You Can't Always Get the Marquess You Want (23 page)

Chance stiffened to resist her invitation. “Tempest, I—”

His knee on the outside edge of the sofa slipped from its moorings and he toppled over, taking her with him.

Tempest felt a burst of air from his lungs tease the curls around her face as they landed on the floor. “Are you hurt?” she asked, trying not to giggle and failing miserably.

“So you are amused?” was his dry reply.

She barely managed a high squeak when he abruptly tightened his grip and rolled them so their positions were reversed. The thin rug offered little comfort as he covered her.

“Still amused, Tempest?”

“You are no gentleman, Lord Fairlamb,” she said, attempting to sound as if she were vexed with him. Her smile ruined the effect.

“I never claimed to be one, my sweet,” he replied, kissing her roughly on the mouth before he rolled off her. Chance sat up on his knees and offered her his hand. “And yet, I must behave myself this evening. Let's tidy your hair before you return to the music room. We do not want your brother to come looking for you.”

Oliver was too distracted by Miss King to notice her absence. Chance deliberately mentioned her brother to hasten her departure. A frisson of annoyance chafed against her good mood. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand. “So … now that you have had your way with me, my lord, I am to be dismissed?”

With her head held high, she walked by him to the nearest mirror. A side glance revealed he was frowning at her, and when she peered at her reflection, she confirmed it. Good. Now they were even.

Unfortunately, the fickle Lord Fairlamb was correct. Her hair was disheveled from their frolic on the sofa and floor. Using her fingers, she repositioned the curls around her face. She moistened her lips and winced. Her lips were tender, and there was a slight plumpness. The subtle change was appealing, but anyone scrutinizing her face might deduce what she had been doing in her absence.

Chance startled her when he grabbed her upper arm and turned her to face him. Face-to-face, he appeared to be more than annoyed with her. He looked downright furious.

“If I had had my way with you, as you so indelicately described it, we would not be snapping at each other,” he snarled.

Before she could respond, Chance had her pressed against the wall and was kissing her. Tempest forgot about her annoyance and kissed him back with utter abandon. Neither one of them felt like being gentle as their tongues dueled for dominance. She held on to large fistfuls of the back of his coat until her vision began to darken at the edges.

She had forgotten to breathe.

Chance released her, and she swayed unsteadily until he caught her around the waist.

“Damn,” he swore. His thumb brushed her lower lip. “You might want to use your fan around your mother.”

“Why?” She was still feeling a little dizzy and unfocused.

“One glance, and Lady Norgrave will conclude someone ravished you,” he said bluntly.

Tempest was confident she could evade a close inspection from her mother. “I am not the only one who looks well kissed.”

With a thoughtful expression, Chance touched his lower lip. He grinned at the noticeable swelling. “It is your fault, you know.”

“My fault?” Tempest turned away and checked the damage done to her hair and lips. Chance was correct. It would be difficult to explain away the high color in her cheeks and the fullness in her lips. “How so?”

“You keep taunting me to put my hands on you.” Chance stepped behind her and kissed her bare shoulder. “When can I touch you again?”

“I do not know.” Tempest stared into the mirror, and their gazes locked. The blinding need that seemed reserved solely for him had cooled, giving her the opportunity to recall the dozen or so reasons why she should stay away from him. “Shall we try the bookseller's shop again?”

“Then I wait another ten days? I would rather not,” he said, still annoyed about it.

“We could meet in the park?”

“Rotten Row is not a very discreet place to meet,” he mused out loud. “Someone is bound to recognize us and share the good news with our families.”

And then she would be beaten by her father and sent to one of the estates in the country until he could convince Lord Warrilow or some other gentleman to marry his reckless daughter. Tempest shook her head. “There are other places to meet besides one of the ton's favorite haunts,” she said, stepping out of his embrace. “Unless you have a better suggestion.”

“What day?”

“Three days,” she said, picking the first number that came into her head.

