All for You

by Lynn Kurland

  David got into the car with a whiff of cologne and arrogance, sighed gustily, and fired up his rather gaudy and ostentatious red Ferrari. He made revving noises and grinned at her.

  She was not impressed.

  She was thrilled when his phone rang and he could make all kinds of important conversation on speaker whilst he drove through nightmarish London traffic. It gave her ample opportunity to think about happier things, most notably that her day thus far hadn’t included him.

  She’d taken the train into London early and embarked on a list of things to do that Stephen had insisted he pay for. She had ignored him, of course. She supposed that was stupid in a long-term sort of way, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to let him pay for more than he had already. She’d simply handed off her credit card for a facial and manicure, then taken a cab to go pick up her gown.

  She had to admit that at that point, she had given up and given in. That might have had something to do with the note the salesgirl had handed her as she’d walked in a shop that only had a handful of things on display. Alarms had gone off in her head—the fewer items out, the more expensive they were—but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and run away. So she’d taken the note, opened it, then smiled in spite of herself.

  I can only imagine what you’ve put on your card so far this morning that you shouldn’t have. Please allow me this one small contribution to tonight’s success.

  SdP

  Peaches had stood calmly through the fitting of a gorgeous pale-blue gown, then found herself escorted out to the curb only to find Humphreys waiting there with a black Rolls-Royce. She had managed to keep herself from gaping long enough to allow him to open her door for her. She had stopped, however, just before she’d gotten in.

  “Where now, or do I dare ask?”

  “The Ritz, I believe, miss.”

  “He’s not good at moderation, is he?”

  Humphreys had only smiled and shut her into the back of luxury.

  She had indeed been expected at the Ritz, or so it seemed. She had been escorted upstairs by a very solicitous hotel employee, then opened the door to her room to find none other than Edwina there, marshaling her forces.

  Peaches had showered, relaxed, and sipped green drink as her hair and makeup had been attended to. She had then been dressed, shod, and bedecked with things she couldn’t believe hadn’t come from some safe-deposit box somewhere. After she’d been examined for flaws and pronounced fairly lovely—it had been Edwina doing the pronouncing, after all—she had been wrapped up and sent off when called for.

  All of which led to where she was at present, sitting in a very low-slung sports car that was far too flashy for her taste, and listening to a man she couldn’t stand carry on a conversation she couldn’t have cared less about. The only thing being in close quarters with him allowed her was the opportunity to think about a few things that had begun to nag at the edges of her thoughts.

  It was odd, wasn’t it, how vocal David always was about his dislike of Stephen. Actually, it was less dislike than it was a sort of a conceited disdain, as if he could mock Stephen de Piaget as often and as loudly as he liked yet suffer no repercussions for it. She wondered if that was part of the reason she’d been invited to Kenneworth House for the ball. Perhaps David had thought Stephen was fond of her and inviting her where he could so visibly pursue her had seemed yet another opportunity to provoke his nemesis.

  She was rather sorry she had had any part in that, even unwittingly.

  Chattam Hall, she noted as they pulled to a stop in the short circular driveway, was not Kensington Palace, but certainly bigger than she had expected. It was no wonder Stephen’s grandmother watched him like a hawk. She probably loved the place dearly and just wanted to make sure it was taken care of after her death by Stephen’s wife.

  That didn’t bode well for her, actually, but then again even thinking about being anything to Stephen de Piaget besides someone he would eventually come to his senses about and forget was fairly ridiculous—

  “Off we go,” David said, interrupting her thoughts by leaning over toward her with his lips puckered.

  She almost knocked herself out reeling back to stay out of his way. He recovered admirably by pretending to check his hair in the mirror. She was thrilled to have her door opened for her and a gloved hand extended to help her out of the car. She smiled when she realized it was Humphreys.

  “You’re everywhere today,” she whispered.

  “Guarding the precious jewels, miss,” he said solemnly, “and those wouldn’t be the ones you’re wearing.”

  Peaches blushed in spite of herself. “Thank you, Humphreys. You’re very kind.”

  “It is an honor, Miss Alexander, to keep watch over you.”

  Peaches found herself unfortunately soon handed over to David, who entered loudly and drew so much attention to himself that it was all she could do not to look for a bathroom she could duck into. Then again, that hadn’t worked out so well for her the last time she’d been in his company, so she pressed on as best she could.

  Or so she thought until she saw Stephen standing next to a woman she could only assume was his grandmother, Lady Chattam. He was watching her with that grave smile he often wore.

  Perhaps doubting her doubts might be a good strategy.

  She looked at Stephen’s grandmother and wasn’t at all surprised by what she saw: a white-haired matriarch dressed in silks and dripping with jewels. She was also sharp as a tack, something Peaches discovered as she was presented to her.

  “Ah, Miss Peaches Alexander,” Lady Chattam said, looking Peaches over from head to toe in a brutally quick assessment. “You are, I believe, the Countess of Sedgwick’s sister, are you not?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Peaches said, suppressing the urge to drop a curtsey.

