Leo said something to Faith and then, handing his rapier to Violet, sprinted over. “Have the ladies and gentlemen rejoined one another’s company?” he asked, ushering in the stark reality of her… their situation.
She shifted her weight over her cane. What was she to say to him about her mother’s explosion? And worse, the lack of support from Chloe’s family? It was the one major request he’d put to her.
She opened her mouth and then stopped. “Why aren’t you with my brother and Miles?”
He flashed another wry grin.
“Uncle Gabriel yelled at him,” Violet piped in from the middle of the ballroom floor.
Chloe whipped her gaze back to Leo’s. “What?”
“I was advised that your family wouldn’t take kindly to my being there.” Leo lowered his lips close to hers. “With good reason, love.”
She frowned. She’d not let him flirt her out of this discussion. “He was unkind to you,” she predicted, letting those words sink in. At his silence, fury rooted around her belly once more, spreading out.
Her husband chuckled. “It would hardly be the first time, and it will certainly not be the last, that I’ve earned some proper gent’s ire.”
“He called him a pony son,” Violet gladly supplied.
“A pony son?” Chloe echoed blankly, her mind racing. “What is a…” She gasped, slapping a palm to her mouth. Not only had her family been unpardonably rude with their silent treatment, they’d also hurled insults. Moving her hand, Chloe grabbed one of Leo’s. “We are leaving,” she gritted. Drudging up a smile for her nieces’ benefit, she waved with her and Leo’s interlocked fingers. “I’m afraid we have to leave.”
“Noooo,” the girls moaned in unison.
“Can Leo stay?” Violet pleaded.
And if rage hadn’t been spiraling through her, she’d have laughed at that honest and more than slightly disloyal willingness to cede Chloe’s company as long as it meant Leo remained. “I’m afraid not. Another time,” she lied, even as a ball of fury and pain stuck in her throat. For who knew if or when there would ever be another time?
She dragged her husband from the ballroom. As fast as her ankle could manage, she limped along the halls toward the foyer.
“The carriage please, Joseph,” she advised as soon as the old butler appeared.
His wizened features strained, he swallowed hard. So he knew of the tension that filled the household. Of course, as one who knew the darkest secrets to dwell in these corners and corridors, he’d be aware of her family’s less-than-discreet censure of Leo. “But his lordship—”
“The carriage, Joseph,” Chloe bit out.
“I cannot, my lady. Your brother would not want you to leave without…” He wisely let the remainder of that go unfinished. Over her shoulder, Joseph glanced at a footman, who rushed off.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll fetch my brother, then?” To what end? With the exception of her nieces, she’d heard enough from every Edgerton present. Chloe brought her chin up a notch. “You can tell my brother that unless he has an apology, there is nothing I care to speak with him about.” Releasing a still silent Leo’s hand, she ambled over to the door and yanked it open.
“But, my lady,” Joseph called after her.
Not bothering to wait to see if Leo followed suit, she marched off as quick as her ankle would permit.
Her husband immediately fell into step beside her. “I’d advise we wait for the carriage, madam.” He cast a pointed look at her ankle. “I’ve never been one so proud as to bite my nose to smite my face,” he drawled.
“Well, I have.” And she absolutely drew the proverbial line at allowing insults to be hurled at her or Leo.
Her husband took her gently by the forearm, forcing her to a reluctant stop. “I still must insist we wait.”
Chloe scoffed. “Come. It’s but a few streets between your residence and my family’s.”
He sighed. “Very well, then.” Leo swept her up by the knees, startling a squeak from her.
“What? You cannot…” Chloe sputtered. She shoved against him.
Leo tightened his hold around her. “If you insist we abandon our carriage, then I can’t allow you to go walking the streets of London on your injured ankle,” he remarked, not breaking stride. As calmly as he spoke, he might as well have strolled at a lazy pace through Hyde Park, rather than carry her through Mayfair.
“I’m too heavy,” she protested once more, struggling against him.
“We could return,” he suggested without inflection.
Chloe fell silent.
She could not return. Nor could she confide in Leo the full extent of the disastrous exchange with her mother. How did Chloe possibly tell him that the one thing she’d promised, she no longer could help him attain?
Laying her cheek against his chest, she stared out at the oddly quiet streets. I’m unable to fulfill the terms of our contract. Her mind shied away from the implications of what that meant for every other agreement struck. It merely highlighted every last warning her family had lashed her with again and again—Leo was a stranger.
Her husband broke the silence. “Your discourse with the ladies went as splendidly as mine with the gentlemen of your family?” he asked dryly.
For a brief moment, she contemplated glossing over the grimness of her exchange. She nestled against him, the beat of his heart steady, calming, with just the faintest acceleration because of the chore of carrying her. As a girl, however, she’d learned to appreciate the benefits of a direct beating. One didn’t spend minutes and hours and days with dread building when the outcome remained inevitable. “My family will not help with your entry into Polite Society,” she brought herself to say.
He stiffened. His biceps strained the fabric of his jacket. “I see.”
I see. Just that.
Two words that revealed… nothing. Silence stretched on as they made the slow journey home.
Home. That was not what it was. Not truly. Nor, however, had been the townhouse that she and her siblings had grown up in.
