Only Scandal Will Do (10 page)

Her heartbeat fluttered, not at the thought of Reginald Matthew, but at the love of a brother who so desperately wanted to keep her with him. Slowly she shook her head. “I think Mr. Matthews a worthy suitor, but he likely would not. He would not want it said that I married down. Not even for love.” She blushed, and hated herself for doing so. “If I loved him. And I have no idea he feels anything for me beyond...I don’t know. Protectiveness. That’s what I felt the night we met. Protected. That’s all.”

“But damn it, Kat, if you...”

“Jack! I leave for Virginia tomorrow. Let us have peace between us until then. After I board the ship, you can curse at me all you want.” She linked her arm with his. “Don’t make me regret I agreed to go out with you tonight. Our last night together should be a wonderful memory, don’t you think?”

Jack appeared to want to continue the argument, but nodded in agreement. “But if this is our last night together, I intend to make the most of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see, my lady.” The teasing look returned to his face, thank the Lord. “I will expect you downstairs, appropriately attired, ready to leave at nine o’clock sharp.”

“You said that once before, with disastrous results.”

He grinned at her, good humor restored. “But this time you’ve promised to protect me, remember.”

Her spirits on the rise, she linked arms with him and they left the room laughing.

* * * *

The old grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway struck nine as Kat emerged, elegantly attired as promised, and quietly descended the stairs. Jack awaited her at the bottom of the staircase, his smile growing as she grew closer.

“Oh, Kat! You have outdone yourself!” He made a wry face. “I might have known you would outshine all the rest of the
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ladies on your last night here.” He beamed at her. “You will, you know. No one out this year holds a candle to you dressed like that.”

The gown did indeed put to shame any other she possessed. Moonlight blue satin, embroidered in a subtle pattern of leaves and trimmed with frothy Cluny lace across the bodice. The decolletage was not scandalously low, but low enough that Jack’s furtive glances told her he feared for her breasts’ safety. She’d purchased the gown in the expectation it would be her best once she arrived in Virginia. Perhaps, her wedding gown.

“You are exquisite, Kat. I have never seen you so beautiful.” His worried expression sent her into a peal of laughter.

“Thank you, sir. But put your mind at ease. I assure you I am quite safely strapped in.”

“What do you mean?” He pointedly glanced away then stole another look.

“Stop staring at my breasts like that. If you don’t, you’ll draw everyone’s attention to them. Is that what you want?”

“But, won’t they explode from that dress if you take a deep breath?”

Katarina giggled. “I assure you they will not. This is the fashion, Jack. They fit exactly as they are supposed to in this dress. Lord, I think we need to start searching for a wife for you, dear brother. So you can dictate her clothing.”

By this time they were in the carriage and Jack gave the direction to the driver. Kat raised an eyebrow. “You said we were going to Lady Harcourt’s rout tonight.”

“Later, dear sister. We have another stop to make first.” Jack’s smug countenance told her she was in for a night of surprises. Ah, well. Her final night in London society should be a night for her to remember always.

* * * *

Duncan stood talking to the Earl of Braeton about Braeton’s newest acquisition for his stable, surreptitiously glancing about the crowded ballroom to no avail. The brightly lighted room swirled in gaiety: dancing couples followed the intricate steps of a minuet, others dallied in shadowy corners to steal a moment or a kiss alone. Onlookers strolled about with eyes peeled, poised to ferret out the merest whisper of scandal. Duncan barely noticed the laughter, the flirtatious glances, the lively music. He had been the same all night, always distracted, always searching for the arresting face now seared into his memory.

As midnight drew near, hopelessness descended. Another night wasted. Now he must resort to subterfuge in order to scrape an acquaintance with the lady and her brother so he could sort the whole mess out without embroiling himself in another duel.

According to his host, the new Earl of Manning had indeed been invited, but sent his regrets. A double disappointment. Afraid to ask about the earl too early in the evening, when the conversation had finally led him toward such an inquiry, he could not simply bolt home without having it remarked on. He’d given himself until midnight before he would leave. Meanwhile, he still hoped she would show up.