  “I believe you have met my grandson,” Lady Chattam said, gesturing elegantly to Stephen. “The Viscount Haulton.”

  “We’ve been introduced,” Peaches conceded. She didn’t dare look Stephen in the eye, but she couldn’t help noticing his hand reaching out for hers.

  “Yes, well, that’s all to the good,” Lady Chattam said, stepping between them smoothly. “Kenneworth is, as usual, the last to arrive. We’ll all go in to dinner now. Stephen, your arm.”

  Peaches took a deep breath and smiled politely. She hadn’t expected a particularly warm welcome, standing there as she was without a title or buckets of money to keep her warm, and she hadn’t been disappointed. She found herself stuck going down the hallway with David Preston, who deserted her after a few feet to apparently duck into the library for a little something before dinner. Peaches stood, abandoned in the middle of a crowd, until she felt a touch on her elbow. She turned and found John and Tess de Piaget standing there. She had never been more grateful for the sight of any two people before in her life.

  “Thank heavens, the cavalry.”

  Tess was looking at her as if she’d never seen her before. “You look amazing. Did Kenneworth buy you that?”

  Peaches suppressed the urge to squirm. “No,” she said slowly. “He didn’t.”

  Tess frowned for a moment, the wheels obviously working overtime, then her mouth fell open. “Stephen?”

  Peaches managed a weak smile. “We haven’t talked in a while, have we?”

  “No,” Tess said faintly, “but I think we need to.” She paused. “Two of his girlfriends are here, you know. And Irene Preston, sharpening her fangs. I’m not sure her cousin Andrea isn’t on the prowl as well.”

  “Can’t blame them,” Peaches said, touching the diamonds at her throat. “He has excellent taste.”

  “Yes,” Tess said with a smile, “he does. In both jewels and women.”

  “Which we should discuss later,” John said in a low voice. “His Grace is approaching.”

  Peaches allowed herself a heavy sigh before she pasted on her best company smile and turned to face David again. It was, she feared, going to be a very long evening.
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br />   The only thing that salvaged dinner was finding out, to her enormous surprise, that she was sitting not next to the Duke of Kenneworth, but Lady Chattam’s grandson. Her chair was held out for her, she was seated, then she spent the next few seconds trying to breathe normally.

  “Like the seating arrangements?” Stephen murmured.

  “Love them,” she murmured in return as her napkin was placed on her lap. She was even more grateful than usual for Aunt Edna’s insistence she learn which fork was which on the off chance she ever found herself to tea somewhere fancy.

  Stephen picked up his water glass. “You look stunning,” he said, using it as cover.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that lipstick temporary or permanent?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Why do you think I’m asking?”

  She smiled in spite of herself and declined to answer. Fortunately supper began before she could truly get herself into any trouble. The meal seemed interminable only because she was torn between being distracted by the deliciousness that was the Viscount Haulton in a tux and knowing that his grandmother was watching them both while pretending to be deeply interested in the conversations going on around her. It didn’t help at all that Stephen tried to hold her hand under the table.

  “I believe, my lord Haulton,” she murmured, “that you are about to get yourself busted.”

  “Granny won’t know,” he said under his breath.

  “The footmen will.”

  “They won’t blame me.”

  “But your girlfriends might. One of them already has suspicions.” Peaches smiled politely at him. “The blonde has been glaring daggers at me all evening. And let’s not forget Irene Preston.”

  “Shall I look at you superciliously to throw them all off the scent?”

  “You could try that, but you might want to first stop looking at my mouth.”

  He smiled gravely, that polite smile she’d seen so much of before she’d wound up in medieval England with him and her world had been turned completely upside down. Only now, she realized it didn’t mean what she thought it had.

  It meant he loved her.

  “A waltz later?” he asked.

  “If you like.”

  “Will I suit, do you think?” he asked, suddenly serious. “Aunt Edna, I mean.”

  Peaches was taken aback by the question only because it seemed odd that he should worry about passing muster with an obscure woman of such little consequence in the world. That he should care said something about his character.

  And his feelings for her.

  “Does it matter to you?” she asked.

  “Very much,” he said frankly.

  “You know, you’re going to have to stop this kind of thing in public places,” she said, blinking a time or two in spite of herself. “You’re going to get us both in trouble. And if you really want to know, yes, I think she’ll approve.”

  The smile he gave her made her very relieved she was already seated. She suspected the only reason it hadn’t brought his granny to her feet was that she had missed it. Peaches made sure Lady Louise was still engaged in overseeing her guests, then succumbed to the conversational demands of a rather robust man on her left who turned out to be a very keen gardener. She managed to make polite conversation with him in spite of Stephen’s continually brushing her elbow with his, or pressing his foot against hers, or otherwise distracting her from ignoring him as she knew she should have.

  There was mingling after supper, which was just as painful as she’d feared it might be. David kept her next to him the entire time, though she managed to avoid having his hands on all the various parts of her person that were polite to grab in public. She was rather relieved to hear the orchestra warming up, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been. David would probably try to monopolize her for the entire night—and not because he had any feelings for her, but for his own perverse reasons.

