If only she hadn’t given in to the temptation to wear emerald green tonight, perhaps she wouldn’t have ended up being ogled by a loathsome toad like Teaksbury. But she’d always loved this dress, which had been languishing in the back of her wardrobe for ages. And honestly she was tired of being condemned no matter what she wore or how she behaved. In for a penny, in for a pound, she’d thought when she made the selection. Now, however, she wished she’d stuck to her usual somber dark blue or black, no matter how dreary those shades might seem.
Ah well, I shall be leaving shortly, so what does it really matter?
“Why, that’s absolutely fascinating,” Thalia said with false politeness as she cut Teaksbury off midsentence. “You’ll have to excuse me now, Lord Teaksbury. After all, I wouldn’t want to be accused of monopolizing your company tonight.”
Teaksbury opened his mouth—no doubt to assure her that he didn’t mind in the least. But she had already set down her glass, turned on a flourish of emerald skirts and started toward the door.
She had made it about a quarter of the length of the room when a tall figure stepped suddenly into her path, blocking her exit. She gazed up, then up again, into a boldly masculine face and a pair of green-gold eyes that literally stole her breath. The man sent her a dashing, straight-toothed smile, candlelight glinting off the burnished golden brown of his casually brushed hair in a way that only increased his appeal.
Saints above, she thought as her heart knocked hard inside her chest, her pulse leaping as it hadn’t leapt in years—if it ever had at all.
Schooling her features so they revealed none of her inner turmoil, she gave him a polite nod. “Pardon me, sir.” She waited, expecting him to step aside.
Instead, he executed an elegant bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Leopold Byron. My intimates, however, call me Leo.”
Arrogant, isn’t he? Well, she’d met arrogant men before, many times.
She gave him a long, cool stare. “Do they? How nice for them. Now I must insist you step aside. We haven’t been properly introduced. As you ought to know, a gentleman never speaks directly to a lady with whom he is not acquainted. Pity one of your intimates isn’t here to do the honors. Good evening.”
She took a step to the right.
He matched her move, impeding her path once again. “Shall I go find our host, then?” he asked pleasantly. “I’m sure Elmore would be happy to affect an introduction. Frankly, though, it seems like a great lot of bother, particularly since we are conversing already.”
Reaching toward the tray of a passing servant, he picked up two glasses. “Champagne?” he offered. Smiling that devastating smile again, he held out one of the crystal flutes with its golden draught effervescing inside.
Audacious as well as arrogant. That and handsome in a sinful way no man had a right to be.
Call me Leo, indeed.
She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused, particularly since she was sure part of his strategy in waylaying her was to provoke a strong reaction. Still, she found herself accepting one of the proffered glasses, if for no other reason than to give herself time to steady her nerves.
“Since I doubt you’ll volunteer your name, not without Elmore’s aid at least,” Lord Leo continued, “I suppose I must try guessing on my own. Lady Thalia Lennox, is it not?”
The wine suddenly turned sour on her tongue.
Of course, she realized, she ought to have known that he was only playing games and knew her by reputation. Everyone in the Ton did, it seemed—even if they wouldn’t associate with her any longer. “Then you have me at even more of a disadvantage than I realized.”
“Not at all, since we have only just met and need time to learn about one another.”
“I am sure you’ve heard all you need to know about me. Divorce trials will do that for a woman. Now, if you’ll—”
“If you’re concerned I mind a sheen of scandal, I don’t. I’ve weathered a few of them myself over the years, so such matters make no difference to me.”
He’d been embroiled in scandals, had he? Vaguely she remembered mention of various members of the Byron family involved in deeds that had shocked Society at one time or another. But none of their acts had made any of the Byrons outcasts. And being that Lord Leo was a man, the Ton was, of course, more apt to forgive, no matter how serious the trespasses might have been.
As for his “over the years” remark, he didn’t look old enough to have weathered all that many scandals. In fact, just how old was he? Certainly not her own one-and-thirty, even if he had the confidence of a man in his prime.
