The two ladies—the marquess’s sister-in-law and an older woman of her acquaintance—were dressed in the highest fashions. While Lilly attempted to keep up with the fashions of the day, not daring to step foot in London meant she likely dressed like a country bumpkin to them.
Lily sighed. It was hard to keep up with the fashions when you spent all your time in the countryside. As much as she enjoyed the fresh air and beautiful scenery of Hampshire, she longed to experience the excitement of London or Bath.
She slipped on her gloves and placed a bracelet over the top. One day she would, she vowed. If she was to make progress in women’s rights, she would have to brave London and the scorn of those who believed her to be inferior because of her birth. Sadly, the daughter of a wealthy shipping merchant—even if claimed—would never be accepted. Lilly snorted to herself. If her father had owned a title of some kind, her chances of being accepted might have been much higher.
A prayer uttered, she smoothed her hands down her bodice, checked her reflection and stepped out of the room. She paused at the top of the stairs and heard voices in the saloon. Lady Stanley’s deep laugh echoed off the pillars, and Lilly smiled. Following the curve of the stairs, she paused at the sight of one of the men at the bottom—the man who had caught her observing them earlier. That unfamiliar flip flop of her belly almost caused her to stumble as he watched her descent.
Lilly forced a weak smile onto her lips and glanced around for Lady Stanley. Her laughter echoed again from the other room, and Lilly suppressed a grimace. Violet had never been one for formality in her home, particularly at evening dinners, but to be confronted by this man with no formal introduction was more than she could bear.
Particularly when the man in question eyed her through a dark gaze, mouth pulled thin.
His gaze stripped her of her determination. How was she to find out more about her father’s death with this man watching her like a hawk? When she reached the final step, he dipped his head in greeting. When he lifted his head to peer at her from under his brow, her heart skipped and threatened to escape her bodice.
“Miss Claremont, I presume?”
“Yes.” Her response came out breathy. The man towered over her, his shoulders emphasized by the exquisite cut of his dinner suit. She searched frantically for Lady Stanley but to no avail.
Still, he did not smile but interest flickered in those dark eyes, so brown they reminded her of the finest chocolates. “Allow me to introduce myself as our hostess seems to be somewhat engaged. Lord Hawksley at your service.”
Lilly didn’t even manage to smother her gasp of surprise. This was Lord Hawksley? Where was the depraved look in his eyes? His hooked nose and sickly countenance? This was not at all how she’d pictured the man who had ordered the killing of her father. His complexion spoke of a fair amount of time out of doors, and his nose was not the slightest bit hooked. It was straight and well… perfect. How unfair he should be so attractive.
“Miss Claremont, is something amiss?” he prompted.
His deep voice sent a delicious whorl of excitement into her belly. She felt her eyes widen as she tried to fight it. “Forgive me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Hawksley.”
His lips remained as straight as an arrow, though they were firm and pleasant-looking even in such a severe position. Lilly dragged her gaze from them and met his stare. Heat rose in her cheeks but she held her ground. Was this really her father’s murderer? The coldness in his expression said yes, but something in his eyes—a spark of amusement or maybe even warmth—kept quashing that belief.
“Lady Stanley has told me much about you.”
“Indeed, my lord?” Her voice still refused to stay strong, as if his presence had sucked the air from her.
But was that not to be expected? Here was a cold-hearted killer who thought nothing of getting revenge for some money lost by sending out a hired assassin. Words swirled in her mind—bitter and angry. They sat on her tongue and begged to be spilled but she could not, not yet. She had no proof Lord Hawksley had hired the man who had beaten her father to death on a deserted street, nor did she wish to embarrass Lady Stanley. At the moment, she was relying on her cousin’s words alone that rumors of underhand behavior followed the marquess. Being an outcast had its disadvantages when it came to keeping up with popular society. If she was to find out more, she needed to get closer to him.
