* * *
Devon found Lily in the arms of one of her many admirers. Dancing. And laughing. Irritation niggled at him. He narrowed his eyes and strode toward the couple. He wasn’t about to let Lily enjoy herself while he was forced to endure the stares of half the ton attempting to gauge his reaction to his fiancée crying off.
He poked Lord Cox on the shoulder. “Make yourself scarce, Cox. I’m cutting in.” Devon gave the shorter man a tight smile.
Cox gulped, excused himself hastily to Lily, and scurried off.
Devon easily spun Lily into his arms, taking the lead, and trying to ignore his body’s instant reaction to her soft nearness. She smelled like … lilies. Of course she did. That smell had affected him for five years now. Did a witch invent her perfume? It drove him insane.
Lily only watched him, a decidedly disgruntled look on her face. “Why did you do that?” She nodded toward Lord Cox’s hastily retreating figure. “You know perfectly well the entire ballroom will be abuzz with the news that you cut in.”
Devon glanced down at her. He’d surprised her. Good. And he was not yet through surprising her. An important tactic when retaining the upper hand. “You’ve no idea how little I care what the ballroom buzzes about.”
Lily pursed her lips. “You may not care, but my sister is about to make her debut. The less gossip the better.”
His smile was tight. “Come now. If you cared about gossip, you wouldn’t have written your precious pamphlet, now would you?”
Lily narrowed her eyes at him. “Who says I wrote that pamphlet?”
“Really? Denial? Still? I do, for one. And half of this ballroom does too.”
She glanced around, aware of the whispers that had already started. “Whatever gossip exists about myself and my sister, Lord Colton, you are hardly helping with your behavior tonight.”
He shook his head. “Why do you insist upon wearing mourning colors? Your husband died of a weak heart years ago.”
The surprise on Lily’s face quickly turned to scorn. “Why do you insist upon being so rude?”
He spun her around again, deliberately keeping her off balance. “Cox is a sniveling dandy. It’s not a wonder you wrote that pamphlet if that’s the kind of male company you keep.”
Her eyes simmered. “How dare you—”
“Really?” he replied coolly. “‘How dare you’? Hardly original. I expected more charming repartee from you, Countess.”
She snapped her perfect pink mouth closed. Her eyes gleamed like amethysts. Oh, she was preparing to come back at him all right, and this time it would be neither unoriginal, nor charming.
She attempted to wrench herself from his arms. “I do not dance with men who do not ask me,” she bit off through clenched teeth.
He did not relent, kept her pinned to his body. “How unfortunate for you,” he bit back, “because I rarely ask women to dance.”
This time, she pulled with all her might, nearly tugging him off balance. Not bad for such a small woman. But hardly a match for him. He kept his most falsely charming smile plastered on his face and she remained easily ensnared in his arms.
She finally gave in, relaxing her arms and dancing with him as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “I’d have thought you’d have more skill with women, Colton. Be able to keep them by your side with cunning words and finesse instead of brute strength. Especially after all of your bragging.”
Ah, now there was the barb he’d expected. Not bad. He barely managed to keep a grin from showing.
“You won’t be questioning my skill for long,” he promised, twirling her around again.
Lily sucked in another deep breath. No doubt she was calling upon her considerable resources and years of drilled-in manners for maintaining decorum in the face of his outlandish rudeness. Expelling her breath, she pasted a smile on her face and pretended to enjoy the dance. But she watched him carefully, and Devon knew without a doubt he was being evaluated for any sign of weakness. Then she would strike.
She focused her gaze on his shoulders, refusing to look him in the eye. “I forgot. You like to pretend you’re interested in a woman and then disappear. I’ll wait. If I remember correctly, it shouldn’t take long.”
He pressed his lips together. The woman was maddeningly unpredictable. And he’d always prided himself on being able to predict. Cards. Horses. People. Besides, what nonsense was that? She’d made it quite clear in her note that fateful morning years ago that her father would only accept a man with plenty of money. She’d thrown it in his face. She’d chosen that old man over him. Damn, it still rankled. And now she was mocking him for refusing to simper and scrape while he’d known he had no chance at winning her. He wasn’t about to let her get away with it.
