by Anna Bennett
Will shouldered his way through the crush of guests in Lord Wiltmore’s townhouse, looking for Meg. He greeted his mother, Lady Rebecca, and Miss Winters who were chatting in the parlor and sipping champagne. It was Miss Winters who suggested that he might find Meg in the dining room-turned-dance floor.
The moment he spotted her in the crowded room, shining like a rose-colored diamond, he regretted buying the gown. Now every man at the bloody ball recognized her for the beauty she was. He should have purchased her a shawl to go with it—something to cover all that luminous, smooth skin. Hellfire and damnation.
He stalked toward her, intent on breaking up the circle of young bucks vying for her attention but was halted by someone pulling on his arm. Irritated, he turned.
Dear God. What on earth was his ex-mistress doing at Meg’s ball? “Marina?”
“Will,” she said in an urgent whisper, “may I speak with you privately?”
“It’s really not a good time.” He glanced over at Meg, who was valiantly resisting an invitation to dance. Sooner or later, however, she was bound to cave to the relentless pressure, and if she were going to dance with anyone, it would damned well be him.
Marina heaved a sigh. “I’ve no wish to interrupt your evening, but this pertains to the strange encounters I’ve had. I think I know the identity of the mysterious gentleman … and he’s here.”
“What?” She had his full attention now. “Follow me. The garden will afford us some privacy.”
Will angled past the musicians, and Marina followed him out onto a small stone patio bordered by well-manicured bushes and a vine-laced trellis.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Marina rolled her eyes. “Miss Lacey invited me, if you must know. I feared it might be awkward—”
“I’ll say,” he interrupted.
“—but she and her sisters couldn’t have been more gracious. And I’m glad I came, because I’m almost certain that the man who approached me at Vauxhall Gardens and threatened me at the opera is here.”
Will’s hands curled into fists. “Who?”
“Miss Lacey introduced him as Lord Redmere.”
Will shook his head, disbelieving. “The marquess is the last person I’d suspect. What makes you think he’s the one who’s been harassing you?”
“I can’t say exactly,” Marina said. “But he has a very distinct voice. When he addressed me tonight, I felt a shiver in my bones. I’d wager my best pearl necklace—it’s him.”
Will would have liked to have a bit more evidence to go on than a familiar voice and Marina’s intuition, but it was a start. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Already his mind was scrambling, trying to make sense of the theory. What motive could Redmere possibly have for stalking Marina? The stranger had asked about the twins, their mother, and Meg. Nothing added up.
“Thank you again for the information,” he told Marina. “I doubt Redmere would be so bold as to corner you at the ball tonight, but to be safe, I’d suggest you try to avoid him.”
She shrugged. “I will stay out of his way … but I look forward to seeing what transpires.” With that she turned to make her way inside, and Will followed.
As he entered the dining room, he spotted Meg, still fending off admirers. Fickle bastards. He searched the other clusters of guests peppered around the perimeter of the room, looking for Redmere.
“If I didn’t know better,” a feminine voice at his side said smoothly, “I’d think you were avoiding me.”
He glanced down at Lady Rebecca, trying to mask his exasperation. “Not at all. In fact, I was just looking for your father. I’d like a word with him.”
She arched a brow, and he could tell from her sudden intake of breath that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“Papa was conversing with Lord Wiltmore when last I saw him. Shall I fetch him for you?”
“No. I’ll find him.” Bowing hastily, he took a step toward the parlor. “Excuse me.”
Will barely made it to the doorway before Redmere approached, his gaze calculating. “Evening, Castleton. I saw you talking with Rebecca. I must say, the two of you make a striking pair.”
Redmere had tried to make it sound like a casual observation, but Will knew the man had an agenda … and a piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. “I was just looking for you, Redmere. What do you say we step outside for a moment?”
“If you wish. A nice night for a bit of fresh air.” He patted the front pocket of his pristine evening jacket and smiled conspiratorially. “I’ve smuggled in a couple of cheroots if you’d like to indulge.”
“Not a bad idea,” Will lied. He walked through the dining room once more, catching Meg’s eye this time, and casting a regretful look her way. She frowned slightly, and he vowed to himself that he’d spend the rest of the evening making up for his inattentiveness.
As soon as he dealt with Redmere.
The trio of musicians didn’t miss a note as Will and Redmere angled past them, spilled out into the garden, and moved away from the noise.
The older man reached into his pocket, pulled out a cheroot, and offered it to Will.
“No, thank you.”
Redmere pursed his lips as though vaguely insulted. Will didn’t give a damn.
“Something on your mind, Castleton?” He held the cheroot under his nose and inhaled deeply.
“I understand you’ve been making inquiries into my personal affairs.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Redmere said coolly, “but I can tell you this—I don’t care for your tone.”
Will squared his shoulders. “Then you should cease harassing and questioning innocent parties regarding my business.”
“There’s nothing innocent about your ex-mistress. What makes you think I have any interest in your affairs?”
“I suspect,” Will said conversationally, “that you’re trying to facilitate a match between your daughter and me.”
Redmere shook his head, incredulous. “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, Castleton. For the life of me, I don’t know what Rebecca sees in you. But for some goddamned reason she’s rather smitten. And you’ll be lucky to have her.”
