More or Less a Marchioness

by Anna Bradley

  Iris glanced up at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring over her head at Lord Huntington, an odd smile twisting his lips. Something about that smile made gooseflesh rise on Iris’s neck, but in the next instant his usual charming smile was back, and she was left wondering if she’d imagined the other one.

  “It’s been a long time since I played. I’ve forgotten some of it, but at one time I was quite good at it. Unbeatable, even.”

  “Oh, well, then you don’t need my help.”

  “Men who believe they’re unbeatable invariably lose, Wrexley.”

  Iris frowned at Lord Huntington, then turned back to Lord Wrexley and gave him a half-hearted smile. He’d been trying to divert her with a constant stream of nonsense since their game began, and he was great fun, but as much as she wanted to encourage his light flirtation, she couldn’t.

  It was all Lord Huntington’s fault, of course.

  He’d been glowering at her all morning, his fierce brows lowered over his hazel eyes in a way that could only be described as menacing. It was like playing bowls with a half-rabid guard dog threatening to pounce at any moment. At one point, when Lord Wrexley touched her hand, Iris would have sworn she heard Lord Huntington growl.

  This wasn’t the grand marquess who’d so coldly dismissed her that day in Lady Fairchild’s garden. This was the man who’d burst into her bedchamber yesterday and demanded she marry him—the man whose cool hazel eyes had gone a dark, mossy green when he caressed her jaw.

  Iris didn’t recognize this Lord Huntington, and she didn’t know what to make of him.

  “Will you take me for a turn in the gardens, my lord?” Lady Honora took Lord Huntington’s arm. “They’re rather like a vast maze, aren’t they? I’m afraid I’ll get lost if I go alone, with all those twisting pathways.”

  Lord Huntington’s gaze narrowed on Lord Wrexley for a heartbeat, as if in warning, but when he glanced down at Honora, his face softened. “Yes, of course. I’d be delighted to escort you for a short walk, Lady Honora.”

  Iris watched from the corner of her eye as they strolled toward the garden, stifling the overwhelming urge to hurl her ball at Lord Huntington’s broad back. He hadn’t wasted any time taking her advice about Lady Honora, had he?

  Well, it was nothing to her. She just hadn’t imagined he’d fling himself headlong into a new courtship when just yesterday he’d burst into her bedchamber and demanded she marry him.

  But he’d already ruined her morning, and she refused to spend her afternoon wondering what he and Honora would get up to in the gardens. Not that she cared one bit what Lord Huntington did, but he’d made rather a muck of his stroll in the garden with her. Perhaps he meant to do better this time.

  And if he didn’t intend to kiss Honora in the garden, then why should he look so eager? No one wanted a walk that badly.

  Honora’s arm was tucked securely into his and she was looking up at him, her dark eyes alight, a sweet smile gracing her lips. He was speaking to her in low tones, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth as he gazed down at her. Whatever he was saying, Honora seemed to find it fascinating. She seemed to find him fascinating.

  Honora, and every other lady in London.

  Every other lady, that is, but Iris.

  He never smiled at me like that.

  No, he hadn’t, and she’d jilted him for it. It was done, and now Lord Huntington might court whoever he wished. After all, Iris had meant every word she’d said about Honora making a splendid marchioness. Indeed, it was as if she’d been born to the role, and if Lord Huntington was satisfied with treating young ladies as if they were interchangeable, that was all very well.

  Iris didn’t have a word to say about it. Not one word.

  But if she did have a word, that word would be—

  “…Offensive. I beg your pardon, Miss Somerset, for my foul temper. I’m ashamed of my poor sportsmanship.” A warm hand cupped her elbow, and she looked up to find Lord Wrexley grinning down at her, not looking ashamed in the least.

  He really had the most charming grin. Oh, perhaps it wasn’t as mesmerizing as Lord Huntington’s slow curve of the lips, but if it didn’t quite steal her breath away, at least Lord Wrexley didn’t hoard his smiles, as if giving one away would leave him with one fewer, instead of earning him one in return.

  “Oh, I don’t blame you, my lord. It’s the game, I think. It tries one’s patience, doesn’t it?”