  The only thing that saved her was that Lady Louise’s balls seemed to include only music for traditional dancing, which left David stumbling through several songs—something she hadn’t noticed at Kenneworth House—before he steered her over to the punch bowl and helped himself.

  “I say,” drawled a voice suddenly in the poshest of tones from behind her, “Preston, old thing, don’t you feel it’s time to let someone else have a turn?”

  Peaches turned to see none other than John de Piaget standing there, looking terrifyingly lethal in spite of his elegant evening clothes.

  “Who?” David asked with a snort. “You?”

  John lifted an eyebrow. “Family privilege and all that.”

  “Your keep doesn’t even have a roof.”

  “No, but my wife’s does and I’m happy to laze about as a kept man, so release my sister-in-law and go vex someone else with your troublesome self.”

  “How dare you,” David said, drawing himself up and puffing importantly.

  John took Peaches’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “Spare us the dramatics.”

  “You won’t dare talk to me this way,” David said in a low but quite audible voice. “Not for long.”

  Peaches wasn’t one to be unduly alarmed, but she couldn’t deny that the tone of his voice had made her very uncomfortable. She walked with John out into the middle of the ballroom, then stopped and looked at him.

  “What do you think?” she asked him in the vintage French she was fairly sure the bulk of the company wouldn’t understand.

  “I think I’m very happy my grandmother forced me to pay attention to a dancing master along with a master lutenist,” he said pleasantly. “And your accent is excellent, you know. You’ll make a certain lad who values that very happy over the course of his life.”

  She pursed her lips as he swept her into a waltz. “I wasn’t asking that, though yes, you do dance divinely.”

  “Better than my nephew?”

  She laughed a little and was grateful for a brief distraction. “I believe on that subject I will remain discreetly silent. You will, I’m sure, be relieved to know that Stephen’s granny is watching you closely, but she isn’t scowling.”

  “She’s still trying to work out why I look so much like her grandson.”

  “What have you told her?”

  “I haven’t come within ten paces of the old harridan,” John said with a mock shiver. “I don’t dare, of course. We’ll let her think what she wants for the time being.” He looked over her head for a moment, then back at her. “As for our good duke, I think he’s trouble. What kind, I don’t know yet. But I’m watching him.”

  “I’m sure Stephen is enormously relieved.”

  “Actually, he is, though he told me to leave my blades in the car.”

  “And did you?”

  He only smiled. Peaches smiled in return, because she had the feeling that John and Stephen were both prepared to wield more than their good looks if necessary.

  “And there is the good Viscount Haulton, watching me with a frown whilst a number of his lesser cousins are looking at you with great interest. Where shall I deliver you first?”

  “Cousins,” she said faintly. “I’m not tangling with granny quite yet. I’m definitely not going to put myself between his girlfriends and their prey.”

  “I think that might be wise. I’ll turn you over to the Chattam lads, then, until Stephen’s tormentors tire of the chase.”

  Peaches didn’t want to tell him that she suspected Stephen would give out long before his would-be brides would, but he had already deposited her with one of Lady Louise’s lesser grandsons, who was astonishingly handsome, an excellent dancer, and content to limit his conversation to her health and the weather.

  She was fairly sure it was Stephen’s diamonds overwhelming him so.

  It was pushing midnight when she found herself standing with Tess and John, sipping punch. David had disappeared an hour earlier, which had pleased her. She’d had a remarkably lovely evening mostly dancing with Stephen’s cousins and on
ce with his brother Gideon, who had treated her as if everything concerning her future as part of the family were already settled. She’d had a delightful conversation with Gideon’s wife, Megan, and spent enough time with Tess to help her keep her equilibrium. Life was, in spite of trying to pretend she had no feelings for Stephen, very good—

  “Oh, my,” Tess said faintly.

  Peaches would have asked her sister what the matter was, but she shut her mouth around the question she hadn’t managed to ask.

  Stephen was walking toward her.

  “Steady,” Tess murmured.

  “Shut up,” Peaches suggested. “His grandmother isn’t going to like this.”

  “I’m not sure he cares,” Tess said honestly. “Enjoy your fairy-tale midnight moment.”

  “If he kisses me, I’ll kill him.”

  Tess only laughed and allowed her husband to sweep her into his arms and out onto the floor. Peaches tried not to squirm as Stephen came to a stop in front of her, then made her a slight bow.

  “My lady,” he said gravely.

  “You’re mistaking me for my sister the countess.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, with a grave smile. He held out his hand. “Will you?”

  She put her hand into his. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Your grandmother will have a fit.”

  “She’ll recover.” He led her out onto the floor, then gathered her into his arms. He sighed happily. “I think this might be worth the misery of the rest of the evening.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “Though I will admit your cousins were charming and very polite.”

  “Transferring your affections to the other side of the family, love?”

  She shook her head. “They don’t have calluses.”

  He frowned slightly. “Calluses?”

  She squeezed his right hand. “Calluses from swordplay. A girl has to have her standards.”

  “You know,” he said, “I think no one would notice when the clock strikes midnight if I were to properly reward you for that comment.”