Lady of Mischief: Historical Regency Romance

by Lisa Campell

  The night swept by in a whirlwind dream of laughter and conversation, candlelight and dancing. Eliza accepted offers to dance from a score of hopeful suitors, each with a gracious smile. Some of them she found quite charming indeed, but her eyes and thoughts kept returning to Sebastian Campden. A secret desire—to dance with him at her debutante ball—formed in the back of her mind. Nonetheless, she knew it could not be. The ton had already marked him for what he professed himself to be: a rogue, a rake, a playboy. He could never be pinned down, and it would only sully her reputation to try.

  Still, she kept her little fantasy close as others courted her. One gentleman in particular displayed a striking persistence in his pursuit of her, asking for her hand to dance. He was tall and lean, like a jackal or a racing dog, his head topped by a vain plume of wiry dark hair. The eyes, brooding and intense, bored into Eliza’s each time she happened to catch them, so that she quickly glanced away.

  After the second dance, she returned to Judith’s side and whispered, “Who is that gentleman?” She could feel him still watching her at a distance.

  Judith, so rarely haughty, turned up her nose. “The Earl of Wyhurst,” was all she said, her tone rife with disdain. And then, “We would both do well to stay far away from him. As would any other lady.”

  The scathing judgement from gentle Judith took Eliza aback. Certainly she had heard murmurs of Lord Wyhurst, and not flattering ones. The gentleman was decently attractive, but rather too old for her liking. And his stony stare was that of a gentleman out for possession, not love. Which, as far as Eliza was concerned, simply would not do.

  “I agree,” she said to Judith, nodding. The two ladies made a point to slip back away from the dance floor before the band began again, lest the ardent Earl try to seek out Eliza once more.

  “What’s the matter?” Matthew asked, upon his sister’s return. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Sebastian laughed. “Perhaps she has. I hear the manor is haunted.” He winked at Eliza.

  Eliza’s heart fluttered in her chest. Oh, if only all dreams had potential to come true!

  Chapter Two

  Ordinarily, Sebastian had precious little use for balls, especially those of the debutante variety. As the Marquess of Dain, and a member of the ton himself, he was constantly invited to events full of useless finery, and it was his custom either to demur entirely, or to be present only just long enough to make it known that he was there. He knew, of course, what the ton thought of him, and he told himself he didn’t mind. They had never, ever done him any favors.

  But for Lady Eliza Trent, he was willing to make a rare exception. Sebastian had known the feisty, emerald-eyed lady since she was no more than a babe in her mother’s arms, and he had watched her grow into a lovely young lady. Perhaps, he thought, lovelier than she ought to be. That was the only acceptable way to explain the magnetism he sensed about her, the force that attempted to pull him in whenever she was nearby.

  Naturally, such attraction was nothing less than unacceptable. Underneath his at times, contentious relationship with his sister, Matthew was too devoted a sibling, too steadfast a guardian, to allow his sister to settle for anything other than total respectability. After all, she was the sole remaining vestige of his once-happy family, and Matthew had managed to eke out a life of comfort, stability, and happiness with Judith.

  Why shouldn’t he want the same thing for Eliza?

  Sebastian understood more than anyone that he was not a good match for Lady Eliza Trent. She deserved a husband able to give her the future she wanted. Not him. Yet, as he watched a series of gentlemen invite her onto the dance floor, he felt something very much like a pang of regret. Had things been even a little different, perhaps he would have taken her into his own arms.

  It was not to be. To spare himself the indignity of longing, Sebastian turned away and went to fetch a fresh drink. The single thing keeping him from making an early retreat was the knowledge that Eliza would be brokenhearted to find him gone without saying goodbye. And because he always found himself strangely beholden to her sparkling green eyes, Sebastian stayed. He sat at the table with Matthew and Judith and some of their other friends, and he drank wine. Tonight, he’d make no trouble.

  It was the least he could do for Eliza.