“And I forgot,” he replied, “that you like to gather as many fawning admirers as you possibly can around your skirts, toy with their emotions, and send them on their way.”
* * *
Lily fought the urge to grind her teeth. There was that confidence again. Tonight it was especially irritating. Maddening, even. She clenched her jaw and gave Colton a tight smile. How dare he hurl accusations at her when he was the one who abandoned her? She hadn’t been nearly rich enough for him.
And the fact that he’d actually planned on marrying that twit Amelia Templeton just proved how obsessed he was with money. Why, the girl’s family was nearly as rich as the king. No wonder Colton had waited five long years to marry. He’d been holding out for the largest dowry he could find. And now he had the nerve to imply that she was the one who toyed with people’s emotions? It made her blood boil. She wasn’t about to let him get away with it.
“It seems your fiancée has already jilted you, Colton. You might try looking for a young woman who has no fawning admirers. Of course the number of ladies who are rich enough for you isn’t particularly large, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”
If she’d hit her mark, she couldn’t tell by the look on his face. His grin did not waver.
“This is the second time you’ve mentioned my destitute financial state,” he replied. “You seem a bit preoccupied with the matter. But then again, money has always been of great importance to you, has it not?”
Lily’s nostrils flared. Preoccupied? With his financial state? Ridiculous. Everyone knew he had no financial state to speak of. And now he was being a hypocrite. He’d been the one obsessed with money. So much so he’d been willing to lie to her, pretend he was in love, to secure his finances.
She chose her words carefully. “Hardly preoccupied, Colton. I merely find it interesting to see you’re still so desperate to wed a wealthy young woman about to make her debut. Seems little has changed in the last five years.”
This time, his nostrils flared. “It should hardly be of interest to you, Countess, as you’ve had practice marrying someone for his wealth. You sold your hand to acquire Merrill’s fortune, after all. And now I hear all of your suitors are wealthy.”
That stung. Money had nothing to do with her marriage, and he of all people should know it. She bit her lip to distract herself. She shook her head, and a wayward dark curl fell partially over her eyes. She’d had enough. It was time to finish this little game.
“At least the men who court me know how to treat a lady. It’s been days since you threatened to seduce me and I’ve seen nary a flower, sweet, or poem from you. You are entirely out of your depth.”
His sharp crack of laughter caught the attention of some of the nearby dancers. “You don’t truly expect me to send you those baubles like all the fops who worship at your tiny feet, do you?”
Her cheeks flushed hot. She glanced around. “Lower your voice.”
He leaned down and his warm breath caressed her temple. “It’s not working for them, is it? Why would you assume I would follow suit? The first rule of winning at gaming, don’t follow your opponent’s lead.”
Despite his reminder of his love of gambling, Lily couldn’t control her shiver. “Very well. How exactly do you in
tend to seduce me then, Colton? Manhandling me in a ballroom certainly is not working.”
He gave her his most lazy, charming smile. “Not, I assure you, by fawning over you. I know women well enough to know what folly that is.”
She had to concentrate to keep the shadow of a smile from playing about her lips. Damn that Colton. One minute he made her angry and the next he made her laugh. He’d always done that to her. Kept her on edge. “How then?” she prodded.
A raised brow. “Do you think I am daft? I’m not about to give away my secrets to the opposition.”
Lily briefly fantasized about tripping him. “If I thought for a moment you actually had a secret, I might be more willing to pursue this line of questioning. As it stands, I am growing quite bored with the entire conversation.” She did her best to fake a yawn.
“You never answered me. Why do you insist on wearing mourning colors?”
Blast it. Her attempt to anger him had failed. She set her jaw. Why was he so curious? “I remain in mourning for my husband.”
“Mourning? Really? For a man you barely knew? You were married, what, one month, two?”
