A burst of affection filled him for his stepmother. She rarely referred to him or Leo as anything but her sons in public, ensuring the Barringtons all presented a united front to the ton. Despite his feelings about the duke, Tony’s father had done something wonderful in marrying Amanda.
“And you’ve brought Lord Carstairs,” she said with a smile. “I’m delighted to see you.”
“Your Grace.” Carstairs executed the required polite greetings with a vacant smile, perfectly happy to be attending a ball tonight and not out stalking a deer. He’d spoken adoringly of the estate he’d inspected for Tony, assuring him on the carriage ride over the property would do very well as a hunting retreat.
Tony pretended he gave a shit. He had a great many other things on his mind.
When Carstairs had casually mentioned Miss Lainscott, expressing his complete admiration for her, Tony had barely resisted seriously injuring his friend. The idea of giving Maggie to Carstairs was rapidly becoming intolerable to Tony. The idea of Winthrop pawing her was even more loathsome.
She belongs to you, a tiny voice whispered.
Despite visiting his sisters every day, much to the delight of Phaedra who pestered him to accompany her on the piano while she screeched away on the violin, Maggie had not appeared. The object of his desire seemed determined to avoid him, which was probably wise on her part. Tony didn’t think he would have been able to refrain from touching her had she arrived to take tea with his stepmother. He’d thought of very little else but Maggie since she’d left Elysium.
After greeting the duchess, he and Carstairs walked into the warren of rooms leading to the ballroom. Tony looked around him, barely seeing the portraits of his ancestors, the cream-colored walls, or the carved wainscoting. He resented Carstairs’s presence at his side, wanting nothing more than for his friend to leave him in peace.
Carstairs, for his part, chatted amiably about flushing out a group of rabbits and didn’t Tony think rabbit, if seasoned properly, went well in a pie?
Tony cast him a bland look. Carstairs had no idea how close he was to being strangled like the rabbits he was gushing over. He reminded himself that his friend was doing a service for Maggie, he just wasn’t aware of it. Carstairs was the honorable one. A man who would marry her. Unlike Tony, who would not. All he had to do was imagine the Duke of Averell’s happiness at hearing that Tony planned to wed, and a chill would fall over him along with a burst of resentment toward Maggie.
You could have her.
Besides, Maggie wanted Carstairs. A bloody dimwit she could control. She wanted marriage to an honorable man who wouldn’t ask her to play the piano half-naked in a pleasure palace. A man who would welcome a wife and child. She wanted to avoid Winthrop. And no one should be subjected to Winthrop. It was normal, after what they’d shared, for Tony to feel protective of Maggie.
I want her.
Carstairs slapped him on the back, startling him out of his thoughts. “I see Miss Turnbull.” He pointed to a far corner of the ballroom where the young lady was holding court amongst a small group of young gentlemen. “I would like to apologize to her for leaving town in such haste. It was terribly rude of me after our fishing trip.”
“Are you always so fucking nice?”
Carstairs blinked his eyes at Tony, confused. “Why, yes. What good would it do for me not to be?” He nodded before going to the side of Miss Turnbull.
Tony cursed beneath his breath. Carstairs was undeserving of his foul mood. He was a good, if not-too-bright, friend. He’d left town to inspect an estate as a favor to Tony without a second thought, asking no questions, because he’d been asked to do so. Tony turned his attention from Carstairs to his stepmother’s ballroom, taking in the glittering display of titled wealth before him. The room was full of beautiful women who were, even now, casting looks in his direction. In the not so distant past, Tony would have taken advantage of so much bounty, but not tonight.
Damn her.
“You look bloody angry at Carstairs. I can’t imagine what he’s done to provoke your ill-temper. Isn’t being mad at him rather like kicking a puppy?”
Tony turned to Leo, who lurked in a dark alcove next to a statue of some Greek god.
Leo tilted his head toward the piece of marble he leaned against. “Who’s this bloke?”
“Apollo, I think. They all look the same to me. I don’t dare ask Amanda, or she’ll bend my ear for the next hour. What are you doing, Leo, hiding? I hadn’t expected you’d be here tonight.” Tony knew Amanda had asked Leo to attend, as she did every other ball, dinner party, and fete held at Averell House, but he rarely did so.
