On the drive, Diablo pawed at the gravel and tossed his head while a frazzled groom clung to his bridle. A swift pat on the beast’s neck calmed him enough for Simon to mount. He turned out of the gate and headed for Hyde Park.
Even at this early hour, there were a few members of the ton walking and driving in the park. Acknowledging the odd acquaintance as he went, he observed the fashionable set’s barely concealed whispers over his latest affaire d’honneur. Not that he would ever commit the sin of bad ton and own up to dueling, but they would all know of it and be titillated by the latest on dit. None of them would believe the story of an accident.
Hell. Just for once, it would be nice not to be the villain of the piece.
A dark-blue barouche, its wheels picked out in red, had pulled over at the side of the path. Buxom Miss Cassandra Eckford was waiting exactly as he had instructed in his note. He crushed a vague sense of disappointment. When they first met, he had hoped she might be different from all the other women in his life. In a moment of weakness, he’d actually hoped she’d refuse his advances despite the fact he’d invested so much time in her pursuit. Fortunately for him, she was exactly what he’d assumed.
He brought Diablo alongside her carriage and cast a glance over the blonde-haired, blue-eyed chit and her false little frown. Boredom washed over him.
“My lord, I thought you were not coming,” she said, pouting. “You are late.”
Her maid looked scandalized, as well she might. No respectable young lady would arrange to meet him, though no one balked at a chance meeting in the park. Dear Miss Eckford, or rather her harridan of a mother, was after his wealth. Wry satisfaction filled him. And that suited him perfectly. Or it had. Today she looked like an overblown rose and the greed in her eyes gave him a sour taste in his mouth.
But what other choice did he have? “My apologies,” he murmured leaning close. He smiled at her rewarding little shiver and dropped his gaze to where her blonde curls brushed the nape of her neck. A deliciously presented barque of frailty. Perfect for him.
The darkness inside him grew. It would not do for her to see it. The bitterness. The emptiness. They both had parts to play and he had his lines off pat.
He gestured toward the lake with his riding crop. “Would you care to stroll, Miss Eckford?”
“Oh, what a simply lovely idea,” she replied in a breathy whisper. “Smith will mind your horse.”
He smiled. “Nay, I’ll not trouble your groom with this unpredictable beast.” Simon dismounted and assisted Miss Eckford to alight.
Leading Diablo, he took Miss Eckford’s arm and strolled with her across the spring-green lawn. They wandered beneath the spreading ancient oaks and skirted a stand of willows. He selected a stone seat with a fine view of the ornamental lake and strategically placed Diablo between them and the chaperone watching from the carriage. He assisted Cassandra to sit and lounged beside her, admiring her perfect profile. Or at least, perfect in her opinion. She was pretty, but there was no intelligence or fire.
The image of Miss Yelverton’s lovely features, the rare color of her eyes, the determined set of her chin, flashed into his mind. She made no bones about telling him what a dissolute wretch she thought him. An ache of loss settled like a cold, hard lump in his gut. She was right and there wasn’t a damned thing he could or would do about it. He was what life had made him and Cassandra Eckford was the woman he deserved.
A diamond of the first water existing on the fringes of society, she had made it perfectly clear she was readily available for a price. Now she peeped at him from beneath fair lashes as if she was some sort of innocent. A tremulous smile curved her perfect rosebud lips, but there was no depth to it. No heart.
Nothing like Miss Yelverton’s smile when freely given.
He cursed himself for a fool. He wasn’t looking for a sweet, virtuous female, with marriage her mind, though for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he had sought something a little less jaded than his usual fare. Cassandra Eckford had seemed perfect. Until today.
He captured her fingers in his, rubbing her gloved palm with his thumb. She blushed delightfully. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips against the inside of her wrist. Her fingers trembled and her breath quickened. He recognized the signs. She had made her decision. She was his and the others who’d been after her would be left gnashing their teeth and a whole lot better off financially.
