“Those ‘pompous old goats’ steer the country, Fiona. I’m not fond of them, either, but this bill is important to our husbands. Reform must come some day, and if they can carry this off, then it will be easier for them next time. Neville stands to take a position in the cabinet if this is successful.”
The cabinet. Fiona shuddered. He would need a wife who could stand by him and shake hands, smile dutifully and speak intelligently. He must have been out of his mind to marry her.
Pasting a smile across her face, she entered the foyer under the scrutiny of three pairs of male eyes. Only the one pair mattered.
***
Desire heated Neville’s blood as Fiona drifted into the room on a cloud of soft green lace resembling the new spring leaves on the branches outside. She’d tucked the tiny white orchids he’d sent her here and there about her person, enhancing the impression of a goddess of springtime. The fiery mound of her curls above a porcelain cream complexion warmed the heart as well as the eyes. He wanted nothing more than to carry her up to the bed they hadn’t shared in days. Instead, he remained where he was, hands frozen behind his back as Aberdare and Effingham exclaimed over the women.
Effingham’s wife had taken on the task of overseeing the party. Blanche and Fiona had no business here at all, given their delicate conditions. Neville didn’t know how he’d been persuaded to agree to this public charade. They should have locked all three women in the rooms above and posted bodyguards around them night and day.
Steadying his shaking nerves, Neville offered his arm. Fiona took it with fingers that lacked the strength to so much as tweak his nose. He couldn’t protect himself from Townsend’s thugs. How in the world could he protect a delicate creature like this, one with the additional impediment of the child she carried?
“I shall persuade your guests that the reform bill will set terrible criminals free in our midst and create chaos in our streets if you do not speak to me, your worship,” Fiona said dryly.
So much for the illusion of fragility. Neville glared down at her. “I’ll nail your tongue to the roof of your mouth if you try.”
Her smile nearly blinded him. “Perhaps I should cling to your arm and insult you before all your friends, then,” she continued. “Or command the musicians to play a jig and dance for them.”
She didn’t need strength in her fingers to tweak his nose. She had it in her cursed tongue. Neville almost smiled at the idea. Almost. “I can still chain you to the tower walls.”
Fiona shrugged. “And drop your heir on its head when its time comes? I think not.”
Aberdare interceded before Neville could voice his outrage. Catching Fiona’s arm, the earl pulled his cousin from Neville’s protective grasp. “Our son escaped his nanny the first day he learned to crawl,” he told Neville. “You might consider bouncing your firstborn on his head as a precaution against the MacDermot wandering ways. Come along, cuz. I’ll try to keep you out of trouble for the evening.”
Neville fought the overwhelming urge to commit violence on both the MacDermot cousins as they disappeared into the ballroom. Beside him, Blanche watched with amusement.
“It’s not easy, I know,” the countess agreed without his saying a word.
Neville glared at her. “It’s all your fault, you realize. You should never have encouraged the bastard.”
Her trill of laughter didn’t ease his confusion in the least. Irritated and not knowing why, he dragged Blanche in the wake of their unconventional spouses. He still didn’t know how he’d got himself into this predicament. Obviously, brains went begging when lust came into play.
***
As was expected of him, Neville led Fiona into the opening quadrille, but she thought he’d rather be almost anywhere else. Aside from cavorting in the bedchamber on their wedding night, she’d never danced with him.
She studied his grim demeanor as they executed the steps of the dance. Her husband honestly didn’t understand that this was supposed to be fun, that they could dance and flirt and laugh and tease with these light steps. She fluttered her eyelashes and focused a blinding smile on him until he blinked in surprise.
Blanche’s revelations had her heart aching for the lonely boy he’d been. That wouldn’t prevent her from tweaking him a time or two, or even exploding with fury if he pushed too far. But right now, right this minute, she wanted to make him happy.
