She moistened her lips. “Do you really find us all so tedious?”
What in the devil was she getting at? Impatience tugged at him, but he shrugged casually. “I find the season tedious, but one does what one must.”
“It is very possible there could be something in London you would find enjoyable." Her look grew bold. "Something that would ease your boredom. Something, I daresay, you would not find tedious.”
His brows lifted slightly as he looked at her. “A fascinating statement. What are you suggesting?”
The corners of her mouth curled with a seductive ease. Rising suddenly, she came toward him. “I believe we would find one another amusing.”
He stood and let several moments pass before responding. “You are offering your companionship?”
“Yes.” She placed her hand on his arm. The exquisitely cut garnet on her finger glowed against the porcelain white of her skin.
He leaned over, placed his lips next to her ear and asked, “In what respect?”
She gazed at him through her lashes. "Must I spell it out?"
He nodded his ascent and smiled.
“I am no maiden, my lord. I have certain accomplishments that you, at one time, found desirable. I thought we might recommence with our previous relationship.”
What the devil was she talking about? He made no attempt to move away as he guessed at the meaning behind her words. “In bed?”
She trailed her fingertip against his jaw line. “Wherever you wish, my lord. It was a relationship I much enjoyed. You are a magnificent lover.”
“Such praise." He gazed at her, wondering what had prompted her to made such an offer. "I'm immensely flattered. It's not every day that a beautiful lady comes to my door and offers me such a gift." He closed his hand over her roving fingers. "Or perhaps it isn't really a gift but a negotiation. Do you ask for something in return, ma’am? Carte Blanche, perhaps?”
A glint of anger sparked in her eyes, but she continued to smile. “If I may be so bold, you need an heir not a bastard. And as you saw the other evening, I need a protector." She pulled her hand from his grasp, letting it linger on his arm before it fell to her side. "But I wish for more than that. It would benefit us both. We would suit admirably. I am of noble birth; I understand the duties of a countess as well as the peculiarities of the ton. It is a role I was both born to and trained for."
Not certain whether to continue the conversation or have her shown the door he forced himself to return her smile. "Are you proposing marriage, Lady Williams? How daring of you."
"I know I am unforgivably bold in my suggestion, but it would be a sensible arrangement for both of us.”
“Sensible.” He paused then gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head. “Yes, I suppose it would be sensible. As you say, you’re titled. You’re very attractive. You have impeccable style. I would imagine that you’re an excellent hostess. But tell me. Is love of no importance to you?”
She frowned slightly. “Love? There would be a physical bond between us. That is no small consideration. You are a very desirable man, my lord. It would be no hardship to see to your fulfillment. But love is a fleeting emotion. It is for the low born who have little else. Our responsibilities are far greater than theirs. We haven’t the luxury of a love match, but I believe I could make you happy. And if you wished to discretely seek another’s bed, I would look the other way.” She paused. “I would, of course, ask the same of you.”
He walked over to the window. The tree he had been standing beneath when he had first seen Priscilla, cast lacey shadows across the garden. The hole dug by Ulysses, filled in. The memory of that meeting teased his lips into a faint smile. He whirled around to face her. “If I were to act as your protector, rather than husband, you would have no objections?”
A brief look of indecision crossed her face but she quickly recovered. “It would not be my first choice." With a sly smile, her gaze raked him from head to toe. "But there would be compensations and I feel certain that you would soon desire to make the arrangement permanent."
How utterly sure she was of her seductive charms. She seemed to have no inkling that her very presence made him ill. “Are you destitute?”
Silence fell between them. A long moment passed before she said, “Don't be absurd.”
He leaned against the window sill and wondered if she had been behind the blackmail letters Priscilla had received. If so, how had she learned of Patrick's affinity for men? This bore looking into. “You’ve taken a great risk in coming to me with this proposal. I cannot believe anything other than desperation would lead you to this.”
Her lips thinned. “You were a magnificent lover, my lord. I felt it was well worth the risk.”
