by Tarah Scott
Chapter Two
As soon as Valan arrived at Lady Douglas’s ball, he began to think that his steward had erred in suggesting he attend—until he spotted the same dark-haired beauty he’d seen at Lady Peddington’s ball two nights ago. He retired to the shadows of one of the ballroom’s ridiculous columns and watched the beauty dance a reel with Viscount Chilson. When she began a second dance with the viscount, Valan knew he had made a dishonest woman of her. Chilson was short and stout. A dishonest woman would no doubt prefer a tall, handsome lover—if only for an evening.
The music rose above the murmur of voices as the dancers’ steps picked up speed.
Chilson wouldn’t last more than two sets. Already, his face was flushed. As was his habit, he would play cards and lose five hundred pounds before the night ended.
“Northington, I thought that was you.” The Earl of Davon stopped in front of him. “I thought, perhaps, you were hiding here,” he said.
Valan kept his eyes on the dark-haired beauty. “Yet you came to speak with me.”
“Well, yes—surely you aren’t truly hiding?” the earl said. “I was only joking.”
Valan sighed. “Of course, you were.”
“Here, now,” Davon said. “There’s no need to be rude.”
The dark-haired beauty disappeared behind a cluster of dancers. The dance would last another three minutes.
Valan looked at the earl. “You are right, of course. Was there something you wanted?”
The man blinked. “Well, no. I was just being friendly.”
“Thank you,” Valan said. “If you will excuse me, there is a lady in need of my services.”
“Your services?” he began, but Valan left him standing beside the column and headed for the opposite side of the room.
He reached the spot where Viscount Chilson had exited the dance floor with the lady on his arm.
“Of course, my dear,” Chilson was saying. “You may have all the champagne you like.” He tweaked her nose. They reached the refreshments table. The viscount picked up a glass of champagne and handed it to her. “You may rest with the other ladies,” he said, and added in a whisper, “Remember, you’re my cousin’s daughter visiting from Bath.”
So that was the excuse he used to explain his mistress’s presence at a society ball. He had no wife to complain of his indiscretions. Still, the story wouldn’t gain them entrance to more than two or three parties, for no reputable hostess wanted her party sullied by the presence of a man’s mistress.
Valan chose a glass of champagne and faced the dancers. From the corner of his eye, he observed Chilson guide his young mistress to a chair near a corner occupied by other ladies. He tweaked her nose again and Valan couldn’t help but envision the earl tweaking her nose while he puffed, out of breath, on top of her. Valan half wandered if the earl had yet deflowered her.
Chilson left and no one spoke to the girl. No doubt, many knew what she was. Valan finished his champagne, then placed the glass on a nearby table and strode toward her chair. Her head snapped up and she looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked.
She glanced uncertainly in the direction Chilson had disappeared. “I do not know.”
Her voice, low and sultry, matched her dark beauty. He might have to steal her from Chilson. “Have you promised this dance to another?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You do dance?” he asked.
She nodded.
He lifted a brow. “Do you speak?”
Her cheeks colored. She started to nod, then stopped, and said, “I speak.”
“And you dance?” he said.
“And I dance,” she replied.
He extended a hand toward her. “The set will soon begin.”
She placed her fingers in his, then rose. He led her to the dance floor and they joined a group on the edge. She stood across from him, eyes on his chest instead of his face. Either Chilson hadn’t deflowered her or he had been unkind when he did.
The music began and, as he’d already observed, she danced well. That pleased him. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he would bring her to balls like this one. He would, no doubt, attend at least half a dozen soirées before doors closed to him. Perhaps they wouldn’t close at all. Being wealthy had its advantages.
When the dance ended, Valan slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and led her through the open balcony doors. A dozen other guests milled about the balcony. She cast a nervous glance toward the ballroom and slowed. Valan placed his hand over hers, keeping her fingers firmly wrapped around his arm. She was forced to walk alongside him as they descended the steps to the lawn.
