She glanced around the room, feeling as if everything had changed in the past few minutes, seeking to assure herself that everyone in the room was just the same as they had been before Lord Sutton had shaken her to her soul, and saw her mother watching her.
That, at least, had not changed. She looked to her mother for guidance — what to do, with this terrifying creature panting over her?
But her mother, it seemed, did not see any problems with the charged encounter her daughter had just had with the Viscount of Marston.
Lady Katherine gave her daughter a slow, nearly imperceptible nod, and then, shockingly, winked.
Lydia opened her mouth and shut it again. She took a deep breath, resolved to do this thing right for once, and turned around again just as Lord Sutton reappeared with a glass of punch and a wicked smile slashed across his craggy features.
Lydia’s shoulders were back and her spine was straight, but beneath her peach-colored skirts her knees were shaking. Something very unusual and, she was certain, very improper, was happening to her every time Lord Sutton looked in her direction with that inexplicably hungry look.
“The punch is very good,” he suggested encouragingly after she had sloshed back half of it and offered nothing by way of conversation.
Lydia studied her own half-empty glass with mortification. How could she be so silent? This wasn’t the way to reel Lord Sutton in. Although he seemed quite interested in her enough without bothering with niceties like polite conversation. “I — yes, it is very good punch. And I was very thirsty. I apologize for being so quiet, my lord. I had quite a parched throat, you see,” she lied with difficulty.
“Hmm. A young lady quenching her thirst with some of Lady Hastings’ punch could be a dangerous thing! Perhaps lemonade would have been more the thing,” Lord Sutton chuckled, although his voice was without remorse. “It is delicious though, is it not? I am sure you can have a bit without over-indulging.”
But Lydia had never taken more than a glass or two of champagne or punch at a party. Gulping down half the glass had given her a sudden swimming feeling behind her eyes. She shook her head to try and clear it, and heard Sutton chuckle again. Well, at least she was amusing him, she thought. “Are you trying to get me foxed, my lord?” she asked with a little of her old, popular spirit, and favored him with a half-smile, though he was not entirely steady in her eyes.
Sutton regarded her with obvious pleasure. “I am a bit,” he admitted. “I offered Miss Brixton a glass and she said she would only have lemonade. I am afraid I had to leave her to her lemonade. A teetotaler is not the sort of companion a man wants on a long winter night.”
Lydia furrowed her brow, not following the thread of his words. “I’m afraid I do not understand you, my lord.”
“Really?” Sutton glanced around the room, and then placed his fingers upon her arm. The gentle touch seemed to scald her skin, and she barely contained a gasp. Her glass sloshed in her trembling hand. “A man tires of being chased by the maidens and mamas on the marriage mart, my dear Miss Dean. Eventually, he must give in and take a wife.”
And he took her trembling hand in his and pressed a most improper kiss against the back of her ivory-gloved hand.
CHAPTER NINE
“Sutton!” Lady Katherine sang. She did a swaying circle around the empty drawing room of the Dean townhouse, waving a glass full of sloshing amber liquid around her head. “Lord Frederick Sutton, Viscount Marston! Earl of Longhampton! Lady Lydia Sutton, Countess of Longhampton! Oh, such a pretty name, don’t you think, darling? It just suits you!”
Lydia eyed her mother’s waving glass with some apprehension. It was two o’clock in the morning and the drawing room had been lit up with three dozen candles while her mother danced about the room with the glass of sherry as her partner. Lord Dean had gone to his library, and then to his bed, nearly as soon as he’d walked in the door of the house, no doubt worn thin with exhaustion after listening to his wife crow in the confines of the carriage about Lydia’s triumph with Lord Sutton. Lydia longed to follow in his footsteps and retreat upstairs, away from noise and light and foolishness, but she could not leave her mother in such a state. Not when all the jubilation was in her honor.
And in truth, she’d done nothing special tonight. She had not secured a proposal of marriage, of course; that would have been quite ridiculous, since she and Sutton had only met tonight. And her initial decision to try to reclaim her old charming ways had been only a fleeting thing… in the end, it was Sutton’s hungry eyes and his inexplicable physical effect on her that made their interlude truly memorable.
