“Are you breeding, dear sister?”
Used to her brother’s frank speech, Regan ignored the other women’s soft gasps and replied with equal candor. “I do not believe so. What about you? Any bastards in the family, well, besides you, of course?” she asked sweetly.
Frost barked with laughter, his unusual turquoise-blue eyes gleaming with admiration. “I do not believe so,” he said, echoing her words.
Dare looked as if he could happily murder his brother-in-law in front of everyone. Vane half expected the man to leap from the settee and stalk across the room.
Saint, who was sitting beside Dare, seemed to also pick up on their friend’s growing ire. “Quit while you’re ahead, Frost. I doubt being related to you by marriage will prevent Dare from pounding out his displeasure on your pretty face.”
“I concur,” Dare said, his eyes narrowing on Frost. “Quit pestering my wife.”
Uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the drawing room, Sophia reached for Reign’s hand. Her husband squeezed to let her know that all was well. Vane felt a pang of sympathy for the young countess. When she was a girl, her parents had been murdered during a violent altercation.
“I believe I will check on our daughter,” she said to Reign.
“Give her a kiss from me,” Reign said, pressing his lips to his lady’s hand. The scathing look he gave Frost could have melted stone. The earl was very protective of Sophia, though she had proved that she was stronger than she appeared.
Regan cuddled Henry in her arms as she stood. “Juliana, I think your son needs tending.”
The marchioness exchanged a quiet look with Sin before she rose from her chair and held out her arms. “Here, give him to me.” To the Lords of Vice, she said, “Try not to break the furniture in our absence.”
Hunter saluted Frost with his glass of brandy. “She said nothing about lumping on your pate.”
* * *
“An entertaining evening, I must say,” Saint said as he, Vane, and Hunter settled in for the drive back to Nox. The night was still young, and the men had planned to pass the rest of the evening at the club. “Never expected to witness a pugilist demonstration in Sin’s drawing room.”
Hunter chuckled. “Marriage has clearly not softened Dare’s fist.”
“Frost was fortunate that Dare did nothing more than bloody the man’s lip,” Vane said, admiring their friend’s restraint. “He should be spitting out teeth for his careless remarks.”
Saint closed his eyes. “Frost isn’t cruel. It’s obvious Dare and Regan never told him.”
“Told him what?” Hunter asked, his gaze sliding from Vane to Saint.
So Frost was not the only one who didn’t know. Vane hesitated, reluctant to gossip about one of his closest friends.
“What?”
Saint’s eyes snapped open. “Hunter, Regan was with child. She lost the babe,” he said solemnly.
Hunter cursed under his breath. “When?”
“A few weeks after Henry was born,” Vane replied. “She wasn’t far along, but—” Dare and Regan had been excited about having a child, especially after holding Sin and Juliana’s son in their arms.
“Why did no one tell me?” Hunter demanded, annoyed that no one had bothered to share the sad news with him.
Vane shrugged. “You were north when it happened. Besides, I thought Dare told you. No one really talks about it.”
“Dare should have told Frost,” Saint muttered after a few minutes of silence.
Vane frowned, feeling the need to defend their friend. “Dare already blames himself for not taking better care of Regan. He doesn’t need Frost blaming him, too.”
Hunter sighed. “Dare isn’t to blame. And Regan … she’s young. There will be other babes.”
Vane agreed. Regan was strong and healthy, and too stubborn to allow anything to stand in her way. The next child she held in her arms would most likely be her own.
“Just don’t tell Frost.”
Hunter’s upper lip curled at Saint’s warning. He might have been ignorant of the loss of Dare and Regan’s child, but the man wasn’t stupid. “I’d like to keep my teeth, too!”
* * *
Isabel untied her sister’s stays. She did not mind playing lady’s maid; she had often performed the task at home. Mrs. Allen sent one of her daughters upstairs to assist her and Delia as they prepared for an evening, but Isabel saw no point in making the poor girl wait up for them.
“I liked Lord and Lady Wodgen,” her sister said, exhaling noisily and making a low sound of relief after she was freed from her stays.