  The night seemed to drag on for a small eternity. Remembering his vow to stay out of trouble for Eliza’s sake, Sebastian instead battled the heavy chains of boredom. The air in the ballroom had become hot and hazy with candle smoke, but he didn’t dare go outside, for fear he’d start walking and end up at his own home.

  His struggles had not gone unnoticed by Matthew, who prodded him once and said, “Careful, Seb, or the ton might think you’re having too much fun.”

  Sebastian immediately mustered a grin. He straightened in his chair, downed the last of his wine. “They ought to think this a pleasant change of pace.” Immediately, as if of their own accord, his eyes picked through the crowd for Eliza. He used the pretense of chaperoning to excuse his interest. All her life, Matthew and his friends had been there to look out for the girl. Sebastian was continuing the tradition.

  When he finally located her, however, his heart turned with something other than suppressed desire. At some point, unbeknownst to him, she had been swept up by a gentleman for whom he felt nothing but distaste. If Sebastian was a rake and an outcast, Richard Griffin, the Earl of Wyhurst, was a spoiled, villainous peer. He was not well-liked among the ladies, being far too notorious a cad, but Sebastian knew far too many gentlemen who aspired to the Earl of Wyhurst’s station.

  “I shan’t say I’m worried about her.” Matthew’s voice filtered into Sebastian’s ear. “She would despise the sentiment. But I do hope society will prove fortunate for her, and that she can find a place among the ton. You know as well as I that Eliza can be…” He paused, searching for words. “She can be difficult.”

  Sebastian nodded absently. His gaze was trained on the dancing couple—she in the pale blue dress that flowed like water over her figure, and Lord Wyhurst in an offensively blood-red jacket and snow-white cravat. He stood out among his more sedately dressed brethren, which Sebastian suspected was the Earl’s goal all along.

  Matthew was still talking. “I think—” He paused, having finally taken stock of his friend’s distraction. “Sebastian, are you listening? Do please let me know if I’m boring you with my troubles.” Matthew laughed and shook his head, “Never mind. Your head’s been elsewhere all night. I’ll regale you with my woe some other time.”

  “Do you like her associating with Lord Wyhurst?” Sebastian inquired abruptly. He cared little if the question betrayed his true thoughts, so disquieted was he by the notion that Lord Wyhurst meant to court Eliza.

  “I don’t,” Judith interjected unhappily. “She ought not to have given him a second glance.”

  Sebastian was in full agreement, but Matthew apparently dissented. “Now, now, darling,” he soothed. “Eliza is hardly a child; she’s seventeen. And we all know Lord Wyhurst has the means to take care of her. If that’s what she wants, so be it.” Despite his calm words, Matthew’s eye stayed on the couple as he settled back into his chair.

  Sebastian looked sidelong at his friend. Surely Matthew was aware of the less savory points of Lord Wyhurst’s reputation. It struck Sebastian as nearly inconceivable that Matthew would let his sister be seen at all with a gentleman so garishly dressed and forward. But perhaps that was an inkling of jealousy speaking, which Sebastian quickly tucked away.

  Besides, the dance didn’t last forever. Presently, Eliza returned to Judith’s company and Sebastian relaxed, though he decided to keep track of the earl from then on, just for his own peace of mind. It was often quite easy to spot Lord Wyhurst even across the room, what with his glaring jacket. How he got away with sporting outdated fashions, Sebastian didn’t rightly know. Any other gentleman was asking for a lashing from the ton if he went out dressed that way.

  But Lord Wyhurst was haile
d by his cohorts as avant-garde, a free thinker, a pioneer. Bolstered by positive reinforcement, Lord Wyhurst had grown an ego the size of his sprawling country estate. These days, he moved within the ton as if he owned it, tossing coin at anyone who spoke against him.

  Sebastian had to admit, it was incredible how many problems a well-placed sovereign could solve. And that was something Lord Wyhurst knew well.