“I’m certain someone will be lucky to have her, but it won’t be me.”
“You might want to rethink your position.” Redmere paced the patio slowly. Threateningly.
“And why is that?”
“You seem to like that governess of yours. The oldest of Wiltmore’s Wallflowers.”
A chill skittered down Will’s spine. “Careful, Redmere. Your fascination with my personal business grows tiresome.”
“Take her as your mistress if you must … but don’t make her your countess.”
“I don’t recall asking your advice.” Will seethed but fought to keep his temper in check. He still needed more information.
“We both know that my daughter is far more suited to the role of countess than the Lacey chit. You’ll soon become bored with the wallflower, toss her aside, and turn into a loving, devoted husband … to Rebecca.”
Will swallowed, struggling to contain the rage pounding in his chest. “That’s why you convinced Lila to take the twins? So I’d have no need for a governess?”
Redmere shrugged. “I didn’t convince Lila so much as bribe her.”
Jesus. Will took a step toward him, backing the marquess up against the trellis. “Were you aware she deposited them in an orphanage at the first opportunity?”
Redmere snorted. “Honestly, what Lila chose to do with the hellions was no concern of mine. All I cared about was removing them from your household before you took Rebecca as your wife. A young bride shouldn’t be expected to rear your by-blows. If you had any brains at all, you’d be thanking me for getting the rascals out of your hair.”
“They are not pests to be exterminated, you bastard. They’re children. And for the record, all your sick, twisted plans were for n
othing. The twins are safe at home, with me. Furthermore, I’m going to marry Miss Lacey.”
“No, you’re not.” Redmere sneered.
“What did you say?” Will took a menacing step toward the marquess, bumping chests with him and hankering for a fight.
“You won’t marry her, because if you do, I’ll tell her you’ve been consorting with your mistress, right under her nose.” Redmere gave a sinister laugh. “I saw you out here with her earlier, and I’d wager I’m not the only one.” He paused to let the implied threat sink in. “I have to hand it to you, Castleton, you’ve got more stones than most men, consorting with one mistress while attending the ball of another.”
The thin thread of Will’s control snapped. He grabbed Redmere by the lapels of his jacket, lifted him off his feet, and shoved him against the trellis, shaking the entire structure.
“What’s going on out here?”
Will looked over his shoulder to see Meg rushing toward them.
“Go inside,” he ordered.
True to form, she ignored him. Jabbing him in the arm, she said, “Lord Redmere is a guest in my home. I must ask you to release him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. We have unfinished business.” He slammed the marquess into the trellis again, splintering the wood at his back. “Isn’t that right, Redmere?”
“I feel obliged to inform you, Miss Lacey,” the man sputtered, “that Lord Castleton has been meeting with his mistress while here, at your ball.”
“Don’t listen to him, Meg. He’s trying to blackmail me into marrying his daughter.”
Meg shot the marquess, who was already quite red in the face, a withering governess stare. “Really, Lord Redmere, your behavior is less than gentlemanly.” Turning her critical eye on Will, she added, “However, I cannot condone any sort of violence toward a guest at a gathering in my home. Once more, I must request that you release him.”
“For God’s sake, Meg, he’s responsible for what happened to the twins.”
“What?”
“He bribed Lila to get rid of them.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her chest rose and fell as she grappled with the knowledge. “In that case,” she said deliberately, “you have my permission to give Lord Redmere exactly what he deserves.”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Will landed a punch squarely in the marquess’s gut. His back broke through the trellis and Will swept Meg out of the way just before the structure collapsed on Redmere, burying him in a pile of lattice and greenery.
At the loud crack of wood, the musicians ceased their playing and craned their necks toward the terrace. The lively strains of a reel were replaced with the pitiful groans of the marquess.
A few curious souls rushed outside, gasping at the utter chaos. Within seconds, it seemed every guest at the ball had squeezed onto the patio to witness the spectacle.
Meg stared at the mess, her face pale with shock. Will could kick himself for ruining her ball … but damn, it had felt good to punch Redmere. And she had given him her blessing.
He shrugged to himself and patted the bump in his breast pocket. He might as well give the ton something else to gape at.
Chapter FORTY-ONE
Heat flooded Meg’s face as London’s elite craned their necks, eager to see the unfolding scandal. Her sisters pushed their way to the front of the crowd, their expressions crestfallen. Beth’s beautiful garden was in a shambles. Lord Redmere’s legs and boots protruded from the pile in a manner that might have made Meg laugh if it hadn’t occurred at the first ball she and her sisters had ever hosted. Or ever would.
She still reeled from the news that he’d orchestrated the twins’ abandonment at the orphanage and had to summon every ounce of self-control she possessed to prevent herself from kicking him in the side as he lay writhing on the ground.
Lady Rebecca emerged from between two rather large matrons, her face contorting with dread as she realized the flailing legs belonged to none other than her father. “Papa?”
It seemed all eyes were on Meg, waiting for her to explain or provide some commentary on the decidedly odd turn the evening’s festivities had taken. She opened her mouth, unsure of what she might say, when Will placed a steadying hand on her back and whispered in her ear, “Allow me.”
