You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want (20 page)

She peered over his shoulder. Knowing Thorn, he was keeping the chaperone distracted so Tempest could walk away from Mathias unnoticed. She nodded and slipped away from him. He did not watch her departure. Instead he scowled at the ugly statue in front of him until he sensed his cousin's presence.

“Satisfied?” Thorn asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Mathias growled.

 

Chapter Fifteen

Tempest had ignored his last note.

A week had passed since their meeting at the Egyptian Hall. He had been disappointed when he returned to the bookseller's shop three days later, only to be informed by the owner that no lady had come for Mathias's note. He had been greeted with the same reply on the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh days.

Rejection, even if it was unintentional, was a ruthless, swift stab to the heart. Doubt left him wondering if Tempest was just a shameless flirt who had no inclination toward meeting him or if her family had learned of their meeting and she was presently locked in her bedchamber as punishment. Short of boldly knocking on the front door of the Brants' residence and leaving his calling card, Mathias was left with more questions than answers.

He was unused to waiting for a lady.

Most ladies adored him. They flirted back and encouraged his pursuit. He had bedded more than his fair share, and he considered many of them a friend. It was just Tempest who was destined to drive him mad with frustration and lust. His family name was an obstacle. She feared his family and was suspicious of his intentions.

I should stay away from her.

As he sat brooding in one of Rainbault's drawing room chairs, he muted the conversation around him as he silently puzzled out his next step with Tempest.

“I recognize that particular look.” The amusement in the feminine voice prompted Mathias to glance up.

“Why, Mrs. Kitts, when did you arrive?” he said, stirring from his slouched position in the chair, but she gestured for him to remain seated.

“Thirty minutes ago, not that you noticed. By the by, when did you start thinking of me as Mrs. Kitts, you heartless rogue?” she replied, sitting down next to him on the embroidered footstool with cabriole legs carved from mahogany.

“When you married Mr. Kitts, I believe,” he said, unable to keep from grinning. “How are you, Sabra?”

“I shall be splendid once you have given me a proper greeting,” she said, her pout reminding him of a spoiled child—albeit a very pretty one.

“I see beauty improves with age, darling.”

“I tend to agree,” she said, leaning forward in anticipation.

Mathias saw no reason to deny an old friend. He shifted his body and met her halfway. She offered him her powdered cheek, but turned at the last second so his lips touched hers. Her hand lightly touched his cheek and she kissed him again. Each tender kiss was infused with affection and remembrance. One of his friends cheered in the background, most likely thrilled he was doing something other than brooding.

Sabra's blue eyes were damp with unshed tears when she stepped back and stared at him. “By God, I have missed you, Chance.”

“It has been more than a year, has it not?”

She fluttered her eyelashes and looked heavenward and offered a silent plea for patience. “Fourteen months, not that I was counting. Nor do you deserve it.”

He had some history with Mrs. Kitts. However, it was years ago, when she was Miss Battle. She came from a family of wealthy merchants and was thus allowed to mingle on the fringes of polite society. Her respectable dowry drew the interest of fortune hunters and second sons, but the young lady had higher ambitions. He was sixteen years old when he was introduced to the nineteen-year-old Sabra at a large country house gathering, and was instantly smitten. Her pale blond hair, delicate features, and large blue eyes reminded him of an angel. Spending an hour in her company revealed that if she had come from the heavens, then someone had tossed her out. She was a very wicked minx. It took her only three days to seduce him in their host's orchard.

Sabra had been his first lover. She had been generous with her body and taught him how to please her. He was so blinded by lust that he had not given much thought beyond their next coupling. When her family discovered that she had seduced the Duke of Blackbern's heir, they had whisked her away to avoid any unpleasant confrontations. He had not been Sabra's first lover. She had collected quite a string of young noblemen before they had met, so her practical father knew the duke would not consider his untamed daughter a potential bride for his heir.

It was not until eight months later that Mathias had come across her again in London. They had a very pleasurable reunion. It was only afterwards that Sabra confessed that her father had married her off to the second son of a baronet. The marriage had paid off her husband's gambling debts and opened more doors for her and her family. It was a loveless marriage, but that had not swayed Mathias into continuing the affair. Even if she had spoken the truth, he doubted Kitts would have approved of his wife taking lovers. He and Sabra eventually had settled into a casual friendship, and three years later, word had reached him that her husband had died in a duel. Whether it was over gambling debts or Sabra's unfaithfulness, Mathias never bothered to inquire.

“What has brought you to Rainbault's door this evening?” he asked out of politeness.

“I encountered him at the park the other day. He mentioned you in passing, and I lamented that I had not seen you in ages.”

“I was unaware that you were in town this month,” he explained, placing his hand over the one she rested on the ornate arm of his chair.

“Not that you ever trouble yourself to find out.” She was pouting again. It made less of an impact now that she was a twenty-six-year-old widow than it had when she was a nineteen-year-old.

“My darling Sabra, what you and I had is old history. You have been widowed for three years, and for all I know, you could be married again.”

“Have you bothered asking anyone?” she huffed.

“Sabra.”

His calm manner and patient expression reminded her that he was no longer that reckless, passionate boy she had seduced, and could bend around her little finger.

“Oh, very well. You are correct, of course.” She sighed. “Perhaps it was vain of me to hope that you have waited for me.”

Her outrageous statement was rewarded with a hearty laugh. “Just as you have saved yourself for me, Mrs. Kitts?” Mathias picked up his brandy from a small round table beside the chair. He took a contemplative sip as he studied her through his veiled gaze. “No, I think not. So why do you not tell me the real reason you have sought me out.”

Ten minutes later, he held Rainbault by the front of his evening coat and was shoving his back against the wall just outside the drawing room. “You told Sabra I was looking for a lover,” he growled into his friend's smiling face.

