Falling for the Marquess (American Heiress Trilogy Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

  She touched his arm with the closed fan that hung on a string from her wrist. “Yes, but you and I have met before and I’d like to think that we’ve moved beyond small talk. Pretending to be prim and proper would feel hypocritical. Besides, I’ve already discussed the weather at least fifty times tonight, and your scarlet past is much more interesting.”

  A smile touched his lips. “I suppose my scarlet past is the subject matter of most conversations here tonight. Were you shocked to hear about it?”

  “I was, but I’m over it now. You see, I didn’t learn of it tonight. I learned of it from my sister a week ago, after she asked her husband about you.”

  Seger glanced at the duke across the room. “And he knew everything? I’m surprised he invited me into his home.” He gazed down at Miss Wilson with a devious smile. “He doesn’t know what happened between us that first night under the stairs, does he? Perhaps that was his motivation to bring me here—to either squash me like an insect or force me to propose.”

  She laughed again. “No, my lord. My brother-in-law is a very open-minded man. He was on the fringe of good society himself at one time. He believes there is more to a person than what first appears on the surface. He believes in second chances. That is why he invited you.”

  “Do you believe that, too?”

  “Of course. People are not all good or all bad. They are more complicated than that, but we seem to have strayed off topic. I was hoping you would tell me about what happened three years ago and why you felt you could not re-enter society.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. It felt odd to discuss such scandalous topics in a setting like this, but Miss Wilson, he supposed, was not like other debutantes. She was not like any other woman he’d ever met, to be honest.

  Nevertheless, she seemed genuinely eager to hear about it, and far be it for him to disappoint a lady.

  “It’s not that I felt I couldn’t re-enter,” he said. “I simply did not wish to. It was my choice, and I believe my lack of penitence exasperated certain self-righteous people who would have liked to see me beg.”

  “So, it was your pride that kept you out? You would not apologize?”

  “Partly. But mostly, the scandal was more of a final straw. I had been displeased with society for a long time before that. As I told you before, I never wished to be a part of the Marriage Mart.” He was surprised he was telling her all this. It was not why he had come there. He had intended to enjoy a lighter, more frivolous encounter.

  “You don’t ever intend to look for a wife?” she asked.

  He felt his shoulders stiffen. “Not among society in this manner, when everything is a mad scramble for position. I admit I am jaded. When it comes to marriage, I will take my chances with fate.”

  She seemed to accept that.

  “But don’t you wish to hear about the actual scandal, my dear, or at least my side of it?” He wanted to steer her away from the deeper, more ancient issues regarding his lifestyle choices.

  She looked him directly in the eyes. “Yes, I would like to hear your side.”

  They moved to a vacant sofa in the corner and sat down. “First, tell me what you heard, and I will tell you if it’s truth or fiction.”

  Keeping her voice low, she explained what she knew—that he had been called as a witness in a divorce case in court, to prove a lady’s adultery.

  Seger leaned back. “All true.”

  Miss Wilson’s voice lost its confident coquetry. She suddenly sounded like an innocent child. “So, you were the lady’s lover?”

  He did not flinch. “I was.”

  She nodded and lowered her gaze to her gloved hands in her lap. She became very quiet.

  Seger swayed closer to her. “You were very liberal a few minutes ago. Now you’re different. Are you horrified?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not horrified. I knew it had to be true. Consider where I met you.”

  He leaned back again. “Ah, yes, in a den of wickedness. So, there you have it. My character unveiled. Be warned, I am depraved.”

  “I was warned already. Many times, in fact, by you and by my sister and by my own self.”

  His voice became a husky whisper. “If you know I am a scoundrel, why, then, are you sitting with me?”

  She seemed to consider the question for a long moment, then she finally looked up. “If our acquaintance were of the more conventional sort, I would tell you that I am sitting with you because I believe no man is ever completely irredeemable. But since we are being liberal and honest and admitting to all sorts of depravities, I will confess that I am sitting with you for the plain and simple reason that I find you very attractive.”

  Seger smiled. This heiress was delicious. His predatory instincts began to hum, and he leaned toward her, close enough that he could smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin. “Then I believe we have something in common.”

  She inched away from him and glanced around self-consciously because he was most definitely pushing the limits of propriety. “And I believe, sir, that you should sit back. We are not at one of your Cakras Balls.”

  Taking a deep breath to subdue the intense desires welling up inside of him, Seger forced himself to rise. He held out his hand. “You are absolutely right, and what a shame it is. Hungry?”

  She laughed and gave him her hand. “Ravenous.”

  Together, they went to the buffet table. Seger picked a few grapes from a large bunch and offered them to Miss Wilson in his open palm. Eyes never leaving his, she took one and popped it into her mouth.

  He watched her moist, pink lips as she ate the grape, and felt a stirring of arousal. What he wouldn’t give for the honest liberties of a Cakras Ball now.

  Miss Wilson glanced over her shoulder and spoke softly to him. “My lord, despite the fact that I’ve witnessed your debauched underworld, I will have you know that I am a respectable young lady. You shouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

  “In my defense, you shouldn’t be licking your lips like that.”

