“Miss Bedegrayne, I can assure you, I would not forget such a meeting.” He intentionally held her gaze, wanting her to understand his warning.
Despite the orchestra playing just outside the doors in the gardens, and dozens of conversations continuing around them, he heard her small, startled gasp. She muffled the sound by nipping her lower lip with her teeth.
The action drew his gaze. The woman had incredible lips. They were neither thin nor too full. She had left them unpainted. However, their natural hue did not require artifice. Like morning dew on a raspberry, there was a sheen outlining her half-formed pout. A hunger rose within him that he had never thought possible. He fought against the demanding urge to claim her tempting mouth, wondering if she tasted as sweet as any summer berry.
“Miss Bedegrayne,” Lothbury interjected, breaking her gaze away from Keanan’s magnetic spell. “Mr. Milroy is relatively new to society. I doubt you would have encountered him unless you share an appreciation for pugilism.” He gave her a considering glance. “Perhaps one of your brothers?”
She was more than willing to give the marquess her complete attention. “My lord, both of my brothers are out of the country, and my father cares little for the sport. You are correct,” she conceded, looking at Keanan. “I can think of no situation in which we would have met.”
So she intended to deny the encounter. He saw no advantage to revealing her lie, so he smiled, letting her know he had teeth and could use them at any time of his choosing.
The voice of a newcomer breached their little group. “Miss Bedegrayne, why is it I must wend my way through half the males in this room to secure your hand for a dance? My dear, do you never tire of holding court?”
Keanan recognized the voice. He had enough reasons to dislike the gentleman. Listening to him attempt to exert his claim on Miss Bedegrayne enraged him on a very primal level. He pivoted, placing himself in front of her.
“Milroy,” Drake Fawks, Lord Nevin, sneered. “The Lumleys’ status has fallen greatly if they are inviting the likes of you.”
Lothbury stepped forward. “You insult me, Nevin. Mr. Milroy is my guest.”
Nevin was a blond giant compared to the marquess. His eyes, an icy aquamarine in color, glittered threateningly. “You insult Miss Bedegrayne, forcing her to address this miscreant.” He held a commanding hand out to her. “Come, my lady. What you have endured goes beyond etiquette.”
A frown wrinkled her brow as her gaze shifted between the three men. “Lord Nevin, these men have been above reproach, which is more than I can say for your behavior. Attacking these men in front of me—”
“Do you know who he is? What he is?” Nevin demanded.
Miss Bedegrayne’s eyes narrowed to calculating slits. “More to the point, I know who you are, and what you are to me. And one of those being, not my husband!”
Realizing his error, Nevin took an entreating step toward her. “Miss Bedegrayne. Wynne.”
Deliberately provoking him, Keanan blocked his progress. He welcomed the fury he saw in the other man’s eyes. “Oh, I dare, sir. Can you state the same?” he taunted.
“Mr. Milroy,” she crisply spoke, her tone sounding like a reprimand. “I believe, sir, you were about to claim me as a dance partner.”
Damn the woman! Did she not understand how much he relished challenging this particular man? Or perhaps she did, and thus her impulsive interference. He could all but taste the scent of Nevin’s blood, and she was fretting about the scandal.
Scandal.
Keanan gave Nevin his back. The slight shrug of his shoulder, blatantly expressing his lack of fear that he would be attacked from behind. He stared at Miss Bedegrayne. Her slender fingers so tightly gripped the blades of her closed fan that he expected it to snap under the strain. Her expression, filled with eloquent concern and embarrassment, pleaded for him to accept her refined retreat.
However, he was not one of them. From the corner of his eye, he could see them whispering to each other, waiting to see what he would do next. He refused to hide behind politeness. Most of all, a woman’s skirts!
“My apologies, Miss Bedegrayne. I did not hear you correctly.”
She audibly cleared her throat. Finally, noticing their audience, her gaze discreetly slanted to each side. “Our dance, Mr. Milroy. You promised me a dance.”
“I regret the contradiction, my lady. I made no such offer.”
Her cheeks blanched at the first few twitters of laughter, feeling the first sting of humiliation.