“Come out to the stable and take a look at this mare, Dalbury. I tell you there’s not a better piece of horseflesh this side of Dublin. Lady Braeton is positively thrilled with her. Quite appreciative to me as well.” Braeton’s grin became a leer.

“I might as well, Braeton. I’m for home anyway.” Duncan sighed and gave one more sweep of the ballroom. No enchanting figure with fiery hair. He shook his head as he followed his host out. They had almost reached the French doors that led to the grounds, when the sound of a woman’s low-pitched, silky voice stopped Lord Braeton.

“Braeton! Where are you going with our most eligible guest?” Eithne, Lady Braeton appeared from nowhere, in a royal blue sacque dress that did nothing for her complexion, and grasped Duncan’s arm. “Lord Dalbury! I refuse to hear you are leaving us so early. Braeton! Dalbury must stay a little longer. I’ve not had a chance to introduce him to my cousin, Miss Forsythe. She has been partnered on the dance floor all night or else he has.” She eyed Duncan as one would a stallion they were buying for stud.

“Taking him out to see Grannia, my dear. Told him how pleased you were with her.”

“Oh, she’s the loveliest mount I’ve been on in an age. Graceful as a bird in flight, Dalbury. Takes a hedge or a brook like she’s on a country road.” Lady Braeton’s eyes shone with the fervor of a true horsewoman. She was small-boned, with large blue eyes and shockingly red hair. But her good nature and excellent connections had landed her a prime husband in the Earl of Braeton. A love match, according to Aunt Phoebe.

Struggling not to imagine another face surrounded by reddish hair, he steadfastly focused his attentions on his hostess. “I fear I will have to leave after seeing your mare, Lady Braeton. My regrets to Miss Forsythe, but you will of course be sponsoring her throughout the season?”

“Of course, Lord Dalbury. I will make sure the two of you become acquainted. She has that coloring I know you are so fond of.” Lady Braeton’s laughter caught him off guard. Was his penchant for auburn hair so well known? Cringing, he bowed gallantly over her hand, then released the lady to her husband.

“Oh look, Braeton. Cecil Breckenridge is just arriving. He promised me a foal out of his Arabian mare. Come, we must find out if she’s dropped it yet.” Laying claim to her husband, Lady Braeton steered him toward the arriving horseman with unashamed zeal. “Dalbury,” she called over her shoulder, “stay right there. We will return directly.”

Duncan remained by the door for a few minutes, then slipped quietly out and headed around to the front of the house. After calling for his carriage, he waited impatiently for it to be brought around. A wasted night. One more of many, he supposed.

* * * *

Laughing again at her brother’s impetuosity in dragging her into yet another
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function this evening, Katarina swept once more into a ballroom on Jack’s arm. He immediately spied their host and hostess and urged her toward them.

“Lord and Lady Braeton, may I make known to you my sister, Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam? Kat, I told you about Lord and Lady Braeton and their stud out in Kent?”

“Delighted, Lady Katarina,” Lady Braeton said, nodding her acknowledgement. “Your brother speaks highly of your horsemanship. You must come to us in Kent this fall for the hunting. I always insist Braeton allow the ladies one day out in the field.”

Sadly, that invitation would have to be missed. “I thank you, Lady Braeton, but I fear I will be hunting in Virginia this fall.”

“Really! You cannot mean to leave us so soon. Braeton tells me you and your brother have only just arrived in London.” Lady Braeton’s disappointment was evident as she turned inquiring eyes to her husband. “Braeton, I thought we were to have another lady with us to hunt this October, but Lady Katarina says she will be in the colonies. From what your brother has told us,” she continued to Kat, “I am losing a kindred spirit as far as horses are concerned.”

“I suppose so, my lady.” Kat smiled in sympathy at her hostess. “I have ridden all my life and enjoy nothing more than a fast gallop across the countryside.” She probably would have enjoyed having this woman as her friend. They were of an age, and Lady Braeton seemed delightfully no nonsense and to the point. “I too am grieved that our acquaintance must be of such a short duration.”