  He sighed, and let the ball in his hand fall to the ground with a dull thud. “I haven’t played bowls in ages, but I don’t recall ever finding it so tedious before. Has it always been?”

  Iris, who preferred much more energetic exercise to the sedate games deemed appropriate for ladies, let out an answering sigh. “I believe so, yes. We could play at shuttlecock, if you like, but it’s just as dull.”

  “No, let’s not. I’m frightened of shuttlecocks.”

  A laugh bubbled up in Iris’s throat. “No, you’re not. What nonsense, my lord.”

  “No, indeed. One flew right into my face when I was a boy, and the feathery end poked me in the eye. Nearly blinded me. I stay far away from the wretched things. What about you, Miss Somerset? No devastating shuttlecock injuries in your past?”

  “No, but we didn’t play shuttlecock much when I was a child. Bowls, either. My father was an avid sportsman, you see. If he’d had a son, perhaps my sisters and I would have had to content ourselves with lawn games, but as it was, we were forever dirtying our frocks with climbing trees and running races, or charging about the countryside on horseback.”

  Iris’s throat swelled a little. She tried not to think about those carefree days now. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d flown across the countryside on horseback, her eyes streaming from the wind and every pin scattering until her hair flew out behind her. It felt like another lifetime.

  “The elegant Miss Somerset, in a dirty frock? How scandalous. I wish I’d seen it.”

  His pale blue eyes gleamed as he smiled down at her, and warmth flooded Iris’s cheeks. “Oh, well.” She gave him a shy glance. “Perhaps we should run a race, then.”

  She’d spoken in jest, but Lord Wrexley seized on the idea at once. “Yes, of course! That’s just what we should do.”

  “But I can’t. This gown…” Iris glanced down at her dainty, pin-tucked muslin gown.

  Pink, of course. They were all pink.

  “It’s a pretty gown.” Lord Wrexley’s gaze drifted over her figure. “But if you tear it, you have others, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She did, dozens of others—a veritable regiment of dainty pink gowns. All at once Iris had a sudden, savage urge to rip into every sweet pink fold of this one, until she’d torn a gaping hole into each of the tiny gatherings.

  “Well, then?” Lord Wrexley’s lips curved in a most tempting smile. “Shall we race?”

  “It’s not proper.” She glanced over at the terrace. Several ladies had come to call, and Charlotte had taken them out to the terrace for refreshments. “Lady Hadley’s guests, and Lord Derrick, and Lord Huntington…”

  “Lord Derrick never gossips. It’s one of his most irritating qualities, I assure you, and Lord Huntington will never know. He’s disappeared with Honora, and she told me you’ve jilted him in any case, so what does it matter what he thinks?”

  Iris’s mouth fell open. “She told you I jilted Lord Huntington?” For pity’s sake, Honora hadn’t wasted any time with that bit of gossip, had she?

  “Of course she did. She tells me everything. Wise decision, Miss Somerset, to jilt Huntington. Who wants to marry a dry stick like him?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “As for Lady Hadley’s guests, we’ll go around to the other side of the house. No one will see us there.”

  Iris bit her lip. She had no business tearing about the lawn like a wild hellion and scandalizing Charlotte’s guests, b
ut she was the one who’d suggested a race, and Lord Wrexley seemed quite keen on the idea. She didn’t wish to offend him by refusing, and it was just a little race, after all. No one would see them on the other side of the house. What was the harm in it?

  And it wasn’t as if she’d got anywhere doing what she was told. She’d worn the gowns and danced the quadrilles and practiced the pianoforte until her fingers bled. She’d followed the rules, but no one had ever bothered to explain she was just as likely to be punished as rewarded for her efforts.

  Well, she’d had her punishment. Didn’t she deserve a reward?

  Lord Wrexley leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “That only leaves me, and I swear I won’t breathe a word of it.”

  He was a devil, whispering in her ear, tempting her with a moment of freedom.

  “Come, Miss Somerset. Don’t you want to run?”

  Oh, I do. I do want to run.

  Chapter Nine

  Miss Somerset had been wrong to try and kiss him in Lady Fairchild’s garden. She’d been wrong to eavesdrop on his argument with Lady Beaumont, wrong to let Lord Wrexley escort her to Hampshire, and certainly wrong to devote all her attention to the scoundrel this morning.

