To his credit, however, he did not gloat over George’s absence. There was no smug smirk on his face whenever his gaze brushed past hers as he turned his head in conversation with the women seated on either side of him. Which was another thing that irked Ellie to no end. Honestly, did Lady Millington have to seat him between such celebrated beauties?
The young woman to the left of him was Lady Elise—a duke’s daughter in her first Season—and on the right sat Miss Carmichael.
She’d heard it whispered in the parlor earlier that, upon gaining Lord Hullworth’s attendance, Lady Millington had invited Miss Carmichael only minutes before the dinner this very evening. A clear attempt at matchmaking! It appalled Ellie. Not for her own sake, of course. But for his. As his friend, she didn’t want him subjected to the attentions of these husband-hungry women. He deserved better than to be manipulated by his hostess. But now the question foremost on the ton’s lips was surely, which one would ensnare London’s most elusive bachelor?
Ellie couldn’t give a fig. She and her quarter-century-old, shriveling body were content to wait for George.
With that thought in mind, she tried not to look across the table at all. Instead, she focused on her own seat partners, the handsome Lord Savage to her left and the tipsy Lord Bassingstoke to the right. While the former was shifting away from under-the-napkin advances from Lady Bassingstoke on his other side, the latter seemed fascinated by the subtle touches of needlework Ellie had stitched along the edge of her bodice.
“Does your wife enjoy embroidery, my lord?” she asked through her teeth.
This wasn’t the first time she’d inquired after his wife, hoping the gentle reminder would bring him to heel. But his two—well, perhaps three—interests seemed to be in discovering the mysteries at the bottom of his wine goblet and whatever lay beyond her pale apricot gown.
She’d thought the stylish cut was modest when she’d peered in the looking glass earlier. Sitting down, however, caused the bodice’s lacy edge to lower slightly—but not indecently—and the ivory swells of her breasts to rise like twin souffles, baked in the gusseted cups of her corset.
Lord Bassingstoke’s gaze gradually lifted quizzically. “What was that, Miss Parrish?”
Thankfully, the appearance of a footman and a fresh decanter at his other elbow distracted the lecher for the moment.
“Admirable effort, Miss Parrish,” Lord Savage murmured beside her. “But there are some gentlemen and ladies alike who simply enjoy being naughty. I fear the only way to deal with one deep in his cups is with”—stealthily he slid his fork to her, his tawny brows arching over clear, emerald green eyes that flickered with cynical amusement—“gentle persuasion.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I shall use this advice wisely.”
“Don’t keep it for long, hmm? Otherwise, I’d have no way to defend my own honor.”
She laughed softly. The statement was all the more comical coming from a man of Lord Savage’s powerful physique. Rumor had it that, for a time, he even ran a pugilism club out of his ballroom. And yet, he moved with the grace of a golden lion and seemed equally as dangerous to know. After all, he was well-known amongst the ton for being something of a scoundrel.
He was another wealthy bachelor who openly professed to never marry, much like Lord Hullworth. However, Lord Savage’s reputation for having a slew of indiscreet affairs kept him from being dubbed a prime catch. As far as the ton was concerned, any marriage of his would be nothing short of scandalous.
“I wonder if I might bend your ear, my lord,” she said quietly, not wanting to arouse any interest in her topic or accidentally incite a scandal of her own.
He leaned a fraction closer and whispered, “You have me at your disposal. Do with my ear—or any other part of me—whatever you desire.”
“Now who’s being naughty?” Of course, she blushed. Especially when he unleashed the full potency of his rakish grin. Coupled with the drowsy, devilish gleam in his gaze and she was in desperate need of a fan.
“Forgive me, my dear. I spend so little time with innocents that I often forget how easy it is to make you blush. Fascinating to watch, really. It’s like you’re coming into bloom. No wonder Hullworth cannot take his eyes off you.”