Regardless of scandals and age, she had no interest in setting up flirtation with a stranger. “It has been . . . interesting meeting you, Lord Leopold, but I really must be going.”
“Why? It is early yet. Surely you can remain a while longer?”
“Truly, I cannot,” she said.
He gave her a shrewd look, as if he saw right through her excuses. “Afraid you might enjoy yourself? Or are you worried I’m going to stare down your dress like Teaksbury?”
Her mouth dropped open before she could recall herself.
“It was rather hard to miss that crass display of his,” Lord Leo remarked. “The man’s a boor. It’s a wonder he wasn’t actually drooling. Not that I can entirely blame him, given your irresistible feminine charms. Still, were I to feast my eyes upon you, I promise it would leave you in no doubt of my sincere admiration.”
Slowly, his gaze dipped down, moving gradually over her body in a way that felt almost like a caress.
When he met her eyes again, his own were alight with unrepentant desire. “You are the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld. Even a god would find himself tempted by you.”
A hot flush burst over her skin, shocking her with its force. Only barely did she resist the urge to reach up and cover her hot cheeks with her hands. The sensation was truly singular considering she hadn’t blushed since her girlhood and her first London Season.
Experienced women did not blush.
Yet this outrageous lord with his heart-stopping smile and velvety voice roused emotions in her that she hadn’t realized she still possessed.
“Now,” he said, “why don’t we go somewhere more private so we can get even better acquainted? I have my coach just outside. And please, I insist you call me Leo. As I said before, all my intimates do.”
All his bedmates, he meant, his meaning clear.
Without even knowing what she intended, she flung the contents of her glass up into his face, champagne splashing everywhere.
He blinked wine out of his eyes, a stunned expression on his wet face.
“You and I shall never be intimates. Good night, Lord Leopold.”
Spinning around, she marched toward the door.
As she did, she caught sight of a man standing across the room—a man she would have sworn was Leopold Byron had she not known he was still dripping somewhere behind her. Her step wobbled slightly as her mind worked to figure out the unexpected anomaly.
Twins? Good God, are there two of him?
And his brother was laughing, making no effort at all to contain his mirth.
Well, let him laugh. Impudent beast, just like his sibling.
As for the rest of the guests whose stares pierced her from all directions, she was used to such scrutiny.
The entire incident would be in tomorrow’s papers, of course.
But what do I care? Tossing champagne into a man’s face was nothing, not compared with what she’d been through already. For when you’ve known the worst, the rest was naught but a trifle.
* * *
Leo withdrew a white silk handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dried his face as he watched Thalia Lennox disappear from view with a final flourish of her green skirts.
Lawrence appeared at his side moments later, his grin so wide it was a wonder it didn’t split his cheeks.
“Well, that went swimmingly,” Lawrence said, with a he
arty chuckle. “Had her eating right out of the palm of your hand, at least until she decided to give you a champagne bath!” He laughed again. “You owe me twenty quid. Pay up.”
“I will when we get home.” Leo wiped briefly at his sodden cravat before giving up.
“What on earth did you say to her anyway? I knew she’d rebuff you, but not with quite so much enthusiasm.”
Somewhat begrudgingly, Leo provided him with a brief recounting.
Lawrence erupted into fresh gales of laughter, so loud the outburst drew every eye.
“Oh, do shut up, won’t you?” Leo told his brother with a grumble. “I think there might be one scullery maid in the kitchen who hasn’t heard you.”
Rubbing moisture from the corners of his eyes, Lawrence did his best to silence his mirth, though his lips continued to twitch. “My condolences for your loss.” He laid a consoling hand on Leo’s shoulder. “You know what your trouble is?”
Leo sent him a baleful look. “I’m certain you shall be happy to illuminate me.”
“You’re too used to being fawned over by women. When was the last time one of them turned you down? You were what? Fifteen?”