  Finn’s jaw tightened. She’d been wrong to jilt him.

  Twice.

  In short, she’d been wrong about everything, with one notable exception. She’d been right about her friend. Lady Honora would make an ideal marchioness.

  “How does your horse do, Lord Huntington?”

  “My horse?” Finn groped blindly for the last two minutes of their conversation, but aside from a stubborn image of blue eyes that insisted on lingering in his head, his mind was a blank. Had they been talking about his horse?

  She gave him a sunny smile. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing, but you mentioned yesterday he’d been favoring a leg on your journey to Hampshire.”

  Yes, he had said that, hadn’t he? Right before he burst into Miss Somerset’s bedchamber and caught her at her wash basin, with damp tendrils of fair hair curling about her flushed cheeks, and silvery droplets of water clinging to her skin.

  “Is he quite all right, then?”

  Finn dragged his attention back to Lady Honora. “He is. It was just a loose shoe. You’re kind to enquire, my lady.”

  She was always kind, to everyone. It was her distinguishing characteristic, and it was true kindness, not the affectation of it so common among ladies of the ton. One had only to look at her to see it, for every line in her face bespoke sincerity.

  She was everything he wanted in his marchioness, and by some miracle every obstacle preventing a betrothal between them had vanished. If he wanted to initiate a courtship, this was the moment to do it. They were alone in a garden, the sun bright over their heads. Her sweet brown eyes were fixed on him with a look of admiration that could be tipped over into adoration with only a modest effort on his part, and he…

  He was fantasizing about drops of water clinging to the neck of a lady who’d jilted him.

  Twice.

  “I’m relieved to hear it. Do you intend to ride much while you’re here? I haven’t ridden anywhere but on the promenade for ages now, and I confess riding in Hampshire quite intimidates me.”

  “I’d be pleased to escort you.” He smiled down at her. He’d always favored brown eyes, and Lady Honora’s eyes were just the right shade of brown, that is, not too dark or too light, too lively or too dim, and without that troublesome spark hidden in their dark blue depths.

  No, not blue, damn it. Brown. Lady Honora’s eyes were brown.

  Every other gentleman in London might turn poet over Miss Somerset’s sparkling blue eyes if they wished, but he wasn’t moved by them. Now he thought of it, the placid expression in Lady Honora’s eyes had been the reason he’d chosen her over Miss Somerset from the start. Something about that blue spark made him uneasy. One never knew what mayhem a spark might lead to. Burns. Conflagrations. The fire that burned half of bloody London to ashes had started with a single spark, for God’s sake.

  Sparks weren’t to be trusted.

  “My goodness, the Hadley House gardens are large, aren’t they, my lord? Confusing, as well. I vow we’ve been walking in circles this past half hour.”

  Despite his admiration for her, Finn found himself leaping at the chance to rid himself of Lady Honora’s company. “May I escort you back to the house? I don’t want to exhaust you on the first day of the party.”

  “Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

  Finn was guiding her around the circular pathway and hurrying her back toward the house before the words had even left her lips.

  Miss Somerset had made it clear she couldn’t distinguish an honorable suitor from a rogue, and someone had to keep an eye on Wrexley. Or perhaps it made more sense to keep an eye on Miss Somerset. An extremely close eye—

  “Oh, my goodness. I don’t think that’s quite…”

  They’d just emerged from the garden, and Lady Honora had come to an abrupt halt with a little cry of dismay. She was staring at the wide expanse of lawn on the south side of Hadley House. “Oh, dear. I daresay this was my cousin’s idea.”

  Finn followed her gaze, expecting to see Wrexley and Miss Somerset still at bowls, but what he saw instead made him freeze.

  Miss Somerset was dashing across the lawn, heavy handfuls of her skirts clutched in her fists to free her legs, her feet bare. Half of her fair hair had slipped from its pins and was tumbling down her back. Even from this distance Finn could hear her shrieks of breathless laughter as she ran toward Wrexley, who was standing at the other end, leaping in the air, cheering her on, and making a great deal of noise. When she drew closer, he held out his arms to catch her, and she flew into them with one last gleeful cry.

