That Jason doubted, but he couldn’t help goading the man who’d foolishly bet against him. “And what do you know of her path? Do you carry a tendre for the lady, Potsdon? Is that why you’re so certain of her? Does she live high on a pedestal in your eyes?”
“I’ve known her since she was in leading strings. And if ever there was a lady who knew her own mind, it’s Philippa Casemore.”
“Oh, and what does the lady desire, then?”
“More than I can offer her,” Potsdon muttered so quietly Jason barely heard him, but the words and more importantly, the heartfelt way they were expressed, echoed in Jason’s ears.
“What did you offer her?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“An easy escape from you,” Potsdon replied with more bitterness than was warranted.
A proposal, then, was it? Jason’s stomach twisted at the thought. Whoever Pippa Casemore deserved, it wasn’t Albert Potsdon. Jason downed the whiskey in his glass, rose from his seat, and smacked Potsdon on the back, harder than was necessary. “A wise man would find Cleasby and find a way to cry off from his bet.” Then he tossed his hand in the air to his friends as a salutation and started for the exit.
The service at St. Austell House was lacking, but at least there no imbeciles like Potsdon were allowed entrance.
Beside her dear friends from the Broadmoor Academy, Pippa’s eyes continually sought the entranceway to the Davenports’ ballroom, in the vain hope that Lord Colebooke would make an appearance. Thus far he had not.
“Perhaps he attended another function,” Moria Kirwood suggested.
Patience Findlay smiled sadly. “This is hardly the event of the year.”
“Hopefully, we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Georgie Bexley-Smythe added.
“I wish you’d seen him,” she said to her friends. “Like a dashing Sir Galahad. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
“Who is?” Harry asked, appearing at her shoulder without any sort of warning.
“No one,” Pippa said quickly. “And you shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”
Harry scowled. “No. I shouldn’t be here. But someone has to keep an eye on you. Who were you talking about? Tell me now.”
“So his face can accidently meet your fists a few times?” Pippa turned her back on her favorite brother. “I think not.”
“Just tell me it isn’t St. Austell,” Harry begged.
Pippa laughed, she couldn’t help it. “That, Harry,” she said, “I can solemnly vow. I haven’t laid eyes on St. Austell since last night.” At least she didn’t think so. Both she and Lord Colebrooke had scanned the park looking for the blackguard with nothing to show for their efforts.
“Keep it that way,” her brother warned, as though she was anxious to make the scoundrel’s acquaintance again. Or for the first time. Or… whatever it would be, since she couldn’t remember him as it was.
“Should Lord St. Austell be foolish enough to speak to me, Harry, I will send him your direction. I promise.”
As soon as Harry heaved a sigh and turned his attention back to the throng of guests, Patience tugged Pippa’s arm, pulling her closer into their group of four. “What did happen last night?” her friend asked.
Pippa shook her head. “I don’t remember a thing,” she said, her voice pitched low to keep anyone else from overhearing the conversation. “I don’t even remember arriving at the Heathfields’. I don’t remember encountering Mr. Potsdon. I don’t remember St. Austell.”
“He is quite handsome,” Moria added, a scandalous tone to her voice. “Pity he’s not a Scot.”
Pippa sighed. “So you said earlier, but I can’t believe he could even hold a candle to Lord Colebrook.” And at that, all four girls turned their gazes back towards the entrance, as though in search of the elusive viscount.
What was it a gentleman was supposed to bring to a proper lady he was courting? Flowers? A box of candy? Sonnets expounding the chit’s beauty? Not that Jason was truly courting the lady, but clearly he was out of practice. Normally, he sent his paramours a pretty bauble or trinket after their time spent together. But giving a gift like that to Pippa Casemore would either earn Jason another round with Berkswell’s fists, a special license with his name on it, or both. He shuddered at the thought as though someone had walked across his grave.
Hopefully the lady would be happy with just Jason’s presence this afternoon as he hadn’t brought her anything else.
A bauble, he suddenly decided on the spot.