This shallow barter of flesh for money was all he would ever have, all he deserved. It left him feeling empty.
Damn it. Was he so jaded that, now he had her in his grasp, he didn’t want her? Had the ease of her capitulation had destroyed his appetite?
“I’m leaving Town soon,” he said.
“When?” She sounded nervous. They all were, at first. His reputation ensured it. Nervous and titillated by anticipation. She’d certainly be better off with him than some of the other men tempted by the bait laid out by her mother. At least when he parted from her, he’d leave her financially secure for the rest of her life and free to choose her partners. It was more than most men offered their cast-off paramours.
“I’m not exactly sure. You must come when I send word.”
Anxiety filled her expression. “Oh.”
Her hesitation gave him pause. He wouldn’t force her. Not when there were so many others who were willing. He gentled his tone. “You are free to say no, you know. If you don’t wish it.”
A tremor shook the small hand inside his, but she raised her gaze with surprising boldness. “Of course I wish it.” She presented him with a dazzling smile.
Playing at being illusive, then. Why was he not surprised? He heaved an inward sigh. Relief? Or resignation? He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers. She giggled.
He gritted his teeth at a dart of irritation. “I’ll send a note.” As soon as he was certain Miss Yelverton was content to remain in the capable hands of his cousin, he’d be free. Clearly, the sooner the better, since his thoughts kept drifting to the hellion residing under his roof rather than focusing where it should be, on Miss Cassandra Eckford.
Miss Eckford nodded, her ringlets caressing her face. “I will be waiting.”
“Paris, Rome, wherever your heart desires, you just have to tell me,” he offered in a rush of generosity. Or guilt. Damn it, what did he have to be guilty about? She understood what she was about, her mother had said so.
Her china-blue eyes, so shallow, so avaricious, gleamed. “I’ll let you choose.”
Ennui enveloped him. He shook it off. All that mattered was her willing agreement and to hell with the disappointment eating at his soul.
He held out his hand. “Come, we must go back. No one must suspect.” Pandering to her pretense of innocence was all part of the game he’d played more times than he cared to count.
Assisting her to rise, he gazed intently into her eyes. He felt the need for the warmth of a woman after this morning’s debacle even if it was only fleeting, shallow and false. Once they were away from here, her youth and freshness would satisfy this aching need for something different. Something better.
She was better. It would entertain him to teach her how to please him. He would bask in the warmth of her adoration, even if she only adored his wealth.
For a while, he might possibly even bury his self-disgust.
CHAPTER THREE
Simon wanted his old life back.
He repressed the desire to close his eyes at the sight of dozens of garish plaster statues depicting leering Poseidons and bare-breasted mermaids strategically draped with seaweed in every niche and corner of Lady Corby’s ballroom.
At Maria’s side on the opposite side of the dance floor, Victoria’s face expressed shock, disbelief and ultimately amusement. His lips twitched with the urge to smile at her unsuccessful attempt to keep her thoughts off her face.
“If you keep staring at her like that, potential suitors will think you have designs on her and be scared off,” Dev said.
Simon dr
agged his eyes gaze away from Victoria at the edge of the dance floor and turned to meet his friend’s smiling face. For once the Marquess of Deveril was sober, or very nearly.
Simon kept his tone light. “You mistake. I’m simply keeping an eye on things.”
“Ah, the dutiful guardian.” Ian’s grin widened, and for a moment, Simon felt like punching him.
With a short laugh, he gained control. “I’ll be glad when she finds a husband.”
Almost a month had passed since Michael Yelverton’s death and at Simon’s urging, Maria had convinced those denizens of the ton, the patronesses of Almack’s, to signal their approval of Victoria’s come-out.
Dev gazed past him. “Looking like that, she should be off your hands in no time. I imagine the matchmaking mamas are gnashing their teeth. She’s quite lovely.”
