Charlotte rolled her shoulders nonchalantly. “Do not be concerned about them. By next Season there will be other far more intriguing scandals for the ton to relish. Besides, my brother will most likely be the first to condemn my behavior. His outrage will protect his daughters.”
Amelia shook her head. “You have too much to lose. I cannot let you make this sacrifice for me.”
“Who said it was going to be a sacrifice?” Charlotte said with a throaty laugh. She pulled insistently at a red thread on the pillow she held in her lap. “It has been many years since I lost Douglas. I miss having a man in my bed.”
“Truly?” Amelia’s mind whirled at the very thought.
“I am the better choice.” Belinda’s cheeks flushed. “After all, I am a widow with no family that would share in my disgrace.”
Amelia turned toward her other friend. “There has never been so much as a hint of scandal in your past,” she said with amazement.
“Precisely. It will be all the more shocking behavior coming from me.” Belinda’s eyes flickered. “Lest you think I am acting purely out of regard for you, I will confess that though I dearly loved Richard, we never shared the passion that Charlotte speaks about so freely. Perhaps this is my chance to experience that mystery.”
“My, what decadent little secrets we keep buried within our hearts,” Amelia said softly.
There was a heartbeat of pure silence as the three friends regarded each other warily. Then all three women burst out laughing.
“Dear friends, your loyalty humbles and shames me. How can I ask you to do something that I am unwilling to consider?” Amelia took a deep breath. “I believe a scandal just might save me from Mr. Bascomb. Therefore, I shall follow your advice and somehow lure a rogue into my bed.”
“Now we will have three scandals!” Charlotte exclaimed with a squeal as she threw her pillow at Amelia. It hit her square in the chest and she started giggling.
“There is certainly no need to have three scandals when one is all that is needed,” Belinda said. “I propose we settle this in a fair and random manner.”
She walked across the room and opened the large wardrobe containing Amelia’s garments. Charlotte and Amelia watched in curious silence as Belinda rummaged amongst the various items. A few minutes later, a short shout of triumph let them know Belinda had located what she sought.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte inquired.
“Devising a way to fairly determine the winner,” Belinda replied. She turned and held out her fisted palm. Three bright red feathers of equal height stood at jaunty attention in the center of her closed hand. “We shall each select a feather. The one who draws the shortest plume will seduce a rogue sometime during the house party and create the scandal that will free Amelia from this unwanted marriage.”
Charlotte shrugged. “It seems as fair a method as any other.” She bounded gracefully off the bed and came forward. Amelia followed at a more cautious pace.
The silence was thick with anticipation as each woman made her selection. Amelia’s heart beat in double rhythm as she held her wispy length of red plume aloft. It was clearly the shortest of the three.
“Congratulations,” Charlotte said with an amused half smile.
“You are the winner,” Belinda added.
“Thank you,” Amelia replied. She took a deep breath and attempted to clear her chest of the strange mix of relief and terror that shuttered through her. This idea was desperate, but if executed correctly might very well save her from the unhappy fate Roger seemed so determined to force upon her.
Yet hard as she tried, Amelia could not completely dispel the persistent feeling that she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
Gareth Travers, Viscount of Longley, was a man on a mission. He had spent the better part of the Season deliberately waging a carefully crafted campaign to seduce the lovely Mrs. Emma Fairweather into his bed and at long last it seemed those efforts would succeed.
Though it was hardly necessary for the young handsome viscount to pursue women, he had enjoyed himself nonetheless. To Gareth’s way of thinking it could hardly be considered sporting to chase a woman if she did not at least make an attempt to run.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Fairweather had done too good a job of eluding his advances and to the amazement of all, including the viscount, he had yet to sample her womanly charms. For the man known to society as the ultimate lover, it was a lowering state of affairs.
“You are certain Mrs. Fairweather will be at the house party?” the viscount asked. He slowed his mount and raised his voice so as to be heard by the elegant nobleman riding beside him.