She turned sharply, but only to see her friend angle his head in conversation with Miss Carmichael. And whatever he said made the young woman titter and look up at him shyly through her lashes as she responded.
A discomfiting burst of fire filled Ellie, scorching the inner lining of her lungs. And when she exhaled, she was surprised flames didn’t spew from her lips. “You’re mistaken.”
“And you’re not paying attention to the way his white-knuckled hand is gripping his goblet stem, or to the tense twitch at the hinge of his jaw.” As her tableside companion spoke, Lord Hullworth’s gaze swung back across the table, transforming at once to a dark glower that fell on Lord Savage, who apparently found the entire episode amusing. “See the murder in his eyes? I daresay, it won’t be long before he leaps across the table and pummels me to a permanent good night. However, I do hope it’s not too soon. The dessert course is next. And I firmly believe that one should never meet one’s maker before partaking in any and all indulgences.” He paused to poke the bear by raising his glass in a mock toast. “Tell me, Miss Parrish, why do you think he reacts this strongly to seeing the two of us enjoying a pleasant conversation?”
“I should hardly know. We are only acquainted through his sister.”
“Interesting. That is precisely what he said.” He let the statement hang in the air while he took a long swallow, studying her over the rim of his goblet. “But I think you’re both lying to yourselves.”
She shook her head in adamant denial, her pulse unbearably quick. “There is nothing more between us. He knows that I’ve set my cap for another man.”
“Ah. Now I understand. The root of all that anger stems from his own desire. He wants you but you’re not his for the taking, and he isn’t about to make that mistake again. Poor sod,” he said as he set his glass down. “I suppose I’ll stop tormenting him now. And so, what was your question, my dear?”
Ellie could hardly recall it at the moment. Both her brain and heart had stopped functioning the instant she heard the words he wants you. And when they started up again it was with an unwelcome rise of warmth and lightness that felt far too like exhilaration, giving rise to an entirely new series of ailments to worry over.
“It was in regard to a book that my friend, Lady Northcott, and I are writing,” she said, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. Dimly, she nodded toward the far end of the table where Jane sat. At the same time, she discreetly reached under the table to stab Lord Bassingstoke’s thigh as he slid his knee along hers. “Its primary focus is to identify the differences between the gentlemen who marry and the scoundrels who don’t. And I was wondering what your views on marriage are?”
“As a confirmed scoundrel, I will say that marriage is an affair that’s overstayed its welcome,” he said succinctly. “There’s no need to get the vicar involved for something that’s bound to end in misery. But to each his own.” He shrugged and his pointed gaze fell to Lady Bassingstoke’s wandering hand as she pretended to be absorbed in the conversation on her other side. “Case in point, my dear.”
Ellie frowned. Not because she was distressed over Lord Savage’s rather grim outlook, but because she was still thinking about what he’d said about Lord Hullworth.
He couldn’t want her. Not really. He knew she was George’s. So the glower across the table must have been due to the fact that he was simply looking out for her, as he would do for any of his sister’s friends. Wasn’t it?
* * *
At the conclusion of dinner, Ellie found Jane waiting in the corridor to walk with her and the other women to the parlor, while the men lingered in the dining room over port and tobacco. Aunt Myrtle was already far ahead and doing her best to ferret out recipe secrets from their hostess.
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br /> Jane twined arms with Ellie as they meandered along the blue lias stone tiles, their skirts slowly swishing together in shades of apricot and plum. Her friend’s sapphire eyes blinked drowsily while she reached up to brush an errant brown curl from her cheek.
“Just so you know,” Jane began, then paused to stifle a yawn, “coming back from the brink of ruination isn’t as grand as it might seem. I cannot wait until the Season is over so I can take a good, long nap.”
“If you’re tired, then why not send your regrets? Our hostess would have understood. And I’m sure your husband would have agreed. He must detest these obligatory parties to introduce him to society.”