“You do me too much honor, my lady,” he said briskly as he strode toward the bell pull, “but the truth is, I don't even remember this encounter between us that you speak of. Regardless, your furrow has been too well plowed for my taste and your proposition is not to my liking. I’ll have Reeds show you out.”
Fury distorted her face; her lips twisted into an ugly snarl. “You are a fool if you believe I will allow your insults to pass. You will regret every word.”
“If you think I would consider a life with you, then you are the greater fool,” he returned. “Ah, Reeds. There you are. Would you be so kind as to show Lady Williams the door? Good day, ma’am.” With a cursory bow he left the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Stratton hid a scowl as he looked at his cards. For the third time that week his pocketbook had lightened considerably as the game had progressed. He didn’t mind losing. He absolutely hated losing. At anything. But his mind wasn’t on the game. He was waiting to find out what Rand had uncovered on Lady Williams. He checked his watch and frowned. They had agreed to meet in the card room at Biddlemans’s at two and it was ten minutes till three.
“You’ve gotten bit rusty, haven’t you?” his opponent remarked.
He looked up at the Baron Marcus Chase Hawkins and glared. “A temporary condition, I assure you.”
Hawkins wasn’t the slightest bit intimidated. He laughed and said, “Then I will enjoy my success while I can.”
Hearing Rand’s voice in the corridor, Stratton tossed his cards on the table and picked up his brandy. Finally. “I’m all in,” he grumbled. “I’ve had sour luck of late and today seems no exception.”
“And I appreciate it very much. As much money as I’ve lost to you over the past ten years, don’t begrudge me my success.” The baron cheerfully stacked the coins piled in front of him then glanced up as Rand entered the salon. “Danfield, come take your friend away before he decides to win his money back. I assure you I can use it far more than he can.”
Rand made no attempt to hide his amusement. “You lost again? One would think you would know when to quit.”
Stratton pushed back his chair and rose. “Had you arrived at two,” he said. “I would have lost far less.”
“Sorry, but I was doing a favor for a friend. As a matter of fact, it was for you. I’m famished. Let’s go and have some lunch.”
They said their farewells to Chase and left. Once they’d retrieved their hats and reached the front steps Rand said, “I’ve brought the Phaeton. Will the Beefsteak Society do?”
Stratton nodded. “Sounds good. We can talk on the way over.” The street urchin who had been walking the bays brought the rig around and Stratton climbed into the Phaeton as Rand tossed the lad a coin and took up the ribbons.
“Well, you’ve obviously learned something,” Stratton said, “What can you tell me?”
“You were right about her finances. There isn’t a shop in Mayfair that she doesn’t owe money to. She does have an allowance paid from what her husband left her, though it isn’t near what you would expect. Her brother-in-law keeps a tight purse. Needless to say, Lady Williams and the present earl are constantly at odds.”
Stratton lifted his brows slightly but otherwise showed no reaction. “And the scene I cam
e upon the other evening? What was her problem with Bennett?”
“Perhaps she learned he is also in dire straits.”
That surprised him. He'd assumed Bennett was what he appeared to be--sophisticated and well-heeled. “The tables?”
“No.” Rand shook his head. “Strangely enough, that isn’t it. His estates are badly managed and he’s made a string of foolish investments. Once the word was out that he was an easy gull, they all came running to pick his pockets. He’s sold or mortgaged everything that isn’t entailed but it isn’t enough to last him much longer. Comical really, both hoping the other would fatten their coffers.”
Stratton absorbed this information then asked, “If it’s simply money, why did she pick me? There are others who would do as well.”
Rand shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know why she’s fixated on you. I don’t even know what Miss Hawthorn sees in you.”
Stratton snorted at Rand's remark. "Lady Williams claimed we had been lovers once. God's Truth, I don't remember it. I suppose it's possible. Those first few months after we returned from France are a blur. I couldn't tell you who I bedded or how much I drank." He paused. “What happened to her husband?”