“The answer to that particular question has not changed since you posed it to me two weeks ago when we visited that London brothel, last week while we gambled at White’s, and last night when we barely slept more than an hour at that appalling provincial inn,” Lucien St. Simon, the Earl of Danbury replied.
“I just wanted to be certain,” Gareth said.
The earl grimaced. “Devil take it, Longley. I believe the ache between your legs has traveled up your body and lodged itself firmly in your brain. You are possessed.”
Though loath to admit it, Gareth was honest enough to concede that his friend had a point. During most of his twenty-eight years his body had indeed ruled his mind, especially in matters of erotic pleasures.
He could not have changed that if he wanted to, for it was as much a part of his heritage as his striking black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Gareth was the second son of a duke, descendant of a noble family known for its service to the Crown and for producing at least one scandalous black sheep in every generation.
Gareth had fulfilled that role with relish, indulging his natural devilish, reckless streak at every turn. He was content to live a life of wealth and privilege, a life devoid of responsibility. ’Twas said among the beau monde that if Viscount Longley applied half the diligence to a worthwhile endeavor that he did to chasing women and indulging in every conceivable form of decadence, he would be the most powerful man in the land.
As with all his women, his current obsession, Mrs. Emma Fairweather, was a beautiful creature who possessed that air of sophisticated mischief and mystery the viscount found so irresistible in a female.
She was not especially clever, nor especially witty in her conversation, and Gareth’s mind often drifted when she spoke with him for any length of time. And still, he could not for the life of him leave her alone.
“What of Mr. Fairweather?” Gareth asked. “Will he be accompanying his wife?”
The earl shrugged. “It seems unlikely, since he has not been in town once the entire Season. Or last Season, either. I know it would make it more difficult for your seduction plans, but I for one hope the old boy does show up.”
Gareth smothered the unaccustomed twinge of hurt that emerged. Though surrounded constantly by men and women who enjoyed his company, there were a select number the viscount considered to be his friends. Lucien was one of those few.
“Mrs. Fairweather has proved to be a challenging enough conquest without her husband in tow,” Gareth said as he adjusted the speed of his horse so he could bring the animal even closer to his friend. “The chance of failure increases tenfold if he joins the party.”
“You are being far too modest,” the earl replied with a sly smile. “If necessary you could have Mrs. Fairweather on her back with you mounted atop and her husband snoring contentedly in the bed beside you both.”
“Hell and damnation, now that’s a pretty picture!”
The men laughed, then urged their mounts around a narrow bend. “If Mr. Fairweather does appear, it will be a boon for me,” Lucien explained. “He has never once been seen in society and since Mrs. Fairweather hails from such a remote section of Cornwall there are none to dispute her claim of a husband. The rumors persist that he is merely a figment of her vivid imagination.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Gareth agreed. “I’ve also heard some lackw
its have placed wagers in the betting book at White’s concerning the matter.”
“Precisely.” The earl assumed a haughty stare.
“I have accepted each and every one of them. If Mr. Fairweather follows his pretty young wife to Kent there will be no disputing the fact that he does indeed exist. I may then happily claim my substantial winnings.”
Gareth relaxed, then smiled. “You engage in the most foolhardy wagers, my friend. Mrs. Fairweather is an accomplished flirt and her kisses suggest she is far from an innocent. Yet given the circumstances even I would not play those long odds.”
The earl turned about with a flourish. “We cannot all be great lovers. Some of us must exploit our other talents in order to hold our reputations as rogues. You know I’ve always had an affinity for gambling. For me, the more impossible the odds, the more attractive the wager, hence the sweeter the victory.”
Gareth frowned as a sudden thought emerged. “Do not say that you have wagered Mrs. Fairweather will escape me?”
The earl nearly pulled his horse to a dead stop at the notion. “I enjoy taking risks but I’m not a complete idiot. Besides, I was unable to find anyone who would bet against you, Longley.”