“I might have mentioned it.” The prince did not appear to be troubled by Mathias's anger or his precarious position. “Releasing your seed into a willing woman does wonders for a man's disposition. From the perpetual snarl carved into your face, I would deduce that considerable time has passed since you've had the pleasure.”

“Chance.” St. Lyon placed his hand on Mathias's shoulder. “Rainbault wasn't alone that day in the park when he encountered Mrs. Kitts. I was there, and it was my suggestion that she join us this evening.”

The prince glared at St. Lyon. “Don't steal all the credit, my friend. I thought it was a grand idea.”

“Which one of you told her that I often speak of her fondly?”

Both his friends shrugged, or at least Rainbault tried. It was difficult to move since Mathias had him pinned to the wall.

St. Lyon said, “You may not have mentioned her of late, but I know you well enough to know that you are fond of the lady.”

He could not believe that his friends had conspired to get him into Sabra's bed. “What I had with Sabra ended when she married Kitts. If I had wanted to renew my friendship with her, I would have comforted her when I heard the news that her husband was killed in a duel. Your meddling has placed me in an awkward position.”

“How so?” Sabra demanded, standing in the open door of the drawing room. Inside, the room was silent as the occupants tried to eavesdrop on the argument in the passageway. “All you had to do is tell me the truth.”

Her smile wasn't as bright as it had been when she first sat down on the footstool. “I think I will take my leave. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Mathias scowled at Rainbault before he released his grip. “This isn't finished between us.”

“Count on it,” the prince replied.

“Sabra … wait,” he called out, chasing after her. He caught up to her before she reached the front door. “I told you to wait.”

“I do not answer to you or any man, Chance,” she cried.

Mathias expected the anger, but her tears almost undid him. “I wish to apologize. For myself and my friends. Rainbault and St. Lyon are well meaning. Over the years, I have spoken of our time together because it was important to me. You were important to me. If you weren't, I would never have introduced you to my friends. My biggest regret is that their actions have hurt your feelings.”

“I am fine,” she said shakily.

“You used to be better at lying.”

Mathias reached into an inner pocket and handed her his handkerchief. Sabra murmured her thanks and wiped the tears on her cheeks. He placed his arm on the small of her back and led her to one of the cushioned benches in the front hall.

He sat down beside her, waiting for her to compose herself. Much to his relief, it didn't take long.

“I feel foolish.” Her slender shoulders trembled, but her tears had stopped flowing.

“You are not to blame.” Mathias gently took her hand and clasped it within his. “My friends made some assumptions about you and what I might want. They were wrong.”

“Chance, the only one confused this evening is you,” she said, her lips curving into a smile at his surprise. “Your friends might have been thinking only of your needs when they invited me here, but I was focused on my own when I accepted Rainbault's invitation.”

“Sabra.” He was uncertain how to proceed with her.

Her fingers threaded through his. “You were right when you said that you could have comforted me after my husband died. For the first few weeks, I thought you might call on me; however, you never did.”

“I didn't learn of your husband's death until weeks after he had been buried.”

She nodded, accepting the apology in his tone. “I was lost for a few months. My husband—Well, he was not my first choice, and then his family was difficult because of the circumstances surrounding his death.”

So Kitts had challenged one of Sabra's lovers.

“I should have been a better friend and called on you.”

“I never blamed you. I heard rumors that you were involved with an actress at the time.” At his sharp intake of breath, she laughed. “I was in mourning, so friends would visit and share the latest gossip.”

“I see.”

“And you are embarrassed,” she accurately deduced. “I would not have thought it possible.”

“I did not realize my life had become gossip fodder,” he muttered, grateful that he was not blushing like a virgin.

“To be fair, I did have a special interest in you,” she said, enjoying his discomfort. “Lest you forget, I was your first lover.”

Mathias glanced up, but there was no one in sight. He wondered how many of his friends were listening to their private conversation. “It is not something I am likely to forget, Sabra.”

“Indeed not.” Her face softened as she placed her other hand on his cheek. “I did not come to talk about the past. I actually sought you out because I heard another rumor—that no lady has currently ensnared you this season.”

Tempest's face shimmered in his mind.

“We are friends, Chance. Not good ones, I will admit,” she said, bowing her head as she traced the length of his fingers with hers. “However, I long for us to be good friends again. The sort who turn to each other when the other needs comforting.”

“Is that what you need, Sabra? Comforting?”

“There is a gentleman. An earl,” she added. “He is much older than I, but he claims to adore me and he is quite wealthy. He hasn't asked for my hand in marriage. Yet. Nor has he pressed for anything more than a chaste kiss on my hand. My family is encouraging me to accept if he does.”

“It sounds as if you know what you want,” he said, feeling more confused than ever. Any man who claimed to understand how a lady's mind worked was a braggart and a liar.

“You first came into my life when I was on the verge of marrying another man.” Sabra slipped her hands free and gestured at him. “And now that I am seriously contemplation marriage again, I am presented with the opportunity to see you again.”

“If you need advice about marriage—”

Sabra giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Good heavens, no! I have plenty of married friends who can offer me advice. My offer is another kind of comfort. While I await my fate, I thought we might renew our old friendship. A man like you should have a small stable of lovers, and it troubles me and your friends that it remains empty.”

“My bed is no one's business but my own,” he said, anger sharpening his voice.

“True.” She rose from the bench. “Nevertheless, I would like to make it my business. Unless … there is someone else.”

Mathias remained silent.

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “Ah, nothing to say. Now I am intrigued.”

He stood and glared at her. “Leave it alone, Sabra.”

“Dear me.” She was unmoved by his temper, but her blue eyes did cloud with concern. “Could it be that you have finally fallen in love, Chance?”