“Thirteen,” Leo countered, unable to repress a grin. “Remember that gorgeous little chambermaid at Braebourne? She never did let me steal more than a kiss.”
Lawrence’s eyes twinkled with clear recollection. “She let me steal two.”
Leo shot him a fresh glare.
“Never say you weren’t warned,” Lawrence continued. “I told you the ex–Lady K. would knock you down and kick you into a convenient corner. From now on, stick to more accessible, and appreciative, females.”
Leo considered his twin’s remark. “I do not believe I shall.”
“What! But surely you’ve had enough?”
“No,” he said, his gut tightening with the knowledge that he wanted Thalia Lennox, now more than ever. She’d said they would never be intimate, but he’d learned long ago the mistake of saying never, since fate had an interesting way of turning matters on their head.
“She may have eluded me tonight, but our paths will cross again. And when they do . . .”
“You’re deluded, that’s what you are,” Lawrence said.
Leo grinned. “No, just determined. Now, how about making our excuses to our host and finding some company with a bit more fire in their blood? Fancy a game of cards or dice? I know a prime hell we haven’t tried.”
Lawrence’s eyes brightened. “By all means, lead on, brother mine.”
Slapping a hand across his twin’s shoulder, Leo led the way.
Chapter 2
Four mornings later, Thalia sat at the writing desk in her small study and added a last few lines to the letter she was penning to her friend Jane Frost. Satisfied after a quick final perusal, she laid her quill aside. She then sanded the ink dry and folded the missive into a neat square before sealing it with hot wax from the nearby candle, which she blew out the moment the task was complete.
Once, she would have thought nothing of letting the taper burn down to a nub, but the past few years had taught her the expense of items such as candles and the wisdom of frugal living.
Actually, despite her straitened circumstances, she counted herself lucky that she was able to live in a decent part of London. Were it not for the small unencumbered legacy that had been left to her by her maternal grandmother, which included the furnished London town house and enough money to maintain it, she would have had nothing. But to her everlasting gratitude, the bequest had somehow miraculously escaped inclusion in her marriage settlement.
Gordon had seen to it that she hadn’t received so much as a farthing from him in their divorce, and had kicked her out of his family’s massive ancestral residence in Grosvenor Square with nothing but the clothes on her back that dreadful June day so many years ago.
Her lady’s maid, Parker, had taken pity and, with the help of a footman who’d had a soft spot for Parker, had spirited out a couple of trunks of Thalia’s clothes a few days later. Even so, she hadn’t gotten so much as an additional handkerchief after that, not even the jewels that had been hers prior to her marriage.
Under the law, everything she’d owned belonged to Gordon, down to the last hairpin and thimble. Sadly, that had included a string of hundred-year-old pearls that had been passed down to her from her great-grandmother. She’d pleaded with him for their return, but he’d laughed and said he’d sold them, along with all the other “unwanted baggage” she’d left in the house. He hadn’t wanted her possessions, but spiteful to the end, he’d made sure she didn’t get any of them back.
The luxurious emerald green dress she’d worn to Elmore’s party the other evening had been one of the gowns packed inside that long-ago trunk of clothes from her maid. The dress had been involved in a sea of trouble then and it had caused her nothing but trouble again.
Call me Leo.
A memory of Byron’s velvety voice rang inside her head once again, warm and silky as a caress.
She shivered, her eyelids sliding a fraction of an inch lower. He really had been arrestingly handsome and surprisingly charming—at least until he’d made his outrageous proposition to her.
But why was she thinking of Lord Leopold anyway? It’s not as if she would be seeing him again. Time to move along, just as she always did.
She gave herself a hard shake.
He was nothing but an impudent rogue bent on sowing a fresh crop of wild oats. Well, he would just have to sow them with someone else, since in spite of her reputation, she didn’t dally with men.
Rising from her chair, she brushed a quick hand over the skirt of her day dress, then crossed the room to give the bellpull a tug.
