You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want (14 page)

Mathias had no intention of telling her that she was little more than a means to take a poke at the earl. Her greed had reduced her to such a lowly state. She deserved his ire more than the lady who was casting wary glances in his direction did.

“So it is true. I did not credit it when Thorn told me you were in the ballroom chasing after some chit,” said a familiar male voice.

Mathias turned his back on Lady Tempest to address the gentleman to prove that the accusation was warrantless. “Vanewright, this is the last place I would expect you to be.”

Christopher Avery Courtland, Earl of Vanewright, inclined his head in acknowledgment. He was as tall as Mathias, with intelligent blue green eyes and straight black hair that had been recently trimmed. The two men had crossed paths at school, but that was not where their friendship originated. It was at the House of Lords, where they had stood on opposing sides of several vigorous debates in which they had managed to find some common ground.

“My mother was unwell this evening, so she asked me to escort my sister in her stead. Have I introduced you to Lady Ellen?”

“Is Lady Netherley conspiring to marry the chit off this season?” At Courtland's knowing grin, Mathias shook his head. “Do not be offended if I politely decline your generous offer. My mother is already lamenting that I spend too much time in my clubs. If she learns that I was speaking with your sister, she might get the mistaken impression that I am seeking a wife.”

“I can sympathize, my friend,” the earl said. “My mother will not be happy until she sees all her children married off. Unfortunately, my sister is rather stubborn and claims to be content with her life. God willing, Ellen will provide enough of a distraction this season that my mother will be too busy to worry about finding me a bride.”

“To my regret, my sister Honora will not be so useful this season. If you are still unmarried next spring, I would be pleased to make the proper introductions to your mother,” Mathias teased.

“You are an evil man, Chance,” the earl said, his friendly demeanor contradicting his words. “So if you are not hunting for a bride, why are you drawing the attention of every marriage-minded matron in the ballroom?”

“You are exaggerating.”

Courtland's right eyebrow kicked upward.

Mathias laughed. “Thorn and I just arrived,” he protested.

The earl shook his head at his friend's ignorance. “When you have a matchmaking mother, as I do, you learn a few things. Trust me, your presence has been noted by every lady who has a young daughter, and it is only a matter of time before someone begs Lady Oxton for an introduction.”

He cast a frustrated glance at Lady Tempest. She noticed his regard and tipped her head to the side as if to encourage him to leave. He had to admire her persistence.

“Thorn and I aren't staying. St. Lyon and Rainbault are waiting for us,” he said, frustrated that he might have drawn more attention to himself than he had assumed.

“So Kempthorn is wrong when he says that you have taken an unhealthy interest in a certain lady.”

“Thorn worries too much—and my interest is unhealthy only if her family learns of it.”

“Tread carefully, my friend,” Courtland warned, glancing back and noticing that Mathias was not the only one who was curious. “Marcroft fought two duels last month. He would not hesitate to challenge you, considering the history between the Rookes and the Brants.”

“Marcroft should be concerned about the hole I put in his arrogant hide,” Mathias said coolly.

“Then I wish you luck,” Courtland said, resigned that there was nothing that would dissuade Mathias from his path.

“Luck is something I have always had in abundance, Courtland,” Mathias said with a touch of arrogance. “However, I would appreciate some assistance if you have a few minutes.”

*   *   *

Chance was leaving with Lord Courtland.

Tempest felt an unnecessary frisson of disappointment at his departure. Lord Fairlamb was respecting her wishes. She should be relieved that he had given up on his fool's errand to speak with her. The why of it, she could not fathom.

I should not have kissed him.

If he had been encouraged by her recklessness, she hoped there would come a time that she could correct her mistake. She did not want him to think that she went about kissing every handsome gentleman who demanded a kiss from her.

“My lord, may I present my daughters, Lady Tempest and Lady Arabella,” her mother said, compelling Tempest to concentrate on the gentleman standing in front of her. He arrived in London less than a week ago, and for some reason, Lady Norgrave was thrilled that he had deliberately sought her out when he entered Lord and Lady Oxton's ballroom. “Daughters, may I present Thaddeus Tayer, Marquess of Warrilow.

