“I sent him to the Deightons’,” Frost muttered, distracted by his next shot. “He is escorting Regan to the ball. That business with Fothergill and his cronies was troubling.”
Dare straightened in his chair, his pity for Vane vanishing. “Why did you choose Vane of all people?” Had Frost not seen how Vane had been fawning over Regan the night they had attended the theater? “Sin would have been a better choice.”
Glaring over his poised cue, Frost’s turquoise-blue eyes bore into him. “Sin has a pregnant wife to look after. I needed someone to look after my sister properly. As if his very life depended on it.”
That man is not Vane.
That man is—
The unfinished thought felt like a mental slap. Dare had troubles with his own family. He did not need to take on the duty of looking after Regan. It was enough that they were residing in the same town house.
As it was, Dare did not know how much intimacy he could bear without breaking. It was difficult enough to face Regan in the morning room.
He thought of Vane smiling at her. Inviting her to dance. Bastard. How many times had the scoundrel touched her without permission?
Worse, still, what if Regan encouraged it?
“Where the devil are you going?” Saint called out.
His legs had crossed the room before his rational intellect had caught up with an impulsive decision that was primitive and bordered on territorial.
Dare wanted to plant his fist into Frost’s face for being so reckless with his sister’s welfare.
“The Deightons’ ball,” he said gruffly. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Vane!”
* * *
“I absolutely adore your sweet mother,” Regan teased, enjoying the way her escort of the evening winced.
“Hush, my dear girl, not so loud,” Vane pleaded, dragging her in the opposite direction of his family for good measure. “My mother is not deaf, and she is positively desperate to marry me off to some well-mannered chit.”
Regan hid her smile behind her fan. “Well, then you are safe with me, Lord Vanewright, for my brother swears my manners have not improved during my absence.”
Vane chuckled. “Giving Frost hell for sending you off to some prissy school for ladies, are you?” He playfully pinched the tip of her nose. “Good for you! All of us thought he was unreasonable when he sent you away. I told him the kitchen fire was my fault, but he refused to listen. He kept muttering that Lady Karmack was right.”
Her smile faded as Regan remembered the old pain of that day. “It was more than the fire.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I was not very obedient.”
Vane rolled his eyes and gave her hand a friendly pat. “And the decision to travel to London without telling Frost—that is your notion of obedience?”
“I got my way, did I not?” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “I sensed my brother would accept defeat gracefully.”
Vane shook his head. “You should not be telling me such things, my lady. An unscrupulous gentleman could demand blackmail for such honesty.”
Regan shut her fan with a snap of her wrist. “Are you claiming to be an unscrupulous gent?”
“My dear Lady Regan, unscrupulous is part of the Lords of Vice’s motto.”
She rapped him on the knuckles. Vane was being outrageously flirtatious. “I distinctly recall that hanging over the front door of Nox there is an unusual rectangular stained-glass panel that has the Latin inscription Virtus Deseritur. The translation is ‘Virtue is forsaken.’”
Vane lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “Sounds rather unscrupulous in meaning and deed.”
Regan’s mirth bubbled out like sparkling wine, comparably light and endearingly sweet. “You are a horrid man,” she murmured when she noticed that other guests were watching them. “Frost will put me on a prison hulk if you persist.”
“Well, we cannot have that, can we?” Vane said with mock sympathy. She could feel his body vibrating with silent laughter. “I know just the place where no one can accuse us of impropriety.”
“Where?”
Vane stepped away from Regan, and bowed. “Will you honor me with a dance, Lady Regan?”
Chapter Eleven
Only vaguely acquainted with Lord Deighton, Dare was unrepentant about using his intimate connection to the Duke and Duchess of Rhode to gain entrance into the viscount’s town house. The lord and lady of the house seemed wary as he approached them; however, concern quickly changed to bemusement when he explained that Lord Chillingsworth had asked him to look after his younger sister.