“I trust this is the first time you’ve earned your family’s disappointment.”
Chloe stiffened. Grateful that he could not see her face, lest he uncover the secrets she kept, she burrowed closer. “Because I’m a proper lady?”
“Because you’re a proper lady,” he confirmed.
Fencing? Shooting? By God, you are not a street slattern…
Leo knew nothing about her. And those demons, the ones that belonged to her, known only in parts and pieces by her family, would be shared with no one. Yet… she chewed at her lower lip. “It isn’t so much my family’s disappointment that… cuts,” she finally acknowledged into the quiet. “But rather… a shattered illusion of who they are.” In her mind, she’d built the Edgertons into an unconditionally loyal lot who’d blindly support one another’s decisions simply because of who they were to one another… and what they’d shared.
“People will always let you down, Chloe. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be,” Leo said in somber tones that, prior to this moment, she would have said he was incapable of.
He is speaking of himself. It was a warning of sorts that she’d have to be deaf not to hear.
“Now have your one question,” he said tiredly.
Her one? “Why?” she asked. Angling back in his arms, Chloe searched his face. “Why would you do that?”
“Is that your question?”
And lest he withdraw the opportunity on a technicality, she blurted, “How many innocent women have you debauched?”
His body went to stone. It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. That much was clear in his coiled muscles.
For a long moment, she believed he wouldn’t answer.
And then…
“One.”
One. There had been just one innocent woman. Rakes, by nature and reputation, were men who despoiled innocents and seduced widows in equal measure. Yet there had been just one virtuo
us young woman. A million questions swirled.
“That was your one question,” he reminded.
Just then, a carriage rumbled along the intersection.
It jerked to a stop. The team of snow-white horses pulling it whinnied their annoyance.
“We have company,” Leo murmured, adjusting his hold on her.
The occupant, a gape-mouthed Lady Jersey, blinked repeatedly. She pressed her forehead to the pane, gawking at them.
Leo lifted his hand in salute. “My lady,” he shouted into the London quiet. “A pleasure seeing you here. Wave,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
Wave? Chloe shot a palm up, waggling her fingers.
Lady Jersey’s black barouche sprang forward, resuming its course. They watched as it disappeared around the corner.
Chloe giggled. For the rot that the evening had been, there had been something—
“Freeing, isn’t it?” he perfectly supplied. “Not giving a rat’s arse on Sunday what the world says.”
“It is,” she murmured to herself. “Do you know,” she started slowly, “I always prided myself on being one who thumbed my nose at Society’s conventions and lived without a worry about anyone’s opinion. And yet, I didn’t live that life. Not truly.” Despite her loathing of ton events, she’d never said damn all and refused to attend. “I went along to whichever ball or soiree my mother or brother wished me to attend.” All the while, she’d taken secret triumph in the knowledge that she wouldn’t marry. “Where is the triumph in that?” she spat, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping in.
Leo slowed his stride. “If it is any consolation, I went through my entire life flipping a middle finger to Society’s rules and expectations, and that is why I find myself… where I am.”
Married to me. A small pang struck somewhere in her chest.
It was foolish to feel anything from that revelation on his part. Neither of them had wanted this… And yet, it was there, a sharp disappointment.
It’s solely because you loathe the idea of being incapable of fulfilling your respective portion of the agreement.
Strengthened by that realization, Chloe stared contemplatively ahead. She didn’t need to rely on her family’s assistance in smoothing Leo’s way among the ton. Oh, it would be vastly easier with their help. But she herself—until now—had lived scandal-free. She could guide Leo so that he was… respectable, and then surely certain polite doors would be opened—to the both of them.
Enlivened, she mentally crafted her next plan.
Mayhap all was not lost, after all.
Chapter 18
The following morning, arms linked, Leo and Chloe made their way, of all places, through Hyde Park. With a maid trailing behind them, no less.
Leo gave his head a wry shake. He’d gone from bedding widows on empty paths to respectable walks with an unwanted servant underfoot.
“This is your strategy to make me respectable?”
Leo grunted as Chloe jammed her elbow into his ribs. “You needn’t sound so skeptical.”
He rubbed the wounded area.
“And unless you want all of Polite Society to know this,” she discreetly motioned between them, “is a ruse, then I’d suggest you have a care with your words.”
Being called out by a lady… With a sea of lords and ladies in the crowded Hyde Park looking unabashedly on. And yet, blast if the lady wasn’t right. Carelessness wasn’t a sin that had belonged to him.
Still…
“I still do not see how this will help with anything,” he gritted through a forced smile. What he required was entry to polite events hosted by Waterson’s circle and other stodgy members of the Whigs.
“It will. Trust me.” As they continued down a graveled path, he resisted the urge to point out that he, as a rule, trusted no one, and to encourage her to use the same discretion.
The lady would eventually have her eyes opened to the reality that was life. They all did, inevitably.
“I must confess,” she began almost hesitantly, bringing his gaze briefly over. “I’m surprised that you are not more… upset by my failure to fulfill my portion of the agreement.”