“I do not think that I should come out here with you, my lord,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Viscount Chilson won’t like it.”
“Then we shan’t tell him. Do you like gardens?”
“Gardens are beautiful, of course. But a lady—”
“Viscount Chilson’s cousin’s daughter?” he cut in.
She looked sharply at him.
He flashed the smile that had earned him the name The Morning Star. “Would you prefer Viscount Chilson’s company to mine?”
She regarded him for a long moment as he slowed their steps across the lawn. “May I ask who you are, sir?”
“Valan Grey, the 6th Earl of Edmonds, the Marquess of Northington.”
“An earl and a marquess?” she said in a breathless voice.
He nodded, slightly disconcerted that it was his title that captured her attention and not his smile. He was getting old.
“You are more handsome that Viscount Chilson,” she murmured.
“You are too kind,” he said with a sardonic smile.
They left the lights of the mansion and entered a pebbled path lined by flowers. Moonlight illuminated her face. They had gone far enough. Valan slipped an arm around her waist and began lowering his head to hers.
“You are no gentleman!” a woman shrilled.
Valan stilled. Surely that wasn’t…
The bushes up ahead rustled violently, and a small form broke through at a rapid walk, headed toward them. The dark-haired beauty stiffened as the woman approached.
“Lydia?” The newcomer reached them and stopped. “Is that you?”
A large figure emerged from the bushes, but turned in the opposite direction and disappeared around a hedge.
“What are you doing here in the garden?” Miss Matheson asked.
“The same thing you are, it seems,” Lydia replied.
Miss Matheson looked at him and frowned. “Y-you.”
“I see you did not heed my warning about going off alone with a man, Miss Matheson.”
“You know her?” The dark-haired beauty stepped from his embrace. She glanced from Miss Matheson to him.
“Miss Matheson and I met the other night at Lady Peddington’s Midnight Ball.”
“Met the other night—” Lydia turned to face Miss Matheson. “What are you doing here?”
“I was trying to take a walk—”
“Not that,” she cut in. “What are you doing at this party?”
“I was invited, just like you.”
“Not like me, I think,” Lydia snapped, and looked at Valan. “You invited her?”
“This is not my party.”
Lydia slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and addressed Miss Matheson. “Lord Northington and I are going for a stroll. Find your own gentleman.”
Miss Matheson laughed. “What a wicked girl you are, Lydia. I saw you in the ballroom with that short, pudgy gentleman. You were not at all proper. Now you are walking in the gardens with a different gentleman.”
“How interesting that you notice impropriety in others,” Valan said.
“I did not come to the garden with a gentleman,” Miss Matheson said. “So, I am not guilty of impropriety.”
“How dare you?” Lydia breathed. She tugg
ed his arm. “Are you going to let her speak to me in that manner?”
“You are angry only because it’s true,” Miss Matheson said.
Lydia stamped her foot. “I can’t help it if gentlemen like me better than you.”
“It isn’t you they like, Lydia.”
Valan forced back laughter, unable to speak for fear of encouraging the lass. His efforts were in vain, however, for she cocked her head and said, “See, even his lordship agrees with me.”
The dark-haired beauty drew in a sharp breath. “A true gentleman would not allow a lady to be spoken to in this manner.”
“If I were a gentleman, I wouldn’t be here with you in the garden,” he replied. “As for you being a lady…”
She yanked her hand free and took a step back. “I have never been treated so shabbily.” Without another word, she whirled and marched back toward the mansion.
Valan watched her retreat for two heartbeats, then faced Miss Matheson. “You have a knack for interfering with my plans. Tell me, who invited you to Lady Douglas’s ball?”
“Lady Douglas, of course.”
“The two of you are acquainted?” he asked in surprise. Perhaps, like Lydia, she had found herself a protector.
“Lady Peddington sometimes obtains invitations for us to attend other balls,” she said.