“Died in his sleep—heart attack, I think. They had been married almost five years. Lord Williams was fat and bald and ancient enough to be her grandfather.”
“Do you believe she’s desperate enough to stoop to blackmail? I have my suspicions but at this point there’s no way to prove it.”
"I wouldn't put anything past her. Are you planning to mention this to Miss Hawthorn?"
He sat quiet for a moment. “ I don't think so. Not until we know more. Unfortunately, it seems the more we learn, the more tangled it becomes. I would dearly love to pound someone into the ground. I just don’t know where to start.”
“Can’t blame you for that,” Rand commented as he slowed the bays to allow for the sharp turn ahead. “Once we discover the truth of it, I’ll even help you do the pounding.”
It was a Monday, bath day for the mongrels. A day in which Stratton normally contrived to put considerable distance between himself and Aunt Mirabella, her yapping horde and the inevitable clouds of dog hair that settled on everything in the vicinity. Normally his office would suffice, but today his sanctuary from the ordeal was White’s where he and Rand relaxed in one of the salons, drinking coffee and perusing the stack of newspapers delivered daily to the gentleman’s club. It was early yet and they had no other company as most gentlemen of the ton were still abed; some even still in the process of stumbling home. The solitude suited him. Other than his best friend’s companionship, Stratton’s intent was not social. He simply sought a few hours of calm in which to read his newspapers and the gentlemen’s club provided the much needed respite. But hope for such a reprieve was dashed when he heard a familiar voice.
It was a Monday, bath day for the mongrels. A day in which Stratton normally contrived to put considerable distance between himself and Aunt Mirabella, her yapping horde and the inevitable clouds of dog hair that settled on everything in the vicinity. Normally his office would suffice, but today his sanctuary from the ordeal was White’s where he and Rand relaxed in one of the salons, drinking coffee and perusing the stack of newspapers delivered daily to the gentleman’s club. It was early yet and they had no other company as most gentlemen of the ton were still abed; some even still in the process of stumbling home. The solitude suited him. Other than his best friend’s companionship, Stratton’s intent was not social. He simply sought a few hours of calm in which to read his newspapers and the gentlemen’s club provided the much needed respite. But hope for such a reprieve was dashed when he heard a familiar voice.
“I cannot continue this any longer, sir. The time has come to put an end to this foolishness.”
He put down his paper and looked up at the interloper. Foppish as ever, Bertram was attired in snug yellow pantaloons that did terrible things for his lanky frame. But Bertram’s words were of far more interest to Stratton than his outlandish garb. He wasn’t quite sure what they meant. Had he actually come to his senses? Hopeful, his brows arched and he nodded. “Excellent. I agree with you completely. There’s no need…”
“You misunderstand.” Bertram slapped an ivory kid glove on the table beside Stratton. “I will meet you tomorrow at dawn. St. James Park.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Stratton let out a long low groan. It was all he could do not to take the young man by the shoulders and shake him. Instead, he pinned him with a stare and said in the calmest voice he could muster, “Have you no sense of self-preservation? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
Bertram’s lips trembled as he swallowed. “I know perfectly well what I’ve done,” he said uneasily. “I’ve called you out. Are pistols still your choice?”
Stratton rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “You know you can’t possibly win this.”
“I know. But I must try, sir." Bertram looked as if he might burst into tears. "You have put me off long enough. I realize I have little skill with a pistol and that your concern is with my wellbeing and not your own. But as difficult as this is, I won’t back away from my duty as a gentleman.”
“Be sensible. You don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to have done,” Stratton said. “I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to have done.”
Bertram stared at him a moment. The muscle over his left eye began to twitch. “You’ve caused my beloved great distress. So great she found it necessary to leave London.” He swallowed hard. “That’s all I need to know. My second will contact Mr. Danfield this eve.”
“I don't want to do this,” Stratton said quietly. “No one other than Mr. Danfield is witness. Reconsider.”
“I will not reconsider,” he said. “If necessary, I will bring in witnesses and call you out once again. I will continue until you have no choice but to accept my challenge.”