Isabel laid the undergarment over one of the chairs to allow it to air out. “As do I. It was a pleasant way to spend an evening.”
Thanks to their benevolent benefactor, Lady Netherley, the two women had been invited to a card party. No more than twenty-five people had been present, and Isabel had felt honored to have been included. They had played whist and speculation, and later there had been a hot supper. Isabel had expected to see Lord Vanewright again, but he and his friends had not been invited. When she’d asked about the oversight, Lady Netherley muttered something about a regrettable incident and quickly changed the subject.
It was her whist partner, Lady Kempe, who brought up the Lords of Vice. “I mean no disrespect to their families, but it would be best to refrain from engaging in conversation with those wicked gentlemen.” The countess gazed pointedly at Isabel, much to her chagrin.
Intrigued by these mysterious men, Delia asked in hushed tones, “Who are these Lords of Vice?”
“Frost, Sin, Reign, Hunter, Dare, Vane, and Saint. Handsome devils,” Lady Howland murmured, ignoring Lady Kempe’s wordless admonishment for praising such villainous creatures. “And difficult to avoid during the social season. Much is forgiven when a man has a respectable title and wealth, and a family has a daughter or two to marry off.”
Lady Kempe nodded as she played a card. “Well, except for Lord Wodgen. He has not quite forgiven Frost and Vane for their mischief.”
Vane. The countess could not possibly be referring to Lord Vanewright. Stunned, Isabel stared across the table at Lady Kempe. “Vane. You speak of Lord Vanewright?”
The older woman seemed to relish Isabel’s surprise. “Didn’t Lady Netherley tell you that her son was one of the notorious founders of that troublesome club, Nox? I suppose not, considering how she dotes on him.”
Isabel sat back in her chair, no longer interested in the cards on the table.
“Now, Myra, one could hardly fault Lady Netherley,” Lady Howland chided her friend. “After all, she and her husband lost their eldest boy, William, during the Battle of Villers-en-Cauchies in 1794.”
“Netherley’s true heir was a lieutenant colonel in the Fifteenth Light Dragoons,” Lady Kempe added. “Such a decent young man. His death was a tragedy for the family and the ton.”
Lady Howland’s eyes misted. “And then they lost Arthur. He was a beautiful boy. When did he drown?” she asked Lady Kempe.
“I believe it was 1804. Vane was ten years old when his seventeen-year-old brother drowned attempting to save the passengers in an overturned coach that had plummeted off a crowded dock into the river.”
“Simply terrible,” Delia murmured, casting a side glance at Lady Netherley, who was seated two tables away from them and thankfully ignorant of their grim discussion.
Isabel felt nothing but pity for the marchioness and her family. “I had no idea.”
“Vane is all the Netherleys have left,” Lady Kempe said, her expression revealing what she thought of the surviving son. In her opinion, Lord Vanewright did not measure up to his heroic brothers. “Well, there are the two girls, of course. Needless to say, no one is surprised that Lady Netherley has taken it upon herself to see that her son settles down with a respectable young lady.”
“Sin and Reign have settled into good marriages,” Lady Howland reminded her friend. “And just last season, Dare married Frost’s younger sister, Lady Re
gan.” Her expression grew speculative when it alighted on Delia and Isabel. “How long have you two been acquainted with Lady Netherley?”
Isabel had called trump, and that put an end to their conversation about Vane and the Lords of Vice.
“Your turn.” Dressed in her shift, Delia took Isabel by the shoulders and spun her about. “So what offense do you think Lord Vanewright and his friend Frost committed against Lord and Lady Wodgen?”
If the ton had dubbed the gentlemen the Lords of Vice, the possibilities were endless. “It is nothing that concerns us,” Isabel said primly, though her certainty sounded hollow even to her ears.
Chapter Twelve
“Why this sudden desire to ride in Hyde Park? No wait, let me guess. Your celibacy has come to an end,” Saint said, giving his horse’s neck an affectionate pat. “How long did your vow last? Five days?”
“Longer than that.”
Vane endured his friend’s ribbing because his vow had been halfhearted anyway. Giving up Miss Corsar had not been a trial. Once he had settled her accounts with her creditors, he had not given her another thought.
