It shouldn’t have pleased him that someone as dark and dangerous as the earl held little appeal to her. He had gleaned enough from Ravens to understand that the gentleman enjoyed a certain degree of depravity that no true lady would tolerate. Derrick deduced from her surprise at his friendship with Ravens that she did not cast him in the same light. It was a pity that he could not agree. His presence in London was not entirely noble, and before he was done, she might view him as a villain.
Before they entered the drawing room, he deliberately covered his left hand over hers, drawing her attention. “Good. I would not wish to face Lord Ravens at dawn.”
Her blue-green eyes widened at his quiet admission. The implication that he had been willing to fight the earl for her affections startled her. He had hoped to flatter her. Most ladies would have been thrilled to have two gentlemen coming to blows in their honor.
Lady Ellen’s gaze nervously shifted from him to the elderly woman who was holding court across the room with several ladies seated around her. The visible relief on her face revealed that he had made a slight miscalculation in his attempt to impress her.
“Ah, I see my mother, Lady Netherley. She will likely scold me for tarrying too long with the flowers, when I promised to help with the children.” To his dismay, her expression brightened at the prospect of abandoning him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Swainsbury. Will you be staying in town long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Derrick’s gaze narrowed as he noted that most of the gentlemen in the drawing room were observing them. Three of them were already making their way toward Lady Ellen in hopes of speaking to her before she reached her mother’s side. He had the irrational desire to push her behind him and growl at the encroaching interlopers, but he had to earn her trust first.
“I do not understand,” she said, puzzled by his enigmatic response.
He was spared from responding by the approach of a fetching blonde.
The two women embraced. “Where have you been hiding?” Her gaze assessed him from head to toe. There was admiration and speculation displayed on her countenance. “Or more importantly with whom?”
Lady Ellen blushed again. “Margery, allow me to present Lord Swainsbury. My lord, this is my good friend, Lady Oxlade. Lord Swainsbury is a good friend of Lord Ravens’s.”
The lady’s enthusiasm diminished when the earl’s name was mentioned. “How do you do, my lord?”
Derrick was not offended. It boded well that Lady Ellen had sensible friends who would not approve of her associating with Lord Ravens.
To discourage any concern that he was cut from the same cloth, he said, “My estate and far-reaching business interests have made me a stranger in town. Lord Ravens was kind enough to take pity on me since I am without family during the holidays.”
Sympathy replaced the hint of disapproval on Lady Oxlade’s delicate features. “Oh, it is simply terrible to be alone, when one should be surrounded by loved ones.”
He longed to rub the ache in his chest. “I concur, my lady,” he said, unable to conceal the wistfulness in his voice.
Lady Ellen had noticed. “Where is your family, Lord Swainsbury?”
Derrick audibly exhaled. “I am all that remains of my family.” He saw the pity on both women’s faces and silently cursed. He had hoped to gain Lady Ellen’s interest in another manner, but he would have been a fool not to take advantage of her sympathy.
Her eyes shined brightly with compassion. “I am sorry for your losses, my lord.”
Lady Oxlade nodded. “With the Courtland family, no man is a stranger. Especially at Christmastide, the house is open to one and all.”
It was precisely as he had feared. Before he could respond, a gentleman approached them.
“Lady Ellen, may I have a private word with you before I take my leave?”
Derrick glared at the newcomer, but the other man’s gaze was wholly focused on the lady. His annoyance climbed when Lady Ellen seemed to be quite familiar with the gentleman.
“I hope you are not bored with our family gathering, Lord Pountney,” she teased, causing Derrick to grind his back molars.
“Regrettably, I have another commitment that I must attend,” the gentleman confessed, clasping Lady Ellen’s hand between his own. He was a good-looking man with dark blond hair and a face that was fashioned to set a lady’s heart fluttering.
Derrick had witnessed enough. The man was not to be trusted.
Recalling her companions, Lady Ellen’s gaze shifted to him. She offered him a half-smile. “Lord Pountney, I am being rude. You have met Lady Oxlade, yes?”
