweet nipples to hardened peaks beneath her dress.
“Don’t push me, Lady Mary. You may not like the outcome.”
She chuckled, leaning down further to kiss him softly on the lips. He didn’t move for fear of ripping her down on the seat beside him and finishing what they’d started the other night. The memory of her pliant body, willing and enjoying him on the terrace filled his mind and his body hardened. They were in the front parlor damn it; anyone could come in at any moment. He glanced quickly toward the door and clenched his hands at his side when he realized it was open.
“Maybe I’d like the outcome,” she said, running a finger over his bottom lip before standing up and severing all contact. The instant she was gone he missed her touch. He swallowed, completely at a loss as to how he was to handle the little vixen. Never had he met a woman who threw the rules of society aside to walk her own special path through life.
He was utterly beguiled.
Giving him another saucy smile at the door, she turned and left the room. He stared after her, his heart racing in his chest as if he’d been taking part in strenuous exercise.
If only he were, and with Lady Mary, now that would make an enjoyable afternoon.
Later that night Mary stood speaking with Louise in the upstairs drawing room, a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. She would not normally be so bold as to carry around the little plant that would allow her to kiss anyone she choose, but she was determined to further acquaint herself with the duke.
He was simply too irresistible to ignore, and she wanted to feel all that he made her feel the other night.
“If your mama finds out that you’re wishing to steal a kiss from the Duke of Carlton she’ll have your head on a platter and serve it for supper. You know they’re already irritable with you not making a match last Season.”
“That was by choice, Louise. If I had wished for an offer I could’ve showed two gentlemen that I can think of off the top of my head who would’ve furthered their acquaintance with me, but it was not what I wanted.” In fact, Ma
ry had done everything in her power to thwart suitors. One could not give her heart to a man who was only interested in what you brought to the marriage. That was not who Mary was. She wanted to be able to converse with the man she married, to be on equal footing within their home. If she could not have such outside the walls of her house, then she would damn well have it within it.
“And now you wish the duke to further his acquaintance?” Louise searched her gaze, a small frown upon her brow.
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know what I want from the duke, another kiss would be nice,” she said, teasing Louise a little. “He’s different from anyone I’ve ever met before I suppose. He doesn’t ridicule me for my likes and he actually talks to me, no one ever really talks to you in London or listens for that matter. The gentlemen make out they do, but they really do not.”
“And the duke does?” Louise asked, grinning.
Mary nodded. “He does, and it doesn’t hurt that his kisses are very nice too.” Left her aching in places she didn’t even know could ache. She wanted to feel that again.
“You’re too wild, Mary.” Her friend shook her head, an amused smirk across her lips. “Whatever will your family do with you?”
Mary laughed. “Nothing or perhaps they could lock me up in a convent abroad I suppose, but Papa would never allow that. As much as they may despair at my independent ideas and hobbies, they would never break my heart by punishing me for them.”
“That is true.” Louise nodded toward the door. “The duke has arrived.”
She cast a glance in his direction and watched as he entered with her brother by his side. The two made a striking pair. The duke with his dark hair and coloring and her brother who was all blond and angelic. Both had reputations about London however, the duke more than anyone. A gentleman every debutante wanted and yet none had managed to turn his gaze.
Until now…
He met her stare across the room as they made their way into the throng of guests and the place behind her breast fluttered. Mary watched as he stood beside her brother, quiet and watchful of the room, her more than most, and she couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if she was the one to turn the duke’s gaze to her and only her. Forever.
Would he make her give up her love of freedom, her desire to do as she wished whenever she chose, her hobbies outside the ballroom. Would he be like so many of the gentlemen of the ton who only saw their wives as trophies to be admired, exalted and boasted about, but never anything else.
The thought left her cold and she twisted the mistletoe in her fingers, wondering if she should simply stop teasing the duke and leave him well alone. As it was, the kiss she bestowed on him only yesterday in the drawing room had been a risk, and had her parents or brother walked in and seen her actions the duke would already be her husband. The kiss on the terrace was worse with the ball taking place right beside them. But surely a gentleman who took an interest as he did was not so backward in thinking. Surely he would not wish her to change.
“He appears to watch you a great deal, Mary.”
Mary turned and threw the piece of mistletoe into the fire behind them, before sitting on the settee before the hearth. She smiled at Louise. “He’s simply watching to make sure Lord Weston does not try and court me. Do not read into his attention any more than that.”
“I think you may be wrong about that,” Louise said, sitting also. Mary fidgeted with her gown and fought not to look in his direction. An impossibility almost.
Mary set out to enjoy the night of impromptu dancing some of the guests took part in, supper, games and cards. Her mother had ordered made her favorite desserts of lemon cake and ices. Her father wore his silly Christmas hat that had little elves sewn onto it and her mother’s festive gown was the deepest shade of red with small sprigs of holly sewed about the hems.