  She grinned, then became more serious. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  God, how he wanted to touch her. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “Yes.”

  “That you have no intention of taking any more risks?”

  Just then, an older woman approached. Seger recognized her from the first night he had met Miss Wilson. She was the chaperone.

  “Good evening, my dear,” the woman said. “You have found the grapes, I see.”

  Miss Wilson seemed to tense at the woman’s question. Seger cursed to himself. No wonder he’d not missed the Marriage Mart. The frustrations in situations like this were unbearable.

  “My lord,” Miss Wilson said, “may I present Mrs. Eva Gunther? Mrs. Gunther, the Marquess of Rawdon.”

  They greeted each other. It was clear to Seger that the older woman recognized him as well, though naturally she did not acknowledge it.

  She stayed to make conversation for a few minutes, then gestured toward the other side of the room. “I believe there are some ladies who would like to make your acquaintance, Clara. Would you be so kind as to excuse us, Lord Rawdon?”

  Seger recognized the obvious intent to pry her out of his company. He was not surprised. Politely, he inclined his head.

  “Perhaps we can continue our conversation later?” Miss Wilson said as Mrs. Gunther practically dragged her away.

  “I certainly hope so.” He bowed and retreated.

  The marchioness watched her stepson turn away from Miss Wilson. “They have met before,” she whispered to Gillian. “I am sure of it. Did you see the way she traipsed across the room to talk to him? It was the crudest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Heaven help us all if she’s picked him out of the crowd.” Quintina glanced toward the fireplace, where a group of gentlemen were standing in a circle. “Why isn
’t she hounding after the Duke of Guysborough, for pity’s sake? He’s the best catch in the room.”

  “For the same reason as myself, I believe, Auntie,” Gillian replied. “He’s not the one she wants.”

  The marchioness clenched her jaw and sighed. “I hate to admit it, Gillian, but you could learn a few things from the American girls, despite their brazenness. In fact, I believe that brazenness is precisely what has all our men tripping over themselves to talk to them.” She squinted her eyes in disgust. “It’s because those girls are smiling and laughing all the time, telling stupid, unbelievable stories. I despise Americans.”

  Gillian regarded her aunt with surprise.

  “They don’t know their place,” Quintina continued. “They are overconfident. They think that they can buy their way in with money their fathers earn. Working, I might add. You have no idea how it broke my heart to see my family home go to a vulgar American laborer, who earned his fortune panning for gold. Panning! I hate that word. I’ve never so much as touched a pan in my life. Nevertheless, Americans remind me of leeches. They’re here to latch on. They don’t realize the greatness of England.”

  “You forget Yorktown, Auntie.”

  “Oh, hmph. Do you have any stories to tell, Gillian? Have you never done anything wild or different? I heard, for example, that the duchess, before she came to London, went on a buffalo hunt once. She said she knew how to throw a tomahawk. What is a tomahawk, by the way, do you have any idea?”

  Gillian shook her head.

  “No, I didn’t think you’d know. It’s just as well. It’s probably an American sport of some kind.”

  They sat down on a settee. “You’re going to have to try harder to say something,” the marchioness said to her niece. “And keep your head up. You never look at him when he talks to you.”

  “I can’t help it, Auntie. I become nervous.”

  She patted Gillian’s hand. “I understand, dear, but you must endeavor to get over that. You must try harder to put a sparkle in your eye. It looks as if Seger is finally ready to move forward with his life. The fact that he came here this evening was astonishing, to say the least, so you must be first to take advantage of this opportunity. Watch the American girls and see what they do. Perhaps I’ll have a few new gowns made for you, like the ones they are wearing. Would that help, do you think?”

  “I believe it would, Auntie. Miss Wilson’s dress is very pretty.”

  “Well, well, well,” Quintina replied, patting her niece’s hand again. “It’s the least I can do. You have no mother to see to your future, and if she were alive—my dear, dear sister—she would want you to be happy, to have everything you desire. You’re a good girl, Gillian. You deserve a husband you can be proud of, and I would like to see our family’s bloodline continue in such a prestigious vein. I wasn’t able to give the marquess any children, but you could be the one to provide the next heir. We shall not give up hope, darling. Now do as I say. Watch the American and see how she handles herself.”

  As an afterthought, Quintina added, “She looks a little bit like Daphne, don’t you think? It’s rather disconcerting.”

  Gillian turned her gaze toward Clara Wilson, the famous heiress, the sister of the Duchess of Wentworth. The girl was surrounded by a crowd of doting gentlemen, all of them laughing at her stories, enchanted by her smile, just as Seger had been only moments ago.

  A tiny muscle twitched at Gillian’s jaw, and she squeezed her reticule so tightly that she broke the looking glass inside it.

  Chapter 7

  Dear Adele,

  Sometimes I feel so out of place here. I am not like the other English ladies. I try to be reserved, but at heart I know that I am not. What I really want is to be an open book with those I care about, and I want to find a husband who is that way, too. I’m tired of talking about the weather. I want a soul mate, someone who will not be superficial.

  The marquess, interestingly enough, is not afraid to break the customary rules of conduct. He’s quite different from the rest, but I fear that Mrs. Gunther does not approve of him....