The blue-eyed scoundrel acknowledged the lady by inclining his head. “Indeed. Pray, give your husband my regards.”
“I will,” Lady Oxlade replied. “He will be disappointed to have missed you.”
Lady Ellen extended her hand toward Derrick. “And this is Lord Swainsbury. My lord, may I present Thomas Josland, Viscount Pountney.”
Lord Pountney’s expression was bland, but Derrick noticed his stance and bow were stiff with annoyance. It appeared they shared something in common, after all.
“Swainsbury.” He frowned. “I thought you were elderly.”
The dry statement had Lady Ellen gaping in shock at her friend. “Pountney, could you be any more obnoxious! Apologize at once.”
The viscount’s mouth tightened at her order. He was clearly reluctant to yield, but he did not want to lose the lady’s affection. “Forgive me, sir. I must have been mistaken.”
“Perhaps you have confused me with my uncle,” Derrick said, his teeth flashing as he grinned. “I inherited the title from him six years ago.”
The anger faded from Pountney’s flawless face. “Ah, then that explains it.” He turned, deliberately positioning his body so Lady Ellen could no longer see Derrick. “My darling lady, walk me to the door. I have a few things to tell you, and then I must dash off.”
“Oh, very well.” Lady Ellen surrendered too easily to Pountney’s ploy to separate her from Derrick and Lady Oxlade. She peered over the viscount’s shoulder. “Margery, will you tell Mama that I will return so she does not send Vane after me?”
“Leave the task to me.” The blonde tilted her head at the viscount. “Lord Pountney, I trust you will behave yourself?”
“And risk Vanewright’s ire?” He dismissed her question with a laugh.
“Lord Swainsbury,” Lady Ellen glanced back, even while Pountney was leading her away. “I hope we get a chance to talk again.”
The couple disappeared from view. Every muscle in his body urged him to follow them.
Lady Oxlade cleared her throat to gain his attention. “You needn’t fret over Ellen.”
The woman thought he was jealous. “Was that what I was doing?”
“My dear friend has been expertly managing gentlemen like Lord Pountney since her first ball.”
Lady Ellen did not appear to be managing anyone. In fact, Derrick was certain she was a willing participant in her departure.
“She seems fond of him,” he said, striving for neutral tones.
“And he has gone to great lengths to endear himself to her and the family.”
Derrick was pleased to see Vanewright leave the drawing room with a dark-haired gentleman. At least Lady Ellen’s departure had not gone unnoticed by her family.
“Of course, not everyone likes him.” Lady Oxlade leaned closer. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Upon my honor.”
“Lady Ellen will marry, but it will not be Lord Pountney,” she whispered.
“How do you know?”
“I know my friend,” the blonde said with resounding confidence. “However, the viscount is determined to claim that dowry, but he is not the only gentleman in this room who hopes to succeed.”
Derrick had counted thirty guests this evening. More than half of them were male. “Who else is seeking Lady Ellen’s hand?”
“New admirers present themselves each day.
By Twelfth Night, who knows?” she said with a delicate shrug.
He was running out of time. Lord Netherley’s intent to marry off his youngest daughter had brought a murderer into their midst, and not even Derrick could identify him. How could he subtly investigate dozens of suitors without drawing attention to himself or alerting the man he sought?
The dowry was the key.
Unfortunately, that placed the comely Lady Ellen in the unenviable position of being the bait.
Chapter Four
“Well, that was unpleasant,” Ellen declared after her brother and the Earl of Chillingsworth—who went by the nickname Frost—had ensured that Lord Pountney had not lingered in the front hall with her as they had said their farewells.
Afterward Vane had taken her by the hand and practically dragged her into the library for a private chat.
“Brandy for your nerves, brat?” Frost held up the bottle in silent invitation.
She stomped over to the nearest chair and sat down. “No, thank you,” Ellen said with false politeness. She glared at her brother. “You do realize that you owe Lord Pountney an apology.”