It was times like these with her family that she loved the most, and her eyes smarted that if she married, it would no longer just be the four of them. She would leave to spend such times with her new husband. The gentleman might choose to spend Christmas alone or with his own family. Everything would change.
Out the corner of her eye she watched as the duke sat in a seat across from her and Louise. He crossed his long legs, leaning back in the chair and waited. It reminded Mary of a lion before it pounced on its prey.
The heat of his gaze bore into her until she couldn’t take it any longer and she looked at him. He glanced at her with an air of boredom and heat rose on her cheeks at the memory of their time on the terrace. She swallowed, hoping he’d assume the fire had made her warm and not him.
“Did you know that you’re sitting under a sprig of mistletoe, Lady Mary?”
Mary looked up to see a row of holly and mistletoe had been strung across the room’s ceiling directly above where she sat. She cringed. “I did not,” she said in a tone that she hoped conveyed boredom and not hope. Louise chuckled and tried to mask it with a cough.
“I’m going to talk to your mama for a moment. I’ll be back soon, Mary,” she said, standing and leaving her alone with the duke.
Mary fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her attention snapping back to the duke. His eyes ran over her person and she shivered at the heat that banked in his gaze. Desire rushed through her, hot and impatient and she closed her eyes a moment to gain some semblance of control. She shouldn’t want to kiss him again, but little else had occupied her mind since they’d done it last. She was turning into a veritable wanton.
How could she ever remain a spinster, a wallflower if she hankered for his touch, his mouth on hers and everything else that he could give her?
“Lord Weston isn’t sitting with me, so why are you, your grace?” she asked.
He leaned forward, running a hand over his jaw. He looked up at her and a piece of his hair fell across his eye. It made him look even more wicked than normal and her stomach fluttered. “That, Lady Mary, I have been asking myself and I cannot fathom as to why.”
She raised her brow, having not expected him to be so honest. The way he was looking at her, as if she were the tastiest morsel in the room made her question her priorities. She licked her lips, wondering yet again if he would be the type of man who’d ask his wife to change who she was for the sake of the title, of what was expected by the ton.
Mary couldn’t abide by such a life if that was what he wished. Not that the duke was looking to marry her, but from the hunger she read in his eyes, he was certainly after something.
“Really?” Mary cast a glance about the room, seeing that they were quite alone. “I think I do.”
He leaned back in his chair, a grin on his delectable lips that she wanted him to ravish her with. “Do tell,” he said, matter of fact.
Never one not to be honest or talk bluntly she studied him a moment. “I think you’re here because you want to be. I think you’re here because you want to kiss me again,” she whispered. “And I think you’re here because you are trying to work out why that is the case.”
His eyes narrowed, his features cooling a little at her words. “While I will admit that your kiss was very…enjoyable, I’m merely here to keep Lord Weston from approaching you. The cad can find someone else to ruin, it won’t be you.”
But maybe it’ll be you instead… Mary bit her lip, a part of her wanting Lord Weston to enter, to court and make a fuss of her, if only to set off the duke’s ire. “If I married Lord Weston I’d always live near my childhood home. I could continue on as I always have in Derbyshire. His lordship could come and go as he pleases and so too could I.” Mary leaned forward, knowing she was giving him a little glimpse of her assets. “Perhaps you ought to leave so he can continue his courtship of me. I’m not immune to staying in Derbyshire.”
All lies, she was totally immune to Lord Weston’s charms, certainly after she saw what he was doing with Lady Hectorville and after she’d kissed the man who sat across from her. The duke’s gaze darkened further, and she schooled her features, not wanting him to know she could read
him like a book.
Chapter 10
Dale took a calming breath, not sure if he wanted to shake a little sense into the maddening chit or kiss her senseless. Both, he assumed would do equally well. He’d promised Peter he would keep Mary out of Lord Weston’s clutches, but it was another thing entirely to keep her out of his own.
True, she drove him mad, vexed him often with her sharp tongue, and kissed like she’d been taking part in such actions for years, not days. The memory of her in his embrace haunted him nightly, and he’d taken his gentlemanly needs into his own hands. Literally.
He cleared his throat. “You do not need to make any hasty decisions; you have next Season still to attend.” Dale drank in the vision of her. The moment he’d seen her tonight, her golden silk gown and emerald necklace gave her a festive air, and his gut had clenched at the beauty she was.
How had he not seen it under all those ribbons and bows. He could only fathom that she’d done all that she could to remain invisible when in Town. That was no longer the case. No gentleman in attendance was unaware of Lady Mary’s presence, and the admiring glances, the attention she’d had bestowed on her these past days was proof of that.
Next year she would find a gentleman who suited her and she would marry him.
The thought left him cold.
“If I made my decision now, I would not have to attend London next year. I could stay in Derbyshire.” She picked up her glass of wine that sat on a small table beside her chair and took a sip. She met his eyes over the rim of the glass, and he could read the amusement in her green orbs.