“I fear I might be at a disadvantage,” she continued and suppressed a sigh of relief when her reedy tone grew stronger. “I know little of you, save that you are a good neighbor, my lord.”
“Then we shall be able to get better acquainted so as to redress the balance.” The tiniest smile lifted one corner of his lips.
The difference it created almost sent her reeling backwards. Lilly suspected if the man ever smiled fully, he must send every debutante swooning. Not she, of course. She had never been one to fall for the charms of the opposite sex. Few were interested in her once they learned of her inferior birth and any who persisted had little intention of offering her anything but further ruination.
But Lord Hawksley, with his dark, slightly curly hair, soulful eyes and broad shoulders had likely ruined many a woman with ease.
“I look forward to it, my lord,” she lied while her stomach bunched.
Lord Hawksley indicated to the saloon with a tilt of his head. “Shall we, Miss Claremont?”
Hatred, hot and burning, swirled in her gut while her common sense warned not to let it overcome her. She entered the saloon at his side while her mother’s incessant reminder to be better than her birth also repeated through her mind. Just because society’s opinion of you is set, does not mean it cannot be changed. Do not live up to their expectations, Lilly, her mother would say.
Her mother, the steadfast romantic, had always hoped good manners and Lilly’s pretty—if a little simple—looks would be enough to recommend her. Once she had the money her father left to her, she would be wealthy enough, so maybe some man might pay her attention, but she didn’t wish for someone interested only in her money, someone who felt he could ignore the status of her birth if induced by enough wealth.
Drawing in a breath, she kept a polite smile on her face as Lady Stanley approached. Had she been foolish in believing she could confront her father’s killer yet not expose herself and her friend? Lady Stanley didn’t deserve any kind of dramatic scenes. Lilly needed to hold her tongue until she had found out the truth behind Lord Hawksley’s dealings with her father and maybe wait until the two-week long party at Oakholm Hall was over.
“Lord Hawksley, I see you have already met my dear friend, Miss Claremont. Her mother and I were the closest of friends and now she is almost a daughter to me.”
Lilly resisted the desire to roll her eyes. Guilt now extinguished the hatred. How could she humiliate Lady Stanley in any way? Any accusations would have to wait. She eyed the older woman whose lively green gaze matched the deep emerald of her gown and caught something. She reminded her of a mischievous child. Did the lady know something of her reason for coming here?
No, surely not. Only her cousin knew of the papers alluding to her father and Lord Hawksley’s dealings. Henry had been the one to alert her to the rumors surrounding the marquess and his dissatisfaction at her father losing a good deal of his money.
Lilly was introduced to the other members of the party. All treated her well, though she noted the cold mien in Lady Richdale’s gaze as she eyed Lilly’s dress. Her husband, who was also the marquess’s brother, was, however, charming and jovial. He had a similar dark coloring to his brother but his features were softer, more classically handsome, she supposed. The older man, Lord Brexley—a good friend of the marquess it seemed—was pleasant enough too, while Mrs. Willis, a recently widowed lady, held no censure in her gaze.
“I hear you hold a place in the country,” Mrs. Willis commented.
“Yes, some ten miles from here. Marshgate Lodge.”
“I do enjoy the country. I seldom visit it.
My husband preferred London while I tired of society there.”
“The company is certainly more colorful in the country,” Lady Richdale remarked and her gaze skimmed Lilly’s dress once more.
With every one of the blonde hairs perfectly in place and a touch of light make-up, Lady Richdale made her feel unkempt and dowdy in her old dress.
Resisting the urge to pat her hair or smooth the taffeta, Lilly merely smiled. Lord Hawksley positioned himself not far from her elbow, and heat leapt across the gap. She stiffened to prevent herself from shuddering.
“The country has its benefits to be sure. Pleasing scenery for one.” His gaze landed on her but no hint as to whether he meant anything more than that he enjoyed the hills of Hampshire lingered in his expression.
“I have always preferred the country,” she declared. “The fresh air is known to be good for the health and when it’s home to people like Lady Stanley, you cannot go wrong.”