“Does Lady Douglas not chaperone you?” he asked.
“She filled my dance card and sent me off. I have been dancing for two hours. My feet hurt, and I am tired. I came out here for some fresh air. That gentleman found me and was not very polite.”
“Neither were you, my dear,” Valan said.
“What? Should I have let him take liberties?”
“It didn’t occur to you that you should not be out here at all, that perhaps it wasn’t proper?” he asked.
“A lady shouldn’t have to fear being accosted when she takes a walk.”
He tsked. “I fear you’ve wasted the money your poor mother spent to send you to Lady Peddington’s school. How do you propose to teach young women to become ladies when you do not act the part?”
“Oh, that. I need no’ be a lady to own a school.”
“Interesting logic. Where, pray tell, will you get the money for this school?”
She glanced around as if to be certain no one listened, then leaned close and said, “I plan to marry a very old, rich gentleman.”
He stared. “Marriage to a rich gentleman. A time-honored tradition among ladies. Come.” He grasped her arm and began walking toward the mansion. “For your plan to succeed, you must not be caught in these gardens with the likes of me.”
“That is silly,” she said. “You have been nothing but a gentleman. No one could accuse you of being improper.”
She practically trotted to keep up with him, but he didn’t slow. “If we do not reach the ballroom unseen, you may discover how wrong you are.”
“This is the first time a gentleman has tried to drag me back into a ballroom,” she said.
“It is a first for me, as well,” he said dryly.
“Then why do it?”
He gave her a thin-lipped look. “You would prefer I drag you into the bushes?”
“Nae,” she replied. “I was just curious.”
“Surely, you know that curiosity killed the cat,” he said. “Did your mother teach you not to trust strange men?”
“Oh, I learned that on my own—and you usually can’t trust those you know, either.”
“For one so cynical, you are naïve to enter any garden alone.”
“I think you are the one who is naïve,” she said. “Most men don’t need gardens to become forward.”
He couldn’t help a hearty laugh. “I stand corrected.”
They turned a corner in the path and came face-to-face with another couple. Valan cursed before the moonlight revealed the couple as Sir Stirling and his wife.
“Your lordship.” He gave a slight bow. “My lady. I understand congratulations are in order.”
Lady Chastity smiled. “Yes, thank you. Ella is a hearty baby.”
“I see you are hard at work, as always, Northington,” Stirling said with laughter in his voice. “Miss Matheson, fancy seeing you here. You and the marquess seem to be getting along well.”
“Miss Matheson was lost,” Valan said. “I happened upon her and am escorting her back to the mansion.”
“Why don’t I see her back?” Lady Chastity said.
“That would be best, ma’am.” Valan canted his head in gratitude.
“But—” Miss Matheson began.
“Go along,” he cut in. “It is far better you are seen returning to the party with Lady Chastity than with me.” She shook her head and he added, “Remember your plans.”
She pouted prettily, but nodded. “I will go, this once. But don’t think you can order me about.”
“Heaven forbid,” he said, and the two women left.
“You are fortunate it was Chastity and I who happened upon ye,” Stirling said as they trailed the ladies at a leisurely pace.
“Far more fortunate for her than I,” Valan said.
“That is most assuredly true,” he said, making no effort to hide his amusement. “What is she doing here?”
“It seems Honoria secured her an invitation to the ball.”
“Interesting,” Stirling said. “I had no idea her services extended to securing ladies invitations to private parties. What were you referring to when you told her, ‘remember your plans’?”
“She hopes to finance a school by marrying a wealthy gentleman who will promptly die and leave her his money.”
Stirling looked sharply at him. “Are you serious?”
“She confessed the plan herself.”
“Well, the girl is industrious.”
“She is silly,” Valan said.
“Perhaps, but there are worse plans. Speaking of which, I hear you intend to visit London for an extended stay.”
Valan shook his head. “Nae, I try to have as few plans as possible. Where did you hear that?”