Stratton heaved a long heavy sigh and said quietly, “Tell me what to apologize for and I will.”
“I can’t believe you are ignorant of the reason behind her distress.”
“ I am. Write Miss Dearborn that she may clarify the situation before we continue with this.”
“I have sir!” he said in anguish. “There has been no reply. I have not heard from her for close to a week.” The pain on the young man’s face was enough to make Stratton want to put his arm around the thin shoulders and offer what comfort he could. That would never do.
Stratton briefly considered telling Bertram what little he knew. I apologize for being the object of love letters written by your addle-brained sweetheart. Letters I never knew existed until a few weeks ago. He blinked and gave his head a shake. That not only wouldn’t work, it would add insult to injury. It was close to calling the chit a liar. This was impossible.
He took a sip of his coffee as he pondered the situation. It was all so absurd that it couldn’t be solved with any degree of rationality and given that he was a fairly rational man, it put him at a distinct disadvantage. He did not want to pick up the glove, but what else was there to do? “Very well,” he relented. “But tomorrow will not do. My sister is to be presented to the Queen on Wednesday and her come out ball is on Friday. I don’t wish to spoil her celebration with this ugly business. If we must do this, it can wait until Saturday.”
Bertram colored with discomfiture. “Forgive me. In my distress, I had forgotten about your sister. I would not wish to spoil her ball or her presentation. Saturday at dawn would be agreeable. That will give me a few extra days of practice at Manton’s though I fear it will be of little help.” A disconsolate look came over him and he paused. “Well, until Saturday, my lord. And you as well, Mr. Danfield.” With a terse nod of farewell he turned to leave.
“Lord Bertram,” Stratton added sharply. “I ask that you not speak of this to anyone other than your second. I have enough to deal with without having hysterical females on my hands.”
The young man nodded. �
��Yes. Yes, of course. I find myself in much the same situation.”
Stratton watched as he disappeared through the doorway. “Stupid bugger! He’s a bloody imbecile! The thought of his reproducing is terrifying. Should I take care of that on Saturday?”
Rand shuddered at the thought. “No. No one deserves that. I’d rather take a bullet in the head.” He gulped at his coffee. “So what do you propose to do?”
“First, I’ll marry Priscilla.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a lungful of air. “And unless we can come up with some kind of plan, I suppose I’ll have to shoot the lad.”
Later that day, hands in his pockets, Stratton stood in front of the window staring glumly at the small garden just outside Priscilla’s drawing room. God, what a dilemma. How did it get this far? He didn’t want to tell Priscilla but he didn’t see what choice he had. There was little chance she would marry him immediately without good reason. And he wouldn’t lie to her. His mind was still struggling to find a solution when he heard her voice.
“Good afternoon.” He turned. She was smiling. A beautiful, sunny, breathtaking smile, and all he could think was that he was about to ruin it.
He moved instantly to her side, took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, hoping it would somehow lessen the blow that was about to fall. She melted into his embrace. Her lips were soft; her response eager enough to make him forget why he had come. It wasn’t until he heard a soft giggle in the hallway that he realized they had an audience. “We seem to be entertaining the help,” he murmured. “I’d like to spend a few minutes alone with you. There is something we must discuss.”
The tone of his voice was somber and her smile faded. “The garden will do. Let me fetch my bonnet.”
Minutes later they stepped outside. The afternoon sun had emerged from the clouds gilding the blond hair curling across her forehead. Long white satin ribbons streamed down the apricot muslin gown that swished about her legs as she walked and he couldn’t imagine her looking any lovelier than she did at that moment. She led him through an open gate and into the garden he had been gazing at earlier. It offered a little pocket of serenity among the busy streets of Mayfair. A bank of honeysuckle tumbled over the stone fence and masses of scarlet, white and purple blossoms grew along the walkway. He waved his hand in a sweeping motion. “It smells wonderful out here. What is it?”
The Bewitching Hour Page 27