“Two,” he countered. “My patience does have a limit.”

“Three o'clock?”

“Half past the one o'clock hour,” he replied. “It will be too early for the fashionable to make an appearance. If you like, you could bring your sketching notebook.”

She nodded, touched that he looked beyond his own needs. “I will.” She offered him a shy smile. “I should go. With a little luck, Arabella and I should be able to convince our mother to leave after Miss King's performance.”

Her mother would not seek out a confrontation with the Duchess of Blackbern in front of Lord Warrilow, Tempest thought. Not that she intended to share her reasoning with Chance. She curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”

The marquess captured her hand and kissed it. “The very best,” he replied as if she had asked him a question.

 

Chapter Seventeen

Tempest slipped into the music room unnoticed. There were half a dozen of Lady Henwood's guests crowded near the door, so she threaded her way through them to find a place to stand at the back of the room. She was relieved everyone's attention was still centered on the raven-haired Miss King. The young woman was singing a sad ballad about unrequited love. The emotion vibrating in her voice and the grief twisting her face appeared sincere, and they stirred sympathy even in Tempest.

Chance had been smitten with Miss King.

She pouted at the unpleasant thought.

The marquess had not been immune to the woman's beauty; however, in his defense, Tempest doubted very few gentlemen were capable of resisting Miss King's charms when she cared to wield them. It was an enviable talent. Perhaps it was fortunate that the woman had abandoned her attempts to lure Chance into her bed and turned her attentions to Oliver.

She idly wondered if she should warn her brother, but dismissed getting involved. Oliver was not inexperienced when it came to affairs of the heart. Neither was Miss King.

It was Tempest who was in over her head.

She started as everyone applauded. The woman who was the center of all the adulation curtsied and smiled demurely as Oliver presented her with a bouquet of flowers. One by one, guests began to stand and move toward the front so they could be introduced to Miss King. With so many people moving about the room, Tempest could no longer see a glimpse of her mother and sister.

It was going to be a long evening.

“Fancy meeting you here, Lady Tempest.”

Her eyes widened as she recognized Chance's voice. Without looking at her, he stepped forward until he was standing beside her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, resisting the urge to glare at him. “Are you trying to call attention to yourself?”

“Not at all,” he replied, sounding too calm for their predicament. “It is going to be difficult to convince my mother to leave unless I find her first.”

“Don't be obtuse.” When she realized she was frowning, she took a deep breath and carefully blanked her expression. “Why are you standing next to
me
?”

“No particular reason, darling,” was his casual reply. “The lighting in the parlor was meager, and I wanted to see your face. You look beautiful this evening.”

His compliment deflated any annoyance she was feeling. “You are too kind.”

She shuddered as he deliberately grazed the back of his hand against hers. “If I were kind, I would leave you alone,” he drawled. “Two days, Lady Tempest. Do not disappoint me.”

Chance strolled away without waiting for a response. Tempest looked around her, and no one seemed to have noticed her brief exchange with the marquess. Her shoulders sagged with relief.

Until she noticed that her mother was staring at her.
How long has she been watching me?
Her pulse quickened at the thought her mother could have seen her speaking to Chance. Several people crossed in front of the marchioness, momentarily obscuring Tempest's view, and by the time she did have a clear view, her mother had turned away to speak with someone.

She did not recognize the gentleman, nor did she care so long as her mother stayed away from Chance and the Duchess of Blackbern.

“There you are!” Her cousin enveloped her into an enthusiastic embrace.

“Harriet,” she said, drawing back. “I did not expect to see you this evening.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Harriet explained, looking exceptional in her green dress. “Mama was worried Lady Henwood would be offended if we did not make an appearance. I tried to tell her the countess would understand, considering the distressing situation.”

She had mentioned Harriet to Lord Warrilow, but it had been lie. Had he said anything to Arabella or her mother? Distracted by her own concerns, it took a few seconds for her cousin's words to register.

“I beg your pardon. What distressing situation?”

