A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) Page 3

  ***

  Marc brushed past the Staveley footmen, daring them with his eyes to ask for his invitation. They did not. Where was Kelfield? Then he spotted him across the ballroom talking to Lord Staveley, a recluse of the studious variety. Marc never quite understood the friendship between those two. They had nothing in common—nothing he could see on the surface anyway.

  “I’m certain my sister didn’t invite you,” came the voice of an old friend. Luke Beckford, a reformed rake of the first order, glowered at him. “Caroline’s gone to a lot of trouble to smooth things over for our cousin. She won’t want you creating some havoc.”

  Marc chuckled. “Relax, Beckford. I’ve only come to watch the proceedings. This whole Kelfield marriage is quite entertaining.”

  Then he crossed the room to the duke’s side, only to find his friend scowling at him. If he let all the nasty looks go to his head, he’d start to feel unwelcome. “Beckford has certainly gotten priggish since he’s married,” he said in way of greeting.

  Staveley chuckled. “Something my wife thanks God for every night.”

  Marc looked Kelfield up and down. “And where is your lovely duchess?”

  “Talking with a friend of hers,” the duke drawled.

  Marc stared out at the sea of people. “Ah, there she is. Who is that delightful creature she’s talking to?” he asked, with an appreciative grunt. The duchess’ companion was nothing short of stunning.

  “Miss Avery,” Alexander answered. “But she’s not your sort.”

  “Funny. She looks exactly like my sort,” Marc replied. From her silky brown hair, luscious curves, slender delicate neck, and speaking green eyes—she was dazzling.

  “Then I suggest you stop looking.” Kelfield’s voice interrupted what was starting to be a very nice erotic daydream. “Lady Avery is a high stickler and won’t appreciate your attentions towards her daughter. She hasn’t even let the poor girl talk to Olivia since our wedding.”

  “They’re talking now,” Marc said, his eyes still fixed on the pretty Miss Avery.

  ***

  “You are truly happy?” Cordie asked for at least the tenth time.

  Livvie smiled and replied quietly, “You know that old adage about reformed rakes making the best husbands? Very true.”

  “Is he truly reformed?” Kelfield didn’t seem reformed. He seemed like he’d enjoy devouring Livvie right there in the ballroom.

  “Mostly,” her friend answered with a blush. “But enough about me, Cordie. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  “I’ve taken to walking Rotten Row with mother on a daily basis.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Then she drags me along to all sorts of charitable teas and luncheons, and lectures me nearly non-stop about my comportment.”

  “All because of me?” Livvie asked softly, as the first chords of a waltz began.

  She hated to see the look of remorse on Livvie’s face, so she shook her head. “All because I refused Captain Seaton. Honestly, Livvie, I so envy you. Kelfield would never dream of dictating who you could visit, who your friends were. I was glad to know that about the captain before I accepted him. What a dreadful life that would have been. And in watching you and Kelfield, I think I know exactly what sort of man might suit me.”

  “What sort?” Livvie asked, her hazel eyes wide.

  “The sort who won’t restrict me. The sort who will give me free reign. Someone like your Kelfield.”

  A shadow fell over them, and Cordie looked up into the dancing, light blue eyes of the wicked Marquess of Haversham. He was tall, with ebony hair that curled at the nape of his neck. His broad shoulders made him appear strong, as did the shapely muscles of his thighs. Though Cordie’d never met the man, she’d seen him at Livvie’s wedding. His presence was one of the things that had so scandalized her mother. Good heavens he was handsome! And precisely the person she would conjure up, if given the opportunity.

  “My lord,” Livvie coolly greeted him.

  A roughish smile lit his face. “My darling duchess, I have already asked you to call me Marc.”

  Marc? Cordie sighed.

  Livvie shook her head, a false smile plastered on her face. “But that would imply that we are intimates, Lord Haversham, and we are not.”

  Though Cordie didn’t know why they couldn’t be friendly. After all, Haversham was a known compatriot of Kelfield’s. Any scandal attached to one of them over the years was attached to the other as well.