“Chastity told me, if I recall.”
Valan cast him a sidelong glance. Sir Stirling James wasn’t known for engaging in gossip—though plenty of gossip surrounded the man who more and more people referred to as The Marriage Maker.
They reached the balcony steps, ascended, then entered the ballroom. They stopped just inside the double doors and Sir Stirling scanned the crowd.
“Chastity probably took Miss Matheson to the ladies’ retiring room,” he said. “We will likely not see them again for some time.”
“More likely, I will not see Miss Matheson again,” Valan said.
“Unless she finds herself a rich old gentleman,” Stirling said.
Valan laughed. “I wish her luck.” His gaze caught on a tall man talking with two others. Cold uncoiled in his gut. At last, the evening had gotten interesting.
“I met Lord Gordon yesterday at a luncheon,” Stirling said. “He’s just returned from England after being away for...” Stirling looked at Valan.
“Eighteen years,” Valan finished for him.
The curtain on an alcove a few feet to the left of Lord Gordon parted and Lady Chastity and Miss Matheson stepped out. Gordon turned toward them, said something to his companion, then took three steps to the alcove. He bowed over Lady Chastity’s hand. She made introductions to Miss Matheson. Gordon lifted Miss Matheson’s hand. Valan noticed the extra seconds Gordon held the girl’s hand.
“Lord Gordon is no’ an elderly gentleman with only a few years left,” Stirling said. “Miss Matheson would do better if a man took her on as his ward.”
Valan looked at him. “What man would do such a thing?”
Stirling shrugged. “A man who wanted to ensure she didn’t fall prey to Lord Gordon.”
“You don’t like him,” Valan said.
“I know little of him. But his attentions strike me as unwholesome.” Stirling frowned. “I seem to remember there is bad blood betwee
n you two.”
“Between Gordon and I?” Valan recalled Gordon’s words that fateful night twenty years ago, “His father shot himself and left him penniless,” but smiled politely and said, “Nothing more than boyhood mischief. We haven’t seen one another since our university days.”
Curiosity flickered across Stirling’s face, then he flashed white teeth. “Shall we say hello?”
Valan angled his head in acquiescence. “To do otherwise, would be rude.”
Stirling lifted his eyebrows in obvious amusement, the gesture, Valan thought, almost as practiced as his own. Valan followed him to the alcove. They approached Gordon’s back, which suited Valan well. When they neared, Lady Chastity looked past Gordon’s shoulder and Gordon turned. Valan was rewarded with a glimpse of Gordon’s shock—and unguarded anger.
Gordon immediately turned his attention to Sir Stirling and bowed. “Your lordship, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, Lord Gordon,” Stirling replied. “You know Lord Northington?”
A corner of Gordon’s mouth went grim, but he nodded stiffly in Valan’s direction.
“Gordon and I are old friends,” Valan murmured. “We attended the University of Edinburgh together.”
Frustration flashed in Gordon’s eyes and Valan repressed a smile. It seemed some things never changed. When Gordon’s brother unexpectedly became Viscount Dryer twenty-two years ago, it became a point of pride for Gordon that he be recognized as ‘Lord Gordon.’
“I did not know you attended university in Edinburgh, Lord Gordon,” Lady Chastity said.
“My father insisted I study business,” he replied.
“What did you study, Lord Northington?” she asked
“Nothing so illustrious as business. Art and poetry.”
“I do not believe it,” Miss Matheson said.
Everyone looked at her.
“May I ask why?” Valan asked.
“You are not at all romantic.”
“She is perceptive for one so young,” Sir Stirling murmured with a laugh.
Valan regarded her. “As you do not know me, I wonder what brought you to this conclusion.”
“As a woman of sense, Miss Matheson can see that you are not a romantic,” Gordon said.
“You say that as if being unromantic is a bad thing,” Valan maintained a contemplative voice intended to incite him.