This time it was Gareth who was almost unseated, as he threw back his head and burst into laughter. “Such a display of male confidence in my prowess warms my heart. And challenges my blood. Come on, Lucien. If we hurry, we shall arrive at Winchester Manor in time to partake of the evening meal.”
“And enjoy the delectable Mrs. Fairweather for dessert?”
The viscount raised his hand and motioned toward the empty stretch of road that lay ahead. “A sound plan. However, I must refute your claim of being a modest lover. You have all the necessary qualifications to become a top-notch seducer of females.”
“Thank you.” The earl inclined his head. “Your superior skill and reputation makes that high praise indeed.”
“Oh, stuff it!” Gareth exclaimed, breaking into a good-natured smile.
With a final laugh the two men cantered away.
CHAPTER THREE
“Have you at last made a decision, Amelia?” a female voice whispered in her ear. “Who will it be? Which of these many handsome, dashing men shall you choose for your lover?”
Amelia sprang away from that voice so fast she almost tumbled to the carpet. By only a small miracle was she able to right herself and prevent plunging headlong into the Dowager Countess of Hamlin and her escort, who were each carrying plates of food piled high with supper offerings. In panting breaths, Amelia turned to face her tormentor.
“Charlotte! You must stop sneaking up on me. These days have been trying to the extreme. My poor heart cannot take so much shock.”
Amelia felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I had not realized you were so engrossed in thought that you had gone deaf.”
Amelia frowned. Charlotte’s voice was sincere, but her friend hardly looked sorry. She actually looked amused.
“My nerves are overset,” Amelia said. She snapped open the fan that dangled from her wrist and waved it vigorously. “Roger has informed me that Mr. Bascomb will be arriving by this evening. Above all else, I must avoid his company.”
“Of course.” This time there was no mistaking the concern shining in Charlotte’s eyes. “Stay close by my side. If necessary, I can distract Mr. Bascomb.”
“Thank you.” The wispy ends of Amelia’s stylishly coiffed hair fluttered wildly in the breeze created by her fan. “It is a great comfort knowing I have you and Belinda close at hand to offer support.”
“We shall do all that we are able.” Suddenly, Charlotte’s hand shot forward and grasped Amelia’s wrist. “You are waving that so fiercely it is making me dizzy. ’Tis so unlike you to be so fidgety. Even the odious Mr. Bascomb cannot account for this attack of nerves.”
“I have been trying to make a decision,” Amelia said slowly.
“Concerning your lover?” Charlotte asked brightly. “Thank heavens. It has been three days since you plotted your course, Amelia. You need to choose your partner and start your seduction. Soon!”
Amelia felt the blush of crimson rise in her cheeks. She angled her head so Charlotte could not see the embarrassment framed in her eyes.
“This is proving far more difficult than I imagined.”
“If you are lacking courage, all you need do is imagine yourself married to Mr. Bascomb,” Charlotte advised grimly.
Amelia shuddered visibly at the thought. Charlotte was right. She must somehow find the courage to act.
“I am starting to feel conspicuous standing here,” Amelia said. “Let’s at least get a plate of food so we may sit at one of the tables.”
She took Charlotte’s arm and they strolled over to the dining room sideboard with the same casual aplomb one would assume when promenading in Hyde Park. Since a late supper was planned after tonight’s dancing, a lavish respite had been laid out for the guests to casually enjoy, so as to ensure that no one went hungry.
Amelia and Charlotte joined the line of guests. They waved off the assistance of the able footmen who stood ready to help. What was needed most was privacy.
“I noticed you danced with Lord Avery the other evening,” Charlotte whispered. “Twice.”
“He is very kind,” Amelia answered. She speared a thick slice of cured ham she had no intention of eating and placed it on her plate. “We discussed his children, who are nearly grown and the gardens at his country home. It was a very pleasant conversation.”