Ten minutes passed before a discreet knock sounded at the door. A stoop-shouldered old manservant in black livery entered. His hair was as wispy and white as dandelion fluff, his body so thin as to be almost skeletal, even though Thalia knew he ate three hearty meals a day down in the servants’ hall.
“You rang, milady,” he said on a gruff croak that sometimes reminded her of a bullfrog.
“Yes, Fletcher,” she said, “I have a letter to mail. Has the postboy been by yet?”
“Nay. He should be here soon enough, though. I’ll see this is added to the others going out.”
“Excellent.” She smiled and held out the letter for him to take. “And would you inform Mrs. Grove that I shall be going out this afternoon and would like an early dinner on my return. I shall be attending an auction at Christie’s. Please ask Boggs to ready the coach so that we may leave by eleven o’clock.”
“Of course, milady.” Fletcher executed a stiff bow. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
She knew “immediately” would be some while, but that was all right. Fletcher moved as quickly as his old bones could take him and she’d allowed plenty of time for her journey to the auction house on Pall Mall.
Once Fletcher left, she went to her desk and picked up the catalogue for that afternoon’s sale. Within its pages was a listing of all the items for sale, together with descriptions and ink renderings of the most interesting lots.
She kept an eye on the London auction houses in hopes that she would stumble across some of her old possessions. Of course she couldn’t afford to buy back the truly expensive pieces such as her jewelry and silverware, but every once in a great while one of the less costly bits showed up.
So far, she’d managed to reclaim a flowered Sevres teapot and four matching cups and saucers whose provenance showed they had once “belonged” to Lord Kemp.
She’d also bid for and won a ladies’ sewing basket with an embroidered motif of blue birds, lilacs and lily of the valley on its cushioned top. She’d recognized the basket instantly, since she had done the needlework herself—her tiny initials were still on the inside-right corner, exactly where she’d placed them.
And lastly, she’d bought a small oil painting depicting the village near her parents’ country estate that had once a
dorned the wall of her childhood bedroom. She’d paid rather more for it than she’d wished, but the painting had been worth every farthing, since seeing it brought a smile to her face each and every morning when she woke.
Now there was another possible item to recover.
She’d found it in the current Christie’s catalogue and, from the description, strongly suspected the keepsake was one of her “lost” belongings. A porcelain Meissen trinket box made in the last century, it had a pair of hand-painted black-and-white kittens in a basket on its top—just like the one her father had given her as a gift for her fifteenth birthday. She’d been crushed to lose the piece, so she was cautiously excited that it might be hers once again.
Assuming the bidding didn’t go too high.
At a previous auction, there had been a pair of silver and ivory hair combs that she had desperately wanted back. But the auction price had started high and quickly escalated far beyond the bounds of her meager budget. If the porcelain box proved to be the one her father had given her, she prayed that today’s audience would be packed full of dog lovers who had no interest whatsoever in the precious little cat trinket box.
Brimming with nervous excitement, she went to make ready for her departure.
* * *
Two hours later, Leo Byron walked slowly along the rows of numbered auction items that had been set out for prospective bidders to peruse prior to the official commencement of the sale. He held a copy of the Christie’s auction catalogue rolled up in his hand, his selections having already been made before he’d ever set foot past the door.
In spite of that, he always made a point to personally view any items he was thinking about purchasing, rather than taking anyone else’s word for their condition or authenticity. Not that he doubted Christie’s integrity, since it was quite justifiably regarded as the premier auction house for arts and antiquities. But to his way of thinking, a man needed to judge matters for himself. That way if he made a mistake, he had no one but himself to blame.
He’d come today specifically to bid on a fifth-century B.C. Athenian red-figured water jar depicting a scene from the Trojan Wars. Signed by a known maker, it was a beautiful example of the period and would make an excellent addition to his collection. There was a small Grecian marble sculpture of dancing nymphs that he rather liked as well and planned to acquire if the price was right.
The Bedding Proposal Page 2