To the crowd he said, “Lord Redmere had an unfortunate encounter with the garden trellis”—several ladies gasped sympathetically—“but I am happy to report he is none the worse for the wear.” He found his friend in the throng and addressed him. “Torrington, perhaps you’d be so good as to extract Redmere from the debris and escort him and Lady Rebecca home.”
Lord Torrington unceremoniously grabbed Redmere by one leg, dragged him out of the pile by his ankle, and hauled him to his feet as the guests looked on, aghast. The marquess appeared dazed but not gravely injured.
“You see,” Will said jovially, “I told you he was fine.”
“Oh, Papa!” Rebecca ran to him and threw her arms around his middle, causing him to grimace.
“The ribs may be a bit sore,” Will explained as Lord Torrington ushered the marquess and his daughter through the garden’s back gate.
Meg breathed a sigh of relief as they left without further incident, but the damage had already been done. Just once, she wished that something in her life would go as planned.
“Now then,” Will said to the stunned crowd, “since you’re all gathered here, you might as well stay and hear this.”
Meg blinked. Hear what, precisely?
Will looked into her eyes and took her hands in his. Just as he was about to speak, Uncle Alistair fumbled his way through the guests and stumbled onto the patio, his white hair waving triumphantly.
“At last, congratulations are in order! It is with heartfelt joy and immense delight that I have given this upstanding gentleman my blessing to marry Margaret, my beloved niece. Never was a couple more deserted of happiness. May they live long and improper!”
His nonsensical words echoed through the garden, which then fell silent.
Meg closed her eyes. By all accounts, she should be truly and utterly humiliated. Yet, she felt no shame. Only love.
It surrounded her. Love for her uncle, her sisters, and Charlotte. Love for the twins and Mrs. Hopwood. And, above all, love for Will.
She felt her parents’ presence too, in the twinkling stars above and warm evening breeze tickling the curls at her nape. Their greatest wish had been to make Meg and her sisters happy. Who knew? Perhaps they’d been the ones to bring her and Will together again.
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling, still holding her hands. Beth, Julie, and Charlotte stood to one side of her, nearly bouncing with anticipation. Marina gazed at them, a wistful look in her eyes. Even Will’s mother, Lady Castleton appeared rather misty and uncharacteristically sentimental.
Will cleared his throat. “Thank you for your kind wishes, Lord Wiltmore. However, I haven’t asked her yet.”
Uncle Alistair blinked and waved his cane impatiently. “Then get on with it, man!”
Meg cast an apologetic smile at Will, but he seemed unflustered—and focused on no one but her.
“I confess this evening has not gone even remotely as I planned,” he began. “But that’s the way life is—full of surprises, some wonderful and some tragic. We cannot change the past any more than we can predict what trials we’ll face in the future. But we can choose who’s by our side … and Meg, I want to be by yours, now and always.”
Her chest nearly bursting, she swallowed, then nodded.
“Miss Margaret Lacey,” he said soberly, “you have my heart and my soul. And if you agree to marry me, you’ll make me the happiest man in the world.” He gazed at her, his brown eyes aglow with love. “Please. Say you will.”
It took her a moment to respond, not because she had to consider her answer, but because her throat was thick with emotion. “I love you, and yes. Of course I will!”
The crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers as he lifted an
d spun her around.
“I almost forgot.” He set her on her feet, reached into his pocket, and presented her with a lovely antique ring. “It belonged to my grandmother,” he said, slipping it onto her finger. “She would have adored you.”
“You know,” Lady Castleton said softly, as she dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, “I believe she would have. And even I can see how happy you make my son. You’ll be a fine countess, Miss Lacey.”
The next several minutes were a blur of tears, embraces, and felicitations, but at last, the musicians picked up their instruments and began to play. The guests slowly retreated into the house for refreshments, dancing, and gossip, leaving Will and Meg alone on the terrace.
“Thank you for my lovely gown,” she said, turning so that the pink silk sparkled in the moonlight. “It’s perfect.”
He shrugged. “Valerie and Diana helped me select it. They had very specific requirements.”
“I’m sure they did.” Her heart melted a little more. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, you know.”
“I’m going to try,” he said soberly. “I used to think that the twins would be better off if I kept my distance.”
“And now?”
“I realize they need me as much as I need them.”
She arched a brow. “That’s very sweet.”
“I’m not sweet,” he said with a scowl.
“No?”
“I’m demanding.”
She arched a brow. “How so?”
“Like this.” He pulled her much closer than was proper and twirled her around the patio in time with the music. “I’ve been waiting all night for a dance. But now that we’re dancing, all I can think of is stripping this gown off of you and kissing every inch of your skin.”
Wantonly, she pressed her hips against his, feeling the long, hard length of him. “Is that all?”
He growled, making her shiver deliciously. “Careful, vixen, or I’ll take you to that bench, lift your pretty skirt, and ravish you until you’re crying out in pleasure.”
She glanced at the bench, picturing it. Wanting it. “I miss you,” she admitted.
“Come visit the twins tomorrow. During their nap, you and I can steal a few minutes alone.”