The irony was not lost on the couple that one of the Lords of Vice was guarding an innocent from rakes and fortune hunters. It was an amusing tale that was likely to be retold countless times throughout the evening.
As Dare entered the ballroom, the noise and the heat were stifling. Door and windows had been opened, but did little to stir the air. Dare slowed his stride as he searched the room for Regan and Vane. While anger had driven him since he had learned from Frost that he had delegated his duties to an untrustworthy gent, Dare was uncertain how to proceed now that he was here. He was going to look the fool if Regan preferred Vane’s company to his.
“Lord Hugh, is it not?”
Dare halted when he heard his name. He altered his path and bowed to the two young women who seemed to know him. “Good evening, ladies. I believe I have not had the honor of a proper introduction.”
“I regret that my mother, Lady Karmack, has been detained by her friends. Otherwise, I would have her make the introductions,” the brunette explained, the slight quiver in her voice revealing her nervousness at her boldness. “May I present my good friend, Miss Tyne.”
“Miss Tyne,” he murmured, reveling in his good fortune that he had encountered Regan’s friends.
“Lord Hugh.” The soft-spoken blonde curtsied and acknowledged her companion with a nod. “May I present Lord and Lady Karmack’s youngest daughter, Miss Bramwell?”
Dare courteously inclined his head to each lady. “It is a pleasure and fortunate that I have encountered you both this evening.”
Both ladies preened at his compliment.
“How may we assist you, my lord?” Miss Tyne shyly inquired.
Miss Bramwell was more astute, and got right to the heart of the matter. “Are you looking for Lady Regan?”
“Indeed, I am,” he said, gifting both ladies with a dazzling smile. “Her brother, Lord Chillingsworth, is unable to attend the ball this evening, and he sent me to watch over her in his stead.”
Miss Tyne appeared puzzled by his declaration. “I thought Lord Vanewright was Lady Regan’s escort this evening?”
Dare resisted the urge to grind his teeth at the reminder. “Naturally Lord Chillingsworth feels very protective toward his sister. If he could, he would hire an entire regiment to guard her.”
Understanding flared in Miss Tyne’s and Miss Bramwell’s eyes like a candle flame newly struck.
“Oh … of course.” The brunette beamed at him. “Mama will be pleased when she hears that Lord Chillingsworth has embraced his responsibilities for our dear cousin.”
Dare quelled the sudden urge to defend his friend. For all his flaws, Frost had done his best raising Regan after their mother had abandoned her children to follow her lover abroad. There was no doubt that her education had been unconventional; however, both brother and sister had been managing just fine until Lady Karmack had interfered.
And Dare had kissed her.
He pushed aside the intrusive thought.
“Do you know where I might find Lady Regan and Lord Vanewright?”
Miss Tyne tipped her head to the left and squinted. “I believe they are … there!” She gestured with her collapsed fan toward the section of the ballroom that had been set aside for dancing.
“Lady Regan does not dance,” he said flatly.
“Of course she does!” Miss Bramwell tittered. “Once Miss Swann discouraged her from deliberately stepping on the
other dancers’ toes, Lady Regan emerged as one of Miss Swann’s most graceful students.”
* * *
Regan turned and curtsied to Vane as he bowed. He grinned down at her. She then curtsied to the gentleman to her right.
“You do know how to dance?” her faithless dancing partner murmured under his breath.
“Worried that I will stomp on your toes?” she retorted, smiling at the couple positioned across from them. “Did you think that I would forget that it was you, Sin, and Hunter who taught me the proper way to dance?”
Regan heard Vane choke on his laughter as they walked forward and exchanged positions with the couple opposite.
How could she forget dancing practice with the Lords of Vice? Their lessons included elbowing, the smashing of toes, and outlandish birdcalls. The first time Miss Swann had witnessed Regan’s dancing skills, someone had to waft vinegar under her nose to revive the poor woman.
Vane clasped her left hand, positioned his other hand on the small of her back, and spun her about. He was still laughing as they promenaded back to their starting positions.