She kept her gaze cast downward. “He may not have been with me long, but he was my husband.” God curse his sorry soul. She only wore the blasted mourning clothes because she couldn’t afford to replace them, but Colton surely didn’t need to know it.
“That’s unfortunate,” Colton said. “Rumor has it you use your widow’s robes as an excuse to fend off your many suitors. I suppose there is no truth to that?”
Lily squeezed his hand, wishing she could slap his face instead. “Not that it is any of your business, but I’m at a ball, aren’t I? I’m dancing. I receive callers. I’m about to present my sister in a few days. What more does Society ask of me?”
Colton lowered his voice. He swept her past the other dancers. “I wonder. Would your late husband approve of your writing?”
A gasp escaped her throat. This time, she considered stepping on his foot. Hard.
He didn’t give her time to reply. Instead, he leaned in closer and whispered. “One wouldn’t think so, would one? I mean, your pamphlet does cast him in considerable doubt, doesn’t it? As one is to assume Lord Merrill and his lack of skill is the reason for your antipathy toward the bedchamber.”
“How dare you!” That was it. Lily trod on his foot. Accidentally, of course.
Colton winced, but managed not to miss a step. “How dare I? It seems to me, the more appropriate question is how dare you, Countess? I am not the one who wrote Secrets of a Wedding Night, after all. Besides, have a care. You are the one interested in protecting your reputation, are you not? You’re causing a scene.”
The music ended then, and when Colton released her, Lily breathed in deeply, inhaling lungfuls of air. She did what she could to quiet her body’s visceral reaction to his monumental rudeness. She glanced around. He was right. Several of the other dancers were blatantly staring at the two of them. A handful of people along the sidelines were whispering and pointing. She must remain calm and extricate herself from his company. She would not, would not, let him get to her. She curtsied as if thanking him for the dance and counted to ten, preparing herself for the final round.
Lily’s smile was tight. “This is how you go about seducing a woman, Colton? By insulting her and angering her? I often found it curious that you hadn’t snapped up some fawning heiress by now, but it’s not really a wonder you remain a bachelor, is it?”
The skin near his eye twitched a bit. Her comment had hit its mark. Finally.
His next words fell nonchalantly from his firmly molded lips. He bowed to her. “Who says I am still trying to seduce you? Given your viper’s tongue and shrewish behavior, it’s entirely possible I may have changed my mind.”
A twinge of disappointment shot through her belly. Lily didn’t stop to examine it. Instead, she lifted her chin. “That would explain your lack of skill, I suppose. Or perhaps it’s nothing more than a convenient excuse.” She swept her skirts aside and stalked away from him, intending to leave him alone in the middle of the dance floor.
Colton’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He spun her around, back into his arms. Lily gasped, her gaze shot up to meet his dark eyes. A knowing smile rested on his perfect face. “Let me assure you, my lady, it will be soon, quite soon, and when I’m seducing you, you’ll know.”
He bent down and pressed his lips against hers in a quick, hard kiss. Amid the shocked gasps surrounding them, he released her, and strode away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.
CHAPTER 5
The small boy sat at a writing table, his dark head bent over a piece of paper. His little dimpled fingers grasped a quill, diligently working on his letters. His tutor sat at the front of the room, repeating the Greek alphabet in a scholarly drone.
Devon stood with his arms crossed, his shoulder propped against the door frame, watching them both.
He was at Colton House. His ancestral estate. The vast acreage he now commanded. The place where he’d spent his childhood. It always made Devon feel younger to come to this place. Younger and also … melancholy.
He knocked lightly on the door with one knuckle. “May I interrupt?”
The boy’s head popped up. Not for the first time, Devon was startled by the lad’s resemblance to him, even at his young age. The dark eyes, the square jaw, the ruffle of black, slightly curly hair. A smile spread across the boy’s face. He jumped up from the desk, tossed his quill aside, and ran to Devon. Devon held out his arms and snatched him into a tight embrace.
The tutor scrambled out of his seat and bowed. “My lord.”