“Smile,” she whispered as the pattern of the dance brought them together. He looked startled and didn’t comply as he moved on to his next partner. “I shall flirt with Townsend if you don’t smile,” Fiona warned when next they came together.
“What the devil do I have to smile about?” he asked warily.
“Oh, that did it your royal majesty,” she warned, pinching his fingers where he held her too tight. “If achieving your goals makes you happier than dancing with your new wife, then I shall assure that you are very, very happy.”
“Fiona, I have too damned many...” The dance carried him away before he could finish.
She knew what he would say anyway. She should be hurt by his actions, but she’d never known rejection and wouldn’t accept it now. She would force him to admit some feeling for her.
For the remainder of the dance, she threw her smile at every man who looked in her direction and reserved her frown for her husband. He was a hard man to teach, was her duke, but he would learn. After all, she’d been assured he wasn’t stupid. Just single-minded.
At the end of the dance, he led her toward Blanche, who sat sedately with the other matrons in a corner of the room. “You’ll be safe here,” he informed her. “I’ve several people I must talk to before the vote tomorrow. I’ll try to return for the supper dance.”
“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about me,” Fiona said with a dismissive wave. “I’m quite capable of entertaining myself. You just go ahead and twist a few arms.”
Some emotion battled for expression on Neville’s implacable features, but his stubbornness won out. Nodding curtly, he delivered her to Blanche and stalked off.
He looked every inch the arrogant aristocrat in his finely tailored black trousers and frock coat, Fiona thought as she watched him walk away. Her noble duke was light-boned and of average height, but she knew all too well the coiled strength disguised beneath his formal evening clothes.
“You might tell your noble cousin sometime,” Fiona suggested as she took the seat beside Blanche, “that if the only way I can get his attention is by running away, he’ll not find me on his doorstep very often.”
Blanche didn’t look particularly perturbed. “One of Neville’s most interesting qualities is his ability to focus his mind completely on one task at a time. The task tonight is passing the reform bill. Tomorrow night, after the vote, it will be an entirely different story.”
Fiona smiled. “I know. And I have decided I shall help him accomplish that so we’ll both be very, very happy tomorrow night.”
Before Blanche could question or protest, Fiona caught the attention of one of her former suitors and without a word of farewell, departed the staid matron’s corner of the room for the frivolous swirl of the dancers.
Thirty-four
“How festive you look, my lady.” Viscount Bennet bent his balding head over Fiona’s hand before escorting her into the dance. “I’m pleased to see the duke has finally allowed you to visit London.”
“Allowed me?” Fiona laughed, fluttering her fan and her lashes at her former suitor. “You make it sound as if I’m a prisoner in my own home. I’m a country girl at heart, sir. I’ve merely come to town to celebrate my husband’s triumph when he wins his legislation on the morrow.”
The viscount clucked his tongue in smiling disapproval. “Now, now, dear, there is no certainty of any such thing, and it’s scarcely a topic for young ladies.”
Fiona would gleefully have pulled out the remainder of the viscount’s graying hair, but a proper duchess had other methods of whipping her teams into line. Her smile never faltered. �
��Nonsense, sir, celebrating is always a topic for ladies. I wish to have an exclusive soiree and invite all my husband’s friends after his bill passes. I do hope we can count you among our friends. I have in mind the most perfect young lady I would like you to meet. She’s so charming, I know you’ll love her.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And her father is a nabob.”
The viscount practically blushed pink in eagerness.
She had few female friends in London, so the promise of wealthy daughters would not work for everyone. She suspected a party would not lure the type of men who preferred hiding in their clubs, but behind every successful man lurked a nagging woman. She could be quite as single-minded as Neville when she chose. For her next victim, she picked Neville’s old friend, Morton.
She located him as the dance ended, and with a welcoming smile, she had him bowing over her hand before Bennet could return her to Blanche.
“Mr. Morton! I’m delighted to see you again. I have something I want to tell you.” Making her farewells to the viscount, she latched on to Morton’s arm and steered him in the direction of the refreshment table where the men not playing cards congregated. “I crave a sip of lemonade, if you do not mind.”