“How right you are, Miss Claremont,” Mrs. Willis agreed. “If only my husband could have been persuaded to spend more time in the country, it would have vastly improved his health.”
Lord Hawksley shifted so that his arm brushed Lilly’s elbow. “Indeed, Miss Claremont shall likely outlive us all and live to be a hundred.”
The two women laughed while Lilly waited for the tingles racing down her arm to cease. Somehow she managed to keep the surprise from her face at such a sensation. “You suggest that I spend too much time in the country, my lord?”
“Do I? Maybe I do. It isn’t good for a person to spend so much time in one place. I believe variety to be better for one’s health than stagnating.”
“You think I am stagnant?” She lifted her brows. Holding her tongue was going to prove harder than she thought with such a man around.
That flicker of amusement was back, and this time it tugged both corners of his lips upward. “Not at all, Miss Claremont. You are far from stagnant, but it seems a shame to deprive London society of your company simply because you wish to outlive us all.”
Was he having a jest at her expense? Lily couldn’t work the man out. “I have sincere doubts, my lord, that anyone in London feels bereft of my company.”
The curve of his lips dropped, his eyes, if possible, appeared to darken. The room felt larger, and she much smaller. A prey for the hawk perhaps? Yes, this man very much suited his name. Like a predator, he loomed over her. A trickle of fear danced down her spine and mingled with the heat low in her belly.
“I cannot speak for London as a whole, but I’m certainly regretful we have not met sooner,” he said quietly.
Lilly glanced at the two other ladies, grateful to see their exchange had clearly bored them and they had moved onto other topics. Her cheeks scalded and were likely crimson. If the marquess’s expression was anything to go by, he had seen her embarrassment and shock. His gaze traced her features and lingered on her cheeks and lips.
Lilly opened her mouth, when the bell for dinner rang. Clamping it shut, she let out a long breath through her nose and turned to see Lady Stanley take the arm of the elderly earl. “You shall take myself and Mrs. Willis in,” she announced.
Inwardly, Lilly cringed. She had secretly hoped to be left alone with the uneven numbers. Lord and Lady Richdale would go in to the dining room together, leaving her with Lord Hawksley.
“Shall we?” He offered his arm.
“Certainly.” Lilly laid her fingers over his arm and in spite of her lace gloves, the warmth of his skin somehow reached hers. She glanced at his large hands. The image of those capable-looking fingers on other parts of her flashed through her mind, and she released a squeak.
“Is all well, Miss Claremont? Do you need some air before dinner? I am sure Lady Stanley wouldn’t object. You know she is not one for formality.”
“I am quite well, I assure you,” she snapped.
What was wrong with her? This man had ordered the death of her father. Why would she imagine such a thing? Yet something about him made her forget her purpose for wishing to meet him.
One eyebrow arched but that was his only acknowledgement of her snappish tone. “You look quite flushed.”
“Please don’t concern yourself, my lord. I am not the sort of woman to swoon from getting a little warm.”
“Quite so,” he remarked as he led her into the dining room. “I didn’t think you the sort to be swooning at every possible chance, Miss Claremont. You do not seem the type to thrive on attention. Which is why I asked. I suspect even if you were unwell, you would do your best to disguise it.”
Lord Hawksley waited for her to be seated before seating himself. The glow from the gas lamps reflected off the gold frames on the walls, and the dark red color of the walls failed to make the room appear any smaller. Though she had dined at Oakholm Hall many times, the long table and heavy chandeliers never failed to remind her of her insignificance.
An insignificance that Lord Hawksley seemed determined to ignore. Indeed, he treated her as if she were of great interest to him. Why, she could not fathom. While she expected little formality at a house party, she didn’t expect his oddly flirtatious manner.
If that was what it could be called. She believed him to be teasing—he smiled so rarely, it was hard to tell.