“I promised Amanda.” Leo grimaced. “Why couldn’t she be like any other woman when confronted by her husband’s bastard son and just dislike me? Keep me at arm’s length? It’s not right, I tell you.”
Tony laughed at his brother’s discomfort. Amanda had never treated Leo any differently despite Leo being born on the wrong side of the blanket. Most titled ladies would never even acknowledge Leo’s existence, let alone welcome him with open arms. Her treatment of Leo and, indeed, Tony, was a testament to Amanda’s generous and loving heart. She was far too good for the Duke of Averell. But she loved Tony’s father, deeply and unconditionally. Amanda wasn’t unintelligent. She knew of her husband’s sins and loved him anyway. Tony thought his father underserving of such devotion.
“Christ. There’s Winthrop. Don’t let him see me,” Leo said in a low tone, sinking back further into the shadows. “I’ve extended his credit again and he’s already close to the new limit. Insists he’ll pay me back the enormous sum he owes Elysium when he marries. Says the heiress has accepted his proposal and the contracts are to be signed as soon as the legalities are ironed out.” Leo shrugged. “Apparently, the bulk of the girl’s fortune doesn’t become his upon marriage automatically, and he’s seeking to have that overturned with the support of the girl’s guardian. Still won’t tell me who she is. He’d better be successful, though. All he has left, besides the entailed family seat, is a small, isolated estate and I’ve no desire to have that foisted upon me. Nor his mistress, though he’s offered her up.”
Maggie hadn’t exaggerated. Her aunt had already auctioned her off just as she had Walter Lainscott’s hunting dogs. “He has nothing else?” Tony could smell the desperation on Winthrop’s sweating body from across the ballroom.
“No,” Leo assured him. “Why do you dislike him so much?”
“I have my reasons.” One very small, delicate reason.
When Winthrop moved aside, Tony saw Maggie, Lady Dobson clinging to her side. His foot actually took a step in her direction before he stopped himself. She looked beautiful. The gold silk had been an inspired choice. He’d never purchased so much as a decorated fan for a woman before, let alone such an expensive gown, but it had pleased Tony to do so for Maggie. The gold silk brought out the streaks of blonde in her otherwise dark hair, making her shimmer in the light of the chandeliers. Tony’s only regret was in not purchasing her a pair of topaz earrings to complement the outfit. He’d paid the modiste handsomely to deliver the gown courtesy of his stepmother, knowing Maggie would never accept the gift from him.
Leo made a small sound of surprise, his head following Tony’s gaze. “Christ, she’s the heiress Winthrop’s been bragging about bagging.” Understanding suffused Leo’s features. “She was the girl at Elysium. Miss Margaret Lainscott, Lady Dobson’s niece. No wonder you hate him.”
Tony gave his brother a scathing look before returning his attention to Maggie. His eyes ran over her petite form again, remembering in detail every curve and hollow of her body. Her skin had felt like satin beneath his lips.
Misery shone from her eyes. When Winthrop moved in her direction, Tony could see her shrinking back from him, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Pear-shaped prick. A deep possessive rage pulsed through him as Winthrop took Maggie’s hand, pulling her forward to stand next to him. Winthrop wasn’t even remo
tely suitable for her, yet Lady Dobson was in favor of the match. Why?
“What do you know about the late Lord Dobson’s finances?” Tony asked his brother in a chilly tone.
“Lord Dobson? You realize he’s been dead for years?”
“I’m aware.”
Pressing a finger to his lips Leo said thoughtfully, “he was heavily leveraged at Elysium. Owed me a small fortune for gambling and his other pleasures. I took pity on the man after meeting his wife.” He nodded in the direction of Lady Dobson. “His debts were settled upon his death by her, which surprised me.”
“Why were you surprised?”
“While he was alive, he couldn’t pay me the sum he owed. He’d only the London house left. I’m not sure where Lady Dobson got the money, nor do I care. She paid off his other creditors as well, though not his mistress.” Leo chuckled.