“I’m honored to be of service, Your Grace. I suppose that ramshackle husband of yours has deserted you for some smoke-filled chamber where he’s jawing about politics?”
“Of course, and he’s very good at it, too. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.” She halted beside a lady she recognized as the wife of one of Townsend’s cronies, near the lords at the table, but not among them. “I will wait here, if you do not mind, Mr. Morton. I would not intrude upon the gentlemen’s discussions.”
“I’m sure they would be delighted to have their dull talk interrupted by a lovely lady such as yourself.” Morton said politely, concealing his relief that she did not expect to be introduced to arguing politicians.
Fiona bestowed a smile on the dour-faced woman beside her as Morton strode off. “It is so very warm in here tonight, is it not? The gentlemen really should not monopolize the refreshment table.”
The woman creaked a slight curtsey in Fiona’s direction as her escort returned carrying the requisite cup of punch. “As you say, Your Grace.”
Fiona loved it. Hot coals wouldn’t have persuaded those words out of the woman’s mouth had Fiona been a plain Miss MacDermot, nobody cousin of an Irish earl. But as a duchess of Anglesey...
This could be fun. “I believe we met last fall, Lady Whitton. How is your husband faring these days? I believe he was a trifle under the weather the last I heard.”
Morton frowned at Fiona’s conversing with the enemy, but etiquette required he acknowledge the lady. Fiona flashed him another smile as she accepted her cup. Power definitely could be a heady elixir.
“I was just telling Lady Whitton I missed seeing her husband here tonight. The duke would so like to talk with him about a few matters he’s been considering. But it’s a pity to spoil a party by talking politics.” She turned her head flirtatiously toward Mrs. Whitton’s anonymous partner, another crony of Townsend’s, she suspected.
“And you, sir, how is your health? So many of our older, wiser heads have retired or are considering retiring from the public arena, it seems. It’s a pity that my husband and his friends carry more and more of the burden these days. I’d much rather keep him at home. But duty calls and the good of the country is more important, I suppose. I do hope he finds more men like you to help him.”
The lady’s escort frowned. “As you say, Your Grace, but I cannot recollect anyone retiring lately.”
Fiona gave a trill of embarrassed laughter. “Have you not? Oh, I am so very sorry. I must be speaking out of turn. That’s the reason Neville never brings me to these things, you know. I’m such a prattlebox. I’m supposed to hear everything and say nothing, but I vow it’s a hard lesson to learn.”
One of the gentleman standing close by intruded. “Someone in the cabinet is retiring, you say? Can’t think who. Liverpool won’t let ’em.”
Fiona covered her smile with her fan. “Oh, and I’m sure I have it all turned about. I remember Neville mentioning several people who will be offering their resignations when the reform bill passes. He said something about it was time they retired, and I took it to mean...” She trailed the sentence off uncertainly.
Another gentleman took up the lapse. “Nonsense. The reform bill hasn’t the votes to pass. Liverpool’s cabinet will stand solidly behind us on that.”
Fiona fluttered her lashes above the fan. “Oh, I’m certain I know nothing of cabinets and such, but my husband is quite positive about the bill. He’s promised me, you see, and he told me just last night he had the votes. That’s when the topic of retirements came up, but I most likely misunderstood that part. But I did understand when he said I could give a select dinner for his friends to celebrate his success. I do so hope you all will be able to come,” she said with a trace of wistfulness. “Neville has this terrible habit of dismissing anyone who disagrees with him.” She brightened again. “It’s a good thing Effingham and my cousin agree with him then, is it not? I shall always be able to count on their presence.”
Closing her fan and smiling fatuously, she took Morton’s arm, bade her farewells, and practically steered him into the ballroom.
“Since I know demmed good and well Neville didn’t marry an idiot, could you please explain that performance?” Morton demanded as they walked the perimeter of the ballroom, out of the way of the dancers.