“So who is she?”
Vane did not pretend to misunderstand the marquess. “Actually there are two ladies.”
“Two. God’s blood, you and Frost never do anything in half measures!” Saint exclaimed, amused and a tad envious of Vane’s good fortune.
“Since my mother and sister will be joining them, your wicked thoughts will earn you a place in hell, gent,” Vane replied with a soft chuckle. “No, by my oath, I believe I have found the perfect female companion this season.”
Saint made a vague gesture with his hand. “And here I thought they were all special to you.”
Vane frowned. For the marquess, one lady would do as well as any other. “No, Isabel Thorne is different. She claims to be almost betrothed and has assured me that she has no interest in courting any gent’s favor while she is in town.”
His friend grimaced. “Almost betrothed? A bit shilly-shally for a man on the verge of committing himself, do you not think?”
Vane had also thought Isabel’s almost betrothed predicament was rather odd, but he kept his opinion to himself. “The man was foolish to allow his lady to wander London without him. He does not exist as far as I am concerned. What matters is that Isabel is the one lady my mother cannot sway.”
The two gentlemen rode in companionable silence for several minutes.
“You mentioned there were two ladies,” Saint reminded him.
Immediately the vision of Delia wearing the poppy-colored evening dress he had purchased for Isabel flashed in his mind. “Ah, the younger sister, Delia. A delightful young woman”—if one liked greedy ambitious creatures. “If I were a betting man—”
“You are.”
“That I am,” Vane readily admitted without shame. “I’d wager Delia is the one my mother is hoping will entice me to give up my sinful ways. She is a charming creature and quite beautiful. And like most of the simpering ladies my mother finds, is amenable to marrying me for my title.”
Saint grinned, but swiftly sobered as a thought occurred to him. “Do you think the sister is conspiring with her?”
“Isabel?” Vane pondered the possibility, and then he shook his head. “No, the lady is unacquainted with guile. Once she starts hearing rumors about the Lords of Vice, she will be terrified to leave me alone with her younger sister.”
Protective mothers and chaperones were nothing new. “It sounds like you have it all worked out,” Saint said, cocking his head in Vane’s direction. “So why have you brought me along?”
Vane shrugged. “To provide a distraction. Keep me from throttling my mother, and who knows, mayhap Delia is the lady who might be capable of claiming your heart.”
“Utter trumpery!” Saint scoffed, his noble features hardening as he stared off into the horizons. “Everyone knows I have no heart.”
* * *
“Lady Netherley, is that not your son riding toward us on a dapple gray horse,” Delia asked as she craned her neck to get a better look.
The seventy-two-year-old marchioness tipped her parasol back and squinted at the two approaching gentlemen. “Yes, it is. Though I must confess I am amazed. Usually he has other business to attend to when I ask for such favors.” Lady Netherley shared a conspiring smile with Isabel, silently letting her know that it was her and Delia’s presence that had prompted her son’s cooperation.
“Who is the handsome gentleman with him?” Delia asked.
Neither Lady Netherley nor her daughter Lady Susan had the opportunity to reply. Lord Vanewright guided his horse alongside the marchioness’s carriage while his companion circled to the side closest to Delia.
“Good afternoon, Mother. Susan.” Beneath his hat, his blue-green eyes seem to lighten with humor as he met her gaze. “Miss Thorne and Miss Delia, if I had known you would be joining my mother and sister, I would not have tarried.”
Isabel felt the full impact of the earl’s charm. Wearing buff riding breeches and a dark blue coat, he looked rather dashing on his beautiful dapple gray gelding. If she had not been already seated, she would have asked for a chair.
Recalling his friend, Lord Vanewright formally introduced her and Delia to Simon Jefferes, Marquess of Sainthill.
Good heavens, this was Saint. Another one of the Lords of Vice. The knowledge must have shown on Isabel’s face, because she could have sworn both gentlemen’s lips twitched as if they were trying not to laugh.
“Vane, you are correct,” Lord Sainthill said, his blue eyes scrutinizing Isabel’s face. “Almost to a fault. I envy you, my friend.”
