This evening’s supper party was hosted by a marquess who was separated from his wife, lived openly with his mistress and most definitely didn’t give a fig about other people’s opinions.
Frankly, his host was one of the reasons Leo had attended tonight’s revel, as Leo had assumed the party would be wilder and more amusing than it had turned out to be thus far. But now that he knew Thalia Lennox was among the guests, his expectations for a lively evening were reinvigorated.
“You were saying? Someone like who?” Lawrence asked, picking up on the sentence Leo had never finished.
“Her.” Leo set his glass aside.
Lawrence’s gaze moved across the room. “Good Lord, surely you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“And what would that be?” he said, not taking his eyes off Thalia, who was conversing with an elderly roué who couldn’t seem to lift his gaze higher than her admittedly magnificent breasts.
“We were discussing women, and, if I’m not mistaken, that’s the scandalous Lady K. over there. You must be out of your mind to even consider making a play for her.”
“Why? She’s stunning. One of the most enchanting women I’ve ever beheld. And I believe she goes by her maiden name of Lennox these days.”
“However she’s called, she uses men like toys and discards them once they’re broken, to say nothing of the fact that she’s several years your senior.”
Leo couldn’t repress a slowly forming grin as he turned to his twin. “Just look at her. She can’t be that much older, even if she has been married and divorced. As for her using me like a toy, I look forward to being played with. Anywhere. Anytime.”
Lawrence shook his head. “I’ll be the first to admit she’s attractive, and I can see why you’d be tempted, but do yourself a favor and find another opera dancer. Or better yet, go visit one of the bawdy houses. You can slake your thirsts there without causing any lasting damage.”
“Ah, but where is the challenge in that?” Leo said. “I want a woman who can’t be had simply for the price of a coin. A spirited female with some good solid kick to her.”
“The only kick you’re going to get is in your posterior when she boots you out of her way. My guess is she won’t look at you twice.”
Leo raised a brow. “Oh, she will. Care to wager on it?”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “All right. Ten quid.”
“Make it twenty. Ten’s hardly worth the effort.”
“Twenty, it is.”
They shook, sealing the bet.
Lawrence stepped back and crossed his arms. “Go on. Amaze me, Don Juan.”
Leo brushed the sleeves of his coat and tugged its hem to a precise angle. “Take the carriage home if you get tired of waiting. I’m sure I’ll be otherwise occupied tonight.”
With that, he set off in search of his quarry.
• • •
I should never have come here tonight, Lady Thalia Lennox thought as she forced herself not to flinch beneath the leering stare of Lord Teaksbury. She didn’t believe he had met her eyes once since they had begun conversing.
Old lecher. How dare he stare at my breasts as if I’m some doxy selling her wares? Then again, after nearly six years of enduring such crude behavior from men of her acquaintance, one would think she would be well used to it by now.
As for the ladies of the Ton, they generally looked through her, as if she were some transparent ghost who had drifted into their midst. Or worse, they pointedly turned their backs. She had grown inured to their snubs as well—for the most part, at least.
Still, she had hoped tonight might prove different, since her host, the Marquess of Elmore, had known his own share of personal pain and tended to acquire friends of a more liberal and tolerant persuasion. But even here, people saw her not for the person she was, but for who they assumed her to be.
Ordinarily, she tossed aside invitations such as the one for tonight’s supper party—not that she received all that many invitations these days. But she supposed the real reason she had come tonight was a simple enough one.
She was lonely.
Her two friends, Jane Frost and Mathilda Cathcart—the only ones out of all her acquaintance who had stuck by her after the divorce—were in the countryside. They had each invited her to join them at their separate estates, but she knew her attendance at the usual autumn house parties put each woman in an awkward and difficult position. Plus, neither of their husbands approved of their continued association with her, their friendship limited to occasional quiet meals when they were in Town, and the back-and-forth exchange of letters.
No, she was quite alone and quite lonely.
Ironic, she mused, considering the constant parade of lovers she supposedly entertained—at least according to the gossip mavens and scandal pages that still liked to prattle on about her. Given their reports of her behavior, one would imagine her town house door scarcely ever closed for all the men going in and out—or perhaps it was only her bedroom door that was always in need of oil for the hinges?
She felt her fingers tighten against the glass of lemonade in her hand, wondering why she was dwelling on such unpleasantness tonight. Better to put thoughts like those aside, since they did nothing but leave the bitter taste of regret in her mouth.
A hot bath and a good book—that’s what I need this evening, she decided. That, and to tell the old reprobate still leering at her to take his eyes and his person somewhere else.
If only she hadn’t given in to the temptation to wear emerald green tonight, perhaps she wouldn’t have ended up being ogled by a loathsome toad like Teaksbury. But she’d always loved this dress, which had been languishing in the back of her wardrobe for ages. And honestly she was tired of being condemned no matter what she wore or how she behaved. In for a penny, in for a pound, she’d thought when she made the selection. Now, however, she wished she’d stuck to her usual somber dark blue or black, no matter how dreary those shades might seem.
Ah well, I shall be leaving shortly, so what does it really matter?
“Why, that’s absolutely fascinating,” Thalia said with false politeness as she cut Teaksbury off midsentence. “You’ll have to excuse me now, Lord Teaksbury. After all, I wouldn’t want to be accused of monopolizing your company tonight.”
Teaksbury opened his mouth—no doubt to assure her that he didn’t mind in the least. But she had already set down her glass, turned on a flourish of emerald skirts and started toward the door.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy Anne Warren is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than a dozen romance novels, including The Bedding Proposal, The Trouble with Princesses, and Her Highness and the Highlander. After working in the corporate world for a number of years, she quit her day job to pursue her first love: writing. She has won numerous industry awards, including Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the HOLT Medallion. She currently lives in Maryland with a small clowder of Siamese rescue cats.
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Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square Page 34