Lothbury coughed into his hand. “Uh, Milroy.”
Nevin’s fingers curled, appearing clawlike, but he did not carry out the lunge his eyes promised. “Bastard,” he impotently muttered.
Miss Bedegrayne held his gaze. Whatever she sought, she found him lacking. She lowered her lashes, but not before Keanan noticed the moist gleam of tears. “Ah.” She wet her lips, attempting to force the words out. “My mistake. Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I regret my presence has denied you all the pleasure of turning the Lumleys’ ballroom into an exhibition at Fives Court. I bid you all a good evening.” Holding her head up with all the grace of a queen, she strode through the crowd, painfully aware that she was the cause of their amusement.
It had not been Keanan’s intention to humiliate her. Anger and pride prodded him to tread over her feelings. Frustration had him raking his fingers through his hair. To chase after her now would only heighten her embarrassment.
Nevin stepped closer. Their stature almost equal, he spoke in low tones so his words carried no farther than the recipient. “I should call you out for deliberately hurting her like that. However, duels are for gentlemen. We both know you do not qualify.”
Brushing past Keanan, he rebuked Lothbury with a scathing stare. “My lord, I would choose my friends with greater care.” Stiffly he pushed his way through the guests, following in Miss Bedegrayne’s wake.
Glancing at Lothbury, it was apparent to Keanan he had fallen in the marquess’s esteem. “I lost my head. I am the bastard Nevin accused me of being.”
His friend made a disapproving noise. “I thought her quite brave, choosing you over the man intent on marrying her.” He was watching the dancing couples in the center of the room, so he missed the denial that flickered in Keanan’s eyes. “Only tomorrow’s gossip will tell us if we have lost ground in civilizing you, my friend.”
Keanan cared little for what people thought about him. What bothered him was the look on Miss Bedegrayne’s face when she heard people laughing at her. He did not believe for one second that she was upset by his refusal to dance.
Searching the room, he hunted for a glimpse of her rose colored dress. A sensitive creature, she was probably seeking a quiet place to cry.
There.
His gaze locked on her. She stood near the doors leading to the garden. Keanan cocked his head, trying to see who was halting her graceful exit. Couples danced their steps in front of him, giving him teasing flashes of her.
The dance ended when his patience had all but vanished. He had been about to ignore his own sage counsel and charge after her. Seeing that it was Lord Nevin who had delayed her departure froze him in place. He unconsciously gritted his teeth, watching them together. Their retreat into the torchlit gardens had him taking a step forward. So Nevin had his eye on Miss Bedegrayne. An ambitious lady would welcome the interest of an earl and future duke, he darkly mused. Unfortunately for her, Nevin was a swine, and Keanan lacked the conscience to warn her off. Not when she could aid him in ruining the man.
* * *
Having tolerated her share of overbearing males this evening, Wynne had hoped Lord Nevin would heed her hint and leave her alone in the gardens. She sat on a small stone bench overlooking a large, shallow pool. The reflective flames from the freestanding torches provided a quiet, meditative setting.
“Wynne.”
She nudged her slipper into the decorative loose gravel at her feet. “Are you just persistent, Lord Nevin, or simply hard of he
aring?” she wondered aloud.
Gravel crunched as he came closer. She stood, wanting to escape him and the rush of embarrassment she had felt in the ballroom.
He halted her with a touch. “Please.” He guided her back onto the bench and then settled beside her. “You told me to wait, but I fear I do not have the patience. I need to explain a few things.” Lord Nevin stared out at the pool, which had initially beckoned her to seek solace there.
“You are presumptuous, my lord, if you believe I owe you the consideration to listen to you—or care, for that matter.”
Her words were a lie. For the past six months, a reluctant truce had formed between the womanizing rake and her. To her surprise, she had discovered a man who was intelligent, humorous, and so unlike the superficial persona she had automatically applied to anyone of his good looks and carefree character. While she loathed confessing the news to her papa, she had believed she was developing a tendre for the impossible man.
“Why were you talking to Milroy?”
It took her thoughts a moment to follow the question. “Lothbury insisted on introducing us,” she explained. “I saw no harm.”