“Mr. Halifax.” Devon nodded and the man hastily sat down again and went back to perusing the book opened on the desk in front of him.
“You’re getting tall, lad,” Devon said, hugging the boy close.
“I didn’t know when I’d see you next,” the boy replied, still grinning.
“I know.” Devon mussed his hair. “I had a day away from Parliament, and I thought I would come out and visit.”
“May we go fishing?” the boy asked, his dark eyes sparkling.
“Yes, but I must speak with Mr. Halifax for a few minutes first. Excuse us, won’t you?”
The boy nodded happily and scampered from the room.
“I’ll meet you in the foyer in a few minutes,” Devon called after him, closing the door. He approached Mr. Halifax. The tutor rose to greet him.
“My lord,” Mr. Halifax said, bowing to Devon.
“Please have a seat,” Devon replied, gesturing to a nearby bench. He grabbed a wooden chair, turned it around, and straddled it. Folding his arms over the top, he regarded Mr. Halifax.
Mr. Halifax sat uneasily on the edge of his seat and pushed his silver spectacles up his narrow nose.
“How is he progressing?” Devon asked.
Halifax took a thin, shaky breath. “Master Justin is a pleasure to teach, my lord. He is intelligent, quick-witted, and humorous. His Greek and Latin are coming along quite nicely, and I needn’t tell you his gift for arithmetic continues to be the most impressive I’ve ever seen.”
Devon smiled wistfully. “Yes, it seems that trait runs in our family.”
Halifax nodded. “He can be a bit rambunctious, defiant at times, but overall his penchant for learning astounds me. I’ve been forced to speed up my lessons on more than one occasion to keep pace with him. He’s quite an intelligent lad. You should be exceedingly proud of him.”
Devon nodded. His eyes scanned the room. The dark wooden walls, the small chairs, the table, the bench, even the smell of lemon juice used to clean the place. And the books, the sweet smell of books. It catapulted him back through space and time. He’d sat in the same spot Justin had been moments earlier, reciting numbers, numbers that seemed like words to him, numbers that came more easily to him than anything else in his world. When they clicked into place in his brain, everything made sense.
Devon
stood and paced the room, his hands folded behind his back. He stopped in front of a bookshelf and eyed a tome of arithmetic. He ran his fingers along the worn leather binding. Pulling the book from the shelf, he thumbed open the first page. There they were. DMSM. His initials. Devon Marcus Sandridge Morgan. The Fifth Marquis of Colton. He rubbed his index finger back and forth across the letters, the shadow of a smile on his lips. He remembered the day he’d written them. His father had given him the book, delighted that his son was such a gifted student.
“He is fit to teach me, my lord,” Devon’s tutor had informed his father. “The best I have ever encountered.”
His father had beamed. “My son is impressive,” he would say, telling anyone who would listen. It had been Devon’s greatest achievement, making his father proud of him.
And Devon had been proud too … until his father had started taking him to gaming hells, using his son’s gift for numbers to help him win at the tables.
Devon shook his head, dispelling the bad memories. He slipped the book back into place on the shelf. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned back around to face Mr. Halifax.
“I’ll return Justin in a couple of hours.”
Mr. Halifax’s voice shook. “Master Justin is very busy and I—”
“Two hours,” Devon said in a voice that brooked no further discussion.
Halifax swallowed and nodded. “Will you be staying for dinner, my lord? Perhaps I might join you, and we can discuss Master Justin’s studies at greater length.”
“No,” Devon replied, with true regret. “I cannot stay. I must return to London. I have an appointment tonight.” Then, under his breath, “There is something I must do.”
“Very well, my lord. I’ll assist Master Justin in preparing everything for your fishing excursion. It will just be a few minutes.” Halifax hurried from the room, shutting the door behind him.
Devon turned to face the classroom again. He expelled his breath. God, if only he didn’t have to return to London tonight. The Rookery made his stomach turn. But he’d made his promises, and unlike his father, he would keep them.
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