Tony suspected Walter Lainscott had given the money to Lady Dobson. And probably supported her lavish lifestyle during his lifetime. An immense scandal had erupted over her younger sister’s hasty marriage to Walter Lainscott, nearly ruining the chances for Agnes to make a decent match. She’d had to settle for Dobson. Amanda had told Tony the entire sordid tale over tea one day. His stepmother didn’t care for Lady Dobson in the least.
Now that Walter was dead, Tony surmised Lady Dobson had lost her source of income. There was probably an annual sum for Maggie’s support, but the bulk of the money would be in her dowry. Maybe Lady Dobson had made a bargain of sorts with Winthrop in return for agreeing to the marriage.
“No wonder you’re in a snit. Your Miss Lainscott is set to wed Winthrop.” Leo shot him a sympathetic look and nodded in Maggie’s direction. “She looks smashing, by the way. Pity the dress will be ruined once Winthrop paws her. I’ve never met a gentleman who sweats so much.”
“I agree,” Welles said, not wishing to give away the anger mounting with every look Winthrop bestowed on Maggie. “A shame to ruin the dress. Though it isn’t any of my business whom she marries. Winthrop or anyone else.”
“True,” Leo said absently. “It isn’t as though you could marry her.”
Tony ignored his brother’s baiting.
Lady Dobson stood smug next to Maggie, the massive crimson turban on her head tilting slightly as she greeted an acquaintance. Her angular features were made sharper by the light of the chandeliers. She said something to Maggie, a chastisement of some sort, if the sneer on Lady Dobson’s face was any indication.
“Bitch,” he cursed under his breath, his fists clenching.
“Careful, brother,” Leo said softly. “You can’t run across the ballroom floor and claim her.”
The sight across the room made Tony angrier, fueling the ugly jealousy and possessiveness already circulating in his system.
A flurry of blue skirts appeared, surrounding Maggie. It was his sister, Romy. Maggie and Romy greeted each other warmly while Lady Dobson frowned in displeasure. She didn’t care for the fact her niece had managed to garner the support of the Duchess of Averell and her daughters.
“Tony—”
“Oh, look, there’s Lady Masterson and she’s nearly falling out of her gown,” Tony said, knowing his brother’s questions about Maggie would be immediately forgotten. Leo’s attention would be focused elsewhere. Tony turned back to his tiny pianist clothed in gold.
You want her.
So, take her.
23
If I don’t remain calm, I’ll soon be sweating like Winthrop.
Margaret cast a glance at the gentleman who assumed she’d marry him without a protest. Were he, at the very least, a kind man, or perhaps less prone to dousing himself with talc, she might not be taking such drastic measures this evening.
“I adore the dress.” Romy took her hand. “Such a lovely gown. Where did you have it made?” She walked in a circle around Margaret, taking in every detail of the gold gown.
Surely Romy knew her mother had purchased it as a gift for Margaret. After all, she would have given the modiste Margaret’s exact measurements. “Don’t be silly; you know very well where this came from.” She gave a small laugh, lest Aunt Agnes wonder what they were speaking of. “Please tell the duchess I am most grateful. My aunt,” Margaret lowered her voice, “would never have allowed me something so exquisite. Or expensive.”
Romy’s lovely features wrinkled in confusion. “The dress was a gift from my mother? She never mentioned—oh, here comes Tony.”
Margaret’s breath stilled, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest at the appearance of Welles. A wave of dark hair fell against his cheek as the startling blue of his eyes caught hers. The light humming of her skin, her body’s response to his nearness, floated deliciously up her arms.
“Lady Dobson.” The deep baritone brushed over Margaret as he greeted her aunt politely, but he was looking at her.
Aunt Agnes bobbed politely.
He barely gave a nod to Winthrop before turning to his sister. “You look smashing, Romy. Did you design the dress?”
Romy twirled before her brother, powder blue skirts flowing around her like ripples in a pond. “What do you think?”
“Quite lovely. How nice to see you, Miss Lainscott.”
Margaret looked up at the touch of his hand on hers, unsurprised at the shocking trickle of warmth sliding between her thighs. She had ceased to wonder why she only responded in such a way to him. It was just part of Welles. Like the music she heard in her heart when he was near. Or the bits of gold floating in the deep blue of his eyes.