“A distinct pleasure, ladies,” the twenty-six-year-old Lord Warrilow genially replied. His bow was executed with admirable grace in a gentleman who was slightly over six feet in height.

She and Arabella responded in kind with a curtsy.

His casually studied both her and her sister with quiet approval in his blue green eyes. “The recent acquisition of the Warrilow title has broadened my circle of friends. However, I am pleased to call Lord Norgrave a close and dear friend. I must say that I am honored to have been afforded the opportunity to meet his greatest treasures … his beautiful wife and daughters.”

“Nicely done, my lord. You flatter us,” the marchioness said; her voice alone revealed that she was impressed by the gentleman's speech and manners. “If you do not mind me inquiring, how long will you be remaining in London?”

“As long as it takes, madam,” was his enigmatic reply.

“For what reason, my lord?” Tempest asked, since Arabella could not stir herself to speak.

“Did your father not tell you?” At the abrupt shake of her head, the marquess replied, “I have come to town to seek a wife. Permit me to explain. I was a barrister before I inherited my cousin's title. For most of my life, I believed the line secure and never contemplated a day when the burden—nay, the sacred duty—would fall upon me. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed. It was your father who wisely suggested that I take a bride who could assist me, and shoulder the responsibilities of the household while I adjust to my new station in life.”

“My husband is a clever man,” Lady Norgrave said diplomatically.

What was left unsaid was that her father had high hopes of securing a match for one of his daughters. Lord Warrilow had come to London to inspect Norgrave's daughters, and if he found them lacking, the members of the ton would eagerly assist in his quest for a marchioness.

She had no doubt the gentleman would achieve his set goal with resounding success.

As a potential husband, the Marquess of Warrilow was an impressive candidate. Not only was he good looking with his dark hair, soulful eyes, and the subtle dimple in the middle of his chin. He was also polite, articulate, and educated. Tempest glanced at Arabella, who only seemed capable of gaping at the gentleman. If the marquess required a bride, her sister would be an advantageous match for him.

Tempest looked up and was startled to see that Lord Warrilow was staring at her with a contemplative expression on his face.

“I hope I am not interrupting?”

Tempest met the amused gaze of Lord Vanewright. Only minutes earlier, she had observed him departing the ballroom with Lord Fairlamb. When had he returned? She had had enough surprises for one evening. If her mother were to announce that it was time to leave, she would gladly say her farewells without complaint.

“Lord Vanewright,” her mother said, extending her hand. The earl clasped her fingers and bowed. “Where is your delightful mother? I have yet to greet her this evening.”

“I fear my lady mother is unwell this evening.” At the marchioness's soft sound of dismay, he added, “It is nothing serious. In fact, I suspect Lady Netherley may have exaggerated her symptoms so I would attend the ball in her stead.”

He winked at Lady Norgrave and she laughed before she could take offense that the man had called his mother a liar.

“You are a scoundrel, my lord. Small wonder your mother must scheme to gain your cooperation,” her mother replied. She had two handsome bachelors within reach, and she was not about to waste such an opportunity. “Lord Warrilow, are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Netherley's heir, Lord Vanewright?”

“I am, madam,” the marquess replied, nodding curtly to the other gentleman. “Vanewright.”

“Warrilow.” The earl dismissed the man with a subtle shift of his shoulders. “Lady Norgrave, with your permission, I would like to invite Lady Tempest to join me and my sister for a walk in the gardens.”

“Lady Ellen is here?”

“Yes, madam,” he said, disconcerting Tempest further by meeting her wary gaze. “When I told her that your daughter was present this evening, she begged me to find her immediately so they could renew their acquaintance.”

Arabella looked askance at her, but Tempest was hardly in a position to reply. They had been introduced to both of Lady Netherley's daughters. Lady Ellen had been amusing and kind. However, their friendship was not so close that they corresponded through the post.