  “My loss,” he replied with a wink. Then he focused his icy blue eyes on Cordie, and she felt breathless under his gaze. “We have not had the pleasure.”

  Livvie straightened her back and pursed her lips. “If you’re looking for a proper introduction, then I suggest you find Miss Avery’s mother.”

  An anguished squeak escaped Cordie’s lips. How could Livvie suggest such a thing? Especially as mother was occupied quite nicely at the moment, and the marquess was looking at her like that.

  The briefest smile touched his lips, though Cordie felt it wash over her body.

  “I’m rarely proper,” he confessed with a wink. “So I think I’ll forgo speaking to Lady Avery. I’m sure she’d only tell me no, and I have no desire to be turned away from you, my dear.”

  Cordie sighed. “That’s not the least bit conventional, my lord.”

  He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. A spark of something raced down her arm, settling in her belly. “Conventional is boring. Might I entice you to stand up with me?”

  “Cordie,” Livvie whispered, “your mother will have an apoplexy.”

  “Let her,” Cordie whispered back. She wasn’t about to let the marquess step away from her. She accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

  Almost immediately, Cordie realized she might be in over her head. The marquess held her a little too closely, and his smile was a little too wolfish. At the same time, being in his arms was the most daring thing she’d ever done, and after being sequestered and made to be her mother’s constant companion over the last fortnight, Cordie relished the stretching of her wings.

  “Cordie is an unusual name,” Haversham said, splaying his hand across her back.

  She swallowed hard, making up her mind to play coy. “That, my lord, is because we were not properly introduced. If we had been, you would know that my name is Cordelia Avery. Only my friends call me Cordie.”

  “Hmm. We weren’t introduced, were we? I suppose that means I can call you anything I want. Venus or Aphrodite, maybe?”

  “Not Freya?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.

  Haversham threw back his head and laughed. “You didn’t strike me as an expert on Norse mythology, angel.”

  Angel. She let the endearment flutter around her heart.

  “I confess I only know of her since one of my brothers spent quite a bit of time in the Scandinavian countries.”

  “One of your brothers?” he asked quietly, letting his masculine voice rumble over her. “Tell me I won’t be called out on account of this dance, not having been properly introduced and all.”

  Cordie giggled. “You are perfectly safe at the moment, my lord. Gregory is watching after the estate in Nottinghamshire, and Russell and Tristan are in Toulouse with the 45th Foot.”

  When his hand moved across her back, Cordie was in heaven. Every place he touched came alive, and he pulled her closer to him, scandalously. “So—” his gravelly voice nearly made her stumble— “they’ve left you unprotected for any scoundrel to scoop you up.”

  She swallowed nervously. “No scoundrel’s ever tried.”

  His wolfish smile deepened. “I’ll have to remedy that.”

  “You flatter me, my lord.”

  His hand moved again, stroking her back. “I’ll do much more than flatter you, angel. Do you think you’re prepared for that?”

  Yes! She wanted to scream, but she forced herself to remain calm, at least on the surface. “That depends on what you have planned.”

  He
stroked her palm with his thumb, sending shivers racing up her arm. “Well, I’ve never actually planned a seduction before. They just seem to happen.”

  “A seduction?” She giggled softly. “You do seem terribly sure of yourself.”

  “When I want something, I go after it.”

  “And do you want me?” It was a brazen thing to ask, but who knew when she might get another chance.

  He stared at her for a moment, his light blue eyes flaming every spot they touched. “More every second.”

  Suddenly, a shrill scream echoed from across the room, and the music stopped. Cordie’s heart stopped beating as well. She knew that scream, and now she’d never know what the marquess planned to do with her. A plum ostrich feather bobbed over the heads of other guests. So Cordie knew it would only be seconds before she was ripped from Haversham’s arms.

  She smiled an apology. “I did enjoy our dance.”

  “Unhand my daughter, you blackguard!” Lady Avery screeched, yanking Cordie backwards and beating the marquess’ chest with her fan.