Given the access to Waterson he’d hoped to have, and invites to like respectable households, he should have been filled with a teeth-gnashing rage. He’d traded his freedom on the hope that it would benefit his career and the Crown. So where, as she’d aptly pointed out, were those sentiments on his part? Disquiet swept through him, and Leo trained his attention on the path ahead. “I trusted you’d crafted another scheme that would prove equally beneficial,” he countered, needing to shut her questions down, because they only stirred unwelcome ones in his own mind. Ones he didn’t have answers to. “Are you now doubting your abilities?”
Chloe bristled. “Undoubtedly not.” She stopped at the shore of the Serpentine, forcing Leo to a halt. Loosening her bonnet strings, she tugged the straw article from her head. “If doors aren’t opened by my family, we’ll simply see them opened ourselves.”
“You’re an optimist,” he murmured. Had he ever been so naïve?
Yes, yes, I was. I once smiled and read and fashioned a future for myself different than what my life was and then what it became…
Smiling, Chloe lifted that silly bonnet and shook it at him, killing his melancholic reverie. “I am determined.”
And as he was the wagering sort, by the glint in her eyes, he’d place bets on her ultimate success. Which would only mean his triumph, as well.
Marriage to her would still allow Leo to reshape his image and appease the discontented leadership within the Brethren.
Why did it feel that the silent assurance was more an afterthought and nothing else?
“Leo?” A question colored Chloe’s tone.
Removing the blanket tucked under his arm, Leo snapped the fabric open. It caught an errant early afternoon breeze, the edges of the gingham cloth fluttering and then settling into place as he lowered it.
A maid came rushing over with a small basket and turned it over to Chloe.
Accepting it with a word of thanks, Chloe set it on the right corner of the blanket, anchoring the cloth in place. She tossed her bonnet to the ground next.
“Now, we sit.” She settled herself onto the blanket. Singing The Rakes of Mallow quietly under her breath, she proceeded to fish around in her basket. She withdrew a book, followed by another and then another.
What in the blazes?
Chloe paused. She tipped her head back, staring expectantly at him. “Well? Do you intend to stand there all day?”
“You are mad,” he muttered, dropping to the ground.
“Am I?” His wife discreetly motioned to the crowd of onlookers gaping at them from a nearby walking path. “They are no doubt saying, ‘Lord Tennyson… he is not at his clubs or foxed or… or conducting some scandalous activity. He’s simply in the park. Reading.’ Nothing says respectability quite like reading.” Beaming, Chloe jammed a small, leather tome into his hands. “So read.”
Leo glanced at the book, then back to Chloe, and once more to the title. “What is this?”
“Well, generally what one reads… a book.”
“I can see it’s a book, madam. I mean what do you have me reading?”
His wife pursed her mouth. “Mary Darby Robinson.”
Ahh… he fanned the pages. The verses paraded quickly before his gaze, a kaleidoscope of words, as a hated voice rose from the grave at the back of Leo’s mind where it forever dwelled.
You pathetic excuse of a man… reading women’s works? It’s not natural… You are no son of mine… but then, we’ve always known that… You are nothing, Leo… nothing. A bastard undeserving of the name Dunlop…
Chloe tipped her chin up in silent challenge. “Do you have nothing to say?”
The memory of the late marquess vanished under his wife’s lilting voice, a welcome lifeline back from the past that he clung to. “Do you think I take umbrage with your selection? Madam, I’m a hedonist.
I live for my own pleasures. I engage in wicked delights and forbidden acts that would set you into a perpetual blush.” Her cheeks pinkened, a pretty, innocent stain of color that he should have shuddered at. But he found it oddly right on this woman, and not unappealing. “As such, I’m not one who’d begrudge anyone taking one’s pleasures where they would.” With every word uttered, her eyes softened and her thick, golden lashes swept lower. “Though, there are far headier pleasures I could show you.” He lowered his mouth close to hers, reveling in the quick intake of her breath and the flush of desire on her skin. “Would show you. If you’ll but let me.” And she would. In time, he’d join his body to hers and awaken her to the passion that thrummed within her.
Chloe wet her lips. “Y-you will cause a scandal. We are striving to shape you into a respectable gentleman.”
Were those reminders for the lady? Or for him? “If we’re to be the madly in love pair who set off a scandal throughout London, we must play the part. Place your head on my lap, madam.”
She hesitated, and then, to his surprise, she complied.
“Your Mary Darby Robinson, then.” He snapped the book open and skimmed poem after poem, words that portrayed the harsh reality that was London life and marriage. This was what Chloe should read. “Most ladies are fans of Lord Byron.”
“If one prefers the wild, reckless, womanizing sort.”
Leo didn’t blink for several moments. By God, had she just insulted him? He glanced down.
His wife stared innocently back.
“Minx,” he muttered, even as a grin pulled at his lips. A gust of wind played with the open page, and he smoothed his palm over it.
“O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil!
How fades each nobler passion from his gaze!
E’en Fame, that cherishes the Poet’s lays,
That fame, ill-fated Sappho lov’d so well.”
All teasing faded in Chloe’s eyes. Her bow-shaped lips parted with each verse.
“Lost is the wretch, who in his fatal spell
The Lady Who Loved Him Page 21