Simon resisted the temptation to glare at his friend for his obvious admiration. His thoughts had followed the same path before Dev’s arrival, except Simon wanted to have strong words with Maria about the smoke-gray wisp of silk supposed to be covering Victoria’s delicate curves. There was no denying Maria had excellent taste when it came to fashion and had tricked out her young charge to perfection, but the bodice revealed an indecent amount of deliciously creamy skin.
She had been wearing a cloak when they left the house or he would have marched her straight back up the stairs to find something modest, more suited to an innocent young lady.
He forced his mind away off the generous swells displayed above the beaded neckline. The sight delighted and infuriated him at one and the same time. He resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. “I need a drink.”
They strolled to the refreshment table decorated with swaths of blue muslin and scattered with goblets containing, of all things, goldfish. Enough to put a man off his drink.
“You are right. Maria has turned Miss Yelverton out in prime style,” he said in bored tones, careful to select two glasses of champagne, not fish. “She should be married off in no time.
Dev’s hoot of laughter jangled his nerves.
“You sound like some proud papa launching his only daughter,” Dev said. “It must be costing you a fortune.”
The cost meant nothing. Simon frowned. “Foolish chit wants to pay me back. Every penny. As well as pay her brother’s debts.”
“She’ll need a rich husband then. I can imagine the discussion when you get to settlements.”
Simon downed his wine in one swallow. “It’s worse than that. She intends to find employment and pay me back from her wages.”
Dev’s eyes widened. It took a lot to surprise the Marquess of Deveril. Simon set down his empty glass. “She says she has no interest in marriage.”
“She will be the first,” Dev muttered.
Simon wasn’t going to give her a choice. Marrying her off would ensure her future. Make her safe from him and others of his ilk.
Dev glanced around the crowded ballroom. “Well, my friend, there are plenty of likely prospects in attendance tonight. The whole of London’s male species has turned up in droves.”
“I had the same thought myself.”
A sinking feeling invaded the pit of Simon’s stomach. He’d successfully avoided Miss Yelverton these past several weeks, but each time he crossed her path, the surprise of finding her in his house had unaccountably lifted his spirits. He had savored the fragrance of jasmine when he traveled down a hallway or entered a room after she had left. He liked hearing her soft voice conversing with Maria when he passed the drawing room. The unaccustomed feeling of pleasurable warmth troubled him. Taking her in had been a duty. There was no reason for the stab of regret as the thought of her departure. None at all.
Dev nodded in the direction of a young man in a burgundy coat passing by. “How about young Greeb? Good family, plenty of the ready, not too high in the instep and looking for a wife.”
“Greeb?” Simon could not keep the scorn out of his voice. “He’s too short.”
“Miss Yelverton is not particularly tall.”
True. She barely reached to Simon’s shoulder. If he tried, he was certain he could encircle her tiny waist with his hands. She gave the impression of being as delicate as fine porcelain, but she was not nearly so fragile. He buried the recollection of his palms grazing over her slim body that first day behind a wall of ice. She was his ward. Out of bounds.
“What about old Monteith?” Dev continued, reveling in his role as matchmaker.
Simon inspected the grizzled Colonel Charles Monteith stepping out a lively cotillion and already perspiring. “He drinks too much and he’s far too old. Besides he’s married.”
“Widowed. Got a couple of children who need a new mama.”
Simon’s stomach churned. Victoria Yelverton deserved better than to play nursemaid for a man who spent most of his time away on military service. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Surely you’re not expecting a title?”
“Why not?”
“It’s unlikely you’d get someone like a Marquess Carlisle or an Earl Pelham,” Ian said, indicating the two youthful rakes in question. “With their encumbrances, they must marry money and land. No, what you need is some eligible, youngish bachelor with an easy competence and a pleasant disposition. And if he has a title, all the better.”
Simon couldn’t see a single male who fitted the description. “Precisely.”
“I think I might have a go at her myself.” A hint of laughter colored Dev’s voice.