“I disagree. Pountney is a fawning arse.” Vane sneered over his glass of brandy. “The only reason why he didn’t try to kiss you before our timely arrival is because he’s too weary pressing his lips to our father’s boney backside.”
“Vane!” she exclaimed, appalled by her brother’s accusation.
“Pountney isn’t the only one puckering up,” he ruthlessly continued, warming to the topic. “Even without Father in attendance this evening, I counted five greedy bastards…”
“No, there were at least seven,” Frost countered.
“Seven!” Ellen wailed. She had been excusing herself from the drawing room since her arrival, and had not bothered counting them all. “Papa has gone too far.”
“Greedy bastards, each and every one of them.” Her brother seethed with indignation. “I want the names of every gent who dares to touch you without your permission. A few dawn appointments should cool their ardor.”
“You will need someone to act as your second,” Frost said, always relishing a fight. “I volunteer for the task.”
Frost’s new bride would never forgive her if something happened to her husband. “Emily will not approve,” Ellen said tersely.
“No, she will not,” the earl said, too agreeably for her liking. “However, I thoroughly enjoy working my way back into her good graces. When all is said and done, she will thank us both.”
The notion was too disconcerting. “Why would she thank me?”
“It isn’t for innocent ears, my sweet.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I will explain everything in detail once you have bedded one of the desperate gents you have panting after you.”
“You mean after her dowry,” Vane corrected, sounding as bitter as she had been when their father had revealed what he had done. “And there will be a wedding before there is any bedding. Is that clear?”
Ellen shook her head in disgust. “I cannot believe it.”
“Believe what, sweet?” Frost asked.
“That I am actually listening to you two charming dissemblers.” She raised her hands and implored to the heavens. “You are aware that I am acquainted with your wives, are you not? I know things.”
Actually, Ellen was guilty of lying, too. Isabel and Emily were too polite and ladylike to mention anything so intimate. However, the Lords of Vice had earned their reputations, and she had heard rumors about their conquests. It was a safe bet that Vane and Frost had been impatient and claimed their ladies before their weddings.
In truth, she thought it was wonderfully romantic, though she was too vexed with their interference to admit it.
Vane paled as he considered the possibilities of what she had been discussing with the married women in their family. Frost, much to her dismay, appeared mildly curious.
“Things … too generalized a word and not very gratifying.” The earl patted the armrest of his chair. “Come closer and we’ll explore—”
“Frost.”
The man sighed. “Naturally, you would deprive me of what would likely be a very entertaining exchange.”
“If you are finished lecturing me about my unwanted suitors, I will return to the drawing room.” Ellen stood and stifled a yawn. “There is no need for any concern. I doubt anyone will try to seduce me in front of Mama and the other ladies.”
Her brother and Frost were too astute to miss the sarcasm in her tone. She pivoted and headed for the door.
“What about the other one?”
Perplexed, she glanced back. “Who?”
Frost spoke up. “Brown hair, gray eyes … wearing the dark blue waistcoat. He was very displeased when Pountney showed up. Thought we were going to have a brawl in the drawing room.” He grinned at his friend. “Best of all, someone else would be to blame for a change.”
Ellen thought of those final moments in the drawing room. “You are wrong. Lord Swainsbury was a perfect gentleman.”
“Swainsbury … are you positive that is his name?” her brother asked as he turned to address his friend. “I remember an older gentleman sitting in the House of Lords.”
“I heard he died. Thought the title had died with him.” The earl finished his brandy and reached for the bottle.
“I assume both of you are correct,” Ellen said, recalling what Lord Swainsbury had revealed. “The earl inherited the title six years ago from his uncle. He mentioned that he is the last of his line and travels often so he has few friends in London. Well, except for Lord Ravens.”
“What of Ravens?” Vane sent his friend a sharp, meaningful look.
“Simply that your friend knows him. Lord Swainsbury is here as Lord Ravens’s guest. I thought you were aware of this?”
Frost shrugged. He was not concerned by her news, because he considered the other man a good friend.