  Her mortification was now complete. Cordie braved a glance at the marquess to find his light eyes dancing with amusement. “Angel, the pleasure was all mine.” Then he winked at her and turned on his heel, leaving Cordie, her hysterical mother, and the rest of Lady Staveley’s guests behind him.

  As Lady Avery threw her arms around Cordie’s shoulders, letting out another horrific squeal, Lord Staveley, thankfully, stepped forward. “Lady Avery,” he began, with a calm, clear voice. “Your coach is being brought around.”

  ***

  Brendan stared after the departing forms of Miss Avery and her mother, just like everybody else in Staveley’s ballroom. He’d never witnessed a scene such as that before, not that he could blame Lady Avery for her outburst. If it was his sister, he’d have ripped her out of Haversham’s arms too—though he thought the high-pitched wailing and theatrics could have been avoided. As a rule, he never tried to bring attention to himself.

  One thing was certain—Miss Avery had left quite the impression. Assuming they’d met before, he wouldn’t ever forget her again.

  “Well,” Astwick said under his breath, “no one will be talking about Kelfield after tonight, but I don’t think Caroline had this outcome in mind.”

  “No,” Brendan replied. “Excuse me.” Then he started after the Averys, following their path from the ballroom, down the long corridor, and out the front door—just in time to see them step into their coach.

  The door shut behind the baroness, and then Brendan saw it…

  The Avery crest, emblazoned on the door. A roaring lion, golden against green.

  He stumbled backwards, steadied by a Staveley footman. “Are you all right, my lord?”

  No. Maybe. A lion. Marina was close to the Averys. Was the answer that simple? “Yes, thank you. I-I need my coach.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  As he patiently waited for his carriage, he was pushed aside from behind.

  “Apologies, Clayworth,” Haversham threw over his shoulder as he bounded down the steps.

  Brendan watched the marquess stride down the street, swinging his cane like a man without a care in the world. Did he even realize the position he’d put Miss Avery in this evening?

  ~ 4 ~

  When Brendan entered Mrs. Lassiter’s gaming hell in Covent Garden, the last fellow he expected to find was Haversham. Not that he should have been surprised. Both of them were fairly skilled at the gaming tables. In fact these sorts of establishments were where the two of them generally rubbed elbows. Caroline Staveley’s ballroom was the exception.

  The marquess was frowning at the cards in his hands. Brendan didn’t have to see the table to know Haversham’s hand was a winner. He always frowned in that precise way when he was about to win.

  Interesting. Brendan never realized that he’d noticed anything about the marquess before. To be honest, he never thought he’d paid much attention to Haversham. They shared the same vices, both were widowers, and they were of an age. Society saw them differently however. In Haversham, they saw a devil-may-care rogue who lived on the fringe of polite society. And in Brendan, they saw a heartbroken, noble widower who’d buried his wife and daughter years before their time. It was all a lie. The wife was his, the daughter wasn’t—though the child’s death was the one that still haunted him. No, he hadn’t sired her, yet if she’d lived he’d have given her his name. No matter the sins of her mother, the little girl was innocent—just as he’d been.

  So if society was wrong about him, were they wrong about Haversham as well?

  Somehow he didn’t think so. It was one thing to present oneself in the best possible light, to try to appear better than one was, but no one who was noble would wear the mantle of scoundrel willingly—and certainly not as well as Haversham did.

  One of the whores Mrs. Lassiter kept on staff dropped onto the marquess’ lap and he kissed her neck. Brendan shook his head. No, society was right in regard to Haversham, he had no doubt. What was Miss Avery thinking to stand up with the scoundrel? Was she trying to ruin her good name? He didn’t even know the girl. Maybe she didn’t have a good name. Why did he even care?

  Because of Marina. If those letters were with the Avery family, he couldn’t afford for them to hang their head over their daughter’s shame and return to their country estate—wherever that was. Nottinghamshire. Caroline said she was from Nottinghamshire. He had no connections there, no reason to be in that county. No, it was best if the Averys remained in London, at least for the time being.