  Lady Honora made a distressed sound in her throat. “Oh, dear. My cousin can be…he means no harm, Lord Huntington, but sometimes he forgets propriety.”

  Finn’s lips pressed into a hard line. Wrexley hadn’t forgotten a damn thing. Miss Somerset might be hidden from the ladies assembled on the terrace, but anyone who happened to be walking the grounds or in the garden could see her easily enough, and it was no bloody accident. If Lady Hadley’s guests were shocked by Miss Somerset, it was because Wrexley meant for them to be.

  “Shall we go see what they’re about?” Finn took care to keep his voice even, but behind his lips his teeth were clenched.

  Lady Honora murmured her assent. Finn escorted her across the lawn, but he hardly spared her a thought. His attention remained fixed on Wrexley, who’d released Miss Somerset as soon as he’d steadied her on her feet. Damn good thing, too, as it might be the only thing that kept Finn from dragging the man back to London by his neck.

  But Wrexley still stood far too close to her, and as Finn and Lady Honora came up behind them, Finn could hear him speaking to Miss Somerset in a wheedling tone. “Oh, go on, one more race, and I’ll run against you this time. I’ll even give you a start on me.”

  “You insult me, my lord, if you think I need a start to beat you.” Miss Somerset attempted to speak in a stern tone, but she was laughing, and it came out flirtatiously, as if she were teasing him. “Anyway, I’m not worried about losing. I’m worried about someone seeing us. I must look a fright.”

  “Not at all. Just the opposite, I assure you. I’ve never seen you look as fetching as you do right now.” Wrexley’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Besides, who’s to see us? There’s no one about—”

  “Look again, Wrexley. I’m about. I hate to interrupt your game, but you and Miss Somerset have run your last race for today. Or any other day.”

  “Oh, Honora, and…Lord Huntington.” Miss Somerset’s eyes went wide when she saw him. She touched a hand to her hair, her eyes sliding closed when she discovered it had come almost entirely loose. She tried to tuck the long curls back into the pins, but she s
oon realized it was beyond repair and gave up, biting her lip with mortification.

  Wrexley, however, didn’t look in the least concerned. “Good afternoon, cousin. Huntington. Where did you two disappear to? You’ve been gone for ages.”

  “We haven’t been gone above half an hour.” Finn’s jaw ticked as he slid his gaze from Wrexley to Miss Somerset and back again. “Twenty-five minutes too long, from the look of things here.”

  Wrexley shrugged. “Pity you missed the races. It was grand fun, and I would have been delighted to offer you a start as well, Huntington. I’d wager it’s the only way you’d catch me.”

  “On the contrary.” Finn stepped closer, close enough so he loomed over the other man. “I’ve caught you already.”

  Both men fell silent, staring at each other, the tension between them growing thicker with every moment as each of them refused to look away.

  “I’m fatigued, cousin,” Lady Honora said at last, her voice unnaturally high. “Escort me inside, won’t you?” When Wrexley didn’t reply but continued to stare at Finn, Lady Honora grasped his arm and gave it a tug. “Now, if you please, cousin.”

  A beat of silence passed, and then another, but at last Wrexley broke the stare with Finn, and glanced down at Lady Honora. “Of course, Honora. As for you, Miss Somerset,” he turned to her, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. “I can’t recall ever spending a more enjoyable afternoon. We’ll have to race again. Soon.”

  Wrexley shot one last parting smirk at Finn, then led Honora across the lawn, onto the terrace, and into the house.

  “I, ah…well, I suppose I’ll go make myself presentable before tea.” Miss Somerset began to sidle toward the house, but before she could take two steps, Finn’s hand closed around her arm. He didn’t say a word, but he drew her aside, into the shade at the side of the house, where they were hidden from anyone who happened to be strolling in the garden.

  “Keep still, if you please, Miss Somerset. This will only take a moment.” He held her arm and swept his gaze over her, from the bare feet he knew she hid under her skirts to the top of her head, where her hair fell in wild disarray over her shoulders. “Let me see. No slippers, skirts hiked to your knees, cheeks flushed, and hair loose from its pins, hanging in a tangled mess down your back. Have I missed anything?”