“Did you not?” he asked, not really needing an answer. “Somehow, Milroy discovered my interest in you. He sought you out as a means to attack me.”
“My lord, what fever fires these demented hallucinations? Mr. Milroy and I met by chance.” She made a helpless gesture. “Lothbury tells me Milroy is a champion pugilist by profession. The man is clearly enjoying the fame and connections his victories have gained him.”
She did not understand Lord Nevin’s irrational dislike for the fighter. Even if he had been acting in a reasonable manner, she still would not reveal the truth of why Milroy desired an introduction.
“Lothbury is a maggot,” Lord Nevin passionately proclaimed. “He drinks too much, gambles to excess, and he owes debts to unsavory gentlemen. His connection to society made him Milroy’s perfect choice.”
The corner of Wynne’s mouth lifted into a slight smile. “Hmm. Drinking to excess, gambling, and womanizing. I would guess these sins would be familiar to you.”
Instead of recognizing the irony, his grim expression became unreadable. “More than you know.”
In the ensuing silence, she thought of her papa. He was not a man to cross when he was deep in a game. Perhaps her aunt was tired and would not mind giving her an escort home. Asking Aunt Moll meant she would have to walk back into the ballroom. Nevertheless, she was too sturdy to crumble at a few whispers. Wynne rose.
Lord Nevin clasped her hand within his. “Promise me … because of our friendship. Keep your distance from Milroy.”
It was too much. Grimacing, she slipped her captured hand free and headed back to the ballroom. She had no intention of ever speaking to that pugilist again. Still, Nevin’s command grated. She was not in the mood to humor the man.
He seized her arm before she had a chance to walk through the open doorway. He need not have bothered. What Wynne noticed twenty yards away had rooted her.
Lord Nevin’s grip tightened to the point of pain. “Damn.”
Mr. Milroy was seated beside Aunt Moll. The two of them looked on as her aunt laughed at something the man murmured in her ear. She affectionately patted him on the cheek.
Wynne did not struggle free from Nevin’s hold. She tilted her face upward; her cool green eyes held his. “Forget the warnings and the sworn oaths. That man is charming my aunt. Why is he a danger to my family? Who is he to you?”
The blond highlights in his long brown hair glistened in the candlelight as he leaned closer. A loose strand freed itself from his queue, swung forward, and brushed lightly against her temple. “Keanan Milroy seeks to destroy my family. He despises me and is ruthless enough to use any pawn. Do not be fooled by his charm.”
Charm? The man had insulted her in front of everyone. Still, she believed Lord Nevin’s assessment that Mr. Milroy was ruthless. Wynne had seen the rage on his face when he dragged Mr. Egger off her. She had witnessed the violence as he delivered retribution for the other man’s crimes.
“How do you know all of this?”
Lord Nevin’s attention returned to Mr. Milroy flirting with her aunt. His jaw hardened with an audible click. “He is my half brother.”
Five
Keanan’s motives were murky, even to himself, as he followed the servant up the stairs to Mrs. Molly Bedegrayne’s drawing room. The older woman had imperiously requested an introduction two days ago at the Lumleys’ ball.
“Are you the gentleman who boorishly refused my niece a dance?” she had demanded, her sharp eyes examining him, noting every detail.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He had expected her to order the footmen to expel him from the residence. To his amazement, she tossed her head back and laughed. Through her teary, humorous gaze, she reached forward and patted him on the cheek.
“Mr. Milroy, I warrant my niece has never been treated thus by any of her suitors. I credit she will recall your novel approach for years.”
If she meant the lady would never forgive him, then he agreed.
Mrs. Bedegrayne proved to be unlike any member of the ton he had met. Sitting on a blue-and-gold gilded high-backed chair, she had enthralled the group, regaling them with tales of her youth. She considered everyone around her a dear new friend, and her refreshing enthusiasm captivated him. Later, it had been impossible to refuse her invitation to come calling.
“There you are, my dear boy.” Mrs. Bedegrayne limped forward to greet him. She wore an unembellished gray dress with crisp white Vandyke trim edging her sleeves and hem.
“Madam, are you well? I could call another time.”