  Clara

  “Is it time to continue our conversation, yet?” Lord Rawdon whispered in Clara’s ear.

  He had come up behind her unexpectedly, startling her with the heat of his breath upon the side of her neck. Her entire body erupted in gooseflesh.

  Champagne glass in hand, she turned. “I’m willing if you are.”

  He smiled and offered his arm. They walked into the music room where a German pianist was scheduled to begin shortly. “Shall we take our seats?”

  “Yes.” Clara allowed him to lead her to the front row. They were the first guests to sit down. The pianist’s assistant was arranging sheet music; a liveried footman stood near the open doors.

  “You’ve been very popular this evening,” Lord Rawdon said. “Why is it that Mrs. Gunther hasn’t dragged you away from any of the other gentlemen? She doesn’t disapprove of me, does she?” His last comment dripped with sarcasm.

  Clara gave him an apologetic look. “She is on a mission for my mother, I’m afraid. She wants to be sure I am married off to the highest-ranking peer possible, and the most respectable.”

  “Ah, the respectable part... That is where I fall short.”

  Clara tried to explain. “She’s a very proper lady. She comes from old money. Mother was thrilled when Mrs. Gunther agreed to accompany me to London. She knew Mrs. Gunther would have the highest standards conceivable, and that I needed someone with a very strong hand to lead me in the right direction.”

  His eyebrows rose. “And she took you to a Cakras Ball?”

  Clara gave him a quick, heated glance, then returned her cool gaze to the front of the room. “That was a mistake, and I do not thank you for reminding me of it.”

  He grinned and sat forward. “Well now. This is becoming interesting. Your mother felt you needed a strong hand. I detect something naughty in your past.” He watched her for a moment. “Why didn’t your mother accompany you herself?”

  “Because she is with my younger sister, Adele, who is having her own first Season in New York.”

  “You didn’t wish to debut in London together?”

  Clara felt her spine bristle at the direction of their conversation. Unlike most of the other Englishmen she had met, the marquess had no qualms about asking indiscreet questions.

  They were heading into dangerous territory.

  “No,” she tried to explain. “We did not wish to debut together.” She glanced up at him, uneasily.

  “I see,” he replied.

  “I wanted her to have her own special time,” Clara explained. “Without her older sister around. Things didn’t go that well for me the year before last. Hence Mrs. Gunther’s strong hand.”

  Clara didn’t know why she was telling him all this. It pointed back at her mistakes. She supposed she felt that he, of all people would understand.

  Maybe that’s why she was so attracted to him. He didn’t make her feel inadequate. He lived by his own rules and did not judge her or anyone else by society’s strictures.

  Most people—if they knew the whole story—would call her fast or unprincipled, which she was not. Yes, there was a thrill-seeker lurking in her heart, but she was not fast. She believed in love and marriage and fidelity and she wanted a decent man for a husband.

  That was her struggle, she supposed. Her definition of decent wasn’t quite as black and white as the rest of the world’s.

  “How could a New York Season possibly not go well for you?” the marquess asked. “You are the loveliest creature I’ve seen since...well, since forever.”

  She warmed at the compliment, but still wanted to be cautious where her heart was concerned. She stared straight ahead at the piano.

  “What, no answer?” He urged her to look at him. “Don’t tell me you botched it up. Made a few socia
l blunders?” He sat back and laughed. “Is that why you’re here? Because you used the wrong fork once and can’t show your face in New York?”

  “Stop teasing me,” she said, slapping his arm with her fan. “I can certainly show my face. I just wished for different surroundings and fresh conversation, that’s all.”

  He gave her an exaggerated nod as if he didn’t believe her. “You must realize that now you have to tell me what happened, and spare nothing, I need all the shocking details.”

  She glared at him, astounded. “Sir, you are impossibly rude. And there are no shocking details.”

  “There must be. You’re blushing. There are red blotches on your neck, right there.”

  He pointed just below her earlobe.

  She slapped his hand again. “You are very wicked.”

  He chuckled and leaned back again. “Yes, I suppose I am, but you still haven’t told me how you stumbled and landed on your face during your New York debut.”

  “I did not land on my face.” She said nothing for a moment. “All right, fine. A man proposed to me—a very unsuitable man my parents did not approve of.”

  “That’s hardly your fault.”

  “But some would argue that I encouraged him, and maybe I did. My sister had just married a duke and I was feeling pressured to follow in her footsteps and marry well. I didn’t like it.”

  “So, you rebelled.”

  Clara felt suddenly agitated. Not at the marquess, but at the subject matter of this conversation. Why were they talking about this? She had wanted to bury it.

  Yet she also wanted to be an open book.

  The marquess raised his hands in mock surrender. “Please, I’m on your side. I fully support a good rebellion from time to time. Lord knows the world has witnessed a number of my minor social revolts. You didn’t marry him, I take it.”

  “Of course not.” She chose not to reveal how close she had actually come to marrying Gordon. How her father had arrived just in time, as they prepared to board a ship ready to set sail for Europe, with plans to tie the knot in the middle of the Atlantic.