“Naturally, my daughter would love to see Lady Ellen again,” her mother replied when she sensed hesitation within her eldest daughter. “Lord Warrilow, you do not mind keeping us company.”

“Not at all, my lady,” was the marquess's swift reply.

Tempest felt the heat of Lord Warrilow's gaze as she allowed Lord Vanewright to escort her toward the open doors of the Lady Oxton's gardens.

She did not anticipate any trickery until she stepped outdoors and saw Lord Fairlamb standing under the light of one of the torches.

 

Chapter Eleven

The red highlights in Tempest's hair were noticeable as the light of flickering flame danced over the top of her head. Her face was composed and unreadable, so Mathias could not decide if she was pleased to see him again.

“So this was a ruse?” she asked Lord Vanewright. “Lady Ellen isn't here.”

“My sister is in the cardroom, Lady Tempest. She would be pleased to see you again if you would care to join her later.” The earl looked pointedly at his friend. “Do you know what you are doing?”

“You needn't worry, Vanewright.”

“Very well. You are on your own if Lady Norgrave decides to play whist.” The earl bowed and strolled off in the opposite direction.

Mathias offered Lady Tempest his arm. “I thought you might appreciate some fresh air.”

She hesitated and glanced at the open doors she had walked through. There were several couples enjoying the night air. If she decided to flee, he would do nothing to stop her from leaving.

“It is a walk, my lady. Nothing more.” Mathias gave her an exasperated look. “If I were planning to have my wicked way with you, the dark corridor of the theater would have better served my purposes,” he said, infusing a hint of annoyance in his voice to gain her capitulation.

“Oh, very well.” She slipped her hand through his, and he wasted no time in moving away from the other couples.

Lady Tempest had been seen entering the gardens. When she returned to the ballroom, it would be on Vanewright's arm. No one within the room would be aware that she'd switched escorts on the terrace.

The torches had been placed close enough to provide ample light throughout the back gardens. There was a slight chill to the air, but it felt good against his skin after spending time in the stuffy ballroom.

“Is Marcroft here or did he abandon you once again?”

She bristled at his question. “My mother asked Oliver to escort us from the theater. He never intended to stay.”

In hindsight, he should not have attacked her brother. Marcroft was practically a saint in his sister's eyes, and his inquiry provoked a vigorous defense. Mathias decided to switch tactics. “Have you recovered from your ordeal?”

“Which one? The fumbling drunk or the kiss?”

Mathias grinned, thoroughly enjoying her spirited retort. “If given a choice, I prefer to discuss the latter.”

Lady Tempest held her chin high, and she strolled with him fearless down the garden path. By God, the chit had cheek. Another lady might have fainted after being pawed by an ardent admirer. “I prefer not to discuss what happened at the theater at all.”

“Very well.” He sighed. “Let us discuss Lord Warrilow. What business does he have with your family?”

“None.”

“None,” he echoed. “Now, that is not precisely the truth. Your mother practically embraced him like a son when he greeted her.”

Lady Tempest turned her face away, but he noted her irritation at his observation. “My father and Lord Warrilow are friends,” she explained in a cautious manner, as if she was concerned about revealing too much.

“Warrilow recently inherited the title. I assume he looks on your father as some sort of mentor.”

“I suppose,” she replied, glancing at him. “My father has encouraged him to seek a bride.”

“Ah, I see,” Mathias said, sending pea gravel across the path with a sudden fuming kick.

Her family had brought her and her sister to London with the ambition to match them with titled gentlemen with prosperous estates. His family would eventually do the same for his sisters. He could not explain why he found the cold reasoning of the annual practice repugnant.

“So you would be content to marry a marquess?”

She gave him a long contemplative look. “I suppose. I have not really thought about it. Does the title matter?”

Warrilow was older, and he had been a respected barrister before inheriting the title. The lands and wealth that came with the title would polish away any rough manners or gaps in his education. “To some. It depends on the lady's aspirations.”