“You do propose to know me very well,” she prodded once she had drawn off her gloves. Her purpose as to her visit niggled in her mind. She had to keep the lord talking and find out more about his relationship with her father.
“I only know what acquaintances have told me and what I have observed.”
“And what have you observed, my lord?”
“That you are forthright to a point but you blush easily.”
Lilly almost groaned when the blush he referred to made itself known once more. Any response was prevented by the arrival of the soup. Grateful for a respite, she turned her attention wholeheartedly to the course, all the while aware of the marquess’s hawk-like gaze on her as the other guests offered only titbits of chatter.
A hawk indeed. That was how she would think of him, but he toyed with his prey—teasing it until the time was right to swoop. For surely any attention he gave her had to be for his own amusement. Perhaps he gained some sick pleasure over tormenting the woman whose father he had taken from her. She clenched her spoon until her knuckles whitened. Whatever game he played, she would not fall for it.
Chapter Three
Evan observed the whitening of those delicate hands. He had her riled, and he was not entirely sure why. But as surely as he had aggravated her, she aggravated him. He had known of Lilly Claremont through her father and Lady Stanley. Of course, neither of those sources were to be trusted. An unusually doting father and a close friend were always likely to exaggerate the truth. Mr. Claremont, a man of great business acumen, had loved Miss Claremont’s mother—his mistress—with deep affection. So his tales of her beauty and intelligence could be taken with a pinch.
And, yes, the talk of her looks had been as he had expected. Though she was pleasing to the eye and that delicate stain on her cheeks charmed him in ways he had not thought possible, her light brown hair was nothing exceptional and her pretty features couldn’t compete with some of the beauties he had known in his time.
So, why then did this unexceptional woman interest him so? He had little time for the foibles of society; he held no stock in the gossip of idle women and hearing that Claremont’s illegitimate daughter was to be at Oakholm Hall interested him about as much as the latest fashions in Paris. He’d planned to be courteous but as indifferent as he could get away with.
Tension twisted in Evan’s gut and he sneaked another glance at her. She was aware of him—he could tell by the slight stiffening of her shoulders.
Shoulders that were so creamy, they made his mouth water.
Of its own accord, his gaze traced the ruffles of her gown to the rounded curves peeking over the top of them. If he was not careful, he was going to make a damned fool of himself.
Perhaps
Claremont had been right about her intelligence. Maybe that was what captured his attention. Her bold tongue had already caught him off guard several times. Few women traded words with him so quickly, but the riddle of her character intrigued him most. Those lips pursed on occasion as if holding back further truths. Miss Claremont swung between tight-lipped propriety and bold audacity at a moment’s notice it seemed.
Intriguing indeed.
Pleased when the soup course was over, Evan turned his attention to serving the woman at his side as the kickshaws were brought out. Platters of shrimp, oysters and various other appetizers filled the gaps on the table. She said little and he felt the urge to provoke her further.
Instead—and unusually for him—he made an attempt at being gallant. Probably, he decided, to see how she would react to that. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”
Her attention snapped away from her plate and that delightful pale blue gaze locked onto him. “Were you?”
He scowled. “Of course. He was a wise business man. Your father, Miss Claremont, made me a rich man.”
Well, a richer man anyhow.
She gave him a thin smile. “I know little of my father’s business dealings, only that he came from little and my mother credited him with being extremely shrewd in his transactions. But” —she paused and put a fingertip to her mouth. He eyed it avidly and imagined taking that tip and nibbling on it— “I had heard your last deal with him didn’t go so well.”
How did the little chit know anything of her father’s dealings? As far as Evan knew, Claremont’s estate had gone to a cousin somewhere—his wife being dead and having sired no legitimate heirs. The poor girl probably begrudged Evan for such financial success. Truth be told, he dabbled in many speculations, some successful and some not so much. Claremont’s advice had generally been sound with the exception of the last speculation.
“It did not,” he confirmed. “But that is the nature of speculation. One shouldn’t dabble, if one is not willing to lose it all.”
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