“Perhaps I should speak to this Swainsbury in private,” her brother muttered just as she was about to walk away.
Instead, she pivoted and marched toward her older sibling. After observing her brother’s humiliating behavior with Lord Pountney, she did not want the earl to suffer the same fate.
“I forbid you to approach Lord Swainsbury.” Ellen poked a finger in Vane’s face. “Lord Ravens has vouched for him—”
“Ravens possesses a very generous nature,” Frost said to no one in particular. “I will speak to him about Swainsbury. Discreetly, of course.”
“And he has suffered loss. Mayhap recently. Where is your charitable heart, dear brother?”
Vane closed his eyes as he struggled not to lose his temper. “Have you considered, dear sister, that your Lord Swainsbury is just another gentleman in pursuit of your dowry? Perhaps he is cleverer than the rest?”
“Nonsense! He is Lord Ravens’s friend and nothing more,” she said, deciding not to mention her reaction to the stranger. There was no point in provoking her brother. “Besides, I did not sense any flirtation or interest from Lord Swainsbury.”
Ellen walked out of the library before her brother could argue.
“That is where you’re wrong, little sister.” Vane stared at the vacant threshold where his sister had stood. “Whatever his reasons … Swainsbury is most definitely interested in you.”
* * *
Ellen had had overheard her brother’s parting remark, but chose not to remain and debate him. Vane was just being overprotective because he was unhappy with their father’s high-handedness with the dowry. Susan had accused her of sulking, and she supposed that she was to a certain extent. What overshadowed her sense of injustice was her increasing despair toward the man who had caused all of this mischief.
Lord Netherley.
They had made plans for him to attend this evening’s rout at Vane’s house. It was to be their father’s first outing since his last debilitating attack. Even though he was no longer bedridden, Lord Netherley had politely declined joining his family at the last minute.
“Isn’t it enough that Lady Netherley has invited half of London into my house this month!” he had thundered when it was suggested that Dr. Ramsey should be summoned. “I won’t have a single minute of peace until Twelfth Night has passed. Leave me to my conservatory. My plants and trees need tending.”
Ellen had seen through her father’s bluster. He had not wanted anyone to know he was too weak to endure an evening out of the house. “I wish you were feigning illness in a futile attempt to avoid my displeasure, Papa,” she sadly whispered. “We have so little time left and you want to saddle me with a husband that I do not desire.”
Espying a bench just outside the drawing room, Ellen sat down to compose herself. It wasn’t as if she was precisely against marriage. The seven notorious Lords of Vice had each fallen in love and married. Many considered it a miracle. The ton had yet to recover from the shock. Was it wrong for her to wait for someone so unexpected and wonderful to come into her life that it seemed equally astounding?
Yes, it is.
With a soft groan, she rose to her feet. No more hiding. Her admirers awaited just beyond the doors of the drawing room.
“Lady Ellen.”
Fulton Tovey, Marquess of Hawksword stepped in front of her when she entered the room. He was not alone. Valentine, or rather, Troy Alexandra Valentine, Earl of Montridge had joined him.
“Gentlemen,” she said genially. “How most unexpected to see you here.” Surely, that cursed dowry had not prompted her friends to consider sacrificing their freedom and common sense at the marriage altar.
Her acquaintance with both gentlemen spanned an unflattering amount of years. She had been introduced to Hawksword when she was six years old. He had proven his devotion by pushing her down into the mud and ruining her favorite dress. She had returned the favor by blackening his left eye. When Vane had learned of the boy’s cruelty, he had blackened Hawksword’s other eye. After a few more childish incidents, they had gradually become friends.
Ellen had crossed paths with Valentine just before her eighteenth birthday. Admittedly, her romantic heart had swelled and pounded within her breast as he impressed her with his dark, sultry looks that suggested his lineage included a Roman conqueror. He had been the first gentleman to boldly kiss her. At the time, she had thought herself in love, but the earl’s affection had not been constant. An hour later, she had caught him kissing one of her friends.
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