“It seems I have perfect timing,” Welles said, neglecting to release her hand as the musicians struck up a waltz. “Lady Dobson, with your permission.” He didn’t wait for her aunt’s reply, whisking Margaret out to the ballroom floor without a care for her chaperone. Or Winthrop, who was staring at both of them with disapproval. Margaret couldn’t risk angering her aunt lest she be sent home early before Carstairs would compromise her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, though her body bent eagerly to his.
“I’m the son of the hostess. And a future duke. You’re a close friend of my sister’s.” He nodded in Romy’s direction. “It’s perfectly acceptable for me to whisk you onto the dance floor. It may even improve your standing amongst the ton.” His gaze roamed the ballroom, “Though considering my reputation, probably not.”
“But this is a waltz.”
“I’ve never been too concerned with what others think of me. You shouldn’t be either. Besides, do you really think Winthrop has the gumption to stop me?”
Margaret turned to see Winthrop’s face puffing with distress. Aunt Agnes spoke to him, one spindly hand clutching his forearm like an oversized spider.
“I don’t care what Winthrop thinks.” She pressed her lips together, trying not to tremble as Welles pulled her closer. A large hand settled on the small of her back, sending a tingle along her spine. “But I shouldn’t like to cause a scene. Nor put Carstairs off.”
He gave her an expert twirl and leaned in. “Have you a plan?” Welles was smiling again but she sensed he wasn’t truly amused. “For the intended ruination of Lord Carstairs?”
Margaret hadn’t quite figured out how to lure Carstairs away. “I suppose I’ll ask him to take me for a walk in the gardens.”
“A tried and true method.” His cheek grazed her temple. “I adore the sounds you make as you climax, by the way,” Welles purred into her ear.
Margaret missed a step. “Don’t say or speak of it again.” She bit her lip. “I beg you.”
“It’s a very fond memory. There are so many other things I wish to do to you. Delicious things.” The baritone lowered to a growl.
She missed another step.
“Cease. I do not want to discuss what transpired between us at Elysium.”
“Why not?” His eyes flared with blue fire. Angry.
Margaret looked away.
Her aunt and Winthrop were sending her withering looks from their place against the wall, but no one
else paid the least bit of attention to Lord Welles swinging Margaret about the dance floor. He’d been right that no one would think it out of place for him to dance with her. The duchess had made it clear at Lady Masterson’s garden party she considered Margaret to be a friend of the family. Margaret and Romy had been seen together walking in the park along with Theo. It was perfectly natural for Welles to grant her a dance.
“Very well. Let’s discuss your agenda for the evening.” His wide mouth held the barest hint of a smile. A dark line of hair stretching along his jaw begged for her touch. Or the press of her lips.
“You should speak to your valet,” she finally said, flustered to be studying him so openly. “He didn’t shave you close enough.”
“What a thing for you to notice, Miss Lainscott.” He spun her, pulling Maggie close so her skirts wrapped around his legs. Welles took the opportunity to notch one muscled thigh between hers.
A lazy coil of warm honey twisted around her core at his actions. Heat flooded up her body, while her fingers tightened on his sleeve.
“You’re blushing, Miss Lainscott.”
She raised her chin to see him watching her, a knowing look in his eyes. He knew exactly what he’d done to her and relished her reaction. She supposed this was how casual lovers behaved, as if their joining was merely amusement, and not fraught with emotional consequence.
“The ballroom is warm.”
“Such wantonness sits contained within you, Miss Lainscott. It begs to be set free. It’s a shame only the Broadwood has seen it. And me.” His teasing was tinged with something sharp. She had come to know the timbre of his voice, and though it was well hidden, anger bled into his words.
“Is there a point to you tormenting me?”
His wide mouth pulled tight. “You are certain, Miss Lainscott, on your course of action? You wish to be compromised tonight, publicly? Forced to marry? Despite the scandal?”
Maggie nodded dully. When put in such a way, it didn’t sound appealing at all. Then she caught sight of Winthrop along the wall. “Yes. Absolutely.”
The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 1) Page 16