“Unfortunately, most of these are for my benefit—all part of Lord Herrington’s campaign to have society forget about my sojourn into a brothel last fall. Though, since he was the one who brought it out into the open, it’s hardly fair that I am the one losing sleep. But I appreciate his efforts to make amends and become a true family, nonetheless. As for Raven,” she said with a very un-Jane-like wistful sigh as if the very mention of her husband’s name stole the breath from her body, “he doesn’t want to disappoint his grandfather by refusing the invitations. There are still too many who believe him to be a feral creature. They’re correct, of course, but only in the best possible way.” She bit down on her bottom lip to hide a grin and passed a caressing hand over the barely noticeable swell of her midriff. “So tell me, how is your progress with Lord Nethersole? Any new developments for our research?”
“Well, I had thought things were finally progressing when he’d offered to travel to Wiltshire with my aunts and me,” Ellie said, having already told Jane about the entire ordeal. “However, I have seen little of him since.”
“From your description of how he’d practically dared Lord Hullworth to offer his carriage and house, I’d speculated that George’s unexplained display of agitation was indicative of jealousy,” Jane said, lighting a candle of hope inside Ellie. But then she dowsed the flame on the next breath. “But his absence would indicate he wasn’t afraid of losing his hold on your affections at all.”
At once, Ellie felt like that apple again, dangling at the very edge of a branch. In her mind’s eye, she pictured a hand reaching up to pick the ripe, red fruit. But the most disconcerting part of that vision was . . . it wasn’t George’s hand she saw.
“And he wouldn’t, of course. Certainly not to Lord Hullworth, who has no intention of marrying.”
Yet, as she recalled what he’d said on the terrace last week about his parents having a partnership based on love and trust, she wondered if her statement was entirely accurate.
I will not settle for less, he’d stated plainly. Such a confession didn’t sound at all like a man who never intended to marry. Instead, it sounded like a man who was searching for someone to change his mind. Not that it mattered to her.
Jane stared at her quizzically. “There was a downward cast to your voice, just now, as if Lord Hullworth’s intentions, or lack thereof, bothered you.”
“No, indeed.” She swallowed, wondering why the avowal tasted strangely flat and formless on her tongue, like sampling a spoonful of pavlova only to realize that the cook had left sugar out of the meringue. “We are nothing more than friends to each other. In fact, he could be a trifle more elusive for my tastes. Every time I turn around, he’s there.”
Jane lifted her slender shoulders in an offhanded shrug. “Ours is a smallish society. In a week’s time we see many of the same people. In fact, in our previous Seasons, you and I have attended dozens of events where he was also a guest and surrounded by his followers.”
“The gaggle,” she supplied with an absent nod, her brow knitted. “But it’s a bit different now, and it has been ever since our encounter at the Zoological Society Gardens.”
She didn’t particularly want to talk about it, but it was important that Jane understood the severity of the conundrum Ellie found herself in.
“What happened at the zoo to bring about this transformation?”
“Well . . .” She leaned closer and cupped her hand to the side of her mouth to whisper into Jane’s ear. “He might have . . . um . . . kissed me.”
Jane gasped. “Newton’s apple!”
“Hu-ush,” she answered in singsong through her teeth as she smiled at Miss Carmichael and Lady Elise, who glanced back over their shoulders. Both were whispering like a pair of vipers in a basket, doubtless pretending friendship while scheming against each other for Lord Hullworth’s attention. Ellie slowed her steps until she and Jane trailed all the others, then continued sotto voce. “It only happened because I was in a panic due to an elephant on the loose. You know how I can be when on the precipice of death. And I’m sure he wouldn’t have done anything so drastic if he hadn’t still believed that I’d made up George to make him jealous.” She shook her head. “It all sounds too ridiculous to speak aloud.”
“No, not at all. In fact, this is an inspiring development for our research. By all accounts, he is a gentleman who values his privacy. Not only does he shield his younger sister from scoundrels, but his own liaisons are quite discreet.”