So memorable, apparently, that Lady Katherine was drunk on punch, sherry, and general good feeling. She waltzed around the room one final time, arms raised to the imaginary music, before she settled down on the divan. She smiled beatifically at her daughter and patted the couch seat. “Come, darling, come and tell your Mama about your new beau.”
Reluctantly, Lydia settled down on the edge of the divan, ankles crossed neatly beneath her skirts, hands folded neatly in her lap, all the little niceties that performed without her actually telling her ankles or her hands to do anything. She marveled at that once again, looking down at her demure white hands, before she answered her mother’s request. “Lord Sutton was most agreeable,” she said gently.
“And what did he say to you?” Lady Katherine prompted, a greedy glint in her eye.
“I already told you, Mama.”
“Tell me again. I wish to hear it again.”
“He said he was ready to take a wife.”
“A wife!” Lady Katherine looked up at the ceiling, her eyes big with triumph, as if she was looking through the plaster to a chorus of heavenly angels, all of whom were cheering and calling Well done Katherine! “And what else?”
“Miss Brixton was a teetotaller and… I suppose that a man found that boring? I’m not entirely sure what he meant by it.”
“That’s exactly what he meant,” Lady Katherine confirmed, triumphant. “I knew that would get her into trouble. Silly little snob, turning up her nose at a glass of punch from a gentleman of Sutton’s income and title! I am sure her mama is furious with her.” And Lady Katherine smiled the smile of the content.
Lydia nodded along with her mother, but she wasn’t feeling quite so confident. The whole thing just didn’t feel real. Why should Lord Sutton, a man she had only met a few hours ago, come up to her and hint as broadly as possible that he meant to propose marriage to her? It was really the oddest thing. Lydia was not inclined to think anything but the worst of Society, and she knew it, but even taking into consideration her complete lack of trust in the people around her, she knew that behavior was not particularly normal.
It was out and out strange, was what it was, and it made her nervous. Why did Sutton decide to play with her heart? Why couldn’t he just go and bother someone else, someone who was more trusting, someone willing to play along?
She wasn’t going to do it, she decided. She wasn’t going to be his little jape. And that was all this was, a jape. A monstrous, cruel joke. There was probably a bet placed on it somewhere: how long would it take Sutton to make that silly Lydia Dean fall in love with him? By the end of the night? By the end of his call the next day? She pursed her lips. He’d be losing that bet!
Beside her, Lady Katherine was beginning to wind down. “You’re a really good daughter,” she said sloppily, and patted Lydia’s knee. “A lovely wonderful daughter. I am proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Lydia said absently, still thinking of Sutton’s perfidy, and trying very hard to forget the way his gaze had heated her skin.
“You shall be a lovely countess. I thought you would have made a lovely viscountess as well, you know. But this is better. This is worth waiting for.”
“You knew about Lord Hadley?” Lydia asked, shocked out of her reverie.
“And Alyssa? Oh, heavens yes, I knew. Do I have eyes? But what could be done? There was no point in mooning over him. You
were smart to stop seeing Alyssa, though. People noticed. It made you look very well.”
Lydia couldn’t believe her ears. “People noticed… what?”
“That you held up your head and didn’t have anything to do with the Hadleys after their marriage. A lesser woman would have gone meekly to their parties and wished them well, but you stuck your chin up and refused their invitations. People admire a strong backbone, Lydia. You showed them what you were made of. I wish you would be more charming at parties as well, but that seems to have turned out all right.”
Lydia shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know — I didn’t know people talked about that sort of thing. I never heard anything. No one would give me the time of day.”
“Oh, not the young ladies — who gives a fig what Miss Brixton has to say about anything, for heaven’s sake? It’s we mothers who talk to one another, and it’s the mothers’s opinions that count, my dear girl. Who do you think a boy listens to, besides his mother? It’s me, and it’s Lady Sutton, and it’s every other mother in the ton who are making the decisions that count. You young people think you run the world — but you couldn’t be more wrong.”