“But Manning will come to us, won’t you, old chap?” Lord Braeton nodded to Jack. “You’ll fit in splendidly with the rest of our set. Great judge of horseflesh, my dear. He’s the talk of the club. In fact, Manning, there’s a man here who wants to meet you. Said a friend of yours at the club advised him to seek your opinion next time he was in the market for horses. The Marquess of Dalbury. He is just over there.” Lord Braeton turned to the French doors, then frowned. “Well, he must have slipped out. Said he was on the way home. Unusual for Dalbury to ask anyone’s opinion about horses, but then your reputation’s rampant nowadays, Manning.”

Lady Braeton steered Kat toward several young swains with the purpose of making introductions. Kat was flattered at the attention, as she had been all night. First her brother had insisted they go to Lady Grangerly’s crush, then Lady Harcourt’s rout, and now the Braeton’s ball. Everywhere she was introduced, complimented, made to feel a welcome part of
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society. She accepted a glass of champagne from one of the young men she’d just met. If only March fifteenth had been a dream, life would be very sweet right now.

Jack was still talking to Lord Braeton, but another young man, taller than Jack and rather lean under his excellently cut green velvet coat, had joined the two men. Kat turned her head away and appraised him from the corner of her eye. Dark blond hair, or maybe golden brown. And a well-muscled leg. He must be part of this horsey set Jack had told her about. A fine figure of a man. Why was she now taking notice of men when she was bound for one three thousand miles away? She smiled at the notion.

Jack motioned her to return to him and she handed her glass to a passing servant. As she neared the group, the young man in green glanced up and stopped, seemed arrested at the sight of her. His eyes widened. Had they already met? His face seemed familiar. Something about the chin, perhaps?

She was almost upon the group when the young man finished turning toward her. He stared at her with eyes so dark brown they were almost black. Three thin, purplish scars marred his left cheek.

The floor of the ballroom buckled beneath Katarina’s feet and Lord Braeton’s hand shot out to steady her. The music stopped and her tortured breathing sounded harsh in her ears. She supposed her face paled, for her hands grew numb with cold and she swallowed convulsively several times, trying with all her hard-earned discipline not to vomit before the assembly. She clasped her hands to stop them from shaking.

Jack looked inquisitively at her but said only, “Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam, I wish to make known to you the Marquess of Dalbury.”

Chapter 8

“Lady Katarina,” the marquess said, taking her limp, cold hand. “I have been looking forward to this moment ever since I heard you were in London.”

That voice sent shivers down her spine. She remembered well the arrogance in it when he’d declared himself her master. Soft and silky now, with his mouth poised over her hand, the words sent searing heat that penetrated her long kidskin gloves. Only sheer determination kept her from snatching it out of his grasp, and fear at what might be said if she acted in any way as though she had met this man before. No one must know.

She made herself look at his face, into the dark brown eyes that gleamed with…apprehension? Amusement? Katarina twitched her mouth into what hopefully passed for a smile and said, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance as well, Lord Dalbury. Although I must confess that until just now I had not heard your name.” Although pleased to hear how strong her voice sounded, she feared she might choke on the lies she spouted. Kat slipped her hand from his and a measure of calm returned.

Jack was deep in his conversation with Lord Braeton, completely unconcerned about her. She tried to refrain from looking at the marquess, but he demanded her attention by addressing her again.

“I almost missed the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Lady Katarina. I left the ball just before midnight, but one of my carriage horses came up lame and I returned to ask Braeton for the loan of a replacement. Lady Luck surely smiled on me tonight.” His wide smile seemed genuine, his voice tinged with a hint of relief.

She sighed. Her last night in England and Lady Luck had to favor this fellow.

He continued on, disregarding her silence. “I understand from Lord Braeton that you and your brother only arrived from the colonies two months ago, Lady Katarina.”