Simon swore silently. He’d been caught, and nicely, for Deveril had indeed described himself exactly. He gave his friend a speculative look. “Are you putting yourself forward?”
Dev’s teasing expression turned to one of panic. “Damn it, Sin. You know I am jesting.”
“She could do a lot worse.”
“No.”
“At least give it some thought. You did say you would need to marry sooner or later.”
“Later. Much later.”
Relief rushed through Simon. Knowing she was with Dev would be...difficult. It would end their friendship. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
A restless look crossed Dev’s face. “I’m leaving now. Will you join me at White’s later?”
Simon suppressed a groaned. “I’m down for two dances with Miss Yelverton. According to Maria, I am required to lead her out on her first entry into Society. Maria made me swear to also dance with at least three other females, just to allay any gossip.”
Dev grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief once more. “Parenthood is hell.”
Simon had just about had enough. He was seriously thinking about inviting his friend to a couple of bouts at Jackson’s Saloon.
“There’s one man you won’t want to encourage,” Dev said in an undertone.
Simon didn’t turn to look. “Who?”
“Ogden.”
Swinging around, Simon saw a smug Ogden with Victoria’s gloved fingers in his hand. Simon scowled. “Damn him. I told her to have nothing to do that bastard.”
Dev placed a restraining hand on Simon’s sleeve. “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll tread warily. He’s a vile cur. You know it and so do half the men in this room. But it’s all conjecture. He’s never caused a scandal and he was her brother’s friend. The more you object, the more she’ll cling to him. He has her trust.”
Trust. The idea she was so naïve as to trust a man like Ogden irritated old wounds beyond bearing. Simon started in their direction. Maria arrived at Victoria’s side. Simon halted in mid-stride, released his breath and turned away. Maria would look after things. He’d given her his instructions.
“I will meet you at White’s later.” Right now he needed something stronger than champagne. After that, he would do his duty and dance with every unattached female in the room if it meant he could indulge himself and hold the delicate Miss Yelverton in his arms for the space of a waltz.
At Maria’s side, Victoria watched Ogden’s trim, black-coated back
as he sauntered away, his lithe figure moving fluidly through the crowded ballroom before disappearing into one of the adjoining salons.
She sighed. Gambling. Another man firmly in its thrall. But of all Michael’s friends, Ogden had been the only one who noticed if she looked peaky, or if the fire wasn’t lit in the room where she sat. The only one who ever paid her a compliment or offered aid when she rose. He was a friend she’d come to rely on.
She certainly needed to apologize for the way Maria had as good as chased him away and after she’d told the woman he was a friend of her family. While she could not condone his role in the duel, Ogden was a true friend. Unlike her erstwhile fiancé, who had turned away from her and Michael the moment he realized how their finances stood.
But she’d had months to recover from that hurt. Or at least to face his abandonment with a show of acceptance. Now Michael had left her, too.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Maria asked bringing Victoria back from thoughts she should not be having.
Not for the first time, Victoria tried not to blink at Maria’s startling combination of an emerald robe de chine and a rose-colored turban perched on her gray curls. Enjoying herself. Right that was the question. “How could I not?”
The last three weeks had been a whirl of appointments at the dressmaker’s and a decorous round of morning calls. Under Maria’s careful guidance, Victoria had been introduced to the ton as the Season got slowly underway. With the approval of Maria’s friend, Lady Sally Jersey, her position on the marriage mart was known and accepted.
Putting off black gloves only a month after Michael’s death had raised few eyebrows, but most seemed to agree with Travis and Maria, a long period of mourning was a luxury she could not afford. The ton was nothing if it was not practical.
“What do you think of Lady Corby’s decorations?” Maria waved a hand encompassing their surroundings. “She’s known for them.”
Victoria glanced at the statues, walls and pillars festooned with blue and green silk, among which the cream of London’s ton talked and laughed in a noisy glittering babble that hurt her eyes as well as her ears. “Extraordinary, comes to mind.”
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