Lydia sat quietly for a moment and tried to process this information. Then she latched on to the only thing that really seemed to matter: “You speak to Lady Sutton?”
“Of course darling, Elizabeth and I have been friends for many years. It’s only because he’s been on the Continent that you’ve never met her son before tonight. She has a very good opinion of you, by the by. I do not think we will hear any opposition from Sutton’s mama when he decides to make things official.” Lady Katherine gave Lydia’s knee another pat. Then she sat forward, tried to rise, and groaned. “Darling, give me a hand, won’t you? I am not as young as I used to be.”
Lydia dutifully arose and took her mother’s hand, sticky with spilt sherry, and with a creaking of stays the Marchioness of Waltham was risen from the divan like a horse from the straw.
“Let us go to bed and think of these happy things tomorrow,” Lady Katherine pronounced. “And I must leave a note for Briggs to send out a boy for extra flowers in the morning. I would like our drawing room to look particularly well tomorrow.”
***
“But did you like it?” Mary rubbed sleep from her eyes and ripped the brush ruthlessly through Lydia’s golden hair, pulling it through the ripples and waves left behind by the braids of her evening upsweep. “The shakin’ and that. Did you like the way he made you feel?”
Lydia watched her face in the mirror. She looked ghostly, she thought. More pale than ever, perhaps from the strange evening, from the excess of sensation and the frightening knowledge that she had almost certainly found the man who would be her husband tonight — and he was a terrifying giant who made her knees knock with an arousal that seemed to be half driven by fright. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, ignoring Mary’s sigh of annoyance. “He was genuinely frightening. I wanted to run away from him. But I felt — oh Mary, I can’t explain it…”
“You felt turned on,” Mary said crudely, putting down the brush. She put her hands on her hips and faced Lydia in the mirror. “You wanted his hands on you, that’s what you wanted.”
“No!”
“Yes! You think I don’t know how that feels?”
Lydia cocked her head, concerned. “Mary, you are behaving properly, aren’t you?”
“Oh, don’t worry your head about me, miss. I know what I’m about. A little canoodlin’ in the stables ain’t gonna get me into any trouble. But you, miss, you seem as scared of a good kiss as your own shadow, that’s what I’m worried about. If you’re scared of him now, what’s going to happen on your wedding night?”
Lydia thought about this. She genuinely had no idea what was going to happen on her wedding night. But up until tonight she had thought it had more to do with the smoldering intensity in Mr. Fawkes’ eyes than the glittering hunger in Lord Sutton’s. She was more worried than ever at the thought. “I have no idea,” she said honestly. “But I don’t think it’s going to be anything good.”
Mary nodded, her face grim. “You ought to keep your distance, then.”
“Keep my distance?” Lydia turned to face Mary. “Are you mad? I have to marry him! My mother —”
“He sounds dangerous,” Mary interrupted.
“He’s a viscount, and he’s going to be an earl. He’s rich. He’s respectable. His mother is friends with Lady Katherine. I do not think I can tell Mama that I cannot accept his suit because I find him dangerous.”
Mary shrugged and turned away, pulling back the drapes and pulling down the counterpane on the bed behind them. “Tell her whatever you think, but if you’re afraid of him, how are you going to be married to him, eh? You ever seen a mare try to run away from a stallion?”
Lydia thought. She had always tried to keep as far away from her father’s horses as possible, but there was a memory there, way back in the cobwebs of her mind… “I did,” she said slowly, remembering. “In the field with the pair of old apple trees. I was in the tree. She kicked out at him and he bit her on the neck — there was blood — he was on top of her and she groaned…” Lydia closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God, Mary, are you telling me that’s —”
“Not quite,” Mary said swiftly, coming back over and putting a comforting hand on Lydia’s shoulder. Lydia clutched at it and Mary sighed. “Your viscount earl won’t bite you, miss, I don’t think anyway. Not his lady wife. A servant maybe… But never you mind that. I only mean… he’s in charge. That’s going to frighten you anyway. If he’s horrible about it… that will make everything horrible. Won’t it?”