“No, no. It is an old injury that aches me. No need to fuss.” Taking him by both hands, she led him into the drawing room. “I am pleased you accepted my offer. When I last saw you, I wondered if you had agreed just to appease an old woman.”
Settling onto the sofa she had gestured toward, he removed his hat and placed it on his lap. “I must disagree, Mrs. Bedegrayne. A woman of your beauty is considered ageless.”
Her fingers fluttered up and adjusted her lace cap, which in Keanan’s unsophisticated opinion appeared fine. “Aunt Moll to you. I see your dear mama brought you up well.”
The casual reference to Aideen Milroy still managed after all these years to drive jagged glass splinters into his gut. Years of practice and discipline had him wrapping the seething emotions within him tight and dragging them deep. A woman like Aunt Moll would never understand the duality of compassion and treachery that had made up his mother. “I lost my mother when I was thirteen.”
The awkwardness of not knowing how to offer him comfort had her fidgeting. “Oh. Oh, my. Forgive my prying. I did not invite you here to summon old pain.”
Shrewdly he studied her. “Why did you invite me here?”
“Aunt Moll,” a female voice called out from downstairs. One of the servants must have intercepted the new arrival, for a muffled conversation took place outside the drawing room door.
Wynne Bedegrayne.
Young eyes met old. The sly old matchmaker, he thought, not bothering to hide his grin. “Your niece wasn’t pleased to see me hovering around you at the Lumleys’ ball; she will think less of me sitting here in your best room.”
She sniffed into her handkerchief and then used it to wave off his concern. “Wynne was miffed at your outlandish behavior, and rightly so. However, I have gained more than silver hair and wrinkles over the years. I see things you young ones miss. You may be a slippery fellow, Mr. Milroy, but you are redeemable.”
He could not prevent himself from asking, “What about Lord Nevin?”
Aunt Moll leaned forward. “I prefer you for my niece,” she admitted, pleased that she had managed this discreet meeting.
Well, this should be entertaining, Keanan thought, adjusting his position slightly so he could see Miss Bedegrayne’s reaction. It was rather perverse of him, but he enjoyed rattl
ing the lady.
* * *
“Perhaps she is out?”
Almost to the top of the stairs, Wynne waited for her lagging friends, Amara and Brook. “Amara, the front door is unlocked. The servants are absent. Why would she beg me for a visit and then depart without a word?”
Brook delicately shrugged. “It has been some time since I have seen your aunt. Still, at her age, the mind becomes weak. She merely could have forgotten.”
“I suppose,” Wynne said, not convinced. She rubbed the tingling feeling in her neck away with her hand. Not waiting for her friends, she knocked at the drawing room door.
“Enter, dear,” her aunt bade from within.
Some of the tension in her shoulders eased at the sound of her aunt’s voice. Nothing was wrong. Her aunt was safe. She was not lying at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg, as she had been found nine months past.
“Good afternoon, Aunt Moll.” She pushed open the doors. “I have a surprise for you. Look who—” Her words took flight. Sitting in her aunt’s drawing room, as if he had every right to be there, was that man.
Aunt Moll waved her handkerchief, beckoning her closer. The teasing glimmer in her eyes revealed to Wynne that her shock had been expected. “As you can see, my dear, I, too, have a surprise.”
She heard Amara’s sharp intake of breath. Her friend had arrived late to the Lumleys’ ball; even so, there had been a wealth of gossips eager to share the tale.
“Lady A’Court and Miss Claeg.” Her aunt used the arm of her chair as a brace to stand. Espying Wynne’s concern, she shook her head in denial. “Just a little stiff if I sit too long. Lord Tipton warned me this would happen. If I give up on this old limb, I will be forced to squander my last days bedridden.”
Her aunt’s movements became less stiff with each step. She embraced each woman before making her way back to her chair. Mr. Milroy reached out, gripping the older woman by the upper arm, and assisted her into her seat.
“Ladies, please join us.” Aunt Moll touched her heart. “Dear me, a gathering like this requires refreshments. Wynne, ring for Aberly.”
The Scandalously Bad Mr. Milroy Page 6