Regan struggled to keep her mask of disapproval in place. “Behave yourself,” she scolded. “No wonder Miss Swann thought that I had learned dancing from a congress of baboons!”
It was too much for Vane. He took two staggering steps away from the other dancers and braced his hands on his knees. His entire body shook with laughter. Regan was apologizing to the other couples when Vane captured her hand and pulled her away from the set.
“Wait!”
Vane led them toward the nearest open door, and they found themselves in a narrow hall.
“You are an atrocious dancer,” Regan said, attempting to catch her breath. She pushed him away, whirled around, and collapsed against the wall. “You made me step on Mr. Osbourne’s toes!”
“Everyone steps on Osbourne’s toes,” Vane said, placing his hand on his stomach as he walked over to her. “Forgive me, Regan. But the notion of you stomping your way through the cotillion was more than I could bear.”
“It is your fault, you know,” she muttered, reluctant laughter seeping into her blue eyes. “You, Sin, and Hunter. All of you played a terrible prank on me, and made me look like an utter fool.”
Vane sobered. “Aw, hell, Regan,” he said, bracing his palm on the wall just above her head. “It was a jest. No one wanted to see you hurt.”
He touched her cheek.
Regan froze. She held her breath as she noticed that a sudden tension crept into Vane’s stance. His eyes darkened as the center blackness swallowed most of the blue-green hue. Vane slowly lowered his head, closing the distance between them until his lips brushed hers.
Regan braced for his kiss.
And then Vane was gone.
Before she could blink, Dare had grabbed her companion by the shoulder, spun him about, and pinned him against the wall.
“Christ, Dare, what is wrong with you?” Vane yelled, annoyed and more than a little embarrassed that his friend had the upper hand.
Regan took a step forward, but one glance from Dare halted her steps. Dare was angry enough to crack the Deightons’ plastered wall with Vane’s skull.
“You were supposed to protect her from the scoundrels, not behave like one!”
* * *
Once again, Regan found herself unceremoniously hauled out of a ballroom. “You are being most unreasonable, Dare.”
Vane, on the other hand, might disagree. After all, Dare had only wrinkled his friend’s coat, instead of dusting the Deightons’ flooring with Vane still wearing it.
“Not another word out of you, Regan Alice,” he said sternly as they descended the stairs. “I should paddle your backside for practicing your flirtations on Vane!”
“I did no such thing!” For Vane’s sake, it seemed prudent not to mention that he had started the flirting first. “We just got to laughing about my old dance lessons—”
“He was looking down your bodice,” Dare said in forbidding tones. “Frost will likely maim Vane for taking such liberties.”
“Oh, I wager my brother has stared down a bodice or two,” Regan said, deliberately lagging so Dare was forced to shorten his gait. “And knowing Frost, the lady probably enjoyed it.”
Dare did not bother responding to her outlandish remark. They both knew Regan had witnessed many things at Nox that were best not discussed at the Deightons’ ball.
Instead of taking her out the front door, Dare escorted her to a small antechamber. “You will wait here while I see about the coach.”
Regan looked gloomily about the room that was serving as a cloakroom. “Are you not worried that I might kiss one of the footmen during your absence?”
His harsh expression softened at her sullen tone. “Behave yourself, mon coeur,” he said lightly. It was the same warning he had offered her when she had written him from school and begged for his assistance. “Talk to no one.”
“With whom shall I converse? You have thrust me into a room with cloaks and mantles!” she replied as Dare vanished from the doorway.
Regan sat down on one of the empty chairs that lined the wall.
Oh, this is truly insupportable.
Dare was treating her as if she were an errant child. Miserable, she stared down at the outfit she had selected for the evening. The round dress composed of mulberry crepe and spotted white satin was something a lady wore, not a child. It had taken her maid hours to plait and curl her hair into tiny ringlets, not to mention threading a long string of pearls and white flowers into her hair.