Harriet looked over her shoulder at the small crowd gathered around Miss King. “Did your mother not tell you? My father has made a fool of himself over a certain lowbred woman.”

Tempest could not fathom it. “Your father and Miss King? I do not believe it.”

“Mama discovered a pile of bills from numerous merchants.” Harriet's eyes were hot with outrage and pain in her mother's behalf. “When she confronted him, he naturally denied that the woman was his mistress. She threw him out of the house, and Papa has been sleeping at one of his clubs ever since.”

Tempest watched her brother discourage one of Miss King's ardent admirers with a dark glance. She could not imagine Oliver sharing his mistress with a gentleman old enough to be her father—not to mention a relative. “Perhaps your mother misunderstood.”

“The deliveries were made to Miss King, and the bills were sent to my father. What other explanation could there be?” Harriet asked.

She clasped her cousin's hand. “I agree, it is damning evidence. However, I know your father. He is a good man. I cannot believe he would betray your mother and his family in such a public and humiliating manner.”

“Then why is he renting a room at his club?” the other woman said.

“Well, your mother has a rather formidable temper,” Tempest gently pointed out. “Gentlemen always make fools of themselves over women. It was a harmless flirtation that had already run its course when your mother discovered the bills on his desk.”

“Harmless or not, when I marry Lord Medeley, I will not tolerate such deceit,” Harriet vowed, her hurt and anger suddenly directed at her betrothed.

Tempest hoped the earl was not in attendance this evening, as he would be unable to avoid the sharp edge of his beloved's tongue.

“Would you?”

Tempest immediately thought of Chance flirting with Miss King. Her fingers tightened around her cousin's fingers until the other woman winced. She hastily released Harriet's hand. It was unfair for her to be furious about something that had occurred before he met her.

Unless he was not being completely honest with her.

“I would quietly murder my betrothed if he betrayed me.” Tempest shook her head. Chance had not asked for her hand in marriage. Nor would he if she persisted in behaving like a woman scorned by her lover. “Nevertheless, I doubt your father betrayed your mother. Once your mother has calmed down, your father will be more inclined to offer apologies and an explanation.”

“I hope you are right.” She glanced again over her shoulder at Miss King. “Mama thought if she was absent this evening, there would be talk.”

“There always is,” Tempest said, her voice filled with sympathy. “However, the gossip will be speculation about my brother's relationship with Miss King.”

His behavior this evening was likely embarrassing their mother.

“True.” Harriet put her arm around Tempest's waist. “Remind me to thank Oliver later. You can always count on family.”

“Speaking of family, perhaps we should rejoin them.”

Harriet nodded. “By the by, I know it is none of my business, but I have to ask. Whom have you been kissing? Is it anyone I know?”

Tempest could feel the blood drain from her face. “Is it so obvious?”

“I'm afraid so, Cousin.”

*   *   *

On the other side of the room, Mathias was also about to pay for his sins.

After he had walked away from Tempest, he headed for the general area where he had last seen his mother and sisters. Neither St. Lyon nor his family was in sight. He stared down at the empty chairs, but he was not worried. Lady Norgrave was still holding court on the opposite side of the music room. Or she was just minutes ago. There were too many people standing around him to keep track of her, and that was just fine with him. If she recognized him, the marchioness would be less than thrilled to see another Rooke.

It would be the least of her worries. Lady Norgrave would require smelling salts if she learned about her daughter's latest mischief with him.

If the poor lady could glean his wicked thoughts about Tempest, she would lock her daughter away and take to her bed.

However, Tempest was safe, and she was returning to her family well kissed but otherwise untouched. Mathias was not ruled by his cock. He was not planning to give Marcroft a reason to call him out.

The thought brought him up short.

It seemed only weeks ago, he had been baiting the earl into a duel. Mathias still despised the man, but if Marcroft challenged him, Tempest would not be the reason for it. He intended to keep her out of his quarrel with her brother.