  With the ladies away to socialize, Sebastian lost sight of them—and, shortly thereafter, his interest in Lord Wyhurst. He was appropriately relieved when Matthew stood up and gestured toward the ballroom exit.

  “Come have a smoke with me, Seb. Fresh air would do us both some good.”

  On that, Sebastian couldn’t agree more. He followed Matthew out to the back terrace of the manor, where the French doors still stood partially open to the cold night air. The draft blowing in from outside was scented refreshingly by grass and rain. Sebastian stood in its path, feeling somewhat reinvigorated.

  He was not much of a smoker himself, but he didn’t mind the smell of Matthew’s pipe, or the blue smoke of cigars that often filled the rooms after dinner. The two gentlemen stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, each enjoying the relative quiet.

  He could sense that Matthew was getting ready to speak. Sebastian had known his friend long enough that truly, not many words needed saying. He knew that whatever was coming had to do with Eliza, and he knew, too, that he would not like to hear it. He turned to the sliver of dark blue velvet sky that was visible through the manor doors and prepared for an admonition of some kind, gentle as it may be.

  Matthew inhaled deeply and blew out a white plume of smoke. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he began, “Seb, about my sister…”

  Sebastian sighed. “What of her, Matthew? She’s seventeen years old, well educated, perfectly groomed. She’ll have no trouble finding a good husband. Especially not after this event you’ve put on.” He stopped short of acknowledging Eliza’s beauty, her grace, her charm. That, he could tell, was what Matthew had been expecting. “You’ll have to fight off her suitors,” he said.

  Matthew chuckled. “I won’t be surprised if she does it herself.” He took another puff of his pipe. “All I want is for her to be happy. It’s what she deserves after the life she’s lived so far.”

  Seb made no argument. He remembered, through the fuzzy lens of childhood, the long, protracted illnesses of first Eliza’s mother, then her father. They had been kind, compassionate souls, all too willing to extend loving charity toward the sad-eyed noble child that their son had befriended. Indeed, growing up, Sebastian had spent as many nights at the Colchester estate as his own, and though theirs was considerably more homely, he had always felt like he belonged.

  “That’s very true,” he said, adding, “No one doubts your intentions, my friend. I, least of all.” He did doubt Matthew’s judgement on occasion, but he kept that part to himself. For all that Matthew appeared to encourage Eliza’s freedom, Sebastian knew the idea of giving her over to society made Matthew nervous. He was a brother, and not that much her elder, but he had always thought of Eliza as a charge in need of protection.

  “I must admit, I am relieved to hear you say so.” Matthew smiled. He held his pipe in his right hand, watching the smoke wreath up from the bowl toward the ceiling.

  “Ah, so you were the one doubting me.” Sebastian smiled to make sure his friend knew the comment was mostly in jest. But there was undoubtedly a kernel of truth there.

  Matthew cleared his throat. He blew one more plume of smoke and extinguished the pipe, tucking it back into his pocket. “We ought to get back before Eliza realizes we’ve gone. You saw how she was when she lost sight of us.”

  “She was nervous,” Sebastian replied. “I’m sure she has acclimated by now.”

  As they approached the ballroom doors, Sebastian looked for Eliza’s blue gown, her blonde hair and laughing green eyes. At first, he was not suspicious that she was nowhere to be found; it was a large and crowded room. Then he realized that one other person remained unaccounted for.

  Richard Griffin, the Earl of Wyhurst.

  Suddenly determined to locate Eliza, Sebastian separated from Matthew without saying a word, unwilling to alert him to a problem that was still only a hunch. Perhaps Judith and Eliza had nipped away to the parlor, and perhaps Lord Wyhurst had done everyone a favor and departed early. Unlikely, given how enamored the earl had seemed, but a hopeful possibility.