He’d have to pick out a nice bauble for her when all of this was over. Berkswell be damned. Maybe something encrusted with emeralds that matched her eyes.
He’d patiently waited in a hack, not far from Berkswell House on Upper Brook Street, for the marquess to leave for parliament and for his younger brother to leave for his club or wherever else he went during the days. As soon as Jason thought it was safe, he hopped from the conveyance, tossed the driver a few coins, then bounded across the street and up the steps to Pippa’s home.
A stoic butler hauled open the door and cast a dismissive eye across Jason and his slightly rumpled cravat. Well, he had waited in the hack a rather long time. Of course the thing was slightly rumpled. His lackluster valet never used enough starch as it was.
Well, Berkswell’s butler could turn his dismissive gaze on someone else. Jason reached into his pocket and withdrew a newly printed calling card, emblazoned with the name Viscount Colebrooke. The damn thing had taken longer to have printed than he’d liked, but what was he to have done? He couldn’t go empty handed and he certainly couldn’t call on her with his St. Austell cards. His ruse would be up in heartbeat.
Jason handed the heavy vellum to Berkswell’s butler and said, “Is Lady Philippa receiving callers today?”
The servant glanced at the card in his hand as though it was an asp that might attack him. “Wait here, my lord, and I’ll see if the lady is available.”
Left cooling his heels in Berkswell’s entryway? Jason almost snorted as the butler disappeared down the corridor. Discriminating servant, indeed. The name Colebrooke wasn’t even a tarnished one. Hmm. Could the man tell, simply by looking at Jason, that he was a black-hearted scoundrel? Probably.
No matter, as long as Pippa thought highly of him, it didn’t matter what her butler thought. Jason stood his tallest, hoping for a look of innocent serenity, and was relieved when the servant returned a moment later.
“Follow me, sir.”
Jason smothered a triumphant smirk as he fell in behind Berkswell’s butler. The man led him down the corridor and into a sunny parlor. Lady Philippa stood beside a green settee and a rather old woman snored slightly in a high back chair a few feet away.
The butler cleared his throat. Loudly.
The old woman bolted upright and blinked her eyes open. Jason resisted the urge to send the man sprawling across the floor for purposefully waking Pippa’s chaperone. Apparently the butler could tell what sort of man Jason truly was. Interfering servant.
Jason tipped his head in greeting to the old woman, then he turned his smile on Pippa Casemore. God in heaven, she truly was beautiful. He’d nearly forgotten just how pretty she was in the days that had passed since he’d seen her. “My lady,” he said softly.
“Lord Colebrooke.” Her face lit with joy as she spoke. “I had worried…that is…I am so pleased you’ve come to call.”
She’d been worried? About him? Hmm. Interesting, indeed. Jason glanced back over his shoulder where the butler stood, and he raised his brow in victory. “Thank you, my good man.”
“Davis,” Pippa said quickly. “Will you please bring tea and some… “ She glanced back at Jason. “Do you like biscuits, my lord?”
With the way her green eyes twinkled when she looked at him, he was fairly certain he’d like anything she wanted him to. “Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful,” she said softly, grinning from ear to ear. “And some biscuits, Davis.”
“Of course, my lady,” the butler
grumbled before disappearing down the corridor.
Jason crossed the floor and didn’t even try to hide his grin when she offered him her hand. He brushed his lips across her knuckles, though his gaze never left hers. There was something so pure, so artless in the way she looked at him, not at all like the heated, lustful gazes widows and unhappily married ladies often sent his direction. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his heart lifted a bit. What a ridiculous thought. He shook it from his mind.
“I am so happy to see you again,” he said, meaning every last word, strangely enough.
A light snore emanated once more from the corner of the room and Pippa shook her head and sighed. “My poor aunt does find it difficult to keep Town hours, I’m afraid.”
And that was the best news Jason had heard all day. “Well, you’re safe with me, sweetheart.”
Unable to find words that wouldn’t make her sound like a ninny, Pippa only smiled back, certain her cheeks were stained pink. “Let’s do have a seat, my lord,” she finally said as she sat on the edge of the settee.