“Well, he has certainly mellowed with age. I thought he might have already made some overtures towards you. The tales of his exploits with women are legendary.” Charlotte paused, her hands clenched tightly around a dripping spoon of pickled beets. “Perhaps it might be easier for you to select an older, more experienced gentleman like Lord Avery. Why do you not pursue him?”
“He reminds me of my father.”
“Oh dear, that won’t do.” Charlotte put down the spoon without taking any beets and held out her plate. Amelia dropped a healthy serving of roasted potatoes onto it. “What about Mr. Matthews? I noticed he partnered you for supper after the dancing last night.”
Amelia sighed. “His conversation was so dull it nearly put me to sleep.”
“His wit is not of primary importance in this instance,” Charlotte rebuked.
“I know that,” Amelia exclaimed. Her rigid expression softened. “But will it not be easier to accept him into my bed if I like him just a little?”
Charlotte’s warm eyes filled with understanding. “Shall we alter the plan? This is obviously a torture for you. I cannot speak for Belinda, but I for one am willing to step in for you.”
Amelia shook her head adamantly. “No, I won the bet. I shall take the lover.” She pressed her palm against her hot cheek and tried to calm her nerves.
Just saying the words aloud had brought on a flush of emotion. How was she ever going to complete the deed if she could barely even speak of it?
The conversation halted as the women found an unoccupied table. Amelia struggled to swallow a slight portion of green beans while Charlotte silently observed her for a long moment. After a second bite Amelia placed her silver fork on the table and abandoned all pretense of eating.
“Spreading your attention amongst too many men is confusing and daunting and distracting you from moving ahead,” Charlotte said earnestly. “If you are going to succeed in finding a lover, you need to concentrate your efforts on one gentleman.”
“How can I select one?”
“The same way we chose which one of us would take a lover. It must be a completely random selection.”
Amelia let out a nervous giggle. “Won’t all the gentlemen be curious when I walk about the room handing out red feathers?”
“You are not taking this seriously,” Charlotte lectured.
Amelia curled her lip. Charlotte was right again. Thus far she had given the plan only a halfhearted effort. Yet it was
difficult to embrace the notion full-out when a part of Amelia’s conscience nagged that this was an impulsive, idiotic idea.
“What do you suggest?” Amelia asked cautiously
“You must make it a random twist of fate.” Charlotte’s eyes darted sharply about the room. “There are only a few unattached males in the dining room at present. I am certain more will be joining us shortly. The next one who walks into the room is the man you shall seduce into your bed. Agreed?”
Amelia nodded her head, surprised she could do it so calmly. As unobtrusively as possible she adjusted the angle of her chair so that she had an unobstructed view of the doorway.
Nervously she picked up her wineglass, took a healthy swig, and with her heart lodged firmly in her throat, waited.
There was a brief commotion at the entrance as two gentlemen approached. They stood side by side underneath the double archway, observing the gathering with practiced, cynical eyes.
Garbed in elegantly tailored coats, sporting complex white cravats and tight-fitting breeches, they were a sight to behold. Though dressed similarly to many other gentlemen in the room, this pair seemed more exciting, more dangerous than the usual ton rakes. They stood proud, arrogant, and so assured, their very presence was a blatant masculine challenge to all the other males in attendance.
Though it had been four years since she had been in London, Amelia recognized both men immediately. The Earl of Danbury and Viscount of Longley, two men who inspired mysterious, forbidden feelings in nearly every female they encountered, no matter her age or marital status.
Feeling like a character in an overly dramatic play, Amelia stared openly at the two men. Her concentration was so intense that she was unable to contain her gasp of shock when the earl bowed elegantly to the viscount and motioned that he precede him into the dining room.
It could not possibly be happening! Amelia’s heart skipped a beat and she shut her eyes tight, yet she could not bear to keep them closed. She opened them wide, then wider still as Gareth Travers, Viscount of Longley, sauntered into the room.
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