Ellie’s spine stiffened ramrod straight. “What do you mean his own liaisons?”
“Precisely,” Jane said with a scholarly nod. Then, clearly unaware that she’d just tied her friend’s stomach in knots with three words, she continued. “So, one could only imagine the numerous options he might have chosen to employ to subdue your dread. A ‘there, there, Miss Parrish’ and a pat on the hand might have sufficed. And yet”—she paused to lift her pointed finger and arch her brows—“he chose to kiss you. In public.”
“You’re making too much of it. We were well hidden,” Ellie groused, still wondering about those liaisons.
She supposed that it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he, like George, had oats to sow. But quite suddenly she hated the thought of oats, sown or unsown. If she never saw or heard of an oat again, it would be too soon.
“Very well,” Jane said a bit too easily. “Then tell me what happened directly following this apparently insignificant moment.”
“He declared his intention to call on me. But it meant nothing. Truly.”
Ellie did her best to keep her expression neutral but Jane’s erudite eyes gleamed in triumph like a cat who’d caught a mouse by the tail. Thankfully, she kept her cunning thoughts to herself.
Pursing her lips, Jane looked down to fish a tiny ledger and pencil stub from the placket sewn into her skirts at the hip. Turning to a blank page, she asked, “And was this said in the obligatory ‘I kissed you and, therefore, I must behave like a gentleman now’ sense? Or was he rather demanding and animalistic? Did he growl at any point?”
Knowing it was important to document her findings for research, Ellie was straightforward and completely honest. “It must have been obligatory. However, since he was still holding me at the time, I cannot make an unequivocal statement to that effect.” She paused to gather in a breath, wondering why she was suddenly light-headed, her chest tight—likely a collapsed lung, her death imminent. It could have nothing to do with the fact that she was recounting the most intimate experience of her life, she was sure. “There may have been a growl, but we were in the zoo so that hardly signifies.”
“Everything signifies. One must explore all avenues,” Jane said with a tap of her pencil to the paper. “But the most important thing to note for the primer is, what did it do to your physiology?”
The recollection caused her pulse to quicken. Dragging in a sip of air, she settled her fingertips against the insistent fluttering on the side of her throat in order to keep it from bursting through her skin and causing some sort of disastrous arterial damage. “I don’t really . . . that is . . . it was all so . . .”
Jane closed the ledger with a snap and grinned. “Inordinately interesting, indeed. Tell me this—how much embroidery have you done ever since the zoo incident?”
Knowing that her friend would make too m
uch of it, Ellie was about to deny that she’d done any. And yet, in that precise instant, she noted that her free hand was on a fidgeting spree, unfastening and refastening the pearl buttons of her glove. She’d even loosened one.
“I can’t seem to stop,” she admitted on a reluctant sigh. “Even now I wish I had a needle and thread just to keep myself from thinking about it. Dash it all. I’ll need to mend this straightaway. Let’s go to the retiring room.”
“Left an impression, did he?” Jane asked as they took the corridor away from the parlor.
Ellie nodded and lifted her hands to cover her scorching cheeks. “He did things that I never knew were part of kissing. Wondrously delicious things. I even forgot where I was.”
“Then it stands to reason that he would be an exceptional lover.”
“Jane!” She gasped and glanced around the empty hallway. “You’re a married woman. You shouldn’t think about those things.”
“On the contrary, as a woman married to a visceral man with unassailable stamina, I am delighted to be distracted by those things several times a day. I have no doubt that you will be, as well. When you marry, I daresay, you’ll have little time to embroider then,” she added with a waggle of her brows.
Ellie’s mind immediately conjured a picture of Lord Hullworth, interrupting her needlework to haul her into his arms and . . . satisfy his appetite.
The thought caused her blood to simmer like mulled wine in a pot over the fire. Her lungs were left burning for a breath of cool air and a fine sheen of perspiration bloomed on her skin.
The Wrong Marquess EPB Page 15