“Don’t be such a slow-top,” Fiona scoffed, scanning the room for her next victim. “I told them the bill will pass, Neville is almost guaranteed a cabinet position, and that he’ll demand the resignations of all those who don’t support him. And then I promised them they’d be rewarded with invitations to the first entertainment Anglesey has ever given if they step in line.”
“My word,” Morton exclaimed, tallying the number of lords she’d just bribed. “You’ve a devilish mind beneath all that hair. Does Neville know?”
Fiona shrugged. “He knows. He just doesn’t understand it yet.”
***
“I say, Your Grace, your wife has a flare for words, don’t she? I hadn’t thought of your reform bill in quite those terms before.”
Neville turned with a forbidding frown and examined the intruder with his quizzing glass. Turner, son-in-law of Lord Whitton, Townsend’s party, he deduced warily. He would have dismissed the man summarily had his words not caught his interest.
“In quite what terms?” he asked coldly.
“H-hungry children,” Turner stammered. Gathering his courage, he straightened his shoulders and continued. “It costs more to transport or hang a child caught stealing bread than to feed one. We’re wasting money on trying petty thieves for capital crimes when we could send them to the mills and put them to work instead.”
Send them to the mills? Neville almost repeated the preposterous suggestion aloud, but he bit his tongue. He heard Fiona’s Irish tale-telling behind this, and he really didn’t want to hear the whole of it. He had difficulty enough keeping a straight face as it was.
“We’ll need someone to look into all the ramifications, of course,” Neville said, maintaining as solemn a tone as he could muster.
“I’d be delighted to help in any way I can,” Turner responded eagerly, just as Neville had known he would. “My wife would kill me should I let this opportunity pass. She has three unmarried sisters, you know. You can count on my support tomorrow.”
Three unmarried sisters? Neville tried to assemble that irrelevant information as Turner walked away, then scowled at the appearance of a laughing Aberdare.
“If I forget to vote tomorrow, will you ban me from the Event of the Season, your honor?”
“Event of the season?” A tingling at the base of his spine warned Neville that this would all make sense shortly, but he wouldn’t necessarily like it. One of Michael’s favorite hobbies was laughing at Neville’s discomfiture.
“Aye, and our Fiona is personally organizing the guest list as we speak. She’s rearranging the cabinet too, but Liverpool hasn’t seen fit to show his face so she hasn’t informed him yet.”
“The cabinet?” The tingling transformed into a decided sinking sensation. “I don’t suppose you tried to stop her?” he inquired with resignation.
“Stop her?” Michael asked incredulously. “Would you stop a frigate in full sail? Heaven forbid. I’ll salute her as she passes and stay out of her way.”
That’s what Neville had thought. That’s what everyone had done all of Fiona’s life. The woman didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. Neville wondered if he really wanted to be the one to teach her.
But he’d lived his life by caution, and he couldn’t help thinking caution a necessity now. Someone had already attempted to abduct her once. If she was personally choreographing the passage of the reform bill, they might not stop at abduction next time. Remembering the gang of thugs and the blow to his head, Neville rubbed his skull.
Leaving Aberdare to his own devices, Neville stalked toward the ballroom and his interfering wife.
“My dance, I believe?”
Fiona looked up, startled, at her husband’s voice. She hadn’t heard him approach. She read nothing in Neville’s expression, but she sensed his tension. She really ought to refuse his offer, but aside from the suspicion that he wouldn’t accept her refusal, she wanted to dance with him.
She took his offered arm and nodded to her audience as regally as any duchess. Leaving them open-mouthed, she followed Neville onto the dance floor. The orchestra struck up a waltz, the brutes.
“That was abominably rude, your highness,” she taunted as her husband wrapped his arm around her waist. The full force of Neville’s hot gaze threatened to ignite a raging inferno as he swung her into the dance.
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