  A spot opened up next to Haversham and Brendan crossed the room, claiming it. The marquess raised his brow in way of greeting.

  “How odd to keep bumping into you,” Brendan said, then nodded to the dealer.

  Haversham smirked, shifting the girl on his lap to look at his card. “Indeed, Clayworth. It’s been an age and now twice in one night.”

  Brendan looked down at the upturned nine of spades in front of him. Could have been better. Haversham had the queen of hearts. “You made quite a scene with the Avery girl this evening.”

  The marquess met his eyes. “Rebuking me? You never struck me as that sort.”

  “Hardly,” Brendan drawled. He glanced at the dealer. “Fifty.” Then he tilted his head to one side, studying Haversham. “I’ve an interest in the girl’s family, is all.”

  “Her family?” Haversham threw back his head and laughed. “Are you blind or a eunuch?”

  It had been some time since Brendan had taken a woman to bed, but he still had all his parts, and he was fairly certain everything still worked. His eyesight was also fine, but apparently Haversham was blinded by Miss Avery’s beauty. Her outward appearance was delightful, but he could do without her sharp tongue and less than scintillating personality.

  “My wife was close with the Averys,” he replied, as if he’d always known that fact. “I’m just looking out for the girl.”

  “Hmm,” Haversham responded, though his eyes were on what there was of his companion’s décolletage. “One would think that one of her brothers could do that.”

  She had brothers? Brendan hadn’t realized. Whoever they were, they’d been remiss in their duties tonight. “As they weren’t in attendance this evening, I’m speaking in their stead.” How many were there? Hopefully none of them had been at Staveleys. As Lady Avery and her daughter were the only ones to leave, he felt fairly safe in that estimation.

  Brendan looked at his face-down card. Two of clubs. That wasn’t awful.

  “Are you, indeed?” the marquess asked. “Funny, she didn’t mention you during our dance.”

  “She is a bit headstrong.”

  Haversham grinned. “She knows what she wants. Just like you do, I suspect.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You obviously are after the girl, same as I am. So why don’t we play for her?”

  Brendan blinked at the man. Play for her? How un-chivalrous. “I don’t think that’s
proper at all.”

  Haversham laughed. “Come now, Clayworth. You’ll need all the help you can get in regards to my little Freya.”

  “Freya?”

  “Which of her brothers was it that spent time in Scandinavia?”

  The blood drained from Brendan’s face. Which brother? He had no idea. “Um, the oldest of course.”

  Haversham’s grin spread across his face. “You’re an awful liar, Clayworth. Your interest is with the girl, not her family. And I must say, your interest in her has sparked an even stronger one in me. So we’ll play for her. Whoever has the better hand will get a fortnight’s advantage. The loser can’t call on the girl until the fortnight is up.”

  Brendan wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into this situation, but he couldn’t really back out now either. He looked at his nine and Haversham’s queen. He had a two, and could tell by the frown on the marquess’ face as he looked at his down-turned card the man had a good hand. “Very well.”

  Haversham turned over his card, revealing the king of hearts. That was going to be tough to beat. Brendan turned over his two and nodded for the dealer to give him another card. The four of diamonds. He nodded again. The three of spades. He’d most certainly lost, but he could hold his hand and lose for sure or take another card and press his luck.

  The table quieted and all eyes were on him. Brendan nodded for another card. The three of diamonds landed before him.

  Haversham’s mouth fell open. “God, Clayworth, you took your own sweet time winning the round.”

  Brendan was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe he’d won either. The odds had not been in his favor.

  “Well,” Haversham finally drawled, now seeming bored with the turn of events, “enjoy your advantage. When the fortnight is over, Miss Avery will be mine.”

  He’d won two weeks with the sharp tongued Miss Avery. Now he just had to figure out what to do with her.

  ***

  “My lord,” Higgins greeted Brendan, as he held open the front door.

  “You do know, Higgins, it’s not necessary to wait up for me. I’d hate to disrupt your schedule.”