Regan had not worn the evening dress for Dare. Neither he nor Frost had given any indication that they had planned to join her at the Deightons’ ball. She had donned the dress to please herself, though she privately confessed that Vane’s reaction to her attire had been flattering.
“So, it is you?”
Lady Pashley. Regan could not imagine how this appalling evening could get worse. She rose from the chair and offered the marchioness a tentative smile. “Good evening, my lady. I was not aware that you were acquainted with the Deightons.”
Regan could have bitten her tongue off for implying that the woman lacked the connections to move freely in London’s polite society. “Forgive me, Lady Pashley. What I meant to say is that after our last meeting, I was left with the impression that you had little time for amusements.”
Her apology sounded no better than her greeting.
Regan wisely refrained from commenting further.
Lady Pashley wrinkled her nose in displeasure as she entered the small anteroom. “I do not expect you to understand, Lady Regan. However, appearances must be maintained. The Duke and Duchess of Rhode suggested that an evening out might dispel any nasty speculation about the family.”
The marchioness was attired in a celestial blue round dress. Her headdress was a turban of striped silver gauze and blue satin with five white ostrich plumes. Around her neck she wore a diamond necklace. The old-fashioned setting hinted that the expensive bauble had likely adorned the necks of generations of Mordare women.
She would make a fine duchess one day, Regan thought sourly.
Lady Pashley gestured to the several piles of cloaks, capes, and mantles around them. “This is an odd place to be resting. Where is your family, my dear?”
The insult was beneath even Lady Pashley. It was hardly a secret that Frost was all Regan had left in the world. “Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. I am merely waiting for my coach.”
Regan deliberately did not mention that Dare was escorting her home. If the marchioness realized that her brother-in-law was present, she would certainly contrive some excuse to keep him at her side.
“Ah, yes, say no more.” Lady Pashley’s eyes widened with sympathy. “I would have come to the same conclusion if I had been stuck with Lord Vanewright as dancing partner.”
Feeling cornered, Regan studied the tips of her white kid shoes. “Lord Vanewright was an adequate partner. He was simply dist
racted,” she muttered, silently wondering how many guests had noticed their attempt to dance the quadrille.
“Do not fret, Lady Regan.” The marchioness pouted her lips. “Most of the people that I was standing next to thought your effort was charming.”
Charming.
Regan doubted Lady Pashley was flattering her.
“I will be certain to pass your compliments to Lord Vanewright.” Regan moved toward the door, praying her unwelcome companion would follow. “You have been so kind to remain at my side. However, I would not want to keep you from your friends.”
“It has been no trouble at all,” she said, dismissing her generosity as unimportant. “Hugh would expect nothing less. He would feel it was his duty to look after his good friend’s little sister.”
Regan would not be surprised if Lady Pashley thought the words duty and burden were interchangeable.
Unfortunately, the seed of doubt the marchioness had planted began to take root in Regan’s brain. Dare had had no intention of attending Lord and Lady Deighton’s ball. Had he changed his mind because he felt responsible for her?
Her heart sank at the thought. Not only did he see her as a child, Dare thought her a reckless one, as well.
“I should have known that you would not follow my orders,” Dare said, causing both women to start. His blue-gray eyes switched from Regan to his sister-in-law. “What are you doing here?”
Lady Pashley smiled as she subtly nudged Regan aside. “Nothing that you would not approve of, Hugh. I saw you leave the ballroom with your young charge and thought I might be able to assist.”
Regan fought back the ridiculous urge to stick her tongue out at the condescending marchioness.
Dare stared enigmatically at Regan. “I believe you have done enough. You might want to find Charles. My coachman said that your husband was out near the horses pissing in one Lady Deighton’s ornamental urns.”
“Good heavens!” Lady Pashley paled as she clutched Dare’s arm. “Once you put the girl in her coach, will you return and help me with Charles?”
Regan braced herself for Dare’s apology. He was an honorable man who put his family above all others, even when they did not deserve it. She stifled a sigh as she saw Lady Pashley’s triumphant expression.
After Dark with a Scoundrel Page 8