Lord Colebrooke dropped down beside her and reached for her hand. Warmth raced up her arm, settling somewhere near her heart as his thumb traced circles across the back of her knuckles. “I have thought of little except you since our chance meeting, my lady.”
What a lovely thing to say. Pippa’s heart fluttered. She had begun to worry that she’d never lay eyes on the viscount again. “I—I haven’t seen you anywhere since that day.”
“I’d feared you might have forgotten me,” he said, sounding quite pleased that she hadn’t. “Have you been looking for me?”
“I…that is…I’ve thought about you since that day, my lord. I suppose I hoped to see you at some ball or soiree.” Pippa’s face heated anew.
His hand slowly trailed up her arm, leaving tingles and gooseflesh in its wake. His light blue eyes focused so intently on her, Pippa’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve had business that required my attention,” he drawled smoothly, “but I’m here now.”
“B-business?” she stammered, her mind a jumble from his touch at her elbow. But she truly did want to know everything about him. What his interests were. What his family was like. How he occupied his days.
“Hmm.” His voice rumbled over her. “You have the most remarkable eyes. Did you know that?” His hand trailed further up her arm. “So pretty and innocent. I think I could stare into them all day.”
Pippa’s insides melted. Unlike her friends, she hadn’t come to London this Season with any real hopes of finding a husband or seeking adventure. She’d simply wanted to enjoy the social whirl, attend the theatre, see the sights her brothers had talked about over the years. What were the odds she’d fall in love with a gentleman the very first week of her very first Season?
Davis cleared his throat from the threshold, carrying a tea service and plate of biscuits on a tray. Pippa bolted to her feet and gestured to the table beside her Great-Aunt Eunice. “Right there will be perfect, Davis. Thank you.”
The butler nodded, placed the tray on the table, and if Pippa wasn’t mistaken, purposefully tripped over Great-Aunt Eunice’s feet as he started to depart the parlor. Her aunt sat upright, her milky eyes wide once again.
“Who’s there?” Aunt Eunice demanded.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Davis muttered on his way out the door.
Pippa crossed the floor and laid a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Aunt Eunice. Davis tripped is all.”
Her aunt nodded as though that made all the sense in the world. Then her eyes landed on Lord Colebrooke. “Who are you?”
The viscount sat a little taller on the settee. “I—well…”
“Aunt, this is Viscount Colebrooke,” Pippa soothed. “My lord, this is my great aunt, Miss Eunice Mills.”
“Miss Mills.” Lord Colebrooke nodded in greeting. “So nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Who is your family?” Aunt Eunice demanded, suddenly taking her role of chaperone more seriously.
“My family?” Lord Colebrooke echoed, looking slightly pale all of a sudden. But before he could answer the question, Aunt Eunice’s eyes fluttered closed once more.
Pippa heaved a sigh. “How do you like your tea, my lord?”
“Just a splash of cream,” he muttered as though he’d somehow found himself in Bedlam and wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there.
Must Aunt Eunice be so…odd? Pippa quickly poured Lord Colebrooke’s tea, then offered him both the cup and the plate of biscuits. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “She’s not quite the same these days as she once was.”
But his charming smile returned as did the flutters in Pippa’s belly. “Nothing for you to apologize for, sweetheart.” He took a sip of his tea and then sat forwards on the settee as she went to pour her own cup. “I am afraid my business might keep me occupied over the next few weeks, but I shall make every attempt to attend various functions if I can. Where are you headed this evening?”
Pippa splashed tea into her cup and spun back around. “Vauxhall Gardens,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I cannot wait to see them. I’ve heard such delightful tales from my brothers.”
“Vauxhall Gardens?” His grin widened. “One way or another, I will find you there tonight.”
Great-Aunt Eunice chose that moment to wake up fully and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Oh, is there tea?”
Remaining at Berkswell House with a wide-awake chaperone was an abundant waste of time. Besides, it was slightly maddening to be so close to Pippa and have to keep his blasted hands to himself. So, Jason took his leave just as soon as he’d finished his tea and promised his lady he would see her soon.