Mary was so clever, Lydia thought. And worldly. She knew things that she’d never tell Lydia. Improper things. Things that Lydia really, really felt like she needed to know right now. “Peregrin Fawkes,” Lydia whispered.
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t scare me. With him I feel… things.”
“Things? Good things?”
“Oh, yes.”
Mary was quiet for a few moments. Then she tugged at Lydia’s hand. “It’s time to get you to bed.”
Lydia got up, understanding why Mary hadn’t replied: there was nothing to say. It didn’t matter. Peregrin Fawkes wasn’t an option. He wasn’t even in town anymore, as far as Lydia knew. He’d be off to the country, and she’d be married to Lord Sutton, if all went well, by the time the Season ended. And with any luck, Lydia thought, she’d never see Peregrin Fawkes, or feel those things, again.
CHAPTER TEN
“That’s a damn nice horse you fell off of, Fawkes.”
Peregrin looked up from his cards, startled, and turned to find the source of the mocking voice. He barely suppressed an impatient sigh when he saw who it was. Frederick Sutton had just settled down in the chair behind him, straddling it backwards. He looked bright-eyed, as if something exciting had happened, but Peregrin supposed he was probably just well into his cups already. It wasn’t very late — only nine o’clock or so — but Sutton was known for starting early and finishing late. Peregrin privately thought his bulk was less from muscle, these days, and more from over-indulgence. “It’s a nice horse,” he admitted casually, dipping a shielding hand over his cards. “But green, you know. Will take a lot of work to sort out. I’m going to have to hire a man; not worth the risk myself.” He shrugged, as if the horse didn’t mean much to him. Somehow he didn’t want to arouse Sutton’s interests too much.
Sutton nodded enthusiastically. “Can’t bring along a young horse too quickly. Take your time, man. Take your time. I always say so. Take your time, that’s just the ticket.”
Peregrin smiled tolerantly. “I always do with my horses.” He tried to turn around and go back to his game, but the uncertain smile on his opponent’s face told him that Sutton, hovering at his shoulder, wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. He sighed and turned back, holding up an apologetic finger to Bailey Reynolds: just one minute while I
get rid of this cad. “What is it you wanted to ask me?” Peregrin phrased it as if Sutton had intimated he was there to ask an important question. He supposed if Sutton was foxed enough, he’d think he’d forgotten why he was there, and move along to hassle someone else.
But Sutton tilted his head and clucked his tongue as if he was disappointed. “I didn’t want to ask you a thing. Only — I’m impressed by the horse, and I hope you’ll let me see a bit more of him this summer.”
Peregrin frowned. “I don’t understand. You know I’m leaving for Tivington tomorrow with the Archwoods — I won’t be back to town again this summer.”
And then Lord Sutton smiled slowly, his lips curving in a way that positively gave Peregrin the chills. “Oh, didn’t Lady A tell you? I’m coming to Tivington as well.”
Peregrin nearly dropped his cards. “Oh! I… I hadn’t realized that,” he stammered, as his mind raced, trying to sort out the unwelcome news. Sutton, at his home — this was the worst possible news. Somehow, Peregrin just knew that Jeremy was behind this. His cousin and Sutton had always been close, alway sneering at him in his hand-me-downs and made-over uniforms, always reminding him that he was a charity case, a poor relation, unwanted.
At least at Tivington he was wanted, or he always had been before. Of course it would be now, when he was feeling on unsteady ground with William, and his place in the household, that Frederick Sutton would be there to push him right over the crumbling cliff he walked upon.
But he had to say something. He couldn’t show Sutton how upset, how frightened, if he was perfectly honest with himself, the news made him. That would only encourage the bastard.
“It will be nice to have your company,” he managed to say, and thought he did a very nice job. He hadn’t sounded the least bit ungracious, he thought.
The Honorable Nobody (Heroines on Horseback Book 2) Page 8