Twenty minutes later, Lord Vanewright had suggested that the ladies should disembark from the carriage and enjoy the park as pedestrians. Lady Netherley eagerly agreed, claiming that her bones had rattled long enough to produce a variety of aches and pains.
While the coachman shook out a large wool blanket for the marchioness and Lady Susan to sit upon while they admired their surroundings, Isabel, Delia, Lord Vanewright, and Lord Sainthill ambled ahead discussing London, the weather, and Lord Fiddick’s masquerade ball, which would take place weeks from now.
Isabel wasn’t certain if it was planned or by accident, but somehow the two couples slowly separated as their conversations also went in different directions. Delia was ahead with Lord Sainthill listening intently to her words. It was an intriguing pairing, one that Lady Netherley would not be pleased about.
“You do not have to fret about Saint,” Lord Vanewright said, startling her from her musings. “On occasion, he can be respectful.”
Isabel could not confide to the earl her true concerns. “I was not questioning your friend’s—”
“Of course you were, Miss Thorne,” he countered, even though he did not appear to be insulted that she might be questioning Lord Sainthill’s intentions. “Let me guess. Someone mentioned that Saint and I are sometimes referred to as the Lords of Vice.”
She paused and stared off at the water. The sunlight caused its surface to glitter like diamonds in the distance. “Saint was mentioned, but yours was the only one of the seven names that I recognized. You told me that your friends called you Vane. When Lady Kempe—”
“Lady Kempe.” His jaw tightened in anger. “Meddlesome woman. She apparently thought she needed to scare you off.”
Good grief, their conversation was becoming decidedly awkward. Isabel looked away and delicately cleared her throat. “Not precisely. The countess and Lady Howland are aware that your mother has high hopes of you finding a bride this season.”
The earl bowed his head as if the weight of it was too much to bear. “Lady Howland, too. How the devil did you get cornered by those two harp—er, ladies,” he demanded, indignant that his private business had been openly discussed with her.
“No one waylaid me with gossip,” she assured him. “We were playing whist at Lord and Lady Wodgen’s house, and Lady Kempe happened to mention you and your friends.”
“Christ! Whist at the Wodgens’s.” Lord Vanewright closed his eyes as he struggled with his temper. His right hand folded into a fist. “Of all the nonsensical rubbish … and the Wodgens—just wait until Saint hears about this!”
Isabel touched the earl on the arm, stilling his attempt to march toward Lord Sainthill and Delia. “Please do not tell him. No harm was done—no one else overheard the quiet discussion. Perhaps it was imprudent of Lady Kempe and Lady Howland to speak about you and your friends thusly.”
“Perhaps?”
Isabel winced at his sarcastic tone. “Well, it isn’t as if they revealed what you and your friend Frost did to earn Lord and Lady Wodgen’s contempt. Delia asked Lady Kempe several times…”
Lord Vanewright threw his head back and began laughing.
Her nose wrinkled in bemusement. Perhaps the Lords of Vice had played some kind of prank on the Wodgens. “The countess refused to say. I even asked Lady Netherley about it, and she called it a regrettable incident.”
The earl sobered at the mention of his mother. “You discussed this with my mother?”
“I had no idea that everyone would be so secretive about the discord between the Lords of Vice and Lord and Lady Wodgen,” she said, becoming exasperated that the earl was annoyed at her. “Do you want to tell me what you and Frost did that offended the Wodgens?”
A slow, devilish grin creased his face. Isabel found herself smiling back at him.
“Oh, no, Isabel Thorne, you will have to spend more time with me before I tell that particular tale!”
Chapter Thirteen
No one was more surprised than Vane that the mistrustful Isabel Thorne had a bad habit of intruding on his thoughts at odd moments. Her temperament and stature were far removed from his usual requirements for a female companion. He preferred curvaceous temptresses who were as generous with their smiles as they were their bodies. Most were simple, cheerful wenches who enjoyed his attentions, but understood that a man’s nature was fickle.
Sunrise with a Notorious Lord Page 8