His lady?
When had he started to think of Pippa as his lady? Damn it all to Hell.
One afternoon spent inside one respectable parlor and he was starting to think like…Heathfield. Reformed rake, extraordinaire. A shiver raced down Jason’s spine. He wasn’t ready to be like blasted Heathfield, hanging on his wife’s every word, casting one adoring glance after another at his lady, giving up his freedom for one woman.
Was he?
Certainly not.
He was the wicked Earl of St. Austell
He increased his stride towards his own home on Curzon Street and inwardly winced when he spotted Lord Harrison Casemore rounding the corner onto Upper Brook Street. All things considered, he was quite fortunate Miss Mills woke when she did and he’d made his escape, or Pippa’s most fearsome brother of the two would have found him inside Berkswell House. Some angel… Or devil, rather, must be looking out for him.
Harrison Casemore’s eyes narrowed on Jason a split-second later, and even with the great distance between them, one could plainly see a vein twitch beside the man’s right eye. Casemore folded his pugilist’s arms across his broad chest and wore an expression one might expect to see in a painting of an avenging knight. “What,” the man demanded, “are you doing here?”
Jason schooled his features to an expression of nonchalance, the one he’d worn all throughout his troublemaking days at Harrow and beyond. “Here? London, you mean? Or England? Or this hemisphere?”
“On Upper Brook Street,” the man ground out, stalking closer to Jason on the street. “Did you call on my sister?”
Jason chuckled. “Why would I call on your sister?” he asked, instead of answering the question and touched his long-since-healed nose. “Berkswell made it very clear that I would not be welcome in your home. I assure you, I am not deaf.”
“Indeed? Then you’re here, why?”
Again Jason chuckled. “I am out for a stroll, Casemore, not that I need to explain myself to you.”
“Oh—” Harrison Casemore halted before Jason, “—you have explaining to do, St. Austell. On that you can be sure.”
“Do I?” Jason drawled. “And here I thought I only had to answer to the King.”
“And to me.” The man’s brown eyes darkened to a devilish black. “I’
m quite aware you accepted the challenge of Cleasby’s bet the other night at White’s. I assure you, I’m not deaf either.”
Potsdon and his wide mouth, Jason was sure. “Then you should be equally aware that your friend is a drunkard, Casemore. His blatherings should be given the weight they are owed. Instead of threatening innocent gentlemen strolling the streets of Mayfair, you ought to be see about getting Potsdon weaned off whatever it is he’s sucking down these days.”
Casemore blanched, but his dangerous expression returned a moment later. “I’m not his keeper. But I am Pippa’s. And you will keep your loathsome distance from my sister. Do you hear me?”
Truly, Berkswell should have sent Casemore to Jason’s breakfast room that first morning. The younger brother could very possibly put the fear of God in some men. Jason wasn’t one of them, however. “I will tell you the same thing I told your brother. I have never been interested in schoolgirls. I prefer my women a bit more…ripe. More experienced. My reputation should speak to that. So if you are through with your threats, I will continue my stroll.”
Then he brushed past Pippa’s brother, continuing his lazy jaunt towards Curzon Street.
“I am warning you!” Casemore called to Jason’s back.
But Jason simply lifted his arm in acknowledgement of the threat. “Indeed, I have been warned. Good day to you, Lord Harrison. And good luck frightening away other pedestrians this afternoon.”
Pippa glanced back down at her needlepoint, but her heart wasn’t in it. Nor was her mind. Both were fluttering high above Berkswell House, drifting closer and closer to the clouds.
He’d called on her. He’d actually called. She hadn’t imagined him as she’d begun to wonder, or fear, rather. And tonight, she’d get to see him again. A sigh escaped her as the parlor doors burst open and an enraged Harry stalked inside.
“Heavens!” Pippa leapt to her feet, dropping her needlepoint to the settee. “Are you all right, Harry?”
The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) Page 3