  After a thorough search of the ballroom, he had found no trace of either lady, or the earl. The only places left to search were in the magnificent winter gardens behind the manor, accessible through a row of doors at the back. As Sebastian angled his way toward the open terrace, he began to come upon clusters of ladies speaking in hushed tones, an ominous sight to anyone familiar with the ton’s voracious love for gossip.

  “Have you found them?” Matthew had caught up at last, having conducted his own investigation. He was visibly worried, his brow deeply furrowed.

  Sebastian shook his head. The doors to the terrace stood just ahead, through which he could see almost nothing. A trio of ladies slipped hurriedly across the threshold, glancing back over their shoulders as they rushed away.

  “Oh, no.” Matthew’s face fell, and then darkened with anger. Jaw set, he strode toward the terrace.

  A stone of dread had begun to grow in Sebastian’s stomach. He had no choice but to let his friend lead.

  Chapter Three

  After dancing twice with the Earl of Wyhurst, Eliza excused herself. The second dance, upon which he had quite strenuously insisted, left her mildly unsettled, and Judith’s warning rang in her ears. She had meant to keep a watchful eye out for him.

  She went out to the terrace in an effort to escape him, to catch her breath. Her head was spinning, and she was quite warm after her exertions on the dancefloor. She leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out over the gardens. In the darkness, she could see that there were others, in small groups, walking along the paths.

  It was winter, and all those others seemed to be wrapped up against the chill. Eliza shivered. After the close heat and the press of all of the bodies in the ballroom, it felt good to get a breath of the fresh air.

  As she looked up at the night sky, she could see that clouds were rolling in, passing across the moon. She wondered, briefly, if it mightn’t snow. Her breath fogged the air in front of her face.

  Suddenly, a hand was clamped down on her arm, grasping just above the tops of her long white silk gloves.

  Eliza jumped and spun around, prepared to snatch her arm away. The sight of him sent a cold shiver down her spine that only intensified when Lord Wyhurst smiled.

  “You frightened me,” she gasped. She glanced around, finding that they were alone.

  “Terribly sorry, My Lady.” His eyes glittered in a way she did not like at all. Eliza craned her neck to look for Judith, or anyone else who might be able to intervene, but the Earl was already steering her toward the steps leading down and off of the back terrace. “I thought we might go for a nice little stroll. It’s a lovely night, don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I—I cannot, My Lord. I must get back.” Eliza’s attempt to stammer out a refusal fell on willfully deaf ears. The gentleman’s grip on her arm was beginning to feel too tight for comfort. She desperately wished to get away somehow. She stopped walking, her feet freezing.

  “Nonsense,” he interjected breezily, tugging on her arm. “Some fresh air will do the lady good, I think. And only in the worthiest of company, of course.” Again, the pointed smile slid across his face. “I’m eager to get to know you.”

  That much was quite obvious. Seeing no other option aside from throwing a fit and embarrassing herself at her own ball, Eliza remained where she was. Should anyone find them there, walking alone without a chaperone, her reputation would be ruined.

  The Earl of Wyhurst glared at her. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

  Eliza bit her bottom li
p. “Allow me to go and get a chaperone,” she said, trying and failing to get him to let go of her arm. “I cannot.”

  His hand was like a lead weight on her arm, and she wished very much that he would release her. Surely it wouldn’t do to have the ton witness her being led around like a wayward puppy by a gentleman she barely knew. And at her own ball, no less!

  Frightened tears spilled down her cheeks, making icy tracks down her face. “Please, sir. Let me go.”

  But when she tried to get out of his grip, he only tightened his grip. The effect was subtle but immediate. He glanced at her, and there was an expression in his gaze that made Eliza feel more fearful than simply uneasy.

  “You’re quite lovely, you know,” he told her now. His dark eyes burned into her face, smoldering with ugly, ill-concealed passion. “No doubt you’ll have a line of suitors out the door after tonight.” They were not far from the doors, and from where she stood, the dancing candlelight, the heat, the noise, was suddenly inviting.